One by one the four riders drew up in a line, halting before the well. All eyes were fixed on what lay beyond-a neatly stacked pyramid of heads, mostly human, a few dogs. The eyes were all hollow-the ground was littered with the black feathers of buzzards.
Vance was the first to speak. "I've been to Mullton once or twice. My village used to trade with them." He paused, swallowing hard. "It's… it's only half a day's ride from here."
Jandra noted that the heads were mostly women and children. All the adult men, no doubt, had been pressed into service by Ragnar for the invasion of Dragon Forge. His army had roamed the countryside, raiding villages, offering all men a choice: Join or die.
"There was a girl here named Eula," Vance said, softly. "She smiled at my brother Vinton last spring and he spent all summer thinking about her. I kept telling him he should ride up here and court her if he was that crazy about her."
"Guess he missed his chance," said Shay.
Jandra thought this was a particularly callous sentiment, but Vance didn't seem to take offense. "Vinton died the night we took Dragon Forge. In the end, I guess it don't matter if he'd talked to her or not." He shook his head. "Looking at this, it's hard to know. Did we do the right thing? Was taking Dragon Forge worth this price?"
Shay said, "I was taken from my family when I was four. Chapelion selected me because he thought the color of my hair went well with the decor. I've been whipped a hundred times, for little things, like getting ink smudges on a sheet of parchment. I can't pull my shoulders all the way straight because of the scars."
He looked at Vance. "I'm one of the men your brother died to free. If I ever have children, they'll be free because of him. I promise every one of them will understand the price that was paid."
Vance responded with a brave, thin smile.
Anza raised her hand toward her cheek, as if to wipe away a tear, but turned her face away before Jandra could focus on it.
Jandra looked back at the mound of skulls. She felt the pressure of all their empty stares, accusing. Bitterwood had tried to tell her that peace with dragons wasn't possible. Even Pet, before he died, had preached that war was the only answer. Burke, the smartest man she'd ever met, didn't believe that dragons and men could ever share the earth.
So why was she cradling a dragon as if it were her own blood? Why, with the world so obviously split by this enormous rift between men and dragons, was she still straddling the chasm?
The world was broken. This pyramid of death bore plain testament to that. And yet, some tiny, small voice inside whispered that if she could only get her powers back, it wasn't too late to fix the world, to patch back together all the broken pieces and spare both man and dragon from the dark days coming.
"Let's ride on," said Jandra. "I'm not tired at all."
Burke woke to feverish heat and darkness. He felt as if his brain had swollen to three times its normal size and was threatening to split his skull. He was awash in sweat. Invisible ants were crawling over his whole body, from scalp to toes.
Toes.
Since Charkon had broken his right leg, he'd not felt the toes of that foot, or anything much below his hip. Now, his leg felt restored-not good, for it was subject to the same fevered agony that plagued the rest of his body-but at least it felt like part of his body once more, not simply dead meat hanging from his hip.
Why hadn't Biscuit performed the amputation? He ran his hands beneath the heavy wool blankets down his right hip. The steel splint he'd fashioned was gone. His fingers traveled further, and found bandages.
His leg ended only six inches below his hip.
While his mind felt ghostly toes wiggling, his fingers revealed the truth. Biscuit had done what needed to be done. Burke let out a long, slow, shuddering breath. He felt a pang of loss as sharp and clear as if he were at his own funeral. He swallowed hard, feeling tears rising. He hadn't cried since he was six. His brothers had long ago pummeled this weakness out of him. He sniffed and clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to surrender to the grief. He closed his eyes tightly, grateful that he was alone in his bedroom. He was certain that if anyone had been here with him, he would have burst into tears. This feeling turned out to be wrong.
"It's been a long time, Kanati," a raspy voice said by his bedside.
Burke sucked in a sharp gasp of air; his heart jumped around in his chest like a startled rabbit. He sat straight up, his eyes wide, searching the darkness for his mysterious visitor. By his bed sat a figure in a dark cloak, his face hidden by a hood. Burke was a rational man; until this moment he'd had no fear of some anthropomorphic manifestation of death coming to carry him away. His throat, wet with unshed tears only seconds before, went as dry as the parched fields around Conyers in the decade of drought.
"Who are you?" he tried to say. His lips moved, but only the barest sound came out.
The figure pulled back his hood, revealing an old man, his hair thin and gray, his skin wrinkled and leathery. "Have I changed so much?"
Burke stared at the visitor. There was something familiar about his eyes. "Bant?" he asked, his voice cracking. He swallowed and tried again. "Bant Bitterwood?"
"I always wondered if you'd made it out of Conyers in one piece."
Burke stared at the flat spot on the blanket where his leg should have been. "Defeat left me with a few scars. It's taken a victory to rip me in two."
"Not a bad victory," said Bitterwood. "The fields around here are full of dead dragons. The stench for miles is unbelievable. I was walking by buzzards too fat to flap away. You did good, Kanati."
"I did what I had to," said Burke. "Ragnar had no plan; he had passion and an army, but I knew that wasn't enough. If I'd let him take this fort, then allowed the dragons to crush him, the dragon's grip on this world would only be stronger. This wasn't a battle I chose. Still, I admit, watching those dragons rain from the sky made it worth it." He looked down at his missing limb. "It was worth even this."
Bitterwood face went slack. It looked as if Burke's words had triggered some distant memory. Burke thought he might be about to speak, but when he didn't, Burke chose to break the silence.
"You've been busy yourself. Jandra tells me you killed practically the entire royal family, including Blasphet. And, you took down Jasmine Robertson, the so-called goddess. She was the real threat to humanity, even more than the dragons."
Bitterwood scratched the raspy stubble under his chin. "You know me," he said. "I've never been good at nothing but killing. Killing the goddess wasn't a big deal. Once I saw past her tricks, she was only a woman." His shoulders sagged. His voice was softer as he said, "If you'd told me twenty years ago I'd one day kill a woman, I'd have said you were wrong. I thought there were some lines even I wouldn't cross." He wasn't looking directly at Burke as he spoke. As he finished, he slowly shook his head.
"Don't beat yourself up over killing that monster," said Burke.
Bitterwood looked him in the eyes. Something hardened in his expression. "I did what I had to. I don't regret it. I'd do it again."
"I'm sure you would," said Burke. "I didn't mean to imply that you wouldn't."
"Blasphet claimed he was the god of murder. He believed it, I think. He thought he was a god."
"I never met him," said Burke, uncertain where this change of subject was heading. "I always did admire the body count he racked up among dragons, though. You too, by the way. You put the fear of God into every dragon in this kingdom, Bant."