"My followers' faith is their shield," said Ragnar. "There is no true danger in this world. Life only begins after you're free of your mortal body."
Pet nodded, though he had no clue what Ragnar was talking about.
"Kamon said you intended to attack Dragon Forge?"
"Soon. We're waiting for the right moment to attack."
"I have some potentially useful information," said Pet. "The boss of Dragon Forge, Charkon, was just appointed general. He seemed worried about the danger to Dragon Forge with Blasphet on the loose. It wouldn't surprise me if he sends reinforcements to the Forge any day now. For all I know, they've already left."
"This is useful to know," said Ragnar. "However, we cannot attack the Forge prematurely." Ragnar lifted the flap of his tent. The smell of breakfast wafted through the air. For the first time since his beating, Pet felt the stirring of appetite.
"Come in," Ragnar said, motioning for Pet and Shanna to follow. "Your arrival is well timed. We've cooked a breakfast fit to welcome a prodigal son."
The flight back to the abandoned tower was a slow and difficult one. Metron obviously could no longer fly alone. Graxen found the option of walking back unacceptable. So, they'd developed a system where Metron would cling to Graxen's back in flight. Few dragons would have been strong enough to carry the weight, or graceful enough to remain balanced with a fidgeting burden pressed against their back. Yet, in many ways, it was as if Graxen had been training his whole life for this flight. The endurance he'd developed serving Shandrazel now gave him the stamina to carry Metron for many miles before requiring rest.
They could have flown even faster if not for the Prime Codex of Pleasure. The leather-bound tome was indeed an illustrated manual of acts of erotic love between sun-dragons. It had been drawn on the scale of sun-dragons as well; the pages were a yard high. The book weighed almost as much as Metron did; Graxen carried it strapped to his chest to balance the weight on his back.
During their rests, Graxen would find a spot of privacy to peruse the tome, his mood alternating between boredom, fascination, and a mild sense of terror. Some of the activity depicted looked as if it must certainly be painful. On an intellectual level, so many of the poses struck him as awkward and uncomfortable. Yet on a gut level, the process simply looked right. He almost felt as if he could have figured it out on his own if he'd been less timid.
Their travel was also slowed by Graxen's choice of flight path. The road leading to Dragon Forge would almost certainly have produced witnesses. Graxen was too easily identified and Metron was too well known to take the chance that they might be sighted. So, they took a path over less-traveled terrain, with Graxen trusting his long study of maps and his innate sense of direction to lead him to his destination.
His faith in his navigation abilities were rewarded when, at last, the vine-covered tower once more loomed from the leafless forest. Graxen swooped down to a landing on the tower wall, near the gargoyle.
Metron dropped from his back.
"Why did you land on such a narrow wall?" Metron grumbled. "The structure looks unsafe."
Graxen sighed. Much of his life, he'd entertained fantasies of what he and his father would discuss should they ever meet. Most of their actual conversations on this journey consisted of Metron complaining of his weariness or discomfort. Graxen had expected that meeting his father would be a joyous event. In reality, his feelings were far more complex. He felt a sense of satisfaction knowing the truth; discovering he was the son of the high biologen was almost like discovering he was a long lost prince. Yet he also felt anger and resentment, thinking of how different his life could have been if Metron had showed more courage. Graxen assumed that Metron's complaints were a manifestation of the guilt that tore at the elderly dragon. During his quiet moments, Metron had the look of a dragon being savaged from the inside by his demons. Rather than being overwhelmed by larger emotions like love or anger, Graxen mainly felt pity for his father, and more than a little annoyance.
"Why couldn't we land on the ground?" Metron asked, staring down at the leaves below.
"You're free to wait on the ground if you wish," said Graxen. "I choose to wait here for Nadala."
"Ah, yes, your lover," said Metron. "Are you certain we can trust her?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that love can blind a male to the faults of a female. How much do you truly know about her?"
"I confess, we've had precious little time for conversation. But the words we've shared resonate. She wrote a letter that revealed her most private thoughts, and the things she said could have come from my own quill. I trust her with my life."
"I believe you," said Metron. "But, the very act of falling in love with you requires her to be a lawbreaker."
"Who are you to judge anyone for breaking laws?"
"I'm not judging her. I'm merely expressing my concern."
"The passion I feel transcends laws. I can't claim our shared passion is rational. All I know is that when I see her, I feel as if the world is a much more wonderful place than I have ever realized. When we're apart, my thoughts can focus on nothing but her."
Metron looked wistful. "Yes," he said. "Yes, that is how I felt about Sarelia. In truth, that flame still burns within me."
"Sarelia?"
"The matriarch's true name. It's seldom used since the matriarch doesn't enjoy the luxury of individuality. As the guiding force of the sky-dragons, it's imperative that all the individuals who have ever served as matriarch seem to be of one mind and one will. It enhances their authority."
"You and she both possessed great authority," said Graxen. "With a joint decree, you could have made your love lawful. You had the power to change the world. Why didn't you?"
Metron looked forlorn as the evening sun hovered over the hills behind him. He was a small, elderly dragon, shivering in the chill air. His voice trembled as he answered. "You make it seem simple. Can't you see we were chained by the very authority we wielded? Perhaps we simply lacked the courage to overthrow the traditions that gave us our power. Now, I've discovered a certain bravery that comes with knowing my remaining days are few. I've lost everything that was ever important to me. I've nothing to lose in speaking to Sarelia. It may be that future generations have much to gain. I want to try one last attempt at making the world a better place."
Graxen nodded. He could think of a dozen arguments, a hundred questions, and thousand frustrations he wanted to shout at this creature that stood before him. In the end, he knew words simply wouldn't matter. The past was past. Metron now represented a slender hope for a better future.
"The wind on this wall is worse than it would be below," Metron said. "It cuts into me like a knife."
Graxen turned his back to his father.
"Climb on," he said. "I'll take you down."
Once Metron had found a comfortable spot to rest below, sheltered from the wind, Graxen flew back up to the top of the wall. He didn't know when Nadala might show up, and he wanted to be in plain sight when she arrived. He perched next to the gargoyle and unstrapped the enormous book from his chest. He placed it on the gargoyle's back and opened its pages. During his many years as a student, Graxen had been repeatedly drilled in the art of debate; he suspected this training could prove useful. He thought it likely Nadala would react with disbelief when he explained what was involved in the mating process. He would need to carefully present each step as a logical extension of the step that preceded it.
He lost track of the time as he studied the manual. The sun was nearly gone when he turned the page to find himself confronted with a detailed drawing of a male sun-dragon's reproductive organ. The organ was depicted approximately life-sized, stretching diagonally across two pages, and was painted in vivid red and pink watercolors that seemed to glow in the dimming light.