darkness. We weren't the only refugees. Don't tell me that everyone died.'
'Maybe there were some survivors,' said Burke. 'Your family was one of the fortunate.'
'No,' the man said, shaking his wild locks. 'My mother and father survived Conyers only to be slain five years later by Albekizan and his accursed wizard. Little about my history can be called fortunate save for discovering you, Kanati.'
'Kanati, I assure you, has long since been digested. Sorry to make your trip here a pointless one. Why don't I give your men a round of cider for your troubles, then you head off to wherever it is you're going?'
'My men may not partake of alcohol.'
'I see. Well then, Ragnar, I'm not sure there's much more I can do for you.'
'Ah!' the naked man said, his eyes brightening. 'You know my name! Can it be you remember me from long ago?'
'Were you this hairy when you were eight?' asked Burke. 'I know your name because I've been hearing rumors about a prophet named Ragnar who's vowed not to cut his hair or wear clothes until the last dragon has been slain. You seem to fit that description.'
Ragnar drew back his shoulders. 'I am that prophet. I have been the tongue by which the Lord speaks of the final days of the dragons. Now, I am the sword that will cut them from this earth!'
'Everyone needs something to do with their time,' Burke said with a gentle smile. 'I confess, I'm not sure I grasp the strategic value of fighting a dragon buck naked.'
'The prophet Samuel wandered the desert clad only by prayers,' said Ragnar.
'Interesting,' said Burke, nodding slowly, as if appreciating the logic behind Ragnar's words. 'Did this Samuel fellow also swear off soap? Because, I gotta tell you, Ragnar, you're making my eyes water.'
Ragnar slammed the hilt of his scimitar onto the bar, causing the mugs that sat upon it to jump. Spittle flew from his lips as he shouted, 'Do not mock me! I am the Lord's chosen! With a word, my army will destroy this town. Stone will be knocked from stone. Your barns will be burnt and your livestock slaughtered. Your women will weep as we behead the men of this village one by one for treason!'
Dealon cringed a little lower behind the bar in the face of Ragnar's rage. Burke was no longer smiling.
'You make a compelling argument,' Burke said, in a cool tone. 'Still, I can be a little thick. Why, exactly, are we accused of treason?'
'Albekizan, king of the dragons, is dead, as I prophesied. The dragons are in disarray. All men must now stand together to strike the accused serpents. Those who refuse are traitors. I march from village to village, bringing all men the divine message: Join or die!'
Burke smirked. 'At least we get a choice.'
'No, Kanati,' said Ragnar. 'Your only choice is to join. The Lord has told me the legendary machinist will fight by my side.'
Burke reached up and scratched the pale scars above lip as he thought. He said, 'Why would you even want Kanati? The machinist didn't do much good the last time he stood up to dragons. He spent months preparing Conyers for battle. The dragons overran the town in hours. All this Kanati fellow managed to do was spread false hope and get a lot of people killed.'
'You lacked divine guidance,' said Ragnar. 'The holy scriptures state that the great dragon will hold dominion over the earth for a millennium before perishing in a final battle. The thousand years have passed. I now wage the last war. You will build me the weapons I need to fight it. Should you refuse, my men will find your lovely daughter-Anza, I believe she's called. Terrible things will be done to her before your eyes.'
Burke lowered his hands to the bar. His voice was cold as the breeze outside as he said, 'Leave here, Ragnar. You no longer amuse me.'
'I'm not here to amuse you,' said Ragnar.
'I'll give you until the count of ten,' said Burke. His hand fell below the bar. Dealon noticed a long iron rod that Burke pulled back. From beneath the floor came the clatter of cogs and clockwork, like the sounds the chess- monkey made, but on a grand scale. 'After that, I'm going to start killing your men.'
'Do it,' said Ragnar. 'Kill them.'
Burke frowned, his eyes darting about the room as if he were counting the number of forces arrayed against him. Most of the time, Dealon thought of Burke as the same youthful man who'd wandered into town those long years ago. Now, Burke looked as if he'd aged twenty years since Dealon had last seen him. Light gray hairs streaked his braid and deep wrinkles lined his eyes. The expression upon Burke's face as he surveyed the mob wasn't so much a look of anger as one of weariness.
'This one,' said Ragnar, grabbing the guard to his left. 'His name's Ugnan. Start with him.'
'Sir,' Ugnan said, looking startled. He was a big, lumpy man, with thick arms and a thicker belly. His pumpkin- shaped head sat upon his shoulders without the intervention of a neck. Plates of rusted armor hung over his dirty brown shirt and trousers.
'Your faith will protect you,' said Ragnar.
Ugnan didn't look confident in this, but he stood still, obedient to the holy man.
'If your power is as great as you wish me to believe, prove it now,' Ragnar said to Burke.
'Don't make me do this,' said Burke.
'Think of Anza,' said Ragnar.
Burke grimaced, his eyes locked onto those of the prophet. Suddenly, he barked out, 'A-seven!'
A powerful spring in the cellar uncoiled with a twang. The bar stool next to Ugnan splintered as a long, sharp iron rod sprang six feet into the air. Ugnan looked over at the rod, only inches away, his eyes wide. 'It missed,' he whispered. 'It's true… my faith saved me.'
Burke sighed. 'Sorry Ugnan. It's not divine will, just bad memory. It's been, what, twelve years since I built the grid?'
Ugnan looked confused.
Burke looked down at his feet, cupped his hands to make a fleshy megaphone, and shouted, 'A-six!'
Dealon turn away as a pained shriek tore from Ugnan's lips. His twitching body lifted into the air and his sword hit the floor with a clatter. Blood splattered the ceiling. Ugnan's eyes remained open as he lifelessly slid down the spike.
'Alas,' said Ragnar. 'Ugnan's faith was weak. But my faith is strengthened. Perhaps Kanati the machinist is long dead. The Lord has delivered us a man who matches his talents. Join me, Burke. Together, we cannot fail.'
'What I did to Ugnan I can do to every man in this room,' said Burke. 'Even you.'
'You didn't kill me, though you could have. You know that should I die, the men outside this tavern will run wild.'
'True,' said Burke with a sigh. 'The only thing worse than an army led by a fanatic is an army led by no one at all.'
Burke stared into the eyes of the naked prophet. His hand rested on a second lever beneath the bar. Dealon wondered what intricate machinery that lever would set in motion. Yet the look on Burke's face was one familiar to him. It was the same expression Dealon often saw in the glass eyes of the chess-monkey, the look his own face wore when he was in check and any move he made was going to cost him dearly.
Burke's fingers slipped from the handle.
'No one else,' he said. 'I'll join you if no one else from the town is taken.'
Now it was Ragnar's turn to stare as he silently contemplated his opponent's offer. He studied the twisted form of Ugnan, standing like a fleshy scarecrow, supported by the steel rod. Ugnan's blood pooled around the prophet's bare feet. With a look of satisfaction in his eyes, Ragnar turned to Burke. 'Agreed.'
Burke relaxed. He crossed his arms and said, 'You've picked up a fair little army with this 'join or die' tactic. Do you have any other plans up your sleeve? If you had sleeves, that is?'
The prophet smiled, his yellow teeth gleaming amid the dark tangle of his beard. 'It's not by chance we travel the Forge Road.'
Burke nodded, as if Ragnar had just explained everything.
Chapter Nine:
Fever Dreams
Bitterwood dreamed of fire. He fled down corridors of flame-wreathed stone in Chakthalla's castle, holding his
