Bitterwood (7 page)

“No doubt the wizard plots some dramatic entrance,” Albekizan said. “He thinks it beneath his dignity to simply walk into a room. Call off the search. I’ll wait no longer. Come.”

VENDEVOREX, IN FACT,
did not consider it beneath his dignity to simply walk into a room. Dignity played no part in his comings and goings; strategy was the key to his movements. He’d served Albekizan for close to fifteen years and he’d decided long ago that life would be more comfortable for him if he maintained his own agenda. Thus, while the night had found Albekizan and Zanzeroth in frenzied pursuit of Bitterwood, Vendevorex had chosen a different course. He’d been present in the forest at Bodiel’s murder scene, watching invisibly from a tree as Zanzeroth pointed out Cron’s and Bitterwood’s trails. As the hunting party left in pursuit of Bitterwood, Vendevorex followed Cron’s path. It wasn’t that he was unconcerned with the capture of Bitterwood. He was simply confident that the deed was within Zanzeroth’s grasp. The old tracker could follow a single snowflake through a blizzard. And when they caught up to the Bitterwood—or to the person pretending to be him—it seemed likely that that the small army accompanying the king would prevail. How dangerous could one man be, after all?

Cron’s trail led for several hundred meandering yards through the thickets of the forest. Vendevorex didn’t possess Zanzeroth’s skills as a tracker, but he didn’t need them. The king had been right. These slaves left a trail anyone could follow.

At last he found the young slave hiding behind a fallen log with a shelter of branches pulled over him. It wasn’t a horrible hiding place, except that Cron’s teeth were chattering loud enough that he sounded like some sort of nocturnal woodpecker.

From ten feet away, Vendevorex said, “I am your friend, Cron.”

Cron gasped, then clenched his jaw, silencing his chattering teeth.

“You have nothing to fear,” Vendevorex said. “Rise, I wish to help you.”

“W-who are you?” Cron whispered.

“Tonight, I am your last, best hope,” Vendevorex said. “You’re safe for the moment. But when the king finds his prey tonight, I have no doubt he’ll come looking for you. It’s best that you be long gone.”

Cron rose into a crouch, looking around the dark forest with fear in his eyes. Vendevorex chose to remain invisible. But he placed a burlap sack near the log and backed away.

“The sack before you… Do you see it?”

Cron looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. At last he looked to the ground and spotted the sack.

“I’ve brought you clothes and food,” said Vendevorex. “You’ll also find a knife within the pack.”

Cron crawled over the log toward the burlap. He reached out carefully and poked it. Then he pulled it toward him and fumbled at the chord that closed it with trembling fingers. At last he tore it open. He found a heavy cloak within which he draped over his body. In doing so, a loaf of bread fell from the bag, landing on the muddy ground. Cron snatched it up and began to hungrily devour it.

Between cramming in mouthfuls of bread, Cron said, “You sound close, why don’t I see you?”

“I wish to remain an anonymous benefactor for now,” said Vendevorex.

“You’re invisible,” said Cron. “That narrows down who you might be. Venderex, right? The wizard?”

Vendevorex remained silent.

“You have that human pet, right? The girl? She was there tonight. She’s beautiful.”

“You have me confused with someone else, friend,” Vendevorex said.

“Right,” said Cron, wiping his mouth and digging through the bag’s contents in search of more food. His eyes lit up as he pulled out a hard-boiled egg. “What I want to know is what a person has to do to get to be a dragon’s pet. It seems like a pretty soft life.”

“I don’t believe the girl you speak of is a pet,” Vendevorex said.

“She was dressed like a dragon, all those feathers,” said Cron. “What I’m wondering is, is there, you know, sex involved? Do dragons find humans attractive? I know some girls get hot over dragons. I have a sister who—”

Vendevorex bristled at the speculation, but there was no time to correct this fool’s uninformed opinions. He interrupted Cron, saying, “You must return to the river with all haste. Can you find the place where you witnessed Bodiel drop from the sky?”

“Yes,” said Cron, spitting out a fleck of eggshell. “I thought I was a goner. Why didn’t he chase me?”

“You… didn’t witness what happened, then?”

“I turned and ran the second I saw him,” Cron said. “What happened? And why are you helping me?”

“What happened isn’t important,” said Vendevorex. “Just know that I’m someone who has no patience for needless death. Your lot in life has been a cruel one, Cron. There’s little I can do to change it. Return to the river. The area is abandoned. The king’s party is miles away by now. When you arrive, you’ll find a small boat and, if my luck holds, you may also find Tulk waiting for you. Take the boat and go as far downriver as you can before morning. If you reach the town of Hopewell, seek the advice of a man known as Stench. He’ll give you shelter for a day or two. This is all I can do for you.”

“I know old Stench,” Cron said. “Thought he’d be dead by now.”

Vendevorex didn’t answer. He’d done what his conscience demanded and he could risk no more. He crept away silently. He had little time left to find Tulk.

IT WAS EARLY
morning when Vendevorex returned to the palace. He was exhausted, having flown a score of miles that night, following Tulk and Cron from above as they paddled downriver in their canoe, making sure they avoided immediate capture. When at dawn they had put the canoe to shore as he’d advised and disappeared under the canopy of the forest, he felt he had done all he could.

Returning to his chambers, Vendevorex went to Jandra’s room. He sighed when he found she wasn’t there. In truth, it wasn’t a surprise that she’d defied his orders to stay put. He knew where to find her.

Invisibly, he flew outside the palace walls to a row of wooden shacks that lined the base of the palace. These were the quarters of the human servants who labored within the palace: the cooks and chambermaids, the workmen and washerwomen who dwelled meekly among the dragons. Vendevorex landed on the muddy pathway that wound among the shacks, wrinkling his nose. The shantytown smelled of rotting garbage and excrement. Within the palace an elaborate and ancient system of aqueducts and pipes carried fresh water to all corners of the edifice, and flushed away waste. Here, open, stinking ditches served the same purpose. Filthy children in rags played in the muck, laughing, seemingly unaware of their squalor.

Perhaps the king was right to regard humans as a lower race than dragons. Vendevorex shook his head to chase away the thought. The humans didn’t live like this by choice. If a man were ever to try to live with the wealth and comfort of a dragon, Albekizan’s tax collectors would simply come and take it away. Humans lived in squalor because this was all Albekizan would allow.

As he walked unseen past the hovels, he heard at last the familiar sound of Jandra’s voice. He turned a corner to find her talking with Ruth and Mary, two of the palace kitchen maids. Ruth and Mary, by his estimate, were in their mid-twenties, but their hard lives made them seem middle-aged. Fifteen years ago, when Jandra had first come into his life, he’d turned to Ruth and Mary’s mother for advice in raising a human child. Their mother had passed away some years ago from disease, but Ruth and Mary maintained a friendship with Jandra to this day. Jandra would frequently steal away to gossip with them.

And this morning… such gossip.

“Is it true that Bodiel is dead?” Ruth whispered.

“I hear that Cron killed him,” Mary said. “He had a bow and arrow hidden in the woods.”

“All I know is what I saw,” said Jandra. “In the midst of the storm, Bodiel vanished. Albekizan and Shandrazel chased after him. Then Vendevorex rushed me back to my chambers before I could see anything else. He told me to wait for him then disappeared. I tried to get some sleep but couldn’t. I kept hearing shouts all throughout the palace.”

“They were making quite a ruckus,” said Ruth.

“Some soldiers came by looking for Vendevorex about an hour ago,” Jandra continued. “I hid from them and overheard that the king wanted Vendevorex to come to the war room. I figured that if Vendevorex is going to be tied up, I had a chance to come see you two.”

“If Cron did kill Bodiel, it will be horrible for his family,” said Mary. “The king will have them all killed.”

“But it won’t be their fault,” said Jandra.

“Do you think that matters to Albekizan? I’ve heard that in villages where they can’t pay the tax, he takes the babies and devours them as their parents watch.”

“That’s nonsense. The king isn’t… isn’t cruel or unjust,” said Jandra, not sounding at all like she believed it.

“What would you know?” said Ruth, bitterness in her voice. “You live sheltered by the wizard. You don’t know what the world is really like.”

“Don’t be mean,” said Mary. “It isn’t Jandra’s fault that she’s the wizard’s pet.”

“I’m not his pet,” Jandra said. “I’m his apprentice.”

“Either way, he whistles and you come,” said Ruth.

“If I obeyed him always, I wouldn’t be here,” said Jandra. “I don’t do everything the old goat says.”

Vendevorex decided he’d heard enough. With a thought he allowed his aura of invisibility to fall away, revealing himself behind Jandra.

Ruth turned pale. Mary turned a bright shade of pink.

“What?” said Jandra.

The two women didn’t speak.

“What?” Jandra asked. “Is… is he…?”

“
Baaaa
,” bleated Vendevorex.

Jandra whirled around. “Ven!”

“You will return to our chambers at once,” said Vendevorex. “I have an important homework assignment for you. You’re not to leave until you finish it.”

Jandra swallowed hard and nodded.

“Don’t be mean to her, please,” said Mary, quietly. “She only came for a little visit.”

Vendevorex didn’t acknowledge her. He grabbed Jandra by the wrist and dragged her away.

“This is a dangerous morning to be defying me, Jandra,” he grumbled. “I can confirm one rumor: Bodiel is dead.”

“Then Cron…?”

“Not Cron. Bitterwood.”

“B-but Bitterwood is only a myth, you said. A boogeyman dragons use to frighten their young.”

“Perhaps there is a man behind the myth after all,” said Vendevorex. “With any luck, Zanzeroth has Bitterwood’s corpse displayed in the war room right now, and that will be the end of this affair.”

As they reached the edge of the shantytown, Vendevorex released his grasp on Jandra’s arm. She rubbed the area he’d held.

“Go back to our chambers. Go to the third bookshelf, the biology texts, you know the ones?”

“I think so. Yes.”

“There is a book concerning the alchemical properties of sea mollusks. Don’t leave the chambers until you memorize it.”

“What? Why?”

“There will be a test,” Vendevorex said.

“But—”

“Go!” said Vendevorex. “Time is of the essence.”

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“No,” said Vendevorex. “I’m wanted in the war room. I’ll need a few moments to prepare a dramatic entrance.”

CHAPTER FOUR: FLIGHT

THE WAR ROOM
was the size of a cathedral, the towering roof supported by a forest of white columns. High-arched windows opened onto broad balconies that overlooked the kingdom. A rainbow of tapestries covered the walls, embroidered with scenes from Albekizan’s unparalleled reign. One tapestry portrayed a youthful Albekizan, standing in triumph on the corpse of his father. Nearby was Albekizan in ceremonial gold armor, leading his armies to victory against the cannibal dragons of the once notorious Dismal Isles. It had been the first in a string of triumphs against the smaller kingdoms that had once ringed the land. While the tapestries caught the eye with their bright colors, the most arresting feature of the room was the gleaming marble floor, inlaid with colored stone, precious metals and gems into an elaborate map of the world. Zanzeroth, Metron, and Kanst waited for the king within the vast space.

Zanzeroth was in a foul mood. He crouched in the middle of the world map, his belly covering the spot on which the palace rested. He studied the map with his remaining eye, finding in its jagged contours something of the king’s soul. For the map, he knew, was a lie. It showed the world as a narrow sliver of land a thousand miles in length, a few hundred miles wide at its thickest part, surrounded by trackless ocean. It showed, to be blunt, all the world that Albekizan had conquered, and not all the world that was. Over the decades Albekizan had supported the myth that there were no lands other than a few stray islands beyond the borders of his kingdom. But Zanzeroth was old enough to remember that, in his youth, he’d learned differently. He’d traveled far in his younger years. There was a kingdom north of the Ghostlands, a vast land of ice populated by dragon and man. Beyond the western mountains Zanzeroth had explored a huge continent: a land of immense rivers and trackless deserts, endless forests and towering mountains. He’d faced genuine monsters in these lands, reptiles large enough to dwarf sun-dragons, just as the true world dwarfed the small sliver of earth dominated by Albekizan.

If Albekizan didn’t rule a place he deemed it did not exist. For many years Zanzeroth had thought this a harmless quirk of the king’s ego. Now he wondered if the king’s blindness to reality would lead them all to doom.

Far across the room near a broad balcony, Kanst, a sun-dragon and commander of the king’s armies, spoke with Metron. Zanzeroth listened to their conversation with distant interest. He tilted his head to catch their words. This tiny movement created a change in the map to which his eye was drawn. One of his spiky neck scales, pink and ragged, had fallen out. He could barely move without losing bits of himself these days. He sighed, contemplating the dull scale against the polished floor. He wondered if this was his eventual fate, to simply flake away to dust. The conversation between the general and the High Biologian caught his attention once more as they lowered their voices to whispers.