James Maxey: Bitterwood

“No,” Shandrazel agreed. “It’s over because I will not fight you. But I do not come to surrender. I come instead to help you create your kingdom of justice.”

“We’ll never live under a dragon’s thumb again,” Pet shouted. The crowd of men cheered.

“So you now intend to be the thumb?” Shandrazel asked, snaking his head down the wall so that his voice could be better heard. He looked into Pet’s eyes and said, calmly, “If you seize the throne by force, the dragons will not consent to your rule. There will be further war.”

“We’ll be ready,” said Pet.

“There is another solution,” Shandrazel said. “A compromise is possible. Will you listen to my proposal?”

Pet looked at the mob of men he led. He doubted they were in the mood for compromise. But Pet felt the responsibility of the role he played. He knew that his words could launch a war far bloodier than what he’d witnessed today. But was it possible that he could lead these men to peace? Would they accept him as a leader if he weren’t marching them to war?

“We aren’t in the mood for compromise,” Pet said. “What can you possibly have to offer us?”

“I propose,” Shandrazel said, “that both a human and a dragon shall rule jointly, though neither as a supreme power. The age of kings is passing. If we wish to move forward, we will need new forms of government; a government where laws are based on reason rather than on the whims of a king. A government where courts make decisions based on truth and fairness rather than tradition and prejudice. I have many ideas, though this isn’t the proper place to discuss them. I invite you to join me in the castle, that we may peaceably discuss the creation of a new government. What say you?”

“Never!” someone shouted. Pet recognized the voice.

“Kamon,” he said, “come forth.”

The old man left the crowd, marching as boldly as his frail limbs would carry him. Pet helped him rise to the platform.

“Everyone knows me,” Pet said, “but you may not know Kamon. He was one of the men who freed me from the platform. I owe my life to this man. But we are of different minds on many things, I find.”

“You dare to talk with this dragon?” Kamon said, his small body producing a surprisingly vital voice. “Human blood has been spilt this day, and the earth itself cries for vengeance!”

The crowd shouted in agreement, raising their weapons. Even Ragnar and his followers, long foes of Kamon, seemed ready to follow the aged prophet into battle.

They were ready to fight. Pet could see it in their eyes. If he gave the word, every last man before him was willing to put his life on the line to storm the castle.

As he stood in silence, considering his options, the crowd lowered their weapons and grew quiet, waiting for him to speak. At long last he took a deep breath. There was only one thing to say.

“Friends, earlier today, I said much the same thing as Kamon. I wanted to see dragon blood on my sword as badly as any of you. But the day has been long. It may be that I’m weak. Or it may be that I’m tired of death. I want justice, but I also want peace, and I’m willing to talk to anyone, man or dragon, to get it.” Pet took the sword that hung from his belt and handed it to Kamon. He said to the aged man, “If you want blood, I won’t oppose you.” Then, to the crowd, “No one has made me your leader but yourself, and no one can stop you if you want to follow Kamon into this castle and kill every living thing you find. If I’m to remain your leader, put down your weapons and wait while I speak with Shandrazel. By dawn, we may have our victory without further blood being spilled.”

“You can’t mean this,” said Kamon.

“I can,” Pet said. Then, addressing the crowd, “Now, choose. Kamon or Bitterwood. Vengeance or justice. Which path will you follow?”

Pet looked at Kamon who glowered at him, looking ready to run him through with the sword he’d just been handed. Yet, something stayed his hand.

“Bitterwood,” someone in the crowd mumbled.

“Bitterwood,” another said.

“Bitterwood,” the crowd shouted, as the last embers of the sun faded away.

And at the edge of the mob, Ragnar and a handful of followers marched away, weapons still in hand, glancing back toward the Pet with a look of abject scorn.

KILLER GROWLED, CAUSING Zeeky to stir from her sleep. Poocher squealed as the ox-dog began to bark furiously. She rubbed her eyes. Zeeky scanned the darkness around them but saw no one. The air carried the smell of the last embers of the fire she’d built earlier in the night.

Killer continued to bark into the dark voids among the surrounding trees.

“Is that thing going to eat me?” a man said.

Zeeky recognized the voice.

“It’s okay,” she said, and Killer stopped barking.

“Come on, Hey You,” she shouted.

The old man emerged from the darkness as the moon slid from behind the clouds. He walked stiffly and sort of tilted to one side. His left arm hung limply, swaying as he moved. Bandages had been wrapped around his chest.

Yet, as awful as he looked, Zeeky was happy to see him. She jumped up and ran to him, giving him a hug, though not a hard one, as he looked like he might not be able to take it.

He placed his right hand on her back and said, “You don’t need to call me Hey You anymore.”

“So what should I call you?”

“Bant will do.”

“Okay.”

Bant grimaced as he lowered himself to the ground. She helped him sit then sat beside him.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” she said. “After the-”

“Shh,” he said. “Let’s not talk about what happened back there. Let’s talk about tomorrow. Where you heading to?”

“Home,” said Zeeky.

“You aren’t an orphan?”

“I hope not.”

“Didn’t think so,” Bant said. “Bet your dad was going to kill that pig ’cause it was a runt, so you ran away with it.”

“How’d you know?”

“I was young once. A long time ago.” Bant shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll be young again one day.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Don’t know,” he said. “If you want me to, I’ll stick with you for awhile. I’m guessing you don’t know how to find your way back.”

“No,” Zeeky admitted. “I’m so lost.”

“So am I,” Bant said. “But home’s out there somewhere. Maybe, together, we’ll find it.”

With Albekizan dead and the kingdom entrusted to the kinder hands of Shandrazel and Pet, will a new age of peace blossom between men and dragons? Not if the radical prophet Ragnar and his mysterious partner Burke the Machinist have anything to say about it. Together they lead a human uprising that seizes the foundry town that produces armor and weapons for the king: Dragon Forge. Jandra’s loyalties are put to the test as she must choose whether to side with the rebels or with the dragons attempting to keep the kingdom together. Against the backdrop of war, Bitterwood helps Zeeky search for her lost family, while following his own clues that his son, Adam, may still be alive. But the path to reunion leads to one seemingly impassable obstacle: the latest schemes of genocide executed by the cult of the Murder God, Blasphet. Dragonforge is currently available in paperback; a Kindle edition will be released in Fall, 2010.

BANT BITTERWOOD THOUGHT the valley below looked like a giant’s patchwork quilt, as squares of tan fields jutted up against blocks of gray trees. In the distance were mountains, the peaks barely visible through blue haze. Zeeky didn’t seem interested in the scenery. Zeeky, a nine-year old girl with golden hair and dirty cheeks, only had eyes for animals. It was she who guided their mount, Killer, a barrel-chested ox-dog that carried two humans and a pig on his back as if they weighed no more than kittens. Zeeky was currently occupied teaching the pig to talk.