Bitterwood Read Online Free PDF Page B

fore-talon he held a single arrow and he studied the bright red fletching of the arrow as if he were studying his soul. Lightning struck nearby, again and again, shaking the ground. Fire spouted from the tops of the tallest, most ancient trees. Albekizan didn’t flinch. Shandrazel couldn’t move. As the thunder faded from their ringing ears, Albekizan held the arrow to the sky and shouted a single, bone-chilling word.
    “Bitterwood!”

CHAPTER TWO: CIRCLES

    BY THE TIME Gadreel returned to the clearing the only sound in the night forest was the constant staccato of water dripping from leaves. His master, Zanzeroth, —an old sun-dragon who rivaled even the king in size and the finest tracker in the land— still studied the scene. Zanzeroth’s golden eyes glowed in the trickles of moonlight seeping through the breaking clouds. Albekizan stood nearby, watching the aged hunter step gingerly over the muddy ground. Albekizan ignored Gadreel. Gadreel hoped the king’s snub was due to his fascination with Zanzeroth’s methods. The patch of ground they stood on seemed unremarkable to Gadreel, but Zanzeroth had instantly proclaimed it as the site of Bodiel’s death, three miles upriver from where his body was discovered. Gadreel suspected, however, that the king ignored him due to his status. It was a simple matter to treat a human as a slave. The notion of a sky-dragon such as himself forced into servitude made some uncomfortable.
    “How much longer?” Zanzeroth asked.
    “A few minutes, at most,” Gadreel answered. As he spoke the distant baying of ox-dogs confirmed his words.
    “Good,” Zanzeroth said. “The sooner we start, the better. The ground here has told me all it can.”
    “If you have knowledge,” Albekizan said, “give it to me.”
    “Of course, Sire,” Zanzeroth said, straightening his stooped form and approaching the king. Next to Albekizan, Zanzeroth’s extra years were apparent. The king’s hide glistened on his muscular body like red paint. Zanzeroth’s scales were faded from years under the sun, almost pink along the back. His scales had fallen away at his joints, revealing black hide beneath. His scarred skin sagged over his skeleton, under which his slender, wiry muscles moved like thick ropes. Zanzeroth asked, “Shouldn’t we wait for Shandrazel to join us? I’m sure he wants to help find his brother’s killer.”
    “Do not speak that shameful name,” Albekizan said, his eyes narrow. “I’ve placed that traitor under guard for now. His final fate will be left for the morning. We will not discuss this further. For now, Bitterwood is our only goal.”
    Zanzeroth nodded. He waved his fore-talons toward a patch of mud that seemed to Gadreel no different than any other.
    “Here is where the slave, Cron, skidded to a halt as Bodiel dropped from the sky. See, the handprint here?” Zanzeroth paused to allow Albekizan time to discern what was being shown to him. Gadreel stared at the chaotic mud and, to his surprise, found he could see the handprint, or at least the heel of a human palm.
    Zanzeroth continued: “The human fell and had difficulty regaining his footing.” Zanzeroth moved his claw to direct the king’s view to a patch of broken ground several yards away. “That is where Bodiel dropped from the sky. Cron’s footprints then reappear several feet behind where he stopped—he’s jumped away out of fear of Bodiel. There are signs that Bodiel toyed with the human, blocking his moves, prolonging the moment before the kill. And then…” Zanzeroth trailed off, his gaze flickering over the mud, studying it as one might study a book. “And then Bodiel staggered backward. See the marks? Cron fled, passing through the brush… here.”
    As he said this, Zanzeroth parted a thicket with several bent branches and revealed a man’s muddy footprints beyond.
    “We could follow Cron with ease but he’s not the one who killed Bodiel.”
    “I know that,” Albekizan said.