“Sassafras,” Vendevorex said. “I know my medicinal herbs. It’s made from the roots of a tree that grows here in the eastern mountains. It’s similar in odor and taste to the European licorice root.”
“European?” Shandrazel asked, offering the clay cup.
Vendevorex shrugged as he accepted the drink. The rough, unglazed ceramic warmed his talons. “I’m not trying to be obscure, but it really would take a long time to explain. Let’s just say that your father may not have been the best source for you to learn geography.”
“I concur,” Shandrazel said, then stopped to take a drink.
Vendevorex inhaled the steam from his own cup. The vapors were sour, with a fragrant kick that made the deep recesses of his sinuses tingle.
“So,” he said. “What have you been up to besides digging roots and hiding in caves?”
“I also made a clock and sewed a mask,” Shandrazel said. “These haven’t been the most glorious months of my life, to be honest. I probably wouldn’t have made it this long except, after I fled the College of Spires, a student followed me and pledged his loyalty. He visits me from time to time with news and supplies. Through him I learned that Chakthalla was harboring you, and heard the whispers of rebellion. I thought it might be time for me to once more seek the company of sun-dragons.”
“You came to help overthrow your father?”
Shandrazel shook his head. “I came hoping to prevent violence. I believe, despite all that has happened, that it is not too late for cooler heads to prevail. My father ordered my exile during horrible times. Bodiel… Bodiel was his favorite. I know this. But now that father’s had time to grieve, his reason may have returned.”
Vendevorex sighed. “You didn’t know your father at all, did you?”
“Of course I did,” Shandrazel said, sounding offended. “As his son, who could know him better?”
“Precisely because you’re his son, you cannot see him plainly. I’ve advised Albekizan for many years. Trust me when I tell you the king is bull-headed and stonehearted. He’ll not be talked out of his plans. Your exile will only end with your death, or his.”
Shandrazel opened his mouth as if to argue, then shook his head. The wispy white feathers around his nostrils wafted like steam as he sighed. He stared at the flickering coals within the stone circle.
“Killing him would be the same as killing myself,” said Shandrazel.
“A noble sentiment,” Vendevorex said. “If only your father displayed half your compassion.”
“So what now?” asked Shandrazel. “I’d rather not live the rest of my life hiding in caves.”
“Nor I. What's more, I have Jandra to think about. I must save her and, to satisfy her, I must save the entire human race.”
“No small task,” said Shandrazel.
“True,” Vendevorex said, stroking his chin with a fore-talon. “Fortunately, I’m not without resources. I see now that open revolution will only bring further destruction. What’s needed is some candidate for the throne who will assume the duty with a minimum of bloodshed. If you aren’t volunteering, I believe our best hope may be Kanst. I didn’t like that possibility before but we are running out of options. We could play upon his vanity; if I play my cards right, I might even wind up as his most trusted advisor, and help the kingdom see better days.”
“The armies would accept Kanst as king,” Shandrazel agreed. “He certainly possesses ambition. But he’s also known for his ruthlessness. In any case, I fear his loyalty to my father is too great.”
“You may be correct,” Vendevorex said. “Right now, my first duty is to find Jandra. Once we are united with her we can focus our energies on approaching Kanst and stopping Albekizan.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: HEART
The sun was low over the mountains to the west as the villagers marched through the green valley. Zeeky felt as if she couldn’t take another step. She wished Jandra would carry her but her mysterious friend looked as tired as she was. She certainly couldn’t ask Hey You. The man who had been so friendly to her in the barn now kept everyone at a distance with his stern countenance and silence.
Zeeky’s stomach growled. The dragons fed them only one meal in the mornings and water at night. She’d eaten better during the days she’d been on her own as a runaway. Of course, she hadn’t really been on her own then. She’d had Poocher to care for and his needfulness had kept her going. She was far more alone and scared now, surrounded by a crowd of strangers, than she had been when wandering across the countryside.
How nice it must be to be Kamon. The aged prophet wasn’t suffering at all on this journey. The village men carried him when he grew tired, and everyone gave him food until he’d had his fill. The villagers adored him but wouldn’t even look at her. She grew dizzy with anger thinking about it.
Or perhaps she was dizzy with thirst or exhaustion. Whatever the cause the world was definitely spinning, the path tilting sideways around her, until she fell face forward into the dust. She tried to stand up but didn’t have the strength. All she could do was lie there as the villagers stepped over and around her. She felt as if she should be angry with them but all she felt was shame at her weakness.
A bony, rough hand slid under her shoulders, turning her over. Hey You knelt over her, placing his strong, wiry arms under her knees and behind her back. Without a word he lifted her, placing her head on his shoulders
From her new vantage point, Zeeky looked back down the trail at the line of humans. Along the line, dragons herded humans, making sure none strayed. Following behind the humans were the farm animals the dragons had also gathered. It was difficult to tell in the diminishing light, but she squinted, and sure enough, she could see him. There among the predominantly pink pigs, Poocher’s black and white hide stood out.
Zeeky knew then that she would live through this. She had to. She didn’t know when, and she didn’t know how, but she would escape and save Poocher, and go someplace far away where she would never have to see another dragon again.
After Vendevorex fled, Albekizan gave Blasphet his chambers. The star-shaped room in the high tower suited Blasphet’s needs. Blasphet was one of the few dragons in the kingdom who understood the contents of the beakers and vials that lined the shelves along the room. What lesser creatures might think of as magic, Blasphet recognized as natural substances. There was nothing mystical about an acid that ate away iron, nothing strange about liquids that burned. Blasphet had yet to learn the secret, but he was convinced the wizard’s most amazing feat, his ability to turn invisible, was based in some as yet to be understood physical principle rather than supernatural forces.
Over the weeks, Blasphet had made many modifications to the star chamber and the rooms beneath it. To start, the main chamber was too cluttered and crowded for a sun-dragon to move comfortably in. He had most of the treasures and oddities in the room packed and carted to the chambers below to await further study. He kept the large, central oak table. With the addition of manacles, the table was perfect. A series of lanterns and mirrors lit the oak surface to high-noon brightness, even in the chill, dark hours of the night.
“You will probably want to scream,” Blasphet said to the naked young man shackled to the wooden slab. “I hope you won’t. Think about how enobling it would be to die with dignity. Instead of howling and begging for mercy you will not receive, resolve to let your death serve the quest for knowledge. Tell me if you have an increased sensation of warmth, or perhaps of cold. If anything, anything at all, makes you feel even the slightest bit stronger, tell me at once. Do you understand?”
The human didn’t speak but his angry, defiant eyes were a comfort to Blasphet. Perhaps this one had the will to survive the vivisection long enough to be of some use.