Dragonseed_ A Novel Of Dragon Age Part 18

"That's simply monstrous. I've never liked Vulpine. Very well. I can't deny the importance of your mission. You can find Jeremiah while I deal with Jandra."

"I'm glad I have your approval," Bitterwood said. "You never did tell me what you've done with Jandra's genie. Or her old tiara from Vendevorex's tower, which I a.s.sume you stole?"

Hex's eyes widened. "By the bones. I'd forgotten that! She did say she had a second genie. In the rush of events, I never even thought to look for it. If she reclaims it-"

"It's gone," said Bitterwood. "Someone else stole it."

"Let us hope this someone doesn't know its true power."

"And the genie you stole?"

Hex sighed. "You've asked me three times. Since I changed the subject twice before, you might deduce I have no intention of answering. Suffice it to say that I've hidden it in the last place any human would want to look."

Bitterwood nodded. Had Hex purposefully told him the location of the genie? Or was it a careless slip?

"I'll take my bow and be on my way," said Bitterwood.

Hex glanced at the shattered remains. "If you wish. I doubt it will be of much use to you."

"It's a good bowstring, at least," said Bitterwood, crouching down to gather up the pieces. The splintered ends were green, dripping sap.

"I'm not your enemy, Bitterwood," said Hex. "In a better world, I'd like to think we would be friends after the adventures we've shared. There aren't many warriors who've stood shoulder to shoulder against G.o.ds. We make a good team."

"In a better world, I'd have aimed my first arrow an inch to the left," said Bitterwood. "But my world isn't a better world. It's ..." He paused, looking for the word that described the reality he lived in.

"A bitter world?" said Hex.

Bitterwood grimaced. He'd forgotten Hex's penchant for word play. The big lizard confused this for humor. But then, how would Bitterwood know a genuine sense of humor if he ever encountered it? Whatever part of a normal man's soul that possessed the capacity for mirth had long since withered to dust inside him. Pun or not, the sun-dragon was right. The flavor of his world was undeniably bitter.

SHORTLY AFTER BITTERWOOD had vanished down the chimney, Zeeky guided Skitter back toward the road. Bitterwood's mission would take hours, she knew, and there was someone she needed to meet. She rode toward a human village they'd pa.s.sed earlier. This village made Winding Rock look wealthy. The houses were nothing but shacks built from sticks and straw. The shallow ditch that ran through the center of town stank of human waste. Mounds of trash littered the landscape. had vanished down the chimney, Zeeky guided Skitter back toward the road. Bitterwood's mission would take hours, she knew, and there was someone she needed to meet. She rode toward a human village they'd pa.s.sed earlier. This village made Winding Rock look wealthy. The houses were nothing but shacks built from sticks and straw. The shallow ditch that ran through the center of town stank of human waste. Mounds of trash littered the landscape.

Zeeky waited at the edge of the village, her eyes fixed at the point where the road vanished over the rise of a hill. Poocher snorted softly.

"Whatever," she said. "When don't don't you think it's a good time for a snack?" you think it's a good time for a snack?"

Poocher hopped down and trotted toward a trash mound.

Zeeky normally trusted his instincts as to what should and should not be considered food. She'd eaten many a strange root or berry he'd brought to her. She hoped he wouldn't be bringing her any gifts from the trash mound.

As he thrust his snout into the garbage, a small dark shadow peeled off and dashed away, charging right toward Skitter at first, then turning at a sharp angle. Everything happened so fast that Zeeky barely had time to recognize the shadow as a mangy gray cat. A half-second later, the cat vanished, as Skitter's toothy jaws closed around it with a wet snap snap. The long-wyrm swallowed before Zeeky could react.

She waited in the cold dark night, alone with her thoughts. She was always alone with her thoughts. Even though she could understand any animal or person and communicate with them in their own fas.h.i.+on, she knew that no one could truly understand her. She'd been born different from other people; Gabriel had said the G.o.ddess had changed her in the womb. When Jazz had captured her, she'd told Zeeky things that made her understand how different she truly was. Gabriel had been correct in calling her a harbinger. She'd been created for a purpose. Jazz had told Zeeky that she wasn't alone-there were other children who the G.o.ddess had also changed. She wondered if she would ever meet them.

From her saddle bag, the faint murmur of voices caught her attention. It was time.

A brown horse rose over the edge of the hill. Astride it was a woman in a long white cloak. She looked ghostly in the darkness. Her horse froze as it saw Skitter. The woman stroked its mane.

Zeeky called out, "Skitter won't hurt you. My name is Zeeky. I need to talk to you."

The woman nodded. She shook the reins of the horse and it nervously inched forward.

"I'm Filia," the woman said. "I've come with a message of hope."

Now that she was closer, Zeeky saw that Filia was only a few years older. She was thin, and her hair hung around her face in soft blonde curls.

"You've come to tell everyone about the healer," said Zeeky.

"You've heard?"

"Bits and pieces. I know you're telling people to go to the Free City. I know you want to help people. What I don't know is if your healer is as nice as he pretends to be."

The woman smiled. "He's given us no reason to doubt him. He's done nothing but good since he returned to us. He has broken the shackles of death and now brings the promise of life."

Zeeky shrugged. "I'll know the truth once I see him, which won't be much longer. For now, it doesn't matter. I'm going to have to trust him, and you. I need your help."

"How?" asked Filia.

"Follow me back to the bone-field surrounding Rorg's cavern. In a few minutes, slaves will be climbing up from the chimneys. They're going to be frightened and hungry, and they'll have no place to go. Take them to the Free City."

Filia nodded. "How many?"

"A hundred or so," said Zeeky.

Filia opened her saddle bag. She pulled out a white cloth and unwrapped it, revealing a crusty loaf of bread. The end was torn off.

"I can feed them," she said.

"I know," said Zeeky.

Poocher apparently knew as well. He materialized from the darkness to sit in front of Filia's horse. He looked up expectantly.

"Don't beg," said Zeeky.

"It's okay," said Filia. "The healer has touched this loaf." She tore off a palm-sized chunk and tossed it to the pig. "It will never go stale. No matter how many pieces I tear from it, I've yet to exhaust it."

"You'll have a chance to test its limits, I think," said Zeeky. "Follow me."

Zeeky s.h.i.+fted in her saddle and Skitter understood her intention. The long-wyrm turned and moved back toward the bone field, pacing itself so that the horse and Poocher could keep up. Zeeky could have had Skitter stop to let Poocher back onto his saddle, but she thought her friend could use a little exercise. Burning off a bit of his restless energy could only do the pig some good.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:.

UH-OH.

BURKE SLID OPEN the warehouse door and lifted his lantern overhead, revealing the Angry Beetle. Lamplight glinted on its spiky sh.e.l.l; dust swirled in the winter draft. He ushered Th.o.r.n.y and Vance inside and pulled the door shut. The air inside was cool despite the cast iron stove near the entrance. the warehouse door and lifted his lantern overhead, revealing the Angry Beetle. Lamplight glinted on its spiky sh.e.l.l; dust swirled in the winter draft. He ushered Th.o.r.n.y and Vance inside and pulled the door shut. The air inside was cool despite the cast iron stove near the entrance.

Th.o.r.n.y let out a whistle of appreciation as he looked over the new war machine. "You've outdone yourself," he said.

"What?" Vance asked. His hand was on Burke's shoulder for guidance. "What is it?"

"Remember Big Chief?" Burke asked.

"Of course," said Vance. "All them earth-dragons turned tail and ran the second Big Chief rolled into the square."

"Not all of them," said Burke, limping forward on his crutch. "I've got proof of that every morning when I pull on my boot. The Angry Beetle is Big Chief's successor. One day it's going to be the most powerful war machine I've ever built."

"One day?" asked Th.o.r.n.y, walking around the ma.s.sive machine. "It looks ready for action now."

"Appearances can be deceiving," said Burke. He leaned down before the pot-bellied stove and opened the door. He shoveled in more coal. He touched the pot of chili he'd left cooking on the stove. He'd forgotten all about it during the commotion at the well. The pot still felt warm. The meal could probably be salvaged. "The Angry Beetle has some glitches that need to be worked out."

"Glitches?"

"Outright failures," Burke sighed. "The extra weight of the armor has made a joke of my gears. Currently, it can only roll backwards. I've also got s.p.a.ce problems. I can't carry enough coal on board to keep the boiler powered up for more than a couple of hours."

"That's not so bad," said Th.o.r.n.y. "You could roll out a wall of these things a mile or so at a time. Wipe out anything in your way. Wagons could roll along afterward to refuel."

"Maybe," said Burke. "It's not an elegant solution, but we need some way of pus.h.i.+ng our force outward. Long term, the dragons can beat us with this blockade if we can't develop a way to take the battle to them. They can treat our rebellion like a brush fire-clear the area around it, deny it fuel, and eventually it will burn itself out. That's our fate, unless I can think of something clever and think of it fast."

"I saw the shotgun in action," said Th.o.r.n.y. "That's pretty impressive."

"It's only a toy compared to the cannons. I've got small cannons on the Beetle that can hurl a lead ball a mile or two. I've got big cannons rolling off the lines that shoot even further. I've spent decades imagining what I could do to dragons if I could learn how to make gunpowder." Burke reached out and placed a hand on the barrel of the rear facing cannon of the Angry Beetle. He shook his head. "Now I'm wondering if my dream isn't going to become a nightmare."

"How so?"

"You saw what Ragnar did to Shanna. When he built this army, he marched from town to town shouting, 'join or die!' I've heard what happened to some of the men who refused to cooperate. Right now, I'm able to temper his brute force approach by constantly dangling the promise of more powerful weapons in front of him. But there's going to be a point where he thinks he's got enough. I'm not so much worried about what he'll do to the dragons as to what he'll do to the men who don't blindly obey him."

Vance was moving around the perimeter of the Angry Beetle, feeling his way from spike to spike. Burke started to warn the boy to be careful but held his tongue. It was important to let Vance feel independent despite his blindness. For someone who said he couldn't see anything, Vance certainly was moving around the edge of the machine quickly enough.

"What's that weird smell?" said Vance from the other side of the Angry Beetle.

"It was supposed to be my dinner." Burke lifted the lid of the iron pot on the stove and stirred the contents. The air filled with a pungent, spicy aroma, along with the scent of charred meat. The contents were sticking to the bottom of the pot.

"Oh lord," said Th.o.r.n.y. "Not your chili!"

"Chili sounds good," said Vance.

"Burke's cooking isn't for the faint of heart. His chili has killed more people than his guns ever will."

Burke chuckled as he used a ladle to scoop out a large glop of stringy meat into a wooden bowl. He handed it to Vance, who reached out and took it in a confident manner that made Burke wonder again if perhaps the boy could see more than he let on. "Don't listen to Th.o.r.n.y. I still say most of those deaths were just coincidence. Besides, this is a new recipe. I'm currently limited by the items in the earth-dragons larders. They had some hot sausages I've chopped up and added to this."

The wooden spoon stopped inches from Vance's lips. He said, "I've, um, heard there were human bodies in the larder. You didn't... um..."

"Any human remains were turned over to Ragnar for proper burial. The man has his faults, but he's not a cannibal. I hope."

Vance started to put the spoon in his mouth, then pulled it away again. "I also heard there were jars of pickled earth-dragon babies."

"Yeah. Some folks have been sampling them. I've not been that hungry yet."

Vance looked relieved and popped the spoon in his mouth.

"Especially not with so much fresh meat from the adults lying around," Burke continued. "We had to cremate most of the bodies as a hedge against disease. But, we cut off the tails and have been curing them in the smoke house. Earth-dragon tails taste like gator. We used to eat those all the time down south."

Vance chewed slowly, looking as if he might spit the chili out. Suddenly, his eyes bulged. He swallowed quickly.

"Oh my gos.h.!.+" he said, waving his fingers in front of his mouth. "My mouth is on fire!"

Burke reached down beside the stove and picked up a clay jug. "Take a swig of this."

Vance lifted the jug, swallowed, and then quickly pulled it away from his lips. His face was all puckered for about half a minute before he could speak again.

"Have I done something to make you angry?" Vance asked weakly.

"Nope. That's goom," said Burke. "We've got about 900 gallons of it. The earth-dragons distill it from cabbage and chilies. Fortunately, it's so alcoholic that a few swigs numbs your mouth. Can you still feel your tongue?"

Vance's tongue flickered across his lips. "Nothing. Guess it works."

"Don't burp around any open flames," Burke said. "Goom ignites easily. It's the fuel for the Angry Beetle's flamethrower."

Vance took another bite of chili. Sweat beaded his brow as he chewed the stringy meat.

"If you survive this meal, you'll have a good story for your grandkids," said Th.o.r.n.y with a chuckle. Th.o.r.n.y then turned his attention back to the Angry Beetle.

"How many people does it take to run this thing?" he asked.

"A perfect crew would be four," said Burke, lifting the hatch. "But, it's a tight fit with two people, and three people need to be real friendly. If there were more women around, I'd recruit them for crew."

Th.o.r.n.y peeked inside the open hatch. "They'd need to be skinny."

Burke shrugged. "At least I don't need to worry about Ragnar's Mighty Men commandeering this. I don't think Stonewall could squeeze through the hatch."

As he said this, a chill winter wind swept across the room. The sliding door to the warehouse shuddered on its tracks. Burke looked up and found Stonewall standing in the doorway, glaring at him. To his left stood Ragnar, with his twin scimitars held loosely in his hands; a half dozen armored Mighty Men lurked behind him. To Stonewall's right stood Frost, grinning like it was his birthday.

"Burke," said Ragnar, in a voice that was oddly calm and controlled. "We should discuss what happened at the well."

Burke crossed his arms as he leaned back against the Angry Beetle.