The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga (3 page)

Iren closed his eyes and dozed, as close to
content as he ever came. When he awoke, he reluctantly pulled
himself from the water, dried off, dressed, and made for the
passageway back to the courtyard.

As he reached the doorway out of the men’s
bath, though, a shadow passed the corner of his eye. Reflexively,
he turned, watching intently, but the only movement came from
torchlight playing off the pool’s surface and the shiny tiles.

Shaking his head at his own paranoia, Iren
returned to the courtyard. By now, the sun had set, plunging the
open area into darkness. As his eyes adjusted, Iren noted that the
guards had all gone, and even the crowing maidens had vanished.

“
The feast must have
started already,” Iren said to the empty quad, rubbing his hands
together. This was great. He could sneak in without anyone
noticing, all the better for pilfering a bite or pulling someone’s
chair out from under them.

He crossed the courtyard, went through
another archway, and traveled down a hallway until he came upon a
massive set of wide open, thick cherry doors. Festive carvings
adorned the behemoths, alerting all that the room beyond was a
place for celebration.

And indeed it was. Haldessa Castle’s grand
hall had no other purposes besides opulence and revelry, and
tonight it was in full form. More than twice the size of both the
men’s and women’s bathhouses combined, its high vaulted ceilings
precluded the need for support columns and made the room appear to
stretch on almost infinitely. Eight gargantuan chandeliers, each
glimmering with gold plating, lit the hall, their thousands of
crystals spreading the light from hundreds of candles. The room
contained enough tables and chairs to seat every man, woman, and
child in the castle. Upon those tables the kitchen staff had piled
inordinate amounts of food: whole roast chickens and pigs, trays of
each of the eight Lodian cheese styles as well as two goat’s milk
varieties imported from the Tengu mountain men of Eregos, mounds of
fruits and vegetables procured from local farms, fresh breads and
cakes direct from the castle bakery, and of course, more wine,
beer, and spirits than the entire population of Haldessa could
consume in a week, let alone an evening.

Near the room’s far end sat a circular
wooden platform raised two feet above the floor. Upon it, three
troupes of musicians armed with trumpets, drums, flutes, and
raucous singers belted out the king’s favorite songs. Two court
jesters and no less than a dozen dancing girls in billowing skirts
paraded around the stage’s edge, swaying in time with the music. It
came as no surprise that many of the older men in the crowd had
chosen their seats as close to the platform as possible.

The instant Iren entered the hall, he
grimaced. Why did parties always have to include so much noise? It
didn’t help that the feast had apparently started some time ago,
and already the assembly had become thoroughly drunk.

Iren nicked some food off the tray of a
passing servant and took up a standing position along the back
wall, searching for easy victims to prank. The ideal candidate, of
course, had to be King Azuluu. Seated at the front of the dining
hall on a golden throne, the obese king laughed and carried on so
loudly that even from over a hundred yards away, Iren could clearly
discern his bass voice. Wine and grease spilled down his fine
purple robes as he plowed through yet another turkey leg in one
hand and a goblet the size of Iren’s head in the other.

In the place of honor immediately to the
king’s right sat the man of the hour: Captain Amroth Angustion,
leader of the Castle Guard. Though in his early forties, his broad
shoulders and toned body indicated age hadn’t decreased his
physical prowess in the slightest. He wore the same black military
uniform as Balear, except the captain’s had gold trim and, Iren
wryly noted, wasn’t soaked in old laundry water. Amroth laughed
heartily, slapping his knee at the king’s raunchy jokes. The five
young women Iren had passed in the courtyard encircled the captain,
playing with his auburn hair and offering to help him eat and
drink.

Of course, it wasn’t all fun for the
captain. Iren smiled thinly. As loud as Azuluu sounded from the
back of the room, Iren couldn’t imagine how Amroth’s left ear felt
at the moment.

No one else sat at the front table with
Azuluu and Amroth. The king had no family, though he had a
well-deserved reputation for debauchery. New claims of illegitimate
children cropped up almost monthly. He had no advisors either; he
had no need for them. With the exception of occasional Quodivar
raids, Lodia had been peaceful for nearly two hundred years.

Finally Azuluu stumbled to his feet, nearly
falling on his face before Amroth reached out and steadied the fat
king. Stretching his arms to either side, Azuluu called in his
booming voice for silence. The volume in the hall continued
unabated. Azuluu shouted again, and this time Amroth rose beside
him. The room fell silent at once, and all the dancing girls and
musicians cleared the dais to make space for the captain. As they
did, Amroth, looking mildly embarrassed at upstaging Azuluu, sunk
back into his chair.

Clearly unaware of what had just happened,
the king stepped around his table to the platform. He raised a
meaty hand and, still clenching his goblet, shouted, “Cheer with
me, friends, for the great hero of our time has returned to
us!”

Everyone in the hall save Iren cried, “Hail,
hail!”

As the cheers subsided, Azuluu continued,
“Long under my reign, and that of my fathers, has Lodia prospered.
To what do we owe our thanks for this wealth? Naturally, much of
the praise must be lavished upon myself. Without a strong leader,
no nation can survive.”

The audience responded with more than a few
chuckles, but Azuluu ignored them as he prattled on, “However, some
matters no king can resolve alone. We face one such challenge even
now. As many of you know, a bandit gang calling themselves the
Quodivar has been attacking our merchant convoys. I cannot stop
them by myself, but fortunately a champion has emerged who will
combat the Quodivar and keep our caravans safe. His name is
Amroth!”

Cheers of, “Hail Amroth!” and, “Hail the
captain!” filled the hall.

“
Amroth,” the king
continued, “I know of no mightier warrior in all of Lodia, and your
talents extend off the battlefield as well. I cannot in good
conscience allow you to remain merely a captain. No, for the first
time since taking the throne, I will formally offer to someone the
position of king’s chief advisor. I offer it to you, Captain Amroth
Angustion. Do you accept?”

The entire crowd, Iren included, became
silent. The king had no heir; illegitimate children were
ineligible. In Lodian governance, if a king had no direct male
descendent, rule passed to his chief advisor. Naming Amroth to that
position virtually proclaimed him the next king of Lodia.

Amroth froze for a pair of seconds at the
king’s words. Quickly, however, he regained his composure and
answered Azuluu, “My liege, you honor me beyond words. If this is
how I may best serve this great nation, then I cannot decline. I
humbly accept the position of chief advisor. I hope to bring glory
to the station as well as you in all my actions henceforth.”

The audience erupted in applause at Amroth’s
acceptance, and now cries of “Hail the king!” accompanied the
cheers of Amroth’s name. Iren folded his arms and scowled at all
the useless flattery.

Content with his speech, the king took his
seat and downed his glass in a single gulp before nodding to
Amroth. The meaning was unmistakable. Amroth couldn’t possibly get
away without a speech after becoming heir to Lodia’s throne. After
only a brief hesitation, Amroth rose with much ceremony and took
the platform. He addressed the crowd, “Fellow lords and ladies! I
welcome your cheers, but I do not deserve them. Without the
gallantry of my fine companies, I surely could not have achieved my
victories these past days. These thieves, these hoodlums, these
Quodivar, have arms that rival our own and viciousness far
surpassing mere bandits. I believe their ambitions lie beyond
simply raiding our traders. In fact it would not surprise me if
they seek no less than the utter domination of Lodia itself!”

Gasps filled the room. Only when the clamor
began to die itself down did Amroth press on, “Take a look around
this grand ballroom. Gaze upon its walls, lined with tapestries and
paintings passed down through generations of Lodians. I myself am
fortunate enough to have six of my own works on display here. It
humbles me to have my paintings in such company. In between
missions I have labored hard on my art, so that future generations
may remember me for more than just bloodshed. Into each, including
my favorite,” he pointed at a portrait of Azuluu seated at his
throne, “I have striven to include the deepest detail, the utmost
intricacy, and the fullness of every brushstroke. Into these
paintings I have poured my soul, and I will fight long and hard to
protect them from brutes like the Quodivar. But know that I would
sacrifice all these paintings to the fire if, in so doing, it
brought peace to Lodia. The security of this nation means
everything to me. This country is truly great. Its people are truly
great. And I shall never, while breath is in me, allow Lodia to
fall!”

Iren yawned. Although Amroth’s words
enamored the rest of the audience, Iren just found the exaggerated
rhetoric annoying. It was all a bunch of nonsense; the captain
didn’t deserve the attention he was getting for it. What this party
needed wasn’t more boring speeches but something truly spectacular,
something the attendees would never forget. He glanced around,
seeking inspiration. There were any number of pies and gravy boats
that he could toss into the crowd, but those wouldn’t have nearly
enough effect.

Then he spied it. One of the chandeliers
hung directly above the platform on which Amroth stood. Tracing
with his eye, Iren found the single heavy rope that held the
chandelier in place. To light its candles, the fixture needed to be
lowered to the floor, so the rope connected from the chandelier via
a pulley system to a metal hook on the wall. Ordinarily, a dozen
strong men or more would work together to lower the light and then
raise it again. Snagging a carving knife off the nearest table,
Iren stealthily made his way across the room.

If Amroth noticed Iren’s actions, he didn’t
show it. He dropped his volume and adopted a more somber tone,
drawing in the audience with his tension. “Much like our great
king,” he gestured to Azuluu, who smiled stupidly, “I cannot win
this fight alone. Our latest battle with the Quodivar taught me
much. I rode out not a fortnight past with a company of two hundred
men to squelch these vermin. The Quodivar, however, do not fight
like soldiers. Indeed, they do not fight like men at all. They
enter battle only when they know they can catch their opponents
unawares, and if the situation turns against them, they flee like
cockroaches. Many fine men who rode with me did not reenter these
castle gates. We cannot fight this enemy as soldiers. However, I
have a plan that will rid us of these vile cowards once and for
all!”

Everyone in the room leaned forward,
desperate to hear Amroth’s strategy. The Quodivar were the greatest
threat to Lodia’s economy in more than a century, and the vast
majority of the nobles gathered here had strong ownership in at
least one merchant company. Amroth provided hope not only for
peace, but for fat wallets as well.

“
My plan requires great
risk, but it is the only hope we have. Large armies do not work
against the Quodivar. My last mission proved this. Instead, I will
assemble a small team, an elite force of Haldessa’s finest. With
this team we shall seek out the Quodivar and battle them the way
they battle us: with stealth and cunning. I come here tonight to
name the two men with whom I intend to enter battle. I will trust
these two with my life, and with the fate of Lodia
itself.”

A young boy near the front cried excitedly,
“Who? Who will save us along with you, Captain Angustion?”

Amroth smiled kindly at the child,
apparently not begrudging the interruption at all. “The first is a
man whom you all know as a fine swordsman, a capable leader, and a
loyal companion: Sergeant Balear Platarch!”

The crowd cheered heartily, and Balear,
seated about midway between Amroth and the back of the room, stood
and waved his hand with an embarrassed gesture. He bore the vacant
expression of someone who had clearly drunk too much. Amroth
motioned for him to come to the platform and stand beside him.
Balear tripped more than once, but in the end he reached his
beloved commander.

Across the room, Iren arrived at the
chandelier’s cord. He spun the knife in his hand expectantly. He
would time it just as Amroth finished his speech. The moment they
stepped off the stage, he would cut the cord and drop the
chandelier. It would crash horrendously behind them, everyone would
gasp, and he would have the pleasure of watching both Amroth and
Balear pick themselves off the floor.

When the cheers calmed, Amroth became
contemplative as he said, “The second person I have chosen you all
know well, and yet, I would guess, also do not know at all. I have
thought long and hard on this choice. I do not make it lightly. I
make it for the sake of Lodia, for we must have the best to succeed
in this endeavor. For the final of my group I have chosen Iren
Saitosan!”

The shouts of praise died in the crowd’s
throats. Iren whipped his head up, utterly shocked, and then it
happened. As his body jerked to face the captain, his hand swung
downward. The sharpened carving knife sliced through the
chandelier’s rope without pause.