Bitterwood da-1

by James Maxey

  The man stopped, a deeply etched frown showing on his weathered face. His eyes studied her own. Then he smirked, ever so slightly, as if amused by Jandra’s threats.

  “You know who I am,” he said.

  “Yes,” Jandra answered, raising her fists, using the dust to create the illusion of flames around them. “You’re the Death of All Dragons. The Ghost Who Kills. You’re Bitterwood.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE: BAIT

  ZANZEROTH LIMPED INTO the courtyard, seeking refuge in a niche in the high stone wall. He paused, glaring into the shadows behind him, watching for the slightest movement that would indicate pursuit. He snapped the arrow that pierced his shoulder, leaving the head still buried inside. He then grabbed the arrow that jutted from his nose and thrust it deeper until the entire arrowhead was in his mouth. He snapped the shaft then worked the arrowhead free with his tongue, spitting it out. That had certainly been unpleasant.

  Reaching around, he grasped an arrow in his back. It had hit bone and wasn’t buried deep. Zanzeroth freed it with a grunt. He studied the arrow, fletched in red feather-scales. Bodiel’s, perhaps? Would his own feathers one day guide the flight that brought another dragon low?

  “No,” he growled softly.

  The flames flickering behind his enemy had painted the picture of a devil, but Bitterwood was only a man. He used a man’s weapons and would have a man’s weaknesses. All that was needed was to attack the man’s heart.

  His path to victory now clear, Zanzeroth gathered his will to climb a long row of steps leading up the castle walls. He kicked aside the body of a fallen guard. From the finery, he could tell this was one of Chakthalla’s defenders. From atop the wall he surveyed the fighting below. The castle’s forces still fought here and there, though the battle was plainly lost. Zanzeroth spotted Kanst in a nearby field, shouting orders to his troops. Zanzeroth leapt into the night sky, the cool air rushing across his body, soothing the pain that cut through him with each downward thrust of his wings.

  He landed less than gracefully, his legs buckling on impact. He slid forward across the muddy ground, grinding dirt into his open wounds. The world swirled into a bright shower of red stars. Zanzeroth willed them away. He couldn’t pass out until he told Kanst what he’d learned.

  Earth-dragons rushed to his side, helping Zanzeroth to rise. Kanst ran forward, shouting for the battle medics to follow.

  “By the bones,” Kanst said. “What happened to you? Was it Vendevorex who wounded you so?”

  “You insult me,” Zanzeroth said, pausing to spit blood. “The wizard is dead. I gutted him easily.”

  “Then who…?”

  Zanzeroth lifted the crimson shaft of the arrow before Kanst’s eyes. “Look at the feathers. Tell me.”

  Kanst froze as he saw the arrow. “Bitterwood?” he whispered.

  “He’s within the castle,” said Zanzeroth. “He took me by surprise. You can see by the wounds in my back he fought less than honorably.”

  “All the soldiers will be sent against him,” Kanst said. “He won’t escape.”

  “He can, if brute force is your strategy.” Zanzeroth spat again. It was hard to talk with blood filling his mouth with every movement of his tongue. “Bitterwood moves more swiftly than any human I’ve ever seen. He’s unbound by any of our notions of honor or pride. He strikes from the shadows. Cowardly, yes, but effective. Chakthalla’s castle is a maze of flame and smoke. Send your soldiers in there and he’ll slay them at his pleasure.”

  Kanst nodded, looking consternated. “I trust your judgment. Still, I see no option but to give the order. Albekizan will have my head if I don’t.”

  “Albekizan can rot,” Zanzeroth said. “Bitterwood is my quarry. He’s made a tremendous error in showing himself tonight.”

  Kanst eyed Zanzeroth’s wounds then shook his head. “I won’t allow you to go back inside. You’re in no condition to hunt.”

  “A hunter who knows only the art of stalking prey will starve,” Zanzeroth said. “There are times when a snare is the proper tool. Do as I tell you and we’ll capture the so-called ghost by sunrise.”

  JANDRA SEARCHED BITTERWOOD’S dark eyes, looking for the slightest hint of mercy. She found none.

  “Witch or no, you can’t stop this,” Bitterwood said, staring at the flames around her fingers. He raised his bow and placed an arrow against the string.

  Jandra started to protest that she wasn’t a witch, but decided it might be to her advantage to let him think that she was. Jandra placed herself in the path of the arrow to shield Vendevorex. She said, “You’ll have to kill me before you can kill him. With my dying breath, I’ll place a curse on you so powerful your great-grandchildren will mourn the day you crossed me.”

  “Thou shall not suffer a witch to live. Exodus 22:18,” Bitterwood said.

  Jandra had no idea what he was talking about. Was this the babbling of a madman?

  Bitterwood stared at her, his face betraying no emotion. Jandra expected his fingers to let the arrow fly at any second. But the seconds dragged by, each longer than hours, and at last he lowered the bow.

  “Witch or not, I’ve never shot a woman. A human woman, at least,” he said. “Still, I’d kill you to kill the dragon you shelter, if it wasn’t a waste of an arrow.” Bitterwood gave Vendevorex a dismissive glance. “With those wounds he’ll never see the dawn. If he does… you can’t stand in my way all the time.”

  “Why would you kill him?” Jandra said, letting the illusion around her fingers fade away. “What great wrong has he done to you?”

  “He’s a dragon,” Bitterwood said, shrugging. “He breathes. Crime enough, I think.”

  “He’s more than a dragon! He has a name. Vendevorex. He has a long life behind him, filled with joys and sorrows. He deserves to live as much as you.”

  Bitterwood said nothing.

  Jandra continued, “I thought I had lost him forever only moments ago. It nearly killed me. Now I have hope he will live. It’s like getting my own life back. Vendevorex is my family and my friend. You say you won’t raise your hand against me, but if you kill him, you murder me. I love him more than anything else in the world”

  “You… love him?” Bitterwood asked, sounding utterly disgusted.

  “Yes. Like a father. I never knew my real family. He’s raised me for as long as I can remember. I probably wouldn’t be alive today if he hadn’t taken me in.”

  Bitterwood frowned. Jandra searched for the faintest hint of understanding in his eyes.

  “You must know how it feels,” she said, “to care for someone. Someone whose life you would fight for. Someone you would beg for. So please. Please, if you have the faintest trace of kindness within you, spare him. Spare me.”

  Bitterwood grimaced, then turned away. He raised the back of his hand to her and said, “This conversation is pointless. You delude yourself into thinking he’ll survive. He’s got more blood on the floor than he does in his veins. But if he does pull through, what the hell. I’ll leave him alone. Maybe one day he’ll be the last dragon on earth.”

  A silence followed his words. From the outer chamber Jandra heard the curses and clashes of battle. Chakthalla’s few remaining guards must have rallied there. But they couldn’t hold out for long. Even if Pet helped her move Vendevorex, where could they run? The only doors from the room led toward the battle or out to Chakthalla’s private garden, a walled area with no exit save for flying.

  The sounds of metal striking metal, of dragons crying their final cries, grew ever closer. Pet sat where Gadreel had dropped him, still looking dazed. Bitterwood busied himself cutting arrows free from the bodies of the earth-dragons he had slain. Jandra could see his quiver held only a few remaining shafts.

  “Been a busy night,” Bitterwood said as he yanked an arrow free and studied the tip for damage. “Looks like I’ll run out of arrows before I run out of dragons.”

  Then, from the distance, a new sound could be heard over the clash of swords. The faint wail of a trump
et was echoed by another, less distant horn, and another followed this.

  “What’s that?” Pet asked.

  “Curious,” said Bitterwood. “That’s the signal for retreat. The king’s army is breaking off the attack.” Indeed, the noise in the outer chamber nearly ceased as the invaders fell back. The handful of guards left alive chased after them.

  “But… they were winning!” Jandra said.

  “Maybe they don’t know that,” Bitterwood said. “I killed dozens of the king’s soldiers. It’s a mess out there. Smoke everywhere. If that big sun-dragon I shot up made it outside before he died, he might have panicked the forces.”

  Jandra wondered how long it would be before the assault resumed. Would she have time to help Vendevorex? She needed help and she had few choices in allies.

  “Bitterwood,” she said. “All you want to do is kill dragons.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, all the dragons outside want to kill Vendevorex. I think we should make a deal.”

  “I’m listening,” Bitterwood said.

  ZEEKY STIRRED AS a hand vigorously shook her arm. Sleep was slow to release its hold on her. The sheets were warm and soft, and it had been too many days since she had slept in her bed. Then she remembered this wasn’t her bed.

  She opened her eyes. Merria, the little girl, was shaking her. The worn, wearied look in her eyes made Zeeky think she hadn’t slept at all. How late was it? The room was still dark.

  “They’re here,” Merria whispered.

  “Who?”

  “Dragons.”

  Zeeky sat upright. Poocher rested at the foot of the bed, waking with a snort as she moved. From beyond the bedroom door she could hear Hodan, Merria’s father. She had difficulty making out all of his words through the wooden door but he was plainly arguing.

  His words were met with the rough tones of the voice of a dragon, shouting, “Silence. You’ll come now.”

  Hodan raised his voice again. There was a loud clap and his voice fell silent. Clatters and bangs, like furniture overturning, echoed throughout the room. Alanda, Merria’s mother, screamed.

  “C’mon,” Zeeky said, grabbing Merria by her arm. “We have to run.”

  “No!” Merria said, struggling to get loose. “I want my mommy!”

  Footsteps pounded toward the door. Zeeky let go of Merria who jumped from the bed and ran toward the door. Zeeky swept Poocher into her arms and searched the darkened window next to her bed for the latch to the shutters.

  She pushed the window open as lamplight spilled into the room from the opening door. Her legs were tangled up in the sheets so she leaned from the window and dropped Poocher the few feet to the ground. She then toppled forward, letting herself fall, kicking her legs free of the sheets. Just as the tangled cloth released her, the sharp-nailed claws of an earth-dragon closed around her ankle. Poocher squealed loudly as Zeeky was lifted away from him, back into the farmhouse.

  “Run, Poocher!” she yelled as her attacker dragged her across the bed, then through the bedroom into the common room. The table was toppled to its side and not a single chair remained upright. She kicked her free leg wildly, striking her attacker’s arms.

  The dragon who carried her showed no pain, and when he spoke he merely sounded amused. “This one shows a little more spirit.”

  “Good,” a voice from outside the door of the farmhouse answered. “Bait’s better if it’s wiggling.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: ARROWS

  “NO,” BITTERWOOD ANSWERED, barely giving her proposal a second’s thought.

  “But we can help you with your fight if you help us,” Jandra said.

  “I’ve already agreed to spare his life. You can’t seriously expect me to help save it.”

  “Fine,” Jandra said, seething with frustration. “Go. We’ll do this on our own.”

  She noticed from the corner of her eye that Pet had finally cleared his head enough to stand and walk toward them. “You’ll help me, won’t you, Pet?” she said.

  “Um, Mr. Bitterwood?” Pet asked, ignoring Jandra.

  “What?”

  “Can I go with you? At least until we can get away from the castle and to a decent-sized town somewhere?”

  “No,” Bitterwood said.

  “Please? I can pay you with gold and jewels and…”

  Bitterwood raised his hand to silence Pet. “Look at you. You’re no villager. Everything about you screams that you’re a dragon’s companion. If you enjoy their company, seek help from them.”

  “But-”

  “Enough,” said Bitterwood. “There’s work to be done. The dragons within the castle are weakened and disoriented. I give you fair warning-when the dragons outside the walls strike again, they will find all the defenders dead.”

  “You’re condemning us to death!” Pet cried.

  Bitterwood turned and walked into the outer chamber. As he disappeared into the shadows, he said, “You feasted at the table of dragons; you slept on soft beds beneath their roof. It’s fitting that you rot among their corpses.”

  “You bastard!” Pet yelled into the dark hallway. “I hope the dragons kill you! I hope they rip the arms from your sockets!”

  “Shut up,” Jandra said.

  “Did you hear his tone? That sanctimonious bastard thinks he’s too important to help us. If I see him again I’ll knock his teeth out.”

  “I said shut up!” Jandra gave Pet her nastiest glare. “I’ve had all I can take of you. A minute ago you were willing to abandon Ven and me to save your skin. You’re a coward, Pet. Talking big just makes you look smaller.”

  “Don’t talk to me that way!” Pet said.

  “What are you going to do?” Jandra planted her hands on her hips. “Knock my teeth out?”

  Pet threw up his hands. “You’re the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met! Women normally fall all over themselves to see me smile at them. You’re talking to me like I’m common trash.”

  “Oh, I think you’re very uncommon trash. Now why don’t you just run along and find one of those women who like you so much? I need to figure out how to save Vendevorex.”

  Pet started to say something and then stopped. After a pause he said, “It’s so quiet outside. Even the roar of the flames has lessened.”

  “The Vengeance doesn’t burn forever. If the air is still, its own smoke eventually smothers it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Pet said.

  “That it doesn’t burn forever?”

  Pet shook his head. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I lost my head. You’re right. This situation hasn’t brought out the best in me. But I’m calm now. I want to stay and help you.”

  Jandra rolled her eyes. “You’re just too scared to try to make it out of the castle alone.”

  “I’m not a coward.”

  “Then go.” Jandra pointed toward the door.

  “No.” Pet crossed his arms. “A minute ago you said you needed my help to save Vendevorex. Just tell me what to do.”

  “Fine,” Jandra said. No matter how much she loathed him at the moment, Pet was the only other person in the room. She had to take whatever help she could get. “We need to find a place to hide him.”

  “How can we move him without injuring him further?”

  “I don’t know,” Jandra said, looking at Vendevorex. He seemed to be sleeping restfully. His wounds had scabbed over and he no longer lost blood, but Jandra feared that moving him might injure him. “I’ve seen him heal himself before. He closed a cut on his cheek within minutes, but this…? I don’t know how he’s doing this. Our only hope is that it will take hours for him to heal and not days.”

  “I’m not sure I see what the problem is,” Pet said. “You can turn us invisible, right?”

  “If they bring ox-dogs, invisibility won’t help,” she answered, kneeling next to Vendevorex. She placed her fingers lightly on his brow. He was hot as a hearth. “Just sitting here talking won’t help anything either. Is there an armory in the castle?”

 
“Of course,” Pet said.

  “Then we should go while the battle has paused,” she said as she stood up and wiped her hands on her dress. “The right weapons might make all the difference.”

  “We’ve still got that sword,” Pet said. “And I bet the hallways are full of stuff.”

  “Swords aren’t going to help. Neither of us is a match fighting a dragon hand-to-hand. But Bitterwood does well with a bow. If we were armed the same, firing from a position of invisibility, we’d stand a chance.”

  “I don’t know,” Pet said. “Have you ever fired a bow? They aren’t as easy as they look. I practiced with them for a while, trying a trick where I could shoot an apple from the head of a volunteer.”

  “Oh,” Jandra said, perking up. “So you know how to use one?”

  Pet lowered his head, shaking it slowly. “I never had a second volunteer.”

  “Dragons are bigger targets than apples.”

  “True enough,” Pet nodded. “I don’t have a better idea. Let’s do it. The armory isn’t far. If we move invisibly, we can cut straight across the castle walls. We can make it there and back in five minutes.”

  PET HELD JANDRA’S hand, guiding her across the main wall. She told him they couldn’t be seen but he wasn’t so sure. He could still see them. But he could see himself earlier as well, when Vendevorex had cloaked them with invisibility, and that time they had passed crowds of dragons without reaction.

  This trip, they met no dragons who could have reacted to their presence. Their path was strewn with dead bodies, both of the attackers and defenders of the castle. Most had died engaged in combat with one another, but here and there arrows stuck from the bodies. Pet noted that most of the dragons Bitterwood had killed were shot from behind. For a supposed hero, Bitterwood wasn’t interested in taking chances. He was looking out for his own skin. Yet when Pet displayed the same concern for his own safety, he was labeled a coward.

  The night had grown exceptionally dark. The moon had crawled from the sky hours ago. Soon it would be dawn. From outside the walls he could hear the distant shouts of dragons and the crying of children, human children. He peered over the wall as they moved but all he could make out of the surrounding village was dim shadows. Had the invaders turned their attack against the village? He hoped not. He knew quite a few of the village women; indeed, there were many fair-haired children of the village he suspected were his own. He hoped they would be all right. If he had Bitterwood’s skill in combat, he’d be out there now, saving the villagers. But he was no fighter. He was an acrobat, an artist, and actor. If there were some way to save the villagers by putting on a costume and reciting a dramatic monologue, he’d be the right man for the job.