dozens of humans died. Vendevorex needed to do something big to tilt the odds but felt a chill at the thought of making himself known. The presence of Albekizan and Kanst didn’t bother him. Unfortunately, Zanzeroth stood on the platform as well.
BLASPHET WASN’T USED to physical confrontations and quickly found himself in the humiliating position of being pushed to his belly by the much more skillful Pertalon. The sky-dragon twisted Blasphet’s wings behind his back, causing him to cry out in pain. Blasphet whipped his tail up around Pertalon’s neck but couldn’t pull hard enough to dislodge his tormentor.
“Zanzeroth,” Pertalon said. “Bring me chains.”
Zanzeroth didn’t answer. The pressure on Blasphet’s wings shifted ever so slightly as Pertalon twisted around to see where the hunter had gone. With Pertalon distracted, Blasphet flicked the fake nail from his right fore-talon with his thumb, revealing the sharpened claw beneath, wet with poison. With his wrist twisted painfully, he could barely scratch his opponent, but the barest scratch was enough.
“Wha-” Pertalon began, but never finished the syllable.
The pressure on Blasphet’s wings ceased as the weight fell from his back. He rose and turned to the already dead Pertalon who lay twisted in pain. Blasphet kicked the corpse, angry that he’d been forced to waste one of his poisons on such an insignificant fool. Still, Kanst’s back was to him, for the general was busy shouting commands to the Black Silences that surrounded the platform. Zanzeroth had vanished, not that Blasphet had been overly worried about the hunter, still half-crippled from his wounds. As he’d expected, Albekizan was too busy laughing at the sea of carnage before him to pay any attention to Blasphet. Blasphet shuddered at the sound of elation in the king’s voice. He’d hoped to never see his brother this happy again.
Then let him die happy, thought Blasphet. With a flick of his left fore-talon, his final poisoned claw was revealed.
HIGH ABOVE, ZANZEROTH circled, looking through the seemingly endless field of faces below him. The real Bitterwood had to be among them. Ever since his nose had healed enough to restore his sense of smell, he’d known beyond all doubt that the prisoner Albekizan tormented wasn’t Bitterwood. He’d chosen the wrong man, no doubt due to his exhaustion and injuries. In retrospect, he couldn’t have planned events better. The intervening days had allowed Zanzeroth time to rest and recover a bit from his wounds. He wasn’t fully healed, but he felt strong enough to face any man, especially now that it would be he who held the element of surprise. Albekizan had his own victim to torment. This left the true Bitterwood as his prey alone. He need not share his revenge with anyone, not even a king. Alas, the carnage unleashed now threatened to steal Bitterwood once more from his grasp. He had to find the man, and quickly.
Then he spotted a human attacking from behind the line of the dragons, tearing through the rear troops like a demon. Bitterwood? Zanzeroth swooped for a closer look. The man below was dressed in black and fought with an axe, and continued to fight even with three spears embedded in him. The man stood ankle deep in foul mud created by the blood and offal of slain dragons. The human wasn’t Bitterwood, but Zanzeroth was impressed nonetheless. Who was this?
“NO! I’LL KILL you!”
Blasphet didn’t have time to turn and face the female voice that cried out behind him. A wave of patchouli washed over him. Blasphet crashed once more to the rough boards of the platform as Tanthia threw herself against him, her painted claws digging into the skin of his neck.
“You took my brother,” she screamed. “You won’t take my husband!”
Blasphet twisted in her grasp, bringing himself face to face. Her cheeks glistened liked jewels from her tears. Tanthia was strong and his equal in size, but no more used to combat than he. He pulled her claws from his neck with ease, taking care not to prick her with the exposed poison.
“Your devotion is commendable,” he said through clenched teeth as he twisted her wrists backward, using the pain to force her from him. “Now be a dear and go gather wood for the pyre, hmm?”
“Murderer!” she shouted, and thrust her jaws forward, clamping her teeth deep into his shoulder.
“Aiigh!” Blasphet shrieked. Enough was enough. Albekizan would have to wait. He ran the sharpened, poisoned claw along Tanthia’s slender neck. Her jaws slackened and she fell with a sigh.
Blasphet looked back. Kanst still hadn’t noticed him. His attention was focused on a battle at the front of the platform, and he certainly couldn’t have heard the struggle over the deafening cries of anguish that rolled through the air like unending thunder. The roar now washed out even Albekizan’s mad laughter.
Spotting Pertalon’s sword, Blasphet considered running his brother through from behind. But if his brother survived the blow, he’d fight much harder than Pertalon or Tanthia. The time had come to return to the tower for more poison. With luck, he would be back before Albekizan even noticed he was gone.
HE HAD GONE mad. He must be mad. Why couldn’t he go mad? Pet screamed and could barely hear his own voice over the crowd’s panicked shouts. The tears that blurred his vision rolled down his cheeks, across the sharp- nailed claws clamped upon them. Albekizan laughed wildly.
He would go mad. He had to go mad. But he couldn’t. Pet could only watch through the teary mist as men, women, and children died before him by the uncounted hundreds, some at the hands of dragons, many more beneath the trampling feet of their fellow stampeding men.
“Stop it!” he shouted. “Oh please, stop it!”
“Your cries are music, Bitterwood,” Albekizan shouted. “You wanted to save them! You killed in their name! Look what you’ve done! Look what you’ve done!”
Pet looked for he had no choice. However, he stilled his voice in his throat. He would not beg. Albekizan wouldn’t have that satisfaction, at least. Albekizan released his eyelids as he had every minute, perhaps to make sure he wouldn’t go blind. Pet clamped his eyes shut but to no avail. The king’s claws upon his cheeks and brow quickly pried them open again. His vision fresh once more, Pet looked upon the violence before him. He noticed some intense fighting immediately before the platform, where a group of men had wrested weapons from the Black Silences and now defended themselves fiercely.
Tears robbed his sight of clarity before he could be sure of what he had seen. Could the men truly have been winning?
JANDRA BURST FROM the stables astride a dappled mare, knocking aside the earth-dragon stable hand. She dug her heels into the horse’s flank and raced toward the open gate. Even from this great distance she could hear the cries from the Free City. What was happening? Was she already too late to save Pet?
Then she saw the glow towering above the walls of the Free City.
“SIRE,” KANST SAID, placing his claws on the king’s shoulder. “We must go!”
Albekizan turned his head, fixing a gaze like daggers upon Kanst.
“What?” asked the king.
“Sire, the guards around this platform can’t hold out. The sheer weight of the humans is crushing them. For every ten we slay, a hundred take their place. I warned you that-”
“Kanst,” Albekizan said, “it is not your duty to warn me. It’s your duty to see that your soldiers fight on. Join the fray if you must, but do not interrupt me again!”
“Sire, Queen Tanthia is dead,” Kanst said, revealing what he had discovered only seconds ago.
“What?” Albekizan released Pet, spinning around. His jaw dropped open at the sight of his beloved queen, lying still, as if asleep. “How?”
“I don’t know,” Kanst said. “Both she and Pertalon are dead without a wound on them. Zanzeroth is missing, as is Blasphet. I fear betrayal.”
Albekizan looked dazed. Then he looked up, his eyes wide. Kanst followed his gaze into the glowing sky.
ZANZEROTH COULDN’T RESIST. He might never find Bitterwood among the crowd, but there was no way he could lose the man with the axe. All his life Zanzeroth had craved hunting the most dangerous prey he could locate. Never had he seen a challenge such as this. Single-handedly, the human had broken an entire regiment, leaving a street cluttered with the bodies of a hundred dragons over which the humans now fled, spilling from the square like water surging through a hole in a dam. A few dragons fled before them, one mounted on an ox-dog-no, that wasn’t a dragon in the saddle but a child. And was that a pig in her lap? No matter. The axe-man chased down one of the remaining earth-dragons who tried to flee by climbing to the roof of a building. The man now stood on the rooftop as the soldier cowered before him, pleading for mercy. As the man raised his axe to kill his panicked victim, Zanzeroth made his decision. Here was the true test of his prowess.
He braced his spear in his hind claws and folded back his wings, angling into a dive. He noted the light
