Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
The soldier nods and wheels the cart away, and I figure that's the end of it.
Later that night, though, the soldier returns, and simply hands me a note. I read it by the window, in the fading afternoon sunlight.
I'm not a good man.
A chill goes up my spine.
In the space of a week, Azar goes from conqueror to beloved leader.
It's sickening, really.
Despite the presence of the militia on my doorstep, people start to trickle in again. There's the usual rashes and minor injuries. Someone broke a finger. Someone else stepped on a nail. A colicky baby. I treat them all with my limited supplies and try not to get too upset about the cart full of medicine that I turned down just a few days ago. There haven't been any other gifts after that. I tell myself it's not my responsibility to sell myself to Azar so people can have fresh bandages. That I can't save an entire community on my back. That if Azar really cared for the people of this fort, he'd have given me all those medicines so I can do some good with them.
But Azar is silent. He doesn't show up on my doorstep to harangue me. He doesn't send more soldiers with gifts, or presents of food. The soldiers remain on my doorstep, but other than that, things go back to normal. Or…as normal as they can be with six silent dragons atop the fort walls, watching our every move. They never attack, and the other dragon attacks cease as well.
Of course all of this is attributed to “great” Lord Azar. His name is on the lips of everyone that shows up on my doorstep.
"It's amazing, isn't it?" a woman gushes as I stitch a gash in her finger. She holds her hand still for me, not looking at it as I work. We're out of painkillers and anesthetic, so she's having to endure. I gave her a few sips of whiskey, poured a sip on the deep wound, and got to work. I should be grateful she's not screaming in my ear, but hearing Azar praised grates on my nerves. She babbles about him as I work, wiping blood away between stitches. "I've never felt so safe here in the fort. The dragons have stopped attacking, and even the militia itself is nicer. I've seen him twice, you know. He smiled at me and said women had a very special place in his fort and we were all valued. That made me feel so good."
"Mmm." I can just imagine the kind of value he thinks we have. Golden pussies and silver tongues, all ripe for the using. "Hold still, please."
"I don't know how he managed to make those dragons his pets," she continues on. "But I've stood in front of the barricade several times now, and they don't even look in my direction. They just stare straight ahead with those gray eyes of theirs. When you see them like this, they're almost pretty, you know? Do you think he talks to them?"
"I can't imagine." I wipe away the last bit of blood, then put a bead of antibiotic cream on the wound. I wrap a bit of sterilized fabric around the stitched flesh and try not to notice how I'm almost out of the antibiotic cream and scraps both. I give the wrappings one last pat before wiping my hands. "You're good now."
The woman admires her finger and then hesitates as she looks over at me. "I don't have anything to trade. Not yet."
"It's all right."
She gets to her feet. "But Lord Azar is turning this place around. Him and his dragon pets are protecting us. I think we're going to enter an age of prosperity with him in charge." She touches her hand. "Once I've got a bit of extra meat or some extra tradable fabric, I'll bring it over."
"Of course," I say, though I know she won't. I've gotten pretty good at being able to tell who will truly return to pay for my services and who won't. That's all right. I'm here to help, not to get rich. Frankly, I'd just be happy if she left so I don't have to hear more gushing about how amazing “Lord Azar” is. I've heard plenty already.
Lord Azar and his dragon pets, indeed. I know from spending time with Claudia that they're intelligent. They have names. They can shift shapes. They're people underneath those enormous, murderous golden forms. I don't know what kind of deal he has with those people to make them sit on the barricade like that, ever so calm, but it's better than rampaging, I suppose. I still don't trust it.
Just like I don't trust Azar.
The woman murmurs her thanks and heads out of the clinic. I immediately start cleaning up the station, trying not to worry about the state of the fort. I can't change it, after all. All I can do is go with the tide and try to stay afloat. Not two minutes after my patient leaves, the door opens again. I turn, thinking she's forgotten something—only to see two militia soldiers walk in, weapons displayed.