They carried the bundle forth. It struggled feebly. Valandant was only two years old, little bigger than the girls who carried him. Of all the dragon races, only sun-dragons formed family units. The death of a child this young, following so soon on the deaths of Kanst and Albekizan, would cause grief of unimaginable sharpness for all his family.
The humans unrolled the canvas. The young dragon struggled but his wings were pinned behind his back by an iron ring that pierced the skin just inside the wrist joint at the fore-talons. His legs were tied together by a thick cord of hemp, and his snout was shut by a similar cord. Valandant whipped his tail around wildly, causing the humans to jump back.
"Shhhhh," Blasphet said, leaning over the frightened dragon. In the lamp light, Valandant's red feather-scales glistened like blood. His wide eyes were damp with tears.
Suddenly, thirst ripped Blasphet from snout to belly. He opened his jaws wide, took Valandant's slender neck between his teeth, then clamped down, piercing it. Hot salty gushes spilled across his tongue. The fragrant iron-tinged tang of blood filled his nose. He grabbed the still struggling dragon and lifted him over his head, upending him like a jug of wine. He drank from the now limp body, blood dribbling down his neck and falling in hot drops upon his belly until his thirst was quenched.
Blasphet tossed the emptied corpse aside. He rubbed in the blood that coated his scales with his fore-claws, luxuriating in its warmth. He looked at his blood-soaked claws. For a moment, the gore made it seem as if they had reverted to their natural red coloring. However, as he licked the blood away, he found his scales had once more grown in clear, leaving the black hide beneath showing through. Once he had speculated that it was lack of sunlight that leached the color from his scales. Now, he wondered if it wasn't some long-term side effect of the poisons he'd ingested over the years. He was pleased with the look of his new scales-they were bristly, even spiky. It made his skin look angry.
The Sisters of the Serpent stared at him in awe. The fresh blood inside him burned like liquid fire in his belly. Murder God, they had called him. It had been too long since he'd heard the words from human lips.
"Your gift pleases me," he said. Then, he randomly pointed to five of the sisters. "You will come with me. We shall go to my temple. I assume you've built a temple?"
"Of course, my lord," said Colobi.
"You five," he said, eying the others. "You won't be coming home. I've hidden poisoned knives throughout the castle. I will tell you where to find them. Then, I want you to charge forth and kill as many creatures as you can, in celebration of my return. Dragons of all species, humans, horses, ox-dogs, rats… if it breathes, make it stop. Kill with no regard for your own safety. Kill until something kills you. If you kill everyone in the castle, kill each other. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, O Murder God," the five said in unison, their eyes fixed upon him as if he were the most precious thing in the universe.
Chapter Four:
Laughter Spitting Blood
"Ven!" Jandra shouted, spinning to face her mentor. "You're alive!"
"No," Vendevorex said. "I'm almost certainly dead."
Jandra paused, confused. Vendevorex had died in her arms, it was true, but she couldn't ignore the plain evidence of her eyes. Vendevorex was alive. His sky-blue chest expanded and contracted with each breath. His scales nearly shimmered. From the strong, sharp lines of his shoulders to the well-formed legs that held him with such balance and poise, Vendevorex was the picture of health.
She ran forward to embrace him, throwing her arms around him, then through him. His body fluttered like smoke.
She jumped back, her voice catching in her throat; some primitive part of her mind felt certain she was in the presence of a ghost. Quickly, the more rational part of her brain deduced the truth.
"You're an illusion," she said.
"Correct," Vendevorex answered. "An interactive recording stored within the skull cap. I don't know the circumstances of my demise, Jandra, but you are the only one with the proper training to have triggered my helmet when you donned it. The fact you're seeing me shows that the helmet is functioning. As the device continues to adapt itself to your brain, you will discover it to be a much more powerful tool than your tiara. Unfortunately, this increased power comes with increased risks."
Jandra raised her hands and ran her finger along the rim of the helmet where it rested against her forehead. More powerful? She'd always assumed that Ven's skull cap and her tiara were equally functional. Were different capacities the reason Vendevorex's abilities had seemed so advanced?
"Just as the helmet will adjust itself to better interface with your brain, it will adjust your brain to better interface with it. In the coming days, the helm will expand the range and sensitivity of your senses. You may find this disorienting. In time, you will adapt."
Jandra held her breath, trying to discover if she could hear anything new or different. It didn't seem so.
"The helmet provides an interface between your mind and the outer world, but your true abilities lie in the training and knowledge within you. The helmet will gently restructure your neural pathways to make them more efficient, allow you finer control over your memories. Most of this will happen as you sleep, but there may be some carry over into your waking life. This may result in hallucinations. Be careful… you may injure innocents by attacking threats that exist only in your imagination. Conversely, you may hesitate in the face of genuine danger. This effect will fade after a few years as your brain reaches its most efficient structure."
"A few years?" Jandra said, her heart sinking. Her mind felt adequate already. What could possibly be worth years of not being able to trust her own eyes?
"Finally," said Vendevorex, "I must warn you of the most serious threat. I'm not the creator of the helmet. It is a tool from the hidden city known as Atlantis. You may have wondered why, given my abilities, I took a subservient position in the court of Albekizan, and seldom used my power to truly alter the world."
Jandra had often been frustrated by her mentor's reluctance to use his powers more aggressively.
"The helmet wasn't a gift from the Atlanteans. It was stolen. Take care to avoid their attention. You may think that after so many years the Atlanteans are no longer searching for their property. Unfortunately, time is no obstacle to the Atlanteans who are, for all practical purposes, immortals. I have no doubt they will come for the device. It may even be that they were simply waiting for my death to reclaim it. You may be in grave danger. Use utmost caution should you encounter an Atlantean. Their powers will exceed yours by an unimaginable factor. However, this doesn't mean they can't be defeated. Atlanteans possess one flaw that may prove fatal should you choose to exploit it. All Atlanteans-"
Vendevorex's voice was drowned out by a shout from below, a cry of rage that sounded violently torn from the shouter's throat. It was followed by the voice of an earth-dragon screaming, "Stay back!" Though the voices originated several floors beneath her with layers of thick stone to muffle them, the words sounded almost as if they had been spoken in the same room.
As she thought about the voices, images flickered through her mind. The faces of thousands of earth-dragons she'd met flashed before her in an instant. A heartbeat later, the images were gone, and a single face remained in her memory, that of a guard named Ledax. She barely knew him, having only heard him speak once in all the years he carried out his duties around the palace. Yet, she somehow knew it was his voice that had shouted the warning to stay back. She also knew, with equal certainty, that the first shout she had heard had come from the lips of a human woman.