by James Maxey
“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.”
“I assure you, I know who to trust,” Chakthalla said.
As Jandra looked away from Chakthalla, she saw that Pet had his gaze fixed squarely upon her. She looked down at her plate and stirred the spiced potatoes with her fork. She had little experience dealing with human males, but she had a strong suspicion of what Pet’s stare meant. Many dragons who kept humans as pets bred them. Pet certainly looked like a thoroughbred. Jandra felt relieved that she didn’t have a pedigree. No sense in giving Chakthalla ideas, especially since she wasn’t sure what Vendevorex would say to such a proposal.
AFTER DINNER, VENDEVOREX walked the halls of Chakthalla’s palace, lost in thought. Jandra followed close behind but he was barely aware of her. He was thinking of the solid stone walls of Albekizan’s abode. The king’s home was built for defense with high, solid walls, slits for windows, and guard towers in all directions. Chakthalla’s home was a much more open space. The elegant ceilings were roofed with wooden arches which would fall beneath the first catapult assault. Huge, decorative windows filled with tinted glass panes lined the upper halves of the rooms. When war came, the glass would fall like deadly rain. Chakthalla’s home was built for beauty, not for war.
“How much longer will we have to stay here, Ven?” Jandra asked.
Vendevorex’s brow furrowed at the question. He faced her and said, “For weeks, you’ve only expressed impatience at the slow crawl of the negotiations that brought us here. Don’t tell me you are in a hurry to leave.”
“I’m not,” she said. “But it’s been almost two months since Albekizan decided to wipe out the human race. I want to tackle our problems head on, take action.”
“Action and problems will seek us out. It’s foolish to invite them before their time.”
“You’ve been training me to fight,” Jandra said. She tightened her jaw and threw back her shoulders, looking as fierce as her five-foot tall, slender frame could manage. “I’m tired of sitting around waiting on all this letter-writing and spy games.”
“The history of the world is shaped as much by the exchange of letters as it is by the waging of war,” Vendevorex said.
“But there will be war, won’t there? Someone has to stand up to Albekizan.”
Vendevorex paused, contemplating her words. He found it difficult to believe Jandra was so hungry for war. He suspected she might have another motivation for wanting to know how long they would stay here.
“You seemed ill at ease tonight at dinner,” Vendevorex said.
Jandra shrugged. “Something about this place disturbs me.”
Vendevorex nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. But I need a safe place to gather my thoughts. We can count on Chakthalla’s loyalty. She despises Albekizan.”
“I don’t trust her,” said Jandra. “It sounds like she’s bragging to her friends that she’s sheltering you.”
“We can only have faith that her words will reach the right ears.”
“I think you trust her too far,” Jandra said.
Vendevorex analyzed the edge in Jandra’s voice. Annoyance? Jealousy? He wished he were better at understanding her moods. He knew that humans experienced a stage of development in the years following puberty characterized by unpredictable emotional swings. He tried not to think about it. There were more important worries.
“Well?” Jandra asked.
“What? Do I trust her too far? Obviously, I don’t believe so. That could prove suicidal. There are many, many secrets I keep from her—and from everyone.”
“Even me?”
“Even you,” Vendevorex said. He thought again of the ultimate secret he kept from her, then chased it quickly from his mind. She would never learn the truth of her origins. “But I see no reason to keep you in the dark,” he said. “My decision to come here was one made in weakness. I doubt that our paths will intermingle with Chakthalla’s for long.”
“What do you mean?”
“Now that I’ve spent time in Chakthalla’s company, I see that turning to her was a futile hope. Chakthalla is planning a rebellion the way she would plan a holiday picnic. It’s something she’ll invite a few close friends to for an afternoon’s diversion. None who stand with her have the wits to know what they are up against, or the strength of will to make their rebellion work.”
“But you stand with them,” Jandra said. “You have the wits and the will.”
“No,” Vendevorex said, shaking his head. “The situation has spun beyond my control. For too many years I’ve watched Albekizan in his ruthless quest for power. Indeed, I’ve helped him gain that power. I’ve killed for our king, Jandra. I’ve used my abilities to eliminate the very dragons who would now have the greatest chance of success against Albekizan.”
“You couldn’t know this day would come,” Jandra said. “You did what you thought was best at the time. You told me it was good for the dragons to be united under a strong king.”
“So I believed. It was certainly to my advantage.”
“How so?”
Vendevorex contemplated his answer. There were still many, many things he didn’t wish to reveal.
“No one in this kingdom knows of my past. I arrived seventeen years ago, a stranger to all. I used my status as an outsider to cultivate an air of mystery. I eventually made my way into Albekizan’s court. I was given respect, power, wealth: all things that had eluded me in my former homeland. As Albekizan’s power increased, so did mine. I always spoke freely with him, told him whenever I felt he grew too ruthless or cruel. This appeased my conscience. But I never made any move to stop him, nor did I ever refuse a share of the bounty of his conquests.”
Jandra looked confused. “Your former homeland… Where was it?” she asked. “How could it lie outside of Albekizan’s kingdom?”
“Ah, to be as innocent as you are now.” Vendevorex placed his fore-talon on Jandra’s shoulder. “Let’s just say the world was once a much larger place.”
“What do you mean?”
“Albekizan controls only a small sliver of this world, isolated geographically by mountains to the west and an ocean to the east. Bu
t beyond the mountains there are other lands. I was born in one of these faraway kingdoms. Sky-dragons there form families in much the way that sun-dragons do here. I was the youngest of seven brothers. I had little chance of ever inheriting land or power, and less chance of taking it forcefully. So I left, seeking my fortunes in the frontier beyond. It was the beginning of a journey that is now rather difficult to explain.”
“I can’t believe it,” Jandra said. “A whole world beyond the mountains? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“It never seemed important. I have good reasons for not discussing my homeland. But now, it seems, I have even better reasons to return to it.”
“Return?”
Vendevorex nodded. “Until now, I hadn’t made up my mind as to the best course of action. I clung to the hope that it would be possible to fight Albekizan. My consultations with Chakthalla show this to be folly. Our best hope lies on the other side of the mountains.”
“The best hope to stop Albekizan? You think we can find allies there? Your family, maybe?”
Vendevorex shook his head. “We must think of ourselves now. If we stay here we will throw our lives away for a lost cause.”
“But if we run, who will fight for the humans?” Jandra asked, her voice rising.
Vendevorex recognized her emotions stirring again. He tried to calm her with reason. “The humans must fight for themselves. United, they may succeed. A war of attrition favors them due to their superior numbers. In the end, humans may simply outbreed their way to victory.”
Jandra grew pale. Vendevorex tried to interpret her eyes. Was she reassured by his words? No, there were tears forming. He’d disappointed her instead of reassuring her. He sighed. Why did she have to make things so difficult?
“Don’t you care about the millions who will die?” she asked softly.
“Jandra, you’re too young to understand,” he said firmly, hoping to end this discussion. “I’m not heartless. I’ve given up all my power and prestige. I won’t assist Albekizan in genocide. But I also won’t risk my life in such a lopsided cause.”
“You aren’t willing to die for humans.”
“It’s not—”
“You aren’t willing to die for me?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. I’ve raised you for many years now. You mean a great deal to me.”
“I mean a great deal… that’s all?” Jandra said, her voice trembling. “Is it true then? I’m nothing more than a pet to you?”
Vendevorex hadn’t expected this response. “What?”
“I’m not blind or deaf. Chakthalla acts as if I’m your pet and you say nothing to make her think differently.”
He shrugged. “It’s simple courtesy not to hurt the feelings of our hostess.”
“But you think nothing of hurting my feelings, do you?” Jandra said through clenched teeth.
“I admit,” Vendevorex said, on the verge of exasperation, “that I often have trouble comprehending the logic of your feelings.”
Jandra sucked in her breath, looking for all the world like she was getting ready to shout. Then she turned and walked away, fists clenched. He hoped she would walk off her anger. Vendevorex felt a good deal of relief that this confrontation was behind them. When conditions were more favorable he would make things up to her.
ZEEKY COULD SEE the castle against the sunset. She’d been this close to the castle only once, last year when her father had taken food to the next village. He had told her the castle belonged to a dragon and that Zeeky should never go near the place. But Zeeky had wanted so badly to visit.
The castle was lovely. On foggy mornings its graceful spires seemed to float in the sky. She often saw dragons in flight, their shadows falling over her as they passed above. Some of her friends were frightened by the shadows. She was always thrilled. She wanted more than anything in the world to touch the skin of a dragon; she imagined it to be soft and smooth, like snakeskin. She once dreamed that she was a dragon perched on the castle wall, looking over the valley.
Now she was finally going inside the castle walls. It was the only place she could think of to hide Poocher where her father would never follow. She wasn’t sure what dragons ate—horses, maybe—but she knew without a doubt what her father ate, and from the moment she’d laid eyes on Poocher she’d known she couldn’t let it happen.
It was well into night when she reached the small village that lay just outside the castle walls. The full moon dominated the sky, pierced by the dark silhouette of the castle’s tallest tower. Zeeky’s excitement at being so near the castle was somewhat muted by her exhaustion. Poocher snored softly in her arms and she felt as if she could simply lie down on the ground where she stood and drift away.
But that would be stupid. The villagers would find her and return her to her father, and then what would happen to Poocher? No, she would have to find shelter. Fortunately, she could make out the dim shapes of farm buildings across some nearby fields. She slipped through a wooden fence and made her way toward a barn. A dog barked angrily, the sound growing rapidly nearer. The large hound materialized from the darkness.
“Shhh,” whispered Zeeky, pressing a finger to her lips. “You’ll wake everybody up.”
The dog stopped barking and approached her, sniffing. Zeeky scratched the old hound behind its ears.
“That’s a good boy,” she said. She had always gotten along better with animals than people. Animals listened to her. People spoke at her.
The dog walked with her to the barn. She noticed a chunk of bloody fur in the dirt in front of the door.
“Poor thing,” she whispered, guessing that the dog had caught up with a rabbit earlier. The dog picked up its meal and wandered off toward the farmhouse.
She slipped into the barn, pausing to let her eyes adjust. The moonlight outside was like daylight compared to the gloom of the barn. She stepped forward carefully, holding a hand before her, until at last she touched the ladder that led to the loft. She climbed slowly. Poocher was awake now and if he began to squirm she didn’t want to drop him from the ladder.
As her head reached the top of the loft an arm thrust down from the darkness, grabbing her by the collar. She screamed but was instantly muffled by the large, rough hand that clamped over her mouth. She clasped Poocher with both arms as her assailant lifted her the rest of the way into the loft.
“Stop squirming,” said a deep, gravely voice. “I’m going to let go of your mouth so you can answer a few questions. I’m not going to hurt you so don’t scream, understand?”
Zeeky nodded. The man’s hand left her mouth. He still held her by the collar from behind so that she couldn’t turn to face him.
“Did you have a good dinner tonight?” he asked. “I smelled fried chicken up at the house. Can you get me some?”
Zeeky didn’t know how to answer.
“C’mon. Talk. You got nothing to be afraid of.”
“I… didn’t have dinner tonight.”
“Oh?” the man said, sounding curious. “Why not? You being punished?”
“I can’t tell.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do nothing. I didn’t eat dinner here ’cause I don’t live here.”
“Then what are you doing in this barn?”
“What are you doing in here?” Zeeky replied.
“Trying to get some sleep without some nosy kid butting in.”
“I’m not nosy. I didn’t know you were up here. I’m just looking for a place to spend the night.”
“You a runaway?”
“No. I’m… I’m an orphan.”
“Huh,” the man said. “Well, me too. So I guess you got as much right to pass the night here as I do.”
The man let go of her collar and Zeeky spun around. She found a skinny old man with gray, thinning hair and tattered clothing. Spread on the straw beside him was a large gray cloak which held a longbow, a quiver of arrows, and a large knife in a leather sheath. The old man smiled, showing two teeth missi
ng from the bottom.
“I see you brought a pig, kid. Good thinking. Kind of a runt, though. But split between just the two of us—”
Zeeky squinched her eyes and said in the sternest voice she could muster, “Poocher’s not for eating. He’s my friend.”
“Oh.” The man shrugged. “Whatever. Not much meat on him anyway. Guess we’re stuck with potatoes,” her loftmate said, holding out a large spud. “Want one?”
“Thank you,” Zeeky said, taking the potato. “What’s your name? Mine’s Zeeky.”
“Zeeky? Never met anyone named Zeeky.”
“Well, now you have.”
“You got some sass in you, kid. I like that.”
“What’s your name?”
“If you knew that, I’d have to kill you,” the man said.
“Why? Are you a bad guy?”
“Could be,” he answered. “I stole these potatoes.”
“I stole fruit last night. Stealing food ain’t always bad.”
“The way I was raised, it is.”
Zeeky shrugged. “Then we both must be bad guys.”
He nodded. “Brother outlaws.”
“But I’m a girl.”
“Okay, brother and sister outlaws.”
“You gonna tell me your name?”
The old man started to say something, then stopped. He smirked, then asked, “Can you keep a secret?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Then keep this one real good,” the stranger said, leaning close to her. His breath smelled of rotting teeth as he whispered, “I’m Bitterwood.”
“No,” Zeeky said.
“No?” The old man leaned back away from her. “I thought sure I was.”
Zeeky rolled her eyes. She hated when adults treated her like she didn’t know anything. “Bitterwood’s this hero, okay? He lives in a big castle and he rides around on this white horse and has a shiny sword and a fancy hat with feathers in it. He fights dragons who are mean to nice people.”