"I'm honored," he said. "May I ask your name?"

She banked away, flapping her wings, her body aimed for the Nest. She glanced back, then called out, "Nadala."

Graxen drifted in a slow gyre, watched Nadala grow smaller as she flew away, until she was only a speck, then only a memory.

Graxen returned his attention to Dragon Forge. He dropped down into the city, toward a broad avenue that ran near the central foundries.

In unison, thousands of earth-dragons were filing into the street chanting, "Yo ho ho!

The slow must go!

Yo ho ho!

The slow must go!"

The verse lasted all of five seconds, with the "yo ho hos!" rising in tone, and the "slow must goes" falling. The verse was then repeated, and was then repeated, and was then repeated, until Graxen was struck by the intense urgency to complete his mission here and move on. He dropped the bag in his hind-claws just before landing. Coming to rest, he retrieved the satchel and slung it over his shoulder. He again noticed the weight, but before he could examine it he was nearly run into by an earth-dragon marching straight toward him. Earth-dragons were squat, wingless creatures, resembling the unholy union of a human, a turtle, and an alligator. Most stood little more than five feet high, and were almost as broad due to their powerful musculature. Their green, beaked faces resembled the heads of turtles. As a species they were notoriously nearsighted, which could explain why the one that approached him was only inches away from collision before he stopped, looking befuddled.

Graxen figured this creature was as good a guide as any, and said, "I'm here to see Charkon. Can you tell me where to find him?"

The earth-dragon looked at him dully, as if trying to fathom what Graxen might be saying. Earth-dragons varied a good deal in intelligence. None were as smart, on average, as sky-dragons, but many managed something approximating human intelligence, and most were smart enough to obey commands and hit the things they were told to hit. Still, a fair number weren't smart enough to talk. Graxen wondered if he'd grabbed one of these by mistake, even though the earth-dragon was still tonelessly repeating, "the slow must go, yo ho ho..."

Finally something sparked in the dragon's eyes.

"Charkon's our boss," he said.

"Right," said Graxen. "I need to find him. Is he around?"

"It's hatching day," the dragon said.

Graxen was about to give up and try another dragon when this one said, "Follow me." Graxen fell in behind the creature, taking care not to step on the dragon's thick, alligatorish tail as it dragged in the dirt.

Graxen joined a crowd of earth-dragons heading for the center of town. All the human gleaners he'd spotted earlier had vanished. The crush of earth-dragons at the town square was worrisome. Though Graxen stood taller than anyone in the crowd, even the smallest earth-dragon outweighed him four to one. Graxen had a grim vision of being crushed by these horrid creatures. What were they all here for anyway? And would they never tire of that d.a.m.n song?

Fortunately, his guide proved to be quite effective at moving through the crowd. The earth-dragon simply pushed ahead, knocking down and trampling those before him, occasionally pausing to bite a particularly slow moving obstacle to encourage it to move more quickly. Graxen mumbled apologies as he hopped over the dragons pushed down by his guide.

Finally, they reached the center. A large mound of red clay was piled here, resembling an ant hill ten feet high and twice as wide at the base. The clay was cracking and crumbling, giving it a surface resembling shattered flowerpots. It looked as if it was being wracked by small earthquakes.

Next to the mound stood a figure that Graxen instantly recognized as Charkon, though they had never met. Charkon was old for an earth-dragon, nearly eighty. Earth-dragons continued to pack on ever denser muscles as they aged, giving Charkon arms and legs thick as tree trunks. But it was his face that identified him. Charkon was a veteran of the southern rebellion, and at one point had found his face on the wrong end of a battle axe. A large jagged chunk of his left beak was gone, and where his eye had been there was now only a nasty bulb of scars. Yet, despite Charkon's hideous visage, his remaining eye gleamed with a savage intelligence, and he stood with a bearing that was as close to n.o.ble as an earth-dragon could ever hope to be.

Charkon gave Graxen a nod, then waved him closer.

"You're Graxen the Gray," Charkon said, shouting to be heard above the chanting crowd. "I thought I'd be seeing you."

"Shandrazel has sent me to-"

"I know," said Charkon. "He wants me at the palace. I'll set out tomorrow. The dragons of the Forge have served sun-dragons for centuries. It will be an honor to confer with Shandrazel."

"Oh," said Graxen, leaning in closer so he could better hear over the deafening singing. "I was hardly needed here at all, was I?"

"I've stayed alive this long by listening to the right voices," said Charkon. "Don't feel bad. Gleaners constantly bring me rumors. I have a good instinct at picking which ones are right."

"I see," Graxen shouted back. He cast an eye toward the red clay mound, which was now positively trembling. "What's happening here?"

"It's hatching day!" said Charkon. "I'd take to the sky if I were you. Now!"

Though he didn't understand what was going on, Graxen recognized wise advice when he heard it. He leapt skyward, climbing into the air with sharp, rapid strokes. Below he heard a cracking sound, and the crowd roared: "The slow must go!"

He looked down to see the mound disintegrate in a cloud of red dust. Tens of thousands of mouse-sized earth-dragons spilled out of the crumbling clay. Though they looked like turtles, the hatchlings hopped and darted with the speed of rabbits, dashing off in every direction at once. Instantly, the crowd of earth-dragons surged forward, falling to their hands and knees, slapping at the hopping creatures, cramming those they caught into their beaks.

Charkon's beefy fingers reached out and s.n.a.t.c.hed three of the infant beasts, then tilted back his head and opened his disfigured beak wide. He dangled the tiny dragons above his maw, their stubby tails trapped between his digits, before dropping the critters down his gullet one by one.

Despite the crush of bodies, or perhaps because of it, many of the hatchlings escaped between the legs of the a.s.sembled dragons, or leapt over the crowd, from head to head, before vanishing into gaps in the walls of nearby buildings, or burrowing into the bins of coal that sat next to the foundry.

Graxen wasn't completely ignorant of earth-dragon biology. He knew that, unlike the winged dragon races, they were egg-layers, and they hatched their young in community mounds. He'd also heard they were unsentimental in winnowing out the weaker members of the hatch. He just hadn't expected them to be so enthusiastic about the process.

Graxen rose up through the foundry smoke and soon found his bearings, locating the Forge Road, which he would follow back to Shandrazel's castle. He flapped away from Dragon Forge, eager to leave behind the foul air and brutish inhabitants, and especially eager to get beyond the range of that d.a.m.ned song. Still, this was twice today he'd delivered a message and not been offered food, drink, or shelter. Messenger of the king was proving to be an unrewarding job.

Once he was out of range of the smoky air and had cleared the barren hillsides where the gleaners lived, Graxen alighted in the upper branches of a tall tree. He was weary from his flight. As he landed, the shifting weight of his satchel reminded him once more of its mysterious contents. He opened it.

Within was a loaf of dark-crusted bread and a ceramic flask of water, sealed with a cork. Four dried trout were wrapped in a sheet of oily parchment, and beneath them sat two apples, red as rose petals.

Graxen drank half the jug, the cool liquid feeling like life as it flowed into his body. He bit into one of the trout and found the flavor smoky and salty. It was a fine meal, fueling his spirit and his body, giving him the strength to fly further. Yet he didn't move from the tree branch for many hours. Instead he looked back in the direction of the Nest, watching the sky, contemplating the restorative power of unexpected kindness.

Chapter Three:.

Mad in the Timeless Dark

The Burning Grounds lay in the shadow of Shandrazel's palace. Winged dragons honored their dead by cremation, releasing the spiritual flames that remained trapped within the body. In the aftermath of the battle of the Free City, the pyres of the Burning Grounds had burned every night from dusk to dawn. Tonight, Vendevorex, the sky-dragon who had served as Albekizan's wizard for fifteen years, would be placed upon the flames. lay in the shadow of Shandrazel's palace. Winged dragons honored their dead by cremation, releasing the spiritual flames that remained trapped within the body. In the aftermath of the battle of the Free City, the pyres of the Burning Grounds had burned every night from dusk to dawn. Tonight, Vendevorex, the sky-dragon who had served as Albekizan's wizard for fifteen years, would be placed upon the flames.

A choir of sky-dragons sang, their eerily high voices echoing the ephemeral nature of flame. Jandra stood stoically at the base of the pedestal of logs on which the wizard would be burned. A human female sixteen years of age, Jandra had been raised by Vendevorex almost as a daughter. He had trained her in his arts. She alone knew the secrets of his powers, although there were many more secrets he had carried with him into death.

Beside her stood Pet, a human male nearly ten years older. Jandra didn't welcome his company. Though Pet was hailed by other humans as the leader of the rebellion in the Free City, Jandra knew that the true Pet was a shallow opportunist. Even now, standing next to her, he was living a lie. Everyone believed Pet to be the legendary dragon-slayer Bitterwood. Pet looked the part of a hero: tall, broad-shouldered, square-jawed, with long golden locks and pale blue eyes. He'd been trained in the theatrical arts, and could deliver inspirational speeches at a moment's notice, summoning grand words from among the countless plays and poems he'd memorized. But behind those lovely words, Pet was, she knew, a coward and a scoundrel.

Pet placed an arm around her shoulders and pulled her near as a band of earth-dragons carried the coffin that held Vendevorex's remains to the Burning Grounds. It was a gesture of tenderness that surprised her. She would have preferred to watch the cremation alone, but, as he gently rubbed her shoulder with his strong hand, she found herself welcoming the consoling touch. Perhaps he was capable of compa.s.sion and empathy after all.

"I can only imagine the grief you feel," he whispered.

"I feel numb, mostly," she whispered back. "Everything in my life turned upside-down so fast."

"I know," he said. "Hopefully things will turn again, for the better. Shandrazel genuinely wants to improve the lives of humans. You and I are well positioned to be granted considerable power in his new world order."

Jandra stiffened. "I'd rather not be discussing politics now," she said.

"I understand. Sorry." He gave her shoulder a rea.s.suring squeeze.

The earth-dragons walked up the wooden ramp toward the top of the piled logs.

"I don't want power," she said. "I just want Vendevorex back. I miss him. I wish I hadn't been so mean to him in the weeks before his death."

"I don't think you were mean," said Pet. "Just confused. He gave you good reason to be angry."

"I know," she said. "But I've barely slept since he's been gone. I just keep running the words I should have said over and over in my head. I keep imagining the things he still had left to tell me."

The earth-dragons lowered the coffin onto the pine logs. The new high biologian, Androkom, climbed onto the platform to deliver his eulogy. Androkom was a young sky-dragon, still in his twenties, the youngest dragon ever to hold the post of high biologian. He looked weary. Since the fall of the Free City, multiple funerals had been held each night, and all required his presence.

Pet took Jandra's hand as the earth-dragons pried open the lid of the coffin. Many days had pa.s.sed since Vendevorex had fallen. He'd been placed in the coffin as his body began to decay, but it was customary for a dragon to be cremated with his body exposed to the open sky.

"You know," Pet whispered, leaning closer, "perhaps you shouldn't sleep alone tonight. You could stay with me."

Jandra rolled her eyes. "Are you trying to seduce me at a funeral? Have you no self control at all?"

"I a.s.sure you, my self control is legendary," he said, with the hint of a grin. "I was merely trying to comfort you. The fact that you interpreted this as seduction perhaps reveals something about your unspoken desires?"

She would have slapped him, but it wasn't the appropriate setting. At least one human at this ceremony should possess a sense of decorum.

She looked back to the platform. Androkom was staring down into the coffin, looking confused. The earth-dragon pall-bearers were all shrugging, looking equally bewildered.

Jandra ran to the platform, up the rough-hewn logs that served as a makeshift ramp.

"Jandra," Androkom said, looking spooked as she approached. "I'm sure there's some logical explanation-"

"What?" she asked, drawing near the coffin. She looked down into the long wooden box, expecting to find the worst.

Save for a few blood-encrusted feather-scales, their sky-blue hue shining amid the shadows, the coffin was empty.

Pet chased Jandra as she bounded up the stairs to the tower. She proved remarkably swift for someone wearing a long black dress more appropriate for mourning than running. as she bounded up the stairs to the tower. She proved remarkably swift for someone wearing a long black dress more appropriate for mourning than running.

"Jandra, wait!" he called out as she scrambled up the steps. Jandra had grown up in the palace and knew all its shadows. Pet worried that if he lost sight of her he wouldn't find her again.

"Leave me alone!" she shouted as she reached the top of the stairs.

Pet followed her into a star-shaped room. The room was large, built on a scale to accommodate a sun-dragon. The chamber was empty save for a bed, a wardrobe, and a few other pieces of furniture sitting within one of the arms of the star. The human-sized furniture in the midst of the giant open s.p.a.ce looked lonely. Jandra ran toward the bed, falling to her knees as she reached it. As the foot of the bed sat a heavy oak chest sealed with an iron lock. Jandra grabbed the lock with shaking hands.

"What's so urgent?" Pet asked as he drew closer. "If Ven was alive enough to get out of his coffin a week ago, he's probably still alive now."

"He was dead!" she snapped as the lock clicked open. "We both saw him die!"

"He was magic. He could cure the sick with his touch. He survived a gutting by Zanzeroth! Why is it so hard to believe he came back to life?"

Jandra threw the lid of the chest open. She dug her hands into the carefully folded garments inside, tossing them wildly around the room. The light from the lantern by the bed glinted on something silver. Jandra lifted it from the chest-a skull cap. Pet had seen it before. It was the head gear Vendevorex had always worn.

"Pet," she said, "it's too complicated to explain right now, but Vendevorex and I don't control magic. Vendevorex didn't believe in magic."

"He could set things on fire with his mind," Pet said. "He could turn invisible! You turn invisible! How can you say it's not magic?"

"Vendevorex trained me my whole life and I never figured out how to do half the stuff he did," Jandra said. "I can't explain our powers to you in five minutes, or even five hours. Ven used to say that 'magic' would be acts that violated physical laws. We don't have supernatural powers. What we have is possession of an advanced technology that looks like magic to those who don't understand it. Vendevorex controlled that technology with this." She held up the skull cap. It was beaten and bent in the aftermath of Vendevorex's violent end. "If the skull cap had been gone, I might have believed he was still alive. Since it isn't, someone stole his body."

"Why would anyone do that?" Pet asked.

"Maybe they thought he was supernatural and there's some power to be derived from possessing his bones. It was probably humans. They believe the dumbest things."

"Hmm," said Pet. "Might I remind you that you're human?"

"Am I?" Jandra asked, sagging back against her bed, the skull cap resting in her lap. She looked very small in the oversized room. She normally projected a defiant strength that Pet found irresistible. Now, the tragic events of recent weeks had finally caught up with her. She looked like a lost little girl, with no hope of ever finding her way home. Pet wanted to take her hand, but knew she would only see it as another attempt at seduction. Which it could lead to, he supposed. All women succ.u.mbed to his charms eventually. She sounded on the verge of tears as she said, "Why am I only comfortable around dragons? Why does every human I meet make my skin crawl?"

"Do I make your skin crawl?"' he asked.

"You especially," she said.

These weren't words Pet was used to hearing from young women. "You know, I'm the reason humans won their little uprising in the Free City. They rallied around me. Now I'm going to be standing up for all of humanity in this conference Shandrazel is holding."

"What is your point?" Jandra asked.

"Just that you are proving to be especially difficult to impress."

Jandra sighed. "If you want to impress me, figure out who took Ven. Or help me find the real Bitterwood."

"That crazy old man? What do you want with him?"

"Things happened so fast the last time I saw him," she said. As she spoke, the look of vulnerability faded from her features. Pet noticed that when there was something she wanted to do, she always summoned the strength to do it. "One second, I was trying to help Bitterwood find his lost family. The next, he was shouting at me to go away. I never got the chance to tell him something that he needs to know."

"Which is?"

"Bitterwood thought his family had been killed by dragons. But I think his son, Adam, might be alive. He wasn't listed in Albekizan's slave records. I knew Bitterwood's daughters, and they told me that their grandmother had taken their baby brother when the dragons raided their village. She jumped into the well to hide. They didn't know if Adam survived the raid, but they knew he wasn't taken captive."

"Don't you remember how callously Bitterwood treated us?" Pet asked. "He left us to die. Why do you owe that monster anything?"

"Bitterwood wasn't entirely a monster. There was a little girl with us when we were captured. Her name was Zeeky. He treated her in a kind and fatherly way. And while you take credit for the victory in the Free City-a victory I believe you actually owe to Vendevorex-Bitterwood is the one who really won the war. He's the one who killed Albekizan."

"And no one has seen him since," said Pet. "Just because they didn't find his body when they searched the river doesn't mean he's still alive."

"He's alive," she said. "I've asked around. Some of the people in Richmond saw an old man and a little girl riding an ox-dog west along the river. I'm positive it's them."

"a.s.suming it was, if Bitterwood's lived this long without knowing his son might be alive, he can wait a bit longer. Don't go off chasing some man who doesn't want to see you again. I need you here by my side, Jandra."

"Pet, I'm not going to sleep with you. Just give up."