The Hearts of Dragons

by Josh VanBrakle

  Balear eyed her shrewdly. “If what you say is true, then you could end the war as easily as Iren could. All you’d have to do is kill him and take the Muryozaki. He can’t use magic, and you say he’s useless with a blade.”

  He’d meant to unbalance her, to trick her into revealing her true personality. But Hana took his suggestion in stride. “You’re crueler than I would have thought,” she said. “I thought Iren was your friend.”

  The former general shrugged. “He is, but I’m a knight of Lodia first. If Iren’s death meant peace for this country . . .”

  Hana smirked. “You wonder if I might kill him, but it sounds like you’re the more likely suspect.”

  “Not at all!” Balear stammered. This wasn’t going the way he’d intended. “Even if I became the Holy Dragon Knight, it would be wasted on me. Iren has a better chance of regaining his magic than I do of getting some in the first place. That’s why I’m helping him. Iren is Lodia’s best hope to end this civil war.”

  “I get it. You help him, and he’ll owe you a debt. Tit-for-tat.”

  “That’s how you see it? Iren would aid Lodia regardless. But if I help him, he might get his magic back sooner. I might save him from death at the hands of raiders. It’s not about owing people favors. It’s about doing what’s right.”

  Hana folded her arms. “That’s a fine sentiment,” she said, “but it isn’t true. There’s no such thing as altruism in this world. Everyone has something they want out of it. Iren wants his magic back because of the power and freedom it offers. You’re helping him because you want him to end the war for you, and you want the war to end so you can rest your conscience about betraying your fellow Lodians.”

  “If that’s how you feel, then that’s a sad way to look at the world,” Balear said. “Still, I don’t think you believe what you just said. After all, even if Iren and I have something to gain from helping each other, what about you? Why did you rescue us in Orcsthia? Why are you helping us now? What are you gaining?”

  The corners of Hana’s mouth crinkled upward. “Honestly? I’m not sure yet. But I’m traveling with the former general of the First Army of Lodia and the first person to become the Dragoon. Whatever I get, I’m sure it will be good.”

  She reached down and loaded her arms with wood. “This should be enough. Grab as much as you can carry.”

  By the time Balear picked up his load, Hana had already left. He’d hoped to learn more about why the girl had come with them, but he’d ended up with more questions than answers. He wondered if she truly believed that people only looked out for themselves. If so, what could have happened to her to make her feel that way?

  It made him pity her. She was so beautiful, so strong, so intelligent, yet so distant and jaded.

  Balear made up his mind. He couldn’t change whatever had happened to Hana in the past, but he could influence the present. He could show her that there was such a thing as altruism.

  Hana had said she didn’t know what she would gain from helping them. If it could be up to Balear, he knew what he would give her. He would give her faith.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Voices

  Minawë couldn’t see or move, but she could hear voices. They spoke in her mind, their language like nothing she’d ever heard. It wasn’t Kodaman, or Lodian, or even Maantec, what little she knew of that.

  Since she couldn’t do anything else, Minawë listened. At first she could only hear a few voices, but the more she relaxed, the more she heard. Soon they surrounded her until she feared she would drown in the cacophony. She panicked, and at once the voices disappeared.

  After an eternity of silence, Minawë calmed herself. The voices slowly came back. Focusing now, she tried to isolate one of them, to understand it and why it was inside her head.

  The best she could manage was a pair of voices that seemed intertwined. Their languages weren’t made of words or even thoughts. They were more like emotions, and not all of them were pleasant. There was joy and celebration, yet there was also fear and pain.

  Then, with a cry of agony, one of the voices stopped. The shock sent Minawë sitting bolt upright.

  The rapid motion nauseated her. Minawë fell backward and lay for a moment with her eyes shut as she waited for the world to stop spinning.

  “Welcome back, lazy,” a voice said from somewhere nearby.

  Minawë smiled. “Thanks, Iren.”

  There was a hesitant sigh, then, “Not exactly.”

  Minawë opened her eyes. Rondel sat in a chair next to her. “Sorry about that,” Minawë said. The old woman brushed it off, but on closer inspection, Minawë could tell Rondel had been crying.

  When Rondel caught Minawë staring at her, she stood and walked to the door. “How do you feel?” she asked, her back turned.

  Minawë sat up carefully. She and Rondel were in a bedroom of a Kodaman tree home. “Dizzy,” she said. “What happened to me?”

  “You passed Dendryl’s test,” Rondel replied. She gestured to her right. The Chloryoblaka leaned against the wall. “I have to admit that I didn’t know if you would survive it. You’ve been asleep for four days.”

  “You should have more confidence in your friends,” Minawë said with a smile. “Iren slept for a week after he helped me get to Ziorsecth, and I never gave up believing that he would come back to me.”

  Rondel faced Minawë, and though the old woman’s eyes still looked puffy, her grin was genuine. “It cheers me to hear you say that,” she said. “I’m sure Iren will come back this time too. But just to be safe, why don’t we go to him?”

  A flash of memory came to Minawë. Rondel’s injured hand was in a fresh sling, a reminder that the Stone Dragon Knight was searching for Iren. They had to reach him first! Minawë leapt to her feet, but she felt so wobbly she had to sit back down.

  “We’ll go after him soon enough,” Rondel said. “Give yourself a minute to recover.”

  While Minawë waited for her head to clear, she asked, “Where are we?”

  “In Yuushingaral, in your room in the queen’s tree. I carried you here after you passed out at the crater. Are you hungry?”

  “Now that you mention it, I’m starving.”

  “I made some food. Can you manage, or should I bring it to you?”

  Minawë’s brow furrowed. There was no way Rondel could have known when Minawë would wake. Had the old Maantec been cooking all this time just so some food would be ready when Minawë revived?

  At this point Minawë was too hungry to think about it. She stood again, and this time she kept her feet. “I’m all right now,” she said. “I’ll come with you.”

  They left the room and headed to the tree house’s second floor, which contained the kitchen and eating area. Rondel had assembled a forest feast: smoked trout, shiitake mushrooms, and an assortment of roots and tubers. She’d even located a wooden bottle of the Kodamas’ maple brandy that Mother had liked to hide for special occasions. It didn’t surprise Minawë that Rondel would know where to find it.

  Minawë attacked the food. She devoured her trout fillet and didn’t hesitate when Rondel offered up her portion. The old Maantec smiled. “I was going to ask how my cooking is,” she said, “but I think I know the answer.”

  A sheepish grin sprouted on Minawë’s face. She had crumbs and grease all over her. She wiped her mouth, doing a poor job of playing the regal queen she was supposed to be. “It’s delicious,” she said. “Thank you.”

  When they’d both finished, Minawë rose. “We should head out. Iren isn’t getting any closer.”

  Rondel pursed her lips. “Are you sure you feel all right? You just woke up. Dendryl’s test is no simple task. You can rest another day if you need to.”

  Minawë’s eyes narrowed. Ever since she’d awoken, she’d felt something odd from Rondel. The mysterious timing of the food, the warm smiles, and the kind words were nothing like the sarcastic, slave-driving Rondel that Iren had told her horror stories about.

  Now Minawë had fi
gured it out. “You’re coddling me,” she said. “Why?”

  Rondel looked insulted. “I’m watching out for your safety.”

  “I’m fine,” Minawë said. “You were in such a hurry at the Heart of Ziorsecth. Now you’re dilly-dallying like a worrisome doe with her fawn. If you want to look out for my safety, then do it the way you did for Iren. Toughen me up. I’m the one you’re counting on to defeat the Stone Dragon Knight, remember?”

  Rondel licked her lips. Finally, she rose. “All right, we’ll do it your way,” she said. “Let’s gather some supplies and leave. But unfortunately, I can’t train you the way I trained Iren. With him, we had time to stop and work as we traveled. You and I don’t have that luxury.”

  “Then how will I learn?”

  “You’ll have to pick things up as we go. Pay attention when I speak, and practice on the road.”

  Minawë tried to look more confident than she felt. Still, she wouldn’t run away now.

  The pair spent most of the day filling packs with food, rope, and other supplies they might need for the journey. Minawë cast aside her queen’s dress for the sturdy leather boots, leggings, and jerkin she’d worn on her previous trek to Lodia. Last of all, she donned a long leather cap so she could conceal her green hair.

  Evening had arrived by the time they finished preparations. Rondel recommended they set off the next morning, but Minawë gave her such a firm expression that she relented immediately. Even so, the old woman showed a bit of the Rondel that Minawë remembered when she grumbled, “You can barely see in this accursed forest in the daytime. You’re as bad as Iren. I’m going to trip on a root and twist my ankle, if not worse. If I break my other hand out here, I swear . . .”

  Minawë laughed, clear and pure. The sound itself made her happy; it was the first time she’d laughed in months. Despite the weight of her pack, quiver, and Chloryoblaka, she felt lighter than she had since Mother’s death.

  They’d barely left Yuushingaral when they came across the corpse. It was a deer, and it couldn’t have been dead more than a day. Minawë guessed from the layer of branches partially covering the body that a cougar had killed it and then stashed it here to eat more later.

  Rondel wrinkled her nose at the smell, but Minawë stopped and looked at the carcass. Though the Kodamas ate venison, something about this deer unsettled her.

  “What’s the matter?” Rondel asked.

  Minawë shook her head. “No, it’s nothing.”

  Yet as they continued their journey, Minawë couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at the corpse. In her heart she grieved for it, and for its voice forever silenced.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Farm

  “We should be close,” Balear called over his shoulder as he, Iren, and Hana headed down a worn dirt road.

  Iren’s heart fluttered. After weeks of travel, after years of not knowing about his parents, he was finally on the cusp. Soon he would see their home blossom on the landscape. There would be something there, some clue to his magic and how to get it back. There had to be.

  “I thought you said your parents lived on a farm,” Hana said. “No farm I know looks like this.”

  She had a point. The fields around them might once have produced crops, but now weeds choked them. Even the packed dirt of the road was washing away. The horses had to tread carefully to avoid the ruts where water had eroded the path’s surface.

  “Growing up, Mom told me never to come here,” Balear said. “She called it a haunted place.”

  “Because a Left lived here?” Iren asked.

  Balear’s expression darkened. “Because one died here.”

  Iren frowned. He’d tried to avoid thinking about that. Although this farm was where his parents had lived, it was also the place where Amroth had murdered them.

  “Lodian stories declare Lefts invincible,” Balear reminded them. “One dying here was enough for the village to declare the site cursed. No one will resettle these lands as long as memory of him remains.” Balear paused and worked his reins. “Iren, I don’t know what you expect to find, but eighteen years is a long time. Don’t hope for much.”

  Iren couldn’t bring himself to respond. This place was all he had. He could do nothing but hope.

  At last the trio topped a small rise and saw the farm. Rather, they saw what was left of it. A single ivy-covered building stood before them. A pile of rubble next to it indicated the vestiges of another structure, demolished by the same plants that had used it to climb.

  Racing ahead of the others, Iren leapt off his horse and ran to the remaining building. He felt along the vines and found a trace of stone underneath them. A fervor took him, and he ripped at the ivy with all his strength.

  The task was brutal, and before long, sweat cascaded off him. He stepped back to check his progress. He’d only cleared a few square feet. Snarling, he drew the Muryozaki and readied to slash at the ivy, but Balear rushed forward and grabbed him.

  “Calm down!” Balear shouted.

  Iren spun around in Balear’s grip, brandishing the Muryozaki. His expression was savage.

  “Those vines are all that’s holding up this relic,” Hana said. “If you collapse the place, what good will your long journey have been?”

  Iren fumed, but he knew she was right. He stared at the ivy with futility. “I have to get in there.”

  “And we will,” Hana continued, “but let’s do it carefully. Come over here.” She gestured to another side of the house. “You’re tearing at the wrong spot. You’ve been ripping at a side wall. If you want to get in without destroying the place, then I think there’s what used to be a porch over here. Where there’s a porch, there’s a door. Sheathe your sword. We’ll help you pull down enough vines to get inside.”

  Balear nodded so frantically that Iren relented. Putting away the Muryozaki, he joined the others at what Hana claimed was a former porch. It was hard to tell that it used to be anything, but the vines did stick out farther here than anywhere else on the structure.

  The sun crossed more than half the sky by the time the trio cleared enough ivy to expose the home’s door. Iren grabbed the rusted handle. It refused to unlatch. He pulled on it, and it ripped apart in his hand.

  “I’ve come so far!” Iren yelled. “I won’t be stopped by a half-rotten door!” Stepping back to gain momentum, he slammed into the door with a shoulder charge.

  The punky wood gave way immediately. Caught by surprise, Iren fell into the house. His landing sent a cloud of dust into the air.

  Hana and Balear each grabbed one of Iren’s legs and dragged him back outside. He coughed and spluttered as he wiped off his clothes. “Well, that worked,” he said. He looked through the open doorway, but the dust was so thick it was like peering into fog.

  They waited several minutes for the air to clear, and then they entered the house. They moved cautiously, trying to avoid stirring up another cloud.

  With each step, Iren’s eyes grew wider. “This is where they lived,” he murmured. It was a simple structure with just two rooms. The floor was dirt, and the only furniture in this room was a pair of rocking chairs. When Iren touched one, he put his hand through the armrest without trying.

  The most striking feature was the stone fireplace against one wall. It alone seemed in good shape. The vines hadn’t grown inside the building, so the mantle’s stone and mortar remained intact. Metal pots and pans hung around it, long since rusted.

  It was so familiar, yet so foreign. Iren passed through the living area into the home’s other room. There he found a dresser, a double bed, and a sight that made tears well in his eyes.

  Next to the bed was a rough-hewn crib. Iren placed his hand on it, more gingerly than he had with the chair. He rubbed his palm along its simple contours. “This was mine,” he said.

  “Come on, Balear,” Hana said. “Let’s give him a minute.”

  The pair of them left, and Iren examined the rest of the bedroom. The tattered remnants of blankets, long sin
ce moth-eaten, draped over the bed. The dresser held a few pieces of clothing, but they were so damaged Iren couldn’t tell whose they were.

  Iren put his head in his hands. He would find no answers here. Anything that could have helped him was long gone, if it had ever existed. After all, this wasn’t the home of a Dragon Knight. It was the home of a farmer, his wife, and their helpless baby boy.

  Retreating from the dresser, Iren loosed a long breath. He threw himself backward on the bed.

  He was so lost in his emotions that he forgot about the sorry state of the wood. The moment his body hit the decaying mattress, the bed collapsed. Dust flew up and blinded him as he fell to the ground.

  Off in the distance Balear cried, “Iren? Iren! Are you all right?” Iren started to answer, but dust choked him.

  He lay there several minutes, afraid to move and churn up more dirt. When he could breathe without gagging, he opened his eyes. He was staring at the ceiling. Splinters of rotten wood filled the room. The straw mattress had all but dissolved.

  Groaning, Iren rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. His back ached. He went through a series of stretches. Bruised, he concluded, but not broken.

  “Iren!” Balear’s voice was closer now. Seconds later the soldier burst into the room, Hana close behind him.

  “I’m fine,” Iren assured them, but then he shook his head. “Let’s go. There’s nothing left. I’m sorry I dragged you both here.”

  “What will you do now?” Hana asked.

  Iren shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I was counting on there being something here, so I didn’t come up with a back-up plan.”

  “Well, there’s no need to decide right away,” Balear said. He put a hand on Iren’s shoulder. “It’s getting dark. We shouldn’t go anywhere else today. Let’s stay here tonight.”