by Jekka Jones
His katana. After falling and being grabbed multiple times, it was still strapped to his waist. That gave Landon a small measure of hope, and his thoughts raced to formulate a plan. He prayed that he would have the strength and speed to get away before he was disarmed. Mustering his courage, he looked around.
The dragoness was descending, along with the other dragons. They were circling a large landing area. Hundreds of soldiers bearing weapons of all shapes and sizes stood along the edges. A large, brightly colored tent sat on the westernmost side with a large crowd of people wearing pristine capes and armor. Landon swore under his breath.
“That’s right, boy,” said the dragoness, loud for all to hear, “it is time your actions are brought to justice.” This statement was met with cheers from the crowd. The dragoness landed in front of the armored men and woman gathered outside the tent.
Although it had been weeks since the council in Tsuregi, Landon recognized and remembered every ruler and advisor. King Egorov and Stephan from Maisa were as fat as ever and ready to burst from their gold-etched armor. King Issachar of Menrye stood with the Drakshus, leering at Landon like a crow over a dying mouse. Darrin stood with King Katsunaka, who wore a red samurai suit of armor and had his horned helmet tucked under one arm. King Berado of Lythra with his shifty advisor, Maccioli, stood beside King Guiterrez and Ramirez from Caborca. Rage flared in Landon when his eyes met Ramirez’s, remembering the night Juan had been exiled. An unfamiliar face stood beside Emperor Dre’Goran, no doubt the newly appointed vizier.
There were other faces standing among the kings Landon didn’t know, but he suspected they were more high-ranking nobles. Every single man and woman was ecstatic to see him; even Ramirez had shed his bored expression for one of delight. Both Sayre and Darrin grinned, their eyes promising Landon physical and emotional pain. Niklas fingered the hilt of his broadsword, his white teeth glinting in the light.
“Finally,” said Kastunaka, clapping his hands together. “Now we can end this war.”
Chapter 29
Landon gathered his breath to swear at the kings, but the dragoness dropped him. Although he was only a few feet off the ground, the short drop scared him into silence. He crumpled to the earth, digging his fingers into the soil and hoping he would never be parted from it again. He wanted to kiss it, but the scuff of boots drew his attention.
Dre’Goran was walking towards him. The Dragon Emperor wasn’t wearing his white suit, but armor that looked like dragon scales. Hundreds of overlapping silver plates covered his chest, arms, and legs, with a golden dragon-shaped insignia stamped over the heart. He wore a simple circlet of gold with a large ruby set in the center of his forehead. A short sword with a plain white hilt rested on his hip. Landon noticed several other soldiers dressed in that same armor were scattered throughout the crowd. They had stayed behind to give their dragons more freedom in capturing him.
Dre’Goran stopped and smirked at Landon. “Thank you, Fey’Neran,” he said. “Did he wound you at all?”
“He burned me with the Seal,” Fey’Neran replied, “but that is all. He played a game of hot rock with us until he dropped the Seal.” The dragoness chuckled, showing off her sharp teeth. “Xar’Gorrin is retrieving it now.”
“What does your dragon mean by ‘hot rock?’” asked Guiterrez, frowning.
“It’s a game dragons play with heated rocks; ones too hot for humans to touch,” Dre’Goran replied indifferent. “They pass it back and forth until it cools. We will sometimes employ the method as a means to loosen a criminal’s tongue. What about Sri’Lanca?”
“Being delayed, unless you want him to come for his tamer?”
“Not yet. Sri’Lanca is a slippery dragon and the only way he will surrender is if Landon is under control.” Dre’Goran turned his cold blue eyes on Landon. “I’m sure Lord and Lady Drakshu will have several effective means to make the boy submit to our will.”
Landon stiffened at those words; his eyes darted to the hundreds of men fingering weapons and shifting their feet. The other dragons that had been with Fey’Neran in the air prowled the perimeter. Realizing he looked subservient on the ground, Landon stood and drew his sword. Soldiers chortled to their neighbor, and the kings looked amused. He stepped away from the dragoness and fell into a defensive stance, holding the blade diagonally in front of him. He was sorely outnumbered with no chance of fighting his way free, but knowing he had a weapon gave him hope. He felt Sri’Lanca’s efforts to reach him. His dragon was too far away for his body to react, but he was coming.
Landon could get out of this, he just had to stall.
“You’ll let me go if you know what’s good for you,” he said, speaking the first thought that came into his mind.
The kings, advisors, Seers, and soldiers burst into roaring laughter. It was deafening and shook Landon’s soul. He waited for it to stop, but the longer he stood his ground, the more it riled the men and woman. He counted to five and made a threatening lunge towards Dre’Goran, who was the closest. Faster than thought, Fey’Neran’s tail whipped towards Landon but he expected it. He spun, and deflected the dragoness’ tail as Sri’Lanca had taught him. In the same spin, he swiped at Dre’Goran’s belly. The blade skidded across the dragon-like armor, leaving a visible scratch in the silver plates.
Soldiers shouted and drew their weapons. Landon braced himself for the rush of weapons, but they held their ground. Their eyes flicked to their superiors, waiting for a signal.
Dre’Goran frowned at the mark on his armor. He looked at Landon, his blue eyes cold and dangerous. “Do you really want to fight me, boy?” he asked softly.
Landon’s courage quailed at Dre’Goran’s tone, yet he kept his sword up. “You know I will, king,” he said. “If you value your precious face then let me go!”
“Empty threats, Dayn,” said Issachar. He leered at Landon. “The whole point of this mess was to capture you in the first place. After weeks of chasing you all over this damn country, we finally have you. I would rather rot in Marleth’s Pits than let you slip through my fingers again.”
“Looks like you’ll rot away then. My people won’t stop fighting until everyone is free, and that includes me!” Landon yelled, shaking his sword for emphasis. “You’ll have to wipe them out like Hondel because they will fight to the death!”
“That heroic nature you think your people have is a fantasy, Landon,” said Kastunaka. He fingered one of the horns on his helmet, contemplating his next words. “They fear death like anyone else. Why do you think they surrendered so soon after your dragon spirited you away?”
Although Landon expected this sort of talk, it still caught him off guard. He tightened his grip on the hilt to hide his fear. “What do you mean? How soon were they captured?”
The rulers smiled. Dre’Goran’s blue eyes bored into Landon’s. “It was two days after that little misunderstanding at the falls. We—”
Egorov snorted. “Misunderstanding? Foran happens to be a Seer, and he allies himself with Sayre and Niklas, who are also Seers, without telling anyone? And they happened to stumble across our missing Dayn, who happened to have the Wizard’s Seal and wanted to see if they could use it—which, may I remind you, ended up with his dragon stealing him to goddess knows where for a month! Honestly, I—”
“Let it be, Ivan,” said Guiterrez, waving his hand. “We agreed to move past that and focus on more important things.” Bitterness tinged his voice, and the Caborcan king glanced at the Drakshus with intense dislike. Berado scowled at Darrin, who returned the gaze with a calm stare.
Hope rose in Landon. The kings and Seers were working together, but they still didn’t trust each other. It was like the council so long ago. They were willing to cooperate until something turned in their favor, and then it was every nation for itself. Yes, he was caught, but if Landon could pit the rulers against each other, goad them to argue, then it would buy Sri’Lanca time. Angels knew they loved to flaunt their power.
“As I was saying,”
Dre’Goran continued with an exasperated sigh, “after that incident, we agreed it was better to eliminate the Nircanians as soon as possible. We called a truce, rallied our best and fiercest warriors, and attacked.” He chuckled. “Those peasants did not stand a chance.”
“You should have been there, Landon,” said Sayre, ecstatic. “Your adopted people tried their best. They threw everything they had at our men and the dragons, but they lost. They were no match against hundreds of dragons and thousands of warriors thirsting to spill their blood. How long would you say the peasants fought before they surrendered?” The Seeress looked around. “An hour? Two hours?”
Berado threw back his head and laughed. “Maybe for your men, Sayre. Ignazio told me they had the peasants on their knees and begging for mercy within ten minutes.” The Lythran’s gold-flecked eyes slid to Landon, spiteful and eager. “They went straight for the children.”
White noise filled Landon’s ears. He tried to focus, but images of his nieces and nephews flashed through his mind. He felt sick.
“The peasants all but put the shackles on themselves,” Berado continued. “Even then, Ignazio continued his assault until he was sure they would not retaliate.”
“I heard he killed twenty children by himself,” Maccioli added. “A few were nothing more than inf—”
“Monsters!” Landon shouted. His rage swelled, drowning out Sri’Lanca’s frustration. He wanted to jump at Maccioli’s greasy smile and slice his throat. He shifted his feet, preparing for a quick spring, but he was dealing with men of war. His movements were noticed. The soldiers tightened their grips on their spear shafts or swords. None of the soldiers were scared, only eager.
The thirst in their eyes quelled Landon’s anger. Stall. He was supposed to be stalling. Sri’Lanca’s frustration throbbed through the bond. His dragon was fighting with everything he had to reach his tamer.
Balaam, he prayed, I don’t know you, but if you are the god of dragons then bring my dragon to me!
“If you attacked my people two days after I left,” Landon said, trying to keep his quaking voice as steady as he could, “how come it wasn’t until a week later you started looking for me?”
Issachar laughed. “What are you talking about, Dayn? Dre’Goran sent his Guard looking for you as soon as your dragon spirited you away.”
“He means my vision of the Menrian cliffs, Jerich,” said Sayre with a sweet and patient voice. “That was where you were hiding, weren’t you?”
Landon said nothing, but Sayre nodded as if he had verbally answered. “The dragons started searching in Dagnor and Tsuregi. Your dragon was robbing supply trains coming from that direction, therefore, we guessed you were hiding in the west. It was not until a week after your escape that I had a vision of the cliffs in Menrye. I informed the emperor, and the dragons have been searching there ever since. We kept the peasants’ enslavement from you because I knew it would tip you to use the Seal.” She flashed him a cruel smile. “You proved me right. You slew a lot of our men today.”
Anger and guilt flared in him and he pointed the katana at her. “I did what I had to do.” He tried not to think of how many lives he took. He could dwell on that when he was safe.
“Keep telling yourself that and maybe you will be able to sleep tonight.” She fanned herself with a hand, the other resting on a sword at her side. “It is getting hot. As much as I enjoy watching you play the hero, I would rather not risk heat stroke.” She turned towards the pavilion behind her. “Shall we go inside and continue our discussion? You may keep your katana if you wish.”
“Yes, please!” piped Egorov. He and his advisor mopped their faces with handkerchiefs. “I expect my lunch is nothing more than a puddle by now.”
Landon stared at the tent. It was hot, hotter than when he, Myra, and Sri’Lanca had launched their attack hours earlier. Sweat beaded his forehead and more trickled down his back. His body ached from being tossed about by the dragons. He wanted to sit down, drink a cool goblet of anything, and curl up in the corner for a nap.
Landon forced that desire away. These richly armored men hadn’t chained him yet, and that gave him a smidgeon of hope. Also, Landon wasn’t wearing armor. He could handle the heat far better than his enemies. All the nobles’ faces were beaded with sweat, even if they still smiled at him.
Landon flexed his sweaty palms on the hilt. “I’m not going anywhere with you. We stay right here.”
Kennin chuckled. “Do you not want to see your parents, Dayn?”
It took a moment for Landon to register those words. “My parents?” He asked, confused. “You don’t have them. They escaped.”
Landon didn’t think it was possible for the kings and advisors to look more elated, but they did. Dre’Goran started laughing, and once again every person in the vicinity, including the dragons, was cackling. Egorov leaned on Guiterrez for support, wiping tears from his eyes. Issachar applauded Landon as though he was the star of a play. Kennin and his son commented to each other in Sikhan, which drew more laughter from Sayre and Darrin. The soldiers mimicked Landon’s words in raucous voices.
“Did you think we would keep your parents in the barracks, Dayn?” Katsunaka asked after a few minutes. “Gods, no! From the moment we found them among the peasant rabble, we brought them here. We knew you would come back, and when you did, the first people you would search for would be them. You thought they escaped?” The samurai king dissolved into laughter.
The budding hope vanished as a lump of terror slid into the pit of his stomach. Landon shuddered, causing his sore arms to give. The sword dragged itself to the ground and almost slid from his fingers. “Where are they?” he demanded. “What have you done to them? Answer me, dammit!”
“Language, Landon,” said Sayre mirthfully. She brushed a strand of blonde hair from her eyes. “Your parents are safe, including that peasant woman who raised you.”
Landon sagged with relief, leaning on his sword. Safe. That meant they were alive.
“Would you like to see them?” Dre’Goran asked, and gestured to the pavilion.
Anger flashed in Landon at those words. As much as he wanted to see his parents, he knew they would clap him in irons as soon as he stepped towards the shelter. He dragged his katana back into the guard position. “Bring them out here. I want to see them,” he demanded. Were his parents in there, bound and gagged, and watching their son face a hopeless situation on his own?
Dre’Goran shook his head. “No, Dayn. If you want to see them then you will have to come with us. As your emperor, they are under my protection.”
Landon started. “My emperor? You have no authority over me!”
“Oh, but I do, Landon Dayn.” Dre’Goran walked forward until he stood a foot from the tip of Landon’s katana. “You tamed Sri’Lanca, and that makes you a member of the Dragon Guard, bound to serve the empire and me. Your bond to Sri’Lanca has salvaged the treaty we worked so hard to write in Tsuregi. Do you know why?”
Landon couldn’t answer. He was too petrified with rage and horror to reply. Dre’Goran’s tone sent shivers down his spine. In fact . . . his entire back shivered. He trembled as though he had a fever, and it took a lot of concentration to keep his body still. A bubble of hope forced its way through the bond. He heard dragons roar in the distant. Sri’Lanca was close. There was still hope of escaping the situation.
A wicked smile spread across Dre’Goran’s face. “You guaranteed my claim to you, Landon. It allowed us,” he gestured to the other kings and advisors, “to reach a compromise. Your family and the Drakshus will be divided as we had agreed upon; your parents to Tsuregi, Niklas to Maisa, Sayre will remain in Menrye, and you will come to Dagnor. You will live in my palace, safe under my wings.”
“I will never serve you!” Landon spat.
“Not willingly, but you will,” Dre’Goran replied coolly. “You will serve me through the Wizard’s Seal.” He paused, waiting for a response, but Landon was too shocked to muster any words. “Rather than locking
away the Seal, we decided it will be shared freely among the Seers, and available to any monarch who may need it to say . . . quell a Nircanian slave rebellion. All a king has to do is request you or your parents, and a Seer, and they can maintain peace in their kingdom.”
Landon’s mind reeled. “No,” he whispered, quaking. “You can’t . . .”
“We can arrange for that beautiful girl of yours will be protected as well,” supplied Kennin, grinning. “So long as she goes with you to Dagnor, no Menrian can touch her. She will be safe from the Twin’s Revenge for the rest of her life. Do you not want that, Landon?”
“Dre’Goran wouldn’t allow that,” Landon spat. “He wants to marry me off to Liliana!”
Dre’Goran’s new vizier cackled at that. “Liliana? She and her dragon deserted! She is as good as dead, Dayn. That plan to marry you two has long since been thrown aside.”
Landon bristled at his words. Although Liliana called herself Nircanian, he knew she still loved Dagnor. “My people would—”
“Your precious people may be free for now, but we will capture them again,” Sayre declared. “Surrender, however, and I am sure we can convince Andre and Miguel,” she laid a slender hand on the Lythran and Caborcan kings’ shoulders, “to consider a kinder punishment. The Nircanians are valuable to us.”
Her words sent Landon’s soul screaming. Rage flared in his heart, thirsting for her death. “Valuable?” he yelled. “You are working them to death. It’s Hondel all over again but without the fire!”
“Miguel and I will not work them to death,” said Berado. He waved grandly in the direction of the cages. “Their labor is strict right now because we need a palace ready before autumn. We cannot govern our new territory if we do not have a—are those the dragons?”
Landon heard it at the same time. Everyone looked towards the mountains. A cloud of dragons was racing towards them with one flapping as fast as it could. Landon’s hope sharpened, and his muscle spasms increased. He fought to keep his body still and the hope from shining on his face.