Bitterwood by James Maxey Read Free Book Online Page B

air he’d ever tasted. He found his footing and reached down to grasp the heavy weight that still entangled his legs. He pulled it free, lifting it into the light. It was Bitterwood’s cloak.
    Bitterwood.
    The insanity of his pursuit struck home. Bodiel had been no match for the demon. Zanzeroth, the most skilled hunter in all the land, had been bested. What chance had he, a mere slave? He studied the darkness before him. The roar of water masked all other noise. Perhaps Bitterwood was near. But Gadreel knew in his heart that the only reason he was still alive was that Bitterwood was long gone. Gadreel abandoned his chase and inched his way back toward the entrance.
    He reached the open hole and stretched to grab the edge. The king’s enormous talon reached down, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and lifted him clear.
    “Did you find him?” Albekizan said, setting Gadreel before him.
    “I-I…” Gadreel said, staring deep into the king’s hopeful eyes. Gadreel felt he should lie, should tell the king he’d fought the killer. But he only sighed and shook his head. Gadreel lifted the cloak. “I found this, Sire.”
    Albekizan took the cloak and stared at it, his eyes filled with emotions that Gadreel could not fathom.
     “I saw no other sign of him,” Gadreel said. “The water was quite powerful. The current pulled me under. No doubt, the man we chased has drowned.”
    “No,” said the king, softly. “Not this monster. This dragon-slayer, he’ll not die a careless death. You did your best. Be grateful to have escaped with your life.”
    Gadreel nodded. The king didn’t seem angry about his failure. Somehow that didn’t comfort him.
    “Go tend your master’s wound,” Albekizan said.
    Zanzeroth was squatting on the ground, pressing a bloodied bundle of leaves to his injured eye. No one alive knew more about the medicinal properties of forest plants; the entire world was his pharmacy. “‘It’s not a mortal wound, Sire,” said Zanzeroth, his voice a curious mixture of confidence and agony. “We’ll head back to the castle for more earth-dragons and fresh dogs. The hunt will continue. In daylight our prey no longer has the advantage of shadows.”
    “No,” Albekizan said. “I admire your spirit, old friend, but we need not chase this demon into further traps. There’s a solution to this problem, an obvious one. We’ve paid a horrible price this night. I vow this—the debt of Bitterwood will be repaid in blood.”
    Gadreel stared at the open circle at his feet. Outside the tunnel, free of the rushing water, he felt shame that he’d abandoned the chase. His failure lodged in his gut like an icy stone. He’d been brave enough to enter the hole, why hadn’t he been brave enough to stay? Proving his worth to the king no longer seemed important. The next time he faced Bitterwood, he must prove his worth to himself.

CHAPTER THREE: STONE

    AT MID-MORNING, AFTER giving his orders to Bander, the earth-dragon in charge of the guards, Albekizan went to the roof of the palace to bask in sunlight. The night had left him with a chill despite the warmth of the day. It was late summer, nearing the time of harvest. The sky was flawless blue. From his high perch Albekizan surveyed the patchwork of land splayed out in all directions. The deep green forests, the golden fields, and the broad silver ribbon of the river: Albekizan ruled every inch of this land as undisputed master. His kingdom stretched from the impassible mountains two hundred miles west to the endless ocean a hundred miles to the east, north to the Ghostlands and far, far to the south, to the endless, trackless marshes that had swallowed many an army.
    It was said that Albekizan owned the earth and was master of all who flew above it and all who crawled upon it. In over a half century of rule, he had bent the world to his will and had assured that there was no destiny other than his destiny. He woke each day secure in the knowledge that if he