Dragonforge_ A Novel Of The Dragon Age Part 37

"You can't be serious," she said. "Pet? Working with Blasphet? On what? His nails? n.o.body knows Pet better than I do. It's absurd to think he'd help the Murder G.o.d. What really happened?"

"It isn't important at the moment," said Shandrazel.

"It's important to me," said Jandra.

"We have a much more pressing crisis," said Shandrazel. "The humans still hold Dragon Forge. Many of the surviving sun-dragons have deserted. If we don't retake the town, it won't be a human rebellion I face, but a rebellion of my own race."

"It was your goal to be the king who brought an end to kings," said Hex. "It looks as if you'll see your dreams come true."

"Do not taunt me, brother," Shandrazel growled. "I wanted to launch a new world order! I didn't intend to unleash anarchy throughout the Commonwealth!"

"Anarchy need not be a bad thing," Hex said. "Indeed, it may-"

"Silence," Shandrazel said, raising up onto his hind-talons and spreading his wings wide to make himself look more intimidating. "I have no stomach for your juvenile philosophies."

"Fine," Hex said, coolly. "Then do you have the stomach for brutality? Because that's the only choice remaining to you. The humans repelled a direct a.s.sault with bows and a mechanical giant. But they still occupy only one small patch of Earth, while you have the resources of the world to draw upon. You can starve the humans if you want a victory."

"That could take months," said Shandrazel.

"If it's a quick victory you desire, you now know the range of the new bows. I wager it's less than the range of your catapults. Shower the town with b.a.l.l.s of flaming pitch."

"That would burn Dragon Forge to cinders!"

"You would destroy the town," agreed Hex, "but you would kill the rebels and command the ground Dragon Forge stands upon. You would look very kingly as you magnificently spend our father's treasure to rebuild the forge."

Shandrazel stroked the underside of his jaws with his fore-talon as he contemplated Hex's advice.

Jandra felt it was time to intervene. "Excuse me," she said. "But before you destroy the town and kill everyone in it, have you thought about talking with these people? They're rebelling because of the actions of Albekizan. Maybe they just don't know that you want to give them a better deal."

"It's too late for negotiation," said Shandrazel. "I didn't choose to start this war. Men spilt the first blood."

"They probably think Albekizan spilt the first blood at the Free City," said Jandra. "Let me go inside as your amba.s.sador. I'll talk to the leader. Find out his demands."

Shandrazel took his head. "My spies say the leader is a survivor of the Free City named Ragnar. He's a religious fanatic who would rather die than make peace with dragons. His only demand, from what I told, is that all dragons be slain. You can see why I've no interest in accommodating him."

"If what you say is true and I can't convince this Ragnar to make peace, then you won't have to kill thousands to stop this rebellion," she said. "It sounds as if one person might be enough."

"Yes," Shandrazel said, perking up. "Yes, if you killed Ragnar, the others would break. It's only his charisma that holds their army together. If you kill him, victory is a.s.sured."

"I didn't volunteer to be your a.s.sa.s.sin," said Jandra. "I'm going in to talk. After I speak to him, I'll give thought to the appropriate actions."

"Do it," said Shandrazel. "I give you full authority to undertake this mission."

"Shall I fly you there?" Hex asked.

"No," said Jandra, fading into invisibility. "I'm in the mood for a little walk."

Chapter Thirty-One:.

Revelations

The snow crunched beneath Jandra's boots as she hiked toward the fortress. The day was at its end. Long shadows painted the ground, and the dark clouds beyond Dragon Forge were tinted red. Here among the gleaner mounds, the winter evening was silent and peaceful. As she'd walked toward the fortress, she'd built dozens of hopeful scenarios in her mind, plausible, logical ways that this siege could end without further blood being spilled. beneath Jandra's boots as she hiked toward the fortress. The day was at its end. Long shadows painted the ground, and the dark clouds beyond Dragon Forge were tinted red. Here among the gleaner mounds, the winter evening was silent and peaceful. As she'd walked toward the fortress, she'd built dozens of hopeful scenarios in her mind, plausible, logical ways that this siege could end without further blood being spilled.

As she walked past the gleaner mound, she spotted the corpse of an earth-dragon. His body was riddled with arrows. His eyes were frozen open in death. From the sc.r.a.pes in the mud behind him, she surmised he had crawled hundreds of yards in an attempt to escape the a.s.sault on Dragon Forge and return to Shandrazel's camp before finally succ.u.mbing to his wounds.

Her optimism that further violence could be avoided was suddenly rattled. Earth-dragons wouldn't soon forget this infamous day. Could she blame them? They'd want revenge. Would evicting the rebels from Dragon Forge be enough to calm them? Earth-dragons were such alien, stoic beings, it was hard to say. Perhaps there was still hope of peace, despite the atrocities committed by the humans.

She walked past the dead earth-dragon and found herself in the presence of another corpse only a dozen yards away. Her stomach tightened as she recognized that this twisted thing before her had once been a sun-dragon, like Hex or Shandrazel. The great beast had hit the ground so hard its body was half buried in the red clay. Only a single crimson wing, largely intact and jutting into the air like a sail, instantly identified the hill of flesh before her as a member of the royal race.

She knew, in her gut, that all hope of a peaceful solution was gone. Albekizan had launched genocide over the death of his son, Bodiel. Today, countless sons, brothers, and fathers had been slaughtered by rebel bows. The sun-dragons would now be a race of Albekizans. Human blood would be spilled throughout the kingdom if swift justice wasn't visited upon the rebels.

She bit her lower lip, knowing what she had to do. She'd undertaken this mission as a diplomat. Shandrazel wanted her to be his a.s.sa.s.sin. Could she bring an end to this madness by killing, or at least capturing, Ragnar?

"Oh, Ven," she sighed. "What would you do if you were asked to be an a.s.sa.s.sin?"

But, of course, she knew his answer. Vendevorex had confessed to her that he'd served as Albekizan's a.s.sa.s.sin multiple times. Indeed, he'd killed her own family at Albekizan's orders, simply to demonstrate his power. Her life story proved that when asked to be an a.s.sa.s.sin, Vendevorex had answered, "Of course, sire."

It was strange to think of Vendevorex as a killer. He'd always been so kind to her. Indeed, she'd never seen Vendevorex show cruelty toward anyone. Though perhaps the most powerful dragon in the kingdom, he hadn't abused his abilities. He never acted in anger, nor had she ever known him to hold a grudge. When Vendevorex had decided to use his powers to kill, he made the decision based on logic, and only acted when he felt that resorting to violence would serve some greater good.

She could almost hear his counsel now. "Killing one man might spare the lives of tens of thousands if a wider war breaks out."

By the time she reached the eastern gate, she'd convinced herself. She was no longer here as a diplomat. Invisibly, she approached the bloodied wood of the eastern gate. The giant wooden structure looked as if it had been knocked flat, then hastily rebuilt. The ground had been trampled into a gory muck that sucked at her boots. The stench of vomit hung heavy in the air, making her eyes water.

Standing ankle deep in the dark mire, the air full of death, she remembered how she'd stood on the oily beach, cradling the dying seagull. Killing for the greater good wouldn't be murder. Only, they weren't her hands that held the seagull, were they? And it hadn't been her decision. Those memories belonged to Jazz. She shook her head to try to push back the alien thoughts.

She touched the wood of the gate, impregnating it with her nanites. She allowed a few seconds for the tiny machines to slip between the molecules, then willed a hole to appear. A rough rectangle five feet high and two feet wide crumbled to sawdust. She ducked to step inside the gate and glanced back at the mound of pulverized wood, like a puzzle formed of a million impossibly tiny pieces. She could see in her mind's eye how all these pieces had fit together only seconds before. With a nod, the sawdust rose and swirled as her nanites lifted it on magnetic pulses. In seconds, the hole began to close. A moment later, the door was restored, as if she had never touched it.

Shandrazel's camp had been silent as a morgue. Even with the sun down, Dragon Forge was noisy. Men shouted back and forth, hammers struck metal, and dozens of carts rolled toward a central furnace, all loaded with the bodies of earth-dragons. The stink inside was even worse than outside, as the aroma of two-thousand unbathed men mixed with the other odors.

She wasn't certain how best to locate Ragnar. She'd met him briefly in the Free City-he'd been the naked, wild-eyed prophet Pet credited with saving his life. She'd instantly disliked him. He manifested every unpleasant trait the dragons attributed to humans. He'd been dirty, irrational, and brutish. How had such a man bested an army of dragons?

Then she heard a familiar voice from above. She looked up. The wall here was thirty feet high. She couldn't see who was talking, but was certain she knew the speaker.

"Pet!" she shouted out, losing all caution. Could he really be part of this rebellion?

Some of the men in the street glanced in the direction of her voice. Seeing nothing due to her aura of invisibility, they turned away.

A soldier in a tattered cloak leaned over the wall, staring down where she stood. This man's face was misshaped, his nose bent and broken, his scabby brow knotty and bruised. His chin and cheeks were covered in a scraggly beard. Her heart sank. It wasn't Pet.

The stranger asked, "Jandra?" He pushed the hood of his cloak back, revealing a head full of golden hair, greasy and matted. His face was smudged by mud and blood and soot. Yet, as torchlight caught his eyes, she saw they were the same blue as a sky-dragon's scales. She only knew one man with such breathtaking eyes.

"Pet?" she asked.

"It's me," he answered. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"That's what I was going to ask you!"

"I'm fighting to free mankind from dragons," he said. He disappeared back over the wall. She heard him say, "Take over up here, Vance." An instant later, Pet reappeared at a nearby ladder. He slid down the ladder rails in a fluid move that reminded Jandra of the first time she'd met him, when he'd performed as an acrobat.

"When did you get all militant?" Jandra asked. Pet approached with such confidence she wondered if he could see her.

"Since Shandrazel started torturing helpless women," he said, now speaking to the empty air a few feet to her left. "Since he outlawed all weapons for humans, then threw me in the dungeon as a traitor for standing up to him."

"Torturing women?"

"Yes. The Sister of the Serpent we captured."

"What was the point?" she asked, confused. "She had no tongue. What could she have told him?"

"I don't think there was a point," said Pet. He turned his body a bit more, and was now speaking directly toward her unseen face, barely five feet away. "I think he's in over his head and doesn't know what he's doing. He's drawing on the lessons his father taught him: the real power of a king lies in the force and fear he commands."

Jandra shivered at these words, remembering how Shandrazel had been energized by the thought of her serving as an a.s.sa.s.sin. Was she now part of the fear he commanded? And if Shandrazel had fallen back on the lessons his father had taught him, was she any different? She was drawing on Vendevorex's moral choices to guide her this evening.

"You never answered my question," said Pet. "Why are you here?"

"I've come... on a mission of diplomacy. I need to talk to Ragnar."

"I can take you to him," said Pet. "But I don't think he's interested in diplomacy. Neither am I, to be honest."

"I need to at least try," she said.

"If diplomacy means surrendering Dragon Forge, forget it," said Pet. "We've paid for this fort with blood. We won't give it up."

"Not even if it means more blood shed?"

"We've made our stand," said Pet. "Every man here would give his life to keep this town in human hands."

"You might get that chance," she said. "Shandrazel's talking about burning this city to the ground. And, from what I'm told, it sounds as if Shandrazel's army might have lost their first attack due to bad luck. He says some sort of illness swept his army just after the attack began. Can you count on a mysterious illness a second time?"

Pet crossed his arms, looking stone-faced. He answered, in a cold tone. "We don't rely on luck. Ragnar says the Lord is on our side. So far, he's been right."

"You used to be so scornful of prophets," she said. "How can you be part of this?"

"I'm not the man I used to be," Pet said.

"Look, this is getting us nowhere. Just take me to Ragnar. I should at least hear what he has to say. Maybe he can make a believer out of me."

"Maybe," said Pet. Then he paused again. He was now close enough that she could smell him. His scent didn't trigger the same erotic response it had the last time she'd been near him. Her senses were now more under control, for one thing, and he smelled especially ripe, for another.

Despite this, a small chill raced through her as she met his gaze. Before, when she'd looked into his eyes, though they had been beautiful as gemstones, they'd been empty; vacant windows into a vacant soul. The only emotion she'd ever seen inside him was l.u.s.t. Now, his eyes were lit with something else-a hardness, a seriousness that told her Pet no longer desired her. He'd surrendered his life to a larger cause.

"Shandrazel hasn't sent you here to do something dumb, has he? You're not here to kill Ragnar, are you?"

Jandra froze. Pet couldn't see her face though he was less than an arm's length away. Was there something in her tone that tipped him off? Or had war simply left him with a greater degree of caution than he'd once possessed?

"I told you I'm here to talk," she said.

"Good. Because you'd be dead in a heartbeat if you tried anything."

Jandra was incredulous. Pet couldn't possibly be threatening her, could he? "Why?" she asked, scornfully. "His G.o.d would strike me down?"

"No." Pet's open hand darted out. He clumsily struck her shoulder, rapidly ran his fingers down her arm to grab her bicep, and growled, "I would."

"Unhand me," she hissed. His grip was solid; his rough and jagged nails were piercing the sheer fabric that covered her arms. "Or I'll unhand you. You've seen what my powers can do to human flesh."

He relaxed his grip, but still held her. They stood, unmoving, for several long moments. Pet stared at where he knew her eyes must be. She turned her gaze away. At last, he released her.

"As long as we have an understanding," he said. "You can follow me."

Jandra dropped her invisibility as Pet led her into the house at the end of the street. She hoped Pet would take it as a sign of goodwill. Plus, it could prove useful not to have anyone else in the room know she could turn invisible. invisibility as Pet led her into the house at the end of the street. She hoped Pet would take it as a sign of goodwill. Plus, it could prove useful not to have anyone else in the room know she could turn invisible.

The wooden house was modest and plain. The place felt claustrophobic compared to the abodes of sun-dragons or sky-dragons. They entered in a kitchen dominated by a large table built of roughly-finished pine, with stripes of black grime caked into its oily surface. A bushel basket of onions sat on the table and, from the smell, a fair number of the onions were rotting. Pet opened the kitchen door into a room with a fireplace. The heat washed over her in a wave.

Ragnar sat on a wooden chair by the fire. There was a woman sitting on his lap, her clothes in a state of disarray. The woman looked toward the door; her eyes were hard and indignant at the intrusion. A serpentine tattoo was faintly visible under the short dark hair that covered her scalp. A Sister of the Serpent? Jandra tensed. Shandrazel had said Pet was working with Blasphet.

Ragnar sneered as he caught sight of Jandra, his eyes wandering in disdain over her fine clothes and careful grooming. They had never been formally introduced. The last time he had seen her, in the Free City, she'd been disguised as a peasant.

"Who's this?" Ragnar demanded of Pet. "Why do you disturb my counsel with Shanna?"

"Sorry," said Pet. "This seems important. Apparently Shandrazel wants to talk."

"I'm Jandra Dragonsdaughter," Jandra said, with a respectful bow. "I'm here to speak for Shandrazel."

Ragnar's face slackened. He stared at Jandra as if she were a ghost. It wasn't the reaction Jandra expected. After an awkward moment of silence, she decided to proceed. "Shandrazel intends to take back Dragon Forge. Your most valuable weapon in the recent battle, your improved bows, will no longer have the element of surprise. The illness that swept his forces was a chance occurrence. You faced an army unfit to fight. When the dragons attempt to take this city again, you'll face certain death."

Ragnar didn't say anything in response to her words. He continued to stare, his expression unfathomable.

Mildly rattled by the possibility that Ragnar was, in fact, a madman, Jandra tried once more to appeal to reason. "There's still a chance that bloodshed can be avoided. I was at the Free City. I'm sympathetic to the cause of human liberty. Shandrazel, too, is a proponent of greater human freedom. Tell me your demands for the surrender of this city, and I'll carry them back to Shandrazel."

Ragnar's face took on a gray pallor as he looked down at the floor. He said, quietly, "I almost killed you as an infant, you know."

Jandra c.o.c.ked her head, perplexed. Was this just insane babble?

"What?"