James Maxey - Bitterwood

Zanzeroth nodded. “You’re correct, wizard. Sire, let me be blunt. I don’t believe Bitterwood to be beyond our grasp. You called off the hunt too early. His trail may yet be warm. This genocide you dream of is unnecessary. That said, what do I care if humans are slaughtered? I’ve killed so many for sport, I can hardly object on any moral grounds. If it is to be war, Sire, I stand beside you.”

“Cowards, the lot of you,” said Vendevorex. “I want no part of this.”

“I anticipated your answer,” said Albekizan. “Your close companionship with the human girl-Jandie is her name? Jandra? I believe she clouds your judgment. If you will not help voluntarily, consider this: I’ve ordered all humans within the castle be gathered together and slaughtered.” As the king spoke he glanced toward Bander who nodded toward the guards. They drew their swords and crept toward the wizard. Albekizan continued, “I’ve spared your pet, imprisoning her, for now. Assist me and she will live. Defy me and she dies. A simple choice.”

Vendevorex calmly studied the approaching guards then looked the king squarely in the eyes. “If she’s been so much as scratched you’ll regret it!”

“Don’t threaten me, wizard,” the king growled. “Bander! Place this fool in chains. A few days in the dungeon will change his mind.”

“Y-y-yes, Sire,” Bander said. His arms trembled as he lowered his spear toward Vendevorex. “P-place your talons above your head!”

“Gladly,” the wizard replied, spreading his wings wide. The ruby in his silver skullcap glowed brightly. With a crackle Bander’s spear crumbled to ash. The black particles swirled from the shocked dragon’s talons, flying in a dark stream toward the wizard to encircle him in a shadowy vortex.

“Kill him!” shouted Albekizan.

The guards rushed forward. A weighted net was thrown over the black vortex, the wind of its passage causing the miniature tornado to collapse into an expanding cloud. One by one the earth-dragons lunged, tackling the cloud of ash. The sound of steel striking steel, then ripping muscle and cracking bone reverberated through the hall.

Zanzeroth drew his hunting knife, a yard-long blade that would have been a sword in anyone else’s grasp. He flung it with a grunt, missing the black vortex by a wide gap, the blade flying narrowly beneath the beak of one of the guards to fly out the open doorway before burying itself in the mortar of the stone wall beyond.

By now, the ash lost its momentum and drifted to the stone floor. It was difficult to make out from the tangle of bloodied limbs and gore exactly what had happened. When the earth-dragons who could stand had finally risen, all that remained on the marble floor was the tattered remains of one of the guards, chopped beyond recognition. Of the wizard, not even a single scale could be found.

“He’s gone?” said Bander.

“Surround the palace at once,” Kanst ordered. “Summon the aerial guard. The wizard must not escape.”

“If he survives, I fear he could prove quite a powerful figurehead for a human resistance,” said Metron.

Albekizan shot the High Biologian an evil glance. Then he turned his focus on Zanzeroth. “Find him,” he snapped. “Do something more useful than almost killing a guard with an ill-thrown blade.”

Zanzeroth nodded. “Yes, Sire.” He wandered into the hall and yanked his knife free from the gap between the stones. As he suspected, there was a thin, wet red line along the edge. He held the blade to his nose and sniffed. The wizard’s scent was unmistakable; no other blood would smell of lightning. Perhaps a foot more to the right and this would have been over. Zanzeroth felt confident he could find the escaped wizard in short order, but on a deeper level he felt a certain satisfaction in letting the wizard go, for now. The king had created this mess by placing his trust in such a fool for so long. Let Albekizan deal with the consequences.

“The wizard won’t have long to cherish his freedom,” Albekizan snarled. “Bander, see to it that the human girl is killed. We’ll not need that traitor’s help. Once you’ve seen to her death, go at once to the dungeon. Bring me Blasphet.”

“B-B-Blasphet!” Bander said, his turtle-like beak hanging agape.

Blasphet?thought Zanzeroth, realizing for the first time that the depth of Albekizan’s hatred of Bitterwood might be greater than his own.

“Blasphet?” said Metron. “Sire, surely-”

“Silence,” growled Albekizan. “I’ve given my order. Despite his deeds I’ve kept Blasphet alive for a day such as this. No dragon that ever lived has more of a genius for killing. Bring him to me. Bring me the Murder God.”

ON THE WESTERN side of Albekizan’s palace, a winding maze of chambers led to a star-shaped room that was home to Vendevorex, Master of the Invisible. The room itself was a nearly impenetrable labyrinth of piled books. Lining the walls were dusty shelves filled with handblown bottles of all sizes and shapes, their murky contents gleaming in the light of the small window slits that lined the chamber. Jandra sat at a desk in the middle of the labyrinth, a massive tome cracked open before her, the pages bearing colorful detailed drawings of clams and snails. For a Master of Invisibility, sometimes her mentor could be incredibly transparent. This assignment was obviously meant to keep her out of his way while he investigated Bodiel’s murder.

The knock on the chamber door came as a relief to Jandra. While normally a devoted student, she welcomed the excuse to take a break from reading about snails. She brushed her long brown hair back from her eyes and went to the door. Vendevorex never had visitors but sometimes while he was away servants would sneak up to talk to Jandra in hopes of acquiring some minor potion or charm. She knew enough of Vendevorex’s art to help most supplicants. The salve she mixed really could heal burns, and while the love potions she provided were only colored water, they gave people confidence and courage, which often brought them the love they sought.

Unfortunately, when she opened the door she didn’t find a serving girl or a stable hand. Four earth-dragon guards awaited her, one carrying iron manacles.

“Come,” said the dragon with the manacles.

“Where?” she asked. “Why?”

“Don’t question me,” the guard snapped, reaching out to grab her arm, his claws digging into her skin.

“Ow! All right! I’m coming!” she said. She contemplated turning invisible but couldn’t see how it would help while he held her. Once he released her she would have more options.

The guard locked the manacles around her wrists. The cold steel clamped her as tightly as the earth-dragon’s scaly grip. They dragged her by her chains into the hall. In the distance she heard a woman scream.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Silence!” The guard slapped Jandra’s face.

Jandra’s head spun. The earth-dragon guards were no taller than her, but they possessed incredible strength. Earth-dragons were slow and a bit dimwitted, but still dangerous. It was safest to cooperate. She bit her lip and walked on, now pushed by the pointy end of a spear. Another cry echoed through the hall, a man this time. The guards weren’t merely after her, apparently, but after all the humans in the castle. Was this tied to Bodiel’s disappearance? If so, she could expect only the worst from Albekizan.

Where was Vendevorex? Why was he allowing this to happen?

To her surprise the guards led her not to the dungeons, but to another tower. They unlocked the manacles and shoved her into a large, comfortably furnished room, though once the heavy door shut behind her it was as secure as any dungeon cell. She moved toward the room’s single window when she heard the shouts outside. Through iron bars she looked onto a courtyard where perhaps twenty humans stood, lined before an earth-dragon wielding an axe. To her horror, a woman was being pushed down to her knees. An earth-dragon guard roughly slammed the victim’s head against the chopping block. It was Ruth!