“Right,” Balear replied. “That’s how Amroth became king even though he wasn’t of royal birth. King Azuluu made him his chief advisor. But what would happen if a king died without either a legitimate son or a chief advisor?”
Iren stiffened. Amroth hadn’t sired any children, and he never would have suffered an advisor. “I assume there’s some process for choosing a new king.”
“There is,” Balear said. “It’s called the Succession Law. If a king dies without a legitimate son or a chief advisor, the mayors of Lodia’s large towns and cities gather in a council. They then choose who among them should become the next king.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Iren said. “I don’t understand why a rule like that would lead to civil war. After all, Lodia isn’t that big. It only has a handful of cities.”
“Actually, it doesn’t,” Hana interjected. “The Succession Law was written eight hundred years ago, less than two centuries after the Kodama-Maantec War. That war wiped out most of Lodia’s population, and the country had yet to recover. Because the kingdom had so few people, the Succession Law’s definition of a ‘large town’ was a lot smaller than what we would consider it today.”
“And that definition was?”
“A hundred residents or more.”
Iren whistled. There were unnamed farming villages that could meet that threshold.
“The law states that all the mayors of all these towns have a right to attend the council and potentially become king,” Balear said. “Unfortunately, the law’s creator never thought there would be so many towns with more than a hundred people. He didn’t bother laying out a framework for when, where, or how the council would take place. He assumed the list of towns would be more like four or five, so the few mayors could easily communicate and come to a decision. With hundreds of towns involved, it’s become total anarchy.”
“Why wasn’t the law changed as the population rose to keep this from happening?” Iren asked.
“Because the law’s never been necessary until now. Most kings appoint advisors right after their coronation. King Azuluu was an exception in that he waited twenty years before choosing Amroth. As a result, no one ever saw a reason to change the law, even as it became outdated.”
“Without a clear rule,” Hana put in, “the towns turned against each other. A few have formed alliances, but it’s pretty much every community for itself. The rural areas have suffered the most. Raiding parties attack farms to secure food and money. They capture anyone they think will be useful, and they kill those who put up a fight. It’s chaos. The Succession Law has become Lodia’s downfall.”
Iren thought back to the pair of Orcsthians who had accosted him outside Ziorsecth. They probably didn’t see many strong young men roaming alone these days. That’s why they’d let him come to the city. They’d known all along that once he entered, he wouldn’t be allowed to leave unless he joined them.
This wasn’t the Lodia Iren remembered. This wasn’t even the Lodia of Amroth. The nation had gone mad.
He wanted to help. If he could use magic, he could side with one of the towns and give them an advantage.
But that was pointless speculation. He didn’t have magic. Even if he did, the last thing the people of Lodia would want was another Dragon Knight dictating to them.
“I did what I could,” Balear said. He sounded like he wanted to convince himself more than Iren or Hana. “Over the past six months, I’ve traveled the country trying to get the mayors to hold their council. No one listened. Most threw me out. A few tried to kill me. I always escaped, but Orcsthia was too much. They’re one of the strongest cities right now. Being so far from Haldessa, they were among the last to receive Amroth’s conscription decree. A lot of the men ignored it. I thought that if I could convince Orcsthia to seek a peaceful solution, the other towns would recognize its strength and agree. Instead, the mayor declared me a traitor and planned to execute me. He even told the soldiers who captured me that he’d pay the bounty Amroth put on my head to show the country he was still a loyal Lodian.”
“Strictly speaking, he wasn’t wrong,” Iren pointed out. “You are a traitor to Lodia.”
“Not to Lodia!” Balear retorted. “And not a traitor! Amroth betrayed Lodia, not me. When I left him and joined the Kodamas against his army, I didn’t do it to betray Lodia. I did it to save this kingdom from the demon that was Amroth.”
“In so doing,” Hana said, “you released an even worse devil.”
“I know that,” Balear spat. “That’s why I haven’t given up. I’ll keep going to towns until someone listens. Someone besides me must hate this useless bloodshed.” He paused and looked at Iren. “You’ll help me, won’t you? With the Holy Dragon, we can end this war in a month.”
Iren’s eyes went to the floor. “You saw what happened when the guards cornered us. Six months have passed since we parted, and I still can’t use magic. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
Balear looked taken aback. “If you didn’t come because of the civil war, why did you leave Ziorsecth?”
“I want to visit my parents’ farm. If I go there, I might find a clue about how to regain my magic.”
Balear was silent for a minute. He scratched his chin. “Suppose you could use magic again,” he said at last. “Would you be willing to help me then?”
In truth, Iren had hoped to return to Ziorsecth and Minawë. After seeing Orcsthia and hearing Balear’s and Hana’s tales, though, he couldn’t refuse. “Yes,” he said, “I can’t stand by and let this country rip itself apart.”
“In that case, I’ll go with you to your parents’ farm and help you however I can,” Balear said. “I could use a break from getting thrown in dungeons anyway. Do you know where the farm is?”
Iren nodded. “When Amroth told me about the night my parents died, he mentioned Tropos Village. I think the farm is near there.”
“Tropos?” There was a waver in Balear’s voice. “You’re sure that’s what he said?”
“Absolutely. Lies or not, every word of that conversation is burned into my brain.”
Balear’s tongue flicked in and out. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Tropos is close to Haldessa, and that’s on the other side of the country. Crossing Lodia these days is dangerous. We could be set upon by raiders, or outlaws, or even a city’s army.”
Iren folded his arms. “Don’t come then. Go back to Orcsthia and let me know how they welcome you. I’m going to Tropos. If you want me to help you restore peace in Lodia, you’ll have to come with me.”
“When you put it that way, I guess I can’t dissuade you,” Balear said. “So be it. As it happens, my mother lives in Tropos, so I know where it is.”
Iren couldn’t believe his good fortune. Helping Balear had almost killed him, but now he had a path to his parents’ farm, even if it was hazardous. “It’s settled,” he said.
Hana threw up her hands. “What do you mean, ‘settled?’ You think you’ll just wander on over to Tropos without any horses or supplies? Maantec or not, you can’t cross Lodia that way.”
“She has a point,” Balear said. “Maybe we should go somewhere closer, like Caardit.”
“No!” Iren shouted. “Nowhere else matters to me right now. I have to reach Tropos.”
Hana grinned. “I might be able to help with that.”
Iren and Balear looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean?” Iren asked.
She gave them a sly expression. “You’ve already made one scene today. What’s the bother in causing another?”
Iren groaned. “You aren’t suggesting we go back to Orcsthia, are you? Every soldier there will be looking for us.”
Hana’s mysterious look didn’t change. “We don’t have to go to Orcsthia. If I’m right, they’ll come to us.”
CHAPTER SIX
The Warm Hearth
The decades-old memory floated unbidden into Rondel’s consciousness. She had forgotten it years ago, but now it resurfaced as clearly as
the night it had happened.
She’d been walking the nighttime streets of Orcsthia, a grimy city filled with grimy humans. She had gone there with a purpose, but the journey had proven a waste of time. The object of her search was no longer there.
She would have left that night had it not been for the rain. It had been pouring, and Rondel’s woolen cloak had clung to her.
The nearest inn had been a place called the Warm Hearth. The owners called it that because that was the best anyone could say about it.
Rondel had just spotted the inn’s sign when she saw the struggle. Under the building’s overhang, three men surrounded a young woman with long black hair. The girl lashed at her attackers, but she was no fighter. Two of the men held her against the wall, and the third had his hands on her chest.
Rondel scowled. She didn’t need this. She was already in a bad mood. Her left hand brushed her dagger to check its position. Then she stepped under the overhang.
“Excuse me!” she said, adopting a wide grin and staring stupidly at the men. “What are you all doing there?”
When they ignored her, Rondel flapped her cloak and made a loud show of brushing off the rain. “Some storm,” she said. “I’d hate to be traveling unprotected in it. You never know what you might run into.”
The man in front of the girl shifted to face Rondel. His trousers were open. “Beat it,” he spat. “We’re busy here.”
Rondel flicked her eyes to the trapped woman. “It seems you are. Run along, little girl. These three deserve a real woman like me.”
One of the men restraining the girl laughed. “Like we’d want a shriveled old witch like you!”
“That was rude,” Rondel said. Her grin vanished, and her voice dropped in pitch. “I’ll have to teach you some manners. Let’s start with something even your simple brains can understand: evil must be annihilated.”
The three men never had time to scream.
Rondel wiped her blade clean and stepped back into the rain. She would stay somewhere else.
She was almost out of sight of the inn when a voice called, “Wait!”
Rondel turned. The young woman was running through the downpour toward her.
“I wanted to thank you,” the girl said when she caught up.
“It was coincidence,” Rondel replied. “I didn’t do it for charity. Those men got what they deserved. Even so, in the future, you shouldn’t wander alone.”
“In that case,” the girl said, “can I come with you? Will you teach me to defend myself?”
That wasn’t what Rondel had meant. She frowned and asked, “Why?”
“Because sometimes Lefts like us need to wander alone.”
Rondel put her back to the girl. “Not interested.”
She stormed off, but she’d only gone four steps when she heard the words that froze her. “You’re Rondel Thara, aren’t you?”
Rondel whipped around. “How could you know that?”
“A strong, elderly woman with a dagger she holds in her left hand? There’s no one else you could be. My parents told me stories about you.”
“If your parents told you stories about me,” Rondel said, “then you know what I did. I betrayed the Maantecs. Your people are almost extinct thanks to me. Doesn’t that matter to you?”
“Not really,” the girl said with a shrug. “I’m only twenty. I don’t care about some war that happened a thousand years ago. The way I see it, you’re the person who helped me. That’s all.”
Rondel didn’t answer for a long time. She stood in the rain, staring at the girl. At length she asked, “What’s your name?”
The girl told her.
“Let me share a secret with you,” Rondel said. “I hate Maantecs. I hate all of them. This world nearly died because of our species, and you admit that you don’t care. That’s why I hate Maantecs. You’re so arrogant that you think the only thing that matters in this world is you. With that attitude, if you became stronger, you’d only repeat the past. You’d only repeat the Kodama-Maantec War. So get lost.”
* * *
Rondel groaned as she awoke. All of that had happened twenty-five years ago. Her eyes burned, and not just because being in Serona had dehydrated her.
Her snapped dagger lay beside her on the scorched earth. Rondel picked it up with her good hand and looked it over. It was like cradling a dead friend. A broken hand she could live with, but a broken Liryometa was a different matter. Not just any smith could repair it. A true Ryokaiten had spells cast on it to keep the weapon from rusting or dulling and to make it more durable in magic-enhanced combat.
The dagger was likely a lost cause. All the Kodamas skilled in forging magical weapons had gone off to war a thousand years ago and succumbed to Iren Saito’s curse. As for Maantecs, assuming any of their smiths remained from back then, they would never help a traitor like her.
Rondel sighed and returned the broken blade to its sheath on her hip. For now, she would just have to hold on to the weapon and hope that a solution came to her.
Of course, even if she could repair the rondel, it wouldn’t solve her problem. The Stone Dragon Knight’s words rang in her head: “Give my greetings to Iren Saito, and in exchange, I’ll give yours to Iren Saitosan.”
Rondel shook her head. She had hoped that she’d seen the last of Iren. He had a way of making her life miserable, as he was proving at this moment. Rondel had no idea what connected her attacker, Iren, and the Burning Ruby, but she doubted it was anything pleasant.
She might as well get moving then. Rondel leapt to her feet and dashed across the hot expanse of Serona, heading east for Ziorsecth.
As she ran, the name of the girl she’d met outside the Warm Hearth—the same woman who had attacked her here in Serona—filled her mind. Rondel knitted her brow and muttered, “What are you planning, Hana?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Violent Beauty
Iren’s brow lowered. “You don’t really expect this to work, do you?”
“Of course,” Hana said. “Men are so predictable it’s embarrassing.”
“You don’t even have armor. They’ll gut you in a second.”
“They couldn’t hurt me if they tried.”
Iren put up his hands. It was useless to argue with her. Besides, it was her idea.
Still, he was nervous about using Hana as bait. Something about her made his skin tingle. He’d seen those brown eyes and that long, straight, black hair before. Her bubbly enthusiasm and confidence matched as well. It was possible. Hana could be the woman Iren kept seeing in his recurring dream—the one holding his child.
“Here they come,” Hana said, pulling Iren from his thoughts. “Go inside the barn and get into position.”
Balear looked ill at leaving Hana unprotected, but Iren grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back to the barn. If Hana’s crazy scheme was to have a chance of working, they had to play their parts too.
Iren and Balear climbed to the lofts on opposite sides of the barn doors. A triangular ventilation hole provided a small window, but the angle was wrong for Iren to see what was happening outside. He held his breath and hoped Hana was all right.
The minutes passed, and there was no sound. Iren glanced across at Balear. The soldier dripped with sweat. His grip on the sword Hana had stolen was so tight Iren doubted the man could wield it.
Just as Iren had given up and decided to go see what was happening outside, the barn doors swung open. Hana stumbled in backward, giggling like a child. She looked unhurt, though one sleeve of her top had fallen from her shoulder and now hung around her upper arm.
“Please, boys, there’s no need to rush,” she said. “There’s plenty of me for all three of you.”
Hana fell into the straw and spread her legs. “One at a time, please.”
The three Orcsthian soldiers strode into the barn, and Balear’s sword hand gripped even harder. A trickle of blood flowed down the hilt and dripped onto the wooden slats below him.
One of the soldiers
loosened his trousers. When he was within a yard of Hana, he let them drop.
Hana winked at the ceiling. That was the signal. Iren and Balear struck.
With a yell they leapt down, each taking one of the men behind the fool in front. Iren knocked out his foe with the back of the Muryozaki. Balear, his sword arm too tense, used his left hand to punch his enemy in the face. The Orcsthian crumpled to the ground.
The half-naked soldier looked around in a panic as he realized the trap he and his fellows had fallen into. Hana stood and smiled. She struck the soldier in the gut with her forearm. The man folded in half, then flew backward under the force of the blow. He smashed through the wall of the barn.
Iren and Balear gaped. “How did you do that?” Iren asked. Even with his Maantec abilities, he doubted he could have sent a man flying.
“If you want to survive in this world,” Hana said, “you need to be strong.”
Iren blinked twice. Hana’s words reminded him of someone. With a sideways glance at Balear, he could tell the Lodian had the same feeling.
They sounded like something Amroth would say.
Hana stepped over to the man Balear had knocked out. The Orcsthian’s breath came with a sound like bubbles; Balear had broken the man’s nose. Hana hefted the soldier to his feet and held him up with her right hand.
“What are you doing?” Balear asked. “He’s defeated. Let’s take their horses and supplies and go, like we planned.”
Hana ignored him and cocked her left fist. “No!” Iren cried.
He was too late. Hana plowed her hand into the Orcsthian’s chest. A horrendous popping followed as her blow snapped ribs. Then, like the other soldier Hana had attacked, the man shot out of the barn.
Balear scowled. “That was unnecessary.”
Hana returned his look with a fiercer one. “He was the one who did this to me,” she said, pointing at her shifted top. “Humans don’t deserve to touch me.”
The Hearts of Dragons Page 4