Beyond the castle, the city of Haldessa was even worse. The king showed no interest whatsoever in its reconstruction. A few Ceere residents had started a collection to rebuild, but King Angustion had forced them to stop upon pain of death. Any spare money, he’d explained, needed to go to the country’s new army. They required armor, weapons, places to sleep, and food, an absolutely ridiculous amount of food. The wreckage of Haldessa had thus become a tent city where the conscripts slept, four on top of each other. More than one outbreak of disease had already swept through the camp and wiped out nearly five hundred soldiers before it could be contained.
Despite the setbacks, the king drove them ever harder. Like the residents of Ceere, fear made them obey. Everyone had seen the corpses. The king burned alive anyone who questioned him and mounted their charred remains on pikes. Balear could see them from here. They numbered over one hundred, and at least one a day got added to the tally.
It made him want to vomit.
He knew he should be out there now. He should be training the men, convincing them of the king’s masterful strategic vision for Lodia, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t fake it anymore. Every time he walked among them, he saw their hollow eyes, their frightened stares, and their barely veiled frustration and anxiety. King Angustion had assembled the largest fighting force in Lodia’s history, over five thousand, yet Balear had serious doubts about their capabilities. These were not soldiers. They were farmers, traders, and even boys not yet fully grown to manhood. They hadn’t chosen this life.
As Balear gazed out the window, he realized, for the first time, he hadn’t chosen it either. The man he’d admired since childhood no longer existed. Each time he talked to King Angustion, his liege was increasingly agitated. The king muttered to himself almost constantly and spoke to the flames that followed him. Balear remembered labeling Iren’s abilities “devil magic,” but his former idol’s newfound skills deserved that title far more.
Despite that magic, however, the king bordered on paranoid. Approaching him from behind usually proved fatal, as he had a tendency to whip around and launch a scorching wave of heat before he’d even seen what he had attacked. Balear gingerly stroked his singed left arm, a memento of the first and only time he’d made the mistake of surprising the king.
A knock at the door startled him. Turning around, he started to say, “Come in,” but the door had already opened. King Angustion stood before him, wreathed in flame.
Balear gulped. As general, he was supposed to be among the men. If the king had decided that his underling was disobeying orders, Balear knew he wouldn’t leave this room alive.
“How may I serve?” Balear asked meekly, his head bowed, not daring to look his king in the eye.
“Ready the men to move out,” the king barked. “We head west. I want us on the march by nightfall.”
Balear started. He knew he risked death, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “My liege, with all respect, it is already three hours past midday. Mobilizing the army will take days. The logistics involved in such an operation—”
Fwoosh. A searing jet of heat lanced past his left cheek, scorching a round hole one foot in diameter through the wall behind him. “Logistics do not concern me, General. Get them moving; I don’t care how.”
“Of course, King Angustion.” Balear bowed low, his body trembling. He had no idea how he would get five thousand men on the road before sunset. He doubted all of them would even know they were leaving by then. “My liege, if I may, where shall I tell the men we are headed, and on what mission? Has a city come under attack?”
“No,” the king replied gruffly, “but they could fall at any moment. Ziorsecth threatens our western border. While our army trains here, we’ve left Orcsthia and Caardit exposed. The Kodamas could conquer them easily. For Lodia’s safety, we will crush the Kodamas utterly.”
Balear couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Even schoolchildren knew the Kodamas never left their forest. “Please, sire, why the Kodamas? They hide within their forest and have had no dealings with the outside world in—”
Fwoosh. A second jet shot past his right cheek, burning a second hole in the wall identical to the first.
Balear prostrated himself. “Of course, King Angustion. I live only to serve.”
“Of course you do,” the king said. He spun on his heel and strode from the room, leaving Balear lying face down on the cold stone. When at last the young general worked up the nerve to stand, he clutched his head with his hands in despair. Numbly, he walked to the window, horrified by his former role model’s decision. Balear wondered how many Lodians would die in this battle. How could he lead them to their deaths, when he himself did not agree with this course of action? Yet if he disobeyed, King Angustion would surely kill him and then march on Ziorsecth anyway.
Abandoning hope, he started to leave Iren’s room. As he did, the painting of the serpentine white dragon caught his attention. He’d never paid it any mind before, but now he felt drawn to it. He approached it uncertainly, his hand outstretched. Despite the dragon’s roaring expression, its blue eyes did not appear angry. Quite the contrary, they were filled with understanding. They looked at Balear, and he had the oddest sensation that they not only looked at him, but through him. Those eyes held him spellbound for a moment, and then, as though a thick curtain fell away from his mind, he knew what he needed to do.
Racing down the tower steps, he ran at full speed to the stables. “Where’s my charger?” he cried to the stable boy. The child gasped, no doubt shocked by his general’s wild expression. Nevertheless, he pointed Balear in the right direction.
Balear stroked the horse’s neck a moment before hoisting a saddle onto him and mounting. With a furious crack of the reins, the warhorse shot from the stable. The general rode through the camp at full gallop, and though many stared at him with wonder, no one dared try to stop or question him. When he reached the encampment’s edge, he turned his horse west and bore forward, heedless of the sun in his eyes. He knew, with a certainty he couldn’t explain, that only one person could end King Angustion’s . . . no, Amroth’s madness.
Iren Saitosan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
What’s Most Important?
Iren made up his mind: leaves and dirt tasted really, really bad.
He’d long since lost track of the weeks. Even with nothing else to focus on, Ziorsecth’s thick canopy made telling time difficult. And Iren had plenty else to focus on, what with all the bruises, scrapes, and occasional broken bones he received thanks to Rondel’s harsh training methods. Her earlier softness hadn’t lasted long. If anything, admitting that she cared about him had only bolstered her resolve to toughen him. Without the Muryozaki, he probably would have keeled over long before now.
Granted, he’d improved his control of Divinion’s magic. Beyond just firing it in a beam, he could channel the light’s energy into his muscles, giving them speed and stamina far beyond normal. When Rondel dodged and ran away, although Iren still couldn’t keep up with her, she no longer completely left him behind either.
Heaving himself onto his hands and knees, he coughed on a mouthful of detritus from his most recent landing. Despite his progress, he’d come no closer to striking Rondel a second time. Even unarmed and without Okthora, she evaded every beam, every sword stroke, every single cursed thing he tried to do.
Picking maple leaves out of his sweat-soaked hair, he surveyed his tattered clothes with disdain. Divinion might heal wounds easily enough, but the dragon couldn’t sew.
It didn’t help that they’d brought no supplies with them, instead relying on the forest. Rondel considered it more training. Iren was supposed to find all the food and water they needed. Water posed no problems; they constantly came across small springs and streams while traveling. Food had given him trouble initially. He couldn’t identify any of the plants that were safe to eat, and all the animals scattered at the noise of the battling Maantecs. Lately, though, it had gotten easier. He’d r
efined his control of his ranged magical attacks to the point where he could reliably strike even small animals from far away.
Iren collapsed backward. “This is impossible!” he shouted. “How do you expect me to defeat you? You’ve done this a thousand years longer than I have.”
“Which is why we call it ‘training,’” Rondel said. “How else will you get the experience to match me?”
“I’ll never match you. Look, this is clearly wasting both our times. Let’s go back to Yuushingaral. We’ll figure out another way to stop Amroth.”
“Go back?” she roared. “No, we will stay. We will stay until I say you are strong enough. Of course that may take a while, given how pathetic you currently are.”
Iren pouted. “You make it sound like I’m not trying.”
“Because you aren’t! Do you honestly expect to defeat me with the amount of effort you’re putting forth?”
“I’m working as hard as I can!”
Rondel hauled Iren to his feet, then slapped him hard, knocking him back to the dirt. A jolt of electricity went along with the strike. The crone asked, “Painful, slacker?”
Iren gritted his teeth and glared at the sadistic bat.
“You’ve always taken the easy road!” Rondel yelled. “No one respected you in Haldessa, but instead of trying to earn it by acting decently, you turned into a hooligan just to get attention. All your ridiculous outfits, and your even more ridiculous hair,” she pointed at his shoulder-length tan locks, “just prove my point. You wasted your potential every minute you lived in that castle. You could have become the finest soldier in the Castle Guard, but did you even try to train with them? No, when they said you couldn’t participate, you retreated to your tower. You learned the basics by watching them, but you never had a real teacher who would correct you. Now, with each move, your flaws are pitifully obvious. You have a weak stance, and you give away every attack you make.”
“I survived those fights against the Quodivar and Yokai,” Iren countered, his temper and voice rising as he regained his feet. “I even killed Zuberi.”
Rondel’s harsh tone did not abate. “You would have died your first night out of the castle without the Muryozaki to heal you, and only Dirio’s last-second toss of his miner’s pick spared you from the Yokai. Zuberi would have killed you if I hadn’t intervened. Even with my help, you still would have died, except your magic reacted instinctively. You’ve only survived this long thanks to outside help and incredible luck. Those things are useless! You didn’t earn them, and you can’t depend on them against Amroth. If you want to defeat him, then stop slacking off and put forth some real effort!”
In a flash, white light engulfed Iren. He wouldn’t listen to this stupid old hag badger him any longer! The light spiraled outward, swirling around him. Leaves and twigs snapped and split, tossed about as though a hurricane were ripping through the forest. His eyes glowed white, and the Muryozaki gave off the same gleam. “Shut your mouth, Rondel!” he cried. “You don’t know anything about me!”
The old woman stood firm, even as the air whipped around her and threatened to send her airborne. Ignoring Iren’s outburst, she spat, “You can’t win if you constantly hold yourself back and give up when you find a problem difficult!”
The light around Iren condensed so that his entire body shone. The trees stopped moving. Iren pointed the Muryozaki’s tip straight at Rondel.
The crone cocked an eyebrow and flashed her signature sarcastic grin. She probably threw him some snarky comment, but Iren couldn’t hear anymore. The light had all but consumed him. It operated of its own accord, independent of his will. Focusing on the Muryozaki’s tip, it grew brighter until all else in the area looked like blackest midnight and it shone like the lighthouse at Ceere.
Then it fired.
The beam measured over thirty feet across, obliterating all in its path as it rocketed through the forest. The katana itself must have absorbed the recoil; otherwise, the spell’s force would have thrown Iren off his feet. For nearly ten seconds the energy erupted from the Muryozaki, until Rondel crashed into Iren at full speed, knocking the sword from his hands. As the connection between Iren and Divinion broke, the beam abruptly ceased.
The young Dragon Knight shook his head, dazed. He looked upon the aftermath of his attack, his whole body numb with horror. Everything in the beam’s path had simply vanished. The magic must have annihilated the air itself, for as soon as the beam disappeared, a harsh sucking noise followed as the atmosphere rushed to fill the vacuum. The swath of destruction proceeded over five miles.
Rondel stoically beheld the devastation, her back to Iren. “See how much magic you still have?” she berated. “That proves you’re training the way you’ve lived your whole life: halfway.”
Iren wanted to argue, but he couldn’t form words. The beam had drained him completely. He felt lightheaded, and then the edges of his vision blurred. He hit the ground.
Instantly his head felt better. He pushed himself to his knees, then halted, confused. Hard, flat stone had replaced the soil and leaves of the forest floor. He stood and looked around. It was nighttime, or at least dark enough to be. He gulped. He’d been here once before.
Barely a minute passed before the majestic form of Divinion appeared on the horizon. Iren waited timidly for the serpentine beast to approach.
The massive creature landed before him, but Iren could tell nothing of the dragon’s mood. Divinion’s body shook, light streaming from him as he transformed into an old man.
The Holy Dragon smiled as he approached Iren. “So, we meet again. I wondered when our next chat would happen.”
Though the dragon didn’t show any outward sign of disapproval, Iren nevertheless cast his eyes away from Divinion, hot with embarrassment. All he could think of was his violent loss of control, and he knew that Divinion had witnessed it. Worse, he’d used Divinion’s own strength to cause the destruction to happen.
“Divinion,” Iren began, struggling to find words, “why did you choose me? I couldn’t even control my emotions just now, and I caused a tragedy because of it.”
The old man put an arm around him. “Do you know what allows you to access your magic? Why you could use it at some times but not others?”
“Anger drives it,” Iren replied. “When I get angry, it forces the magic to the surface.”
Divinion sighed. “No, that isn’t true. What about when you healed Dirio? Were you angry then?”
Iren’s head snapped up. He met Divinion’s gaze. “No, I felt terrible for him. I desperately wanted him to survive.”
“You cared for him. That emotion brought forth magic. It happened with Minawë, too. I wasn’t with you at the time, but I can see it in your memory. When you learned that Amroth had betrayed you, you fled the queen’s home. In the process, you fell into the Yuushin Sea and would have drowned had Minawë not rescued you. Why could she pull you from the ocean, leaving Ziorsecth in the process, when Aletas could not?”
Iren shrugged. He hadn’t thought about it before. Minawë had told him that when she’d first entered Lodia, she’d lost consciousness almost immediately. She shouldn’t have been able to rescue him from the Yuushin, yet she had.
“The reason,” Divinion answered for him, “is that Minawë no longer suffers from Iren Saito’s curse. You cured her of it outside Ziorsecth. You could not have known, but you never would have gotten her back to the forest in time. She would have died before you knocked Balear unconscious. But in that moment when you decided to help her, when you told Balear all you cared about was protecting her, you cast a spell without realizing it. You broke the curse on her, saving her life. That’s why your attack was so weak when you hit Balear. You had almost no magic left after curing Minawë.”
Iren’s whole body trembled. “Where, then, does the magic come from, if not from anger? Rondel controls hers so flawlessly!”
Divinion replied, “Something you must understand is that our magic fundamentally differs from Rondel’
s and Okthora’s. Their abilities stem from a substance of the physical world: lightning. Your magic comes not from anything external, but from within yourself. Your untamed heart is its source. Whatever color your emotions take, so too will your magic. When you love, you heal. When you care, you protect. When you hate, you destroy.”
Iren cried, “Then I must never use magic again! I can’t control what I feel! Look what I did in Ziorsecth just now! What if I did that in Yuushingaral, or in a Lodian city?”
“No one can control their emotions completely,” Divinion said, “nor should they. Your feelings, by their nature, are wild and beautiful. As long as you hold true to them, they and you will be worthy enough for me.”
“Then . . . do you forgive me for what happened today?”
To Iren’s astonishment, the old man chuckled. “As Rondel said, you lack experience. With time and teaching, you will better understand your emotions. You will learn how to express all of them in the right ways at the right times.” He paused a moment, apparently distracted, and a sad smile appeared on his face. “Once again our time together draws to a close.”
Divinion took a few steps back, and in a flourish transformed into a dragon. As he took flight, Iren shouted in alarm, “But how can I know which emotions are the right ones? How do I stop myself from causing another disaster?”
With a voice that shook the universe, Divinion replied as he faded away and all light vanished, “Commit to what’s most important.”
Confused by the dragon’s words, Iren cried, “Wait, Divinion!” He scanned the void, searching in vain for any sign of the Holy Dragon. “What’s most important?”
His only answer was silence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Saito and Saitosan
Light returned to the world, and Iren lay on his back looking up at the dense Ziorsecth canopy. Somewhere nearby, a fire crackled. Heaving himself to a sitting position, he saw Rondel tending a campfire with a stick.
The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga Page 21