“So be it,” Zanzeroth snarled. “Our precious king may have his prize. But you must tell him I was the one with the plan that snared him. Speak for me, tell him that I deserve to be appointed as Bitterwood’s executioner.”
“I shall grant this,” Kanst said, rising back to his hind-talons. Then, to Pertalon, “Let him go.”
“My apologies,” Pertalon said as he helped Zanzeroth to his feet.
“You had your orders,” Zanzeroth said, brushing dirt from his skin. He looked down at his worn and torn body. This impromptu wrestling match had not only reopened some of his wounds, it had also cost him many more scales. Faded, rust-colored flakes littered the ground like leaves. He sighed, then raised his head to address Kanst once more. “One last thing. We must retake the castle. The body of Vendevorex lies in the throne room. It is a prize for which the king will reward both of us highly.”
“Agreed,” Kanst said. His polished armor gleamed in the light of the morning sun. “Our retreat from the castle to gather the villagers came as our victory was imminent. We shall retake it within the hour.”
Jandra turned from the wall, running back toward the throne room. She had gone looking for Pet and arrived in time to witness the turmoil as a sky-dragon tackled Zanzeroth. She couldn’t make things out clearly from this distance, but it was apparent that Bitterwood had surrendered. The executions had stopped. So why didn’t she feel any better?
As she ran through the corridors she had to constantly step around the bodies of the dead. She wanted to think the defenders of the castle had been defending more than the walls. They had died opposing Albekizan’s cruelty and his vision of a world without humans. As shocking as it had been to watch the boy die at Kanst’s blade, she knew that atrocity paled before what was to come.
When the other sun-dragons learned of the assault against Chakthalla, would they be galvanized to rise against the king? Or would they instead cower before him, acquiescing to whatever mad scheme he might conceive? She feared the latter. Only Vendevorex could make a difference. He would listen to her now. He had to.
But as she entered the throne room she gasped in horror. Vendevorex had lapsed back into unconsciousness, causing his aura of invisibility to fade. Now an enormous sun-dragon crouched above Vendevorex’s helpless figure. Hearing her distressed cry the dragon turned his face toward her. He wore a black hood, hiding his features, so that only his eyes could be seen. Jandra had never seen a dragon in such a mask before. She thought it looked sinister, evidence enough that this was a servant of Albekizan-another assassin, no doubt.
Jandra knew that she stood little chance against a sun-dragon, even if she wasn’t exhausted already. Despite her sense of impending defeat she clenched her fists and braced herself for one last battle. She again summoned the illusion of flame around her hands.
“Get away from him,” she growled, stepping forward with all the menace she could muster.
“Jandra,” the dragon answered, stepping backward. “I mean no harm. I’m here to help.”
Jandra paused. She didn’t recognize the dragon’s voice, slightly muffled by the hood. “How do you know my name?” she asked. “Who are you?”
“A phantom,” the dragon said in a weary voice. “A faint echo of the being I once was. I heard whispers of a plot against Albekizan and came to investigate. It looks as if I came too late.”
“We’ve lost this fight,” Jandra admitted. “But no war is decided by a single battle.”
“Perhaps. But news of the slaughter here today will squelch any thought of rebellion among other sun-dragons.” The masked dragon sighed, his voice full of despair. “Albekizan need not rule with the respect of his subjects when all he needs is their fear.”
“Fear you must possess in abundance,” Jandra said. “You say you want to stand with us but you hide your face. You want to protect yourself if the war is lost. Obviously you fear for your name, or your power.”
The dragon shook his head. “I no longer have a name, or power.”
“Then you have nothing to lose,” said Jandra. “At the moment, I’m short on allies. Can I count on your help?”
“I am at your service,” the masked dragon answered with a courtly bow.
Suddenly, the blast of battle horns could be heard from the castle gates.
“Sounds like they’re coming back in,” Jandra said. “We’d better move Vendevorex.”
“Why was he brought to the throne room to start with? With such serious wounds he should never have left his bed.”
“He received his wounds here.”
“When?How?”
“Zanzeroth almost killed him. This happened only hours ago.”
“Hours?” The dragon sounded as if he thought Jandra was crazy. “These wounds are days old.”
“Listen, Phantom, this isn’t the best time to explain. No one’s left to defend this place. Kanst’s soldiers will just sweep through here. We need to get moving.”
Vendevorex moaned. He turned his head toward Jandra’s voice. His eyes fluttered open as he whispered, “What’s the point?”
Jandra ran to his side. She dropped to her knees and placed a hand on his fevered brow. “You’re burning up, Ven. Phantom, go get him some more water!”
“Don’t bother,” Vendevorex said. His voice sounded utterly defeated. “I-I heard the battle horns. I’m too weak to move. It’s time to accept… I’m going to die. Save yourself, Jandra.”
“I’m not going to let you die,” Jandra said. “I won’t abandon you, Ven.”
“You m-must,” the wizard sighed. He closed his eyes. He arched his back in response to some internal agony. His belly was twisted and distorted with ugly tumors of scar tissue. His skin seemed to be crawling. “It’s all o-over. I’m too sick to move. You could make us invisible, but what’s the p-point? Zanzeroth will bring in ox-dogs. We’ve lost.”
“Don’t be so willing to surrender, my friend,” the phantom said, reaching for a large pack he had left on the floor. “Let Jandra make us invisible to their eyes and I will make us invisible to their noses. I can carry you both from here with ease.” The phantom pulled a crystalline atomizer from his pack.
“You’re going to save us with perfume?” Jandra asked
“Hold your breath until the mist settles to the floor,” the hooded dragon said. “This is filled with the essence of hot peppers. The dogs won’t even enter this room.”
The phantom sprayed the fine pink mist around the room. Jandra fought aside her own exhaustion to concentrate on her role in the escape. She needed to create a circle of invisibility large enough for all three of them to hide in; this was no small task, given the sun-dragon’s great size. The phantom looked back as he neared the door.
“Where?” he whispered, looking around.
“Here,” Jandra answered, certain now that the invisibility was working. “Follow my voice.”
The phantom hurried to her, stopping with a shock as he entered the circle and saw them again. “I’ve always wondered how this was done,” he said. He looked at the sparkles on his scales. “A reflective dust. Interesting.”
“Keep quiet,” Jandra whispered. “Someone’s coming!”
“In here, Pertalon,” came a voice from the outer chamber. Oh no, thought Jandra. Zanzeroth.
Jandra held her breath as the hunter’s head appeared in the doorway. The phantom froze where he stood. Zanzeroth moved into the room slowly. He was a mass of fresh white gauze bandages. He walked with the assistance of another dragon, a sky-dragon who stood beneath Zanzeroth’s shoulder to support him.