Vendevorex motioned Androkom and Shandrazel closer, drawing them into a conspiratorial huddle. “For all we know they might be here. They need not rely on the illusion I use for invisibility; they posses the power to recalculate the equations of space itself, and walk above, beside, and beneath what we know as reality. However, it is their practice not to interfere with the fates of their fellow men. Once, long ago, the ancients gave little thought to changing the world. They grew in such power that even their most casual actions shook the planet. In attempting to heal the sick, they sometimes unleashed plagues. In their attempts to feed the hungry, they would turn lush lands into deserts, and drain underground seas in the effort to make these deserts blossom. As a byproduct of lighting their cities, they would raze mountains and poison oceans. They risked destroying themselves with their own miraculous tools.”
“To say nothing of their toys,” Androkom added.
“What do you mean?” asked Vendevorex.
Androkom felt a chill run through him. He was certain the wizard had known. Did he dare tell them? Did he dare reveal the most terrible secret of the biologians?
Before Androkom could decide, Shandrazel said, “While this discussion of ancient history satisfies my intellectual side, it doesn’t help us solve our problems. Tell me, Androkom, why were you flying toward my father’s fortress?”
“The short answer is that I go to give information to the most wicked dragon who ever lived. However, you may require more than a short answer. I’m unsure what you know of events that have transpired since your exile. Did you know that Blasphet has been freed?”
“I’ve heard. He’s now my father’s most trusted advisor, I’m told.”
“What information do you have for Blasphet?” Vendevorex asked.
“Metron says that Blasphet kills only so that he may search for the secret of life. I go to provide that answer.”
“You know the secret of life?” Vendevorex asked, his voice somewhere between amusement and astonishment.
“Indeed. Tell me, do these words mean anything to you? Double helix.”
Vendevorex wrinkled his brow. “This is a mathematical form.”
“So you don’t know all the secrets of the ancients, eh?”
Shandrazel said, “I feel like you two are trying to one-up each other. I ask you to put this aside for the moment and use your great intellects to ponder the situation before us.”
“Of course,” said Androkom. “I think I have solved one problem. When I explain the source of life to Blasphet, and convince him of the answer via my experiments, he will no longer be a threat. The question that drives his evil will be sated.”
“Or he’ll use the knowledge to kill every last being on the planet. I can’t allow it,” said Shandrazel.
Androkom narrowed his eyes, annoyed by Shandrazel’s attitude. He didn’t recall asking for permission. Perhaps arrogance was transmitted genetically. Still, arrogant or not, he was pleased to be in the company of two dragons whose intellects approached his own.
“Good dragons,” he said, “I think better on a full stomach. Come, I have food in my pack. Let us break bread while we decide how best to save the world.”
AS NIGHT FELL over the Free City, a youthful earth-dragon named Torgoz trudged toward the front gate for guard duty. As he approached, he saw the guard he was supposed to replace, an old-timer by the name of Wyvernoth. He raised a claw in greeting. Wyvernoth didn’t respond. He drew closer and tried again. Again, the old- timer gave no hint he’d noticed him, though he was now less than a spear thrust away.
“Wyvernoth!” said Torgoz.
The old veteran jumped as his name was spoken.
“Asleep on your feet again?” Torgoz chided.
Wyvernoth shook his head. “I wasn’t sleeping. I was thinking.”
“Thinking’s not your best skill, old-timer. When you try, it only causes more of your scales to fall out.”
Wyvernoth scratched his scarred head as Torgoz spoke. A shower of moss-green scales fell with the motion.
“It’s a waste of my know-how to be pulling watches,” Wyvernoth grumbled. “All these years of duty and the best they can do is stand me next to a gate. Me, with command experience. Why, once I-”
“Led your unit on to victory after the commander died,” Torgaz said. “You’ve mentioned it once or a hundred times.”
“I deserve better is all,” Wyvernoth said.
“What you deserve is a thump on the skull. But since I’m here to relieve you, what you’ll get is a good night’s sleep in a bunk. That is, if you still remember how to sleep lying down.”
“Oh. I remember,” Wyvernoth said, in a tone that let Torgoz know the old-timer considered it a clever retort.
Taking his spear, Wyvernoth marched off stiffly, as if all his muscles weren’t fully awake yet.
Torgoz took his place and sighed. Wyvernoth might not deserve better duty, but Torgaz certainly did. The Free City was a prison. Guards on the inside made sense. Guards on the outside were useless. They weren’t even supposed to stop the humans who showed up wanting to get in; they only had to make sure that they didn’t have weapons.
It still amazed him how many people showed up each day. He’d heard that the king planned to forcibly round up humans after the harvest. So far, that was proving unnecessary. The rumor of the Free City had spread, and now a steady stream of fools showed up voluntarily. The villages must be truly awful to produce people desperate enough to walk away from their old lives and come to a city not even fully built.
Torgaz noticed a wagon coming toward him on the road which struck him as unusual. Most of the voluntary arrivals came on foot, too poor to afford a cart, let alone an ox-dog like the one approaching. As the wagon drew closer, he could plainly see that there was a human at the reins, apparently alone. He was dressed all in black and was beyond doubt the biggest human Torgoz had ever seen.
“This is the Free City?” the stranger asked as he came within a few yards. The man’s face was dusty from the road.
“Indeed. Welcome,” Torgoz said.
“You will not block my entry?” the man asked.
“Of course not. We want you to enjoy all the pleasures of the Free City.” Torgaz fought the urge to snicker. “Come, step down from your wagon. I’ll call someone to take your ox-dog to the stables where he’ll be fed and cared for. You look as if you’ve traveled a long time to get here.”
“Centuries,” the man said, stepping down from his seat.
Torgoz assumed this passed as humor among humans. He said, “Your journey is over. Welcome home.”
The man nodded. “Your hospitality is unexpected. Dragons normally treat me with hostility.”
“King Albekizan has commanded an end to old rivalries, friend.”
“I care nothing for the commands of earthly kings,” the stranger said, fixing his stern gaze upon Torgoz. “I do care, however, for the safety of my animal. I will hold you responsible should harm befall him. What is your name?”
Torgoz bristled at the man’s haughty attitude but decided he’d play along. It wasn’t as if the man would get away with anything once he was inside. “I’m Torgoz. And you?”
“I am Hezekiah,” the man said as he lifted a pack from beneath the wagon’s flatboard seat. Torgoz noticed an axe strapped to the side of the pack.
Torgaz said, “The king wants peace inside the city. You’ll have to leave the axe in your wagon, and I need to check your pack.”
Hezekiah turned his shadowed gaze toward him. He said, in a stern tone, “I do not recognize the authority of your king. I serve a higher power. Within my pack is a Holy Book containing the words of the one true Lord. It is sacred. You shall not look upon it.”
Torgoz gritted his teeth, nearly ready to lower his spear and run the insolent bastard through. With a second glance at Hezekiah’s broad hands, he paused. Hezekiah looked like he could snap a spear like a toothpick. Worse, Hezekiah had an ox-dog by his side. If the beast defended its master, Torgaz would have a real fight on his hands. He decided to pretend he hadn’t seen the axe.
