The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga (5 page)

Iren’s breathing came so rapidly he feared
he would hyperventilate, but he couldn’t stop himself. Amroth had
murdered a superior officer on his behalf, a crime punishable by
death.

“
I knew I should take my
own life,” Amroth clutched his knees with both hands, pressing so
tightly Iren thought the captain might break them, “but I couldn’t
do it. If I did, I would doom you as well. You would catch
hypothermia and die in a day, making Ortromp’s murder pointless. So
instead of committing suicide, I buried your parents and my slain
captain and set off for Haldessa Castle with you in my arms. Day
and night I traveled, not pausing even to rest, until I returned to
the castle late at night. I banged on the front gate, but no one
came. At last, when I thought I would have to sleep outside, an old
woman happened by and offered me shelter. I didn’t know her, but
she was tiny and appeared unable to cause any harm. She took me to
her home, a hovel in the dirtiest section of Haldessa. She told me
her name, Rondel Thara, and offered me what little food she had.
Finally, she inquired about the bundle in my hands. When I showed
you to her, she named you ‘Iren Saitosan.’

“
I suppose I could have
left you with her, but she couldn’t have supported you. Instead,
the next morning I took you to King Azuluu. I lied to him, to my
own king, that the Left had killed Ortromp, and that you were a
normal orphan boy whose parents the Left had also slain. He should
have executed me, but not knowing the truth, he promoted me to
Captain of the Guard. He also took you in, for a time raising you
as his own.”

Iren nodded. “I vaguely remember. He taught
me to speak, as well as how to read and write. At least until he
realized I preferred holding my pen in my left hand.”

“
When Azuluu discovered
your left-handedness, he wanted to toss you from the castle
immediately. I convinced him to let you stay in the Tower of
Divinion. I couldn’t bear to put you on the streets of Haldessa so
young, but neither could I adopt you. That is my greatest regret.
In my desire for success, I chose my well-being over yours. I
allowed you to suffer, alone and hated, when I could have served as
your friend and mentor. I could have let you join the Castle Guard,
but instead I kept up appearances and shunned you. For that, I am
truly sorry.”

Iren didn’t know whether to thank Amroth or
punch him. On the one hand, the captain had sacrificed dramatically
to keep Iren alive. On the other, to preserve his reputation, he
had allowed everyone to treat Iren like a monster.

Amroth began again, but now a twinkle
sparkled in his eye. “On my last mission, though, I finally figured
out the way to atone for my mistakes toward you.”

Iren’s brow furrowed skeptically.

“
I want to defeat the
Quodivar, as you know. The mission I proposed at the feast can do
that. However, I have two ulterior motives. First, by bringing you
on this mission, I give you the chance to prove yourself to Lodia.
If the Quodivar fall because of your aid, you may earn some respect
among the people. Second, and far more important, it will give you
a chance to avenge your parents.”

“
Avenge them?
How?”

Looking Iren dead in the eye, Amroth
replied, “The night your parents died, the darkness prevented me
from determining their killer’s identity. However, the sparks from
the clashing weapons and my own battle experience taught me much of
his fighting style. I have never forgotten it, for the image of
your parents’ murders remains burned into my heart. How surprised I
was, then, on my latest mission, when I fought no less than the
leader of the Quodivar himself! When I clashed swords with him, I
knew. His technique perfectly matches what I saw seventeen years
ago. I can’t say for certain, but I suspect that the Quodivar
leader killed your parents.”

Iren felt like Amroth had struck him with a
hammer. The man who murdered his parents still lived! “Did you kill
him?” Iren asked, torn between hope and fear at how Amroth might
respond.

“
Unfortunately, no. His
strength overwhelmed me, and I barely escaped. But I believe you
can defeat him. In fact, I believe you are the only person who can
succeed where both your father and I failed.”

Iren hugged himself, slowly absorbing
Amroth’s words and what the captain hoped Iren would accomplish. He
couldn’t do it. He couldn’t fight. He had never even held a weapon.
After hearing Amroth’s tale, though, he already knew his answer.
Firmly, he replied, “I’ll see you at the stables an hour before
dawn.”

Amroth gave the slightest incline of his
head, then rose and opened the door a crack, listening for any sign
of movement. Satisfied no one was in the tower, the captain
vanished down the steps.

As Iren sat on his bed, taking in the poor
trappings of his life, a sense of direction he’d never experienced
came to him. For seventeen years, no one had wanted him. He’d been
unnecessary. Thanks to Amroth, all those feelings of doubt and
insecurity fled before a new resolve. What did he want from life?
For years he’d asked himself that question, never having an answer.
Now, for the first time, he did.

Revenge.

Sergeant Balear Platarch woke quickly,
helped by some horridly loud banging that turned his
almost-a-headache into a migraine in about three seconds.
Initially, he thought the sound came from the minstrels’ drums at
the feast, but then he slowly remembered that the festival had
ended. Also, the musicians’ instruments lay tattered beneath the
remains of the chandelier that Left demon had nearly dropped on his
head. No, this revolting noise came from something else: an
incessant pounding on the door to his quarters.

After a minute with no sign that the banging
would cease, Balear sighed and opened his eyes, promptly shutting
them again as he realized it wasn’t even dawn yet. He swore. Who
would have the gall to make such a racket at this time of
night?

He got his answer as the familiar voice of
Captain Angustion bellowed on the other side of the door, “Balear!
Hop to! Get out of bed and open up at once!”

Balear swore again, but this time only
mentally. With a great effort, he shoved himself into a sitting
position on his bed, swooning with dizziness as he did so.
Stumbling to the door, he unlocked it, opened it a fraction, and
answered groggily, “Captain? What are you—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish, because as
soon as he cracked the door, Captain Angustion shoved it open all
the way, knocking Balear back as he forced his way in. Once inside,
he shut the door behind him and blocked it with his body.

“
Hurry and get dressed,”
the captain growled, “and not in your Castle Guard uniform. Wear
civilian clothes, something that will travel well. Bring a weapon,
but not military issue. Maybe a bow. Come to the stables in an
hour. That’s an order. Iren and I will meet you there.”

He waited until Balear gave a confused
affirmative, and then the captain whisked back through the door,
leaving the recovering sergeant standing like an idiot in the
middle of his room. He remained that way for a long time, trying to
process what had just happened, and why Captain Angustion would
give him such odd commands. At last, through the fog of his
hangover, he started to remember. He recalled, barely, his
superior’s speech, the one about a mission, a mission that involved
the captain, Balear . . . and Iren
Saitosan.

Balear groaned. Today was going to be a very
bad day.

* * *

Captain Amroth Angustion, heir to the throne
of Lodia, marched swiftly down the corridor, grinning subtly to
himself. He’d given Balear quite the rude awakening. He had no
doubt, though, that Balear would arrive at the stables on time.
Balear’s loyalty, more than his fighting prowess, had won him his
position on Amroth’s team. If Amroth gave an order, Balear would
follow it, even with a hangover.

The captain entered the castle courtyard,
still deserted in the predawn hour. Again Amroth smiled, noting the
ease with which his plan was proceeding. Avoiding drinking at the
feast to stay focused had proven a smart decision. He’d suspected
something like this would happen. Even if Iren hadn’t played his
little prank, Amroth doubted Azuluu would ever have agreed to let
the boy come. The captain couldn’t allow that. Everything hinged on
Iren.

Reaching the stables, he glanced around,
confirming no one had followed him. When he’d gone to the Tower of
Divinion earlier, he’d sensed that someone was stalking him through
the corridors, even though everyone in the castle should have been
asleep. He’d checked repeatedly but never seen anyone. He must have
imagined it.

Inside the stable, Amroth found the packages
he’d brought there after meeting with Iren. While the castle
snored, he’d spent the entire night rushing from one end of the
fortress to the other, gathering supplies, sneaking leftover food
from the kitchens, preparing changes of clothes, and readying three
of the Castle Guard’s finest horses. Now they could begin.

* * *

Iren Saitosan arrived at the stables twenty
minutes early, his whole body bristling with excitement. Amroth
smiled at the boy, but his grin quickly faded.

“
I appreciate your
enthusiasm,” the captain said flatly, “but we’ll need stealth to
accomplish this mission.”

“
What do you mean?” Iren
asked, confused.

Amroth pointed at him. “You won’t sneak up
on many Quodivar dressed like that.”

Iren looked down at his flamboyantly orange
and purple motley and shrugged. “I don’t have anything else.”

Shaking his head, Amroth knelt beside a pile
of supplies. “Take these. I packed them for myself, but I think
they’ll fit you well enough.” He handed Iren black leather boots,
belt, and vest, along with thick, gray woolen pants, shirt, and
cloak. Iren stepped into one of the empty stalls and changed.
Though a size too big, he beamed as he donned them. Since the
castle had learned of his Left heritage, no one had ever given him
a gift, certainly not clothes like these that lacked tears and moth
holes.

Giving Iren a once over, Amroth crossed his
arms and said, “You’ll also need a weapon.”

“
What do you suggest?” Iren
asked.

Amroth smirked. “Actually, I think I have
the perfect blade for you. What do you suppose happened to your
father’s sword after he died?”

Iren started. “You didn’t.”

“
I did. When I saw it, I
couldn’t bear to leave it out in that field to rust. I carried it
back, sheath included, along with you. I’ve kept it all this time,
waiting for the right moment to give it to you. I believe that time
has finally come.”

Amroth bent down and pushed aside a pile of
straw, revealing a sheathed sword about three feet long. Reverently
picking it up, he passed the blade to Iren, who stared at it,
spellbound.

“
No other sword like it
exists in all of Lodia, I assure you,” Amroth said.

Iren could tell that just by the sheath. It
was curved and white with sky blue streaks. The whole thing gleamed
in the moonlight. The sheath felt metallic, but it looked like no
metal Iren had ever seen. It weighed far less than its size
suggested, and despite Amroth’s account of the weapon’s age, it
showed no sign of wear or dirt whatsoever. In fact, it looked
perfectly new.

The blade’s hilt was even more impressive.
Forged of the same strange metal as the sheath, the swordsmith had
crafted the hilt into the winding shape of a serpentine white
dragon. The hilt was white, save for two tiny sapphires that formed
the beast’s eyes. Iren touched the gems delicately, yet with a
sense of familiarity. The creature reminded him of Divinion, the
dragon in his tower painting.

Three concentric rings of symbols encircled
the hilt, and they were so far removed from Lodian writing that
Iren couldn’t begin to decipher them. “What do these—”

“
I don’t know,” Amroth
interrupted. “I can’t read them, nor can anyone I’ve taken the
sword to. Come; let’s see you draw it. I must admit I tried to use
it when I first came upon it, but that dragon-shaped hilt always
felt uncomfortable.”

Iren grasped the sword tightly with his left
hand. He didn’t want to disagree with as experienced a swordsman as
the captain, but he didn’t find the grip uncomfortable at all. The
flowing dragon’s body admittedly made for an unorthodox handhold,
but not a bothersome one. As Iren drew the blade, it came free from
its sheath easily, as though it had waited all this time for him to
claim it.

The young man marveled at his father’s
sword. Amroth hadn’t lied; no other weapon in Lodia looked like it.
It had a slight curve, with an edge only on one side. As he took a
few practice swings, he noticed that the weapon felt almost
weightless in his hand.

“
Amazing,” he whispered.
The blade itself was forged from the same white metal as the hilt
and sheath, though it lacked the sheath’s blue streaks. Looking
closer, Iren realized that the blade and hilt were actually a
single piece. That surprised him, as he’d seen blades getting
constructed at Haldessa Castle’s forge, at least until he got
chased out at the end of a hammer. Normally, the swordsmith made
the blade and attached the hilt later.

“
In all my travels across
Lodia, the Eregos Mountains, and even the Tacumsah Islands, I’ve
never seen another sword like this one,” Amroth said. “It may be a
sword model unique to the Lefts.”

After that, the captain left Iren to
practice. With each swing, the blade grew on him. He had never held
a sword before, yet this one felt natural, even organic, in his
left hand. He couldn’t explain it, but he had the odd sensation
that he and the weapon were made for each other.