me, physically, should he attempt to betray us.”
At last they reached the main floor and the star chamber. Metron entered without bothering to knock.
Blasphet awaited them, standing before a dying fire in the room’s lone fireplace. He stirred the orange coals with a long iron poker, then placed a heavy copper caldron onto the hook above the coals before turning to greet his guests.
“Welcome, fellow conspirators,” Blasphet said, and bowed ceremoniously. “Especially you, dear nephew. My, you’ve grown in the years since last I saw you.”
“Do not refer to me as a conspirator,” Shandrazel said. “I take this path out of love for my father and the kingdom.”
“Ah! Nobility. I’m glad to see Albekizan’s bloodline has produced a scion that possesses a touch of my own idealism,” said Blasphet in a sincere tone. “You fill me with hope for the world, Shandrazel.”
“I take it you received the note I sent you?” Metron asked.
“Yes,” Blasphet said as he walked to the balcony doors. He closed them, sealing the room. “Now we can be assured of privacy.”
“Is it true?” Androkom asked. “You have a poison that can temporarily paralyze a foe, but otherwise does no harm?”
“Indeed,” Blasphet said. “Such a poison would be a perfect way to assure you of a captive audience from my brother, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s not my preferred approach,” said Shandrazel. “But Metron insists it’s the only way to speak to my father without him immediately going for my throat.”
Blasphet stared at Shandrazel, studying his eyes. Shandrazel didn’t turn away from the stare and met his gaze. Shandrazel noticed a family resemblance in the sharp, well-bred lines of his uncle’s face, despite Blasphet’s discolored hide and bloodshot eyes. It was like looking at some dark reflection of his father.
Blasphet asked, “You still think you can use reason to persuade him?”
“I hope so,” Shandrazel answered.
“Truly, your idealism exceeds my own,” Blasphet said.
“How is this poison delivered?” Androkom asked. “Via drink?”
Blasphet shook his head.
“The blood, then?” Androkom asked. “An… an injunction. Injection, rather.” The young biologian’s speech was slightly slurred.
Metron swayed on his feet. He mumbled, “Blasphet, I… I…” The elder biologian raised his talon to rub his brow.
“Yes?”
“I feel… light-headed. The exertion… of the stairs-”
“No,” Shandrazel said, noticing his own breathing growing shallow. “I feel it too.”
Suddenly the High Biologian’s eyes rolled beneath his lids and he toppled sideways. Shandrazel moved quickly, reaching out to catch the aged dragon in his arms before he hit the stone floor.
“The air…” Androkom said, leaning against a wall to steady himself.
“Is it too warm in here?” Blasphet asked. “I would open a window but that would let the poison out.”
“Betrayer!” Shandrazel shouted, letting Metron slide to the floor. He leapt toward his uncle, his claws outstretched. But the air seemed too thick, slowing him, as if he were moving through water. The room swayed and where Blasphet should have stood he found only a wall. Shandrazel collided face-first with solid stone.
“Feeling a little disoriented, nephew?”
Shandrazel turned around, his legs trembling.
Androkom now sprawled across the floor, as unconscious as Metron. Blasphet had moved back to the fireplace, once more stirring the coals with the poker.
Shandrazel rushed forward, fighting the fog in his mind to focus on the target of his uncle’s throat. He opened his jaws wide.
Blasphet suddenly possessed supernatural speed. He drew the poker above his head, then chopped it down between Shandrazel’s eyes in a blur.
There was a flash of light, a crash of drums, then darkness. The darkness broke with pale red light as Shandrazel opened his eyes once more. He was on the floor, looking across toward Metron’s slumped body. The High Biologian’s silver-tinted scales seemed surrounded by tiny halos. Why was Metron on the floor? Shandrazel’s head throbbed with distant pain. He braced himself with his claws and slowly rose. The floor was spinning as if on a giant turntable. He could vaguely hear someone saying, “You’re as hard-headed as your father.”
Another crash and the floor raced up to meet him. Everything grew silent and still.
“WAKE UP,” THE voice said.
No. Shandrazel ached too much to open his eyes. He pulled the blanket of sleep more tightly around his mind.
“Wake up!” the voice repeated, and this time the demand was met by a strong poke in Shandrazel’s gut. Shandrazel tried to twist away from the pain but couldn’t move. The rattling of chains provoked his curiosity more than the voice did. Then he remembered. Blasphet! His eyes jerked open.
“Ah,” Blasphet said from somewhere near. “You’re back. Good. The dosage affected you more than I would have guessed. You barely stirred while I was strapping you in.”
Shandrazel tried to turn his head toward his uncle’s voice but couldn’t. His head was held fast by cold, hard bars. He shifted his eyes and flexed his limbs. His whole body was trapped in a narrow cage in which he lay flat, his wings pinned behind him with crossbars trapping his limbs, allowing not even a wiggle. The cage was suspended so that he faced downward. Below him sat a huge pool of black liquid. He noted that the cage bars weren’t metal but were fashioned from thick rods of glass. He would have little trouble breaking them, if only he could get some leverage.
To the side of the pool he could see a wheel around which was wrapped a sturdy chain. Blasphet stepped into his field of vision, standing beside the wheel, grinning. On the other side of the pool Androkom was chained to the wall, his body slumped over, a stream of drool dripping from his mouth.
“I designed this for your father,” Blasphet said. “But you’ll do fine for practice. This way I can work out any kinks before I try it on my dear brother.”
Shandrazel growled. He tensed and released every muscle of his body, struggling for even an inch of movement. The cage began to sway, but only barely.
“I’d love to stick around,” his uncle said. “Alas, I’m pressed for time. With this device your death will take hours.”
Blasphet turned the wheel. It clicked once and the cage dropped a fraction of an inch.
“The pool beneath you is acid. This device allows me to lower you into the pool using precise measurements, then raise you to examine the results. I’ll do a detailed drawing at each step. It should make for fascinating reference material, as the interior of the body is revealed, layer-by-layer. Practicing on you will allow me to get the subtleties worked out for your father. I have this marvelous vision of dissolving his eyelids without touching the eyes,” Blasphet said. “It probably won’t work, but what is life without a dream?”
Shandrazel kept silent, contemplating his possible actions. His silence prodded Blasphet into talking further.
“This acid cauterizes wounds, so you could live for several hours once we begin. Who knows? I might spend days on this project. Will you still be alive when we reach your heart? Oh, the suspense!”
Shandrazel relaxed his entire body. He tried to allow slack to build in the cage. Unfortunately, some mechanism took up the slack. He managed only to immobilize himself further.
Blasphet looked disappointed. “This is the point where you’re supposed to scream, ‘You’re mad!’”
“Will you prattle on like this the whole time?” Shandrazel asked. “If so, could you dissolve my ears first?”
“I may be able to accommodate you,” Blasphet said. “For now, I must bid you farewell. Your father has some business cooked up at dawn, which fast approaches. I believe he plans to kill Bitterwood. I must attend. It’s important I remind him how shallow and meaningless his vengeance will be.”
Blasphet raised his claw in a gesture of farewell, then turned and vanished from sight. A few seconds later, Shandrazel heard the rattling of a key in a door, then footsteps fading into the distance.
When he was certain his uncle was gone, he said, “Androkom?”
