The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga (19 page)

“
In that case, how old are
you?”

Minawë glared at him. “Whether among humans,
Maantecs, or Kodamas, moron, it’s rude to ask a woman her age.”

Iren flushed. He never did do well with
social graces.

For several minutes neither spoke. As Iren
watched the fire and considered all Minawë had told him, an image
of Rondel’s decrepit form came unbidden to his mind. Hoping he’d
waited long enough for the sting of Minawë’s rebuke to fade, he
cautiously asked, “I once met a Maantec who looked ancient. How do
you explain her?”

A foreboding expression grew on Minawë’s
face. “That is the consequence of using biological magic.
Understand that while your body can replace environmental magic
easily, your biological magic is set at birth. Nothing can replace
it. When you cast a spell, you use environmental magic first.
Should you exhaust that supply, your biological magic can provide
an emergency source of energy. Doing so gives you tremendous power.
For example, Iren Saito used his to curse my race. But releasing
your biological magic also ages you, hence why I said that we are
‘theoretically’ immortal. The number of years we have lived doesn’t
determine how old we look; the amount of biological magic we still
possess does. Thus, an aged person can look youthful if they have
wisely conserved their biological magic. Conversely, a young person
can appear old if they’ve foolishly squandered it. Someone like
your Maantec must have used nearly all her biological magic to
become as you describe.”

Iren wondered about Rondel. If Iren Saito’s
biological magic had enough potency to curse an entire species, it
terrified him to think what spell she’d cast to age her so
much.

“
I mentioned earlier that
using spells can increase the amount of environmental magic
available to you,” Minawë continued. “Using biological magic can
counteract those gains. Our own magic attracts the world’s magic.
The more biological magic you have, the more environmental magic
you can store, and the faster you recover from casting spells. To
keep on using your old Maantec as an example, with so little
biological magic remaining, she likely can wield only small amounts
of environmental magic. Furthermore, she would require days or
maybe weeks to recover from using a larger spell. By contrast,
despite casting that massive beam just this morning, you’ve
restored your magical reserves.”

Iren stroked his chin. At first he’d doubted
Minawë, but now he began to believe her. Her explanations revealed
why Rondel relied on abilities like Lightning Sight that required
little magic. They also accounted for why the lightning bolt she’d
used against Zuberi had left her so drained. He picked up a pebble
and tossed it into the fire, sending sparks hissing. She wouldn’t
have needed to cast that spell if he’d been strong enough to defeat
Zuberi on his own. “I as good as killed her,” he whispered.
“Rondel.”

Minawë’s ears perked up. “Rondel? You know
Rondel?” Her tone changed completely. She chirped like a small
child.

Iren looked at his boots as he responded,
“We traveled together for a while, before she . . .”
he trailed off, unable to continue. Then his head snapped up.
“Wait, how do you know Rondel?”

The Kodama leapt to her feet. “She’s only
one of the most famous Maantecs in history! I grew up hearing
stories about her.”

Iren was pretty sure he’d never heard any
stories about Rondel as a child. Granted, no one ever told him any
stories as a child, but he still doubted they existed.

Minawë must have seen the doubt on his face,
because she said, “Humans probably don’t know about her, but among
my people, Rondel’s considered a hero.”

“
A hero? I thought you
hated Maantecs because of the Kodama-Maantec War.”

“
That’s why she’s a hero!
You traveled with her, and you still don’t know?”

Iren just furrowed his brow. “Know
what?”

“
You moron, Rondel’s the
most famous traitor in Raa’s history! We won the Kodama-Maantec War
because of her! A thousand years ago, thanks to her defection, we
all but wiped out the Maantecs.”

He couldn’t believe his ears. Iren knew
Rondel looked ancient, but he never would have guessed that she was
a thousand years old. More disturbingly, she’d betrayed her own
people, sentencing them to near extinction.

Iren shook his head, trying to clear his
confusion by force. He’d thought he’d come to understand the old
woman, at least a little bit. As Minawë spoke, however, he realized
the truth. He didn’t know a thing about Rondel.

What else about her had he gotten wrong?

He started to ask Minawë, since she
apparently knew a lot more about the cryptic Maantec than he did.
Before a word could exit him, however, she leapt across the space
between them and clamped a hand over his mouth. Her eyes narrowed
dangerously, and she whispered, “We have to go. I tied your horse
up over there.” She pointed, and he dimly made out Nightraid’s
muscular black form through the shadows.

Iren tensed. The Kodama’s demeanor had
shifted again. “What’s going on?” he asked when she lowered her
hand.

She shot him an angry look, then jerked her
head upward and whispered, “The owls.”

He looked into the canopy, listening hard.
“I don’t hear anything.”

To his surprise, she nodded. “Exactly.”

They’d just reached Nightraid when the first
arrows started falling among them. From deeper within Akaku,
shrill, maniacal cackling filled the air alongside the projectile
rain. As he climbed into the saddle, Iren could see sulfurous eyes
filling the trees.

Through the thick forest they raced, arrows
coming from every direction. No matter how fast Nightraid galloped,
they couldn’t escape. The insane laughter grew constantly louder,
until even the crashing of the stallion’s hooves became all but
lost in the din.

Minawë pointed up as an arrow whistled past.
“They’re in the trees, jumping from limb to limb!”

Iren took her word for it. He was too busy
trying to keep Nightraid from panicking. Still, he remembered the
Yokai in the cave and how they could jump extraordinarily high.
Their short, reverse-jointed legs made them poor runners but,
combined with their light frames, made them excellent leapers. That
gave him an idea.

Pulling on the reins, he turned the horse
hard to the left. The sudden change forced Nightraid to a momentary
stop, and Iren felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder as an arrow
grazed him. Then they flew again, heading off in a completely
different direction.

“
Where on Raa are you
going?” Minawë cried. “Ziorsecth is west!”

Iren ignored her. He didn’t know how far
Ziorsecth was, but he doubted they could reach it without Nightraid
resting. As long as they stayed in Akaku, the Yokai could keep pace
with them, leaping from branch to branch with ease.

How long they galloped through the forest
with death raining all about them, Iren didn’t know. He’d long
since lost track of time. More than a few well-placed shots gave
both him and Minawë minor wounds, but fortunately Nightraid
remained uninjured. With each impact, Iren missed the Muryozaki
more. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to appreciate its
healing power.

At last he saw his destination. In the
distance, the trees thinned, and moonlight filtered through the
branches. With a final burst of speed, they shot through the tree
line and onto the open fields of Lodia.

He continued riding south hard for nearly
ten minutes, not daring to glance back. The arrows quickly died
away, and at last he chanced a look. The Yokai hadn’t pursued him
beyond the forest. Here in the open, they couldn’t keep pace with
the mighty warhorse. He stroked the stallion’s neck in sincere
gratitude, and Nightraid responded with a triumphant neigh.

Whooping as much from pent-up adrenaline as
from happiness at their escape, he turned in the saddle to face
Minawë. “How was that?” he exclaimed.

The green-haired woman made no answer.
“Minawë?” Iren shook her lightly, but she didn’t respond. He shook
her harder. “Minawë!”

Her eyes were blank, her lips silent. As he
released her, she lost her balance in the saddle, falling
gracelessly from the horse and hitting the ground hard.

At twilight two days after escaping the
Yokai, Iren sat on a moss-covered boulder in a small glade in
northern Lodia, cold rain drenching him. Several yards away, tucked
under an outcropping of rock barely large enough for one person,
lay Minawë, still unconscious. She hadn’t awoken since leaving
Akaku.

At least she was still alive. From the
moment they’d escaped the Yokai, Iren had pushed Nightraid almost
constantly, pausing only to let the horse rest and to catch a few
brief naps. Most of his sleeping he did in the saddle, though. He
didn’t really understand the situation, but he knew Minawë’s
survival depended on him getting her to Ziorsecth as quickly as
possible.

Now, while it infuriated him, he once more
had to stop and recover. Not that he could get any real rest,
thanks to the rain. Even with his cloak wrapped tightly around him,
he couldn’t get comfortable enough to fall asleep. Instead, he
munched distractedly on some salted meat he’d found in Nightraid’s
saddlebags. Nearby, the majestic stallion stood tied to a tree,
snorting miserably.

When Iren finished his snack, he pulled out
the small ocean rock from his pants pocket and cupped it in one
hand, taking comfort in its smooth surface. He thought of the
crashing waves of the sea, miles and miles away. Part of him wished
he was back there. Life at the castle had been so easy. Sure,
everyone despised him, but he’d come to terms with that. He didn’t
care that they stared emptily past him and called him horrible
names. At least there, he’d never been in any real danger.

It had all sounded straightforward in the
beginning. He would travel to Veliaf, kill the Quodivar leader, and
avenge his parents. He’d done all that. He’d gotten his revenge. At
least it appeared that way, but ever since that day at the fort, he
couldn’t get Zuberi’s words out of his head. The Quodivar leader
claimed he’d been a Tacumsah pirate seventeen years ago, far away
from Lodia. At the time, Iren had convinced himself the giant was
lying, but he didn’t feel so certain anymore.

“
Can’t you
sleep?”

Iren turned his head and saw Minawë inclined
on her elbow, watching him. Her voice sounded gentle and full of
concern.

“
It isn’t exactly a
comfortable inn.” He pointed with his thumb toward the treetops.
“And the roof leaks.”

Her expression didn’t waver. “Somehow, I
think it’s more than the weather.”

He sighed. It couldn’t hurt to tell her, so
he opened his heart, speaking first of his upbringing in Haldessa.
He explained how the people there hated and feared him, even though
they didn’t know anything about him. He told her of Amroth and what
he’d said about Iren’s parents. He gave her all the details of the
mission he’d been on, and how even though he’d gotten his revenge,
he didn’t feel satisfied. All the while she listened attentively,
only interjecting briefly to ask an occasional question.

When he finished, Iren leaned back and, for
the first time that he could recall, felt truly relaxed. He’d never
talked to anyone like that before. Even though he knew it must bore
her horribly to hear his life story, she never showed it.

As he thought about his words, however, he
suddenly flushed, embarrassed. He shouldn’t have said so much. This
woman was a Kodama. She didn’t care about him.

Seeking a distraction, he
rose and walked over to Nightraid, who gave an annoyed whinny at
the downpour. The horse swung his head back and forth, and despite
numerous attempts, Iren couldn’t calm the stallion. Finally, he
said softly, “
Kuylet
,
trempiot
.”
The horse settled, and Minawë raised her green eyebrows.

“
You know Kodaman?” she
asked.

Iren turned around. “Is that what it is?
Rondel taught it to me, sort of.”

“
It means ‘Horse, be at
peace.’ Kodamas have a strong connection with animals. All of them
know our tongue. Of course they can’t speak it, but they’ll
understand what you say.”

Iren stroked Nightraid’s mane. It made sense
that Rondel would know Kodaman, since she’d betrayed the Maantecs
to them.

“
Tell me,” Minawë said, an
edge creeping into her otherwise kind voice, “How did you feel when
you killed Zuberi? Did it make you happy?”

His hand stopped midway down Nightraid’s
neck. The horse nudged him with his muzzle, but he ignored the
touch. “No, I guess not. I thought it would. Zuberi butchered many
people to gain riches, and many more suffered because of the
Quodivar he commanded. I’m sure that killing him made Lodia safer,
but it’s only left me confused. I don’t even know if he murdered my
parents.”

“
That’s what comes of
revenge.” Minawë’s voice no longer sounded gentle. It was
cold.

Her change of tone shocked him. “What do you
mean?”

“
When I was a child, Mother
told me that seeking revenge can’t make you happy. If you fail,
you’ll either die or suffer for the rest of your life. If you
succeed, you’ll be left with nothing, a void in your soul that you
can’t fill.”

Iren looked up through the trees to the gray
clouds beyond, letting the rain pelt his face. As he stared upward,
Minawë rose unsteadily and walked over to him, leaning against
Nightraid’s flank for support. Almost absentmindedly, she reached
into one of the stallion’s saddlebags and pulled out a handful of
dried apple slices. As she ate the first one, she said, “You know,
for a Maantec, you’re kind of weird.”