his beak large enough that Pet could see his tongue even with his mouth closed. All that remained of the eye above this gash was a horrible tumor of scars.
'My lord Shandrazel,' the earth-dragon said, his voice deep and authoritative, with a slightly wet whistling noise from his injured beak. 'I am Charkon, commander of the Dragon Forge, a loyal servant of your father for sixty years. I've received your summons and am here to serve you.'
'Thank you, esteemed guest,' Shandrazel said. 'Though, it is not your service I seek today, but your wisdom and counsel.'
'Sire,' Charkon said, 'my wisdom comes from my service. For an earth-dragon, there is no greater purpose than to devote his life to the will of his superiors.'
'I do not like the word 'superiors,'' said Shandrazel. 'It implies that your race is an inferior one; these talks are to promote the equality of all races.'
'Yes, sire. So I've heard. Let me be blunt: We earth-dragons aren't the equals of sun-dragons. You winged dragons see the world from up high. You're dreamers and planners and leaders because of your elevated view. We earth-dragons are simple creatures. We think of little in life beyond what we will eat next. We seldom ponder the world outside our immediate grasp. Our greatest joy comes from hitting things. We make fine soldiers and blacksmiths; we have no gift for politics.'
'The eloquence of your words argues differently, noble Charkon,' said Shandrazel.
Charkon started to answer, but his voice was drowned out by a flapping of wings. Pet looked toward the balcony to find a small army of sky-dragons alighting on the marble rail. Pet instantly recognized them as valkyries. He'd never actually been in the presence of these fabled female warriors, but as a performer he knew the ballads that sung their praises, and the valkyries had been popular subjects of the painting and sculptures at Chakthalla's castle.
The valkyries quickly fell into formation behind the tallest of the sky-dragons. Their armor and spears glinted in the warm morning light. The tallest valkyrie was unarmed and unarmored, but something about her eyes told Pet she was the most dangerous of the group. Her claws seemed especially sharp as they clacked upon the marble on her march across the room.
'Sire,' she said, in a short, clipped syllable. Unlike the deferential Charkon, this valkrye showed no hint of submissiveness or even respect as she stared into Shandrazel's face. 'I am Zorasta, commander of the valkyrie legion, the matriarch's appointed representative for these so-called 'talks.''
'So-called?' asked Shandrazel, sounding somewhat taken aback by Zorasta's forcefulness. 'I assure you these talks are genuine. I hope that all of us working together will be able to form a more perfect union.'
'Sire, you're still quite young,' Zorasta said in a condescending tone. 'You've led a sheltered life. The biologians who educated you have failed you, filling your mind with unhealthy philosophies. I've been sent to bring you back to the sane and rational path.'
Shandrazel wrinkled his brow, looking quite bewildered by the aggressive manner of a creature half his size.
Kamon cast a sidelong glance at Pet and whispered, 'This is their diplomat?'
'At least the talks aren't going to be boring,' said Pet.
Pet looked at Androkom, trying to judge his reaction, since he was one of the biologians most responsible for Shandrazel's 'unhealthy philosophies.' The new high biologian didn't look all that worried. Indeed, while dragons could neither smile nor frown, there was a tilt to Androkom's head and a gleam in his eye that told Pet he was amused by Zorasta's attitude.
But the thing that really caught Pet's eye was the sky-dragon standing behind Androkom-Graxen the Gray. Graxen's eyes were positively starry as he cast his gaze at Zorasta. No, not Zorasta. Graxen was focused on a different valkyrie, the one standing behind the right shoulder of the diplomat. At first, Pet couldn't spot anything particularly unusual about this sky-dragon, who stood stone-still, a living prop to symbolize Zorasta's authority. However, Pet had finely tuned instincts for spotting sexual attraction. There was a flicker in the valkyrie's eye, a slight change in her breathing, that told Pet that she was fully aware of Graxen's presence. Did the two know each other? Or was this some kind of love at first sight thing? Pet was an expert in human romance and knew more than he wanted to about sun-dragon affairs, but he had no clue what would stoke the flames of passion for sky- dragons.
He felt himself relax a bit at the sight of this unspoken emotion between the two dragons. He stopped worrying about Ragnar and felt a flicker of hope. Dragon's weren't so unlike people. They had the same basic needs-food, clothing, shelter-and an all-consuming desire to mate. As long as he could help insure a world where those basic needs were met, perhaps it was possible for all the species to live in harmony.
'…which brings me to my next demand,' Zorasta said. She'd been talking this whole time, Pet realized, he just hadn't been paying attention while he was focused on reading Graxen's body language. He suddenly wished he'd been listening, though, as Zorasta swung toward him and extended her wing in an accusatory fashion.
'Bitterwood cannot be a representative of the humans. No dragon can know peace until this man has been brought to justice for his crimes. If these 'talks' are to take place at all, he must be arrested and taken to the executioner's block without delay!'
Blasphet, the Murder God, rested upon a giant cushion stitched together from the hides of sky-dragons. The Sisters of the Serpent demonstrated remarkable aptitude for tanning and taxidermy. The only downside was that Blasphet's temple reeked of the tanning solutions. Huge vats of brine and urine and various tree saps gave off fumes that permeated the air.
Perhaps another god might have taken offense that his temple had such a foul atmosphere, but Blasphet was too impressed by the ingenuity of his worshipers to judge them harshly. From the air, Blasphet's temple was indistinguishable from the thousands of abandoned and derelict buildings scattered through the kingdom. It had been a warehouse in centuries past. Now it was almost completely buried beneath a tangle of vines and brush; there were low, gnarled dogwoods growing upon the roof. Yet, somehow, the warehouse had survived the assault of centuries of vegetation and remained mostly intact. The vast, open space within proved comfortable for a creature of his stature. The Sisters of the Serpent had painted the walls of the place black. The floor was carpeted with the hides of various beasts; even the skins of sun-dragons. His followers had been busy. Colobi, the human leader of this sect, said they had worked on the temple for some years, long before he'd been released from his first imprisonment to design the Free City. He was touched that they had shown such faith in his eventual return.
The temple was lit by the light of a thousand candles; the scent of burning tallow mixed with the tanning fumes. In this candlelight, a score of his followers were guiding a flat-bedded wagon drawn by an ox-dog. Upon the wagon lay the immobile form of a sun-dragon. Blasphet knew him: Arvelizan, a distant cousin, and the sun-dragon charged with the administration of the territory of Riverbreak, a rather poor and unimportant domain on the edge of the Ghostlands. Arvelizan had been captured within sight of Shandrazel's palace. He now lay paralyzed by Blasphet's poisons, though Blasphet could see the slight rise and fall of his belly that signaled he was still alive.
Colobi, the serpent of the first order, approached him. She was dressed in robes created from the soft leather of a sun-dragon's wings, stained black. Her face was in shadows below a broad hood, revealing only her blood red lips and pale chin in the candlelight.
'We have captured a live sun-dragon as you commanded, O Murder God,' Colobi said, kneeling before him. 'Two sisters were killed in combat with his guards; no one who traveled with him escaped. His absence at the talks will be a mystery.'
'Well done,' Blasphet said. 'Have the sisters administer the antidote. I wish to speak to Arvelizan.'
'At once, my Lord.'
Arvelizan was now only a few yards away. Blasphet watched as Colobi issued her orders and one of the sisters injected the antidote into Arvelizan's long, scaly neck using the fine tip of a hollow dagger. Moments later, the sun- dragon's eyes opened. His deep green irises were still dilated, leaving his eyes mostly black.
'W-where…' he whispered, still too weak to lift his head.
'Hello Arv,' Blasphet said. 'Remember me?'
Arvelizan's gaze drifted toward the voice. Suddenly, he jerked his head up, the motion halted by the sturdy hemp ropes that bound him to the wagon's bed.
'Blasphet!' he cried.
'Here in the temple, I prefer to be addressed as Murder God,' said Blasphet. 'Lord is acceptable as well. My true
