Free Banshee by Terry Maggert Page B

male voice drifted in, telling the beast to lay still while his talons were examined for cracks. It seemed dragons had need of maintenance, just like any soldier.
    Moss smiled again, all amiability. “There are many dragons here. And soldiers.” He let that dangle, an implied threat, since no one really knew the purpose of this interloper. “And perhaps we could start with your name, and where you’re from?” The last was gentler, less threatening.
    After a soft laugh, the man said, “I was about to say that’s a long story, but knowing how I feel, I think I’ve got the time. My name is Orontes, and I do not know where I was born. I can tell you where I have been, and more importantly, I would explain why I am here.”
    Delandra nodded slightly. “Go on. You can speak freely here, Orontes. We are friends.”
    He nodded gratefully as a ripple of discomfort passed through the muscles of his face. “Sorry, I’m still . . . poisoned?” His tone was uncertain.
    Moss confirmed with a finger pointed at Orontes’ shoulder. “A tooth, or claw, and a damned big one. It was embedded within you when Saavin and Banshee saw you approach. Do you remember how it happened?”
    After a shaky sip of water, Orontes grunted in disgust. “I wish I could forget. It was a creature I’ve not seen before, and I am sorry to report that I am something of an expert on the hunters that stream upward from the guts of the earth. It was a lizard, maybe. Lizard-like, in the very least, and fast. I tried to get my back to the rocks but . . .” His voice trailed off and he coughed slightly. “Suffice it to say, I was well-armed, experienced in combat, and still, it nearly spitted me before I could put a sword in it.”
    “Sword? You had no sword when you arrived,” Moss said.
    “It is in the side of the animal that wounded me. I don’t remember much past getting on my mount and riding west, then south. I hoped my horse would smell water and drag me to safety. I never imagined that I would end up in the one place I hoped to find. Actually,” he amended, “hope had nothing to do with my destination. I was sent.” Orontes leaned back slightly, indicating he was done speaking. Sweat covered his brow.
    Moss silenced everyone with a wave. “By whom?” he asked. His eyes narrowed.
    Orontes answered immediately, sensing the threat he portrayed. “New Madrid, in the Mizzou territory. The commander of their militia sent me east because he knows that their time is short.”
    “New Madrid, you say? Can you show me on a map?” Moss asked.
    Delandra handed him a well-creased map of what had been the central United States.
    The map was unfolded onto Orontes’ bed, where he peered at it with great care. He finally pointed without touching the delicate paper. “Here.”
    Everyone crowded near, looking at the empty spot on the faded pink section of map. There was nothing, not even a road, but Orontes nodded with absolute conviction when Moss lifted a brow for clarification.
    Delandra said, “Okay . . . that’s the backside of nowhere, and I say this as a lifelong Texan who comes from a family of Texans. There isn’t even a highway. Or a major river.” She looked closer. “I don’t even see a creek.”
    Orontes frowned. “It is isolated, or rather, it was. There is a large creek now, more like a small river; it’s the source of power for the town. There are nearly 3000 people living and working in that place that isn’t really a place.”
    “Why build there?” Saavin asked. “The people work? What do they do?”
    Orontes smiled grimly. “They all have the same job, Saavin. Or, at least they are all a part of the same effort, I should say. There are remarkable farmlands that can support double, perhaps even triple that population, and all within an hour’s walk of the creek. But it is not without a price, and so it would be fair to say that every man, woman, and child in New Madrid is a soldier in a highly-specialized army. You see, New