"This really isn't a smart move on your part," Jandra grumbled.
"I've summoned other riders," the man said, eyeing Bitterwood, then the dragon. "You should flee if you value your life. I'll release the girl when they arrive."
Bitterwood raised his sword and took a step closer. "The girl is a witch. It was only a matter of time before I killed her myself."
"I swear I'll do it," the rider screamed, jerking Jandra's hair back and denting her throat with the tip of the blade.
Before Bitterwood could react, Jandra grabbed the man's wrist. Though the man's arms were twice as thick as her own, she pushed the dagger away from her throat as the man struggled to regain control.
Suddenly Hex darted in, his jaws wide. He clamped down with twin rows of knife-length teeth over the man's head. The rider screamed briefly before Hex silenced him forever with a sharp twist that tore the man's neck from his torso. Hex rose, his jaws spraying blood as he crunched the man's skull into ever-smaller fragments.
Jandra turned pale as she watched Hex swallow. She scrambled away from the corpse who still had an arm around her and grabbed her helmet.
"He tasted better than his mount, at least," said Hex, wiping blood from his jaws onto his wing. "Why didn't you simply melt his dagger, Jandra?"
Jandra didn't look back at Hex as she pulled on her helmet.
"I need my helmet to…" her voice trailed off, as if she thought better of completing her sentence. "It's not important."
Her eyes caught Bitterwood's. Bitterwood could tell that this was the first time she'd ever seen a dragon devour a man. Perhaps now she could understand his hatred of the beasts. She turned away, looking ill.
Hex remained oblivious to the unspoken communication between the humans. His eyes were fixed on the back of the shaft.
"There's one more," he said.
Bitterwood looked into the gloom. A single long-wyrm slithered forward. At first, he thought it might be the one he wounded, but he soon saw that this one was unscathed, as was the rider upon its saddle. The rider's outfit was slightly modified from that of his brethren, with a large red star above his left breast. Like the others, he wore a silver visor. Unlike the others, whose hair had been cropped short, this new rider's locks hung to his shoulders. His skin was the same pale tint, but his hair was a dark chestnut, a shade that reminded Bitterwood of his now dead wife, Recanna. He carried a crossbow, but it wasn't loaded. Bitterwood had learned to read bodies well over the years; whoever this was, he wasn't planning to attack.
"What a waste," the new rider said, looking over the corpses of his brethren. "This combat wasn't authorized. They betrayed the goddess by coming here on a mission of petty revenge. They've paid the ultimate price for their folly."
"You'll not try to avenge them, then?" asked Hex.
"No," the rider said. "Through our visors, we may send messages to one another. They signaled that they were entering combat; I ordered them to stand down and they disobeyed my orders. I watched the battle as if through their eyes. They struck first. You fought in self defense. There is nothing to avenge."
"Perhaps you have nothing to avenge," said Bitterwood. "But there's a town below that was destroyed by your riders. Why?"
"The goddess decreed it was a time of harvest," the rider said in a matter-of-fact tone as his long-wyrm carried him to within a few yards. To be coming into the presence of a sun-dragon, the rider and his long-wyrm looked strangely unworried. "The goddess planted them. She may reap them."
"Planted them?" Jandra said. "They weren't stalks of corn."
"Are they still alive?" Hex asked.
"The fate of the villagers should not concern you," the rider said.
"The fate of one villager is of great concern to me," said Bitterwood. "Her name is Zeeky."
The wyrm-rider smiled. "The girl with the pig. Quite resourceful, that one. The goddess has taken special notice of her."
"We want to meet this goddess," said Hex.
"Her temple is a long journey from here," said the rider. "You must travel underground for several days. It isn't a journey to be taken lightly; men have gone mad contemplating the weight of the earth above them."
"Perhaps men do go mad," said Hex. "I believe I'm made of sterner stuff."
"I'm not afraid," said Jandra. "Take us."
Bitterwood didn't answer. It didn't seem, from his posture, that the rider was planning to lead them into a trap. Still, if the temple was many days away, had Zeeky arrived there yet? He wasn't certain how many days he'd lost to the fever.
"Before we go, introductions are in order," Hex said, apparently impatient with Bitterwood's silence. "I am Hexilizan; my friends call me Hex. The woman is named Jandra. I fear I haven't been introduced to the gentleman yet."
Bitterwood thought carefully of what to say. Jandra apparently had kept his true identity secret. A wise move, perhaps, but now that he had a sword in his hand he didn't care what Hex knew about him.
"My name is Bant Bitterwood," he said. He saw the muscles beneath Hex's hide go instantly tense. More curiously, the rider also stiffened in his saddle. The man's mouth opened, but he seemed unable to speak.
Shaking off his shocked expression, the rider dismounted. He took off his visor and stepped toward Bitterwood. The look on his face was an expression half of disbelief, half of reverence.
"Do you…" he asked, his voice soft. "Can you truly be Bant Bitterwood?"
"Is my name known so well in the underworld?" Bitterwood asked.
The rider drew closer. Despite the pallor of the man's skin, Bitterwood noted the rider's features in many ways echoed his own, from the sharp angle of the nose to the firm line of the brow. Yet while Bitterwood's face was leathery and wrinkled, the rider's visage had a baby-skin smoothness that no doubt came from avoiding the sun. The man was taller than Bitterwood, better muscled and much younger, at most a few years older than Jandra.
"I worried you were dead," the rider said.
"I've done little to discourage that belief," Bitterwood said.
"Your legend has preceded you," the rider said. "As I grew up, I took pride in your exploits whenever Gabriel reported back news from the world of men. I feel as if I've known you my whole life, though I have no true memories of you."
"No memor… who are you?" Bitterwood asked, his voice trailing to near silence as he realized why this man might resemble him.
The rider nodded, as if recognizing that Bitterwood had figured out the puzzle. "Yes," he said. "I'm Adam Bitterwood."
Chapter Eleven:
Unhealthy Philosophies
The brilliant morning sun was a welcome change from the gloom and rain Graxen had flown through the last few days. The palace of Shandrazel stood in the distance, a small mountain of granite. The frost that covered this ancestral seat of power sparkled like jewels. Since Shandrazel had taken the throne, Graxen had spent little time at the palace. He'd traveled to the far reaches of the kingdom to summon guests to Shandrazel's conference. Today, sun-dragons would arrive, lords of the various territories that swore alliance to the king. Humans would attend as well, represented by the mayors of the larger towns, like Richmond, Hampton, Chickenburg, and Bilge. The earth-dragons would be underrepresented. Save for Dragon Forge, they claimed no territory as their own. They lived primarily in the service of sun-dragons, and depended upon these superior beasts for leadership. Male sky-dragons from all nine of the Colleges would be in attendance, but the female sky-dragons would only have one voice-the representative from the Nest. Graxen wondered how Shandrazel could hope to bring equality to races of such uneven power and resources; he couldn't even bring equal numbers of representatives to the discussions.