''Disciples' is a word with religious overtones,' said Hex. 'Does this healer claim to be a god?'
The woman smiled gently. 'He makes no claims to godhood. He says he is, instead, a servant to us all.'
'He's the servant?' Hex asked, sounding skeptical.
Bitterwood sensed that Hex might be on the verge of a diatribe on the political implications of a servant/master relationship and decided to nip off the argument before it began.
'This boy has yellow-mouth,' said Bitterwood. 'He may not survive the day. Can your healer save him?'
The woman approached the long-wyrm. She reached up and stroked Jeremiah's sweat-beaded brow, frowning with concern. She said, 'We shall take him to see the healer immediately. Give him to us.'
'I'll carry him,' said Bitterwood. 'I want to stay with him.'
'We'll all stay with him,' Zeeky said.
The woman looked back toward her three companions. Some unspoken communication took place, ending with a nod by all four.
'Very well,' said the woman. 'We'll lead you to the healer. Dismount and we'll tend to your steed, seeing that it has water and food… though, I confess, I'm unfamiliar with this beast. What does it eat?'
'Pretty much anything,' said Zeeky, hopping down from her saddle. 'Oats would be great. Don't leave him alone around any small animals, though. He'll gulp down a chicken before you can blink.'
Bitterwood was surprised that Zeeky was surrendering Skitter to the women. From her body language, Zeeky didn't appear worried about their intentions. Bitterwood wasn't as certain, though he couldn't say why. There was nothing overtly sinister about these women. That only added to his sense that they were walking into a snake pit. But, if he had to walk into hell itself to save Jeremiah, he would. He slid down from his saddle as the others dismounted.
Hex extended his fore-talon to help Burke balance himself. Burke looked skeptical, then placed his hand on the claw and lowered himself to the ground.
'Thanks,' he said.
Skitter followed one of the women toward the stables as the first woman led the motley collection of men, sun-dragon, girl, and pig through the busy streets of the city. The scent of fresh-cut pine hung heavy in the air. Hammer blows echoed from all directions.
Burke limped more rapidly on his crutch until he was just behind the woman. 'How are they feeding all these workers?'
'Our healer is also our provider,' said the woman. 'I've witnessed him take a bag of grain, and pour it into an empty bag. Once that bag is full, another is brought, then another, then another. From a single bag, he may fill forty of the same size. There is no hunger here.'
'That's what was said about the Free City when Blasphet ran it,' said Burke. 'This city was sold as a sanctuary where all human needs would be met. But once everyone was inside the gates, the true plan was for it to become a mill of death.'
'You speak of the time when Blasphet was known as the Murder God.'
'Yes,' said Burke.
'Blasphet, the Murder God, is dead,' said the woman. 'According to the healer, a new Murder God has taken his place.'
'A new Murder God?'
'Yes. The beast who murdered the Murder God. His unholy name is…,' the woman paused, frowning, as if the name were sour on her tongue. When she finally spoke, her voice dripped with contempt. 'He is known as the Death of All Dragons. He is called the Ghost Who Kills. His unholy name is Bitterwood.'
SHAY WALKED WITH Biscuit on one side of him and Frost on the other. Biscuit looked disgusted as Frost stumbled on the steps of one of the nicer buildings Shay had seen in Dragon Forge, a stately two story house built of brick, with slate shingles and glass windows.
'This was Charkon's residence,' said Biscuit.
'Ah,' said Shay. Charkon had been the boss of Dragon Forge. It made sense that an earth-dragon of his reputation would have a better home than the dragons who worked beneath him. It made sense, as well, that Ragnar should claim possession of the house. Shay guessed that, inside, he would find many of the spoils of war being used for Ragnar's comfort.
Instead, when the door opened, pulled from within by the giant bodyguard Stonewall, Shay saw that the interior of the house was almost empty. The large central room had been stripped bare, with the only furnishing present being an iron cross forged from the blades of four swords leaning against a brick wall. Ragnar knelt before this cross, his head lowered so that his bushy mane touched the floor.
Stonewall stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
'This boy wants to see Ragnar,' said Frost. A slight belch punctuated his sentence.
'Ragnar's praying,' Stonewall said. 'He's not to be disturbed. I saw your approach from the window.' Stonewall looked at Shay with a thoughtful gaze. 'You're the escaped slave who brought the books. I don't believe I ever learned your name.'
'Shay. It's important I talk to Ragnar.'
Stonewall shook his head. 'I'm sorry. The prophet's present conversation is with someone more important. He's praying for divine assistance to deal with the rumors of yellow-mouth.'
'Rumors?' said Shay. 'I thought there were people actually sick from the disease.'
'There was a single boy who vomited,' said Stonewall. 'Bitterwood took him. We quarantined two dozen men who had contact with him. So far, there have been no symptoms.'
'Then why have the foundry fires died?' asked Shay. 'You're surrounded by dragons on all sides. I would run the foundry until every man in Dragon Forge had a gun, or even a dozen guns. From my vantage point, I spotted catapults ringing the city. It looks as if the dragons may be preparing an attack.'
'The foundry workers are damn cowards,' muttered Frost.
Biscuit ground his teeth loudly enough for Shay to hear. He grumbled, 'No man wants to be seen in public if the next time he coughs he's going to be thrown into the quarantine barracks-or the furnace.'
'Are you trying to start something?' Frost asked, his hand falling back to the modified gun on his belt. ''Speak carefully. You still have one eye.' He hiccupped.
'Have you been drinking?' Stonewall asked before Biscuit could answer.
Frost turned pale. 'Of course not. Ragnar forbids all alcohol.'
Shay said, 'What happened to Burke? He could have managed an outbreak of disease. He wouldn't have let the foundries shut down.'
Stonewall crossed his arms. 'Burke also wouldn't share his knowledge freely with his fellow men. His pride prevented him from telling Ragnar all his secrets. In his disbelief, he lacked a moral compass to guide him to the greater good. In the end, he killed a dozen men as he fled the city. He destroyed the southern gate, exposing us to the risk of attack; we've set up a barrier, but it's impossible to describe the harm Burke has done to our cause.'
Shay clenched his fists. He wanted to scream at the stupidity of Stonewall's words, but fought to keep his cool. 'Don't talk to me about sharing knowledge. I came here with books filled with information and ideas that could have helped launch a new human age. Ragnar took those books and flung them into the fire. Ragnar gave Burke every reason to be cautious about sharing what he knew.'
Stonewall said, 'Ragnar threw only one book into the fire. He had me gather up the rest. I still have them. He forgot about them five minutes after we left the loft. The prophet has many things on his mind.'
'You have the books?'
'I'm a voracious reader. I was curious as to their contents,' said Stonewall. 'The Drifting Isles are remote and lonely. Books are highly valued there.'
Shay was confused. It must have shown in his face, because Stonewall said, 'You seem to think that because I'm a man of faith, I'm also a man of ignorance. It's a prejudice that Burke shared, I'm afraid.'
'According to Chapelion, faith is the opposite of knowledge,' said Shay. 'It's difficult, I admit, to think that you can be well-read and still believe that Ragnar speaks directly with God.'
Frost let loose a low growl as his fingers fondled the butt of his gun. 'You're getting mighty close to blasphemy, boy.'
Stonewall's eyes twinkled. He didn't look offended by Shay's argument. 'You aren't so different from me, Shay.
