It could never be enough.
Impatient with waiting for his quiver to replenish, he leapt from the alcove, skidding along the slimy stone, drawing his sword as he raced toward an old sun-dragon who was feebly crawling away, his breath ragged and labored. He turned toward Bitterwood's footsteps. His left eye was murky with cataracts as he lifted his head.
Bitterwood buried his sword between the beast's eyes, pausing for a moment of dark pleasure as death twitched all the way to the tail-tip of the once mighty beast. He pulled the blade free. A shiver ran along his spine as he watched dark red fluid running down the blood-grooves of his blade.
Nearby, a dragon rolled to his back, clutching at the arrow buried deep in his breast. Blood bubbled in the creature's mouth. His remaining life could be measured in moments.
The dark thing that drove Bitterwood would not grant those moments. He hacked and hacked and hacked at the beast's neck, as the ghosts of the uncountable, nameless, faceless men who'd suffered a thousand years of cruelties beneath the talons of dragons whispered for vengeance.
As the beast's head came free from its body, Bitterwood straightened, scanning the room. He no longer felt like a creature of muscle and bone. He was crafted from lightning and stone. He wiped his red hands across his lips. Salty blood burned on his tongue like distilled fire.
He spun toward the sound of a dragon crying out in agony. It was Thak, flat on his back, with Hex crouched above him. Hex had his snout buried deep into Thak's belly. He jerked his head from side to side, producing a slurping sound as he tore away strips of bloodied hide.
Bitterwood was beyond all caution or strategy. He raced toward Hex, screaming, more beast than man, his sword brandished above his head with both arms. Hex drew back, his emerald eyes widening, as Bitterwood leapt over the bodies of fallen dragons.
Hex swung his tail around, in the tripping attack hardwired into the nerves of all sun-dragons. Bitterwood instinctively leapt over the tail-blade. A shout of "DIE!" tore from his mouth. Using the full weight of his body and the pure power of the righteous rage of all humanity, Bitterwood drove the tip of his sword against Hex's breast plate, right at the point where it would pierce his heart.
The armor dented.
The blade shattered.
Bitterwood's attack ended abruptly as he slammed face-first into the iron wall that was the sun-dragon's torso. He staggered backward, blood streaming from his nose, his lower lip split open. He was only barely aware of Hex's tail swinging back. He jumped, but he was too slow. The armored tail caught him at the hip and threw him across the room like he was little more than a doll. He crashed into a stalagmite.
Sliding down the column, he stared up at the countless stone icicles above. The world spun in a sickening twirl. Some distant sliver of awareness waited for Hex's jaws to snap onto his torso.
Instead, back near the fire pit, there was a cavern-shaking roar. Bitterwood turned his head toward the noise. The ground trembled as Rorg thumped down from his pedestal and charged Hex, two tons of reptilian fury. Hex spun to meet him, burying his mighty axe deep into the dragon's fat neck. The sheer momentum and mass of the patriarch sun-dragon ripped the weapon from Hex's grasp. Hex tumbled backwards and Rorg trampled over him. Rorg's neck swayed; he was obviously drunk from the poison that had paralyzed the others. Still, just as a large man can hold his liquor better than a thin one, the corpulent beastialist proved slightly more resistant to the airborne toxin.
Rorg whipped his head back as Hex tried to rise. His jaws clamped down on the chainmail draping Hex's neck. Hex's eyes bulged as he let out an almost airless squeak. Even though Rorg's teeth failed to pierce the mail, the power of his jaws was like a vise upon Hex's windpipe.
Bitterwood rolled to his hands and knees, shaking his head. The bloodlust that had driven him began to ebb. He'd long been torn by the forces within him. There was the blood-hungry avenger who craved the death of dragons regardless of consequences, and there was the cool, rational hunter who carefully planned each move, following well practiced strategies to kill prey without endangering himself. The latter Bitterwood was back in control. Rising, he reached over his shoulder and found half a dozen fresh new arrows ripening in his quiver. He calmly walked to where his bow had landed. He lifted it and turned to the two dragons. Rorg's back was to him. Hex, his neck still firmly clamped in Rorg's jaws, was staring at Bitterwood. His eyes pleaded for mercy.
If Hex wanted to be put out of his misery, Bitterwood was happy to oblige. He drew a careful bead on Hex's left eye. He'd never have a cleaner shot.
As the arrow flew, Hex jerked his head sharply, dragging Rorg with him. The arrow lodged several inches deep into the top of Rorg's skull. With a groan, the beastialist's jaws loosened. He sank to the ground before Hex. His head came to rest upon the bloodied belly of Thak, as if he'd chosen this for a pillow.
Bitterwood reached for another arrow. Hex opened his jaws wide, drawing in a gasp of air as deep as a bellows.
Bitterwood placed the arrow against his bowstring.
Hex lunged toward Bitterwood, jaws open wide, his neck coiling out like a whip.
Bitterwood aimed his arrow straight down Hex's throat. He let the bowstring slide from his fingers. The arrow flashed straight toward its target.
Yet Hex once more anticipated Bitterwood's attack. He snaked his head to the right as the arrow left the string. The arrow punched through the back of his cheek, the shaft jutting from the outer edge of his jaw rather than lodging in the base of his skull. Hex carried through with his strike. Bitterwood leapt backward, trying to get out of Hex's path, but the sun-dragon compensated for that as well. His head shot toward the point in space where Bitterwood landed. His jaws closed in on Bitterwood's bow hand.
Bitterwood released his bow and jerked his fingers away. The living wood of the bow splintered as Hex's jaws crushed it. Bitterwood danced backwards, only to slip on the blood of a dead dragon behind him. His feet caught on the edge of the dragon's wing and he fell, landing in the middle of the great sheet of feather-scales. An instant later, Hex's hind-talon landed on his torso. The sun-dragon's enormous weight bore down upon him, enough to pin him, but not crush him. Hex lowered his jaws to within inches of Bitterwood's face. His hot breath carried a fine mist of gore. Beneath the scent of blood, the dragon's breath carried the sweet aroma of flowers. The arrow hanging from his cheek looked like the world's ugliest piece of jewelry.
Bitterwood grabbed the hind-talon that pinned him and pushed with all his strength. Hex didn't budge.
Hex finally spoke, his words coming between gasps for air. "I… take it… you've spoken… to Jandra?"
Bitterwood gave up on trying to free himself. He grabbed the dangling arrow, pushing it back deep into Hex's mouth, and twisted. Hex pulled back, air hissing through his teeth as he sucked in a pained breath.
With the sun-dragon's weight shifted, Bitterwood pushed the talon away and rolled free. His eyes fixed on Hezekiah's axe. He scrambled for it on his hands and knees. Hex's armored tail whipped down inches before his eyes, the steel striking sparks as it chipped the stone floor. The weapon was still a full yard from his grasp.
"Would you shtop trying to kill me!" Hex shouted.
Bitterwood leapt to his feet. Hex kept his gaze locked on him.
Bitterwood suddenly deduced why Hex seemed so fast.
He said, "You're wearing Jandra's genie."