The blood that flowed from Frost and Biscuit merged into a single pool. Stonewall stepped into this pool and picked up the handgun. It was a fairly clever invention. Was it Burke's design? Or had Frost taken the initiative to modify the weapon on his own?
His musings were cut short as the door to the brick house opened. Ragnar stood on the stairs, dazed. The prophet's forehead had a red dot from where he'd been pressing it against the floor. He didn't appear to notice the two dead bodies on his doorstep.
"The Lord answered my prayers with a voice of thunder on a cloudless day," said the prophet.
Stonewall started to mention the fight, but decided it might be blasphemous to imply the prophet had mistaken gunfire for the Lord's voice.
"I have a message for the men," said Ragnar. "Gather them. Everyone."
"Even those under quarantine?"
"Everyone. Now."
The hairy prophet spun on his heels and marched back into the house.
An hour later, Stonewall had overseen the removal of the bodies. Straw had been spread to hide the blood that stained the hard-packed soil. The Mighty Men had gone from building to building, dragging men from their bunks and, in some cases, from beneath them. Two thousand men crowded onto the street before Ragnar's house. At the front stood the men who'd been placed in quarantine. They were a sorry looking lot, disheveled and dirty, with oily hair and scraggy beards. They'd not been allowed near the baths since their confinement.
It was mid-afternoon. With the bright sun, the day was warm. It was the sort of winter day that promised that spring was near.
Soon, everyone in the fort was present, save for the men on the sky-wall team. They'd been boosted back to their full numbers. They made an impressive sight upon the walls.
The door to the brick house opened.
Ragnar stepped out, the cross of swords in his left hand. He slammed it onto the brick steps. The iron blades sang out like bells.
"There is no disease in Dragon Forge!" Ragnar shouted.
Stonewall furrowed his brow. There were whispers in the crowd.
"There is no disease in Dragon Forge!" Ragnar again cried out. "The Lord spoke to me in thunder! He said we have no reason for fear! Our righteous cause will not be brought low by illness. He shields us from plague and fever. Any who were sick are now healed by the power of our faith!"
Stonewall looked over the ragged men who'd come from the quarantine barracks. While none of them were the picture of health, none of them were incapacitated either. None even looked feverish, save for one of the younger men, a boy really. Stonewall felt as if he should know this boy's name. At last, it hit him. This was Burr, the boy Jeremiah had vomited on. When he'd gone into the quarantine barracks, Burr had been a big lad, his face ruddy and plump. Now, his cheeks were pale and hollow. Could worry alone have produced this change?
"Every man is to return to his work when he leaves here," said Ragnar. "Let the dragons tremble when they see the smoke rising from Dragon Forge once more. The archers on the walls report they've seen the movements of catapults. Their pitiful engines of war are nothing compared to our cannons! Tonight, we will demonstrate our power! I want all the cannons currently ready placed upon the walls. We begin our barrage of the blockade tonight!"
Stonewall cleared his throat. He leaned over to Ragnar and whispered, "Sir, there are only five spots along the wall that can support the biggest cannons. We've been working to reinforce the wall for more, but…"
Ragnar answered him by shouting to the crowd. "By nightfall, we will have fifty large cannons upon the wall. Every man here is rested and ready! Our task is clear! Our cause is just! Remember the Free City!"
The crowd cheered at these sacred words.
"Remember the Free City!"
Again they roared.
"Remember the Free City!"
Now even the sad looking men from the quarantine barracks pumped their fists in the air and shouted.
Save for Burr. The boy, already pale, grew paler still. His eyes rolled up into his head and he fell forward onto the brick steps at Ragnar's feet.
The men closest to the Ragnar who'd witnessed the boy fall stopped shouting. Like a wave, the cries of war faded and confused, hissing whispers spread from the front of the crowd to the back.
"The boy is overcome with excitement!" Ragnar shouted. "There is no disease in Dragon Forge."
Every man pushed away from Burr's unconscious form, deeper back into the crowd, standing as if there was an unseen wall that wouldn't allow them to be closer than twenty feet of the boy.
Stonewall stepped down and rolled the boy over. He felt as hot as a just-fired gun barrel. Steeling himself, Stonewall pushed back the boy's lips. His gums were puss yellow.
From the man standing nearest, he heard the whisper, "Yellow-mouth!"
Ten seconds later, there was full bore panic through the streets. Men were shouting. There was a shrill cry of pain near the back of the crowd as a man was trampled.
"Be still!" Ragnar shouted. "Have faith! Remember the Free City! Remember the Free City!"
The screams of fear only grew louder as the crowd streamed away.
"There's… there's no disease in…," Ragnar's voice trailed off as he looked toward the heavens. His fingers went limp and the iron cross slipped from his grasp.
Stonewall looked up as the bright sky dimmed.
The sky was full of rotting human corpses, flying over the walls of Dragon Forge in long, graceful arcs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:
THE PATH OF SCARS
Although it was still light outside, the interior of the barn in which Bitterwood and his companions stood was full of flickering candles that gave the air the scent of tallow and beeswax. They waited in silence as the woman who'd led them to the barn knelt in front of a canvas-covered platform.
Bitterwood was growing impatient with the woman's lengthy prayer. Jeremiah was heavy in his arms, but he didn't dare put him down. He felt that, as long as he was holding the boy, he was holding onto the last spark of life that still glowed inside the child.
Hex had settled into a seated position. Bitterwood spotted the weakness in the giant dragon's limbs. Normally, when he witnessed weakness in a dragon, it triggered the same instinct a dog feels when seeing a wounded rabbit. Now, Bitterwood felt something approaching sympathy for the sun-dragon. After cradling Jeremiah for so long, he no longer took any pleasure at seeing even a dragon suffer.
Burke joined Hex on the floor, as did Thorny. Vance and Zeeky were still on their feet, as was Poocher, who paced back and forth nervously.
"Can't you make him sit still?" Bitterwood grumbled.
Zeeky shrugged. "This is the barn where he was penned up with the other animals the last time we were at the Free City. He remembers the smell of the place. Smells get him agitated."
Poocher looked at her and grunted.
"For instance," she said, "he smells a sun-dragon here."
Bitterwood looked at Hex, who possessed the distinctive draconic odor of rotten fish.
"I mean he smells a second sun-dragon," said Zeeky.
Before they could discuss this further, a throng of young women in white robes, their faces hidden by hoods, filed into the barn. They quickly lined the walls.
Bitterwood was assessing their potential threat when Vance, Burke, and Thorny all gasped. Hex's scales suddenly bristled. Poocher squealed. Bitterwood turned to the canvas platform and found Blasphet seated before him, not twenty feet distant. Hovering a few inches above Blasphet's ebony brow was a glowing circlet of silver he knew welclass="underline" Jandra's tiara.