“Yeah, we already nabbed one traitor yesterday,” the spearman put in. “Don’t make our job harder.”
“Sorry about that,” Iren said. “So would it be all right if I went to Orcsthia?”
The bowman scowled. “That’s a different matter. The city’s under martial law. If you want to go there, you’ll have to come with us. Hand over your sword. If the mayor clears you, you can have it back.”
“I guess I don’t have a choice,” Iren said. He pulled the Muryozaki, sheath and all, from his belt and gave it to the soldier. Part of him wanted to knock out the men and be done with this nonsense, but they were just doing their jobs.
Besides, hurting them wouldn’t make him any friends in Orcsthia. He wouldn’t get far in Lodia without a horse or provisions, and he should try to change clothes. The city was the only settlement within a day of here.
All the same, Iren felt ill at ease. Last year, he’d traveled Lodia’s entire length without being stopped. Nobody back then would have questioned the business of a lone wanderer, bizarre sword or not.
It took the trio until early afternoon to reach Orcsthia’s outskirts, and by then Iren was starving. He’d supported himself on food and water from the forest during his journey, but now he didn’t even have a pack for supplies. That was one more item to add to his shopping list.
As he approached Orcsthia, Iren noted a system of earthworks surrounding the city. Workers had gouged a deep ring in the ground and then piled the fill in a wall close to the outermost buildings.
Iren scrunched up his face. The crude fortification looked new and hastily done. Its height varied, and the dirt hadn’t settled. Iren had never been to Orcsthia, but he doubted the wall had been here a year ago.
At the city entrance, armed guards wearing chainmail stopped them and demanded identification. Iren’s escorts each revealed a sheet of parchment with a wax seal. The guards nodded gruffly and then turned to Iren.
“He’s with us,” the spearman said. “We’re taking him to the mayor for clearance.” The guards didn’t look pleased, but they ushered the trio through.
What Iren noticed first upon entering Orcsthia was the noise. People crowded the streets, far more than should be here given the city’s size. Orcsthia was among the smaller of Lodia’s cities, and it was more a hub for the surrounding farmers, mostly sheepherders, to bring their products to market.
Today must have been an active market day. It seemed like all the farmers for miles had brought not only their wares, but their flocks as well. Before long Iren and his guards were wading their way through a three-foot sea of bleating fluff balls.
Worse than the noise was the smell. Between the overcrowded conditions and all the animals, Iren couldn’t help but pinch his nose. Contrasted with the meticulous clean of his childhood home in Haldessa Castle, this place better resembled a neglected latrine than a city. Garbage and waste, both animal and human, coated so much of the street that Iren couldn’t avoid it.
Iren’s escorts wound their way through the mass of humans and livestock until they reached the city square. The spearman smirked. “Looks like the mayor isn’t wasting any time with that traitor,” he said. He looked down at Iren. “It’s your lucky day, traveler. I think we’re just in time for a beheading. It’ll be good for you to see it. If the mayor doesn’t approve of you, that’s where you’ll end up.”
Iren was in no mood to watch an execution; he’d come close enough to one himself last year. He thought he should be friendly, though, so he asked, “Who’s the traitor? You said you caught him.”
The spearman beamed with pride. “You bet I caught him, and what a catch! Once his head rolls and I get my reward, I’ll never have to work again.”
Looking across the body-to-body expanse of the city square, Iren observed the criminal. The condemned man stood on a platform above the crowd alongside an executioner and several soldiers. He wore ragged clothes, and he had a hood covering his head. He didn’t seem like someone who would have a price so high a captor could retire after catching him. “What’s his name?” Iren asked.
“B-something, I think,” the spearman replied. “I don’t remember exactly, but I do know that during Amroth’s regime, he was the king’s general! At least he was until he turned traitor and went to those cursed Kodamas. I wish I could kill the straw-haired filth myself. I lost my brother in that battle. I told him to ignore the draft like I did, but he never could do anything the least bit shady.”
It was good the spearman was busy with his diatribe, because Iren had lost all color in his face. The executioner ripped the hood off the criminal’s head, and that removed any doubt about the man’s identity. Unable to control his panic, Iren whispered, “Balear!”
“Huh?” the spearman looked down from his horse. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s the guy’s name. You a draft-dodger like me, Mr. Not-a-Left?”
“Something like that,” Iren said as he worked to calm his hammering pulse. He couldn’t let Balear die, not after all they’d gone through together. But a hundred yards, and the dragons knew how many people, separated them. He’d never reach his friend before the axe fell.
Unless . . .
Iren eyed the bowman, who had his full attention on the execution stand. The Muryozaki hung loosely from his saddle on the same side as Iren.
The young Maantec frowned. More than likely, this plan would kill him. If he didn’t try, though, he’d regret it forever.
His strike came in a fluid burst of motion. Using his Maantec strength, Iren vaulted onto the bowman’s horse behind the rider. He kicked the man in the head. The soldier fell from his horse, unconscious.
Iren freed the Muryozaki and drew it. The spearman’s focus had drifted back to Balear, but the noise of his collapsing partner put him on alert. He had just enough time to shout a curse before Iren knocked him out with a blow to the head from the Muryozaki’s dull side.
With his guards out of the way, Iren swung his katana and hit the spearman’s horse on the rump with the blade’s flat. The startled beast shrieked and charged into the square. Bedlam ensued as people screamed and fled from the crashing hooves.
Taking advantage of the break in the crowd, Iren rode the bowman’s horse closer to Balear. The former general was already on his knees. Two men pushed on his back to force his head onto the chopping block.
Iren still couldn’t reach the platform, but that was all right. The chaos in the square had distracted the executioner from his duty. The axeman ran to the guards surrounding the platform and jabbed a finger at Iren. The soldiers stormed through the crowd toward him.
He couldn’t have asked them to do him a better favor. The guards’ unsheathed weapons made all the residents between them and Iren flee the square. Iren now had a clear path to the execution stand.
Leaping from his horse, he charged the first soldier. The man wore an iron skullcap and heavy leather, but his face was unprotected. Iren swung the Muryozaki’s back into the soldier’s nose. Blood spurted, and the soldier fell to the ground, clutching his wound.
Iren raised the dragonscale katana high in his left hand to let the other guards know his heritage. “Left!” one of them cried. All of them backed away. Iren scaled the platform, ducked a blow from the axeman, and sent the would-be executioner tumbling to the ground with a shoulder charge. The unarmed men holding Balear released their prisoner and ran away without a fight.
Iren hauled Balear to his feet. The usually meticulous soldier looked like a beggar. His blonde hair hung long and scraggly, and he had a beard to match. His face was drawn and gaunt. When he saw Iren, though, his eyes lit up with mingled joy and astonishment.
“What on Raa are you doing here?” he asked.
Iren cut the bonds that tied Balear’s hands behind his back. “Let’s get out of here first. Can you fight?”
Balear rubbed his wrists. They were bloody and raw from the thick cords. “I would prefer not to.”
“Believe me, so would I.”
Whistles sou
nded across the courtyard. Dozens of soldiers poured into the square.
Iren surveyed the terrible odds. “We make for the west exit,” he said. He didn’t know if it was the fastest way out of the city, but at least he was familiar with that route thanks to his former escorts.
With a shout, Iren jumped off the execution stand. There was no other choice. The Muryozaki flashed, and a guard stopped breathing. Balear grabbed the man’s sword and followed Iren.
As they dashed through the square, Iren’s vision faded into the haze of combat. The battle for their lives became like a dance. Step, parry, thrust. Step, parry, thrust. One, two, three . . . one, two, three . . .
The rhythm stopped. Fifty guards surrounded them. Even Iren’s Maantec abilities couldn’t overcome those odds.
Balear put his back against Iren’s. “I don’t suppose you’d care to show them any of those moves you used against Feng, would you?”
The man was right. Iren needed magic, and he needed it now. He extended his right arm. Focusing his effort on his open palm, he called for Divinion to help him.
Nothing happened. No beam of white light knocked his enemies unconscious; no shield of energy surrounded him.
“Are you kidding?” he shouted. “It still doesn’t work!”
The guards knew they had won. “Lay down your weapons,” one of them called, “or die!”
Balear dropped his sword. “That’s it, Iren. Thanks for trying, but we’re not walking away from this one.”
Iren sheathed the Muryozaki and put his hands on his head.
As the soldiers closed to capture them, a pebble bounced off a guard’s helm and skittered to the ground. Several of the men turned to look, and at that moment, a black blur rushed in.
Two guards collapsed as a fist and a foot simultaneously connected with their faces. Three more dropped before the soldiers realized they had a new threat to confront.
The newcomer paused a second. Iren’s jaw fell as he got his first good look at his rescuer.
It was a young woman with long black hair.
“Stop standing there and come on!” the girl cried. Then she was gone, leaving an opening in the guards’ line where she had struck.
Iren pulled himself from his daze. Grabbing Balear, he shouted, “Hurry!” and chased after the woman.
“Who are you?” he asked when he and Balear caught up to her. Her straight hair had a red ribbon tied in it and whipped behind her as she ran. “Why are you helping us?”
“Questions later,” she yelled, “if we’re not all dead!”
The trio raced through the streets of Orcsthia, forcing their way through flocks of sheep as they headed back the way Iren had been escorted in.
But Iren knew what was waiting for them this way. “The exit on this side of the city is guarded,” he said.
Their rescuer’s pace didn’t falter. “They’re all guarded,” she replied. “I hope you’re decent with that katana.”
Iren stumbled and nearly fell on his face. Humans didn’t use katanas; they were Maantec weapons. “How do you—”
“I said ‘questions later!’”
That ended the conversation. Up ahead, the gate guards stood at the opening of the earthen wall. Instead of the original two, though, fifteen men now blocked the exit.
Iren drew the Muryozaki. He slashed out and caught a soldier in the throat before the poor man could swing his weapon. The woman took the guard’s blade before joining the battle herself. Balear collapsed on his knees, exhausted from his near execution and brutal rescue.
Iren ran to his friend’s side to shield him from blows. Their new ally looked over her shoulder at them and scowled. Spinning in a circle, she disemboweled the three men attacking her with a single attack. She then sprinted to Iren and heaved Balear onto her shoulders. “Let’s go!” she commanded. “I’ll take him. You hold them off.”
They rushed the gate together. Four men tried to body-block the exit, but the sight of Iren’s katana in his left hand made them panic. Iren, Balear, and the woman passed the gate. Iren spun around, expecting pursuit, but the soldiers withdrew.
Relieved, Iren ran to catch up with Balear and their surprise savior. Both had blood on them, but Iren couldn’t tell if it was theirs or someone else’s. Balear had lost consciousness, so Iren and the woman took turns carrying him as they fled the city.
An hour later, a farm appeared in the distance. “There’s our destination,” the woman said. Iren still didn’t have a clue what was going on, but this woman’s sudden appearance and willingness to help him peaked his curiosity. He would see this through until he got some answers.
After another fifteen minutes, they reached the nearest structure on the farm, a barn, and ducked inside. Iren laid Balear on a pile of straw. After checking to make sure his friend wasn’t injured, he faced their rescuer. “I appreciate your help,” he said, “but now an explanation would be nice.”
The woman pointed at the Muryozaki. “You already know the answer. I’m a Maantec too.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Lodia’s Downfall
In retrospect the woman’s heritage was obvious. No human could move with the fluidity she possessed. More telling, she held the sword she’d stolen from the gate guard in her left fist.
“I didn’t think there were other Maantecs in Lodia,” Iren said.
“There are more than you might think,” the woman replied. “It isn’t hard to pose as human. You move around now and then so people don’t wonder why you aren’t aging. Or, like my parents, you farm in the middle of nowhere. And of course, you have to do everything with your right hand.” She raised her right palm and eyed it with disdain. “By the way, my name’s Hana, Hana Akiyama. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Iren said with a smile. “I’m Iren Saitosan.”
Hana started. “Seriously? The Iren Saitosan?”
“I didn’t know I was famous.”
“There are wanted posters all over Orcsthia advertising a huge reward for your capture. But they describe a teenager, not a grown man.”
“I’ve had some interesting times,” Iren said with a grimace. Maantecs aged only when they used their biological magic, the energy that gave them their immortal lives. Divinion had forced Iren to use some during the battle with Feng. It had saved Iren’s life, but it had aged him ten years. It was one more punishment for saving the world.
Iren pushed away the memory. To distract himself, he focused on the woman in front of him. By all appearances, Hana was twenty, but that only meant she hadn’t used any biological magic. She could have been born centuries ago. Iren wondered how old she was.
Remembering a similar situation with Minawë, he decided not to bring it up. “Why did you rescue us?” he asked instead. “And what is this place?”
“This was my family’s sheep farm,” Hana replied. “We should be safe here, at least for a while. No place in Lodia is truly safe these days. I was in Orcsthia selling the last of our flock when I heard the commotion in the square. When I saw you fighting alone against those guards, I decided to intervene. Lucky for you, eh?”
“I guess so,” Iren said. He paused a moment, and a thought came to him. “You said ‘we’ a moment ago. Do you have relatives here, other Maantecs?”
Hana’s expression darkened, and she turned away from him. “No,” she said. Her voice caught. “My parents lived happily on this farm for years, until six months ago.”
Iren frowned. Six months ago wasn’t that long after Amroth’s defeat at Ziorsecth. “What happened?”
Hana started to answer, but at that moment, Balear stirred. Iren and Hana ran to him. “Are you all right?” Iren asked.
Balear groaned. “Where am I?” He blinked twice and tried to sit up, but he fell back in the straw. He clutched his head with his hand. “Everything’s spinning,” he said. “You didn’t make me drink Kodaman brandy by any chance, did you?”
Iren recalled the pungent odor of the maple-based liquor. “Sorry, old friend,” he s
aid, “no such luck.”
The soldier’s eyes struggled to focus. “So we survived?” he asked. “I was sure I would die back there. What happened?”
“An angel dropped out of the heavens and rescued us,” Iren said with a flourish. “A left-handed angel by the name of Hana.”
Hana blushed as Balear looked at her. “It was nothing,” she stammered.
Now it was Balear’s turn to blush. “It’s an honor,” he said, “to make the acquaintance of a woman at once so beautiful and capable in battle.”
Iren rolled his eyes. “If you’re well enough to flirt, you’re well enough to tell me what’s going on. Why was Orcsthia’s mayor going to execute you?”
Balear shifted himself into a more comfortable position on the straw. “I left Ziorsecth six months ago to help restore peace in Lodia. You know that much.”
Iren nodded. He remembered all too well the sad day two of his closest friends—Balear and Rondel—had departed the forest. He’d probably made Minawë feel the same way he’d felt back then.
He forced down a wave of guilt. “I trust it didn’t go as planned.”
“No, it didn’t,” Balear said. “I expected instability after Amroth’s death, but I never thought a civil war would break out.”
“A civil war?” That would explain why Orcsthia had constructed its earthen defense. Still, Iren had a hard time believing Lodia would fall apart because of the death of its lunatic king, Amroth.
“What did you expect?” Hana asked. “If you’re General Balear Platarch, former head of the First Army of Lodia, you must have known what would happen when the Succession Law went into effect.”
“Succession Law?” Iren felt like a Tacumsahen parrot, spitting back whatever someone else said. Yet he couldn’t help but be confused. None of what Balear and Hana were saying made sense.
“Do you know how succession works in Lodia?” Balear asked him. “How the next king is chosen when one dies?”
Iren knew it all right. Last year Amroth had used that process to rise to power. “When the king dies, his first legitimate son replaces him,” Iren said. “If the king has no legitimate son, then his chief advisor becomes the king.”
The Hearts of Dragons Page 3