"It was just a leg," said Burke. "Not even my favorite one."
As Vance helped him stand, he asked, "What happened to the girl? The one talking about how we'd all be healed? Did Ragnar kill her?"
Burke nodded. Then, catching himself, he said, "Yes."
Vance shook his head slowly. "When I heard about Ragnar, me and Vinton left Stony Ford to join him, thinking he was a hero. Now I'm thinking he's a monster."
Burke looked around. Some of the Mighty Men were nearby, talking about who was going into the well. If they'd heard Vance's words, they didn't react.
"Sometimes, to fight monsters, you need an ally who's a bigger monster," said Burke. "For better or worse, there are men in this fort who are willing to die for Ragnar. I don't like him and I don't trust him. I know he feels the same about me. But we both know that we need each other if we're going to reach our goals. Ragnar needs me to build weapons. I need him to build armies that will put those weapons to good use. As long as we have the dragons to fight, we'll muddle through. It's what happens after we defeat the dragons that's going to be messy."
Vance nodded. "Did I hear the girl offering you something to eat? 'Cause I'm starving."
"You don't want what she was offering. Come on back to the shop," he said, hopping around, his hand on the well for balance. He crouched down on his one leg to reach his crutch. "I've got some grub there. Nothing fancy, but you'll sleep with full bellies tonight."
"What was she offering?" asked Vance.
"A lot of nonsense, mostly," said Burke. "Blasphet possessed an unparalleled knowledge of poisons. She must have ingested something that drove her crazy."
"But what was she talking about? The dragonseed?"
He couldn't fault the boy for his curiosity. Burke took the seed Shanna had given him and placed it in Vance's palm for the boy to examine. "They're like big watermelon seeds. I can't even guess what plant they come from. But I'm not so desperate that I'm going to put something strange in my mouth because an obviously insane woman promises it will heal me."
Vance rolled the large black seed between his fingers. "Yeah," he said. "Only a fool would fall for something like that."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
MACHINE HEART
Bazanel, the most acclaimed chemist among the sky-dragons, stood before the black slate wall in the Golden Tower of the College of Spires, writing out the recipe for gunpowder. He turned and faced his guest, nervously rolling the small rod of bone-white chalk in his left fore-talon. Suddenly self-conscious of his fidgeting, he put the chalk down. With the single remaining claw on his mangled right fore-talon, he scratched at the scaleless mass of scar-tissue where his ear used to be and cleared his throat.
"The key component is saltpeter… potassium nitrate. This contains three oxygen molecules, bound to one molecule of potassium and one of nitrogen. When mixed with the other compounds it's stable until energy is introduced. The oxygen unbinds, then rebinds, producing explosive combustion."
The sky-dragon seated upon a leather cushion looked at the board with a blank stare. Unlike the students he normally lectured, this guest probably had little training in chemistry. She was a valkyrie, a female sky-dragon, one of the warriors who guarded the Nest.
Ordinarily, sky-dragons lived with the complete segregation of the sexes. The extraordinary events of recent weeks had produced the current cooperation. The aerial guard had always been a small force, and it had suffered losses in the battle of the Free City. The valkyries had lost hundreds during Blasphet's assault on the Nest. Only a combination of forces could now have a hope of restoring order to the fractured land.
Bazanel could count on his claws the number of times he'd been in the presence of a female of his species-even though he had fewer claws than most. Breeding was strictly controlled by the matriarch, the leader of the Nest who guided the genetic destiny of the sky-dragons. Male sky-dragons who excelled in scholarship were rewarded with the opportunity to breed so that their desirable traits might remain in the species.
At the age of fifty-four, Bazanel had never been invited to the Nest, though he was widely acclaimed as the most knowledgeable chemist the biologians had ever produced. No doubt his physical appearance had some bearing in this decision. He'd long had a special interest in the study of unstable chemicals. A side-effect of this interest meant that more than half of his body was marred by scar tissue. He was completely deaf in his right ear and plagued by incessant ringing in the left. Holes riddled both wings, rendering him flightless. His once fine tail was now only a stub. And yet, against all odds, his reproductive organs remained intact. Genetically, he was a whole being. The matriarch had to know this. Why was he snubbed?
The valkyrie's name was Rachale; she had several burn wounds along her neck, still red and puffy. During the attack on the Nest, some of Blasphet's forces had used a crude flame-thrower-no doubt she was a veteran of this battle.
She asked, "You're certain saltpeter can be found in bat guano?"
"Oh yes," said Bazanel. "Most abundantly. It's in any number of other sources as well-almost any urine will have the necessary components. Caves merely provide a convenient, stable environment for the crystals to grow."
"Given your knowledge of the ingredients, how much gunpowder do you think the rebels could have made in this short period?"
"Perhaps quite a bit," said Bazanel. "Some of the ancient waterworks in that area have been the undisturbed home of bats for centuries."
Rachale nodded slowly. "We're placing a great deal of faith that you've gotten this right."
"This requires no faith" said Bazanel. "This is chemistry. If you follow the formulas I've provided you, you will manufacture gunpowder by the barrelful. I stake my reputation as a scholar upon it."
"It isn't your reputation as a scholar that causes our concern," said Rachale. "It's your reputation for carelessness."
"I see," said Bazanel. Her use of the word "our" was of interest to him. Was this an opinion of the matriarch?
"Over the course of the last three decades, you've gutted four towers, caused structural damage to six others, killed two students, seventeen human slaves, and injured countless more. You're lucky to be alive. Luckier still, I think, that Chapelion has allowed you to retain your position. At the Nest, such carelessness wouldn't be tolerated."
Bazanel drew his shoulders back and tilted his chin upward. Rachale's words displayed such staggering ignorance that, if all females were this limited in their intellect, he was grateful he'd never been invited to breed.
"Chapelion understands that mine is the work of a pioneer. I've expanded the frontiers of knowledge. My scars are badges of honor, not marks of shame. I believe this meeting is over. Return to Chapelion with my report. He will have the intellect to appreciate the treasure I'm giving him."
Without waiting for her reply, he turned and limped toward the staircase that spiraled down the outer rim of the tower. Rachale's accusation festered in his mind. Carelessness? Carelessness? In his indignity, a previously unthinkable course of action formed in his mind.
The action he contemplated violated the most fundamental moral code of the sky-dragons, but they had pushed him to this. It was time for him to draft the most scathing letter any dragon had ever crafted, a letter that would make the matriarch weep with shame when confronted with the tremendous injustice she'd perpetrated.
His rage was still burning by the time he limped his way into his laboratory in the cellar. The cool, musty air calmed him somewhat. The familiar smell of his lab soothed him further. He did note, however that the atmosphere reeked of lamp-oil.
When he pushed open the door, he found his laboratory in complete darkness. Why had Festidian allowed the lanterns to burn out? The young biologian was normally much more diligent.