Free Dragonseed by James Maxey Page B

forward, looking at Jandra, Vance, and Shay. “Where’s Burke?” he asked. Anza held out the folded letter. He grasped the paper awkwardly in his bony fingers.
    “You must be Thorny,” said Shay.
    “That’s what my friends call me,” the old man acknowledged. His speech was slightly slurred. “Thor Nightingale is my birth name.” He sounded quite proud of this fact. He looked around the empty tavern as he unfolded the letter, slowly, awkwardly, wincing as he moved his fingers in delicate motions for which they were ill formed. “I guess I fell asleep again.” He grinned sheepishly. “Drank a few too many celebrating a birthday.”
    “Whose birthday?” asked Shay.
    “It’s always someone’s birthday,” said Thorny. He rose, swaying, his unbuttoned, threadbare coat hanging loosely on his frame.
    Anza went to the fireplace to stir the ashes. The light brightened as the flames leapt back to life. A large clock beside the fireplace ticked rhythmically as she worked. Suddenly, the ticking was overpowered by the sound of gears within the wooden framework of the clock. A door opened near the floor and a brass frog hopped out. It released a series of croaks, a loud, metallic sound somewhere between a washboard’s rasp and a bell’s chime. The frog hopped in a circle back into the clock. The gears sounded again as the door closed.
    “That was odd,” said Vance.
    “You get used to it,” said Thorny, looking down at the unfolded letter. “Just another of Burke’s gizmos, like the chess monkey. Burke’s always tinkering on something.” He squinted as his eyes flickered over the letter. “Looks like he’s got more than tinkering in mind. I gather he’s taken control of the foundries?”
    “Yes,” said Jandra. “But there’ve been unanticipated ramifications. The defeated dragon armies are taking revenge on human villages in the area, killing everyone.”
    Thorny shook his head. “That’s not unanticipated, girl. Burke knew. He’s spent the last twenty years plotting to overthrow the dragons, but he was like a chess player thinking ten moves ahead. He could imagine a hundred gambits that would produce quick and satisfying victories against the dragons. But any victory he imagined was followed by chaos and slaughter throughout the kingdom. He could have launched a war at any time, a war he thought he could win, but he didn’t because he didn’t want the blood of innocents on his hands. He would have lived out the rest of his life here in peace if Ragnar hadn’t forced him to battle.”
    Anza frowned as Thorny spoke. She glared at him and made a few rapid hand signals. Thorny looked embarrassed.
    “You’re right,” he said. “Ragnar couldn’t have forced Burke to do something that wasn’t already in his heart. I was here when Ragnar confronted Burke. Burke could have killed the prophet where he stood. We both know that. But, no matter what Burke’s gut feelings were toward dragons, I think his head was in charge of his emotions. Ragnar is nothing but emotions—he’s like Burke’s hidden anger given human form. Ragnar needed Burke, but maybe Burke needed Ragnar as well.”
    Jandra was surprised by Thorny’s analysis. On the surface, he looked like nothing more than an old farmer, and a drunken one at that. But his words hinted at a level of education and thoughtfulness she didn’t often encounter in her fellow humans.
    Anza gave a few more hand signals. Thorny nodded. “You’re right,” he said, heading for the bar. “Let’s get packing. We might not have much time.” He led them through a door behind the bar into a kitchen, then through a second door that opened onto a set of stairs heading down. The stairs descended at least thirty feet, until they reached a third door that opened onto darkness. Anza bounded ahead, moving confidently in the gloom. There was a series of clicks and suddenly a score of lanterns leapt to life, illuminating a large cellar with a high ceiling. The walls