"Bitterwood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maxey James)

CHAPTER TWO: CIRCLES

BY THE TIME Gadreel returned to the clearing the only sound in the night forest was the constant staccato of water dripping from leaves. His master, Zanzeroth, -an old sun-dragon who rivaled even the king in size and the finest tracker in the land- still studied the scene. Zanzeroth’s golden eyes glowed in the trickles of moonlight seeping through the breaking clouds. Albekizan stood nearby, watching the aged hunter step gingerly over the muddy ground. Albekizan ignored Gadreel. Gadreel hoped the king’s snub was due to his fascination with Zanzeroth’s methods. The patch of ground they stood on seemed unremarkable to Gadreel, but Zanzeroth had instantly proclaimed it as the site of Bodiel’s death, three miles upriver from where his body was discovered. Gadreel suspected, however, that the king ignored him due to his status. It was a simple matter to treat a human as a slave. The notion of a sky-dragon such as himself forced into servitude made some uncomfortable.

“How much longer?” Zanzeroth asked.

“A few minutes, at most,” Gadreel answered. As he spoke the distant baying of ox-dogs confirmed his words.

“Good,” Zanzeroth said. “The sooner we start, the better. The ground here has told me all it can.”

“If you have knowledge,” Albekizan said, “give it to me.”

“Of course, Sire,” Zanzeroth said, straightening his stooped form and approaching the king. Next to Albekizan, Zanzeroth’s extra years were apparent. The king’s hide glistened on his muscular body like red paint. Zanzeroth’s scales were faded from years under the sun, almost pink along the back. His scales had fallen away at his joints, revealing black hide beneath. His scarred skin sagged over his skeleton, under which his slender, wiry muscles moved like thick ropes. Zanzeroth asked, “Shouldn’t we wait for Shandrazel to join us? I’m sure he wants to help find his brother’s killer.”

“Do not speak that shameful name,” Albekizan said, his eyes narrow. “I’ve placed that traitor under guard for now. His final fate will be left for the morning. We will not discuss this further. For now, Bitterwood is our only goal.”

Zanzeroth nodded. He waved his fore-talons toward a patch of mud that seemed to Gadreel no different than any other.

“Here is where the slave, Cron, skidded to a halt as Bodiel dropped from the sky. See, the handprint here?” Zanzeroth paused to allow Albekizan time to discern what was being shown to him. Gadreel stared at the chaotic mud and, to his surprise, found he could see the handprint, or at least the heel of a human palm.

Zanzeroth continued: “The human fell and had difficulty regaining his footing.” Zanzeroth moved his claw to direct the king’s view to a patch of broken ground several yards away. “That is where Bodiel dropped from the sky. Cron’s footprints then reappear several feet behind where he stopped-he’s jumped away out of fear of Bodiel. There are signs that Bodiel toyed with the human, blocking his moves, prolonging the moment before the kill. And then…” Zanzeroth trailed off, his gaze flickering over the mud, studying it as one might study a book. “And then Bodiel staggered backward. See the marks? Cron fled, passing through the brush… here.”

As he said this, Zanzeroth parted a thicket with several bent branches and revealed a man’s muddy footprints beyond.

“We could follow Cron with ease but he’s not the one who killed Bodiel.”

“I know that,” Albekizan said. “Bitterwood’s to blame. The Ghost Who Kills haunts these woods tonight.”

“Perhaps,” Zanzeroth said. “But I’ve yet to see a ghost leave tracks. The murderer of your son was merely a man.”

“He’s more than a man,” Albekizan said. “You’d do well to remember that.”

“Yes, Sire,” said Zanzeroth. He walked to the bush beside Gadreel and touched a torn leaf above his head. “Man or ghost, the assailant struck from behind. Here is where the first arrow passed. That branch, there, is where he wrapped the reins of his horse. He stood on the large branch in yonder tree to take his first shot.”

Zanzeroth stalked back to the center of the clearing, placing his hind-talons in a pair of long, smeared trenches. “Your son stood in this spot. The arrow strikes Bodiel low in the back. In pain, Bodiel spins,” Zanzeroth twisted around suddenly, fixing his gaze above Gadreel, “to see another arrow fly forth, burying deep in his shoulder. Bodiel hears Cron running and turns, reflexively fearing the loss of his prize, then catches himself. This is the first instant where he understands his own life is in danger.”

Zanzeroth held his wings wide for balance as his talons skittered in the mud, duplicating Bodiel’s actions.

“Bodiel leaps but never reaches the bush. His foe is already running through the woods, flanking him, and the third arrow comes from there.” The hunter pulled a long spear from the quiver slung on his back and used the shaft to point to a narrow gap in the trees. Sundragons used such spears to kill prey from above; Zanzeroth was so skilled he could drop a spear from five hundred yards above a field to pierce a bounding rabbit. Now, he used the tip of the spear to gently push a leaf torn by an arrow’s flight. “The fourth arrow follows swiftly, puncturing Bodiel’s lung.”

Zanzeroth crouched, spreading his wings over the mud, “Finally, the prince falls. He’s alive but in terrible agony. He screams only for an instant as the fifth arrow lodges in his throat. The prince struggles to rise, unwilling to accept his fate. He crawls toward the water, seeking relief. Still the arrows come. The archer knows Bodiel has mere moments to live but wants him to suffer. The shots that follow aren’t meant to hasten death, but to increase agony. The arrows fall upon the tender flesh of the wings and tail. Bodiel at last collapses, his left wing in the river. Slowly, the speeding current drags him from the bank.”

Zanzeroth started to rise but slipped in the mud. Gadreel hurried to his side, extending a claw for the hunter to steady himself. Zanzeroth spurned him by digging his hind-talons deeper in the muck and pulling his wings free from the ground with a wet slurp. He shook his wings to clean them, spattering Gadreel with mud that smelled faintly of dung.

“And Bitterwood?” Albekizan said, studying the trees surrounding them. “What became of him?”

“He fled, of course,” said Zanzeroth, placing his spear back in its quiver. “On horseback. He’s miles away but we’ll find him. Even after a hard rain the ox-dogs can follow a horse’s scent.”

As Zanzeroth spoke, the brush behind him shuddered and then parted as two massive ox-dogs lumbered into the clearing, dragging their earth-dragon handlers behind them. Earth-dragons were solid and squat, no taller than humans but twice as broad, with thick muscular arms instead of wings, and powerful shoulders to support their thick-boned tortoise-like heads. They were strong as mules but their strength did little to slow the powerful dogs. The dogs dragged their handlers to Zanzeroth’s side. Their rank breath steamed in the rain-cooled night. Moments later a squad of a dozen earth-dragons, the finest the palace guard had to offer, emerged from the brush.

Zanzeroth took the leashes of the dogs and led them to the spot where the horse had stood. The dogs sniffed and snuffed, rooting through the damp debris of the forest. Suddenly, one froze. The second rushed to the same spot and pushed its nose to the ground. They lifted their barrel-sized heads and bayed with excitement.

“They’ve found the scent,” said Zanzeroth.

The dogs trotted back into the clearing, following the hoofprints through the mud. Zanzeroth unwrapped the leather leashes from his wrist and loosed the dogs. They charged past the king and smashed into the undergrowth, panting with excitement.

The hunt was on. The ox-dogs moved forward in fits and starts, racing when they had the scent, then stopping suddenly to sniff the wet ground where the trail was diluted by washouts. Zanzeroth and Albekizan followed with the soldiers rushing ahead of the king to chop away growth that might slow his progress.

Gadreel was half the size of the sun-dragons, but he still found the dense vegetation suffocating. He wished he could take to the sky to follow from above. As long as Zanzeroth remained earthbound, he must also. Walking through the forest like a common earth-dragon didn’t sit well with him.

He looked to the nearest earth-dragon and shuddered. The creature was as tall as a human male, broad-shouldered and muscle-bound, with a thick tail like an alligator’s that dragged the ground as it waddled forward on stocky hind legs. The creature was green as moss and dull-eyed. Yet, as a soldier, the earth-dragon had higher status than Gadreel, a slave. Not for the first time, he silently cursed the biologians that had betrayed him.

Gadreel knew better than to voice his indignation. He’d learned his lesson about showing weakness. Three years past he’d been ill and failed to attend the Council of Colleges, an annual gathering of sky-dragons representing the various accademies and libraries scattered about the kingdom. Albekizan had recently imposed a new tax that was to have been paid with human slaves. The elder sky-dragons had balked at the idea of parting with the slaves. Humans performed all the menial labor required to keep the colleges functioning on a day-to-day basis. The scholarly sky-dragons were too busy with their research and studies to be bothered by such things as cooking their own food or emptying their own chamber pots. However, there were always the occasional young sky-dragons at every college whose research was judged to be derivative or shallow. Thus, the elders had approached Metron to ask the king if, perhaps, the tax could be paid with sky-dragons instead. Metron’s powers of persuasion had led to Gadreel’s ill fate.

Most of the sky-dragons enslaved had been entrusted to the king’s aerial guard, an air-borne force that supported the king’s ground troops. Other’s had been pressed into duty as messengers. Gadreel had served as a messenger for a few weeks, and slowly begun to reconcile himself to his fate. Then, Zanzeroth, the only dragon who dared best the king on a hunt, had won a bet to be paid in slaves, and Gadreel had discovered that the king regarded him as his most expendable property. Yet in his humiliation, Gadreel could also see opportunity. As Zanzeroth was the king’s loyal companion, he found himself almost daily in the presence of Albekizan. One day, he vowed, he would impress the king so greatly that he would be rewarded with freedom.

The ox-dogs paused on the far side of a stream swollen with rain. Gadreel could tell they had lost the scent. Zanzeroth followed the muddy bank, his eyes shining in the darkness as he read the ground.

“Here,” Zanzeroth said, at last. The old dragon grabbed an ox-dog by its collar and tugged the beast back across the stream, shoving its head down to mossy stone. Zanzeroth’s great strength allowed him to move the giant dog as if it were no more than a puppy. The ox-dog sniffed and growled at the stone. In seconds the dog once more had the scent and bounded off into the forest with its brother quickly following. The dragons chased the dogs and moments later the forest gave way to a cornfield. Gadreel felt relieved to see open sky once more, with bright moonlight illuminating the few faint wisps of cloud. Free from the trees Albekizan beat his wings and took to the air. Zanzeroth followed, and Gadreel accompanied him at a respectful distance. It took considerable effort not to overtake the larger dragons. Sun-dragons, with their great bulk, weren’t particularly swift.

Moments later Zanzeroth veered and Gadreel could see a riderless horse at the edge of the grassy field. Zanzeroth dove, his rear claws extended. The horse broke into a gallop as the dragon’s shadow fell upon it but to no avail. Zanzeroth caught the fleeing horse by the neck, killing it instantly with a vicious twist.

“Damn,” the old hunter said as he landed.

“Where is he?” Albekizan said as he touched down nearby. “Where’s Bitterwood?”

“We’ve been tricked, Sire.” Zanzeroth said. “This is the horse we’ve been following. I can smell it. But Bitterwood must have dismounted early in the chase. I saw no sign. Perhaps he clung to an overhead branch.”

“Damn your incompetent hide,” the king shouted. “If we’ve lost my son’s murderer due to your carelessness, I’ll have your head!”

Gadreel flinched but his master seemed unperturbed.

“Of course, Sire,” said Zanzeroth with a slight bow. “The hunt’s more interesting if the stakes are high.”

By now the earth-dragons had caught up. The handlers grabbed the leashes of the ox-dogs and tugged them away from the steaming carcass of the horse.

Zanzeroth pulled the three spears from his quiver and handed them to Gadreel. “These are only going to get in my way,” he said. Gadreel struggled to hold the giant wooden shafts with their gleaming steel heads. Only sun-dragons could ever hope to use such massive weapons effectively.

All stood silently as Zanzeroth crouched down on all fours, his belly touching the wet grass. Though their normal stance was bipedal, both sun-dragons and sky-dragons had claws at the middle joints of their wings that could support their weight if they wished to crawl. The aged dragon moved over the ground with slow, sinuous, reptilian movements, pausing to study each hoofprint. He sniffed the ground carefully, tilted his head, then crawled forward, paused, and sniffed again. He continued his methodical examination, moving back toward the forest, taking nearly an hour to reach the stream where the trail had been momentarily lost. Gadreel’s muscles burned from the effort of lugging Zanzeroth’s spears all this time.

Zanzeroth stared at the tracks on each side of the stream with quiet intensity. Gadreel wondered how much sense his master could make of ground that had now been trampled by ox-dogs and a small army of dragons.

Zanzeroth rose, stretching his shoulders until his sinews popped. “The horse was a simple ruse, but effective,” he said. “Our quarry dismounted in the water, no doubt keeping to the streambed for some distance. If we run an ox-dog along each side we can discover the point where he leaves the water. We’ll have him yet.”

“Find him,” said the king. “I grow impatient.”

Zanzeroth snatched his spears back from Gadreel, placing them once more in his quiver. He took each ox-dog by the leash and led them upstream, wading in the water. He cast his watchful eyes on each branch that hung overhead. After a few hundred yards the ox-dog to his left stopped, sniffed the ground, and let out a low growl. Zanzeroth crouched to study the bank.

“Clever,” he said, looking back at the king. “But not clever enough. I have the trail once more.”

He loosed the ox-dogs and motioned for all to follow as he raced into the dark woods.

Gadreel’s breath came in gasps as he chased his untiring master through the rain-slick forest. The trees were thick here, and the darkness was such that their prey could have been merely a wing’s length away and still have been invisible. Ahead, Gadreel could see shafts of moonlight and hoped they were again near the forest’s edge. Zanzeroth stopped abruptly and Gadreel nearly collided with him.

The earth-dragons skidded to a halt behind them. One muttered, “The lines.” Gadreel looked over his shoulder but couldn’t tell which earth-dragon had spoken.

Straining his neck to see around Zanzeroth, Gadreel could see that whoever had spoken had been correct. They had reached one of the bleached, cracked stone lines that stretched endless miles through the kingdom. Some scholars claimed the lines were only ancient roads, built by a long-vanished race of giants. A more common belief was that the barren, flat stone marked a web of evil energy that ran through the earth. In the presence of this cursed ground, the night was unnaturally quiet.

“So, hunter,” Albekizan whispered. “You still believe it’s only a man we chase? No man alive would dare to walk the ghost lines.”

“He will if he’s desperate,” said Zanzeroth. “Our prey thinks we won’t follow because of the curse. You’ve known me long enough to know that I’ve never placed stock in such foolishness. This is merely old rock. We have nothing to fear. The dogs have already run ahead. We’ll catch him yet.”

“We shall give chase from the air,” said Albekizan. “The soldiers shall run along the line.”

“Sire?” the captain of the earth-dragons said. The light yellow scales on his throat trembled.

“You heard the order,” Albekizan said, leaping into the air, his feet never touching the haunted stone.

Zanzeroth followed and Gadreel, too. The earth-dragons hesitantly stepped onto the crumbling stone line then turned their eyes heavenward and chased their king.

Gadreel was glad to be in the air once more but he had no time to enjoy it. Barely a quarter mile ahead the ox-dogs turned from the line, loping down a steep, vine-covered bank. They turned and entered a small tunnel that ran beneath the broad highway of stone.

As Gadreel landed, one of the dogs yelped. The second dog scurried backward from the tunnel.

Zanzeroth peered into the dark opening. Gadreel strained to see and spotted the first ox-dog, dead, its head crushed by a heavy stone. Zanzeroth took a spear from his quiver, pushed the shaft along the floor, then lifted it to reveal a loop of thin rope.

“A deadfall,” he muttered. “The killer has booby-trapped his escape route. Cunning, for a human.”

“This is Bitterwood,” said Albekizan. “The predator. He’s no mere human.”

Zanzeroth nodded then took the remaining dog by the leash and led him back over the stone line to the other side of the short tunnel. The dog found the scent once more as the earth-dragons at last caught up. Zanzeroth wrapped the leash tightly around his talon so that the dog couldn’t run too far ahead. Gadreel followed, growing ever more nervous. They were walking along the diamond. All the winged dragons were familiar with the place for it could be seen from the air for miles: four gigantic stone circles surrounded by an even larger diamond of stone. There were several of these constructs throughout the kingdom, in places where the mystery lines crossed in elaborate networks of ramps and bridges. The last remnants, perhaps, of a long-vanished culture. These places were much feared, for four circles were the symbol of death.

To Gadreel’s relief, the ox-dog veered away from the edges of the diamond and led them to a large field of broken stone. In the midst of the field sat an ancient, low building formed of vine-covered brick. The sky brightened with the approach of dawn, giving Gadreel some comfort.

As he allowed himself to relax slightly, a whistling noise cut through the air. With a sickening wet thunk, an arrow lodged deep between the eyes of the ox-dog. The huge beast sighed then slumped forward, all life gone.

Zanzeroth leapt before the king, spreading his wings wide to shield him. “He’s in yonder structure. Take cover, Sire!”

“Never!” Albekizan cried. “If Bitterwood is here, no force on earth shall stop me from ordering my soldiers into that building to drag him out, that I may have my vengeance!” He pointed to the captain, then thundered, “Go!”

The captain raised his shield and charged forward, his men following at a tail’s length. One by one, they vanished into the dark doorway. Silence followed.

“He’s fled deeper,” said Zanzeroth. “Or perhaps-”

His words were cut short as a dragon cried out from the darkness, his voice followed by a thunderous rumble. The doorway glowed suddenly with a light to rival the rising sun. A ball of flame rolled forward, led by a blast of searing, turpentine-scented air that threw Gadreel from his feet.

“No!” the king cried. “A suicide trap! How dare he deny me justice!”

“I doubt suicide,” Zanzeroth said, flapping his wings in the still turbulent air. He climbed several dozen feet before shouting, “There!”

Gadreel and Albekizan rose to join him and quickly spotted a cloaked man carrying a longbow, perhaps a hundred yards away, running across the stony field. The light of the burning building gave him a reddish, devilish cast. As Zanzeroth dove toward him, the man dropped his bow and fell to his knees. He struggled to lift a rusty iron disk almost two feet across that was set in the stone. As Zanzeroth stretched his talons toward his prey the disk came free, revealing a gaping hole. Grabbing his bow, the man dropped into the dark circle a half-second before Zanzeroth snatched the air where his head had been.

Zanzeroth looped around to land. Albekizan dropped behind the hole and spun around, his eyes burning red with reflected flame. “So close! So close!”

“He’s not free yet,” Zanzeroth said, rushing forward, his longest spear in his grip. He jabbed the shaft into the dark hole. Without warning an arrow flashed upward to meet the spear thrust. Zanzeroth jerked backward as the arrow slashed his right cheek and tore open his eye. He stumbled back from the opening in the earth, cursing.

Gadreel gazed at the hole, as black as a starless night, a perfect circle. Albekizan fell to his belly before the dark ring, thrusting his fore-claws into it, grasping blindly, his need to capture Bodiel’s killer blotting out all caution. The hole was much too small for a sun-dragon to enter.

Gadreel swallowed hard and stepped forward. If ever there was a moment where he might prove himself worthy of greater esteem than a slave, this was that moment.

“I’ll go,” he said.

“Hurry,” Albekizan said, rising. Gadreel lowered himself tailfirst into the darkness. He entered a tunnel barely eight feet in diameter and found it half filled with rushing water. He heard echoes from up ahead and inched forward in pursuit, holding his wings as high as he could to keep them from becoming waterlogged. His eyes adjusted to the dim light that filtered in from the opening behind him. He saw no sign of the human.

The light behind him faded as he crept forward but was replaced by a dim glow far ahead. When he reached the new light, he found another metal disk still in place above him, perforated by four holes. The glow of dawn seeped through and he felt exposed. He reached up to try to lift the rusted disk, but couldn’t budge it.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he moved further into the gloom. As darkness engulfed him once more, he felt something swirl around his legs, entangling them. He tried to kick himself free but lost his balance in the rushing water. He fell, dragged beneath the chill current, tossed and scraped against the rough walls. He flailed, unable to tell which way was up. He swallowed foul, brackish water and felt his heart freeze within him. The flame of his life began to flicker.

Then, through the murk, he saw four tiny circles. He’d been washed back to the last disk. He dug his claws into the walls and thrust his head toward the light. He gulped in dank, moldy air, the sweetest air he’d ever tasted. He found his footing and reached down to grasp the heavy weight that still entangled his legs. He pulled it free, lifting it into the light. It was Bitterwood’s cloak.

Bitterwood.

The insanity of his pursuit struck home. Bodiel had been no match for the demon. Zanzeroth, the most skilled hunter in all the land, had been bested. What chance had he, a mere slave? He studied the darkness before him. The roar of water masked all other noise. Perhaps Bitterwood was near. But Gadreel knew in his heart that the only reason he was still alive was that Bitterwood was long gone. Gadreel abandoned his chase and inched his way back toward the entrance.

He reached the open hole and stretched to grab the edge. The king’s enormous talon reached down, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and lifted him clear.

“Did you find him?” Albekizan said, setting Gadreel before him.

“I-I…” Gadreel said, staring deep into the king’s hopeful eyes. Gadreel felt he should lie, should tell the king he’d fought the killer. But he only sighed and shook his head. Gadreel lifted the cloak. “I found this, Sire.”

Albekizan took the cloak and stared at it, his eyes filled with emotions that Gadreel could not fathom.

“I saw no other sign of him,” Gadreel said. “The water was quite powerful. The current pulled me under. No doubt, the man we chased has drowned.”

“No,” said the king, softly. “Not this monster. This dragon-slayer, he’ll not die a careless death. You did your best. Be grateful to have escaped with your life.”

Gadreel nodded. The king didn’t seem angry about his failure. Somehow that didn’t comfort him.

“Go tend your master’s wound,” Albekizan said.

Zanzeroth was squatting on the ground, pressing a bloodied bundle of leaves to his injured eye. No one alive knew more about the medicinal properties of forest plants; the entire world was his pharmacy. “‘It’s not a mortal wound, Sire,” said Zanzeroth, his voice a curious mixture of confidence and agony. “We’ll head back to the castle for more earth-dragons and fresh dogs. The hunt will continue. In daylight our prey no longer has the advantage of shadows.”

“No,” Albekizan said. “I admire your spirit, old friend, but we need not chase this demon into further traps. There’s a solution to this problem, an obvious one. We’ve paid a horrible price this night. I vow this-the debt of Bitterwood will be repaid in blood.”

Gadreel stared at the open circle at his feet. Outside the tunnel, free of the rushing water, he felt shame that he’d abandoned the chase. His failure lodged in his gut like an icy stone. He’d been brave enough to enter the hole, why hadn’t he been brave enough to stay? Proving his worth to the king no longer seemed important. The next time he faced Bitterwood, he must prove his worth to himself.