Dragonseed

by James Maxey

  Hex didn’t provide the opening. Instead, he tossed the cow stomach into the air above the fire and hacked at it with his steel axe. The bulging sack burst, spraying oil over the fire pit. Bitterwood felt the heat on his cheeks as the oil ignited in a violent conflagration. He turned his face, closing his eyes to protect them from the sudden burst of light.

  When Bitterwood opened his eyes, he saw three of the beastialists pounce upon Hex. Bitterwood watched with grudging admiration as Hex made short work of them. The sun-dragon buried the axe into the breast of his first foe, a blow that was almost certainly fatal. With the blade affixed to his tail, Hex sliced across the throat of the attacker at his rear. From the spray of blood, Bitterwood concluded the attack had hit an artery. He wondered if it was only luck, or if Hex was a better fighter than he’d given him credit for. The final attacker was a young, aggressive sun-dragon who charged forward with no hint of caution. Hex opened his jaws wide and caught his foe’s smaller head between his teeth. There was a sickening crunch as the dragon’s skull split under the force of Hex’s crushing bite.

  A thick blue smoke rose from the fire. Through the haze, Bitterwood saw a shot as Hex spat the young dragon’s head away. Despite his armor, Hex’s open mouth was a vulnerable spot. An arrow straight down his gullet would bury itself in the sun-dragon’s brain-stem. He let the arrow fly.

  Hex snapped his jaw shut as the arrow reached his mouth, tilting his head so that the arrow was deflected by his armored snout. Bitterwood cursed the dragon’s luck. Or was it luck? Hex turned his gaze toward the ledge where Bitterwood stood. The other dragons might not be aware of him, but Hex plainly was.

  Before Bitterwood could fire again, Thak, Rorg’s eldest son, plunged into battle. He blindsided Hex, knocking the armored dragon from his hind-talons. The two crashed against the stone floor. Hex’s armor clanged like an alarm meant to wake the gods. The two dragons rolled, necks and tails entwining, as Thak used his powerful claws to peel back part of the armored plate covering Hex’s belly.

  Traces of the blue-tinged smoke reached Bitterwood. His nose twitched at the stench of burning peanuts. He recognized the odor, having smelled it when Blasphet attacked the Nest. The smoke was a paralyzing poison that affected all manner of dragons.

  Around the cavern, sun-dragons were starting to sway drunkenly. They stared at random shadows, glassy-eyed, oblivious to Thak and Hex’s furious tussle. The two rolling dragons toppled the nearest beastialists as if they were huge, red bowling pins. A few tried to stagger from the cavern but none made it to the exit, as their eyes rolled back into their heads and they collapsed.

  Bitterwood remained focused on Hex’s armored form. The excitement of combat was sparing Thak the soporific effects of the smoke so far, so the motions of the two dragons as they wrestled prevented Bitterwood from finding a good opening.

  It was increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that there were nearly three score sun-dragons lying immobile, stupefied by the poison smoke. Here was an opportunity to rid the world of an entire clan of sun-dragons. His hatred of all dragons burned in his throat like thirst and he could no longer resist spilling blood. His bow sang out in the alcove in a steady rhythm as he targeted the immobile forms of dragon after dragon. He emptied his quiver faster than his living arrows could grow back. He studied his handiwork as his heart pounded in his ears. The floor was red and glistening. He’d killed more sun-dragons in a moment than he’d managed to kill in most years. It wasn’t enough.

  It could never be enough.

  Impatient with waiting for his quiver to replenish, he leapt from the alcove, skidding along the slimy stone, drawing his sword as he raced toward an old sun-dragon who was feebly crawling away, his breath ragged and labored. He turned toward Bitterwood’s footsteps. His left eye was murky with cataracts as he lifted his head.

  Bitterwood buried his sword between the beast’s eyes, pausing for a moment of dark pleasure as death twitched all the way to the tail-tip of the once mighty beast. He pulled the blade free. A shiver ran along his spine as he watched dark red fluid running down the blood-grooves of his blade.

  Nearby, a dragon rolled to his back, clutching at the arrow buried deep in his breast. Blood bubbled in the creature’s mouth. His remaining life could be measured in moments.

  The dark thing that drove Bitterwood would not grant those moments. He hacked and hacked and hacked at the beast’s neck, as the ghosts of the uncountable, nameless, faceless men who’d suffered a thousand years of cruelties beneath the talons of dragons whispered for vengeance.

  As the beast’s head came free from its body, Bitterwood straightened, scanning the room. He no longer felt like a creature of muscle and bone. He was crafted from lightning and stone. He wiped his red hands across his lips. Salty blood burned on his tongue like distilled fire.

  He spun toward the sound of a dragon crying out in agony. It was Thak, flat on his back, with Hex crouched above him. Hex had his snout buried deep into Thak’s belly. He jerked his head from side to side, producing a slurping sound as he tore away strips of bloodied hide.

  Bitterwood was beyond all caution or strategy. He raced toward Hex, screaming, more beast than man, his sword brandished above his head with both arms. Hex drew back, his emerald eyes widening, as Bitterwood leapt over the bodies of fallen dragons.

  Hex swung his tail around, in the tripping attack hardwired into the nerves of all sun-dragons. Bitterwood instinctively leapt over the tail-blade. A shout of “DIE!” tore from his mouth. Using the full weight of his body and the pure power of the righteous rage of all humanity, Bitterwood drove the tip of his sword against Hex’s breast plate, right at the point where it would pierce his heart.

  The armor dented.

  The blade shattered.

  Bitterwood’s attack ended abruptly as he slammed face-first into the iron wall that was the sun-dragon’s torso. He staggered backward, blood streaming from his nose, his lower lip split open. He was only barely aware of Hex’s tail swinging back. He jumped, but he was too slow. The armored tail caught him at the hip and threw him across the room like he was little more than a doll. He crashed into a stalagmite.

  Sliding down the column, he stared up at the countless stone icicles above. The world spun in a sickening twirl. Some distant sliver of awareness waited for Hex’s jaws to snap onto his torso.

  Instead, back near the fire pit, there was a cavern-shaking roar. Bitterwood turned his head toward the noise. The ground trembled as Rorg thumped down from his pedestal and charged Hex, two tons of reptilian fury. Hex spun to meet him, burying his mighty axe deep into the dragon’s fat neck. The sheer momentum and mass of the patriarch sun-dragon ripped the weapon from Hex’s grasp. Hex tumbled backwards and Rorg trampled over him. Rorg’s neck swayed; he was obviously drunk from the poison that had paralyzed the others. Still, just as a large man can hold his liquor better than a thin one, the corpulent beastialist proved slightly more resistant to the airborne toxin.

  Rorg whipped his head back as Hex tried to rise. His jaws clamped down on the chainmail draping Hex’s neck. Hex’s eyes bulged as he let out an almost airless squeak. Even though Rorg’s teeth failed to pierce the mail, the power of his jaws was like a vise upon Hex’s windpipe.

  Bitterwood rolled to his hands and knees, shaking his head. The bloodlust that had driven him began to ebb. He’d long been torn by the forces within him. There was the blood-hungry avenger who craved the death of dragons regardless of consequences, and there was the cool, rational hunter who carefully planned each move, following well practiced strategies to kill prey without endangering himself. The latter Bitterwood was back in control. Rising, he reached over his shoulder and found half a dozen fresh new arrows ripening in his quiver. He calmly walked to where his bow had landed. He lifted it and turned to the two dragons. Rorg’s back was to him. Hex, his neck still firmly clamped in Rorg’s jaws, was staring at Bitterwood. His eyes pleaded for mercy.

  If Hex wanted to be put out of his misery, Bitterwood
was happy to oblige. He drew a careful bead on Hex’s left eye. He’d never have a cleaner shot.

  As the arrow flew, Hex jerked his head sharply, dragging Rorg with him. The arrow lodged several inches deep into the top of Rorg’s skull. With a groan, the beastialist’s jaws loosened. He sank to the ground before Hex. His head came to rest upon the bloodied belly of Thak, as if he’d chosen this for a pillow.

  Bitterwood reached for another arrow. Hex opened his jaws wide, drawing in a gasp of air as deep as a bellows.

  Bitterwood placed the arrow against his bowstring.

  Hex lunged toward Bitterwood, jaws open wide, his neck coiling out like a whip.

  Bitterwood aimed his arrow straight down Hex’s throat. He let the bowstring slide from his fingers. The arrow flashed straight toward its target.

  Yet Hex once more anticipated Bitterwood’s attack. He snaked his head to the right as the arrow left the string. The arrow punched through the back of his cheek, the shaft jutting from the outer edge of his jaw rather than lodging in the base of his skull. Hex carried through with his strike. Bitterwood leapt backward, trying to get out of Hex’s path, but the sun-dragon compensated for that as well. His head shot toward the point in space where Bitterwood landed. His jaws closed in on Bitterwood’s bow hand.

  Bitterwood released his bow and jerked his fingers away. The living wood of the bow splintered as Hex’s jaws crushed it. Bitterwood danced backwards, only to slip on the blood of a dead dragon behind him. His feet caught on the edge of the dragon’s wing and he fell, landing in the middle of the great sheet of feather-scales. An instant later, Hex’s hind-talon landed on his torso. The sun-dragon’s enormous weight bore down upon him, enough to pin him, but not crush him. Hex lowered his jaws to within inches of Bitterwood’s face. His hot breath carried a fine mist of gore. Beneath the scent of blood, the dragon’s breath carried the sweet aroma of flowers. The arrow hanging from his cheek looked like the world’s ugliest piece of jewelry.

  Bitterwood grabbed the hind-talon that pinned him and pushed with all his strength. Hex didn’t budge.

  Hex finally spoke, his words coming between gasps for air. “I … take it … you’ve spoken … to Jandra?”

  Bitterwood gave up on trying to free himself. He grabbed the dangling arrow, pushing it back deep into Hex’s mouth, and twisted. Hex pulled back, air hissing through his teeth as he sucked in a pained breath.

  With the sun-dragon’s weight shifted, Bitterwood pushed the talon away and rolled free. His eyes fixed on Hezekiah’s axe. He scrambled for it on his hands and knees. Hex’s armored tail whipped down inches before his eyes, the steel striking sparks as it chipped the stone floor. The weapon was still a full yard from his grasp.

  “Would you shtop trying to kill me!” Hex shouted.

  Bitterwood leapt to his feet. Hex kept his gaze locked on him.

  Bitterwood suddenly deduced why Hex seemed so fast.

  He said, “You’re wearing Jandra’s genie.”

  “No,” said Hex.

  “If you’re not wearing it, where is it?”

  “Now you ashk questions,” said Hex. He was lisping from the injury to his mouth. “What would you have done if you’d killed me?”

  “I don’t care whether Jandra recovers her toy or not. But, I know that she was faster when she wore it. Now, you’re faster.”

  “I’m not fashter. I’m prepared. We’ve fought shide by shide. I’ve shtudied you. You’re more predictable than you might realize.” Hex reached up and grabbed the arrow in his jaw. He tore it out with a yank that caused him to wince without fully closing his eyes. He was watching Bitterwood with an almost unblinking gaze. “You’re waiting for me to let my guard down to go for the axe. It won’t happen.”

  “Then we’re at a stalemate,” said Bitterwood.

  “Are we?” Hex asked. “I’m pretty sure I won this fight. I could have killed you if I’d wanted.”

  Bitterwood grimaced.

  “Where’s Jandra?” Hex asked. “Did she remain at Dragon Forge?”

  “She’s returned to the kingdom of the goddess to search for a new genie.”

  “And you let her?”

  “I have no say where she goes,” said Bitterwood.

  Hex spat out a gob of blood. “Don’t you think it’s possible she’s going back because the goddess is driving her? I detected subtle changes in Jandra after Jazz gave her new memories. What if the goddess isn’t truly dead? What if she lives on inside Jandra?”

  Bitterwood frowned. He hadn’t considered this possibility.

  “We have to go after her,” said Hex. “We’ve stood together before against common foes. We can do so again.”

  “Blasphet was one of those common foes,” said Bitterwood. “Yet you’ve come here wielding one of his weapons. I recognize the poison smoke, smoke that Blasphet himself was immune to. I find it suspicious you aren’t affected.”

  “After I left Jandra near Dragon Forge, I returned to the Nest to see if any further progress had been made in locating Blasphet’s body. The valkyries had been interrogating some of the captured Sisters of the Serpent. They’d discovered three locations for his hidden temples. I worked with the valkyries to search these locations. Two proved to be false leads. At the final location we found barrels of the smoke-oil. We also discovered notes revealing that chewing the stems of the ephedra plant in advance negates the poison. There were pots of these flowers at the temple.”

  “Ah,” said Bitterwood. “That’s the sweet scent I smelled on your breath.”

  “It smells better than it tastes, I assure you.”

  “Where did you get Kanst’s armor? And Hezekiah’s axe?”

  “Hmm,” said Hex. “I didn’t know the axe’s previous owner. These items were among the treasures at the temple. It appears the Sisters of the Serpent did a fair amount of looting in the aftermath of the battle of the Free City.”

  Bitterwood looked around the cavern. “Many of these dragons are still alive. I promised the slaves that no one would pursue them. Can I use the axe to keep my promise?”

  “No,” said Hex. “When the beastialists who’ve survived your butchery awaken, they’ll be more inclined to see things my way. Killing sleeping foes is dishonorable.”

  “I’ve never given a moment’s thought to honor,” said Bitterwood.

  “I’ve given many decades of thought to honor,” said Hex.

  “Was it honorable to strike Jandra when she least expected it? To betray a friend and steal her most valued possession?”

  “I did what I judged necessary. I’ve answered your questions. Answer mine. Will you help me find Jandra?”

  “No,” said Bitterwood. “I’m going back to Dragon Forge. My priority is to find Jeremiah.”

  “Zeeky’s brother? What’s he doing there?”

  “I think Vulpine is using him to spread yellow-mouth among the rebels.”

  Hex looked stunned. He shook his head. For a second, he wasn’t focused on Bitterwood. Bitterwood glanced at the axe. He was certain he could reach it before Hex knew what was happening. Yet, he didn’t move. Perhaps Hex was more useful alive, for the moment.

  “That’s simply monstrous. I’ve never liked Vulpine. Very well. I can’t deny the importance of your mission. You can find Jeremiah while I deal with Jandra.”

  “I’m glad I have your approval,” Bitterwood said. “You never did tell me what you’ve done with Jandra’s genie. Or her old tiara from Vendevorex’s tower, which I assume you stole?”

  Hex’s eyes widened. “By the bones. I’d forgotten that! She did say she had a second genie. In the rush of events, I never even thought to look for it. If she reclaims it—”

  “It’s gone,” said Bitterwood. “Someone else stole it.”

  “Let us hope this someone doesn’t know its true power.”

  “And the genie you stole?”

  Hex sighed. “You’ve asked me three times. Since I changed the subject twice before, you might deduce I have no intention of a
nswering. Suffice it to say that I’ve hidden it in the last place any human would want to look.”

  Bitterwood nodded. Had Hex purposefully told him the location of the genie? Or was it a careless slip?

  “I’ll take my bow and be on my way,” said Bitterwood.

  Hex glanced at the shattered remains. “If you wish. I doubt it will be of much use to you.”

  “It’s a good bowstring, at least,” said Bitterwood, crouching down to gather up the pieces. The splintered ends were green, dripping sap.

  “I’m not your enemy, Bitterwood,” said Hex. “In a better world, I’d like to think we would be friends after the adventures we’ve shared. There aren’t many warriors who’ve stood shoulder to shoulder against gods. We make a good team.”

  “In a better world, I’d have aimed my first arrow an inch to the left,” said Bitterwood. “But my world isn’t a better world. It’s …” He paused, looking for the word that described the reality he lived in.

  “A bitter world?” said Hex.

  Bitterwood grimaced. He’d forgotten Hex’s penchant for word play. The big lizard confused this for humor. But then, how would Bitterwood know a genuine sense of humor if he ever encountered it? Whatever part of a normal man’s soul that possessed the capacity for mirth had long since withered to dust inside him. Pun or not, the sun-dragon was right. The flavor of his world was undeniably bitter.

  SHORTLY AFTER BITTERWOOD had vanished down the chimney, Zeeky guided Skitter back toward the road. Bitterwood’s mission would take hours, she knew, and there was someone she needed to meet. She rode toward a human village they’d passed earlier. This village made Winding Rock look wealthy. The houses were nothing but shacks built from sticks and straw. The shallow ditch that ran through the center of town stank of human waste. Mounds of trash littered the landscape.

  Zeeky waited at the edge of the village, her eyes fixed at the point where the road vanished over the rise of a hill. Poocher snorted softly.