James Maxey - Bitterwood

“You are telling me that it’s a dead man we faced tonight?” said Albekizan.

“No, though one popular version of this legend holds that Bitterwood’s vengeful ghost still haunts the kingdom. A rival telling holds that Bitterwood eluded death and continues to fight to this day, alone, no longer trusting the help of other humans.”

“So you have nothing but legend to give me?”

Metron shrugged. “Sire, the truth is somewhat mundane, I suspect. All evidence leads me to conclude that Bitterwood died twenty years ago. Only his legend lives on. Now other humans occasionally summon the nerve to slay a dragon-usually in the most dishonorable ways, striking from ambush-and when your troops investigate, Bitterwood is blamed to keep us chasing after a myth.”

“The man who killed my son was no myth,” said Albekizan. “Bitterwood fletches his arrows with the feather-scales of dragons. We pulled thirteen pieces of evidence of his existence from Bodiel’s body.”

“Yes, Sire,” Metron said. “However, we should consider that the feather-scales of dragons are hardly a rare commodity. We shed old ones as new ones come in.”

Metron’s words once more pained Zanzeroth. He was losing old scales without new ones growing to replace them. He stared at the large, black patches of naked hide that covered his once crimson fore-talons.

“Our servants and field hands no doubt discover fallen feather-scales all the time,” Metron continued. “What if a human familiar with the legend is using it to his advantage to create fear among us? I’ve checked the records and found hundreds of dragon deaths over the past twenty years attributed to Bitterwood. It’s likely that other men have blamed Bitterwood for murders they themselves performed.”

“No,” Albekizan said. “I am certain that one being, be he man or ghost, is responsible. I’ve seen him with my own eyes.”

Now it was the king’s words that tortured Zanzeroth as he realized that he would never see anything with his eyes again.

“Still, I am not blind to the possibility that other humans assist Bitterwood,” Albekizan said. “That’s why I’ve called you here. Together, we will remove the stench of humans from my kingdom forever. I’ve tolerated their kind far too long. They breed like rats. Their dung-encrusted villages spread disease. They create nuisance by leeching off dragons as beggars and thieves. Now their greatest crime of all: They give shelter to Bitterwood. We must eliminate every last safe harbor for the villain. We can only be certain of victory over Bitterwood when all the humans are dead.”

For a moment no one spoke. Zanzeroth wasn’t quite sure what Albekizan meant. Did he want to kill all the humans in the nearby villages?

Metron broke the silence by clearing his throat, then asked, “All humans, Sire?”

“Every last one.”

“From what area?” he asked.

“From the world,” answered Albekizan.

Again, there was a long silence as Kanst looked to Metron, who looked to Zanzeroth, who studied a patch of air near the king with rapt fascination.

“Respectfully, Sire,” said a voice from the empty air Zanzeroth watched, “you’ve gone quite mad.”

Albekizan whirled around, searching for the source of the rebellious voice, looking straight past the point where Zanzeroth’s ears fixed the sound.

“Show yourself at once, wizard!” Albekizan commanded.

In a spot a yard from the suspicious voice, the air began to spark and swirl. The sparks fell away like a veil to reveal a sky-dragon, his wings pierced with diamond studs, sparkling like stars against his blue scales. Light gleamed from his silver skullcap. His eyes were narrowed into a scowl of disapproval. Vendevorex, Master of the Invisible, had made his grand arrival.

“Very well, Sire,” Vendevorex said. “You see me. Now hear me. Humans and dragons have existed side by side for all of history. Mankind poses no threat to dragons; indeed, humanity makes our lives more pleasant. If you kill the humans, who will tend to your crops? Who will do the basest of labors? The humans as a race didn’t kill your son. Bitterwood alone is responsible. Turn your resources to finding him. Don’t distract yourself with a costly war against all mankind.”

“The humans number in the millions,” Albekizan said. “Bitterwood could hide among them for years. But if all die, he dies.”

“Then consider this,” Vendevorex said. “Your course of action could lead to rebellion among dragons you now count as allies and friends. The earth-dragons won’t be eager to tend the fields. The sky-dragons rely on human labor to keep their colleges running smoothly. Your fellow sun-dragons often keep humans as pets. Do you expect them to sit idly while you slaughter their companions?”

“I anticipate resistance,” Albekizan said. “But my war against the humans will take place on many fronts. Metron’s battleground will be the minds of dragons.”

“Sire?” said Metron.

“In your role as protector of all knowledge, do you not teach that millions of years of evolution have produced the dragon as the highest form of life? We are by rights the masters of the earth. The human religions claim that they were created separate from other species. If they are not part of nature, why should we tolerate these parasites? Your task, Metron, will be to educate all dragons to this fact. Persuade them to the logic of our cause.”

“Of course, Sire,” Metron said, though Zanzeroth could hear traces of doubt.

“Metron, I expected more spine from you,” Vendevorex said. Then, addressing Albekizan once more, he said: “Even if all dragons stood with you, which they won’t, the humans themselves will rise against you. They may not be our physical equals, but they are capable of great cunning, and they outnumber dragons ten to one. You rule them now because they expend their aggression in petty tribal squabbles. They bicker and war over not just the meager resources you allow them, but also kill each other in the name of competing mythologies. Far more humans die each year at the hands of fellow humans than are killed by dragons.”

Albekizan stood silent. It seemed to Zanzeroth that he was actually considering the wizard’s argument.

Vendevorex expanded on his case. “Humans have the skill and the passion to fight; we are fortunate that they turn their energies against each other rather than on us. If you wage war against them, they will certainly unite. You will face an army of Bitterwoods. How many dragon lives are you willing to throw away in pursuit of your madness?”

The king didn’t react angrily to this insult, as Zanzeroth expected. Instead, Albekizan said, in a patient tone, “That is why I summoned you, wizard. I’ve tolerated your insolence all these years because I recognize your cleverness. Your task will be to devise the most efficient method of eliminating the humans. You are adept at curing disease. Could you not create a disease as well, one that slays only humans?”

“No,” said Vendevorex.

“Then perhaps some poison would serve our purpose, something which could be introduced into their wells.”

Vendevorex closed his eyes, shook his head, and took a deep breath, a breath that, to Zanzeroth’s ears came from well behind the place where the wizard seemingly stood. Was his lone eye playing tricks?

“I don’t mean I’m incapable of doing as you ask,” the wizard explained as if speaking to a child. “I won’t do it because I find the idea abhorrent.” The wizard looked around the room. “Kanst, I’m not surprised by your silence. You’ve never displayed the smallest hint of backbone. But Metron, you must know better. And Zanzeroth-you, of all dragons save myself-you have always spoken truth with the king. Will you not stand for the truth now?”