Read Dragonforge for Free Online

left beak was gone, and where his eye had been there was now only a nasty bulb of scars. Yet, despite Charkon’s hideous visage, his remaining eye gleamed with a savage intelligence, and he stood with a bearing that was as close to noble as an earth-dragon could ever hope to be.
    Charkon gave Graxen a nod, then waved him closer.
    “You’re Graxen the Gray,” Charkon said, shouting to be heard above the chanting crowd. “I thought I’d be seeing you.”
    “Shandrazel has sent me to—”
    “I know,” said Charkon. “He wants me at the palace. I’ll set out tomorrow. The dragons of the Forge have served sun-dragons for centuries. It will be an honor to confer with Shandrazel.”
    “Oh,” said Graxen, leaning in closer so he could better hear over the deafening singing. “I was hardly needed here at all, was I?”
    “I’ve stayed alive this long by listening to the right voices,” said Charkon. “Don’t feel bad. Gleaners constantly bring me rumors. I have a good instinct at picking which ones are right.”
    “I see,” Graxen shouted back. He cast an eye toward the red clay mound, which was now positively trembling. “What’s happening here?”
    “It’s hatching day!” said Charkon. “I’d take to the sky if I were you. Now!”
    Though he didn’t understand what was going on, Graxen recognized wise advice when he heard it. He leapt skyward, climbing into the air with sharp, rapid strokes. Below he heard a cracking sound, and the crowd roared: “The slow must go!”
    He looked down to see the mound disintegrate in a cloud of red dust. Tens of thousands of mouse-sized earth-dragons spilled out of the crumbling clay. Though they looked like turtles, the hatchlings hopped and darted with the speed of rabbits, dashing off in every direction at once. Instantly, the crowd of earth-dragons surged forward, falling to their hands and knees, slapping at the hopping creatures, cramming those they caught into their beaks.
    Charkon’s beefy fingers reached out and snatched three of the infant beasts, then tilted back his head and opened his disfigured beak wide. He dangled the tiny dragons above his maw, their stubby tails trapped between his digits, before dropping the critters down his gullet one by one.
    Despite the crush of bodies, or perhaps because of it, many of the hatchlings escaped between the legs of the assembled dragons, or leapt over the crowd, from head to head, before vanishing into gaps in the walls of nearby buildings, or burrowing into the bins of coal that sat next to the foundry.
    Graxen wasn’t completely ignorant of earth-dragon biology. He knew that, unlike the winged dragon races, they were egg-layers, and they hatched their young in community mounds. He’d also heard they were unsentimental in winnowing out the weaker members of the hatch. He just hadn’t expected them to be so enthusiastic about the process.
    Graxen rose up through the foundry smoke and soon found his bearings, locating the Forge Road, which he would follow back to Shandrazel’s castle. He flapped away from Dragon Forge, eager to leave behind the foul air and brutish inhabitants, and especially eager to get beyond the range of that damned song. Still, this was twice today he’d delivered a message and not been offered food, drink, or shelter. Messenger of the king was proving to be an unrewarding job.
    Once he was out of range of the smoky air and had cleared the barren hillsides where the gleaners lived, Graxen alighted in the upper branches of a tall tree. He was weary from his flight. As he landed, the shifting weight of his satchel reminded him once more of its mysterious contents. He opened it.
    Within was a loaf of dark-crusted bread and a ceramic flask of water, sealed with a cork. Four dried trout were wrapped in a sheet of oily parchment, and beneath them sat two apples, red as rose petals.
    Graxen drank half the jug, the cool liquid feeling like life as it flowed into his body. He bit into one of the