by Jekka Jones
“Thanks, Lan. That was close,” said Will, flexing his hand. He grabbed Landon, forcing him to run again.
They entered the alley, and Will slowed down to a brisk walk. The light from the surrounding buildings was enough for them to see their surroundings. Landon peered over his shoulder to see if anyone was pursuing them. The alley was empty and relief surged through him.
“Will,” he began, “I think we managed—”
A dark body hurtled itself out of the dark and slammed into Will. Landon was thrown and fell in a crumpled heap next to a pile of logs.
He blacked out for a moment, but the shouts and screams of battling men brought him around. He was woozy, lightheaded, and his side hurt from where he had fallen into the woodpile. He could hear grunting and gasping not too far away and blinked his vision clear. Will was on his back with a Dagnorian on top of him. At first, Landon couldn’t see what was going on until a glint of steel revealed a knife in the Dagnorian’s hands. Will had a firm grip on his attacker’s arms, but the dagger crept closer and closer to piercing his throat.
Fear shot through Landon. His stomach clenched, and he staggered to his feet. As he wobbled towards the struggling men, Landon slipped the sword from his shoulder. He stopped right behind the Dagnorian and swung it two-handed against the assailant’s face. With a loud crack, the hilt connected with the man’s temple, and he crumpled to the ground. Will shoved the man off of him, rolled to the side and sprang to his feet, the dagger clenched in his fist. Landon raised the sword, his arms shaking from the exertion, and braced himself for another attack.
The man didn’t move. Cautiously, Will nudged the prone figure with his foot. He dropped down and felt for a pulse, and then looked at Landon. Shock lit up his brother’s eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
“Good hit, brother,” he said. “He’s dead.”
Landon’s breath caught. Dead? No. Landon wanted to knock him out or just distract him long enough for Will to get the upper hand, not kill him. The man couldn’t be dead. He didn’t have the strength to smash a walnut. Landon took a step forward to see the man’s face. He noted the Dagnorian’s clothes gleamed in the dark alley—white and pristine like the Dragon Guards’ suits. But the only Dragon Guard who had been in the square was . . .
Landon recoiled and retched. He kept his back on the immobile form of Tan’Loraen—away from those vacant eyes tinged with surprise. Either Tan’Loraen had cut his bonds or another Dagnorian had freed him. Landon felt Will’s arms wrap around him and steady him. He was talking, but Landon couldn’t make out his words. He cried, prayed for it to be a hallucination, but it wasn’t. Tan’Loraen was dead.
“Not again,” Landon sobbed, although no tears came to his eyes. He had sweated so much that his body was spent of moisture. “Please, Almighty, not again. I didn’t mean to!”
“You did what you had to do, Lan,” said Will, trying to consol him. “This is what happens in war. We have to kill to protect those we lo—”
A scream rent the air. Landon thought he was doing it, but the scream was much too loud, too full of pain to be human. It increased until Landon thought his ears would bleed. A wind started gusting in the alley and gallows square, and figures in the area ran for cover. Tan’Loraen’s dragon, Sri’Lanca, dropped onto the gallows. Wood splintered and snapped beneath the dragon, but it didn’t seem to notice. Sri’Lanca was screaming and turning its head every way. Blood-red tears oozed from its eyes, glowing like coals in the torchlight.
“Judan! What have you done to my tamer?”
Landon was frozen, hypnotized by the dead man at his feet and the screaming dragon. The dragon turned in his direction, and their eyes met. Landon knew Sri’Lanca could see him and the body. The immense sorrow turned to rage.
“Murderer!” The dragon opened his mouth, which began to glow with a deep orange light.
Landon knew what was coming. He knew if he were to live, he needed to start running—but he couldn’t. He was too weak to run for his life. Besides, he didn’t want to relive the guilt of murdering a man. He could die the same way as Hondel, and it would all end here. No more heirs to the Wizard Seal. No curse to trap Myra. No more fear or pain.
Tongues of flame licked Sri’Lanca’s teeth, and then Landon was slung over Will’s back. Will ran and people ran with them, weaving in and out of the structures. They broke free of the buildings and were racing past tents. More shouts, more running feet. A searing heat erupted behind them, but Landon didn’t bother to look. Will stumbled and Landon was passed to another, more muscled, back.
“Hang on, Landon,” said Morgan’s father over the screams of women and children. “I knew it was a matter of time before one of the dragons went wild.”
Another burst of heat—one of the tents on the right went up in flames. People coughed and gagged on the acrid stench, but Mr. Giles’ feet never slowed. Landon hung immobile on his back, numb with guilt.
The screams and fireballs from Sri’Lanca faded. Landon became aware of trees. People were talking in terrified whispers, giving and taking directions. Vines brushed his face, and then he was propped against a dirt wall. The coat was taken from him, and wet rags were placed on his neck and chest. It felt so good against his fevered skin that a grateful moan slipped from his throat. A cup was pressed against his lips and water tumbled into his mouth. Landon drained the cup and a canteen. Nearby, Will voiced a concern about being found, but someone assured him that the ivy was thick enough to block the embers.
Embers.
Landon turned his head and saw a fire pit ringed with stones an arm’s length away. The glowing coals cast a soft, wavering light on Will, Mr. Giles, Judge Temmings, Sam, Mr. Higgins, and his two sons. Landon noticed they were in a small cave that was hidden by a curtain of vines wrapped around tree roots.
A man and a woman slipped in and reported that many Nircanians were escaping the prison camp. They were spreading throughout the forest, taking to the many hideouts scattered around. The Dagnorians were scrambling to capture them and failing. Some had sustained burns but nothing life-threatening. Those not wounded were using the cover of darkness to erase tracks. The man and woman added that the dragons were taking to the skies and trying to gain control of the rogue dragon. As if to support their words, Landon heard dragon roars in the distance.
“Thank you, Lucas, Sarah,” said Temmings. “Spread the word for everyone to stay put until myself and the other judges can decide an evacuation plan, and continue to get our people out of those camps. If they need food, tell them . . .”
Landon noticed Temmings had his sword. He wondered when the chief judge had taken it but was distracted as Sam began talking to him. The doctor shook his shoulder, his voice growing more insistent with each word. Slowly, Landon looked at the doctor.
“Landon, are you listening to me? How are you feeling, Landon?” His voice was urgent and imploring. “Landon, are you hallucinating right now? Tell me what you see, Landon.”
“No, I’m not,” Landon said. It took more effort to speak than he thought.
“It’s okay, Lan,” said Will from behind Sam. “You can tell us if you’re seeing anything.”
Hearing Will’s voice brought back the alleyway. The dugout disappeared, and Landon found himself sitting on the floor with Tan’Loraen’s body in front of him. The Dagnorian lay in a pool of blood with his dragon weeping over his body. Landon stiffened, staring at the apparition. “No . . .” he squeaked. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”
“Landon,” said Sam’s voice from all around, “What you are seeing is not real. You are hallucinating, Landon.”
“I killed him, Sam,” Landon whispered, still staring at Tan’Loraen’s body. “That’s the second person I’ve killed. First Ashrin, now him.”
Someone took his head, and the hallucination evaporated. Landon stared into Sam’s eyes. They bored into his, begging him to see reason. “That man’s death is not on your hands, Landon,” Sam said, half-yelling. “You couldn’t have know
n you had the strength to kill him anymore than what will happen tomorrow.”
“But his dragon,” Landon whispered. He was shaking and his eyes stung with unshed tears. “His dragon wants me dead now. It’s the Twin’s Revenge all over again. I don’t want to be tortured again. I hate being tortured.”
“We’ll deal with the dragon when the time comes, but not right now,” said Temmings, joining them. He gazed down at Landon in sympathy. “I know what you’re experiencing, Landon. It’s what I deal with when I sentence a man to hang, but war is different. There will be more killing on both sides before this is through. And you still have some explaining to do.” He hefted Landon’s sword in both hands. “You insisted this was the reason Nircana was invaded in the first place. I would like to know why.”
Landon stared at the sword and something snapped within him. All the guilt, anger, and frustration that he felt since the council, burst like a dam. Before he knew it, Landon was yelling at the sword. He yelled at the Seal, at the long-dead wizards who were so proud they refused to die. He yelled at it for condemning his life to fear, for inciting greedy men and women to destroy millions of lives just to get their hands on it. He screamed at the beautiful lump of metal for endangering the woman he loved. His brother and Sam were trying to calm him, but Landon refused to be quieted.
“Damn you! Angels damn you! Go to Hell! Go to Hell! Go there and burn! Just leave me alone! Leave us all alone and die!”
Landon screamed until his throat couldn’t sustain words, and then he buried his face in his hands and cried.
Chapter 9
Landon sat against the dirt wall, wrapped in a warm blanket. He gazed at the coals, exhausted, while the others whispered about him.
“You think it was a hallucination?”
“I’m not sure. Was he this confused and disoriented when you first spoke to him, Will?”
“Yes. He kept asking if I was real and his eyes wouldn’t stay focused.”
“Could you understand him?”
“His words were slurred and I couldn’t understand his meaning most of the time.”
There was a moment of tense silence, and Will spoke again. “Sam, is he going to be okay?”
“I hope so. Jake, and Tim managed to find enough moonclovers before the Dagnorians began tromping through the forest. With that and food and water, he should be all right.”
Sam, Will, and Mr. Higgins continued talking in quiet voices, sitting on the far side of the dugout. Landon could make out their faces from the embers, their brows furrowed with concern, their eyes glinting each time one of them glanced his way. Judge Temmings had ordered everyone out of the cave except for Sam, Will, and Mr. Higgins. He had taken the sword with him, telling them to leave Landon alone until he was ready to talk.
Landon was grateful for that, and for the minutes given to him to compose himself. Although he was worn out, his thoughts were clear for the first time that night. He wasn’t hallucinating at the moment, and that gave him the resolve to act now. He had found Judge Temmings, and he was going to tell him everything about the Seal and treaty. Will too. After watching Landon lose it, there was no way his older brother was going to be left in the dark.
“Will,” Landon called, keeping his voice low. He heard Dagnorians shouting in the distance.
He thought he would have to try again, but the men were at his side in an instant. Will was tense, yet he managed a warm smile.
“Are you hallucinating?” Sam asked, feeling Landon’s forehead.
Landon shook his head and looked at Will. “I’m sorry I scared you. . . .” he stopped, not knowing how to explain his actions.
“No need to apologize, bro,” Will said, draping a caring arm around Landon’s shoulders. “But do something like that again and I will stick you in the nearest brine vat.”
Landon chuckled. “Got it. Don’t freak out William Durn or I get pickled.”
Will tweaked his ear. “Pickled. I like it.”
Landon brushed away his hand and looked around. “Where’s Judge Temmings?”
“He’s getting us something to eat,” Sam answered. “But while we wait, I want you to drink this. Don’t worry, it’s moonclover and mint tea that’ll help with your dehydration.”
Sam put a wooden cup in Landon’s hands. Landon hesitantly drank, trying not to choke from the sweet smell—it reminded him of one herb the Dagnorians burned. Sam, Will, and Mr. Higgins whispered encouraging words, their hands hovering around the cup in case he dropped it. The more Landon drank, the better he felt.
He had emptied the cup when Temmings returned. The judge carried a small leather bag in one hand, a large pot in the other, and the sword was slung over his shoulder. He paused and eyed Landon. “I think it would be better if I left your sword with Carlton.”
“No, it’s okay,” Landon said. “I’m okay. Having it here makes it easier to explain everything.” The scent of food caught his attention, but it made him queasy.
Temmings placed the pot next to the fire. He set the bag down and pulled out several wooden bowls and spoons, which he distributed among them. Landon declined when he was offered a bowl, but accepted a refill on his tea. He sipped his drink, enjoying the warm liquid on his throat.
“So, what’s with the sword?” Will asked after swallowing a large chunk of meat. “Does it have magic powers or something?”
Landon grimaced. “You could say that.”
All three stared at him. “I was joking,” Will said slowly. Landon knew he was starting to question his sanity. Sam and Mr. Higgins had furrowed their eyes, frowning. Temmings, on the other hand, leaned forward.
“Go on,” he said.
Landon took a deep breath and began to explain about the Seal. His audience was so quiet and so attentive that he didn’t need to raise his voice. He began with the wizards, summarizing their history and that of the Seal. He explained the motives behind Hondel’s destruction, the danger that Sayre posed to his family, and the treaty. His audience only interrupted to clarify something he said, but otherwise remained silent. Understanding crept over Will, Mr. Higgins, and Sam’s faces, and Temmings kept running his hand through his thinning hair.
And then Landon reached the difficult part: marriage. He tried to avoid Mr. Higgins’ eyes, but he felt them boring into him. He expected Mr. Higgins to interrupt at any moment, to ask him about Myra. Landon didn’t know if he could lie or not. Brushing off the kings was one thing, but Mr. Higgins was like a second father to him. Mr. Higgins may not be able to catch Landon in a lie, but he deserved to know his intentions, even if he couldn’t muster the courage to tell Myra.
Landon became so caught up in his thoughts about Mr. Higgins and Myra that he lost track of what he was saying. “And their . . . my . . . um . . .”
“Drink, Landon,” said Mr. Higgins, causing Landon to flinch. Luckily, Myra’s father didn’t notice as he turned to grab the kettle from the embers. He refilled Landon’s cup. “Keep drinking. It seems to be helping you. You were saying the Seal doesn’t need to be present at the wedding to acknowledge a spouse?”
Landon nodded and continued while sipping his tea. It helped calm his nerves—but not as much as he hoped.
“As soon as we heard the treaty was finished, Morgan broke out of his room and stole it. He and Juan—you remember Juan, my friend from Caborca—and one of Diego and Sierra’s friends got me out of Tsuregi with the treaty and the Seal. I had the treaty, but Tan’Loraen took it. And that’s . . . that’s why we’re at war,” Landon finished. He took another sip of his tea. He could see the questions building, and it was Temmings that asked the first one.
“The Seal is in the sword?”
Landon nodded. “If you look at the hilt,” he pointed to the sword sitting next to the chief judge, “you’ll see a seam on the guard. Twist the handle and it opens, but don’t touch it.”
“Touch it and you’ll have to deal with burning fingers for a few days,” Sam said, repeating what Landon had said earlier.
&nbs
p; All through the narration, Temmings had shown no signs of worry or fear. He listened with a non-judgmental expression Landon suspected he wore when in court. Temmings did as Landon explained, and when the hilt detached, exposing the cloth inside, he frowned. Using the handle of his spoon, he uncovered the Wizard’s Seal. He stared at it, awed.
Although Landon had looked at the Seal a couple times since he and Myra first discovered the hidden compartment, it always took his breath away. The amulet was large enough to comfortably fit in the palm of his hand. It had a silver ring that looped through a triangular knot. The knot’s metal had been originally gold, but had become a deep amber when it absorbed Thirien Keene’s blood, and thereby binding the Seal to his bloodline. Whenever Landon wielded the sword—especially in terrifying situations—the hilt grew warm, as though the power of the Wizard’s Seal was reaching out to him. Even now, he sensed it yearning to be touched.
“It’s true,” The chief judge whispered, and showed it to Sam and Will. They reacted the same way, and Will hesitantly touched the handle of his spoon to one of the amber loops.
“Holy angels,” he breathed, “I can feel the heat through my spoon. It is trying to burn me.”
They were at a loss for words, and then Sam asked in a trembling voice, “You said it is a force a nature, quick to destroy and slow to heal? Have you ever used it before?”
Landon shook his head. “No. My dad, Diego, said he tried to use it to heal his broken leg a long time ago but the Seal drained his energy. He hasn’t touched it since and Sierra refuses to lay a finger on it.” He bit his lip, mustering his faith to place his life in the hands of Nircana’s chief judge. “But it could end this war. I could use it to drive the Dagnorians and their dragons out of our home.”