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

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.

“Bodiel was the kingdom’s greatest hope,” Kanst said, his voice hushed-or as hushed as a beast like Kanst could muster. Kanst was an enormous bull of a dragon, heavy and squat. He wore steel armor polished to a mirrored finish that was unblemished by any actual blow from a weapon. Albekizan liked Kanst, which to Zanzeroth spoke ill of the king. Kanst was all bluster and polish. The king had a bad habit of surrounding himself with advisors who were more show than substance. Kanst and Vendevorex were the two best examples.

Kanst continued his murmurs with the High Biologian. “Shandrazel hasn’t the thirst for blood that’s necessary for victory. What now? Will the king abandon Tanthia for a younger bride in hopes of another son? Or will he willingly turn the kingdom over to someone more capable of running it?”

“Someone like yourself?” Metron said.

“I’m not implying-”

“Then speak not of the matter,” said Metron.

“It’s only that time is the enemy,” Kanst said. “Even if the king were to father another son, will he remain strong enough twenty years hence to hold the kingdom together?”

Metron dismissed the notion with a wave of his fore-claw. “You’re young, Kanst, and think age is a barrier. But in twenty years Albekizan will be younger than I am now, and I’m more than able to perform my duties. Indeed, the king will be younger than Zanzeroth twenty years hence, and he’s as sharp and strong as any dragon in the kingdom.”

Zanzeroth felt Metron’s words like sharp blades stabbing at him. The hunter interrupted, saying, “Age matters, Kanst. Let no one tell you it doesn’t. I’m almost a century old and I feel it. They’ll tell you experience matters, but they lie. Once I would have had the speed to dodge the arrow. I’d trade all my experience for the strength of my youth.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Kanst said with perhaps a hint of condescension. “You survived when Bodiel did not. If it is truly Bitterwood we face you should consider yourself fortunate.”

“There is no ‘if,’ Kanst!” Albekizan thundered as the tall iron doors to the war room opened. The king strode into the room followed by Bander, the captain of the guard. A dozen members of the guard followed, their armor and weapons clanking as they marched into the room and took their ceremonial positions along the wall. “We deal with fact: Bitterwood lives!”

“Of course, Sire,” said Kanst. “I never doubted Bitterwood’s existence. I’ve always felt there was substance behind the shadows.”

“As Zanzeroth here learned only too well, yes?” Albekizan said with a glance toward the tracker.

Zanzeroth held his tongue. He was tempted to point out that he’d claimed all along they pursued a man, that it was the king who regarded their prey as some supernatural ghost, but he knew this was an argument he would not win.

“Sire, I’ve done the research you requested,” Metron said. “I conferred with my fellow biologians and have the answers you seek.”

“And?”

“The minor rebellion of the southern provinces two decades ago is the source of the Bitterwood legend. Bitterwood was a leader of the rebellion. He preached a vile philosophy of genocide against all dragons. Even when the rebellion was crushed his radical rantings earned a small, faithful band of followers. The band eluded your troops for many years, but in the end they were chased into the City of Skeletons, where they were slain.”

“You are telling me that it’s a dead man we faced tonight?” said Albekizan.

“No, though one popular version of this legend holds that Bitterwood’s vengeful ghost still haunts the kingdom. A rival telling holds that Bitterwood eluded death and continues to fight to this day, alone, no longer trusting the help of other humans.”

“So you have nothing but legend to give me?”

Metron shrugged. “Sire, the truth is somewhat mundane, I suspect. All evidence leads me to conclude that Bitterwood died twenty years ago. Only his legend lives on. Now other humans occasionally summon the nerve to slay a dragon-usually in the most dishonorable ways, striking from ambush-and when your troops investigate, Bitterwood is blamed to keep us chasing after a myth.”

“The man who killed my son was no myth,” said Albekizan. “Bitterwood fletches his arrows with the feather-scales of dragons. We pulled thirteen pieces of evidence of his existence from Bodiel’s body.”

“Yes, Sire,” Metron said. “However, we should consider that the feather-scales of dragons are hardly a rare commodity. We shed old ones as new ones come in.”

Metron’s words once more pained Zanzeroth. He was losing old scales without new ones growing to replace them. He stared at the large, black patches of naked hide that covered his once crimson fore-talons.

“Our servants and field hands no doubt discover fallen feather-scales all the time,” Metron continued. “What if a human familiar with the legend is using it to his advantage to create fear among us? I’ve checked the records and found hundreds of dragon deaths over the past twenty years attributed to Bitterwood. It’s likely that other men have blamed Bitterwood for murders they themselves performed.”

“No,” Albekizan said. “I am certain that one being, be he man or ghost, is responsible. I’ve seen him with my own eyes.”

Now it was the king’s words that tortured Zanzeroth as he realized that he would never see anything with his eyes again.

“Still, I am not blind to the possibility that other humans assist Bitterwood,” Albekizan said. “That’s why I’ve called you here. Together, we will remove the stench of humans from my kingdom forever. I’ve tolerated their kind far too long. They breed like rats. Their dung-encrusted villages spread disease. They create nuisance by leeching off dragons as beggars and thieves. Now their greatest crime of all: They give shelter to Bitterwood. We must eliminate every last safe harbor for the villain. We can only be certain of victory over Bitterwood when all the humans are dead.”

For a moment no one spoke. Zanzeroth wasn’t quite sure what Albekizan meant. Did he want to kill all the humans in the nearby villages?

Metron broke the silence by clearing his throat, then asked, “All humans, Sire?”

“Every last one.”

“From what area?” he asked.

“From the world,” answered Albekizan.

Again, there was a long silence as Kanst looked to Metron, who looked to Zanzeroth, who studied a patch of air near the king with rapt fascination.

“Respectfully, Sire,” said a voice from the empty air Zanzeroth watched, “you’ve gone quite mad.”

Albekizan whirled around, searching for the source of the rebellious voice, looking straight past the point where Zanzeroth’s ears fixed the sound.

“Show yourself at once, wizard!” Albekizan commanded.

In a spot a yard from the suspicious voice, the air began to spark and swirl. The sparks fell away like a veil to reveal a sky-dragon, his wings pierced with diamond studs, sparkling like stars against his blue scales. Light gleamed from his silver skullcap. His eyes were narrowed into a scowl of disapproval. Vendevorex, Master of the Invisible, had made his grand arrival.

“Very well, Sire,” Vendevorex said. “You see me. Now hear me. Humans and dragons have existed side by side for all of history. Mankind poses no threat to dragons; indeed, humanity makes our lives more pleasant. If you kill the humans, who will tend to your crops? Who will do the basest of labors? The humans as a race didn’t kill your son. Bitterwood alone is responsible. Turn your resources to finding him. Don’t distract yourself with a costly war against all mankind.”

“The humans number in the millions,” Albekizan said. “Bitterwood could hide among them for years. But if all die, he dies.”

“Then consider this,” Vendevorex said. “Your course of action could lead to rebellion among dragons you now count as allies and friends. The earth-dragons won’t be eager to tend the fields. The sky-dragons rely on human labor to keep their colleges running smoothly. Your fellow sun-dragons often keep humans as pets. Do you expect them to sit idly while you slaughter their companions?”

“I anticipate resistance,” Albekizan said. “But my war against the humans will take place on many fronts. Metron’s battleground will be the minds of dragons.”

“Sire?” said Metron.

“In your role as protector of all knowledge, do you not teach that millions of years of evolution have produced the dragon as the highest form of life? We are by rights the masters of the earth. The human religions claim that they were created separate from other species. If they are not part of nature, why should we tolerate these parasites? Your task, Metron, will be to educate all dragons to this fact. Persuade them to the logic of our cause.”

“Of course, Sire,” Metron said, though Zanzeroth could hear traces of doubt.

“Metron, I expected more spine from you,” Vendevorex said. Then, addressing Albekizan once more, he said: “Even if all dragons stood with you, which they won’t, the humans themselves will rise against you. They may not be our physical equals, but they are capable of great cunning, and they outnumber dragons ten to one. You rule them now because they expend their aggression in petty tribal squabbles. They bicker and war over not just the meager resources you allow them, but also kill each other in the name of competing mythologies. Far more humans die each year at the hands of fellow humans than are killed by dragons.”

Albekizan stood silent. It seemed to Zanzeroth that he was actually considering the wizard’s argument.

Vendevorex expanded on his case. “Humans have the skill and the passion to fight; we are fortunate that they turn their energies against each other rather than on us. If you wage war against them, they will certainly unite. You will face an army of Bitterwoods. How many dragon lives are you willing to throw away in pursuit of your madness?”

The king didn’t react angrily to this insult, as Zanzeroth expected. Instead, Albekizan said, in a patient tone, “That is why I summoned you, wizard. I’ve tolerated your insolence all these years because I recognize your cleverness. Your task will be to devise the most efficient method of eliminating the humans. You are adept at curing disease. Could you not create a disease as well, one that slays only humans?”

“No,” said Vendevorex.

“Then perhaps some poison would serve our purpose, something which could be introduced into their wells.”

Vendevorex closed his eyes, shook his head, and took a deep breath, a breath that, to Zanzeroth’s ears came from well behind the place where the wizard seemingly stood. Was his lone eye playing tricks?

“I don’t mean I’m incapable of doing as you ask,” the wizard explained as if speaking to a child. “I won’t do it because I find the idea abhorrent.” The wizard looked around the room. “Kanst, I’m not surprised by your silence. You’ve never displayed the smallest hint of backbone. But Metron, you must know better. And Zanzeroth-you, of all dragons save myself-you have always spoken truth with the king. Will you not stand for the truth now?”

Zanzeroth nodded. “You’re correct, wizard. Sire, let me be blunt. I don’t believe Bitterwood to be beyond our grasp. You called off the hunt too early. His trail may yet be warm. This genocide you dream of is unnecessary. That said, what do I care if humans are slaughtered? I’ve killed so many for sport, I can hardly object on any moral grounds. If it is to be war, Sire, I stand beside you.”

“Cowards, the lot of you,” said Vendevorex. “I want no part of this.”

“I anticipated your answer,” said Albekizan. “Your close companionship with the human girl-Jandie is her name? Jandra? I believe she clouds your judgment. If you will not help voluntarily, consider this: I’ve ordered all humans within the castle be gathered together and slaughtered.” As the king spoke he glanced toward Bander who nodded toward the guards. They drew their swords and crept toward the wizard. Albekizan continued, “I’ve spared your pet, imprisoning her, for now. Assist me and she will live. Defy me and she dies. A simple choice.”

Vendevorex calmly studied the approaching guards then looked the king squarely in the eyes. “If she’s been so much as scratched you’ll regret it!”

“Don’t threaten me, wizard,” the king growled. “Bander! Place this fool in chains. A few days in the dungeon will change his mind.”

“Y-y-yes, Sire,” Bander said. His arms trembled as he lowered his spear toward Vendevorex. “P-place your talons above your head!”

“Gladly,” the wizard replied, spreading his wings wide. The ruby in his silver skullcap glowed brightly. With a crackle Bander’s spear crumbled to ash. The black particles swirled from the shocked dragon’s talons, flying in a dark stream toward the wizard to encircle him in a shadowy vortex.

“Kill him!” shouted Albekizan.

The guards rushed forward. A weighted net was thrown over the black vortex, the wind of its passage causing the miniature tornado to collapse into an expanding cloud. One by one the earth-dragons lunged, tackling the cloud of ash. The sound of steel striking steel, then ripping muscle and cracking bone reverberated through the hall.

Zanzeroth drew his hunting knife, a yard-long blade that would have been a sword in anyone else’s grasp. He flung it with a grunt, missing the black vortex by a wide gap, the blade flying narrowly beneath the beak of one of the guards to fly out the open doorway before burying itself in the mortar of the stone wall beyond.

By now, the ash lost its momentum and drifted to the stone floor. It was difficult to make out from the tangle of bloodied limbs and gore exactly what had happened. When the earth-dragons who could stand had finally risen, all that remained on the marble floor was the tattered remains of one of the guards, chopped beyond recognition. Of the wizard, not even a single scale could be found.

“He’s gone?” said Bander.

“Surround the palace at once,” Kanst ordered. “Summon the aerial guard. The wizard must not escape.”

“If he survives, I fear he could prove quite a powerful figurehead for a human resistance,” said Metron.

Albekizan shot the High Biologian an evil glance. Then he turned his focus on Zanzeroth. “Find him,” he snapped. “Do something more useful than almost killing a guard with an ill-thrown blade.”

Zanzeroth nodded. “Yes, Sire.” He wandered into the hall and yanked his knife free from the gap between the stones. As he suspected, there was a thin, wet red line along the edge. He held the blade to his nose and sniffed. The wizard’s scent was unmistakable; no other blood would smell of lightning. Perhaps a foot more to the right and this would have been over. Zanzeroth felt confident he could find the escaped wizard in short order, but on a deeper level he felt a certain satisfaction in letting the wizard go, for now. The king had created this mess by placing his trust in such a fool for so long. Let Albekizan deal with the consequences.

“The wizard won’t have long to cherish his freedom,” Albekizan snarled. “Bander, see to it that the human girl is killed. We’ll not need that traitor’s help. Once you’ve seen to her death, go at once to the dungeon. Bring me Blasphet.”

“B-B-Blasphet!” Bander said, his turtle-like beak hanging agape.

Blasphet?thought Zanzeroth, realizing for the first time that the depth of Albekizan’s hatred of Bitterwood might be greater than his own.

“Blasphet?” said Metron. “Sire, surely-”

“Silence,” growled Albekizan. “I’ve given my order. Despite his deeds I’ve kept Blasphet alive for a day such as this. No dragon that ever lived has more of a genius for killing. Bring him to me. Bring me the Murder God.”

ON THE WESTERN side of Albekizan’s palace, a winding maze of chambers led to a star-shaped room that was home to Vendevorex, Master of the Invisible. The room itself was a nearly impenetrable labyrinth of piled books. Lining the walls were dusty shelves filled with handblown bottles of all sizes and shapes, their murky contents gleaming in the light of the small window slits that lined the chamber. Jandra sat at a desk in the middle of the labyrinth, a massive tome cracked open before her, the pages bearing colorful detailed drawings of clams and snails. For a Master of Invisibility, sometimes her mentor could be incredibly transparent. This assignment was obviously meant to keep her out of his way while he investigated Bodiel’s murder.

The knock on the chamber door came as a relief to Jandra. While normally a devoted student, she welcomed the excuse to take a break from reading about snails. She brushed her long brown hair back from her eyes and went to the door. Vendevorex never had visitors but sometimes while he was away servants would sneak up to talk to Jandra in hopes of acquiring some minor potion or charm. She knew enough of Vendevorex’s art to help most supplicants. The salve she mixed really could heal burns, and while the love potions she provided were only colored water, they gave people confidence and courage, which often brought them the love they sought.

Unfortunately, when she opened the door she didn’t find a serving girl or a stable hand. Four earth-dragon guards awaited her, one carrying iron manacles.

“Come,” said the dragon with the manacles.

“Where?” she asked. “Why?”

“Don’t question me,” the guard snapped, reaching out to grab her arm, his claws digging into her skin.

“Ow! All right! I’m coming!” she said. She contemplated turning invisible but couldn’t see how it would help while he held her. Once he released her she would have more options.

The guard locked the manacles around her wrists. The cold steel clamped her as tightly as the earth-dragon’s scaly grip. They dragged her by her chains into the hall. In the distance she heard a woman scream.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Silence!” The guard slapped Jandra’s face.

Jandra’s head spun. The earth-dragon guards were no taller than her, but they possessed incredible strength. Earth-dragons were slow and a bit dimwitted, but still dangerous. It was safest to cooperate. She bit her lip and walked on, now pushed by the pointy end of a spear. Another cry echoed through the hall, a man this time. The guards weren’t merely after her, apparently, but after all the humans in the castle. Was this tied to Bodiel’s disappearance? If so, she could expect only the worst from Albekizan.

Where was Vendevorex? Why was he allowing this to happen?

To her surprise the guards led her not to the dungeons, but to another tower. They unlocked the manacles and shoved her into a large, comfortably furnished room, though once the heavy door shut behind her it was as secure as any dungeon cell. She moved toward the room’s single window when she heard the shouts outside. Through iron bars she looked onto a courtyard where perhaps twenty humans stood, lined before an earth-dragon wielding an axe. To her horror, a woman was being pushed down to her knees. An earth-dragon guard roughly slammed the victim’s head against the chopping block. It was Ruth!

“Stop!” Jandra cried out. Mary, next in line, looked up to the tower.

“Don’t look!” Mary shouted through tears.

“No!” Jandra screamed as the axe rose.

She turned away in helpless anger as the executioner performed his task. The wet thunk sent a chill up her spine. Mary was screaming.

Jandra slammed her fist into the stone wall and sank to the floor, sobbing. How could even Albekizan order such a thing? What did Ruth and Mary have to do with Bodiel’s death?

Mary kept screaming for what seemed like an eternity. And then she stopped.

Jandra buried her face in her knees and bit her lips. This couldn’t be happening.

There was a gust of wind from the open window, followed by a scraping sound as claws clenched stone.

“Jandra,” grunted a disembodied voice. “Stand away from the window.”

Jandra raised her head. “Ven! Where are you?”

“Uhn. I’m clinging to the wall outside. Not much to hold onto.” The iron bars shifted, rust flaking, as unseen talons grasped them. “It seems I may have made a strategic error in sending you back to our quarters.”

“What’s going on, Ven?” Jandra said, jumping back up to the window, wiping away her tears. “Those people in the courtyard, they-”

“Are being executed,” said Vendevorex. “Don’t think about it. You’re in terrible danger; my first priority is your rescue. Stand back.”

“Why is this happening?” Jandra said, grabbing the iron bars, so cold and immobile. She sought Vendevorex’s claw but couldn’t find it. Apparently, he was no longer holding the bars.

“There’s no time to answer your questions,” said Vendevorex. “I must steady myself to disintegrate the mortar holding in the stones around the window. The stones will collapse inward. Stand back. Hurry!”

Jandra let go of the window. She wiped her cheeks again as she stepped toward the middle of the room. “Do it.”

Dust trickled from beneath the window. With a crack, several large stones broke free and crashed to the floor. The iron bars landed on top with a loud clang.

“What’s going on in there?” a guard shouted through the door.

“I-I tripped,” Jandra shouted back. She grabbed a pitcher of water that had been left in the chamber and thrust her hand into it. Concentrating, she worked the water into steam, filling the room with fog.

“Hurry,” Vendevorex said, climbing through the hole in the wall and turning visible. “I’ll fly you out of here.”

Jandra dashed to his side. She paused when she spotted the long, open wound on his cheek.

“You’re bleeding,” she said.

“It’s not important. I’ll heal it when there’s time. For now, we must fly.”

“But you haven’t been able to carry me for years,” Jandra said as she heard the guard’s keys rattling at the lock. “Oh, we should have thought this through!”

“I have,” he said. “Flying with your weight isn’t so much a problem as taking off. I’ll have a forty-foot drop to build sufficient speed to carry you. Hurry!”

Jandra went to her teacher’s breast and hugged him by the neck as she had done when he carried her in the harness years ago. She clasped her heels around his waist just below his wing-folds. The fog swirled as the door opened.

Vendevorex leapt. Jandra closed her eyes as they plummeted, the wind whistling past her ears. Then her stomach twisted as their downward momentum changed abruptly to forward motion. Vendevorex grunted with each beat of his wings. She opened her eyes and saw the stone wall of the courtyard mere yards away. In the half instant it took for her eyes to snap shut once more Vendevorex veered upward, clearing the wall by inches. Needle-sharp pains pricked along the back of her scalp as the rough stone snatched away strands of her flowing hair.

She opened her eyes again. They were flying above the forest. In the distance she could see the gleaming silver ribbon of the river. They soared far higher than the tallest spires of the palace now, and it seemed as if she could see forever. It was odd to be overcome with nostalgia while fleeing for her life, especially given the horrors she only just witnessed, but the sight of the world from on high brought back her earliest childhood memories, soaring high above the world, the wind rushing past, clinging to Vendevorex for warmth and safety.

“We’ve got a problem,” Vendevorex said, his voice barely audible above the wind. “We’re being pursued.”

Jandra looked back. A score of sky-dragons were rising from the roof of the castle. It was the elite aerial guard-the swiftest, most agile fliers in Albekizan’s army. Her heart sank.

“Oh no,” she said. “You’ll never escape carrying me! You… you should save yourself.”

“Don’t even think of letting go,” Vendevorex said. “Our only chance is invisibility. You’ll need to create the illusion. I’m too taxed at the moment to concentrate.”

“I-I’ll do it,” Jandra said. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Take care. You’ll find that the wind makes the illusion difficult.”

Impossible is more like it, Jandra thought. Vendevorex was good enough to turn invisible in the wind and even in rain. He could walk and fly invisibly while Jandra could only maintain the effect if she stood still. She could not reveal her doubts to Ven, however.

Jandra clasped her mentor’s neck more tightly with her left arm while her right arm reached into the pouch of silvery dust she kept on her belt. The wind snatched most of the dust from her grasp the second she pulled her hand free, carrying it beyond the range of her control. She knitted her brow in concentration, envisioning each individual particle of dust in her palm, feeling it come to life. She released it, and with effort kept enough of the dust close to her to make the light deflection possible. The tiara on her brow grew warm as she extended the control field, bending the flight of the dust to her will, swirling the motes into a sphere large enough to encompass Vendevorex’s wingspan. Suddenly the sunlight dimmed as the particles began to follow the reflective pattern Vendevorex had taught her.

“Well done,” Vendevorex said, his voice weak. “Maintain control. And please, ever so slightly, relax your arm.”

“Sorry,” Jandra said, realizing she was choking him. As she thought of this the sunlight brightened once more. She gritted her teeth and snapped the dust back into the pattern.

“I can’t believe I’m getting this to work,” she said. “I’ve screwed it up every time I’ve ever tried it.”

“You’ve put in the practice,” Vendevorex said. “All you’ve lacked, perhaps, was the motivation.”

The pursuing dragons drew closer now, but their heads swayed from side to side, searching. Ven actually slowed his pace, dropping low, skimming over the tree branches. The guards pressed forward, passing above them, traveling in the direction Vendevorex had held the whole time they’d been visible. A lone straggler remained behind them.

“We’re losing them,” she whispered as Vendevorex banked toward the river.

“I can’t go much further,” Vendevorex said, the strain evident in his voice. “Once we clear the river I’ll need to land. From there we’ll continue on foot.”

“Where are we going?” Jandra asked.

“I don’t know,” Vendevorex answered, sounding hesitant, even lost.

The wind around Jandra grew suddenly colder. She’d never heard these words from her mentor before, or even this tone. Vendevorex always knew what to do, always had everything plotted and planned and under control.

Her mind drifted for a moment as she considered the implications. Then, suddenly, she snapped back to attention. The lone member of the aerial guard who’d still been behind them was diving straight toward them, a blue streak, still a hundred yards away, but closing fast. When she’d allowed her mind to wander the invisibility had been disturbed by the rushing wind.

The guard held an eight-foot long spear in his hind talons. It zoomed toward them quicker than she could think, closing the distance by a dozen yards a second. She tried to will the invisibility back until, with a sudden jerk, the dragon whipped his rear claws forward and released the spear.

“Ven!” she shouted.

Vendevorex jerked his neck around just in time. The spear passed through the air where his head would have been if he hadn’t looked back.

Alas, they were too close to the treetops. Jandra felt leaves and twigs snatching along her clothes until her shoulder collided on the tip of a pine. The tree was limber; it bent against her momentum, bruising her shoulder rather than breaking it. But it was enough to wreck her grip. Suddenly, she was falling. She closed her eyes as she flew toward the thick limbs of a second pine. The branches ripped at her as she skidded along the thick needles, then suddenly she was back out in open air, her limbs flailing. She opened her eyes in time to see the surface of the river rushing up to meet her. She tried to draw a breath of air but was too late. She smashed into the river, sucking water into her lungs.

Disoriented, she kicked and clawed, trying to make sense of what was up and what was down. To her relief, she broke back through the surface. She coughed out water then drew in great gasps of sweet air. The river wasn’t deep here near the water’s edge. Her feet found traction on the rocky bottom. When she stood the water was barely above her waist.

She staggered toward the shore, rubbing her eyes, half-blind from the water streaming from her hair. She stumbled when she reached the bank as her waterlogged gown tangled around her feet and she slipped on the slick rocks.

She crawled further onto the rocky bank, still coughing and spitting out water. Suddenly, the top of her head collided with something hard. She looked ahead and found herself staring at scaly blue legs with knees that bent backward and sinewy talons sporting two-inch, pitch-black claws. A long blue tail twitched behind the legs, catlike.

“Ven?” she asked, then looked up. It wasn’t Ven. The aerial guard who’d thrown the spear loomed over her, a long knife clutched in his fore-talon.

Jandra flinched as the guard reached for her.

Then, from the tree line, a voice: “Stop!”

It was Vendevorex. He stepped from the trees, looking more frightened than she’d ever seen him. He seemed smaller somehow, diminished in his fear.

“Please don’t hurt her,” he begged. “We surrender. We won’t resist.”

The guard turned from Jandra to face the wizard. “Don’t move,” he growled.

“No sir,” Vendevorex said. “Just please, don’t hurt us.”

“It’s not me you’ll have to worry about,” the guard said, stepping toward Vendevorex.

Then suddenly, the guard vanished. The small, frightened image of Vendevorex shimmered then broke apart. From the thin air before her came a muffled cry of pain and the sickening smell of burning flesh.

Jandra searched the sky. The rest of the aerial guard was nowhere to be seen. She clambered further up the shore and rose to her feet, shivering, chilled by the water and the close call of the fall.

Vendevorex allowed his circle of invisibility to break apart. He stood ten feet away with the body of the aerial guard at his feet. The guard clawed helplessly at his jaws, emitting small, muffled grunts through his flared nostrils. The skin around his mouth was melted together. Large talon-shaped holes had been burned into his wings; he would never fly again.

“When your brothers find you and cut your mouth open, I want you to give them a message for me,” Vendevorex growled. His eyes glowed as if lit by an internal sun. “My decision to run should not be interpreted as a sign that I am weak or defenseless. Anyone who attempts pursuit will face a fate much worse than yours. If I didn’t want you to tell your brothers this, I would have killed you already. You live only because you retain this slight usefulness to me.”

The guard rolled to his back on the rocky bank, still clawing at his immobile mouth. Jandra turned away, feeling sick.

“Let’s go,” Vendevorex said, moving to her side. “Upriver, toward Richmond. You’ll find it easier to maintain the invisibility while we walk.”

She nodded, noting the coolness in his voice, the utter lack of remorse for the way he’d just maimed the guard for life. She didn’t look back as she raised a field of invisibility around them. They headed west along the riverbank, watching the skies for further signs of pursuit.