the wheels of a thousand wagons. Into the courtyard rolled a human figure twenty-feet tall. It was a man made of iron, with buckskin-wrapped legs set on giant rolling treads as long as it was tall that propelled it forward with a rapid lurching gait. The giant had an angry, demonic, iron visage, and a headdress hanging down his back made from red and blue dragon feathers. The giant man brandished a long iron war club as it advanced and let loose another shriek of steam.
'Ah,' said Pet. 'So that's Big Chief.'
Burke the Machinist sat in the area where the giant's crotch should be, in a wire cage that protected him from most blows but allowed him a wide field of vision. He was operating a series of wheels and levers that controlled Big Chief's treads, while Anza sat in a similar cage at the giant's throat, pulling levers that controlled the giant's arms. Its left arm swung the war-club, easily seven feet long and as thick as a fence post. A lone earth-dragon stood near Big Chief, staring up, its turtle-mouth agape. The giant club came down on the stunned dragon like a sledgehammer on a watermelon.
The huge iron boiler on the treads behind Big Chief whistled in the aftermath, belching steam, giving the giant life by powering the chains and pulleys that drove it. Anza flipped a switch and flames shot out Big Chief's eyes as she turned his head toward a crowd of earth-dragons pushing toward the square. The mouth of the demonic face opened and let fly a dozen of the razor disks that Pet had seen demonstrated in the initial invasion. The green hides of the earth-dragons suddenly sported horrid red stripes.
As a wave, the earth dragons turned and ran, leaving behind only a few stragglers.
No, not stragglers.
Warriors. The earth-dragons left behind wore gleaming armor and carried broad axes that cut a swathe through the humans around them. Pet recognized the dragon at the center of this band, and knew that Burke was in for a fight.
'Charkon,' he whispered.
The zings of the sky-wall bows rang out and he turned away. He had his own job to do. The rest was up to Burke.
Chapter Thirty:
Stomach for Brutality
Big Chief lurched and shuddered as Burke pushed it in its second forward gear and rolled into the square. The mob of earth-dragons all turned toward the noise as he pulled the steam whistle. Their beaks dropped in astonishment as flames shot from the giant machine's eyes. At his back, the falling snow sizzled as it vaporized against the boiler. Anza released a round of the razor disks; the ratchets and springs firing in sequence sounded like music. There were probably five hundred earth-dragons in the square-at least half of them turned tail and ran as Big Chief lumbered forward on its treads. Even though most of the components for the steam giant had been assembled over the years in his basement back at the tavern, until this moment he'd worried that building Big Chief had been a foolish waste of time and resources. But as the earth-dragons stampeded, he felt his devotion to the machine had been worthwhile. The fact that darts weren't raining down on everyone in sight told him the sky-wall bows had worked as well. It looked as if they'd survived the initial assault. Now all they had to do was clean up stragglers, clear the streets of dragon corpses, and prepare for the inevitable siege.
In his confidence, Burke didn't notice the human head hurtling through the air toward him until it clanged against the wire cage and splattered him with blood. The jolt of adrenaline that surged through him completely changed his view of the battle. Yes, most earth-dragons were running from the square. But so, too, were many of Ragnar's men. Was Big Chief frightening them as well? Or was something worse hidden in the square behind the crush of bodies?
A second head flew up in the air, then a third, a fourth, a fifth, until it looked like a demented juggling act. The crowd between himself and the source of the flying heads parted as men fled. At last he had a good view of the problem.
'Charkon,' he muttered.
The earth-dragon leader and his five bodyguards advanced in a tight circle, protecting each other's backs, spinning through the human warriors like a giant killing wheel, Their axes slashed out, cutting down anything in their path. Burke found himself in grudging admiration of the choreography and teamwork the six warriors displayed. They were fighting with years of experience, the finest weapons and armor the dragons had ever produced, and sheer superhuman power. Earth-dragon muscles grew denser as they aged. Charkon was twenty years stronger than when they'd last met. Burke was twenty years older.
And Burke had spent those twenty years designing this machine for exactly this moment.
'Okay Anza,' Burke said. 'Chew them.'
The giant tilted its head and Burke listened with great satisfaction to the precise clockwork click zzizz, click zzizz as the razor disks shot from their cartridge. Anza handled the disk shooter better than he'd ever managed. Each one sliced through the air straight toward its target, a testament to Burke's precision craftsmanship and Anza's steady aim. Unfortunately, Charkon's elite armor proved to be of an even superior craftsmanship. The disks snapped and ricocheted from his breast plate in a shower of sparks. The wildly careening shards cut into the human warriors nearby, biting into bone.
Anza stopped firing. Burke could tell from the clanking of chains that she was resetting the war club to strike. Burke shifted gears and spun the guide wheel to swing Big Chief into a better attack position. The ancient, hard- packed earth of Dragon Forge was the perfect surface for Big Chief. Not even the snow was slowing it down.
Charkon gazed up at the approaching giant. Suddenly, the elder dragon broke ranks with his fellows and leapt forward. Anza swung the war club. Charkon raised his massive shield and took the blow. The shudder of the impact knocked Burke's spectacles free. He caught them against his chest. Slipping them back on, he found that Charkon's shield had been shattered by the blow-but Charkon himself seemed unharmed.
Charkon tossed the fragments of his shield aside before Anza could raise the club again. Dropping his axe, Charkon grabbed the iron club in his gauntleted claws. He twisted the weapon with all his strength, grunting loudly. Big Chief's arm groaned and creaked from the stress. The wrist joint exploded as Charkon tore the weapon free. Shrapnel rattled off the mesh cage surrounding Burke. Big Chief's arm fell limp, the shoulder ratchets completely stripped.
'Kanati!' Charkon screamed, his voice given a metallic, cymbal-like quality by his helmet. He retrieved his axe and brandished it with both hands, launching into a charge. The arc of the swinging axe would slice directly into Big Chief's crotch. Burke was fairly certain that the wire mesh wasn't going to offer much protection. Then, to the surprise of both Burke and Charkon, the Big Chief's left arm swung down and struck Charkon on the blind side of his helmet, knocking him from his feet with a loud whang! Charkon hit the ground hard as his dented helmet bounced away.
Big Chief, unfortunately, took the blow as badly as Charkon. Burke struggled to keep the giant upright as vibrations tested every bolt in the machine. Shrill whistles of steam cried out at his back as the boiler sprung numerous tiny leaks. Above, Anza ground gears as she tried to command the arm to rise once more, before Charkon could get back on his feet. The arm lifted barely a yard before freezing. Burke winced as cables throughout Big Chief's arm snapped.
Charkon rolled to his belly, looking dazed. Burke saw one last chance. He jammed Big Chief to maximum speed and steered straight toward Charkon, hoping to crush him beneath the treads.
Charkon rose to his knees, facing the giant as it rolled toward him. His thick claws reached out to retrieve his fallen axe. He threw the gore-encrusted weapon parallel the ground, the blade spinning in an uneven orbit, until it buried itself between the tread and the grooved wheels it rolled on. With a jolt, Big Chief's left leg ground to a halt. Burke kicked the right leg out of gear before they toppled.
Behind Charkon, Burke noticed that Ragnar was now leading the fight against the remaining earth-dragons. Ragnar almost flew as he leapt up, swinging his scimitars with such force they bit easily into his foes' seemingly invincible armor. When the earth-dragons returned the attack, Ragnar, naked and nimble, simply hopped away from their blows.
Burke sighed. He'd lived his life dedicated to the premise that preparation and inventiveness were of greater value than blind faith and naked savagery. Why did he believe anything at all when the world seemed intent on proving him wrong almost daily?
Burke was snapped from his philosophical musing as Charkon climbed onto the treads and stepped toward the
