'I knew,' said Burke. 'It was too big a coincidence that you'd been the slave of the only dragon I'd ever thought of as a kindred spirit.'
'I'll light the fuse,' said Vance.
'But…'
'I'm faster than both of you. I can hold my breath underwater a long time. Now get out of there and let me blow this thing up.'
Burke grabbed the fallen shotgun and slipped down into the icy water. He lost his footing almost instantly. He reached out and grabbed Thorny's arm to steady himself.
'What's h-he going to l-light it with?' Thorny asked through chattering teeth.
'There's still fire under the boiler,' Vance grumbled. 'Get out of here!'
It was the closest thing to anger Burke had ever heard in Vance's voice. Grabbing his crutch, he took a deep breath and dropped beneath the water. The current pulled him away. He popped back to the surface several yards downstream. The water was unbelievably cold. Each winter his father used to throw him into the river and make him swim a mile. Supposedly, it was meant to make him tougher. In practice, it left him hating swimming. It was one aspect of his childhood training he'd never had the heart to inflict on Anza. He was suddenly grateful for it.
On the bank above him he saw a flash and heard thunder. A bloodied dragon toppled down the bank, limp and lifeless.
Thorny popped to the surface beside him. His lips were dark blue.
'Keep moving,' Burke said, grabbing his friend by the collar.
'If y-you knew,' Thorny asked, 'why d-didn't you k-kill me?'
'You were the only halfway decent chess player in town.'
'Anza's b-better,' said Thorny.
'Anza beats me,' said Burke.
They hopped, floated, and scrambled downstream a hundred yards, seldom bringing anything more than their heads above water. In the darkness, the fallen bridge and the upended war machine were nothing but shadows. On the far bank, Burke saw movement. Vance?
The shadow he saw was too large and had a tail. The shadow brandished a large hammer and shouted incompressible words of rage at the fallen bridge. So much for the hope the brute had been crushed in the collapse.
'It's been too long,' said Burke. 'The fuse should have-'
The night went white. The shockwave knocked them beneath the water. Hot shards of metal rained down, sizzling as they punched into the river. Burke lost all sense of up and down as the water roughed him up. Finally, he surfaced. Thorny popped up too, gasping. Burke spun around, trying to get his bearings, until he spotted the pillar of bluish flame on the water where the Angry Beetle had once been. The burning goom, no doubt. Black smoke hung heavy in the air. All around, little plips sounded in the water as shrapnel continued to fall.
Burke wanted to call out Vance's name, but didn't dare. He didn't know how many men or dragons had survived. No matter who was still up on the banks, it wouldn't be long before sky-dragons swarmed the area. Their only chance was to stay quiet, stay low, and keep moving.
'Do you th-think he…?' whispered Thorny.
'Shh,' said Burke. 'Keep moving. He'll find us.'
As the minutes dragged on, Vance didn't find them. Burke helped Thorny crawl from the water after a mile had passed. They were both freezing, drenched to the bone. Their only hope was to keep moving. They raced not only against the sky-dragons who no doubt searched the area, but against hypothermia and frost-bite as well.
They limped along with Burke's arm wrapped around Thorny's shoulder for balance. Burke had the shotgun and his crutch pressed against his chest with his free arm. Any time Thorny slowed, Burke pushed him on, ever eastward. Stopping even a minute to catch their breath could prove fatal.
They'd traveled a few miles when Burke smelled smoke. At first, he thought it might be his imagination, until Thorny whispered hoarsely, 'S-smells like a f-fire.'
They limped on, rounding a bend in the river. Like some dream, a windowless log cabin sat high up on the bank, with smoke curling from the stone chimney. Burke hobbled toward it, not caring who might be inside. The cabin was tiny, barely ten feet by five. He let his crutch drop from his numb hands as he fell against the door.
The door opened. Vance looked down on them. His hair was sopping wet. He was wrapped in a thick wool blanket. The redness of his burned cheek had faded. Behind him, a fire roared.
'This place used to belong to my uncle Jig,' Vance said. 'He's back at Dragon Forge. He won't mind us passing the night.'
'How did you…'
Vance shrugged. 'I must have passed y'all in the darkness. Get inside before you let the heat out. We need to put out the fire before dawn. Don't want the dragons seeing the smoke.'
Thorny stumbled into the cabin. He fell before the fireplace, rolling toward it, until he was practically in it. Steam rose from his clothes.
'Don't cook yourself,' said Burke, dropping to the floor next to him.
Vance shut the door.
Burke closed his eyes and instantly plunged into sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
WE SHALL ALL BE HEALED
ANZA PRESSED HER back against a stone dragon atop the roof of the palace. The night sky was full of aerial guard and valkyries. Within the palace a dozen ox-dogs bayed. They were all searching for her. She'd spent most of the day skulking around the palace, trying to establish who'd seen the scroll containing the secret of gunpowder. Tonight, she'd acted. Two dozen sky-dragons were dead in her wake. The only important target she'd missed was Chapelion himself. She hoped he hadn't committed the formula to memory. She'd recovered Bazanel's original scroll and two copies and burned them.
Unfortunately, it had proven impossible to execute her plan in complete secrecy. The first bodies had been discovered long before she was finished with her targets. She'd been increasingly on the defensive as news spread through the palace that an assassin was present. With the ox-dogs now on her trail, she'd spent the last hour retreating to ever higher ground.
She pressed her cheek against the cold marble scales of the carved sun-dragon she hid beside. The wind whipped around the peaks of the palace. She looked toward the southwest. Somewhere in that direction lay Dragon Forge. She imagined how her father would stand when he heard the news of her death. She could feel the sag of his shoulders.
The wound on her chest throbbed with each heartbeat. It felt as hot now as the night the fire had actually touched it. Not a quarter mile distant was the river where she'd swum with Skitter little more than a week ago. It would feel good to dip back into that water.
The door to the rooftop terrace burst open and an ox-dog emerged, dragging an earth-dragon handler behind it, followed by a squad of nine earth-dragons and a second dog. Anza could handle the guards. The ox-dogs were another matter. Standing six feet tall at the shoulder, ox-dogs had a bite that even sun-dragons envied. Pound for pound, there were few creatures on the planet who matched them for sheer muscle. Like all dogs, they were fiercely protective of their pack, and would fight to the death once combat began. Worst of all, their sense of hearing and smell made them nearly impossible to elude.
If there was ever a moment in her life when it would have been useful to sprout wings, it was now. Given the improbability of that development, she improvised.
She pursed her lips and let out a long, loud whistle. As all heads turned toward her, she scrambled onto the stone dragon, climbed its long neck, and stood on its head. The statue looked out over the edge of the roof. Below her was a five-hundred-foot drop into darkness. To her right, in the distance, she could see the lights of Richmond, gleaming. If she could make it there, she could disappear among the crowds. To her left, there were other lights.
