Bitterwood (11 page)

Having grown up in the king’s court and knowing Albekizan since he before he could even speak, Zanzeroth could claim to be the king’s oldest friend, though friend wasn’t the right word, perhaps. In Albekizan’s world, all other sentient beings were subjects, enemies, or prey. “Highly regarded lackey” was no doubt the most accurate label for Zanzeroth.

Zanzeroth found the familiar gap in a pile of mossy stone, lowered himself and thrust his head within. Any sane observer would have judged it impossible for the old dragon to squeeze his bulk into such a tiny hole, but Zanzeroth was practiced at the maneuver, knowing when to exhale, and when to push and twist and kick. In seconds he was through the gap and into the hidden, dank cave that was his true home.

In his youth the cave had felt enormous, a world of its own. Now Zanzeroth recognized that it was smaller than the smallest room in the palace, too small to stand straight in, barely thirty feet from front to back, and half again as wide. The place still had the familiar smell of decay. During the spring melt-off, the island often flooded; he remembered waking to rising water many times.

Around the room were ledges that always remained inches above the high-water mark. These ledges contained Zanzeroth’s treasures. He cast around the ledges, each item provoking memories. Here were the antlers of the largest buck he’d ever killed. The tusks of an enormous boar he’d killed on a hunt with Gloreziel had been gilded by the king and presented as a trophy. He found his old whip, thirty feet of braided leather. He remembered the summer he’d spent mastering it. In his prime, he could knock flies from the air.

But what he’d come here for was hidden behind a trio of human skulls. These had been leaders of the southern rebellion twenty years ago. Their tattooed, tanned hides now decorated the king’s own trophy room. Behind their skulls were the trophies of real value: their swords. Still gleaming and razor sharp despite decades in a damp hole, the swords had been made from a mysterious metal that never rusted. He’d kept the blades hidden from the king but did risk showing them once to Vendevorex. The wizard had declared that the blades weren’t magic, but were, in fact, remnants of the same civilization that had built the ghost roads, crafted from something called “stainless steel.” Despite the wizard’s explanation, Zanzeroth always felt there was something supernatural about the swords. A thousand-year-old blade shouldn’t have a mirrored finish. Zanzeroth studied himself in the narrow sliver of silver, his one good eye golden in the dim light seeping through the gaps in the rock above. He examined his torn cheek, his scaly hide stitched together by Gadreel with a horsehair thread. The wound was swollen and black with dried blood. It was going to be an interesting scar.

His whole body was a mass of interesting scars. Why did this wound haunt him so? He’d had close calls before. Indeed, one of the three ancient blades had once cut a foot-long gash in his belly that provided him with the enthralling opportunity to gaze upon his own intestines. Why did this fresh wound so remind him of his mortality? He was old, true, but still healthy, still in command of his wits. But for how much longer?

He bundled up the three blades in an old bear hide and tossed them from the cave. On a whim he decided to take the whip as well.

He slithered back out into the open air. Now, to find Cron. This wasn’t a particular challenge since he’d found Cron’s trail earlier at Bodiel’s murder scene. Following it was as easy as following a hallway. Broken branches, torn leaves, footprints in the mud: all led to a thicket a quarter mile away from where Bodiel had fallen. Zanzeroth found the impression of Cron’s body in the forest debris behind a fallen log. The slave had apparently hidden there for some time before rising again. More interesting than the impression of Cron’s body, however, were the many breadcrumbs and the discarded apple core. Cron did have an accomplice after all. Bitterwood? Zanzeroth searched for a second set of human footprints and instead found the hind-talon marks of a sky-dragon. He bent low to catch the scent, an all too familiar one. Vendevorex. He should have known the wizard had been involved in this. The wizard’s fondness for humans was well known.

And yet… Why would Vendevorex have plotted against Bodiel? Helping Cron survive may have fit within the wizard’s quirks, but working to harm Bodiel seemed too…
active
. There was more to this story than footprints alone were going to tell. Perhaps Cron himself would be more talkative.

 
“WAIT HERE,” SAID
Vendevorex, peering through the branches toward the town beyond.

Jandra stepped forward for a closer look. She was glad they were hidden by the trees and not relying on her maintaining the invisibility shield. It left her free to use the same technique she’d used in the tower to turn the water into mist to gently dry out her clothes and hair, still damp from her plunge into the river.

They were hidden within a small grove of trees on the outskirts of Richmond, a human town several miles upriver from Albekizan’s palace. Richmond was a thriving place, built beside a long stretch of rapids. A canal running through the town connected the broad, deep river below the town with the swifter, yet still navigable river that wound up into the mountains. A gateway between the ocean and the mountains, Richmond bustled with activity as the wealth of the kingdom flowed through it. Vendevorex and Jandra watched the nearby river docks. A few dozen people could be seen going about their business.

“Where are you going?” Jandra asked.

“I think our best course at this point will be to take a boat,” Vendevorex said. “We can save our strength rather than exhausting ourselves on foot.”

“When you say take a boat, do you mean steal a boat?” Jandra asked.

Vendevorex turned his long, narrow face to her. His face was back to normal. He’d taken ten minutes to concentrate on the cut to his cheek, and now there was little sign of the wound, only a thin, pale line of blue scales that were fresher than the others.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “I mean steal.”

“But—”

Vendevorex raised his talon to his mouth in a gesture of silence.

Jandra clenched her jaw at the dismissive signal. She understood, of course, the danger they were in. But it always bothered her the way that dragons treated human property as their own. “People need—”

“These people are all dead,” Vendevorex said. “You saw the slaughter in the courtyard. It’s only a matter of time before the king’s troops descend on this place. Albekizan means to kill every last human in his kingdom. These people have much greater things to worry about than a missing boat.”

Jandra could hardly breathe. She had thought that the king was slaughtering only the palace workers in retribution for Bodiel’s death.

“Did… did you say…” she could barely think the thought, let alone speak it.

“Every last human,” said Vendevorex.

“We have to stop him!” Jandra said. “We have to go back!”

“We would return to our deaths,” Vendevorex said. “We escaped due to the haste with which I acted. We had the element of surprise. I turn invisible, not invulnerable. You of all people know how many of my magics are based on illusions. In a direct, violent confrontation with Albekizan, I could possibly best him, but then what? If I kill him, we’ll wind up with anarchy, or worse, under the rule of a buffoon such as Kanst. I see no immediate good options.”

“B-but, you’re his advisor. You can reason with the king, can’t you?”

“Albekizan’s notion of reason was to lock you in a cell to blackmail me into assisting him. I defied him, Jandra, for your sake. I won’t throw away our lives by returning to the castle.”

“Then, what? We sit idly by while all of humanity is slaughtered?”

Vendevorex shook his head slowly. “I… I need time to think. Let me secure a boat. There may be allies we can contact. Albekizan’s decision to wipe out the human race will meet with opposition from other sun-dragons, I’m sure of this.”

“We should at least warn the people of Richmond,” Jandra said. “Give them time to flee.”

“We’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Vendevorex. “We must be careful to leave no clues of having passed this way. I’m certain Albekizan’s troops are searching for us. Worse still, he may put Zanzeroth on our trail. We can’t be careless.”

“I can’t believe you,” Jandra said. She was thinking about the cries from the courtyard. She remembered the wet sound the axe made as it fell. Perhaps Vendevorex was content to allow these people to die, but she would have no part of it.

Without another word, she ran. Vendevorex reached to grab her but she slipped past his grasp and dashed from the trees, heading for the docks.

“Run!” she shouted. “Run! Albekizan wants to kill you!”

Instead of running, the men working on the docks merely looked up, bewildered. As she drew closer and her shouts grew more urgent, more people emerged from boats and buildings to see what the commotion was.

She reached a gray-bearded man who stood coiling rope at one of the nearest boats.

“Calm down, girl,” the man said. His eyes twinkled with bemusement against this leathery, tanned face. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re all in terrible danger,” she said. “You need to run. Albekizan plans to kill everyone.”

The old man chuckled. “Is that right?”

More men approached.

“What’s wrong?” a young man shouted as he strolled up.

“This girl says the king wants to kill us!” the old man said, sounding amused.

“He’s doing a good job of it,” another man shouted. “Takes half my wages in taxes, he does. That wicked old beast is starving my family.”

“Let the king try something,” another man shouted, brandishing a large, dangerous-looking hook. “He shows his scaly hide around here, I’ll give him what for.”

Jandra was out of breath. She bent forward, resting her hands on her knees, and said, “Please. This isn’t a joke. He’s killing people right now in the palace.”

A tall man appeared on the deck of a large boat twenty yards away.

“Oi!” he shouted to the assembled men. “Get back to work. We’re behind schedule already.”

The gray-bearded man shouted back, “Girl here says Albekizan’s killing people. I reckon this means we can take the rest of the day off.”

The crowd of men laughed.

Then, as one, the men turned pale and sucked in their breath, their eyes fixed behind Jandra.

Jandra turned.

Albekizan dropped from the sky, only a few steps away. As his shadow fell over her she suddenly felt very, very small.

Albekizan landed, his weight on his hind claws, his enormous wings spread for balance, the tip of his tail swaying like a cat’s with prey in sight. His red scales glistened as if wet from blood. His eyes smoldered with hatred.

“You mock me?” he roared. “I’ll kill the lot of you!”

Suddenly, the dock shuddered and banged with the panicked dance of a hundred feet. The men behind Jandra fled, some leaping into the river, others racing for the narrow alleys of Richmond. Inside of thirty seconds she faced Albekizan alone.

She swallowed.

Albekizan lowered his serpentine neck, bringing his face close to hers. His head was bigger than a horse’s, the long jaws capable of opening wide enough to close around her torso with a single chomp. His white teeth glistened with saliva. The pale wisps of feathers around the king’s nostrils swayed with each breath. Yet… she didn’t
feel
the breath, though his face was now inches from her own. And the perfumes the sun-dragons soaked themselves in… There was no smell.

“Ven?” she asked.

“That would be a lucky break for you, yes?” Albekizan said in her mentor’s voice.

“I can’t believe you’d frighten me like this,” she said.

“More important, I frightened the townsfolk.” The image of Albekizan fell away in a shower of sparks revealing her master at the center. “You’ve got your wish. They are warned.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I suppose they are. Let’s steal a boat and get out of here.”

“An excellent suggestion,” said Vendevorex. “I wish I’d thought of it myself.”

CHAPTER SIX: SPARKS

Tulk and Cron had barely spoken to one another on their daylong flight along the riverbank. Tulk felt there should be a bond between them; they had been, literally, in the same boat earlier, drifting downriver until the dawn made travel by water too risky.

Yet Cron barely looked back as he raced through the woods. He showed no willingness to slow his pace or assist Tulk who lacked his companion’s youth and stamina. It was all Tulk could do to keep up.

At last, Cron paused at the forest’s edge, allowing Tulk to catch up. Tulk looked out at a large, reddish blob in the distance. He had no idea what he was looking at.

“Where are we?” Tulk asked between gasps for breath.

“That ship down there,” said Cron. “It’s Stench’s place.”

Tulk was confused. His eyesight wasn’t great but he certainly wasn’t overlooking the river. They were facing dry land. “What ship?”

“You really are blind, aren’t you, old man?” Cron said.

“I see you well enough to knock in your teeth, boy,” said Tulk.

“That big rusting thing down there… It’s a ship. It’s ancient. It’s on land now but centuries ago they say the river flowed through here.”

“Is it Stench’s place?” Tulk asked. He’d heard of the tavern many times, but having spent most of his life in captivity, had never had the pleasure of drinking an ale there. “I’ve heard that it was made of iron. I never believed the stories.”

“It’s true,” said Cron. “A priest of Kamon told me it was once a ship that could sail the oceans, built by humans before they angered the gods and fell from grace.”

Tulk felt as if he’d been slapped.

Cron, apparently sensing the offense, said, “What?”

“You spoke the blasphemous name.”

“Oh,” said Cron. “You’re one of them.”

“You’re a Kamonite?” Tulk spat after saying the name to remove its evil from his tongue.

“I’m not saying,” said Cron. “I take it you are a follower of Ragnar that you find such offense in his name?”

“Kamon is an abomination,” said Tulk, spitting again. “His lies have corrupted thousands. He turns people from the true path and preaches that dragons are divine things, the offspring of angels. He wants us to be inferior and subservient to dragons.”