Bitterwood. Part 28

AS NIGHT FELL over the Free City, a youthful earth-dragon named Torgoz trudged toward the front gate for guard duty. As he approached, he saw the guard he was supposed to replace, an old-timer by the name of Wyvernoth. He raised a claw in greeting. Wyvernoth didn't respond. He drew closer and tried again. Again, the old-timer gave no hint he'd noticed him, though he was now less than a spear thrust away. over the Free City, a youthful earth-dragon named Torgoz trudged toward the front gate for guard duty. As he approached, he saw the guard he was supposed to replace, an old-timer by the name of Wyvernoth. He raised a claw in greeting. Wyvernoth didn't respond. He drew closer and tried again. Again, the old-timer gave no hint he'd noticed him, though he was now less than a spear thrust away.

"Wyvernoth!" said Torgoz.

The old veteran jumped as his name was spoken.

"Asleep on your feet again?" Torgoz chided.

Wyvernoth shook his head. "I wasn't sleeping. I was thinking."

"Thinking's not your best skill, old-timer. When you try, it only causes more of your scales to fall out."

Wyvernoth scratched his scarred head as Torgoz spoke. A shower of moss-green scales fell with the motion.

"It's a waste of my know-how to be pulling watches," Wyvernoth grumbled. "All these years of duty and the best they can do is stand me next to a gate. Me, with command experience. Why, once I-"

"Led your unit on to victory after the commander died," Torgaz said. "You've mentioned it once or a hundred times."

"I deserve better is all," Wyvernoth said.

"What you deserve is a thump on the skull. But since I'm here to relieve you, what you'll get is a good night's sleep in a bunk. That is, if you still remember how to sleep lying down."

"Oh. I remember," Wyvernoth said, in a tone that let Torgoz know the old-timer considered it a clever retort.

Taking his spear, Wyvernoth marched off stiffly, as if all his muscles weren't fully awake yet.

Torgoz took his place and sighed. Wyvernoth might not deserve better duty, but Torgaz certainly did. The Free City was a prison. Guards on the inside made sense. Guards on the outside were useless. They weren't even supposed to stop the humans who showed up wanting to get in; they only had to make sure that they didn't have weapons.

It still amazed him how many people showed up each day. He'd heard that the king planned to forcibly round up humans after the harvest. So far, that was proving unnecessary. The rumor of the Free City had spread, and now a steady stream of fools showed up voluntarily. The villages must be truly awful to produce people desperate enough to walk away from their old lives and come to a city not even fully built.

Torgaz noticed a wagon coming toward him on the road which struck him as unusual. Most of the voluntary arrivals came on foot, too poor to afford a cart, let alone an ox-dog like the one approaching. As the wagon drew closer, he could plainly see that there was a human at the reins, apparently alone. He was dressed all in black and was beyond doubt the biggest human Torgoz had ever seen.

"This is the Free City?" the stranger asked as he came within a few yards. The man's face was dusty from the road.

"Indeed. Welcome," Torgoz said.

"You will not block my entry?" the man asked.

"Of course not. We want you to enjoy all the pleasures of the Free City." Torgaz fought the urge to snicker. "Come, step down from your wagon. I'll call someone to take your ox-dog to the stables where he'll be fed and cared for. You look as if you've traveled a long time to get here."

"Centuries," the man said, stepping down from his seat.

Torgoz a.s.sumed this pa.s.sed as humor among humans. He said, "Your journey is over. Welcome home."

The man nodded. "Your hospitality is unexpected. Dragons normally treat me with hostility."

"King Albekizan has commanded an end to old rivalries, friend."

"I care nothing for the commands of earthly kings," the stranger said, fixing his stern gaze upon Torgoz. "I do care, however, for the safety of my animal. I will hold you responsible should harm befall him. What is your name?"

Torgoz bristled at the man's haughty att.i.tude but decided he'd play along. It wasn't as if the man would get away with anything once he was inside. "I'm Torgoz. And you?"

"I am Hezekiah," the man said as he lifted a pack from beneath the wagon's flatboard seat. Torgoz noticed an axe strapped to the side of the pack.

Torgaz said, "The king wants peace inside the city. You'll have to leave the axe in your wagon, and I need to check your pack."

Hezekiah turned his shadowed gaze toward him. He said, in a stern tone, "I do not recognize the authority of your king. I serve a higher power. Within my pack is a Holy Book containing the words of the one true Lord. It is sacred. You shall not look upon it."

Torgoz gritted his teeth, nearly ready to lower his spear and run the insolent b.a.s.t.a.r.d through. With a second glance at Hezekiah's broad hands, he paused. Hezekiah looked like he could snap a spear like a toothpick. Worse, Hezekiah had an ox-dog by his side. If the beast defended its master, Torgaz would have a real fight on his hands. He decided to pretend he hadn't seen the axe.

"I guess I stand corrected," Torgoz said, opening the gate. "Go on in." The human strode through the opening. Torgoz closed the gate, hissing with soft laughter. The fate that awaited Hezekiah would more than repay the debts the insolent fool had incurred with his tongue. As for the axe, Torgoz didn't see a real threat. How much damage could one man do?

CHAPTER NINETEEN: RECKONING.

THE MORNING SUN seeped through the open window, its rosy fingers touching Jandra's face. She sat up, stretching her arms, blinking the sleep from her eyes. Something about the small, nearly bare room seemed wrong. seeped through the open window, its rosy fingers touching Jandra's face. She sat up, stretching her arms, blinking the sleep from her eyes. Something about the small, nearly bare room seemed wrong.

"Zeeky?" she said, realizing how still the girl lay beneath her blanket.

Zeeky didn't stir. Jandra moved to her side and pulled back the covers, revealing a second blanket balled into the outline of a sleeping child.

Jandra rose, dressing quickly. She knew the fear that gripped her had little basis in reason. Zeeky was half her age but had spent more time fending for herself than Jandra had. Still, she couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the child.

Rushing down the stairs of the small building, she was surprised to find Bitterwood waiting outside on the steps. He looked more worn out than usual, and she wondered if he had been awake all night.

"Have you seen Zeeky?" she asked.

"When?" Bitterwood asked.

"This morning. She was missing when I got up."

"No," Bitterwood answered. "I've been sitting here since before dawn."

"Where can she be?" she asked, looking down the empty street.

"Don't worry," Bitterwood said. "She can't have gone far."

"She's been talking about the animals ever since we got here. I wonder if she's gone to the barns?"

"We can go look."

"Okay," Jandra said. Then she was struck by the strangeness of their conversation. Bitterwood was actually speaking without her having to drag words out of him, and now he had offered to help her.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Why were you waiting for me?"

"We can speak as we walk," Bitterwood said, stepping away without looking back to see if she would follow. "The barns are several blocks from here."

Jandra hurried after him. "You must be in a better mood. A different mood, at least."

Bitterwood nodded. "I've given your words a great deal of thought. You request that I help you fight dragons. I came to give you my decision."

"Then you'll help me? It's still not too late. For whatever reason, it looks like they want to round up people here before killing them. Here's my plan: we sneak out invisibly and find weapons. Albekizan's castle isn't far. I know its layout by heart. We can walk right into the throne room and you can shoot him."

Bitterwood didn't answer at first as they walked down the nearly empty streets. Then he shook his head. "That's not the decision I've made. Killing Albekizan is futile. All dragons hate us. Slaying the king will only prolong the inevitable."

"The inevitable? You accept it as inevitable that we're going to lose?"

"For twenty years I've slain dragons. What good have I done? There are as many dragons today as when I started. They breed as fast as I kill them."

"You were only one man," she said. "I'll stand beside you."

"It's too late." Bitterwood sighed. "My life has been utterly wasted."

Jandra wasn't shocked to hear his words. Bitterwood's despair had been obvious to her ever since his capture. However, she took heart that he had come to her to talk about his decision. She took it as a sign that he wanted her to change his mind.

"You're wrong," she said softly. "You think that you can't win the war unless you kill every last dragon on earth. I agree that can't be done. Don't you see that's not needed for true victory? Humans and dragons have lived side by side for centuries. Most dragons don't hate humans, and would gladly embrace a return to our peaceful coexistence if Albekizan were removed."

Bitterwood shook his head. "You think that peace was my goal? You don't know me. No one does."

"I know you're a strong, willful man who fights for what he believes is right."

"No," Bitterwood said.

"Come on. You're Bitterwood. You're a legend to these people, even if they are too blind to recognize you. You're a hero."

"They call me the Ghost that Kills. I'm a dead man. I died when dragons killed my family. When I saw what they had done, it was like my heart froze within me. I've not been warm since."

"I'm sorry," Jandra said. "I, too, lost my family to dragons. It happened so long ago I don't even remember them. I don't even know their names."

"Memory's a curse," said Bitterwood. "You're lucky."

"Lucky," Jandra said, noting how sour the word tasted. "I don't think luck had anything to do with my survival."

"I don't mean it's lucky you lived," Bitterwood said. "I mean it's lucky you don't remember. Memories will burn you and sear away all that's soft inside, leaving only hard, hot hatred. Hate can feel like pa.s.sion, like life, in the absence of anything else. It makes you feel strong and focused, eager for action. But now..."

His voice faded away and he turned his face from Jandra.

"Now?" she asked.

"Hate was all I had. I see that my greatest strength was my greatest weakness. My hate kept me going, gave me purpose. But it corrupted me. I've become an instrument of darkness, my every action bringing only ruin. If I had foreseen that murdering Bodiel would bring about the genocide of the human race, do you think I would have let the arrow fly? The time has come for me to surrender to the inevitable and do no more harm."

Jandra contemplated his words, surprised at how they seemed directed at her. She wanted to hate Vendevorex. She was certain that he deserved only her fury, and that there could be no room for forgiveness. Did she want to become like Bitterwood? No. She could hate Vendevorex forever and still not lose her soul.

Suddenly, Bitterwood stopped. Jandra raised her head, looking down the street toward the focus of his attention. An aged earth-dragon, its tail raised high, charged toward them, screaming, kicking the ground so hard in his haste that he trailed a cloud of dust.

"My G.o.d," Bitterwood said. "It's one of them!"

Jandra recognized the pa.s.sion that had returned to his voice. For some reason she couldn't guess at, the sight of this dragon had ended his despair.

WYVERNOTH YAWNED AS he left the barracks and headed for his a.s.signment. The sky was still dark though tinged with the faintest red of the rapidly approaching day. Wyvernoth was tired despite having just arisen. He actually looked forward to his a.s.signment today-guarding the animal pens. Not much action there. He'd have plenty of opportunity to catch a little extra sleep. he left the barracks and headed for his a.s.signment. The sky was still dark though tinged with the faintest red of the rapidly approaching day. Wyvernoth was tired despite having just arisen. He actually looked forward to his a.s.signment today-guarding the animal pens. Not much action there. He'd have plenty of opportunity to catch a little extra sleep.

The sky had brightened by the time he reached his post near the pens. Borlon stood by the gate to the swine yard, his eyes wide and alert, his shoulders drawn back as if ready to fight the entire world.

"You don't fool me," Wyvernoth said.

Borlon jerked his head toward Wyvernoth's voice and barked, "Sir!" Then he relaxed. "Oh. It's you."

"I used to be that good," Wyvernoth said. "But now that I'm older, I find my eyes tend to shut."

"I wasn't asleep... Ah, who cares? Of course I was sleeping. By the bones, if I ever needed proof that any dragon with wings is insane, this job provides it. Pigs! We're guarding pigs!"

"We'd have eaten them ourselves if I'd had my way," Wyvernoth said. "The fact that I'm not a captain with my leadership experience is all the proof I need that our commanders are crazy."

"Leadership experience?"

"It was twenty years ago. My first time out. I was a.s.signed to a tax enforcement unit in the southern province. We met up with some resistance. They slaughtered the commanders. I led the survivors on to victory and completed the mission."

"Ah," said Borlon, nodding. "I heard about that. Only, the way I heard it, you and the others ran blindly from battle and by luck found the village you were headed for. Nothing but women and children and wooden shacks. Easy to burn. Some leadership..."

"Hmmph," grunted Wyvernoth. "You weren't there. You didn't see the horrors we faced."

"Nightmares most likely," said Borlon. "Why don't I get out of here so you can get some sleep?"

"You do that," Wyvernoth said, no longer sparing the younger dragon from the full force of his wit.

Borlon headed off, leaving Wyvernoth alone.

Wyvernoth muttered curses as he took his position before the pens. He braced his tail against the ground and locked his muscles, ready for a little nap. As he settled in, closing his eyes, he heard someone sneeze.

He looked around. No one was there. Had he imagined it?

He went into the large barn. The structure was long, opening out onto several pens that held pigs. Could pigs sneeze? He thought they could, but he wasn't certain. He was a soldier, not a farmer.

One by one, he walked down the center of the barn, peeking over the stall doors. Pigs.Pigs. Pigs. Girl. Pigs. Hold on! Pigs.Pigs. Pigs. Girl. Pigs. Hold on!