The Hearts of Dragons

by Josh VanBrakle

  He paused and released a long breath. “I never blamed Dad for leaving. He fought to protect Lodia, to protect Mom and me. You heard what Mom said. He was the best. After he died, all I wanted was to follow in his footsteps.”

  Balear’s hands gripped the stone. “But I couldn’t do it. I get seasick, so I can’t serve on a ship. I joined the Castle Guard instead, yet rather than protect my fellow citizens, I murdered them.”

  Iren wondered what he would do if Balear started crying. It wasn’t a scene he looked forward to.

  He was about to speak when Balear faced him. “I want to go to Veliaf,” the Lodian said. “Please come with me. You know where you fought Zuberi, and you’ll be able to tell whether his sword is a Ryokaiten.”

  “And then what?” Iren asked. “If it is a Ryokaiten, when you touch it, it will test you. If you fail, you’ll die. Are you prepared for that?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I need to go. All my life I’ve chased my father. This is my chance to find out if I can catch him.”

  Iren considered. It had nothing to do with recovering his magic. Still, it wasn’t like he had a plan for how to do that.

  “All right,” he said, “I’ll go with you to Veliaf, as long as Hana’s willing to come too. I need to stick with her so she can teach me to read Maantec.”

  “Thanks, Iren,” Balear said.

  Iren thought Balear would smile then, but if anything, he looked more troubled than before.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Changing Leaves

  Minawë would have enjoyed her journey through Ziorsecth, except that whenever she and Rondel rested, the voices came. She didn’t know whether they were real or not. Either way, they both fascinated and terrified her.

  She had to be careful when she listened to them. Sudden changes in her thoughts or emotions would scare them away and leave her in silence. Only when her mind settled would they return. The boldest ones came back first, but sometimes it took minutes and even hours before she could hear the smallest ones again.

  Minawë wanted to ask Rondel about them, but she didn’t relish admitting that she was hearing voices in her head. She also doubted Rondel could help much. The Maantec knew a lot about magic, but she wasn’t a Kodama.

  Not that Rondel didn’t teach Minawë. The old woman emphasized that here in Ziorsecth, Minawë had little to worry about in using magic. The vast single tree that surrounded them provided an almost unlimited supply of energy. Once they reached Lodia, though, Minawë would have to restrain her spells.

  That limitation worried Minawë. Based on Rondel’s account, the Stone Dragon Knight was a Maantec. They drew magic from the air, so they had access to it wherever they went. By contrast, Kodamas like Minawë drew magic from being near other life forms, especially plants. That gave her an advantage in the forest, but not on Lodia’s more open terrain.

  It didn’t help that she lacked any spells that she could use in battle. She could open the doors of the Kodaman tree homes, and she could create the glowing orbs that lit them. She knew how to draw water from the soil through the tree’s vascular system so that she always had enough for cooking and cleaning.

  But those practical skills wouldn’t be much use in a fight. If she and the Stone Dragon Knight met now, Minawë knew she would die.

  It was that realization that made her confess hearing the voices.

  To Minawë’s surprise, her revelation didn’t startle Rondel. On the contrary, the old Maantec said, “I wondered how long it would take. It’s said that Otunë heard the voices with his waking ears from the moment he became the Forest Dragon Knight.”

  “What are they?” Minawë asked.

  “You already know, or at least, you’ve guessed. The way you stared at that deer carcass outside Yuushingaral, it was like you recognized it. You heard its voice, and then you heard that voice stop. Am I correct?”

  Minawë nodded.

  “The voices are those of other living things,” Rondel said. “They’re the path to your Forest Dragon Knight abilities. They are speaking to you; in turn, you must speak to them. As the Forest Dragon Knight, you are their general. They will follow your orders and defeat your enemies.”

  “How can I speak to them? Animals can understand Kodaman, but plants can’t. Besides, I don’t know what they’re saying.”

  “Is the only way you communicate through words?” Rondel asked. “Frankly, I find words the least useful way to communicate. They’re too easy to fake. Emotions and body language tell more. If you can decipher them, you can see truth through deception. And if you can control them, you can make anyone, and anything, believe what you tell it.”

  Minawë’s brow lowered at that. Ever since Rondel’s odd behavior in the tree at Yuushingaral, a suspicion had grown in Minawë’s mind. The old Maantec was hiding something from her.

  Whatever it was, getting it out of Rondel would be no small task. After all, the old woman was gifted at exactly the type of deception she had just described.

  Still, Minawë wasn’t sure what any of that had to do with manipulating plants, and her creased forehead must have signaled as much. Rondel looked around them for a moment. Then she said, “Let’s try an experiment. Put your hand on that maple trunk.” She pointed to the one closest to them. Small by Ziorsecth’s standards, it was still more than three feet wide.

  Minawë did as instructed. The bark’s deep furrows and scaly ridges felt coarse beneath her open palm.

  “Relax your mind,” Rondel said. “Focus on the tree. Hear its voice. Hear Ziorsecth’s voice.”

  For several minutes Minawë stood there, feeling foolish. Then, as she was about to pull away, she felt it, like a tickle in her brain. It was less a voice than a vibration, low in pitch and so steady that it was no wonder she had missed it earlier.

  The forest lacked the emotion of the other voices. It neither feared nor celebrated. It simply was. Like the wind, it was a force of nature, always changing yet ever-present.

  Minawë didn’t know the tree’s language, so she couldn’t talk to it with words. She focused on an image instead. It was spring, and the maple’s leaves had just regrown. Minawë pictured those leaves, focusing on their bright green color. Then she imagined Ziorsecth in autumn, when the leaves cascaded in gold.

  A chill ran through her, and she collapsed to her knees. She released the tree, sweat pooling on the nape of her neck. Her vision grayed. She laid on the ground to wait out the dizzy spell.

  “I probably should have started you with something smaller,” Rondel said. “Still, that was good for a first try.”

  It took Minawë fifteen minutes before she could move again. When she did, she looked at the maple. A smile blossomed on her face. Every leaf was shining gold.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  An Old Acquaintance

  The ride to Veliaf was even more dismal than the one to Tropos had been. Balear hated every minute of it. This part of the country was closest to where Amroth had marshaled his army, and the thousands of new mouths had been more than the region’s farms could support.

  Worse still, between Amroth’s conscription order and the civil war, large stretches of the region had been depopulated. Balear, Iren, and Hana traveled through more than one village where all the residents had vanished.

  The scarred landscape made Balear wish his mother had accepted his offer to bring her to Veliaf with them. It was strange. She’d been cheerful throughout dinner, but when Balear and Iren had come back inside, she’d treated them with reservation. She had let them stay the night, but at daybreak she’d quickly sent them on their way.

  She would be all right. Balear kept telling himself that. The growing season had started, and she had a garden going. Assuming Tropos had decent weather and no more raids, she would make it through the year.

  Balear sighed. If nothing else, having Mom along would have given him someone to talk to. He wanted to spend some time alone with Hana, but she was absorbed with teaching Iren Maantec.

  After
six days of blessedly safe travel, they reached Veliaf. The thirty-foot-high stone wall surrounding the town looked as imposing as Balear remembered it. Its lone gate, an impressive metal fortification, was shut.

  The trio dismounted. “So do we knock or what?” Hana asked.

  Balear looked up. Sentries paced the wall, but none of them stopped their patrols to hail the new arrivals. Three people weren’t a threat to the town. “I don’t know,” Balear said. “Last year, we could walk right in.”

  Hana cracked her knuckles. “Well, in that case . . .”

  “Please don’t charge them,” Balear pleaded. “That won’t make a great first impression.”

  Hana looked disappointed, but she relented and instead pounded on the gate. “Hello?” she shouted. “Anybody there? We’d like to be let in!”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’ll work,” Balear said, rolling his eyes.

  A few seconds later, though, the gate creaked open. Hana grinned and stepped forward.

  She stopped in mid-stride. Twenty soldiers barred their way. “General Balear Platarch,” the one in front said, “you and your companions are under arrest.”

  Hana dropped into a fighting stance, but behind her, Balear placed his sword on the ground and held up his hands. “I won’t fight them,” he declared. “These people are my friends.”

  Iren pulled the Muryozaki off his belt and laid it beside Balear’s blade. “A man from Veliaf saved my life,” he said. “I won’t kill them needlessly.”

  Hana looked murderous at their decisions. For a moment Balear thought she might attack anyway, but then she tossed down her sword and raised her arms as well.

  “Bind their hands and take them to the jail,” the soldier who had spoken before said. “I’ll inform the mayor.”

  While the other guards tied up Iren, Balear, and Hana, the lead soldier retrieved the prisoners’ discarded weapons and carried them away. Iren blanched when the man disappeared with the Muryozaki.

  Balear understood Iren’s worry. Depending on what happened, Iren might never see that sword again.

  As the soldiers marched the captive trio through the streets, Balear scanned the village with disbelief. Veliaf had been a wreck last year, all its homes with broken windows and doors. No trace of that damage remained, though the town was as austere and foreboding as ever. The two-story row homes that lined both sides of all the streets seemed to glower down at Balear. It was late morning, yet the tight structures and perimeter wall cast everything on ground level into shadow.

  When they entered the town square, Balear closed his eyes as he tried to shut out the memories. The effort was wasted. He could still see them: the pile of militia corpses, the Quodivar laughing as they beat a man to death, and the brutal justice Rondel had exacted on the criminals.

  The soldiers took them to a plain stone structure. It had only the tiniest of windows, and they were far out of reach. The men directed their captives into the building and shoved them into prison cells separated by iron bars. They put Balear and Iren in the same one, but they gave Hana one to herself. The soldiers stripped the trio of their packs and other supplies and stored them in a corner of the jail. Then they left without another word.

  “This is homey,” Hana spat. “What did you think you were doing back there? Honestly, you men and your honor. What good is it if it gets us killed? I assume you both know the penalty for treason, or even for consorting with traitors.”

  Neither Iren nor Balear bothered to reply.

  “I’m not waiting around to die,” Hana said. She rolled her arms.

  “Do what you like,” Iren said. “I’m staying here.”

  “What?”

  “Even if we escaped, we’d have to fight our way back through the town. That gate we came through is the only way in or out. I said it before. I don’t want to hurt these people.”

  Balear nodded his agreement. “We risked our lives to rescue Veliaf from the Quodivar and Yokai. Starting a fight like we did in Orcsthia would make that effort meaningless.”

  “Fine,” Hana pouted, “but remind me to ask how noble you feel when our heads are mounted on spikes.” She put her back to them and sat down, leaning against the bars.

  They waited in the cages for hours. Balear couldn’t mark the passage of time precisely, but his grumbling stomach told him they’d missed the noon meal.

  He’d just decided to take a nap on the cold stone to pass the time when a man came in carrying the Muryozaki. Iren and Balear both leapt to their feet. The newcomer, black-haired and middle-aged, looked at them with a nostalgic smile. “So I was right,” he said. “It is you two.”

  Balear grinned and exclaimed, “Dirio!”

  “I never expected to see you again,” Dirio said with a laugh, “particularly after King Angustion sent these around.” He held up a wanted poster showing a fairly accurate drawing of Balear. “As for you,” he continued, turning to Iren, “you’re a far cry from the teenage boy I remember, but there’s no way anyone else has a sword like this.”

  Dirio tossed aside the wanted poster and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “This is a poor place to catch up,” he said as he unlocked the cage. When he handed Iren the Muryozaki, the young Maantec’s relief was palpable.

  “That woman over there is our friend too,” Balear said with a gesture toward Hana.

  “Yes, the guards told me what happened at the gate,” Dirio said. He looked over Hana with disapproval. “It seems you’re more spirited than your companions. I’m sorry, my lady, but for now, I’d prefer to keep you locked up.”

  Hana stretched like a cat as she stood. Then, without any effort, she grabbed hold of a pair of bars and pulled them until they bent enough that she could step through them. “I’m sorry, my gentleman,” she said, mimicking his tone, “but I’d prefer to be free.”

  Dirio’s jaw dropped, so Iren explained, “She’s a Left, like me. You’re lucky we convinced her to stay in there this long.”

  The black-haired man frowned. “It seems I have no choice,” he said. “Very well, follow me.”

  He led them from the jail and back into town, weaving through several side streets. Eventually they reached a building twice the width of a normal row house but otherwise with identical architecture.

  “Welcome to my home,” Dirio said.

  Balear looked up and down the street. “Don’t you live on the other side of town?”

  “Sorry,” Dirio said, blushing, “I forgot to mention. I’m the mayor now.”

  Iren gaped. “You’re the mayor?”

  Dirio ushered them inside and into a plush office. A pair of guards stood in the room, but Dirio asked them to leave. He sat down in a high-backed chair behind a heavy wooden desk and said, “I have you two, as well as Rondel and King Angustion, to thank for it. The Quodivar killed the previous mayor when they took over the town last year. When you helped me rescue my fellow villagers, they were so grateful they unanimously asked me to lead them.”

  Balear smiled. “You’re doing a good job of it,” he said. “Unlike the other towns I’ve visited, Veliaf looks better than it did a year ago.”

  “It’s more luck than leadership,” Dirio replied. “We’re too small to be a serious contender in the civil war, yet our wall gives us a defense few cities can match. An enemy could besiege us, but that would leave their city vulnerable in the interim. Combine that with our remote location, and we simply aren’t worth the effort of attacking.”

  It was an enviable position, Balear thought. With the rest of the country imploding, Veliaf was probably the safest place in Lodia.

  All the same, geography alone couldn’t explain Veliaf’s recovery. Dirio could brush it off as luck, but it took more than good fortune to go from conquered ruin to prosperous community in one year.

  Dirio leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together. He frowned. “So,” he said, “what brings you here after all this time? Given the state of things, I’m sure it isn’t a social call.”

  Th
e mayor’s change of demeanor surprised Balear. Dirio was their friend. He’d fought alongside them against the Quodivar and Yokai, and he’d released them from jail just now. Why had he so abruptly become distant and cold?

  Iren must have felt the same as Balear, because he had a note of hesitancy in his voice as he said, “We came to see Akaku Forest. We want to visit the fort where Zuberi and Hezna died.”

  Dirio’s scowl deepened. “I thought as much. You’re interested in the sword.”

  Iren rocked on his heels. “How did you know?”

  “After King Angustion defeated the Yokai and Quodivar at Haldessa, some of the villagers and I braved their cavern again. We visited the ruined Yokai stronghold too. When we did, we found the giant blade.”

  The mayor paused and chewed his lip. Then he continued, “Iren, we saved each other’s lives. I’ve never forgotten what you, Balear, and everyone else did for Veliaf. That said, I can’t take you to that sword. It is altogether evil.”

  “What do you mean?” Iren asked.

  “We wanted to rebuild our strength after losing the town watch to the Quodivar. That sword was one more weapon to wield against any who might attack us.”

  “No,” Iren cried, “surely you didn’t touch it!”

  “I didn’t,” Dirio said, “but one of the men with me did. He vanished the second his fingers brushed against it. We looked around but found no sign of him. A few minutes later, we heard a terrible crash deeper in the woods. We went to investigate, and we found his body broken almost beyond recognition. A tree was smashed to kindling beneath him. Since then, I’ve forbidden anyone to visit the fort. A few fools have defied that order, and none have returned.”

  Iren folded his arms. “Everything adds up,” he said, though he seemed to be talking to himself. “The sword’s wind pressure when Zuberi swung it, the Feidl painting, and the fact that those who touch the weapon die. That sword is a Ryokaiten. Worse, it’s a Ryokaiten without an owner.”