Free Dragonseed by James Maxey

snooty air that made it clear he didn’t think anyone else in the world was as smart as he was. Still, while I have every reason to hate dragons”—Lizard whined; Jandra stroked his arm—“I trust Androkom. If anyone is smart enough to keep the kingdom from spinning into chaos, it’s him.”
    “Don’t we want the kingdom to be spinning into chaos?” asked Vance. “Order and peace haven’t been all that great for humans. That’s the whole reason I joined up with the rebellion. If peace means that dragons are in charge, count me as friend of war.”
    Before they could debate this any further, Anza gave a silent sigh, rolled her eyes, and turned her horse in the direction of Burke’s Tavern. She dug her heels into the flanks of her steed and trotted off.
    “I guess we’re following her,” said Jandra, shaking the reins of her mount.
    “For someone who can’t talk, Anza always manages to win arguments,” said Vance.

    IT WAS LONG past dark when they reached Burke’s Tavern. Jandra was exhausted. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to be truly weary. When she’d worn her genie, the device had constantly monitored her physical state, negating the fatigue poisons that built up her blood. She resolved not to complain about her discomfort. She knew she was experiencing nothing worse than the others.
    Burke’s Tavern, the town, wasn’t much more than a cluttered spot on the Forge Road, a few dozen houses clumped together. In the center of all this was a two-story building with a large porch and a painted wooden sign that read, “Burke’s Tavern.” The town was silent and still, but it was the quietness of sleep, not death. There were no signs of violence; the retreating dragon armies hadn’t reached this far. It was quite possible no one here knew anything about the events from further down the road. The size of a dragon’s world and a man’s world were quite different. Sky-dragon messengers could cover two hundred miles a day, spreading news quickly. Humans lived much more insular lives—it could take many days for information to spread a hundred miles among humans. For a winged dragon, a town ninety miles distant was part of the neighborhood. For a human, a town ninety miles distant was out of sight and out of mind. Vendevorex had told her that most men never traveled more than fifty miles from their birthplace, though Jandra wondered if this was true or merely a myth believed by dragons. Many of the men she knew, like Bitterwood and Burke, had traveled through more of the world than she could imagine.
    Lizard was asleep, his limbs draped over the horse’s neck like it was a tree branch. The swaying motion didn’t disturb him. In sleep, his coloration had taken on a drab, dark shade of green—a shade she remembered well. It had been the color of the earth-dragon that had slit her throat during the battle of Chakthalla’s castle. Though that had happened only a few months before, it felt like some impossibly distant past. So much had unfolded in her life in the intervening weeks, she felt as if her adventures could fill a book, perhaps an entire trilogy of books, one that any biologian worth his salt would salivate over.
    It was difficult to accept that this tiny dragon-child would one day grow up to be a fierce warrior. All the earth-dragons she’d ever known had led violent lives as soldier and guards. Was this the result of their biology or their upbringing? Earth-dragon children were treated with abuse and neglect their whole lives until they became big enough and strong enough to be the abusers. Yet, Lizard responded to her affection. Could raising an earth-dragon with compassion, teaching it reason instead of rage, result in a new kind of dragon? Or only a weaker one, fated to never fit in with his peers? Would her act of kindness leave Lizard as much an outcast as she was?
    Anza dismounted on the steps of Burke’s Tavern. She walked onto the broad porch, stood next to a chess board atop