He squinted harder. Always in the past, when he'd seen the various races gathered like this at construction sites, the division of labor had been clear. Sky-dragons were architects, earth-dragons were bosses, and humans did the actual work. Here, everyone was working. None of the earth-dragons wore armor or carried weapons. Most were dressed in simple white tunics, as were the humans. There were no glowering slavecatchers watching over the scene. What was going on?

His nose once more picked up a few stray molecules of long-wyrm stink. He flared his nostrils, seeking the trail, his head snaking from side to side as he tested the relative strength of the aroma.

It was unmistakable now. He dropped lower in the sky, his eyes darting across the landscape, seeking the flash of copper that would reveal a long-wyrm's presence. There! The bright scales of a long-wyrm shimmered through the leafless thickets by the river. The beast raced along with sinuous grace, seeming to fly as its many limbs worked in perfect harmony. Hex tilted in the sky, the cool wind soothing his aching muscles as he fixed his wings to glide on an intercepting pa.s.s.

The long-wyrm was absolutely studded with riders. At the rear-most saddle sat a young girl with flowing blonde hair-Zeeky, no doubt, though at this distance, with her back to him, he supposed there was a tiny chance he could be wrong, and that this could be some other girl riding a long-wyrm with a pig seated in front of her.

In front of the pig were three men Hex had never seen before, and, in the forward saddle sat a man in a familiar cloak. Bitterwood! He carried someone in his lap, a sleeping girl with similar blond hair. Or was it a girl? More logically, this was Zeeky's brother, Jeremiah.

Hex was almost at the level of the tree tops and only a few hundred yards behind the long-wyrm. He beat his wing to accelerate. The sound caught the ears of one of the humans-the young man sitting two saddles back from Bitterwood. The man turned, revealing a face covered with wispy facial hair. His eyes bulged somewhat comically as they fixed on Hex's approaching form.

It was much less comical when the man leapt up to stand on his saddle and produced a sky-wall bow, placing an arrow against the string with lightning reflexes. Hex was too close to climb out of the bow's range, but not close enough to charge the man and reach him before he fired. At this distance, the man would have to be a horrible marksman not to place an arrow somewhere within Hex's forty foot wingspan. He braced himself for the impact.

Before the man could release his arrow, however, Zeeky jumped up in her own saddle and shouted, "Stop! He's a friend!"

The long-wyrm undulated to a graceful halt. The bowman leapt from his saddle to the ground, arrow still against the string, wary as Hex swung his legs forward to land. Hex hit the gravel of the riverbank with a lopsided stance. He flapped his wings to keep his torso from smashing into the rocks. His huge wings snapped the branches of the bushes lining the banks as he skidded to a halt. It wasn't graceful, but in his present condition anything that brought him to the ground in one piece was a good landing.

"Thank you, Zeeky," said Hex. His tongue felt swollen and stiff. "I'm happy you consider me a friend."

Bitterwood carefully dismounted, cradling Jeremiah in his arms. The boy's pale face glistened with sweat. Hex instantly recognized the scent of yellow-mouth.

Bitterwood said, "This boy is dying. We need Jandra's genie now. Go to the Free City and bring it to us."

"I... how did you know it was at the Free City?"

"You sun-dragons never really accept that people are as smart as you. You practically told me where it was buried, thinking I wouldn't be clever enough to figure it out."

Hex pressed his damaged tongue against the roof of his mouth, sucking to soothe the pain as he thought about how much he should reveal to Bitterwood. "You're right," he said. "I buried the genie in the Free City. It was a foolish choice of hiding places. Have you seen what's happening there?"

The one-legged man who was still seated on the long-wyrm spoke up. "Let me guess. A couple of hundred women are running around in white robes." The man was about Bitterwood's age. His skin was darker than Bitterwood's, and his gray-streaked black hair was pulled into a braid decorated with bright red sun-dragon feather-scales. His face had the balance of a sculpture-a square jaw, and a sharp, angular nose-though the symmetry was broken by three parallel scars that graced his right cheek. "Apparently, they've gathered there to worship some sort of healer. We had one of their disciples visit Dragon Forge."

"There are more than a few hundred," said Hex. "I saw thousands. And not only women. Men, as well, plus earth-dragons and sky-dragons. They're working together to expand the Free City. I'll dig up the genie if it's undisturbed, but if a mob tries to stop me, I'm not certain what I can do. My encounter with the G.o.ddess has left me weakened."

"The G.o.ddess?" Bitterwood said.

"My suspicion that she survived inside Jandra has proven accurate," said Hex. "Her mind controls Jandra's body. It's lucky I've found you; we think our one hope of capturing Jazz will be if she tries to kidnap Zeeky again, or take revenge on you."

"We?" asked Bitterwood.

"Shay also survived the encounter with the G.o.ddess. He's gone to Dragon Forge to find you, in fact."

The dark-haired man frowned. "The G.o.ddess will go to Dragon Forge once she learns about the guns. Once she's done there, she'll no doubt come looking for me. She's had a thousand year agenda to keep the world free of guns. I doubt she'll give up now."

Hex furrowed his brow. This human was curiously well-informed about the G.o.ddess. "Who are you?"

The man crossed his arms. "You can call me Burke," he said. "I think it's time we found a good hiding place and stopped to compare notes. I'm pretty sure Jandra's genie has already been found. Jandra said it gave her healing powers. Not that long ago, our friend Vance"-he nodded toward the young man with the sky-wall bow-"was blind."

"He's been healed?"

"He ate a seed left behind by a woman who said she was a disciple of a healer in the Free City."

Vance lowered his bow, apparently content that Hex wasn't a threat. He said, "It wasn't only my eyes that got better. All my scars healed up. I used to have a doozy on my left foot from a bad swing chopping wood. It's gone now."

"We don't have hours to sit around and talk," said Bitterwood. "Jeremiah is growing weaker by the minute."

Hex nodded. "We'll talk as we travel. If the denizens of the Free City are offering healing, it looks as if several of you can make use of them."

Burke raised his hand to his cheek and traced the scars there as Bitterwood and Vance climbed back onto the long-wyrm.

The last man on the copper serpent nodded toward Hex. He was older than Burke or Bitterwood; snaggle-toothed, with a wild mane of gray hair and hands knotted with arthritis. "If no one else is going to bother to introduce me, I'll do it myself. Thor Nightingale. Most folks call me Th.o.r.n.y."

"Hexilizan. My friends call me Hex."

Th.o.r.n.y grinned. "What do your enemies call you?"

"I call him Hex, too," said Bitterwood.

"It's probably best if I approach on foot. They'll quickly spot me if I'm airborne." In truth, Hex wasn't certain he had the energy to get airborne. Flying was demanding work. Sun-dragons normally ate voraciously to fuel the muscles that allowed them to lift their ma.s.sive bodies into the sky. With his damaged tongue thwarting his appet.i.te, he was quickly exhausting the last of his strength. It was probably best that Bitterwood not suspect this.

Hex noticed as Bitterwood settled onto his saddle that the living bow strung with the G.o.ddess's hair was intact once more, and Bitterwood's quiver was full. Hex wasn't certain he could successfully fend off an attack if Bitterwood's bloodl.u.s.t returned. Yet, the hatred that normally burned in Bitterwood's eyes was missing. Instead, all that remained was worry. The aging dragon-hunter wiped the sweat from Jeremiah's brow with the edge of his cloak. The boy murmured softly in his feverish slumber.

"It's going to be all right," Bitterwood whispered.

SHAY FLOATED DOWN to a landing in the middle of the main street, near the foundry that housed Burke's loft. His landing stirred up the sooty dust that covered the road. The bacon and egg smoke that had hung thick in the atmosphere was gone, replaced with the stench of raw sewage. He'd noticed while in the sky that the dragons had built a dam on the ca.n.a.l that emptied the city's sewers. to a landing in the middle of the main street, near the foundry that housed Burke's loft. His landing stirred up the sooty dust that covered the road. The bacon and egg smoke that had hung thick in the atmosphere was gone, replaced with the stench of raw sewage. He'd noticed while in the sky that the dragons had built a dam on the ca.n.a.l that emptied the city's sewers.

The town was eerily silent, absent the sounds of hammers and foremen shouting. The handful of people left on the streets wore handkerchiefs over their mouths. It was as if most of the town had left and only a few bandits remained behind.

Shay folded his wings and wondered what it would take to turn off the invisibility that had allowed him safe pa.s.sage into the town without attracting the attention of the sky-wall. Glancing toward the nearest wall, he saw only three bowmen. When he'd left, the walls had been thick with guards. As he pondered the control of his invisibly, he noticed a slight shift in the light. He once more had a shadow.

He bowed his head as he headed into the building that housed Burke's loft. Perhaps no one would recognize him; he'd certainly not been in town long enough to leave much of an impression.

Within the foundry, it was cold and dim, with only the occasional lantern piercing the gloom. The building wasn't completely uninhabited. A handful of workers were gathered at various stations along the work flow, tinkering with machinery. Had the production line encountered some mechanical failure?

He didn't dare risk speaking to anyone until he talked to Burke. He didn't know who might be loyal to Ragnar. His eyes searched the dim light for the elevator cage. Spotting it, he strode briskly toward it.

He was brought to a halt by a big, calloused hand that fell on his shoulder, and a voice that said, "Shay? What are you doing back?"

Shay looked behind him and found, to his relief, that the hand belonged to Burke's friend Biscuit. He recognized the rotund, bald man even though Biscuit had apparently suffered misfortune in his absence. He now wore a leather patch over his right eye. "I'm glad it's you. I need to see Burke."

Biscuit's jaw tightened. "Burke isn't here any more."

"What?" Shay said, louder than he should have. All the other workers were staring at him now. He lowered his voice as he asked, "Where is he?"

Biscuit frowned. "Burke was disloyal to the cause. He fled town when confronted. We think the dragons killed him at the southern bridge."

"Disloyal to the... Burke was was the cause! He was the whole reason this rebellion stood a chance!" the cause! He was the whole reason this rebellion stood a chance!"

Biscuit shook his head, looking sad. Before he could say anything, a new voice interrupted: "Boy, this rebellion succeeded because of Ragnar and his faith."

Shay turned to find the white-bearded blacksmith called Frost behind him. The ear Jandra had shot off was a ma.s.s of white scar tissue clinging to the side of his head, dotted with brown, peeling scabs. Frost approached until he was inches from Shay's face and said, "Burke was trying to sabotage us. He killed a dozen men. If he's dead, good riddance."

Shay wanted to back away from Frost. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath stank of goom. He was looking for an excuse for a fight. Shay clenched his fists and held his ground. He was taller than Frost. He straightened to his full height and looked down into Frost's eyes. "How about Bitterwood? Would he be welcome here? Because that's who I'm really looking for." Frost's left cheek twitched at the mention of the name.

Biscuit said, "A man claiming to be Bitterwood was here a few days ago. He took the boy with yellow-mouth and left."

"Yellow-mouth?" said Shay. "Is that why the streets are so empty?"

Biscuit nodded. "The men are all staying indoors."

"To avoid those with the disease?"

Biscuit stared at Frost. He looked afraid. Frost carried a weapon resembling a short shotgun tucked into his belt. The barrel was less than half the length; it looked as if it could be held in one hand. Frost's palm rested on the b.u.t.t of the gun. Shay noticed the b.l.o.o.d.y bandage on his wrist.

Biscuit chose his words carefully. "Avoiding the disease is one theory."

"You've let the foundries stop running because of this?" Shay asked, incredulous. "The disease is dangerous, yes, but with proper sanitation and a little-"

Frost yelled, "The disease is under control!" His spittle flecked Shay's cheeks. "The furnaces have stopped 'cause we don't wanna run out of coal. We can't get any more."

"I see," said Shay, wiping his cheeks as he backed away. Standing his ground wasn't as important as not getting goom-spat. He knew there was still a sizable mound of coal out back; he'd seen it from the air. Of course, there had also been hundreds of coal wagons backed up along the Western Road.

"How did you get in?" Biscuit asked. "The only people the dragons have let slip past have been the sick and the disabled. You're the first halfway healthy man I've seen get past the blockade."

Shay decided that mentioning the wings-or Jandra's bracelet-would be unwise. If Bitterwood had already been here and left, and Burke was dead, his immediate reason for staying was gone. On the other hand, with or without Burke, Dragon Forge was too important to the human cause to fail. Jandra was his top priority, but he had recovered items in the long-wyrm barracks that could give humans the upper hand in this war.

He closed his eyes. The vision of The Origin of Species The Origin of Species crumbling to ash flickered before him. The last person he wanted to talk to was Ragnar. Yet, like it or not, Ragnar was the power in Dragon Forge. It was Shay's responsibility to mankind to see that he did not fall. crumbling to ash flickered before him. The last person he wanted to talk to was Ragnar. Yet, like it or not, Ragnar was the power in Dragon Forge. It was Shay's responsibility to mankind to see that he did not fall.

"I can help break the blockade. I need to speak to Ragnar."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:.

THUNDER ON A CLOUDLESS DAY.

JEREMIAH SHIVERED AGAINST Bitterwood's chest. "I-it's c-c-cold," he whispered through cracked lips. Bitterwood's chest. "I-it's c-c-cold," he whispered through cracked lips.

The boy's breath was as hot as a furnace. Bitterwood pulled the filthy blanket that swaddled Jeremiah higher up on his chin. He knew that a thousand blankets wouldn't be enough to make the boy feel warm.

"We'll be inside soon," Bitterwood said softly, brushing the boy's matted hair away from his eyes. "I promise we'll find you a proper bed, and some hot soup."

"I-I'm n-not h-hun...," Jeremiah's voice trailed off.

Jeremiah was slipping in and out of sleep without bothering to open his eyes. Bitterwood wasn't certain if the boy was even aware that Hex had joined them. He showed no awareness of their odd surroundings.

They rode through the forest of tents that surrounded the Free City. Flaps were pushed aside as men and women peeked out to stare at the gleaming long-wyrm and the sun-dragon walking beside it with a noticeable limp. Here and there among the crowd, the dark green turtle-faces of earth-dragons could be seen. They were as curious as the humans, and showed no signs of hostility. The last time Bitterwood had approached the Free City, the only earth-dragons in sight had been armed soldiers, pushing their captives along at spear point.

"I didn't know there were so many people in the world," Vance said softly.

Bitterwood remembered how small the world had seemed to him back in his own youth. Until the dragons burned Christdale, he'd never journeyed more than thirty miles from his birthplace. The true scope of the world had been impossible to fathom.

"There are far more people here than at Dragon Forge," said Burke as he surveyed the crowd. "Are these refugees who were turned away by the blockade? Or perhaps chaos is spreading further through the kingdom than we knew?"

Hex's scales bristled at the use of the word "chaos." "It isn't chaos that's spreading," the sun-dragon said. "It's freedom. The authoritarian regime that enslaved these people is gone, leaving them free to follow their own destinies."

"If following their own destinies means abandoning their homes to live in tents, I fear their destinies will be short and sad," said Burke. "Think of all the abandoned villages we've seen. Spring is coming. Who will plant the crops? Where will the food to feed everyone come from by next summer?"

"The beasts of the forest survive without farming," said Hex. "The world is bountiful."

"Hex, as I understand it, you've lived most of your life in a library on the Isle of Horses. You have an overly romantic view of nature, I fear. I've spent a fair amount of my youth in the forest. It's not as full of food as you might think."

"My views aren't romantic," said Hex. "I'm simply able to see the evil that has been inflicted on both men and dragons in the name of order."

"I'll take order over chaos any day."

"This is a curious argument for a revolutionary to make."

"Seizing Dragon Forge was the first step to imposing a new order," said Burke. "Anarchy was never the goal."

"Impose is a telling verb," said Hex. "If the rebellion at Dragon Forge is intended to be the first step toward a human war of genocide against dragons, rest a.s.sured I will destroy your rebellion. I haven't helped take the slavecatcher's whip away from the dragons in order to give it to humans." is a telling verb," said Hex. "If the rebellion at Dragon Forge is intended to be the first step toward a human war of genocide against dragons, rest a.s.sured I will destroy your rebellion. I haven't helped take the slavecatcher's whip away from the dragons in order to give it to humans."

"Someone's hand is always going to be holding the whip," Burke said. "It's the way the world works. It's the lesson of history."

"I intend to bring an end to history. I want to live in a world where the strength of ideas has more power than the strength of arms."

Bitterwood had heard enough. "You're a hypocrite, Hex. You didn't persuade Rorg with the force of your ideas. You didn't change Shandrazel's mind with an argument. Everything you've accomplished of note you've done through violence-you slaughtered Rorg and you allowed your own brother to die. You call yourself a warrior philosopher, but you're nothing but a long-winded bully."

Hex looked around at the throng of refugees who stared at them. "Bullies use their strength against those who are weaker. I've stood up to would-be kings and would-be G.o.ds. These humans have nothing to fear from me."

"Unless they join the rebellion under their own free will, and you try to crush it," said Burke.

Hex shook his head. "If they don't become oppressors, they have nothing to fear. Any hand that would reach for a whip, however,"- he turned his gaze toward Burke "will find itself bitten off."

By now, they reached the gates of the Free City. A quartet of young women in white cloaks, their faces shadowed by large hoods, approached cautiously.

One held out her hand and said, "Greetings, brothers," then spotting Zeeky near the back of the long-wyrm she added, "and sister. Welcome to the Free City. Many among you appear injured. You shall all be healed."