The Flames of Dragons

by Josh VanBrakle

  “Just to be clear,” Minawë said, “if either of you breaks your word on this, I’ll kill you myself. I don’t want to, but two of us against Melwar is better than one. We can’t risk another battle like you had today.”

  “Blame Iren for that,” Rondel growled, “him and his stupid forbidden technique.”

  Minawë’s eyes regained their brutal look, and even the implacable Rondel wilted under them. “Fine, fine, forget what I said,” the old Maantec grumbled. “I’m as much to blame.”

  “That’s better,” Minawë spat. Iren gulped for the third time since leaving the Muryozaki. Minawë had always possessed a strong will, but this Minawë scared him.

  Still, he had to concede that her sense of authority impressed him. She was starting to sound like the Kodaman queen.

  Minawë stretched out her hands, and the vines ensnaring Iren and Rondel slithered back into the rocks. The two Maantecs knelt and retrieved their weapons. Under Minawë’s harsh glare, they put them away.

  “So what’s your plan for getting us to Lodia?” Iren asked Minawë. “Going over land will take too long. Melwar will have finished his invasion by the time we reach him.”

  “I had a thought about that,” Minawë replied. “Come with me.”

  Iren and Rondel followed her up the crater wall. Though Minawë couldn’t see them, they both kept their weapons sheathed.

  When Iren reached the crater’s lip, he paused a moment in shock. The crater stopped less than a hundred feet from Hiabi’s northern wall. They had fought away from the city, yet his failed Muryoka had still almost taken out a portion of it.

  Considering how close the explosion had been to Hiabi, Iren expected to see Maantecs swarming around the crater. But no one was around. It was as though they knew what had caused it and feared to venture too close.

  “That’s my plan,” Minawë said, pulling Iren from his thoughts. She pointed across the city to the sea.

  Iren half-smiled. It was a good plan.

  A single junk sat in the water. Kelp swarmed over its sides, but its hull was intact.

  “I was in the middle of attacking it when I noticed your fight,” Minawë explained. “The crew abandoned it, but all I did was break the oars. Once I remove the kelp, it should be seaworthy.”

  She turned to Rondel. “You said you’re familiar with these ships. Can three of us control that thing?”

  Rondel put a hand to her chin a moment. “Junks house a thousand people and take a hundred crewmen,” she said. “Then again, Iren and I can move faster than regular Maantecs. It might be possible. She won’t be as responsive as a fully crewed ship, but I think we can get her moving.”

  “Good,” Minawë said. “Let’s swim out to her. I’ll be the captain.”

  Neither Iren nor Rondel argued with her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Deadlock

  Balear tugged on the straps of his sword harness. They clung to his body, and no matter how he shifted, he couldn’t relieve the pressure.

  In the open air it wouldn’t be a problem, but here in the confines of the western mayors’ command tent, the harness and his borrowed Katailan uniform stifled him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he could feel it on the back of his neck too. That was a bad sign. If this meeting went on too long, he was likely to pass out.

  Then again, as bad as he had it, Elyssa had to have it worse. Her servants had done her up in her most formal dress. She must be dying beneath all those petticoats.

  Yet she sat, poised and confident, seemingly oblivious to the unusually hot spring day. The sheen on her face only made her look more elegant, in contrast to the sweat-soaked Balear.

  At least Balear and Elyssa weren’t alone in their suffering. Each of the mayors had two accompanying soldiers to serve as honor guards, and all the men looked ready to collapse in the windless tent.

  Balear stared sideways at the man beside him, the one he’d chosen as Elyssa’s second guard. The man eyed the ground as though he wanted to fall into it.

  “Let’s start by identifying ourselves,” Terkou’s mayor said.

  Balear marked that one. The Terkouan looked even more wolf-like without the helm he’d worn yesterday. His ears pointed at the tops, and he kept his gray hair trimmed and sharp. His narrow eyes took in the whole tent, daring someone to question him. Speaking first had been his less-than-subtle way of putting himself in charge of the meeting.

  No one seemed keen to dispute his tactic. Instead they went around the table and announced themselves.

  “Kras Menage, Mayor of Orcsthia.”

  “Otto Dunbar, Mayor of Caardit.”

  “Elyssa Orianna, Mayor of Kataile.”

  “And of course, I am Horace Attan, Mayor of Terkou. Very well, let us commence. As there are only four of us, this meeting should go quickly. According to the Succession Law, any of us may become the next leader of Lodia. We will work on a simple majority vote. Agreed?”

  Kras and Otto nodded, and Balear suppressed a frown. He had expected a call for consensus, that everyone should discuss and agree on the new ruler. Now that he saw the expressions on the western mayors’ faces, though, he understood their plan. They had already worked out how this meeting would go. Likely they’d chosen who among them would be king in exchange for certain privileges, and with majority rule, they could cut Elyssa out of the proceedings.

  There was no other choice. It was time for Balear to put forth his secret weapon.

  “Excuse me, my lords and lady,” he said, “but before you begin, I’m afraid the introductions aren’t complete.”

  All the mayors, even Elyssa, glared at him. It wasn’t the place for honor guards to speak. Their purpose was to silently keep the peace . . . and to butcher all their enemies if peace couldn’t be maintained.

  “What are you talking about, traitor?” Kras snapped.

  Balear forced himself not to wince. “There’s another mayor in this tent,” he said. “He’s standing right next to me.”

  Elyssa’s second guard snapped up his head. His glare joined the others. “Balear . . .”

  “Sorry, Dirio, but I have to. My lords and lady, let me present Dirio Cyneric, mayor of Veliaf.”

  “You told me I wouldn’t have to do anything,” Dirio said. “I don’t want to be king.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t or shouldn’t participate in the discussion of who will be,” Balear replied. “You have as much right to sit on this council as any of them.”

  “Nonsense,” Otto interjected. “Lord Attan’s agents informed us that Veliaf was destroyed. He isn’t eligible.”

  The edges of Elyssa’s lips tightened. “Ah, but he is,” she said. “He was mayor at the time King Angustion perished. His town had enough people to qualify for the Succession Law. As to Veliaf’s destruction, that’s irrelevant. A town can be rebuilt. His people survived. They’re what matter. We’ve sheltered them in Kataile, but they remain Veliafans. Throughout their stay Dirio has remained responsible for them.”

  “I won’t allow it!” Kras roared. He jabbed a finger at Balear. “Why should I believe the word of a traitor? This man could be anyone!”

  “I agree,” Otto put in. “It’s highly suspect.”

  Balear looked at Horace. He expected the Terkouan mayor to put up the same resistance as his allies. Instead, the wolf-faced man’s narrow eyes glittered. “Hold a moment, sirs,” he said. “It is not the traitor’s words we must consider, but those of Lady Orianna and this man Dirio. My spies indeed told me of Veliaf’s destruction, but they also told me of its new mayor. Apparently he saved his village from a Quodivar invasion. He’s a fine man. I say he may participate.”

  The two western mayors gaped at their ally. Balear kept his expression neutral, but inside he smiled. Now he understood. Horace was the same as Elyssa. He weighed the costs and benefits of every action. He’d sided with the western mayors because they had a larger army, but he hadn’t truly joined them.

  He also hadn’t given up his desire to
become king, and for that, Dirio was the wrinkle the Terkouan needed. With four mayors, Kras and Otto didn’t need him for a majority. With five, the throne was in play again.

  “Well then,” Elyssa said, “it seems Mayor Cyneric is welcome at our table. Come and join us, sir.”

  Still glaring at Balear, Dirio sidled up to the table where the other mayors already sat. There were only four chairs, so Dirio had to stand. That only made his expression even darker.

  “Are there any other mayors anyone would like to spring on us?” Kras growled. “Or can we move on?”

  No one replied, so Kras continued, “In that case, let’s get this over with. I nominate myself.”

  Otto, Caardit’s mayor, went next. He nodded at Kras. “I put in a second vote for my esteemed western comrade, Lord Menage.”

  Dirio was next to Otto, so it was his turn. He mumbled, “I’ll nominate Lady Orianna.”

  Elyssa gave herself a second vote, which left only Horace.

  The wolfish man sat in silence for a long time. Balear felt the stifling atmosphere getting to him again. His head spun. His vision tunneled. Who would the man choose? The vote was tied, two to two. If he voted for Kras, Elyssa would surely mobilize her city’s army. And if he picked Elyssa, Kras and Otto’s guards would just as surely try to strike down the female mayor before she left the tent.

  Balear worked his hand. There wasn’t enough room to swing the Auryozaki in here. No matter what happened, though, he would defend Elyssa and Dirio.

  At last Horace leaned back in his chair. He folded his arms across his chest. A thin smile sprouted on his lips. “I nominate myself.”

  Everyone in the tent groaned. The vote was deadlocked. Horace had been wrong. This meeting wouldn’t be short after all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  At Sea

  From the junk’s bow, Rondel scanned the whitecaps ahead of them. They were sailing far enough from shore that they shouldn’t have to worry about sandbars, but there was still a chance. None of them had experience navigating on the water. The only way to mark their progress—and confirm they were actually headed north—was to keep Raa’s east coast in view at all times.

  “See anything?” Minawë called from behind her.

  Rondel ended Lightning Sight and faced her daughter. “The way looks clear as far as I can tell,” she said.

  The two of them stood on the highest deck at the front of the ship. Rondel served as lookout, while Minawë handled steering. Six weeks had passed since they’d left Hiabi, and the Eregos Mountains had just appeared on the horizon. By Rondel’s best guess, they still had another two weeks before they reached Lodia.

  Rondel looked past her daughter to the brown kimono-clad figure zipping across the lower decks. Iren Saitosan dashed from mast to mast, using the ropes hanging from the sail battens to catch the shifting wind.

  Minawë noticed Rondel staring and craned her neck around. “Think we should give him a break?” she asked.

  “Nah,” Rondel replied, “it’s good for the slacker to get some exercise.”

  “You said manning those sails usually takes dozens of Maantecs. Iren can’t be having an easy time of it. He has the toughest job of all of us.”

  “Do you feel bad for him?”

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  Rondel didn’t reply to that. Six weeks at sea left too much time to think. She didn’t know how she felt about Iren Saitosan. She didn’t know how she felt about anything. Damn Saito.

  “I’m going to tell him we’re all right for the moment,” Minawë said. “You can come if you want.” She jogged down the steps to the lower deck.

  Rondel stayed where she was. She might not know how she felt about Iren, but she knew how he felt about her. Going down there would just lead to anger, and anger was one thing they couldn’t afford on this trip. They were barely keeping the ponderous junk afloat. No one was getting enough sleep, and if it hadn’t been for the unseasonably good weather, they would long ago have capsized and drowned.

  Below Rondel, Iren had stopped running and was talking to Minawë. Neither looked comfortable with the conversation. Iren was eyeing the floor more than the woman in front of him, and Minawë dug her toe into the deck so hard Rondel wondered if the wood could handle it.

  Rondel went back to the bow and cast Lightning Sight. The water must be deeper in this area; she couldn’t spot any sign of sandbars or other obstructions. They should be good for a while.

  As she was about to turn away, though, a shadow appeared ahead of the junk, just below the water’s surface. The form grew from nothing into a huge, dark oval. It moved toward them too quickly to be a sandbar. Rondel ran to the stairs.

  “Minawë, look off to starboard!”

  Her daughter frowned. “Why? Is something the matter?”

  “Just go!”

  Minawë shrugged and walked to the railing. Iren followed her. He’d just reached her side when a black hump emerged from the water.

  Rondel descended the steps and approached them. “What do you think?”

  “What was that?” Iren asked.

  “A whale,” Rondel replied. “I told you they were big, Minawë.”

  “It must be the size of this ship,” Minawë said. “Is it dangerous?”

  “Only if it surfaces underneath us, which isn’t likely.”

  The whale flicked its tail into the air as it dove back down. Minawë and Iren stood spellbound next to each other.

  Rondel turned to head back to the bow. She was halfway there when she heard the screams. She whipped around to see what had attacked her daughter, and then she laughed. She was just in time to see the whale peak in its rise as it breached the surface. Its broad snout lifted as high as the ship’s deck, its eye level with Rondel’s.

  The whale gave a long, low cry that sounded both jubilant and sad. Then it rotated and splashed into the water back first. Spray shot over the junk’s side and soaked all three onlookers.

  Minawë slapped both hands on the railing. “That was incredible!” she said. “I hope we see more of them.”

  Rondel smiled and started to reply, but then she stopped. She happened to glance at Minawë’s hand. When Minawë had grabbed the railing, she hadn’t realized that Iren had already done the same. Her hand had landed on top of his.

  Minawë realized the situation a moment after Rondel did. The girl’s cheeks flushed, and she put her back to Iren.

  Iren was just as red. He swallowed hard. He seemed like he might say something, but then he noticed Rondel looking at him. “The wind’s shifting,” he said. “I’d better check the sails.” He dashed off.

  Rondel returned to the bow. A moment later, she heard Minawë’s steps as the Kodama took her place at the helm.

  The old Maantec sighed. Iren was right; the wind was shifting. But which way it would blow, and where it would take them, were things even Lightning Sight couldn’t tell her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Safely through the Storm

  Hundred-mile-per-hour gusts lashed at the sails, lightning arced across the sky, and thunder threatened to deafen everyone on board the Torment, but even seasick-prone Hana was calm and relaxed. Despite the storm around them, the junk sailed on as easily as it had during the clearest weather.

  Hana turned the junk’s wheel to stay on an even course with the ships ahead of her. Torment was the fleet’s rearguard, while Shogun Melwar’s Shadeen took point.

  Hana could just make out her master’s ship through the torrential rain. As the fleet traveled, the shogun used Mizuchi’s magic to flatten the sea around them. Fifty feet on either side of the column of ships, waves rose level with the uppermost deck. Within Shogun Melwar’s protective zone, though, the ocean was flat as glass.

  The message to the conscripted army was clear. Follow the shogun, and he would keep you safe. Wander outside his service, and you would drown.

  Hana’s lips pursed. The storm had hit farther north than she’d expected. They were almost to Lodia.
Another day or so, and they would land in Ceere. From there, she already had her orders. While Shogun Melwar secured Haldessa Castle, Hana would take half the army to Kataile and attack it.

  Kataile. Hana wondered if Balear was still there.

  It didn’t matter if he was. He couldn’t save her from this storm. Her only hope was Shogun Melwar.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Sideways

  Iren had grown up loving the ocean. The sound of the waves, the glittering light on the water, and the sweet and salty seafood all made him feel at peace.

  As the junk turned sideways, he reconsidered that assessment.

  They had sailed into the storm an hour past sunset two months into their journey. Rondel’s Lightning Sight had picked up on the black cloud with plenty of notice, but it was so massive there was no avoiding it.

  “Any time, Iren!” the hag roared. Iren could barely hear her over the wind and rain.

  Not that he needed to. He knew what to do. Wrapping his right arm around the junk’s center mast, he shot a white beam from his left hand into the water below them. The recoil pushed back against the mast, and the ship stopped its tilt. As the wave beneath them crested and passed, the ship righted itself.

  The sudden change in orientation slammed Iren onto the deck. Through the pain, he forced himself to crawl to where Rondel held tight to another mast.

  “It’s too top-heavy!” Iren shouted. “We need to do something about the sails.”

  Rondel nodded and looked up, but she didn’t offer any suggestions. There were none to be had. They’d been over it before the ship had entered the storm. With only three of them, they couldn’t handle all the ropes needed to furl the junk’s massive sails. Now, every time the storm winds shifted, they yanked the junk off center and threatened to capsize it.

  “I’ll cut through the masts with the Muryozaki,” Iren offered. “We’ll let them fall overboard.”