As he spoke, a second dragon emerged from the mist. It was Androkom, the youngest of the initiated biologians and, some said, the most brilliant. Despite his rank, Androkom still had the air of a student. This was due in part by his youth and the brightness of his feathers, but also because of the deep ink stains that covered his claws; scribe work was usually left to the novice biologians.
"Why would you have him hold his tongue?" Androkom asked. "Everyone present knows the truth. We live in a world of lost wonders. We scavenge among the miracles of a vanished human civilization. The pathetic, ignorant beasts we use to tend our fields once strode this world like gods."
"Yes," said Metron. "And they destroyed themselves with their own dangerous technology. Let me remind you, we aren't here to debate the ancient past. We are here to discuss a more urgent question: what is life?"
By now, ten or more dragons had appeared. The question set them all talking at once. Metron banged his staff on the floor, regaining order. All fell silent save for Androkom.
"Exalted brothers," Androkom said, raising his inky talons, "I have the answer that eludes the High Biologian. I know the secret source of life!"
Metron wasn't surprised by this response. Androkom was famed for his intelligence-and his arrogance.
"Speak," said Metron.
"Nothing contradicts the Book of Theranzathax. Life is flame." Androkom held his head high as if to dare any of his fellow biologians to challenge him.
A cacophony of voices arose instantly, shouting in protest.
"Brothers," Metron urged, banging his staff. "Restrain yourselves."
When the assembly regained order, Metron said, "Androkom, why insist on the validity of the Book of Theranzathax? All here know that the book is a fabrication, composed not in ancient times but mere centuries ago."
"I am aware that the biologian Zeldizar created the book," Androkom said. "He wrote in the belief that dragons would only be truly liberated when they lost the knowledge of their lowly origins and embraced his new mythology. However, my studies lead me to believe that Zeldizar didn't simply fabricate these myths. Rather, he disguised truth with metaphor and parable. His assertion that life is a flame is based on his knowledge of chemistry, for life and flame are analogous chemical processes."
"Blasphet won't be content with such a broad answer," Metron said. "Many processes are chemical."
"Acknowledged," said Androkom. "The full details of my answer are not easily grasped, but I can provide evidence of their truthfulness."
Metron nodded, then addressed the assembly as a whole. "Brothers, have any others among you found another answer?"
Daknagol was next to speak. "I, too, arrived at the answer that life is a chemical process. It is described in many ancient texts. But the writings are arcane and complex. Though we have insights into the true answer, understanding will no doubt forever elude us, despite young Androkom's boasts."
"I agree," Metron said. "My own studies tell a similar tale. The words and symbols lie before me on the page, but their context has been lost over the centuries."
"Not lost," Androkom interrupted. "Not any more. I understand the context. For too long we biologians placed our faith in books alone, searching them for secrets and wisdom, growing frustrated at the contradictions we've discovered. I have moved beyond books and followed the experiments described in the texts. Though I lack much of the equipment available to the ancients, I believe the experiments I've conducted to be valid. Let me travel to Albekizan's palace. I can demonstrate my knowledge to Blasphet. He won't be able to deny the truth."
Metron contemplated Androkom's offer. He envied the young dragon's confidence, and the fearless way he desired to enter Blasphet's presence.
"Very well," Metron said. "Leave your post and travel here at once, my brother. How quickly can you arrive?"
"I anticipated your approval. I have already gathered the texts and materials I need. My flight will take two days, perhaps three, for my load is a heavy one."
"Bring only what you must," said Metron. "The Free City begins to fill. Time grows short if we're to prevent the coming tragedy."
Metron said farewell to his brother biologians and turned from the white chamber, stepping toward an unseen door. As he emerged into the library, he was greeted by a frightened cry and a flurry of papers thrown into the air. Wentakra, one of his newer assistants, stumbled away from him, looking prepared to run.
"Do not be alarmed," Metron said. "It is only I."
"B-but... the wall!" Wentakra said. "You passed through it like... like a-a-"
"Ghost? Yes. Try not to let it haunt you. Tell no one you witnessed this."
"Y-yes, sir," Wentakra said. Then his eyes brightened as if remembering something important. "Did Flanchelet find you? He searched for you in this chamber only moments ago."
"No. I haven't seen him. What did he want?"
"Albekizan wants to see you at once. Kanst has returned."
"I know of his return. I witnessed it earlier."
"They say he's captured Bodiel's killer."
Metron needed half a second to fully grasp the importance of the statement. "Bitterwood?" he asked, his voice betraying his excitement. "They've captured Bitterwood?"
"So Flanchelet said."
Metron turned at once from his subordinate, feeling a glimmer of hope as he hurried back through the maze of books. Perhaps Albekizan might change his mind about the genocide he had ordered once he had his revenge against Bitterwood. With any luck, Blasphet might be back in his cell before Androkom arrived.
BLASPHET DISMISSED THE messenger with a wave and turned back to the balcony overlooking the Free City. The balcony was decorated with pots of a dozen colorful species of plants, most of them poisonous. Normally, he felt something akin to peace standing in his little garden. Now, watching the new arrivals entering the city, peace was replaced with a cold anxiety. Bitterwood captured. Would Albekizan break his word and spare the remaining humans after slaking his thirst for revenge with Bitterwood's blood? Many influential dragons spoke against the king's plans. The labor of humans provided the wealth of the kingdom. They tended the fields, toiled in the mines, and harvested the sea. Perhaps in the afterglow of Bitterwood's death, his brother's reason would return. Blasphet couldn't allow this. messenger with a wave and turned back to the balcony overlooking the Free City. The balcony was decorated with pots of a dozen colorful species of plants, most of them poisonous. Normally, he felt something akin to peace standing in his little garden. Now, watching the new arrivals entering the city, peace was replaced with a cold anxiety. Bitterwood captured. Would Albekizan break his word and spare the remaining humans after slaking his thirst for revenge with Bitterwood's blood? Many influential dragons spoke against the king's plans. The labor of humans provided the wealth of the kingdom. They tended the fields, toiled in the mines, and harvested the sea. Perhaps in the afterglow of Bitterwood's death, his brother's reason would return. Blasphet couldn't allow this.
Blasphet leapt from the balcony, feeling his feathers catch the wind, and for an instant all his worries vanished in the joy of flight as he slipped between the stars above and the ragged darkness beneath. For long years this pleasure had been denied him as he moldered in the dank recesses of the castle dungeon.
As he thought of the dungeon, the sensual pleasure of the air racing across his wings faded, the memory of the cruelty of cages returning to his mind. The bars of a cell could restrict humans in one plane-the horizontal. For a dragon, the pain was squared, the inability to walk about on the earth being secondary to the denial of flying above it. He added this thought to the list of debts to be repaid to the fellow members of his race once their usefulness to him had been exhausted.
As he turned a wide circle in the moonlight, his eyes caught movement outside the walls of the Free City. A handful of earth-dragons marched away from the gates, herding before them a mixed collection of cattle, sheep, and pigs. Blasphet turned the edges of his wings upwards, slowing himself to descend into their path.
"You there," he said to the apparent leader of the earth-dragons who flinched at his sudden appearance. "Who are you? What are you doing with this livestock?"
The earth-dragon looked confused. "I'm Wyvernoth, sir. This livestock was taken from a human village. The citizens were taken to the Free City earlier today. We're taking the spoils back to the barracks to stock the larders."
"I gave no orders that the humans were to be deprived of their livestock. Take this herd back inside. The humans raised them and shall feast upon them."
"Begging pardon, sir," Wyvernoth said. "That don't make no sense. Blasphet plans to kill all the humans. Why feed them?"
Blasphet realized that Wyvernoth had no idea who he was speaking with, which amused him. He said, "The reasoning is simple, my thick-headed friend. The food supply will remain constant in the Free City. Those now within the walls, and those arriving in the next few weeks, will want for little. As more humans arrive, their shares will grow smaller and smaller. Due to the simplicity of the human mind, the humans who were here first will blame their hunger upon the new humans who arrive, rather than the dragons who once fed them so generously."
"They'll be at each other's throats, then," Wyvernoth said. "They'll be impossible to control, fighting and squabbling among themselves."
"Precisely," Blasphet said, then realized from Wyvernoth's expression that the earth-dragon had raised this point as an argument against, rather than in support for, the plan.
"Whatever, sir," Wyvernoth said. "When a sun-dragon wants something done, I do it. If you want the livestock inside, it goes inside."
Blasphet again took to the air, disgusted by the encounter. Wyvernoth had obeyed him simply because of his race and not because of his reason. There were days when Blasphet felt like the only intelligent being in the world. No wonder he found the lives of others to have so little value. They were simply too stupid to live.
BREATHLESSLY, METRON CLIMBED the stairs leading to the king's hall. He remembered wistfully the days when coming to this hall had been effortless, when it was just a simple matter of stretching his then young wings and letting the wind carry him to his destination. He felt a slight envy for the earth-dragons who would never have age steal the freedom of the sky away from them. the stairs leading to the king's hall. He remembered wistfully the days when coming to this hall had been effortless, when it was just a simple matter of stretching his then young wings and letting the wind carry him to his destination. He felt a slight envy for the earth-dragons who would never have age steal the freedom of the sky away from them.
As he entered the flame-flickered hall, all eyes turned toward him.
Only the king's most trusted advisors were present. Kanst stood before the throne platform, bedecked in full uniform, the steel plates and chain mail draped across his body in such a way as to reveal the well-defined musculature of a warrior still in his prime. Beside him stood Zanzeroth. A horrible black scab dominated the center of his swollen snout. Metron noticed the bandages on the hunter's shoulders and legs, and the slight crook in his posture, as if standing caused him pain.
Like a chill in the air, Metron sensed the presence of one other. He turned to the far corner of the room where the torches cast deep shadows. Blasphet waited there, his dark scales blending with the gloom with only the red glow of his eyes in torchlight to reveal him. The Murder God's gaze briefly acknowledged Metron's glance, then looked beyond him to the arrival of the royal family.
Albekizan walked forward slowly, his untrimmed claws clicking on the marble floor. Tanthia followed Albekizan, her wings trailing long, lacy ribbons, the feather-scales around her eyes newly dyed in a rainbow of colors. Metron noted a faint blurring of the colors, however, as if recent tears had been shed and wiped away.
Albekizan took his place on the pedestal throne. Weeks had passed since Metron had been in the king's presence. He was startled by the change. When he'd last seen the king, his hatred of humans still flashed in his eyes as lightning illuminates a storm. He'd spoken with passion about the great deeds that lay before him. Now Albekizan's eyes looked dark and tired. Indeed, everything about the king seemed weary, from the rarely seen downward turn of his neck to the heavy way he slouched onto the throne pedestal and hissed, "Speak."
"Sire," Kanst said, his voice deep, strong, and vibrating with anticipation. "I apologize for calling this assembly at such short notice. I've returned from my mission earlier than planned to bring you a gift."
"A gift?" Tanthia said, with barely concealed anger. "You come to report the death of my sister-in-law, do you not? What possible motivation could you have had to perpetrate such an outrage?"
"My queen, I regret the loss of Chakthalla, but she was harboring the fugitive, Vendevorex. There was no time to send for further orders. We had to launch a daring assault, relying on surprise to best a superior-"
"Kanst," Albekizan interrupted, raising his bejeweled claws dismissively. "I know this. The news traveled more swiftly than your army. Save your battle tales for the amusement of others. I am only interested in the heart of the rumors. Did you capture Bitterwood?"
"Sire," Kanst said, "honor requires me to speak of the role the cunning hunter Zanz-"
"Pay attention," Albekizan said, again cutting the general short. "Your answer requires only one word. Is Bitterwood your prisoner?"
"Yes," Kanst answered. He turned toward one of the side halls leading from the throne room and shouted, "Bring forth the prisoner!"
Pertalon, a sky-dragon Metron recognized as a victor from the martial games, marched into the room, his sinister teeth flashing in the torchlight as he barked, "Faster, worm!"
The command was a cruel one, for its target was a human who had little choice in his speed. His long, powerful legs were manacled, with barely enough chain to let him hobble along. His well-muscled arms were shackled behind him with chains as thick as those used on ox-dogs. Pertalon controlled the prisoner by means of a long pole capped with a metal ring which was in turn connected to an identical ring on a steel collar locked around the captive's neck. Aside from the metal that bound him, the prisoner was unclothed. Human faces were often deeply lined with emotions-fear, anger, shame-that Metron could read as simply as he read the written word on a piece of parchment. This man was different, his lips and eyes locked into utter blankness. What else would he expect from the legendary Bitterwood?
"Bow to your superiors, dog!" Pertalon said, swinging his tail around to smack his captive behind the knees before pushing him forward with the neck pole until he was prostrate.
Metron looked again at the king, expecting to see the lightning return to his visage. However, Albekizan still appeared lethargic, and if he received any pleasure at all at seeing his enemy humiliated, his face failed to show it.
"This is him?" Albekizan asked, sounding bored.
"Yes, Sire," Zanzeroth said. "I'm the one who bested him."
"So I see," Albekizan said. "It's obvious by the numerous wounds you bear, and the absence of wounds upon him."
"I defeated him with wits, Sire," Zanzeroth said.
"No wonder he's unbruised," Albekizan said.
Tanthia suddenly rose, tears now plainly visible in her eyes. "Lies!" she cried. "This is not the murderer of my son!"
"But, my queen," protested Zanzeroth, "I witnessed this man as he took my eye. I struggled with him in mortal combat in the throne room of Chakthalla's castle. No dragon alive can speak more authoritatively as to the identity of this prisoner. I tell you, this is the man."
Tanthia looked as if she might charge across the room and strike Zanzeroth in her anger. She shouted, "You fool! This is Chakthalla's personal slave. She calls him 'Pet.' I've seen him before, many times. You recognize him, don't you?" she said, addressing Albekizan.
"I pay little attention to slaves. Perhaps he does look familiar."
"As I should!" the human said.
"Silence!" Pertalon shouted, twisting the pole to choke his prisoner.
Albekizan shifted on his pedestal. "Let him speak."
"It's true I disguised myself as Chakthalla's slave," Pet said, rising to his knees. "How better to infiltrate your castles? Chakthalla was present at the ceremonial competition between Bodiel and Shandrazel. I was to wait in her quarters during the ceremony. Instead I slipped out to perform the murder!"
"For one who's spent long years hiding in shadows, you seem eager to confess," Albekizan said.
"I've nothing to be ashamed of," Pet said, throwing back his muscular shoulders. "I'm proud to have killed Bodiel. Set me loose and give me my bow, and I'll kill you all where you stand!"
Metron held his breath, expecting Albekizan's rage to at last ignite. Instead the king asked only, "Why?"
Metron noted a crack in Pet's demeanor, a look of confusion as if he hadn't expected to be asked the question. Then the cool mask again claimed his features as he answered, "Because I hate you. I hate how humans are made slaves. I seek to kill dragons until such time as men live free."
"How noble," Albekizan said. "Fighting for your fellow men."
"I do what I must," Pet answered. "I would fight you now, at this moment, if I were free."
"I believe you," Albekizan said.
"Sire," Zanzeroth said, "I crave to be this man's executioner. With your word, I will end his life."
"I shall consider the request," Albekizan said. "Now, all of you, go. Take Bitterwood to the dungeons and secure him while I consider his fate."
"Yes, Sire," Zanzeroth said. As he turned, Metron felt sure he witnessed a look of sly satisfaction in the hunter's good eye.
Pertalon dragged Pet away.
Tanthia grumbled. "This is an outrage, Kanst. You've murdered my sister-in-law and abused her property. That man is too young to be Bitterwood. You've lost your senses."
"He was caught with incriminating evidence," Kanst said, holding forward a bundle wrapped in silk. Albekizan took the bundle and unwrapped it. It held a bow and three arrows, fletched with the crimson wing-scales of a sun-dragon. Bodiel's?
"This is damning evidence," Albekizan said, flatly. "Well done, Kanst. Now go. I've much to consider."
Kanst and Zanzeroth left, soon followed by Tanthia. Metron wondered at the king's somber mood. Could it be that the anger that had burned so brightly within the king had at last burned itself to ash? He had to know.
"Sire," he said.
"What is it, Metron?"
Metron glanced back toward the shadows. Blasphet remained there, silent and still as a statue. "May I speak with you in private, Sire?"
"We shall speak at another time," Albekizan said.