"I also made a clock and sewed a mask," Shandrazel said. "These haven't been the most glorious months of my life, to be honest. I probably wouldn't have made it this long except, after I fled the College of Spires, a student followed me and pledged his loyalty. He visits me from time to time with news and supplies. Through him I learned that Chakthalla was harboring you, and heard the whispers of rebellion. I thought it might be time for me to once more seek the company of sun-dragons."
"You came to help overthrow your father?"
Shandrazel shook his head. "I came hoping to prevent violence. I believe, despite all that has happened, that it is not too late for cooler heads to prevail. My father ordered my exile during horrible times. Bodiel... Bodiel was his favorite. I know this. But now that father's had time to grieve, his reason may have returned."
Vendevorex sighed. "You didn't know your father at all, did you?"
"Of course I did," Shandrazel said, sounding offended. "As his son, who could know him better?"
"Precisely because you're his son, you cannot see him plainly. I've advised Albekizan for many years. Trust me when I tell you the king is bull-headed and stonehearted. He'll not be talked out of his plans. Your exile will only end with your death, or his."
Shandrazel opened his mouth as if to argue, then shook his head. The wispy white feathers around his nostrils wafted like steam as he sighed. He stared at the flickering coals within the stone circle.
"Killing him would be the same as killing myself," said Shandrazel.
"A noble sentiment," Vendevorex said. "If only your father displayed half your compassion."
"So what now?" asked Shandrazel. "I'd rather not live the rest of my life hiding in caves."
"Nor I. What's more, I have Jandra to think about. I must save her and, to satisfy her, I must save the entire human race."
"No small task," said Shandrazel.
"True," Vendevorex said, stroking his chin with a fore-talon. "Fortunately, I'm not without resources. I see now that open revolution will only bring further destruction. What's needed is some candidate for the throne who will assume the duty with a minimum of bloodshed. If you aren't volunteering, I believe our best hope may be Kanst. I didn't like that possibility before but we are running out of options. We could play upon his vanity; if I play my cards right, I might even wind up as his most trusted advisor, and help the kingdom see better days."
"The armies would accept Kanst as king," Shandrazel agreed. "He certainly possesses ambition. But he's also known for his ruthlessness. In any case, I fear his loyalty to my father is too great."
"You may be correct," Vendevorex said. "Right now, my first duty is to find Jandra. Once we are united with her we can focus our energies on approaching Kanst and stopping Albekizan."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: HEART.
THE SUN WAS low over the mountains to the west as the villagers marched through the green valley. Zeeky felt as if she couldn't take another step. She wished Jandra would carry her but her mysterious friend looked as tired as she was. She certainly couldn't ask Hey You. The man who had been so friendly to her in the barn now kept everyone at a distance with his stern countenance and silence. low over the mountains to the west as the villagers marched through the green valley. Zeeky felt as if she couldn't take another step. She wished Jandra would carry her but her mysterious friend looked as tired as she was. She certainly couldn't ask Hey You. The man who had been so friendly to her in the barn now kept everyone at a distance with his stern countenance and silence.
Zeeky's stomach growled. The dragons fed them only one meal in the mornings and water at night. She'd eaten better during the days she'd been on her own as a runaway. Of course, she hadn't really been on her own then. She'd had Poocher to care for and his needfulness had kept her going. She was far more alone and scared now, surrounded by a crowd of strangers, than she had been when wandering across the countryside.
How nice it must be to be Kamon. The aged prophet wasn't suffering at all on this journey. The village men carried him when he grew tired, and everyone gave him food until he'd had his fill. The villagers adored him but wouldn't even look at her. She grew dizzy with anger thinking about it.
Or perhaps she was dizzy with thirst or exhaustion. Whatever the cause the world was definitely spinning, the path tilting sideways around her, until she fell face forward into the dust. She tried to stand up but didn't have the strength. All she could do was lie there as the villagers stepped over and around her. She felt as if she should be angry with them but all she felt was shame at her weakness.
A bony, rough hand slid under her shoulders, turning her over. Hey You knelt over her, placing his strong, wiry arms under her knees and behind her back. Without a word he lifted her, placing her head on his shoulders From her new vantage point, Zeeky looked back down the trail at the line of humans. Along the line, dragons herded humans, making sure none strayed. Following behind the humans were the farm animals the dragons had also gathered. It was difficult to tell in the diminishing light, but she squinted, and sure enough, she could see him. There among the predominantly pink pigs, Poocher's black and white hide stood out.
Zeeky knew then that she would live through this. She had to. She didn't know when, and she didn't know how, but she would escape and save Poocher, and go someplace far away where she would never have to see another dragon again.
AFTER VENDEVOREX FLED, Albekizan gave Blasphet his chambers. The star-shaped room in the high tower suited Blasphet's needs. Blasphet was one of the few dragons in the kingdom who understood the contents of the beakers and vials that lined the shelves along the room. What lesser creatures might think of as magic, Blasphet recognized as natural substances. There was nothing mystical about an acid that ate away iron, nothing strange about liquids that burned. Blasphet had yet to learn the secret, but he was convinced the wizard's most amazing feat, his ability to turn invisible, was based in some as yet to be understood physical principle rather than supernatural forces. Albekizan gave Blasphet his chambers. The star-shaped room in the high tower suited Blasphet's needs. Blasphet was one of the few dragons in the kingdom who understood the contents of the beakers and vials that lined the shelves along the room. What lesser creatures might think of as magic, Blasphet recognized as natural substances. There was nothing mystical about an acid that ate away iron, nothing strange about liquids that burned. Blasphet had yet to learn the secret, but he was convinced the wizard's most amazing feat, his ability to turn invisible, was based in some as yet to be understood physical principle rather than supernatural forces.
Over the weeks, Blasphet had made many modifications to the star chamber and the rooms beneath it. To start, the main chamber was too cluttered and crowded for a sun-dragon to move comfortably in. He had most of the treasures and oddities in the room packed and carted to the chambers below to await further study. He kept the large, central oak table. With the addition of manacles, the table was perfect. A series of lanterns and mirrors lit the oak surface to high-noon brightness, even in the chill, dark hours of the night.
"You will probably want to scream," Blasphet said to the naked young man shackled to the wooden slab. "I hope you won't. Think about how enobling it would be to die with dignity. Instead of howling and begging for mercy you will not receive, resolve to let your death serve the quest for knowledge. Tell me if you have an increased sensation of warmth, or perhaps of cold. If anything, anything at all, makes you feel even the slightest bit stronger, tell me at once. Do you understand?"
The human didn't speak but his angry, defiant eyes were a comfort to Blasphet. Perhaps this one had the will to survive the vivisection long enough to be of some use.
Blasphet reached to the onyx tray at the edge of the table and retrieved his scalpel, its razor edge glowing in the focused light. Blasphet made three cuts across the man's chest with practiced precision, one down the center, then one each across the top and bottom of the first cut. The man arced his back from the agony and ground his teeth, but did not cry out as Blasphet took the two flaps of skin and peeled them back, exposing the man's rib cage. The salty scent of flesh and blood invigorated Blasphet, as did the realization that his victim was still holding on to some last faint glimmer of hope that he might survive.
He'd picked this subject well. It hadn't just been the firm musculature and overall good health the human had displayed; he'd also recognized courage within the man's eyes, a spirit of defiance. He congratulated himself on his perception. His foolish brother could never have recognized the value of this specimen. Albekizan thought all humans looked alike.
Setting the scalpel aside, Blasphet sank his sharp, strong claws into the tissue just beneath the man's sternum. With a grunt he tore open the man's rib cage, exposing the organs within. The man opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. His eyes closed and his head fell suddenly limp. Blasphet knew the man hadn't fully lost consciousness. The stimulant draught he had forced the man to swallow earlier would prevent sleep until the very end.
At that moment there was a knock on the door of the chamber. Blasphet grimaced, hesitant to leave his work but certain he knew who was visiting. He'd been expecting him for some time. Licking the red blood from his ebony talons, Blasphet went to give his visitor admittance.
"Have patience, Metron," he called out. "I'm coming."
He pulled the door open, revealing the High Biologian.
"How did you know it was me?" Metron asked.
"No one else dares visit. Moreover, I knew you would accept my offer. You and I value knowledge-we need not let petty morality interfere with that quest. We are kindred souls."
Metron shook his head. "We are nothing alike. You are a wicked, hateful thing that thrives on death. You use the gloss of intellectual pursuit to mask your vileness."
"Yet still you've come to help me, yes?"
Metron hesitated, then looked to the floor as he whispered, "Yes." The aged dragon then raised his head. "But unlike you, I am driven by a hatred of death. I see dark times coming upon the kingdom, and an alliance with you may be my only hope of preventing greater bloodshed."
"Of course," Blasphet said. Then he gave a little bow, and said, "Where are my manners? Keeping you in the doorway... Please come in, my honored guest. We have much to discuss."
The High Biologian followed him through the lab, his feathery scales trembling at the sight of the man shackled to the table, the exposed heart still beating.
"This disturbs you," Blasphet said. "It shouldn't. Think of this body as a book. There is much to be learned by studying its pages."
"What can you possibly hope to learn from this?" Metron said, sounding choked.
"I am presently studying hearts," Blasphet said, motioning toward the feeble pulses of the purple blob that lay between the gray lungs. "There's no question that a beating heart is essential to the life of a man. Yet their eyes have been known to follow me for several seconds, even after I've removed the heart entirely. Life endures, however briefly. Often when I remove a heart it will beat in my hands for some time. Curious, yes? I have even devoured hearts still beating; the muscle expands and contracts as it rolls on my tongue. These are pieces of the puzzle, I'm certain."
Metron looked as if he were about to faint.
"Perhaps you would benefit from some fresh air," Blasphet said.
Blasphet opened the door that led to the sitting room. A light breeze stirred the curtains that led to the balcony, letting pale moonlight spill across the polished wooden floor. Strolling to the curtains, Blasphet pulled them aside and stepped onto the balcony overlooking the huge city under construction.
The Free City had a gem-like symmetry, a diamond encased by high wooden walls, with wide avenues dividing the structures within into perfect squares. Even though the sun had set long ago, the sound of hammers and saws rose from the city, which glowed with the light of a thousand lanterns.
"Magnificent, is it not?" Blasphet asked as Metron joined him on the balcony. "Say what you will about my brother, he does have a talent for motivating his workers. Construction is well ahead of schedule."
Metron nodded. "It is impressive. I admit, it does look more like a dwelling than an abattoir. I don't understand why you've gone to such an elaborate ruse, promising humans a life of ease when the plan is to slaughter them."
"The humans would only flee were we to wage unfettered genocide against them. It's much easier to draw them all together in one place. When I am through, there will be no men left in the kingdom." Blasphet leaned against the stone rail and said, dreamily, "Who knows what will take their place?"
"What do you mean?" Metron asked.
"Once it's complete, the city before you could comfortably house perhaps a hundred thousand humans. I plan to fill the city with over a million. I will kill a steady number of them daily, of course, so that the king won't grow too suspicious of my true plan."
"Which is?"
Blasphet spread his wings in a gesture that encompassed the city. "To study life on a grand scale! Imagine what we can learn with a million subjects to study. Food will be limited so fights will take place constantly as the strong take the food from the weak. Soon there will be no pretense of lawfulness anywhere within the Free City. The strongest men will take what is needed to live and breed with the women most capable of survival. Their children will add to the population pressure within the city."
Metron shivered in the cool breeze that blew up against the tower. "This is a nightmarish vision," he said.
"Compared to their waking life, the humans within these walls will pray for nightmares. Diseases will flourish in a city so bloated with corpses. The bodies of their kind will become the humans' only sustenance and rainfall their only water. Yet I am certain some will survive, even flourish. I do not think they will be human anymore, but something much hardier, something that can survive any suffering. What secrets will such a being hold, Metron?"
Metron turned away from the city. He stepped back inside, his wings wrapped tightly around him to fend off the chill. He said, softly, "What if, before then, I can give you your answer? I learn the secret source of life and reveal it? You will stop this plan?"
Blasphet cocked his head. "You've found the answer?"
"No."
"My experiments will continue, then."
"By my very profession, I am one who places faith in books," Metron said. "It's true that I haven't found the answer in my studies, but there are still great stores of ancient knowledge kept by other biologians throughout the kingdom. I shall consult them. I ask only that you hold off on your experiments until such time as I can complete my search."
"Bring me your answer when and if you find it, fellow conspirator. But I won't stop my research while I wait."
Metron started to speak, then stopped. Blasphet knew the old dragon had no choice but to agree to his terms.
"Very well," Metron said. "I will go. The quicker I begin my search, the quicker I can halt this madness."
"Of course," Blasphet said. "May the flames of the ancestors bring you luck in your quest."
"I didn't think you believed in the flames of the ancestors," Metron said.
"No. Neither, I suspect, do you. Now hurry on. My subject in the next room is most likely dead by now, but I wish to weigh his organs while they are still fresh."
Metron hurried from the room, passing through the lab without turning his face toward the pale body on the slab. Blasphet locked the door behind him but didn't return to his work, which suddenly bored him. He returned to the balcony to look at the Free City. Soon, the sound of construction would give way to the constant cries of men in torment as his city filled to overflowing. How pleasant it would be to sleep to such music.
PET STIRRED FROM sleep. He wasn't alone. He opened his eyes and found Zanzeroth looming over him. Pet glanced to the door of the tent. The guards were gone. sleep. He wasn't alone. He opened his eyes and found Zanzeroth looming over him. Pet glanced to the door of the tent. The guards were gone.
Zanzeroth bent his face close to Pet's. His wounds were terrible. Stained gauze was stuffed into the gaping hole in the center of the aged dragon''s snout. Black blood caked between his teeth. His eye patch was gone, revealing a scarred, ragged hole where his right eye should have been. His left eye was fixed on Pet's face. The old dragon's breath reeked of gore and goom.
In his claw, Zanzeroth held one of the arrows that had been pulled from his body. He raised it to his bloodied face. His tongue flickered out, licking the notched end of the arrow where the fingers would hold it against the string.
Then Zanzeroth moved his head to Pet's chained hands. Pet squirmed as the hunter's raspy tongue danced along his fingertips for a long moment.
The aged hunter then sat back, contemplating Pet in the darkness. He reached out a claw and, one by one, undid the buttons of Pet's silk shirt. He pushed the cloth open, exposing Pet's bare chest.
"Not a scar on you," Zanzeroth whispered. He pulled Pet's shirt closed. He leaned down and said, so softly that Pet wasn't sure of the words, "I wanted to make certain."
Zanzeroth turned and moved back toward the tent flap, half limping and swaying like a drunkard. He cast one last glance back as he pushed open the tent flap. Pet could see the body of a guard sprawled in the mud outside. Zanzeroth nodded.
"Sleep tight," he said before the tent flaps closed behind him, leaving Pet alone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: SATISFACTION.
A WEEK AFTER his visit with Blasphet, Metron restlessly flipped the pages of an illuminated tome, waiting for sunset. Earlier, he'd watched Kanst returning, leading a band of captured humans to the Free City. Little time was left to avert the impending atrocities. Fortunately, his fellow biologians had pledged their assistance in researching Blasphet's question. Today held the appointed hour for their responses. his visit with Blasphet, Metron restlessly flipped the pages of an illuminated tome, waiting for sunset. Earlier, he'd watched Kanst returning, leading a band of captured humans to the Free City. Little time was left to avert the impending atrocities. Fortunately, his fellow biologians had pledged their assistance in researching Blasphet's question. Today held the appointed hour for their responses.
As the last rays of daylight faded, Metron closed the tome before him. He straightened the green sashes that hung across his chest, then descended from his private chambers into the main body of the library. Here the long, high bookshelves were arranged in twisting rows, forming a maze in which even experienced biologians might find themselves lost. The narrow passageways between the shelves barely allowed room for sky-dragons to creep between them; sun-dragons never ventured into this area of the library. Metron often wondered if this was by accident or design.
Metron navigated the rows with a speed born of experience. He entered into a side chamber that was filled with crates of uncataloged books and looked around to make certain no one was watching. Then he pushed aside the crates along the far side of the room, revealing a smooth stone wall. The illusion of solid rock would have fooled Vendevorex himself. The builders of this place had access to many secret arts. Metron stepped forward, the wall rippling as it swallowed him.
Beyond the false wall, Metron's scales bristled. The air here was thick and electric, ice-water cold yet smelling of heated iron. From all directions came a buzz buzz of angry bees. Most unnerving off all, the room had no floor, no walls, no ceiling. All around him was a uniform, blank whiteness. It had been seven decades since he first stepped foot in this strange space, and still the sensation of toppling into an unending void threatened to overwhelm him. Despite the information his eyes gave him, he knew his feet rested on a solid surface. He tapped his staff against the unseen floor to assure himself. of angry bees. Most unnerving off all, the room had no floor, no walls, no ceiling. All around him was a uniform, blank whiteness. It had been seven decades since he first stepped foot in this strange space, and still the sensation of toppling into an unending void threatened to overwhelm him. Despite the information his eyes gave him, he knew his feet rested on a solid surface. He tapped his staff against the unseen floor to assure himself.
This was the Snow Room, the secret meeting chamber of the biologians. There were thirty such chambers throughout the kingdom, and all predated the libraries that surrounded them. From this point, it was possible to see all who stood in those distant chambers, though hundreds of miles separated them. As he stared into the nothingness, he soon began to see the image of another biologian, materializing beside him like a traveler emerging from a fog.
It was Daknagol, the only biologian older than himself. Daknagol had initiated him in the secret of the Snow Room all those long years ago.
"Cursed place," Daknagol grumbled. The fine scales around his eyes crinkled into a mask of disgust. "How this chamber filled me with wonder in my youth. Now, following every visit, I'm seized with prodigious vomiting. The humans who built this place must have been wicked indeed."
"Hold your tongue, honorable Daknagol," Metron said.