Jandra entered the throne room, breathing deeply. She would be strong, for now, at least, while Vendevorex needed her. She knelt and held the cup to the wounded wizard's lips and helped him to drink.
"More," he whispered as he swallowed the last drops.
Jandra returned to garden, both for water and to find Pet, to thank him for his words. She also felt a need to apologize for her earlier insults. Perhaps she'd expected too much of him. But Pet wasn't sitting by the fountain anymore.
"Pet?" she asked.
Only the colorful birds answered, singing joyfully as they danced among the hedges.
ZANZEROTH WATCHED AS Kanst gave the order. The earth-dragon lifted the little girl roughly by the hair. She screamed in pain and fear as Kanst slowly slid his sword from his scabbard. Kanst gave the order. The earth-dragon lifted the little girl roughly by the hair. She screamed in pain and fear as Kanst slowly slid his sword from his scabbard.
"Stop this!" a man yelled, his voice coming from outside the circled humans. "I'm here."
Zanzeroth smiled with satisfaction. The guards on the far side of the circle stood aside and the crowd parted. Zanzeroth struggled to rise, ignoring the pain of his injuries. He couldn't wait to see the look of defeat in his enemy's eyes.
The general motioned for the soldier to lower the girl. The cloaked figure walked forward haltingly, his shoulders sagging, his bow dangling from his weak grip, as if surrender sapped all his strength.
As the figure reached the platform, two earth-dragons rushed to him, knocking the bow from his hands, each grabbing an arm. They ripped his cloak away, exposing an old man, his skin weathered and tan, his hair thin and gray.
"A valiant attempt," Kanst said. "Alas, I'm not so easily fooled. You aren't the one we seek."
The old man looked up as Kanst's words sunk in. Anger flashed in his eyes. "Are you mad?" he asked. "I'm Bitterwood. I've done as you asked. Let these people go."
"Zanzeroth," Kanst said. "Twice you've stood in the presence of the Ghost who Kills. Tell me, is this the man we seek?"
Zanzeroth looked at the aged figure before him. His clothes were caked with blood-Gadreel's? Though he'd never been close enough to meet Bitterwood's gaze, this man's eyes looked as he'd imagined: hard, hateful, as dark and cold as a grave. But the old man was short, and while his arms revealed hard, wiry muscles, they were far too thin. The demon who stood in the window the night before had strength and stature. Still, if the Bitterwood who killed Bodiel were the same as the Bitterwood of legend, he would be old by now. Could this unimpressive specimen truly be the fabled dragonslayer? It seemed impossible. If only the arrow hadn't pierced his nose; the scent would reveal the truth. As it was, he couldn't smell a damn thing.
Zanzeroth weighed his answer carefully. If he named this old fool as Bitterwood, and dragons continued to die, no doubt Albekizan would have his head. His eye fell on the quiver slung over the old man's shoulders. It was filled with arrows fletched with goose feathers. This told him all he needed to know.
"This is an imposter. Put him with the others," Zanzeroth said. "Continue the executions."
"No!" the old man shouted. "I am Bitterwood! I killed three score of you during the night! I am-"
An earth-dragon struck the gray-haired man hard in the stomach, silencing him. While the two dragons continued to hold him, another dragon began to bind his arms with rope.
"I like your spirit, old man," Kanst said. "Your willingness to sacrifice yourself for others is admirable. I'm going to reward you by changing the order of the executions. You're next."
"But," the old man gasped painfully, "no one else will come forth. I'm the man you seek! I am Bitterwood!"
"No he's not!" a man shouted.
The crowd turned. On a nearby hill, astride a white stallion, another man could be seen. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his face fair, his hair long and golden. He was dressed in black silk and a velvet cape, and he held in his hand a well-crafted longbow. Over his shoulder a quiver hung, holding only three arrows, the feathers gleaming red in the morning sunlight.
The man shook the horse's reins and rode toward the platform. The crowd of humans murmured, excited.
"Release them," the stranger said in a firm, commanding voice. "The war is over. I'm the one you want. I'm Bitterwood."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: MASKS.
SCREAMING WITH RAGE, Zanzeroth lumbered toward the man on the white stallion as fast as his wounded frame would carry him. The horse bucked, panicking. The man somersaulted to the ground with acrobatic grace then turned his steely gaze toward Zanzeroth's charge. Zanzeroth lumbered toward the man on the white stallion as fast as his wounded frame would carry him. The horse bucked, panicking. The man somersaulted to the ground with acrobatic grace then turned his steely gaze toward Zanzeroth's charge.
"Stop him!" Kanst bellowed.
Pertalon, a sky-dragon half Zanzeroth's size, dashed into the hunter's path. Both tumbled into the assembled humans, sending them scrambling in fear. The soldiers plunged into the crowd, beating people down with their spear ends, preventing them from fleeing. A mob of earth-dragons rushed toward the man in the velvet cape, surrounding him in a wide circle. Most kept a respectful distance from the fabled dragonslayer, but two of the braver-or perhaps dumber-members of the guard ran forward and grabbed his arms.
Pertalon and Zanzeroth rolled on the broken ground, each seeking to best the other. Zanzeroth had the advantage of size but his wounds sapped his strength. Pertalon proved to be a skilled brawler. In seconds, the smaller dragon had pinned his much larger opponent.
"Damn you!" Zanzeroth howled. "Why do you deny me my justice?"
"Justice is for Albekizan to dispense," Kanst said. "Tell me, are you the one willing to face the king? To say we had Bitterwood captive, then killed him instead of giving Albekizan that pleasure?"
"I demand my revenge!" Zanzeroth said.
"I deny it," Kanst said.
Kanst turned back to his captive, the blond-tressed hero of the humans who stood stoically in the grasp of the two earth-dragons. Borlon, the captain, stood nearby, a two-handed sword gripped tightly in his chunky green fists, his eyes wide in an alert expression that was set somewhere equally between fight and flight. Kanst said, "Chain this man, then take him to my tent. Keep him constantly under guard. Under no circumstances allow Zanzeroth to come near. Use whatever force is necessary."
"Yes sir," Borlon answered. Then, he cast his gaze toward the assembled crowd. "What about the villagers we've gathered? Should we let them go?"
"Why bother?" Kanst shrugged. "In less than a month we were supposed to escort them to the Free City. We will take them now, as we return to the palace with Bitterwood."
Kanst turned to Zanzeroth. His armor clanked and clattered as he lowered himself to all fours to address the pinned hunter. "Old friend, I know you are a dragon with more than his allotment of guts and guile. I'm tempted to put you in chains as well to insure Bitterwood survives. Still, in the years I've known you, I've come to respect you as a dragon of unparalleled integrity. If you give me your word, as one sun-dragon to another, that you will not seek revenge against Bitterwood until he is presented to Albekizan, I will spare you from bondage."
"So be it," Zanzeroth snarled. "Our precious king may have his prize. But you must tell him I was the one with the plan that snared him. Speak for me, tell him that I deserve to be appointed as Bitterwood's executioner."
"I shall grant this," Kanst said, rising back to his hind-talons. Then, to Pertalon, "Let him go."
"My apologies," Pertalon said as he helped Zanzeroth to his feet.
"You had your orders," Zanzeroth said, brushing dirt from his skin. He looked down at his worn and torn body. This impromptu wrestling match had not only reopened some of his wounds, it had also cost him many more scales. Faded, rust-colored flakes littered the ground like leaves. He sighed, then raised his head to address Kanst once more. "One last thing. We must retake the castle. The body of Vendevorex lies in the throne room. It is a prize for which the king will reward both of us highly."
"Agreed," Kanst said. His polished armor gleamed in the light of the morning sun. "Our retreat from the castle to gather the villagers came as our victory was imminent. We shall retake it within the hour."
JANDRA TURNED FROM the wall, running back toward the throne room. She had gone looking for Pet and arrived in time to witness the turmoil as a sky-dragon tackled Zanzeroth. She couldn't make things out clearly from this distance, but it was apparent that Bitterwood had surrendered. The executions had stopped. So why didn't she feel any better? the wall, running back toward the throne room. She had gone looking for Pet and arrived in time to witness the turmoil as a sky-dragon tackled Zanzeroth. She couldn't make things out clearly from this distance, but it was apparent that Bitterwood had surrendered. The executions had stopped. So why didn't she feel any better?
As she ran through the corridors she had to constantly step around the bodies of the dead. She wanted to think the defenders of the castle had been defending more than the walls. They had died opposing Albekizan's cruelty and his vision of a world without humans. As shocking as it had been to watch the boy die at Kanst's blade, she knew that atrocity paled before what was to come.
When the other sun-dragons learned of the assault against Chakthalla, would they be galvanized to rise against the king? Or would they instead cower before him, acquiescing to whatever mad scheme he might conceive? She feared the latter. Only Vendevorex could make a difference. He would listen to her now. He had to.
But as she entered the throne room she gasped in horror. Vendevorex had lapsed back into unconsciousness, causing his aura of invisibility to fade. Now an enormous sun-dragon crouched above Vendevorex's helpless figure. Hearing her distressed cry the dragon turned his face toward her. He wore a black hood, hiding his features, so that only his eyes could be seen. Jandra had never seen a dragon in such a mask before. She thought it looked sinister, evidence enough that this was a servant of Albekizan-another assassin, no doubt.
Jandra knew that she stood little chance against a sun-dragon, even if she wasn't exhausted already. Despite her sense of impending defeat she clenched her fists and braced herself for one last battle. She again summoned the illusion of flame around her hands.
"Get away from him," she growled, stepping forward with all the menace she could muster.
"Jandra," the dragon answered, stepping backward. "I mean no harm. I'm here to help."
Jandra paused. She didn't recognize the dragon's voice, slightly muffled by the hood. "How do you know my name?" she asked. "Who are you?"
"A phantom," the dragon said in a weary voice. "A faint echo of the being I once was. I heard whispers of a plot against Albekizan and came to investigate. It looks as if I came too late."
"We've lost this fight," Jandra admitted. "But no war is decided by a single battle."
"Perhaps. But news of the slaughter here today will squelch any thought of rebellion among other sun-dragons." The masked dragon sighed, his voice full of despair. "Albekizan need not rule with the respect of his subjects when all he needs is their fear."
"Fear you must possess in abundance," Jandra said. "You say you want to stand with us but you hide your face. You want to protect yourself if the war is lost. Obviously you fear for your name, or your power."
The dragon shook his head. "I no longer have a name, or power."
"Then you have nothing to lose," said Jandra. "At the moment, I'm short on allies. Can I count on your help?"
"I am at your service," the masked dragon answered with a courtly bow.
Suddenly, the blast of battle horns could be heard from the castle gates.
"Sounds like they're coming back in," Jandra said. "We'd better move Vendevorex."
"Why was he brought to the throne room to start with? With such serious wounds he should never have left his bed."
"He received his wounds here."
"When?How?"
"Zanzeroth almost killed him. This happened only hours ago."
"Hours?" The dragon sounded as if he thought Jandra was crazy. "These wounds are days old."
"Listen, Phantom, this isn't the best time to explain. No one's left to defend this place. Kanst's soldiers will just sweep through here. We need to get moving."
Vendevorex moaned. He turned his head toward Jandra's voice. His eyes fluttered open as he whispered, "What's the point?"
Jandra ran to his side. She dropped to her knees and placed a hand on his fevered brow. "You're burning up, Ven. Phantom, go get him some more water!"
"Don't bother," Vendevorex said. His voice sounded utterly defeated. "I-I heard the battle horns. I'm too weak to move. It's time to accept... I'm going to die. Save yourself, Jandra."
"I'm not going to let you die," Jandra said. "I won't abandon you, Ven."
"You m-must," the wizard sighed. He closed his eyes. He arched his back in response to some internal agony. His belly was twisted and distorted with ugly tumors of scar tissue. His skin seemed to be crawling. "It's all o-over. I'm too sick to move. You could make us invisible, but what's the p-point? Zanzeroth will bring in ox-dogs. We've lost."
"Don't be so willing to surrender, my friend," the phantom said, reaching for a large pack he had left on the floor. "Let Jandra make us invisible to their eyes and I will make us invisible to their noses. I can carry you both from here with ease." The phantom pulled a crystalline atomizer from his pack.
"You're going to save us with perfume?" Jandra asked "Hold your breath until the mist settles to the floor," the hooded dragon said. "This is filled with the essence of hot peppers. The dogs won't even enter this room."
The phantom sprayed the fine pink mist around the room. Jandra fought aside her own exhaustion to concentrate on her role in the escape. She needed to create a circle of invisibility large enough for all three of them to hide in; this was no small task, given the sun-dragon's great size. The phantom looked back as he neared the door.
"Where?" he whispered, looking around.
"Here," Jandra answered, certain now that the invisibility was working. "Follow my voice."
The phantom hurried to her, stopping with a shock as he entered the circle and saw them again. "I've always wondered how this was done," he said. He looked at the sparkles on his scales. "A reflective dust. Interesting."
"Keep quiet," Jandra whispered. "Someone's coming!"
"In here, Pertalon," came a voice from the outer chamber. Oh no, Oh no, thought Jandra. thought Jandra. Zanzeroth. Zanzeroth.
Jandra held her breath as the hunter's head appeared in the doorway. The phantom froze where he stood. Zanzeroth moved into the room slowly. He was a mass of fresh white gauze bandages. He walked with the assistance of another dragon, a sky-dragon who stood beneath Zanzeroth's shoulder to support him.
"Damn," Zanzeroth said. "We're too late, Pertalon."
"What's wrong?" Pertalon asked.
Zanzeroth motioned toward Jandra. "This is where I left the body. It's gone now."
"I thought he was too wounded to move."
"Jandra must have taken his corpse," Zanzeroth said, sounding disappointed. "Damn Gadreel's incompetence. She should have been an easy kill."
Pertalon asked, "Who's Jandra?"
"The wizard's pet," Zanzeroth said. His eyes were following her bloody footprints from her earlier trip from the throne room to the armory. Ven's blood had been freshest then; it was the most obvious trail in the room. Zanzeroth twisted his neck around to follow the trail back into the hall. He continued his explanation of Jandra's role in Vendevorex's life as he studied the clues before him. "The wizard raised a human girl from infancy. The little bitch treated Vendevorex like a god. She never suspected the truth."
"What truth?" Pertalon asked, supporting Zanzeroth as they stepped back into the hall.
"The girl was an orphan by Vendevorex's hand," said Zanzeroth. "The wizard killed her parents with as little thought as you or I would give to killing a fly."
Jandra raised her hands to her mouth to silence her surprise. Zanzeroth had to be lying. But why? Why would he lie if he didn't know she could hear? Was this a trick? Perhaps he wanted her to cry out, revealing her location.
"Let's see where her trail leads," Zanzeroth said. "She can't have taken him out of the castle. We'll come back with the ox-dogs."
Jandra turned to Vendevorex as the voices of Zanzeroth and Pertalon faded down the hallway. The wizard lay with his head facing away from her. The phantom studied her face, his eyes sad, as if he knew some awful truth.
"Ven?" she said.