Bitterwood (18 page)

“Forgive me for sitting. My knees ache when the weather turns cooler. You insist we meet so late. Yes. Yes that was my other question, Dekron. The secrecy. You want me to move all the people of my village from their homes into this Free City. You say it’s for their good. Yet you insist that we meet in secrecy.”

“The very fact that you ask that question answers it,” Dekron said. “Humans distrust dragons. I want to persuade you before we approach the others. Many of them will no doubt speak against us. I must know that you will stand with me and won’t be swayed by their objections.”

Barnstack sighed loudly. “I’m an old man. I have good land and a comfortable home. Leaving for a city so far away, a place I’ve never—”

 “Barnstack, may I remind you, you have no land,” Dekron interrupted. “You humans may divvy up its usage however you please, but the land belongs to Albekizan. This house, this kitchen, the chair you sit it, belong to him. You are his guest. If your host offers you the use of more spacious quarters, it is impolite to refuse, just as it would be impolite of me to refuse your tea.”

“But—”

“Albekizan has allowed you to farm his land for generations. The years of his rule have been marked by peace and prosperity. Now he offers further largesse.”

Barnstack paused a moment, contemplating the dragon’s words. “I suppose it’s as you say. I promise to talk to my people. Perhaps the young will want to go. But I want to stay.”

“I understand,” Dekron said, walking to the table. “Perhaps this will change your mind.”

A sudden metallic clatter rained upon the table. A gold coin rolled from the table’s edge and bounced against Dekron’s clawed foot. He leaned down, reaching for the coin, his beaked, tortoise-like profile suddenly visible to Zeeky. He then tilted his head toward the fire as the kettle whistled. He rose, taking the coin with him.

“There must be a hundred coins here,” Barnstack said.

“More than enough to start a new life anywhere, even at your age,” Dekron said as he moved to the fireplace, his claws clicking against the wooden tiles. “In Free City your housing, food, and clothing will be provided at no cost. The gold can be used for luxuries befitting a man of your authority.”

Poocher’s snout twitched as Dekron carried the aromatic kettle to the table. Zeeky sniffed deeply; the steam smelled of spiced apples and sassafras.

“Very well,” Barnstack said. “When we finish with the harvest, I will ready the town to move.”

“Then it is settled?”

“Yes,” Barnstack said with a grunt as he rose from his chair. “Come, let us return to the front room. The chairs there are easier on my back. You’ll still have some tea, won’t you?”

“Of course, friend.”

Barnstack left the room carrying the kettle and a pair of cups. Dekron followed. Zeeky let out her breath in relief. Dekron suddenly turned toward the table. Zeeky held her breath again as Dekron walked toward her. He reached the table, and with his clawed hand he scooped the coins back into the leather pouch. He then turned and walked into the front room, closing the door behind him.

Zeeky crawled from beneath the table and stood on shaky legs. She saw a basket of fruit sitting on the counter near the cutting board. She grabbed it and silently slipped out into the night.

“Poocher,” she said. “We sure picked a good time to run away. Free City or not, I don’t trust nobody green.”

Poocher snorted and shook his head in agreement.

DEKRON PULLED HIS
cloak close about him as he hurried along the dark streets of the town. He checked his pocket again for the agreement Barnstack had signed, wondering at the ways of kings. Only Albekizan would want a soldier who couldn’t read to obtain the mark of a man who couldn’t write on a document that would never be honored.

Barnstack had been right about one thing; the night had turned cold. He turned from the road, going deep into the woods, his eyes searching the darkness for a good spot to rest. He wished he weren’t so far from the rest of Kanst’s army. He would have to sleep on the ground tonight. He’d rather spend the night in a warm tent heated by a proper fire. He could almost smell the smoke.

He stopped to sniff the air. He
did
smell smoke. Was it from the village? The wind was from the wrong direction.

He followed the scent, moving cautiously through the darkness. His attempt at stealth, however, was foiled by his surroundings. The leaves crunched beneath his heavy feet with each step.

He came into a small clearing and found a circle of stone, within which smoldered the dim remnants of a fire.

He knelt down and grabbed a stick, stirring the coals. Feeble golden flames flickered to life.

Dekron looked around. He could see no sign of whoever had built the fire. He listened, but the night made no sound now that he’d stopped moving.

No sense in letting the fire go to waste. He tossed in the stick he used to stir the fire, then gathered some pine needles and tossed them on as well. As they flared up he searched the area for more sticks and branches. In a moment, the fire was burning properly again. He held his claws toward the blaze, warming them.

Now that the fire had taken the chill from his stiff claws, it was time to take care of the rest of his body. He dug into the pocket of his cloak and found a small ceramic flask that was stopped with a cork. He popped the cork to unleash the powerful, musk-sharp stench of goom, a powerful alcohol distilled from wild swamp cabbage and seasoned with cayenne. He tilted his head back and gulped down the eye-watering brew. The vapors gave his whole head a hot, buzzy feel.

Then, there was a whistling sound, and his right arm went numb. The flask tumbled from his suddenly useless claws, toppling to his chest. The goom spilled all over his torso. The burning sensation wasn’t unpleasant. He looked down, his eyes struggling to understand what he saw in the dim flicker of the fire. He found a stick jutting from his arm: a long, straight stick, decorated at the top with red feathers.

Dekron sniffed. Beneath the goom and the rising smoke, he detected a hint of fresh blood. He noticed the flask resting against his thigh. He reached for it, wondering if there was any goom left.

Another whistle.

Now there was a stick in his chest. He touched it with his left claw, stroking the red feathers, wondering if this was some sort of goom fantasy that made him imagine that he had sticks growing from him. Where the stick met his chest, air leaked with a bubbling hiss. It reminded him of the noise of Barnstack’s kettle.

He realized he was suddenly very tired. He fell onto his back. Spots danced before his eyes. It would be good to sleep. High in a nearby tree, the silhouette of a cloaked man crept among the branches.

CHAPTER NINE: PET

MURALS COVERED THE
high ceilings of the grand dining hall. The scene displayed the true history of the world, according to dragons, as huge reptiles from a vanished age crawled from the swamps, took flight, and carved the world from untamed forests. In the shadows of the trees tiny humans looked on in awe of the ancestral dragons. There were other creation myths, of course, including legends of the world being born in the aftermath of a war between angels and dragons, but the biologians had persuaded most dragons to accept the non-mystical version of their origins.

No one had ever seen an ancestral dragon, of course. They’d lived long ago. But their bones were abundant in the rocks of the earth. Their black, polished skeletons decorated the halls of biologians, with the choicest relics finding their homes in the castles of sun-dragons. A stone skull as long as Jandra was tall hung on the wall at the head of the dining hall, its empty eyes glaring out over the room.

Beneath this stone skull, at the head of the dinner table heaped high with roasts and breads and fruits, sat the sun-dragon Chakthalla. Jandra thought that Chakthalla could pass as Tanthia’s double; the same poise and dignity possessed by the queen was reflected in Chakthalla’s noble features. Each scale of her face seemed crafted from rubies, carved in precise symmetry by a master jeweler. Her scales glimmered as they reflected the candlelight of the chandeliers. Chakthalla was the product of fine breeding, a dragon whom, long before her birth, had been sculpted by her bloodlines to possess a regal bearing.

Jandra wondered whether, perhaps, one reason why Chakthalla and Tanthia looked so similar to each other in her mind was because of the simple fact that she rarely was in the presence of female dragons. Dragon society was heavily patriarchal. Unlike most birds or reptiles, the winged dragons gave birth to live infants, and mortality during birth was high. It wasn’t unusual to encounter male dragons over a century old. Encountering a female over thirty was a rarity. This imbalance in the longevity of sexes allowed males to control nearly all the wealth of the kingdom. Only the occasional widowed female sun-dragon might hold a position of authority as Chakthalla did. And, at least sun-dragons formed families, where males and females lived together. With sky-dragons like Vendevorex, the segregation of sexes was total, with the males and females living in completely different towns, and mating being a carefully choreographed affair based completely on compatable genetics. For sky-dragons, mating was a purely biological activity, and concepts such as romance, love, or even family were pointless constructs invented by more muddled thinkers.

Seated next to Chakthalla was a human male, perhaps five years older than Jandra. Like his owner, the man was the product of excellent breeding. He was handsome to a fault with long blond hair and chiseled features. His bronzed skin glowed; his broad smile revealed teeth white as porcelain. He was dressed in silk, his clothing cut to show off his tight, well-muscled physique. Jandra hadn’t been properly introduced to him yet—she’d only heard Chakthalla refer to him as “Pet.”

“Pet,” Chakthalla said. “Show Vendevorex your little trick. The one with the apple.”

“Yes, Mother,” Pet answered, smiling as he stood in his seat and stepped onto the table.

Pet somersaulted gracefully across the dishes, darting his hand out as he passed over the fruit dish. He landed on his feet, now holding an apple and a napkin in one hand and a silver knife in the other. He threw the knife and apple straight into the air and in rapid motion tied the napkin around his face. He knotted the impromptu blindfold in time to snatch the falling knife and apple.

The items didn’t remain in his grasp for even a second. The apple left his hand, then the knife, and soon both floated in a constant arc above his head, his hands merely tapping them as they reached the bottom of the circle.

Jandra watched the performance, impressed by Pet’s skill, yet vaguely disturbed by the scene. She had been relieved to learn that Chakthalla would allow her to eat at the dinner table with Vendevorex. Some dragons allowed humans at dinner tables only on platters as the main course. Chakthalla’s liberal attitude toward human companions was obviously shaped by her love of Pet. That bothered Jandra as she watched Pet perform like a tamed bear. She wondered how many hours of practice he’d put into the act solely to please Chakthalla.

Pet sliced the apple in half midair and then sent the pieces up in the air to be quartered. With a flick of his wrists, two of the quarters went flying, one landing in the center of Chakthalla’s plate, the other landing slightly to the side of Vendevorex’s. Pet caught the third quarter in his mouth as he pulled his blindfold free with a flourish and bowed. Jandra lost track of where the final quarter of the apple landed.

“Very good, Pet,” said Chakthalla.

Pet bit a chunk from his apple, swallowed, then said, “Oh, but Mother, I have been remiss. It seems not everyone was served.”

Pet back-flipped from the table landing next to Jandra. He stood with such grace that Jandra suddenly felt clumsy merely sitting still. Now that he stood close to her she noted the breathtaking jade color of his eyes.

“It wouldn’t do to have this lovely lady go without her share,” Pet said, taking Jandra’s hand. His long slender fingers were softer than her own; his nails were trimmed in perfect arcs. Pet turned her palm upward, revealing the last quarter of the apple in the center of it. He closed her fingers around it, then leaned and kissed the back of her hand with his warm pink lips.

“How sweet,” Chakthalla said. “I think Pet likes your little Jandy.”

“Jandra,” Vendevorex corrected.

Pet returned to his seat next to Chakthalla. The regal dragon reached out her bejeweled talon to stroke his long blond hair. He rolled his eyes with pleasure. Jandra felt slightly ill.

She was bothered that Pet called Chakthalla “Mother.” Though she never addressed him as such, she sometimes thought of Vendevorex as a father. He had raised her for as long as she could remember. Since her true parents had died when she was only an infant, Vendevorex was the closest thing to a parent she would ever have.

But what place did she occupy in Vendevorex’s heart? Vendevorex never discussed emotion. He treated her kindly and was often smotheringly protective, but it wasn’t quite the same as affection. Did he think of her as his daughter? His apprentice? Or merely his pet?

Vendevorex asked, “Have you received any word, my lady, from your friends?”

“Not as yet. Be patient. These are delicate matters we inquire about.”

“Of course,” Vendevorex said.

“I’m sure things will turn in our favor,” Chakthalla said. “Albekizan has made many enemies over the years. If what you say is true and Albekizan does plan to kill all humans, we shall not want for allies. Thinning out the village rabble is one thing, but there are many others who feel as strongly about their darlings as I do about Pet. You, of course, understand the bond between a dragon and her best friend.”

“Of course,” Vendevorex said.

“My messengers will mention your name in their queries,” Chakthalla said, a tone of pride in her voice. “Vendevorex is a name that carries a great deal of weight.”

“And a great deal of liability. I am sure, my lady, that you use extreme caution as you speak my name. If Albekizan learns I am here, it will endanger your life and destroy our plans.”