At the far side of his arc, glancing back through the smoke plumes, Graxen caught a glimpse of sparkling light. Continuing in his orbit, he discovered the light was the gleaming helmet of a valkyrie a few miles distant. Was he being pursued this far from the Nest? Or was it mere coincidence? Valkyries must do business with Dragon Forge-all the steel grates and spikes that turned the place into a fortress must come from somewhere.
He slowed his flight. The valkyrie continued toward him. Was this some messenger from the matriarch? Perhaps she'd changed her mind? The instant he had the thought, he dismissed it, and was embarrassed by his heart's willingness to hold onto hope.
Graxen decided to meet the valkyrie head on. He adjusted his path to match hers and the distance between them rapidly closed. As they drew within a hundred yards of each other, he was struck with recognition. It was Teardrop, the dragon who'd given him such a chase. She'd once more donned her armor, though she wasn't carrying her spear. Was she pursuing him out of some desire for revenge? If so, why come unarmed? She began to glide in an arc and he joined her in a counter path, so that they traced a large circle through the air. They looked at each other across the gap as they glided leisurely in their orbit.
'You dropped your bag,' she said, the hint of a smirk showing in her eyes. Graxen noted the leather satchel hooked over her belt where her manacles had once hung. She flicked her tail forward and knocked the sack free. It fell slowly, dancing in the wind. Graxen dove and snagged it in his hind-claws. The bag felt heavy-something was inside. He jerked his head up. Had this been a ploy to distract him from a sneak attack? The valkyrie continued in her slow circle, looking toward him with an expression devoid of malice.
'Thank you,' he said, flapping his wings to reach her flight level once more.
'I'm sorry Sparrow attacked you. She should never have been allowed on that patrol.'
'She was only doing her job.'
'Our job is to defend the island, not to abuse innocent messengers.'
'I'm used to hostility,' said Graxen.
'It's left you with remarkable reflexes,' she said.
Graxen wasn't used to complements. He found himself unsure how to respond. There was a long moment of silence.
Teardrop took his quietness as an invitation for further explanation. 'Sparrow only became a valkyrie a year ago. On her first patrol, she and two more experienced guards were ambushed by a band of tatterwings.'
'Oh,' said Graxen. The only thing lower in the ranks of the sky-dragons than a freak was a tatterwing. These were criminal sky-dragons whose wings had been slashed as punishment. Forever condemned to the ground, tatterwings survived by begging or by banditry. It sounded as if Sparrow had fallen victim to the latter kind.
'The elder valkyries were killed. Sparrow was… abused. She only recently returned to duty. Her attack on you was an attack upon the ghosts that haunt her. And, of course, she is from the lineage of Pachythan. So, she perhaps felt an extra obligation to be tough with you.'
Graxen wasn't certain what her lineage had to do with anything. Pachythan was the younger brother of Metron. Was she saying Sparrow was more diligent due to being the niece of such a prominent sky-dragon?
She added, 'I didn't want you to think ill of all valkyries. Most would never have attacked you unprovoked.'
'I'm glad you don't think of the events that followed as a provocation,' Graxen said.
'If you'd been near when I freed myself, I would have gutted you. But, I bear no grudge. You simply outflew me. I won't be such an easy opponent should we meet again.'
'Noted,' said Graxen. 'Although, it seems unlikely we will meet again. The matriarch has vigorously uninvited me from the Nest.'
'As is her duty,' said Teardrop. 'Fly far, Graxen the Gray. Go with the knowledge that you've earned my respect.'
'I'm honored,' he said. 'May I ask your name?'
She banked away, flapping her wings, her body aimed for the Nest. She glanced back, then called out, 'Nadala.'
Graxen drifted in a slow gyre, watched Nadala grow smaller as she flew away, until she was only a speck, then only a memory.
Graxen returned his attention to Dragon Forge. He dropped down into the city, toward a broad avenue that ran near the central foundries.
In unison, thousands of earth-dragons were filing into the street chanting,
'Yo ho ho!
The slow must go!
Yo ho ho!
The slow must go!'
The verse lasted all of five seconds, with the 'yo ho hos!' rising in tone, and the 'slow must goes' falling. The verse was then repeated, and was then repeated, and was then repeated, until Graxen was struck by the intense urgency to complete his mission here and move on. He dropped the bag in his hind-claws just before landing. Coming to rest, he retrieved the satchel and slung it over his shoulder. He again noticed the weight, but before he could examine it he was nearly run into by an earth-dragon marching straight toward him. Earth-dragons were squat, wingless creatures, resembling the unholy union of a human, a turtle, and an alligator. Most stood little more than five feet high, and were almost as broad due to their powerful musculature. Their green, beaked faces resembled the heads of turtles. As a species they were notoriously nearsighted, which could explain why the one that approached him was only inches away from collision before he stopped, looking befuddled.
Graxen figured this creature was as good a guide as any, and said, 'I'm here to see Charkon. Can you tell me where to find him?'
The earth-dragon looked at him dully, as if trying to fathom what Graxen might be saying. Earth-dragons varied a good deal in intelligence. None were as smart, on average, as sky-dragons, but many managed something approximating human intelligence, and most were smart enough to obey commands and hit the things they were told to hit. Still, a fair number weren't smart enough to talk. Graxen wondered if he'd grabbed one of these by mistake, even though the earth-dragon was still tonelessly repeating, 'the slow must go, yo ho ho…'
Finally something sparked in the dragon's eyes.
'Charkon's our boss,' he said.
'Right,' said Graxen. 'I need to find him. Is he around?'
'It's hatching day,' the dragon said.
Graxen was about to give up and try another dragon when this one said, 'Follow me.' Graxen fell in behind the creature, taking care not to step on the dragon's thick, alligatorish tail as it dragged in the dirt.
Graxen joined a crowd of earth-dragons heading for the center of town. All the human gleaners he'd spotted earlier had vanished. The crush of earth-dragons at the town square was worrisome. Though Graxen stood taller than anyone in the crowd, even the smallest earth-dragon outweighed him four to one. Graxen had a grim vision of being crushed by these horrid creatures. What were they all here for anyway? And would they never tire of that damn song?
Fortunately, his guide proved to be quite effective at moving through the crowd. The earth-dragon simply pushed ahead, knocking down and trampling those before him, occasionally pausing to bite a particularly slow moving obstacle to encourage it to move more quickly. Graxen mumbled apologies as he hopped over the dragons pushed down by his guide.
Finally, they reached the center. A large mound of red clay was piled here, resembling an ant hill ten feet high and twice as wide at the base. The clay was cracking and crumbling, giving it a surface resembling shattered flowerpots. It looked as if it was being wracked by small earthquakes.
Next to the mound stood a figure that Graxen instantly recognized as Charkon, though they had never met. Charkon was old for an earth-dragon, nearly eighty. Earth-dragons continued to pack on ever denser muscles as they aged, giving Charkon arms and legs thick as tree trunks. But it was his face that identified him. Charkon was a veteran of the southern rebellion, and at one point had found his face on the wrong end of a battle axe. A large jagged chunk of his left beak was gone, and where his eye had been there was now only a nasty bulb of scars. Yet, despite Charkon's hideous visage, his remaining eye gleamed with a savage intelligence, and he stood with a bearing that was as close to noble as an earth-dragon could ever hope to be.
Charkon gave Graxen a nod, then waved him closer.
'You're Graxen the Gray,' Charkon said, shouting to be heard above the chanting crowd. 'I thought I'd be seeing
