The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga (28 page)

“
What changed your mind?”
he asked. “You revealed yourself to me at the stables.”

“
Not by choice.” Rondel
scowled. “Amroth forced my hand. I believed that he wanted to use
you, that he sought your death. The dreams were bad enough when
only the castle wall separated us. If you died, I feared I wouldn’t
survive them. I hated you, yet my life was bound to yours. So while
my whole being seethed at the thought, I had no choice but to make
myself known to you.”

Iren thought back on those early days with
Rondel. She’d avoided looking him in the eye, and she’d always had
a bottle of some vile alcohol in her hand. A thought occurred to
him. “That’s why you drank so heavily. It let you overcome your
aversion to me.”

Rondel stared at the ground. “Yes. Sober, I
couldn’t bring myself to face you, let alone talk to you. And I had
to talk to you. I had to train and protect you so that you stayed
alive, not for your sake, understand, but for mine.”

Iren looked at the old Dragon Knight, his
head a jumble of emotions. Part of him felt pleased. What Rondel
said meant that even though it was in a perverse, self-serving way,
she cared about him. Still, a greater part of him felt furious, and
that portion ultimately won. With a growl he shouted at her, “I
didn’t ask for this! Why me? Thousands of Maantecs died because of
you! You went a thousand years without caring for a single one, and
then suddenly, you just became obsessed with me? What makes me so
special?”

She tried to meet his gaze but couldn’t. Wet
spots formed under her eyes. “You and I are more alike than you
realize. Do you know why I want the Liryometa back so badly?”

Iren folded his arms. What did that have to
do with anything? He said, “You miss Okthora’s lightning magic, the
way I missed Divinion’s healing power.”

Rondel shook her head and replied, “Selfish
and arrogant, just like him. No, slacker, Okthora has nothing to do
with it. I’d want that weapon back regardless, not for what it is,
but for who it belonged to.” She paused and took a deep breath,
letting it out slowly before saying, “It was my father’s. He used
it to protect my family the day they were butchered right in front
of me.”

The young Maantec’s anger vanished at once,
replaced by horror at Rondel’s revelation. “What happened to
them?”

“
I lived in Serona at the
time, only five years old. My parents farmed rice, a poor life, but
we managed. One day, as I played in the fields with my brother, we
heard our mother calling for us. My brother went ahead, but I
slipped and fell. I cried, hoping he’d come back and carry me. He
didn’t. Finally, I picked myself up and ran home. When I got there,
the house was burning, and a dozen men surrounded my family. My
father defended them with his only weapon. He managed to slay three
of the attackers, but in the end he died, along with Mother and my
brother. I screamed, but that only made the thugs aware of my
presence.”

She halted in her story, choked up. At last
she pressed on, “I knew they would kill me. I panicked and ran to
my fallen father, begging for him to help me. In desperation, I
grabbed his dagger and raised it, but the thugs just laughed at my
vain attempt. They struck as one. In that moment, I felt a surge of
energy flow through me, like a thunderstorm trapped inside my body
was trying to rip itself loose. I still don’t know exactly what
happened, because I passed out. When I woke up, though, all the
thugs lay dead around me, scorched.”

Iren knew enough about magic to understand.
“You used lightning magic without intending to.”

Rondel nodded. “Yes, so I believe,
especially because shortly thereafter, who should arrive at the
burned wreckage of my home but the Storm Dragon Knight herself? She
took me in, raised me, and gave me a new name.”

“
A new name?”

“
She said that my old name
no longer mattered, because that part of me had gone away forever.
She asked me what I wanted to be called.”

Rondel smiled sadly, her eyes welling with
tears. “Do you know what the Liryometa is? It’s a dagger, sure, but
that term can apply to any number of similar weapons. Its round
pommel, hilt, and crossguard, however, give it a second, more
specific name. It’s called a rondel.”

Iren’s eyes went wide. “You named yourself
after your father’s weapon?”

“
He protected my family
with it, and I swore I’d use it the same way. In time, I even
transferred the Storm Amethyst to it, turning it into the
Liryometa. I have nothing else of my family.”

She sighed and stretched. “When Amroth told
me how he found you, I knew you had suffered the same tragedy I
went through, and I knew all too keenly the pain you would feel
when you grew old enough to know what you had lost. That was why I
couldn’t abandon you, even though I hated you. You see, as much as
I hated you, I loved you even more.”

For what seemed an eternity afterward, the
pair stood silently, the only sound the soft rustle of wind through
the late spring leaves.

General Balear Platarch of the First Army of
Lodia sat alone atop the Tower of Divinion on a hard bed that a few
months ago would have disgusted him to touch. Now Iren Saitosan’s
abandoned chamber was Balear’s only spot of respite in a world he
no longer recognized. Miraculously, it had survived the flames that
devoured Haldessa unscathed. It comforted Balear that a tiny shred
of the castle he remembered endured.

Even here, though, he couldn’t escape the
shouting of the drill sergeants, the snapping of whips, and the
incessant crackling of fires. Something was always burning these
days. The king delighted in igniting whatever happened to annoy him
at any given moment.

With a great effort, Balear heaved himself
off the bed and walked to the room’s window. Looking south, he saw
a landscape transformed by fire, sweat, and blood. King Angustion
had conscripted over half the town of Ceere, including some women
and children, to repair the castle. Four months had passed since
Balear’s promotion to general, and the citizens had admittedly made
impressive progress. They’d completed most of the restoration, more
out of fear than loyalty, but it didn’t come close to resembling
its former splendor. It had no beauty in it anymore. It simply
existed, a disgusting edifice of cold stone atop an empty
bluff.

Beyond the castle, the city of Haldessa was
even worse. The king showed no interest whatsoever in its
reconstruction. A few Ceere residents had started a collection to
rebuild, but King Angustion had forced them to stop upon pain of
death. Any spare money, he’d explained, needed to go to the
country’s new army. They required armor, weapons, places to sleep,
and food, an absolutely ridiculous amount of food. The wreckage of
Haldessa had thus become a tent city where the conscripts slept,
four on top of each other. More than one outbreak of disease had
already swept through the camp and wiped out nearly five hundred
soldiers before it could be contained.

Despite the setbacks, the king drove them
ever harder. Like the residents of Ceere, fear made them obey.
Everyone had seen the corpses. The king burned alive anyone who
questioned him and mounted their charred remains on pikes. Balear
could see them from here. They numbered over one hundred, and at
least one a day got added to the tally.

It made him want to vomit.

He knew he should be out there now. He
should be training the men, convincing them of the king’s masterful
strategic vision for Lodia, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t fake it
anymore. Every time he walked among them, he saw their hollow eyes,
their frightened stares, and their barely veiled frustration and
anxiety. King Angustion had assembled the largest fighting force in
Lodia’s history, over five thousand, yet Balear had serious doubts
about their capabilities. These were not soldiers. They were
farmers, traders, and even boys not yet fully grown to manhood.
They hadn’t chosen this life.

As Balear gazed out the window, he realized,
for the first time, he hadn’t chosen it either. The man he’d
admired since childhood no longer existed. Each time he talked to
King Angustion, his liege was increasingly agitated. The king
muttered to himself almost constantly and spoke to the flames that
followed him. Balear remembered labeling Iren’s abilities “devil
magic,” but his former idol’s newfound skills deserved that title
far more.

Despite that magic, however, the king
bordered on paranoid. Approaching him from behind usually proved
fatal, as he had a tendency to whip around and launch a scorching
wave of heat before he’d even seen what he had attacked. Balear
gingerly stroked his singed left arm, a memento of the first and
only time he’d made the mistake of surprising the king.

A knock at the door startled him. Turning
around, he started to say, “Come in,” but the door had already
opened. King Angustion stood before him, wreathed in flame.

Balear gulped. As general, he was supposed
to be among the men. If the king had decided that his underling was
disobeying orders, Balear knew he wouldn’t leave this room
alive.

“
How may I serve?” Balear
asked meekly, his head bowed, not daring to look his king in the
eye.

“
Ready the men to move
out,” the king barked. “We head west. I want us on the march by
nightfall.”

Balear started. He knew he risked death, but
he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “My liege, with all respect,
it is already three hours past midday. Mobilizing the army will
take days. The logistics involved in such an operation—”

Fwoosh
. A searing jet of heat lanced past his left cheek, scorching
a round hole one foot in diameter through the wall behind him.
“Logistics do not concern me, General. Get them moving; I don’t
care how.”

“
Of course, King
Angustion.” Balear bowed low, his body trembling. He had no idea
how he would get five thousand men on the road before sunset. He
doubted all of them would even know they were leaving by then. “My
liege, if I may, where shall I tell the men we are headed, and on
what mission? Has a city come under attack?”

“
No,” the king replied
gruffly, “but they could fall at any moment. Ziorsecth threatens
our western border. While our army trains here, we’ve left Orcsthia
and Caardit exposed. The Kodamas could conquer them easily. For
Lodia’s safety, we will crush the Kodamas utterly.”

Balear couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Even schoolchildren knew the Kodamas never left their forest.
“Please, sire, why the Kodamas? They hide within their forest and
have had no dealings with the outside world in—”

Fwoosh
. A second jet shot past his right cheek, burning a second
hole in the wall identical to the first.

Balear prostrated himself. “Of course, King
Angustion. I live only to serve.”

“
Of course you do,” the
king said. He spun on his heel and strode from the room, leaving
Balear lying face down on the cold stone. When at last the young
general worked up the nerve to stand, he clutched his head with his
hands in despair. Numbly, he walked to the window, horrified by his
former role model’s decision. Balear wondered how many Lodians
would die in this battle. How could he lead them to their deaths,
when he himself did not agree with this course of action? Yet if he
disobeyed, King Angustion would surely kill him and then march on
Ziorsecth anyway.

Abandoning hope, he started to leave Iren’s
room. As he did, the painting of the serpentine white dragon caught
his attention. He’d never paid it any mind before, but now he felt
drawn to it. He approached it uncertainly, his hand outstretched.
Despite the dragon’s roaring expression, its blue eyes did not
appear angry. Quite the contrary, they were filled with
understanding. They looked at Balear, and he had the oddest
sensation that they not only looked at him, but through him. Those
eyes held him spellbound for a moment, and then, as though a thick
curtain fell away from his mind, he knew what he needed to do.

Racing down the tower steps, he ran at full
speed to the stables. “Where’s my charger?” he cried to the stable
boy. The child gasped, no doubt shocked by his general’s wild
expression. Nevertheless, he pointed Balear in the right
direction.

Balear stroked the horse’s neck a moment
before hoisting a saddle onto him and mounting. With a furious
crack of the reins, the warhorse shot from the stable. The general
rode through the camp at full gallop, and though many stared at him
with wonder, no one dared try to stop or question him. When he
reached the encampment’s edge, he turned his horse west and bore
forward, heedless of the sun in his eyes. He knew, with a certainty
he couldn’t explain, that only one person could end King
Angustion’s . . . no, Amroth’s madness.

Iren Saitosan.

Iren made up his mind: leaves and dirt
tasted really, really bad.

He’d long since lost track of the weeks.
Even with nothing else to focus on, Ziorsecth’s thick canopy made
telling time difficult. And Iren had plenty else to focus on, what
with all the bruises, scrapes, and occasional broken bones he
received thanks to Rondel’s harsh training methods. Her earlier
softness hadn’t lasted long. If anything, admitting that she cared
about him had only bolstered her resolve to toughen him. Without
the Muryozaki, he probably would have keeled over long before
now.

Granted, he’d improved his control of
Divinion’s magic. Beyond just firing it in a beam, he could channel
the light’s energy into his muscles, giving them speed and stamina
far beyond normal. When Rondel dodged and ran away, although Iren
still couldn’t keep up with her, she no longer completely left him
behind either.