The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga (21 page)

Her skin felt cold. It was over; he had
failed. Reluctantly, he let her body fall.

As her face drifted from view, he started.
He thought he’d seen a movement in her lips, or perhaps a shred of
color in her cheeks. He pulled her tightly to him again, but she
gave him no further sign, if indeed she’d given him one in the
first place. Nevertheless, that wisp of life, real or imagined,
motivated him. Despite the pouring rain, despite the dead weight of
her body on his back, and despite his own exhaustion, he would
continue until the end.

He tripped often, slipping in the ubiquitous
mud of this vile place. Several times he stumbled not from the wet
ground but from his own weakness. In desperation, he set down
Minawë, then discarded his shirt, cloak, and even the sheath to the
Muryozaki. His load that tiny bit lighter, he hefted Minawë onto
his back and continued trudging.

As Iren became certain he could not take
another step, he finally saw, at the limits of his vision, a line
of trees. Hope came to him at last. It was the forest! It must be,
for in a few more moments he would surely die. With the last of his
strength he forced himself under the shield of its canopy. Beneath
its boughs he gently set the lifeless woman he’d sacrificed himself
for on the ground. His task completed, he collapsed amid the leaves
and surrendered to the void.

Had he remained conscious a few more
seconds, he might have seen the Kodama’s hair shift ever so
slightly as her body settled, revealing a single green thread that
had previously been obscured.

Amroth charged across Lodia on his Quodivar
warhorse, pushing the animal far beyond its limits. Foam flew from
its mouth, and every footfall slammed with the ominous roar of
gathering thunder. He had neither eaten nor slept since Veliaf, but
he didn’t care. Every second counted as he raced toward
Haldessa.

He already knew the city would fall. The
Quodivar and Yokai would reach the castle long before he could.
Amroth hoped not to save the city, but to arrive before his enemies
moved on to another target. He wanted them all in one place so that
he could test the full range of power that now belonged to him.

At his hip, he felt the gratifying presence
of his new sword, the Karyozaki. With unreserved glee he drew it,
the blade glowing red like a beacon. The two concentric rings of
symbols on its hilt shone a brilliant yellow.

He’d waited a long time to gain it. Amroth
had seen its power the day Nadav died, and ever since, wielding it
had become his all-consuming passion. It was strength absolute, and
it was exactly what Lodia needed. That fool Hezna had wasted its
magic. The Oni could have conquered Lodia with it, yet instead he’d
hidden away in Akaku and let the Quodivar do the work. Now that
Amroth owned the sword, though, he would make good use of it. He
would carve out a new future for Lodia, one that would guarantee
peace for his country.

He recalled with cold satisfaction the look
on Hezna’s face. While Iren’s attack had slain Zuberi, it had only
struck the Oni a glancing blow. He’d survived, but he couldn’t
move. When Amroth stood before him, the Oni’s eyes had grown huge
in recognition. The captain had then plunged his sword up into the
monster’s jaw, one of the few weak points in the Oni’s natural
armor.

Once certain of Hezna’s death, he’d plucked
the Karyozaki from the Oni’s own claws. Flames had risen around
him, threatening to char him alive, but he’d paid them no heed.
They’d licked his skin and left harsh burns, but he’d simply stared
stoically ahead. Showing any weakness or fear would have caused the
dragon to devour him. He knew as much from Nadav. Feng, greatest of
the dragons, understood what truly mattered in this world:
strength. If you had strength greater than anyone else, you could
go unchallenged in all deeds. You could get what you wanted without
hesitation.

At last the fires had reached their fever
pitch, and then they’d crashed as one into the Karyozaki, so that
the sword erupted in flame. From within the blade, Amroth had felt,
rather than heard, a growling bass voice call to him, “Amroth
Angustion, you have passed my test. You are the Fire Dragon
Knight.”

He hadn’t smiled. He hadn’t celebrated, even
though it represented the pinnacle of years of preparation. He’d
simply nodded, as though the dragon had told him nothing more
exciting than the time of day, and replied, “Of course.”

After passing Feng’s test, Amroth had
reentered the cavern and hidden the Karyozaki in an alcove off the
main tunnel. He didn’t want Balear to know about the sword, not
yet. He’d seen how the sergeant reacted to Iren’s magic, and Amroth
didn’t need his new weapon giving the soldier any doubts. Instead,
he’d waited until the loyal fool tore off after Iren before
retrieving the blade.

Now, as the sun rose two days after leaving
Akaku Forest, Amroth crested a small hill and arrived just outside
Haldessa. Even though he expected it, the sight still gave him
pause. Flames dotted the city, their smoke rising above the castle
battlements. The stench of blood and ash reached him, but he didn’t
retch. It only reinforced what he knew he had to do. The Yokai and
Quodivar had triumphed, using the baths to breach the castle just
as the letter had instructed. Amroth wondered if any of the Castle
Guard remained alive, valiantly yet futilely attempting to repel
the invaders.

He dismounted, and for the first time since
gaining the Karyozaki, doubt entered his thoughts. On his ride
here, he’d felt so confident, but now he realized the immensity of
his task. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of enemies awaited him
within the city and the castle.

Inside his head, Feng growled, “You have no
choice! Set the entire city ablaze! Consume your enemies with their
own fires!”

Amroth wavered. He’d known from the
beginning it would probably come to this, but here, at the end, he
hesitated. “Feng, how can I? There may still be citizens
inside!”

“
The Quodivar and Yokai
will kill everyone anyway,” the Fire Dragon replied
matter-of-factly. “Whether they die by your hand or your enemies’,
they will still perish. You might as well take your foes with
them.”

The captain clutched his open hand to his
head. “I can’t!”

Sharp, hot pain wracked his chest, like
someone driving a superheated spear through him. He fell to his
knees, crying in agony. Feng roared at him, “Weakling! How could I
ever have accepted you? You’re nothing like Nadav!”

Through the torment, Amroth forced himself
to his feet. The face of his old commander reappeared before him.
“What would Nadav do,” he murmured, “if he stood here instead of
me?” In an instant, the captain had his answer.

He would cleanse the city with
dragonfire!

Raising his arms, Amroth reached out with
Feng’s power to the flames already burning throughout Haldessa. He
swung the Karyozaki, letting the full force of his magic fuel them.
At once they accelerated and spread, igniting all in their path.
Amroth watched callously as they engulfed the city.

Within minutes, the previous battle sounds
ceased. The captain then stretched out his hand, calling to the
fires like a god. All the flames died at the same time, but their
thick, black smoke lingered.

Amroth stood transfixed by the damage from
his spell. Where Haldessa had once stood, only ashes and the castle
walls remained. He’d razed the city to the ground.

Inside his head, Feng asked him, “Are you
crying? Nadav would laugh at you. I suppose I shouldn’t be
surprised. The castle’s thick walls preserved its structure, but
you destroyed all its finery. Its grand paintings and tapestries,
centuries of labor, annihilated in seconds. Even a few you made
yourself, correct? And of course, the king and everyone else inside
have most assuredly died. You slew them all with your own
hand.”

For a moment Amroth didn’t reply. He took a
deep breath and closed his eyes. When next he opened them, they
were dry and glared unfeelingly ahead. “I don’t care.” His voice
rang brusquely against the hillside. “Art won’t make Lodia
stronger. Neither will feasts or lazy oafs who claim kingship yet
sit hidden behind walls counting gold. I haven’t destroyed anything
today. I have purified. You and I have cleansed this den of soft
luxuriousness. You say I killed Azuluu? Well, what of it? That’s
cause for celebration, not mourning. His death means the death of
Lodia’s weakness, and the birth of its true greatness. After all,
he did name me his heir.”

Amroth raised his weapon before him, its red
body shining at his words. He grinned savagely. “Karyozaki, the
Fire Dragon Sword,” he said. “A fitting weapon for the new king of
a better, stronger Lodia.”

Iren had no doubt; he was in Hell.

He overlooked an expansive plain choked by
smoke and war cries. White flames burst from the ground and spurted
high into the air. In their midst, thousands upon thousands of
shapes clashed, the screams of the dying reaching him even at this
distance.

The situation was hopeless. Those fires
didn’t care who lived or died. If they could wipe out everyone and
everything on the plain, they would. He had no choice. This
fighting had to stop. Raising his arms and summoning the full draw
of his power, he prepared to cast his spell.

With a scream, Iren Saitosan awoke and shot
into a seated position. He didn’t stay there long, though, as a
torturous jolt ripped through him and sent him back to the floor,
gasping.

While his pain subsided, Iren took stock of
his location. He was lying in a tiny enclosure not tall enough to
stand up in. The structure was earthen, save one wall made of thick
wooden poles spaced a handbreadth apart. He winced. Someone had
captured him.

More than his imprisonment, the mere fact
that he was still alive surprised him. He’d expected to die after
carrying Minawë into the woods.

Forcing himself to sit up, slowly this time,
he groaned and looked through the wooden bars. His cage sat on the
ground in a quiet forest. As far as he could see, gigantic trees,
some with trunks thirty or forty feet in diameter, dominated. Their
thick canopies blocked out nearly all the sunlight, darkening the
wood into subdued twilight. He could spot no evidence of
inhabitation: no buildings, no farm fields, nothing but his cramped
prison.

He couldn’t see anyone around, either. His
captors had apparently left him unguarded. He didn’t have a weapon
to cut the wooden poles, but maybe he could still escape. The puny
prison surely couldn’t withstand the kind of beam he’d used against
Zuberi. He focused, but he couldn’t draw on any energy. That
confused him. He’d used magic against both Zuberi and Balear.
Minawë had said the magic resided inside him. His body was like a
bucket, with magic constantly refilling it. If that were true, he
should be able to feel it now, yet he felt nothing. Frustrated, he
leaned against the back wall of the prison and crossed his
arms.

Rather, he tried to cross them. His right
arm shifted just fine, but his left one was immovable. For the
first time, he realized a splint held it tightly to his chest
beneath his shirt.

His shirt! It was different, far different
from the one Amroth had given him back in Haldessa. Whoever had
captured him must have not only set his broken arm but dressed him
as well. He still had on his old pants, but they looked miserable
compared with the glowing shirt, pure white and crafted of what
felt like fine silk. Even the best noblemen in Lodia would only
have one or two garments of such quality. In all his life, Iren had
never expected to find himself wearing clothing as fine as
this.

As he contemplated his new attire, he heard
a strange voice. It came from behind him, calling in a singsong
tone with a high pitch. A few seconds later, a young boy carrying a
wooden plate and cup and dressed in white clothes that looked like
miniature versions of Iren’s rounded the cage. The child grinned as
he sang to himself. Iren noticed the boy’s short green hair and at
last knew for certain that he was in Ziorsecth Forest. Forgetting
the cage’s height, he tried to stand and smacked his head hard on
the ceiling. That, combined with the strain on his sore muscles,
dropped him back into a prone position. He moaned.

The Kodaman boy just laughed, saying
mockingly, “You would do better not to cry so much, sir. It doesn’t
suit you.”

The child spoke so fast and with such a
squeaky voice that Iren had trouble comprehending him. He
understood enough to catch the insult, though. He glared at the
boy.

“
Oh, don’t look at me like
that, sir,” the Kodama said with false injury. “Without our help
you surely would have died, and being hurt is better than being
dead!”

Admitting the wisdom in the young guard’s
words, Iren obliged himself a thin smirk. Returning the expression,
the boy set down his cup and plate, loaded with food, in front of
the cage. Immediately ravenous, Iren reached through the bars and
pulled chunks of the meal back, devouring them. The meat looked
like smoked fish, but it didn’t taste at all like the saltwater
varieties common in Haldessa. An assortment of berries and dark,
robustly flavored mushrooms three times the size of any Iren had
ever stolen from the castle’s kitchens rounded out the dinner.

When he’d finished everything, Iren asked
his guard, only mildly sarcastically, “So who do I have to thank
for my accommodations?”

“
You’re here at the request
of Queen Aletas. She asked me to take care of you, although you
haven’t been much for conversation until today.” The boy laughed at
his own wit. “I’ve had to watch you sleep for a whole week. You’re
quite a lazy fellow!”