Dragonseed (27 page)

Bitterwood released his bow and jerked his fingers away. The living wood of the bow splintered as Hex’s jaws crushed it. Bitterwood danced backwards, only to slip on the blood of a dead dragon behind him. His feet caught on the edge of the dragon’s wing and he fell, landing in the middle of the great sheet of feather-scales. An instant later, Hex’s hind-talon landed on his torso. The sun-dragon’s enormous weight bore down upon him, enough to pin him, but not crush him. Hex lowered his jaws to within inches of Bitterwood’s face. His hot breath carried a fine mist of gore. Beneath the scent of blood, the dragon’s breath carried the sweet aroma of flowers. The arrow hanging from his cheek looked like the world’s ugliest piece of jewelry.

Bitterwood grabbed the hind-talon that pinned him and pushed with all his strength. Hex didn’t budge.

Hex finally spoke, his words coming between gasps for air. “I … take it … you’ve spoken … to Jandra?”

Bitterwood gave up on trying to free himself. He grabbed the dangling arrow, pushing it back deep into Hex’s mouth, and twisted. Hex pulled back, air hissing through his teeth as he sucked in a pained breath.

With the sun-dragon’s weight shifted, Bitterwood pushed the talon away and rolled free. His eyes fixed on Hezekiah’s axe. He scrambled for it on his hands and knees. Hex’s armored tail whipped down inches before his eyes, the steel striking sparks as it chipped the stone floor. The weapon was still a full yard from his grasp.

“Would you shtop trying to kill me!” Hex shouted.

Bitterwood leapt to his feet. Hex kept his gaze locked on him.

Bitterwood suddenly deduced why Hex seemed so fast.

He said, “You’re wearing Jandra’s genie.”

“No,” said Hex.

“If you’re not wearing it, where is it?”

“Now you ashk questions,” said Hex. He was lisping from the injury to his mouth. “What would you have done if you’d killed me?”

“I don’t care whether Jandra recovers her toy or not. But, I know that she was faster when she wore it. Now, you’re faster.”

“I’m not fashter. I’m prepared. We’ve fought shide by shide. I’ve shtudied you. You’re more predictable than you might realize.” Hex reached up and grabbed the arrow in his jaw. He tore it out with a yank that caused him to wince without fully closing his eyes. He was watching Bitterwood with an almost unblinking gaze. “You’re waiting for me to let my guard down to go for the axe. It won’t happen.”

“Then we’re at a stalemate,” said Bitterwood.

“Are we?” Hex asked. “I’m pretty sure I won this fight. I could have killed you if I’d wanted.”

Bitterwood grimaced.

“Where’s Jandra?” Hex asked. “Did she remain at Dragon Forge?”

“She’s returned to the kingdom of the goddess to search for a new genie.”

“And you let her?”

“I have no say where she goes,” said Bitterwood.

Hex spat out a gob of blood. “Don’t you think it’s possible she’s going back because the goddess is driving her? I detected subtle changes in Jandra after Jazz gave her new memories. What if the goddess isn’t truly dead? What if she lives on inside Jandra?”

Bitterwood frowned. He hadn’t considered this possibility.

“We have to go after her,” said Hex. “We’ve stood together before against common foes. We can do so again.”

“Blasphet was one of those common foes,” said Bitterwood. “Yet you’ve come here wielding one of his weapons. I recognize the poison smoke, smoke that Blasphet himself was immune to. I find it suspicious you aren’t affected.”

“After I left Jandra near Dragon Forge, I returned to the Nest to see if any further progress had been made in locating Blasphet’s body. The valkyries had been interrogating some of the captured Sisters of the Serpent. They’d discovered three locations for his hidden temples. I worked with the valkyries to search these locations. Two proved to be false leads. At the final location we found barrels of the smoke-oil. We also discovered notes revealing that chewing the stems of the ephedra plant in advance negates the poison. There were pots of these flowers at the temple.”

“Ah,” said Bitterwood. “That’s the sweet scent I smelled on your breath.”

“It smells better than it tastes, I assure you.”

“Where did you get Kanst’s armor? And Hezekiah’s axe?”

“Hmm,” said Hex. “I didn’t know the axe’s previous owner. These items were among the treasures at the temple. It appears the Sisters of the Serpent did a fair amount of looting in the aftermath of the battle of the Free City.”

Bitterwood looked around the cavern. “Many of these dragons are still alive. I promised the slaves that no one would pursue them. Can I use the axe to keep my promise?”

“No,” said Hex. “When the beastialists who’ve survived your butchery awaken, they’ll be more inclined to see things my way. Killing sleeping foes is dishonorable.”

“I’ve never given a moment’s thought to honor,” said Bitterwood.

“I’ve given many decades of thought to honor,” said Hex.

“Was it honorable to strike Jandra when she least expected it? To betray a friend and steal her most valued possession?”

“I did what I judged necessary. I’ve answered your questions. Answer mine. Will you help me find Jandra?”

“No,” said Bitterwood. “I’m going back to Dragon Forge. My priority is to find Jeremiah.”

“Zeeky’s brother? What’s he doing there?”

“I think Vulpine is using him to spread yellow-mouth among the rebels.”

Hex looked stunned. He shook his head. For a second, he wasn’t focused on Bitterwood. Bitterwood glanced at the axe. He was certain he could reach it before Hex knew what was happening. Yet, he didn’t move. Perhaps Hex was more useful alive, for the moment.

“That’s simply monstrous. I’ve never liked Vulpine. Very well. I can’t deny the importance of your mission. You can find Jeremiah while I deal with Jandra.”

“I’m glad I have your approval,” Bitterwood said. “You never did tell me what you’ve done with Jandra’s genie. Or her old tiara from Vendevorex’s tower, which I assume you stole?”

Hex’s eyes widened. “By the bones. I’d forgotten that! She did say she had a second genie. In the rush of events, I never even thought to look for it. If she reclaims it—”

“It’s gone,” said Bitterwood. “Someone else stole it.”

“Let us hope this someone doesn’t know its true power.”

“And the genie you stole?”

Hex sighed. “You’ve asked me three times. Since I changed the subject twice before, you might deduce I have no intention of answering. Suffice it to say that I’ve hidden it in the last place any human would want to look.”

Bitterwood nodded. Had Hex purposefully told him the location of the genie? Or was it a careless slip?

“I’ll take my bow and be on my way,” said Bitterwood.

Hex glanced at the shattered remains. “If you wish. I doubt it will be of much use to you.”

“It’s a good bowstring, at least,” said Bitterwood, crouching down to gather up the pieces. The splintered ends were green, dripping sap.

“I’m not your enemy, Bitterwood,” said Hex. “In a better world, I’d like to think we would be friends after the adventures we’ve shared. There aren’t many warriors who’ve stood shoulder to shoulder against gods. We make a good team.”

“In a better world, I’d have aimed my first arrow an inch to the left,” said Bitterwood. “But my world isn’t a better world. It’s …” He paused, looking for the word that described the reality he lived in.

“A bitter world?” said Hex.

Bitterwood grimaced. He’d forgotten Hex’s penchant for word play. The big lizard confused this for humor. But then, how would Bitterwood know a genuine sense of humor if he ever encountered it? Whatever part of a normal man’s soul that possessed the capacity for mirth had long since withered to dust inside him. Pun or not, the sun-dragon was right. The flavor of his world was undeniably bitter.

SHORTLY AFTER BITTERWOOD
had vanished down the chimney, Zeeky guided Skitter back toward the road. Bitterwood’s mission would take hours, she knew, and there was someone she needed to meet. She rode toward a human village they’d passed earlier. This village made Winding Rock look wealthy. The houses were nothing but shacks built from sticks and straw. The shallow ditch that ran through the center of town stank of human waste. Mounds of trash littered the landscape.

Zeeky waited at the edge of the village, her eyes fixed at the point where the road vanished over the rise of a hill. Poocher snorted softly.

“Whatever,” she said. “When
don’t
you think it’s a good time for a snack?”

Poocher hopped down and trotted toward a trash mound.

Zeeky normally trusted his instincts as to what should and should not be considered food. She’d eaten many a strange root or berry he’d brought to her. She hoped he wouldn’t be bringing her any gifts from the trash mound.

As he thrust his snout into the garbage, a small dark shadow peeled off and dashed away, charging right toward Skitter at first, then turning at a sharp angle. Everything happened so fast that Zeeky barely had time to recognize the shadow as a mangy gray cat. A half-second later, the cat vanished, as Skitter’s toothy jaws closed around it with a wet
snap
. The long-wyrm swallowed before Zeeky could react.

She waited in the cold dark night, alone with her thoughts. She was always alone with her thoughts. Even though she could understand any animal or person and communicate with them in their own fashion, she knew that no one could truly understand her. She’d been born different from other people; Gabriel had said the goddess had changed her in the womb. When Jazz had captured her, she’d told Zeeky things that made her understand how different she truly was. Gabriel had been correct in calling her a harbinger. She’d been created for a purpose. Jazz had told Zeeky that she wasn’t alone—there were other children who the goddess had also changed. She wondered if she would ever meet them.

From her saddle bag, the faint murmur of voices caught her attention. It was time.

A brown horse rose over the edge of the hill. Astride it was a woman in a long white cloak. She looked ghostly in the darkness. Her horse froze as it saw Skitter. The woman stroked its mane.

Zeeky called out, “Skitter won’t hurt you. My name is Zeeky. I need to talk to you.”

The woman nodded. She shook the reins of the horse and it nervously inched forward.

“I’m Filia,” the woman said. “I’ve come with a message of hope.”

Now that she was closer, Zeeky saw that Filia was only a few years older. She was thin, and her hair hung around her face in soft blonde curls.

“You’ve come to tell everyone about the healer,” said Zeeky.

“You’ve heard?”

“Bits and pieces. I know you’re telling people to go to the Free City. I know you want to help people. What I don’t know is if your healer is as nice as he pretends to be.”

The woman smiled. “He’s given us no reason to doubt him. He’s done nothing but good since he returned to us. He has broken the shackles of death and now brings the promise of life.”

Zeeky shrugged. “I’ll know the truth once I see him, which won’t be much longer. For now, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to have to trust him, and you. I need your help.”

“How?” asked Filia.

“Follow me back to the bone-field surrounding Rorg’s cavern. In a few minutes, slaves will be climbing up from the chimneys. They’re going to be frightened and hungry, and they’ll have no place to go. Take them to the Free City.”

Filia nodded. “How many?”

“A hundred or so,” said Zeeky.

Filia opened her saddle bag. She pulled out a white cloth and unwrapped it, revealing a crusty loaf of bread. The end was torn off.

“I can feed them,” she said.

“I know,” said Zeeky.

Poocher apparently knew as well. He materialized from the darkness to sit in front of Filia’s horse. He looked up expectantly.

“Don’t beg,” said Zeeky.

“It’s okay,” said Filia. “The healer has touched this loaf.” She tore off a palm-sized chunk and tossed it to the pig. “It will never go stale. No matter how many pieces I tear from it, I’ve yet to exhaust it.”

“You’ll have a chance to test its limits, I think,” said Zeeky. “Follow me.”

Zeeky shifted in her saddle and Skitter understood her intention. The long-wyrm turned and moved back toward the bone field, pacing itself so that the horse and Poocher could keep up. Zeeky could have had Skitter stop to let Poocher back onto his saddle, but she thought her friend could use a little exercise. Burning off a bit of his restless energy could only do the pig some good.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

UH-OH

BURKE SLID OPEN
the warehouse door and lifted his lantern overhead, revealing the Angry Beetle. Lamplight glinted on its spiky shell; dust swirled in the winter draft. He ushered Thorny and Vance inside and pulled the door shut. The air inside was cool despite the cast iron stove near the entrance.

Thorny let out a whistle of appreciation as he looked over the new war machine. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he said.

“What?” Vance asked. His hand was on Burke’s shoulder for guidance. “What is it?”

“Remember Big Chief?” Burke asked.

“Of course,” said Vance. “All them earth-dragons turned tail and ran the second Big Chief rolled into the square.”

“Not all of them,” said Burke, limping forward on his crutch. “I’ve got proof of that every morning when I pull on my boot. The Angry Beetle is Big Chief’s successor. One day it’s going to be the most powerful war machine I’ve ever built.”

“One day?” asked Thorny, walking around the massive machine. “It looks ready for action now.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” said Burke. He leaned down before the pot-bellied stove and opened the door. He shoveled in more coal. He touched the pot of chili he’d left cooking on the stove. He’d forgotten all about it during the commotion at the well. The pot still felt warm. The meal could probably be salvaged. “The Angry Beetle has some glitches that need to be worked out.”

“Glitches?”

“Outright failures,” Burke sighed. “The extra weight of the armor has made a joke of my gears. Currently, it can only roll backwards. I’ve also got space problems. I can’t carry enough coal on board to keep the boiler powered up for more than a couple of hours.”