The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga (38 page)

Iren didn’t look upset that Feng had
captured him. He stared passively at the monster poised to end his
life. Then, he flashed his own rendition of Rondel’s signature
grin. “Naturally,” he replied. “Did you think I performed all those
aerial acrobatics for nothing? I needed time to create this.” He
opened his clenched right fist, and from it floated a tiny, glowing
white orb, no larger than a cherry.

Feng sneered, “What do you plan to do with
that, poke out my eye?”

The Dragoon kept his smirk but didn’t
respond. Sure, it looked tiny, but that was only because he had it
under extreme pressure. All the time he’d spent spiraling around
Feng, he’d fed both his own and Divinion’s magic into it. Now all
his energy was in there, and he was using only Divinion’s power to
contain it. If his link to the Holy Dragon broke, he’d have nothing
left to hold the ball together.

Iren closed his eyes, remembering when he’d
lost control in Ziorsecth. He recalled the sucking sound as air
rushed to fill the vacuum the blast had created. At the time, he’d
hated himself for causing such destruction. Tonight, though, he’d
make good use of that experience.

His eyes snapped open, and he stared without
fear at his enemy. “Feng, you made one critical error tonight.”

“
Oh? What’s
that?”

“
When you grabbed me, you
didn’t trap my hands.” With that, Iren opened his left hand, and
the Muryozaki, his sole connection to Divinion, dropped into open
space.

As soon as sword and hand separated, the
tiny orb, freed of its magical constraints, erupted. The detonation
happened in an instant, stretching out a mile in all directions. It
exploded high enough that it didn’t reach the ground, but its
shockwave snapped tree limbs and knocked everyone below off their
feet. The discharge engulfed Feng’s body. As the air around him
vaporized, his inferno fizzled out in a puff of smoke.

Iren’s vision briefly glowed white as the
blast ignited. “For you, Minawë,” he whispered. Then all went
dark.

Rondel had decided. No music on Raa could
match the beauty, or the sadness, of Kodaman funeral hymns. Their
melodies, played on simple wooden flutes, wound their way through
the forest, and the plants and animals all vibrated in sync with
their lilting tunes.

A month had passed since the battle, and the
leaves of Ziorsecth’s maple forest gleamed yellow and vibrant red.
On this breezy afternoon, they cascaded like rain. As they landed,
they filled the ground with their soft touch and brilliant color
that contrasted perfectly with the gray-stemmed trees that created
them. Truly, even the finest gold and jewels could not equal their
splendor, much less their sorrow. For with each leaf that
descended, Rondel felt the forest crying as it buried its dead.

Despite the grim circumstances that brought
her here day after day since returning to Yuushingaral, Rondel
never ceased marveling at the location: a gaping hole in the earth
five hundred feet wide and over two hundred deep on the edge of the
Yuushin Sea. Scattered maples dotted the crater’s edge, and swaying
grass and wildflowers filled the space between them. Simple wooden
markers, thousands of them, covered the grove.

This was the Heart of Ziorsecth, the sacred
place of the Kodamas.

Rondel stood behind Minawë, who knelt on the
ground, openly weeping before a pair of graves. To honor Rondel’s
valor in both the Kodama-Maantec War and the battle against Amroth
and Feng, Minawë had granted the old Maantec a unique privilege.
She was the first non-Kodama to behold this place. Rondel
understood why the Kodamas shunned outsiders from it. She could
feel the weight of the lives of every fallen Kodama here, and she
found their legacies heavy indeed. This race had suffered more than
any other on Raa, and they deserved it least of all. They could
live perfectly content passing a quiet existence beneath the
trees.

Four hundred of the wooden markers bore
green vines adorned with white and purple flowers, indicating those
who had fallen in the recent battle. Rondel had attended every
burial. These dead represented over two thirds of the Kodaman force
gathered and just under half the entire population. Though Rondel
took pride in shielding herself behind a mask of sarcasm and
laughter, even she couldn’t help but mourn at the sight.

Saddest of all was the new Kodaman queen
crouched before her. Minawë stroked the board in front of her with
her long, gentle fingers, tracing the carved letters that bore the
fallen’s name. Opening her mouth as if to speak, she could not form
words, and her hand dropped from the marker amid fresh sobs.

Uncharacteristically, Rondel hesitated. She
and Minawë had spent the past month here, never once returning to
Yuushingaral. Minawë came to these two graves every day before
dawn, and she never left them until well after sunset. Each day
Rondel tried to comfort her, to say something to her, but she never
could find the words. At last, this day, she forced herself to
speak, “They both fought to protect you, to the very end.”

Minawë craned her neck around, revealing her
tear-stained face. Rondel placed a wrinkled hand on the Kodama’s
shoulder. The gesture felt forced, but she couldn’t think of
anything else. In many ways, despite Minawë’s age, she was still a
child. Aletas had raised her sheltered beneath Ziorsecth’s canopy,
oblivious of the outside world. The Kodama-Maantec War had ended
before she was born, so she’d never experienced real danger or
grief until recently. The last six months, Rondel knew, had shaped
this Kodama more than all the rest of her thousand years
combined.

The two women remained in that position for
a few seconds before Minawë rose to her feet and resumed staring
hard at the graves before her. They continued standing in silence
for several more minutes before they heard a voice call from behind
them, “Hey, did you miss me?”

The pair faced the newcomer, and in an
instant Minawë’s grieving face blossomed into a mix of joy and
astonishment. Balear emerged through the trees, flanked by two
Kodamas, but none of them had spoken. The voice belonged to the
fourth among them — weak, shaky, and leaning on Balear’s
shoulder.

It was Iren Saitosan.

With a knowing expression, Rondel watched as
Minawë ran across the open space, wrapping her arms around Iren in
a tight hug. The old Maantec followed at a methodical pace.

“
Moron, you had us
worried!” Minawë exclaimed, and she gave him a playful flick to the
forehead.

“
I told you he was lazy,”
Rondel chimed in. “Look at him, first time out of bed in a month!
Hey, slacker, did you even bother to wash before coming
here?”

Iren flushed. “You should all act a bit
nicer to me, you know. I didn’t plan on waking up at all. I still
don’t know what happened, or how I survived. I couldn’t get out of
bed in Yuushingaral until this morning. Do you know I’ve had to
spend the past month with only Balear for company? He wouldn’t tell
me a thing about the way the battle ended, the tight-lipped jerk.
Also, you should taste his cooking. Disgusting!”

Balear made an indignant noise and faced
Iren, their noses almost touching. “Hey, I’m the one who dragged
your sorry backside all the way here to see these two. Show a
little appreciation! Besides, you can’t blame me for not telling
you what happened. I don’t understand it myself. I told you what I
do know already. I saw the explosion, with you at its center. Feng
disappeared, and I thought for sure you had died.”

“
I think I can answer some
of your questions,” Rondel interjected. “What you unleashed
surpassed any spell I’ve seen, even at the height of the
Kodama-Maantec War. In fact, it not only defeated Feng, it
destroyed the Karyozaki.” She reached into the pocket of her shirt
and pulled out a large, bright red jewel. “This is all that
remains: the Burning Ruby, the gem that imprisons Feng. As for how
you lived when even the Karyozaki met its end,” her tone became
grave, “you should find the nearest clear pool of water and examine
your reflection.”

Iren reached a hand up and felt his face.
The moment he did, he recoiled. “What happened to me?”

“
You’re still eighteen
years old, but you look in your late twenties. In those final
moments after the explosion, you used some of your biological
magic, or rather, Divinion used it for you. It saved your life, but
it also aged you ten years.”

“
How could Divinion do
that?” Iren asked. “I released the Muryozaki.”

“
Yes,” Rondel agreed, “but
part of his will temporarily remained inside you. With no other
magic to draw on, he used your life’s energy to maintain the
Dragoon armor both during the blast and afterward, when you fell.
The Dragoon armor is made of dragonscale, Divinion’s in your case.
Prior to his imprisonment, the Holy Dragon’s hide was impervious to
all forms of magic, so his armor protected you from the blast. It
also absorbed the impact when you hit the ground, which would have
killed you as easily as the explosion. You should see the crater
you made sometime. It’s quite impressive.”

Iren felt his face again, this time holding
his hand there as he stroked his month’s growth of beard and more
refined jaw. He ran his fingers through his hair, noting how short
it had become.

“
The first time Feng
captured you, he burned your hair off and left you bald,” Minawë
explained. “Actually, I think you look a lot better now without
that raggedy mop on your head.” She smiled and winked at
him.

Iren flushed. Clearly anxious to change the
subject, he turned to Rondel and asked, “What happened to the
Muryozaki? It could have healed me immediately, yet here, a month
later, I can barely get out of bed.” He gestured at the Burning
Ruby in Rondel’s palm, abject grief on his face. “Based on that, I
suppose I already know.”

Rondel threw her arms in the air. “I swear,
will you ever get better at listening? Honestly, students today!
Pay attention!” She lifted back her cloak. To Iren’s obvious
bewilderment, she revealed the katana, fully intact, sheathed at
her hip. “Didn’t you ever wonder what the white metal the Muryozaki
is made from is?” She paused for effect. “It’s dragonscale. This
sword predates the dragons’ imprisonment. Thousands of years ago,
Maantec smiths crafted it from one of Divinion’s scales. The Holy
Dragon provided the flames for the forging process. Just like your
Dragoon armor, magic has no effect on it. According to Maantec
history, it took nothing less than the Holy Diamond itself to
engrave the kanji circles in the blade’s hilt. Once that was done,
the sword absorbed the diamond of its own accord, as though
desiring to reunite the dragon’s flesh and soul.”

She removed the sheathed Muryozaki from her
belt and offered the blade to Iren, who took it and held it close.
He gripped the hilt, waiting for its healing power to take effect.
As time passed, however, his expression grew unsettled. He shouted,
“It’s not working! What’s wrong?”

“
I’m sorry, Iren,” Rondel
said, “but that’s why I kept that sword with me instead of letting
you have it back right away. I feared this might happen. The amount
of magic that the Dragoon form channels is extreme. Maantec bodies,
indeed the bodies of any race save the dragons themselves, aren’t
designed to handle that much magic flowing through them all at
once. It could have killed you. To protect your life, once the
Dragoon form ended, your body severed its connection to all
exterior magic. Without that link, you can’t use magic, even from
the Muryozaki. It could take years to heal, if it ever
can.”

Though she had not intended to do so, Rondel
realized she had struck the man a hammerblow. Iren cradled the
Muryozaki like a dead infant. “I can’t believe I’ll never see
Divinion or hear his voice again, and that I’ve aged ten years
overnight.” He stroked his new, unkempt beard. “I’ve never had
facial hair before. This will take some getting used to.”

Minawë laughed clearly, the first time
Rondel had heard her do so since the battle. “You should feel lucky
that’s all that changed about you, moron. You could have ended up
as withered as Rondel!”

The playful taunt broke Iren’s somber mood.
Everyone laughed except Rondel, who gave a loud, resentful snort.
“How ungrateful!” she cried, acting deeply offended for a few
seconds before chuckling despite herself.

As the group’s fit subsided, Balear took a
few steps back. “Well,” he said, a definite note of hesitation in
his voice, “now that Iren’s doing better, I should get on my
way.”

They all stared at him. “On your way?” Iren
asked. “To where?”

“
Where else? Back to
Lodia.”

Rondel grew stern. “Balear, I’m certain
Amroth made news of your betrayal public. Wanted posters of you
probably hang all over Lodia. If you return there, don’t expect a
warm welcome. At the very least, they’ll shun you. More than
likely, they’ll try to execute you.”

Balear set his jaw. “Lodia is my home. I
can’t abandon it.”

Minawë spoke up, “You defended my people in
battle. You’ve beheld the Heart of Ziorsecth. By the customs of the
Kodamas, you are one of us. You’ll always have a home here, if you
want it.”

Rondel nodded her affirmation. “Take some
advice from an old woman who knows. At the end of the war, the
traitor is the only person left without a home to call her own. You
won’t get many invitations like Minawë’s. Don’t pass it up
lightly.”

“
I do not,” Balear replied,
unwavering, “but I must see this through. Thousands of my fellow
Lodians have died, and many of our villages lie in ruin thanks to
Amroth’s brief yet all too lengthy reign. The country will no doubt
enter a period of weakness and turmoil. Maybe you’re right, and
they will kill me for returning. Even so, I’m a knight of Lodia,
first and foremost.”