“What are you doing with that thing?” demanded Hsrandtuss.
“It’s not a thing,” said Ssu. “It’s our child.”
She cradled an immature lizzie in her arms. It was over thirty inches long, indicating it was from a clutch two seasons before. Its tail hung loosely down from between her arms. With her free hand, the female rubbed the little creature’s body. For its part, the youngling snapped its jaws shut on her dewlap, tearing off a small piece and causing thick, red blood to drip down her front.
“Yessonar’s beard,” cursed Hsranduss, stepping forward, grabbing the little creature around the neck, and pulling it from his wife’s arms. “Get something to staunch that blood.”
“Don’t hurt him!” Ssu cried, as she hurried away to bandage herself.
The king held up the squirming creature by its neck and looked at it. It snapped its jaws several times.
“Fierce little thing, aren’t you? Clearly the product of a mighty father. Let us hope you didn’t get your mother’s brains.”
“A touching scene, Great King.”
Hsrandtuss turned to see Szakhandu and Tokkenoht.
“So, it is my first and second wives come to see me,” he said.
They looked at each other.
“Which is which?” asked Szakhandu.
“What do you want?” demanded the king.
“We came to see how you feel,” said Tokkenoht.
“How I feel? Why would you wonder how I feel? I just won a war with the humans. They are paying me wagonloads of trade goods in tribute. They have agreed that all their people must obey my laws while in my kingdom, and my kingdom is larger than ever. I have dominion over twice as much land as Suusthek ever did. Yessonarah will be richer and more powerful even than Tsahloose. I am the greatest king that ever lived!”
“But how do you feel?”
“I’m feeling annoyed, if you must know. If you’re going to pester me, at least bring me some ssukhas and something to eat.”
“Right away, Great King,” said Szakhandu, hurrying away.
“I suppose that proves she is first wife,” said Tokkenoht.
Hsrandtuss hissed mirthfully. “I suppose it does. It’s just as well. You’re too busy as High Priestess.”
“And besides, Szakhandu almost gave her life for yours.”
“Yes, there is that.”
“So what is annoying you? Other than females questioning you, I mean.”
“Astalassa has been captured. It seems your bounty of 20,000 copper bits was enough that the villagers from Achocktah turned her in. Now I have to figure out what to do with her.”
“Leave her to me,” said Tokkenoht. “I shall devise grave punishments for her.” She stepped over and placed her chin on his shoulder. “In the meantime, we can find something more profitable to do.”
He took a deep breath. “So, you are ready to mate at last.”
“Yes,” Tokkenoht’s voice was low. “Yes, I am ready.”
* * * * *
Bessemer the Steel Dragon fell from the sky, hitting the ground so hard that the gigantic walls of copper colored stone that surrounded Xiatooq seemed to shake to their foundations. He stretched lazily and smoothed down his whiskers with a hand. Then he looked at the great gate.
“Open,” he said quietly.
The centermost of the three great gates swung open. Out marched a hundred lizzies, wearing armor and with white capes, their skin painted white too. They encircled two dozen others, wearing no armor and with their bodies painted black, and their eye sockets sewn shut.
“You must go away,” said the foremost black lizzie.
“I am Yessonar, God of the Sky.” The dragon’s voice boomed. “You will release the little goddess.”
“Sky does not reign here,” hissed the lizzie. “Earth reigns here.”
“Do not bore me with riddles.”
The ground suddenly shook. Bessemer looked upward, past the giant beehive-like buildings that covered the slope of the mountain to the open caldera at its peak. A massive cloud of black smoke belched from the volcano. Then something reached out of the opening. It was a great, clawed hand. It was followed by another, and then a massive head on a long serpentine neck. The ground rumbled again, but Bessemer could hear the voice even over the sounds of the mountain and the earth.
“Come to me, little god.”
In a dozen wing beats, Bessemer had flown over the city. He dropped down at the lip of the volcano and watched a creature, greater than he could have ever imagined, climb from the mouth. This was a dragon, but such a dragon as had never been seen. Hissussisthiss had been much larger even than Bessemer was now, but this beast was more than a dozen times the size of the green dragon. It’s metallic scales where tinged with crimson, and here and there globules of molten lava clung to them.
“You could only be Voindrazius,” said Bessemer.
“Yes, I could only be,” replied the red dragon. “But you were a surprise to me. I don’t believe you were hatched yet when I climbed in here to take a rest.”
“Your lizzies have taken a female dragon. I’ve come for her.”
“Yes, yes. Settle down. I smell her. She’s still a tiny one isn’t she?” Voindrazius stretched out his wings and flicked his tail through the air.
“Good Kafira, how big are you?”
“Kafira? I saw her once when she was alive. I wasn’t really impressed. I haven’t been around any humans in a couple of centuries. Are they still worshipping her?”
“Um, yes.”
The red dragon chuckled. “Humans are funny little creatures—dangerous though. I can smell them all over you, you know. Anyway, the last time I had myself measured, I was 656 feet long. That was a while ago. I never thought of how I could weigh myself.”
“Order your lizzies to release the female now,” demanded Bessemer.
The gigantic head shot forward and a mouth that could have bitten the steel dragon in half, snapped shut. Bessemer jumped back.
“Watch your tone when you speak to me!” Voindrazius drew himself up so that he towered over the smaller dragon, but when he spoke again, his voice had softened. “Be respectful. It is the sign of good breeding. You and I will not be enemies. I can see it as sure as I can see the sun. You and that little bitch are part of a renaissance. The dragons have returned, and this time we will take our rightful place as the gods we are.”
“The three of us?”
“There are a few more—asleep or in hiding.”
“You’ve been asleep too long. The humans are the dominant species now. They have powerful technology and magic. They killed Hissussisthis, and without too much trouble.”
“Hissussisthiss was a fool and a weakling!” hissed Voindrazius. “I allowed him to live in order to maintain a presence on this continent, and you allowed him to die because you wanted his place.”
“That’s not true.”
“Of course it is. But it’s just well. He isn’t needed now, is he? You’re here. You and her.”
“Um, we’re not together.”
“Oh, she will be yours. Or she will be mine. But that turning point is some distance away. In any case, she is already waiting for you on the plain below. Take her home to her witch mother.”
“So,” said Bessemer. “We’ll meet again?”
“You will come and seek me out, Yessonar, God of the Sky, God of Courage, God of Crafting and Manufacturing.”
With a quick hop into the air, the Steel Dragon glided down toward the plain, his wings skimming over the tops of the minaret buildings. He landed softly beside the little dragon.
“Where are we?” Zoey asked.
“A long way from home. Come along. I’ll take you back.”
* * * * *
Royal Governor Iolanthe Staff sat in a polished oak chair, the back of which was only a little less rigid than her own. She cast her steely gaze at the woman seated across from her. For her part, Senta reclined across her chair, her left leg draped over one chair arm and her right arm and head draped over the other. She looked half asleep.
“You’ve proven a huge disappointment,” said the governor. “We were at war with the lizzies, and were you here to support our troops? No. You were causing havoc again in Mallontah.”
“Are you going to get to a point soon?” wondered the sorceress.
“You want points? How about this? Point one: hundreds of our men died at the hands of our enemies. Point two: you were supposed to support the colony with your magic, and didn’t. Point three: the Brech authorities want you in prison.”
“Schwarztogrube, the anti-magic prison, is gone.”
“You think they don’t have other places like that?”
Senta looked up for the first time. “I’m not worried. I’m twice as powerful as Zurfina ever was.” She paused and looked around, as if waiting for someone to appear out of thin air to correct her. She sighed. “Oh, well.”
“You stayed out of prison last time because of my intervention,” continued Iolanthe. “But our association is at an end.”
“Let’s not be too hasty, Auntie Iolanthe.”
The two women turned to see eleven-year-old Lord Dechantagne enter the room. He was wearing a sharp new suit with a crimson waistcoat.
“I’d like to talk to Senta for a bit if you don’t mind.”
Iolanthe looked at him for a full minute before replying, “As you wish, Augustus.”
Then she stood up and walked briskly from the room. The boy took her seat.
“My aunt isn’t really being fair to you,” he said. “After all, her agreement wasn’t with you, but your mother. I think it’s time to make a new agreement—between the two of us.”
“I’m supposed to make an agreement with a little boy?”
“I am Lord Dechantagne!”
“And I could, with a twitch of my finger, squash you like an insect.” She wagged her index finger for emphasis.
“Um, then it’s a good thing we’re friends. I’ll make you the same deal that Auntie Iolanthe made with Zurfina—two percent of all profits.”
“I thought Mr. Staff was the one making all the money.”
“Oh, Uncle Radley was getting quite rich selling coal. Who do you think he leased the coal rights from? Believe me, by the time I’m twenty-five, I’ll be the richest man in the empire, and I’m including the King in that.”
“That’s fine, but I already inherited Zurfina’s money. I can live comfortably for the rest of my life, assuming I only live to be seven or eight hundred.”
“How about something more interesting then. I keep you on retainer and in exchange, you have one favor from me each year. The first one will be me keeping you out of prison for destroying a holy place and cultural icon.”
“Interesting,” said Senta, and slowly sat up straight. “And slightly tempting.”
“Of course you would need a title too. How about Grande Sorceress of Birmisia?”
“Ooh, I do like that. How about Supreme Sorceress?”
“If you prefer.”
“No, you’re right. Grande Sorceress sounds better. Grande Sorceress of Birmisia… and a tiara.”
* * * * *
Iolana stared across the smooth waters of Crescent Bay from the deck of the S.S. Arrow, as Port Dechantagne shrank away into the distance. Soon the vessel would round the cape and enter the open ocean, and the only home she had ever known would be only a memory.
She had arrived home to find an invitation to matriculate at the University of Brechalon. At fourteen, she would be the youngest beginning student in the institution’s history. She hadn’t told Auntie Yuah or Augie that she was leaving, and she had studiously avoided her mother. The only one she had said goodbye to was Terra, who had promised to join her in Brech City in a few years.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Esther, standing just to her right.
“I was just wondering if I will ever return to Birmisia. Why?”
“I just wondered if you were thinking about your young men.”
“I don’t have any young men. Mind, I’m glad that Ascan is safe at home and that Tiber will recover.”
“He will walk again then?”
“I talked to his doctor,” said Iolana. “She assured me that once the casts come off, he’ll be back to his usual obnoxious self.”
“That’s good. I always thought he was the most handsome boy.” With a long hiss that sounded remarkably like a sigh, Esther looked across the water.
A large marine reptile breached the surface, sending waves in a circle across the bay from that point.
“What are you thinking about then?” asked Iolana.
“I’m just wondering how I’ll get on in Brechalon.”
“Oh, I’m sure that you’ll be the object of curiosity, but sooner or later they’ll just accept you as a proper Brech lady.”
“I’m betting on later rather than sooner,” said Esther.
The two of them watched as the peninsular tip of Port Dechantagne disappeared behind the great pine trees and maples on the cape. Then they both turned and walked to the hatch and made their way to their stateroom.
* * * * *
It was the twenty-fourth of Sexuary, the first day of spring, and wildflowers, unbidden, grew across the Port Dechantagne cemetery. Senta walked from grave she had been visiting to where her family waited. They were an unusual collection. Baxter, now fully recovered from his injuries carried little Senta on his shoulders. Zoey, her coral-colored scales reflecting the bright afternoon sun, stood leaning against him. He reached down and absentmindedly ran his fingers over her scaly neck. Not too far away, in a brown overcoat that looked entirely out of place, was Dr. Bessmer. The dragon was getting better at replicating a human form, though his nose remained a little too long.
The sorceress bent down and brushed the dust off of her father’s marker. The Great Wizard Bassington 1862-1907.
“I told you I’d visit you whenever I visited Graham.”
“And you do that a lot,” said Baxter.
“Don’t be jealous. It’s not at all sexy.”
“Put me down by Uncle Peter,” said Sen.
Baxter lowered the little girl to the ground. She lay on the grass beside the recently piled dirt.
Senta looked down at the new grave marker. Peter Sallow Bassington 1893-1914 A Good Wizard.
“I think he would have liked it,” said Baxter.
“Yes, he would.” agreed Senta. “Come along. Let’s go home.”
“Can we talk about our business then?” wondered Bessemer.
“That’s all you want to do anymore,” said Senta. “It’s all BB&C this and BB&C that. I’m sure that Bessemer, Bly, and Company will continue chugging along just fine without any input from me.”
“You all go on home,” said Baxter. “I’m going to visit an old friend.”
Senta kissed him on the lips and then started for the trolley stop. Bessemer reached down and scooped up Sen, placing her on his shoulders, and followed after her.
“You sure you don’t want company?” asked Zoey, looking up at Baxter.
“Not right now, but I’ll see you at home.”
The dragon shot into the sky so quickly, it was as if she simply disappeared.
Baxter walked slowly across the green grass to the obelisk that marked the grave of Radley Staff. He stood looking at it for several minutes.
“I somehow thought we’d end up being old men together, watching our grandchildren play,” he said. “But I guess we’re not the sort to die old. At least you went peacefully.”
Finally, he walked to the border of the cemetery, and sat down on one of the park benches on the pathway that marked the boundary between the solemn ground and the city park. He pulled out his cigarette case, opening it to remove a cigarette and a wooden match. He struck the match on the arm of the bench and lit the cigarette, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
As he sat, he noticed a shabby man walking down the path toward him. When he was still fifty feet away, he turned and made his way across the lawn toward the small brick building that housed a public privy. Baxter watched as the fellow disappeared around the corner of the little structure. Taking another puff of his cigarette, he got up and strolled in the direction the man had taken. When he reached the corner of the privy, he could see the man a dozen feet beyond, sitting with his back against a tree. He was rubbing white liquid from a tiny blue bottle into his eyes.
Baxter leaned against the cool bricks and took another puff.
“Where are you?” the man cried out, but then repeated the query in a whisper. “Where are you?”
Baxter took a last puff, and then tossed the cigarette down, mashing it into the grass with the toe of his shoes. Then he turned and walked away. He had gone no more than three steps, when he heard the shabby man break out in a peal of cackling laughter.
“There you are, my love”
The End