Listening to Iren, Balear knew Dirio had been wise to order his fellow villagers to leave the blade alone. But Balear hadn’t come all this way for nothing. “You will take us to the sword,” he commanded, feeling a bit of his old officer self come back, “or I will go to it alone.”
Dirio looked back and forth between the two men. “I can’t dissuade you?” He paused, then sighed. “All right. You aren’t Veliafans, so I can’t order you to stay away from it. It’s too late to go today, though. A group of villagers is heading to Akaku tomorrow morning to hunt game and cut firewood. We’ll go with them. You can stay the night here; the mayor’s house has plenty of guest beds. In the meantime, I’ll find you each a change of clothes. Those rags look like they’re about to fall to nothing. I’ll also arrange for baths for you. And Balear? There’s a barber in town who can get rid of that matting of hair and beard. He’ll get you looking like a soldier again.”
The trio thanked him, and the meeting ended. Hours later, after dark, Balear lay in the first bed he’d been in since leaving Ziorsecth last year. His hair was trimmed, and he felt cleaner than he had in months.
Yet sleep wouldn’t come. His mind wouldn’t stop buzzing. He wondered about the sword and what he would do when he saw it. If he touched it, he might become a Dragon Knight like his father. He didn’t have magic, but the sword’s power would still help him end the war.
Then again, he knew the price of failure. He’d promised himself he would see peace in Lodia restored. Maybe it would be better if he left the sword alone rather than risk death. As long as he was alive, he could at least try to make a difference. He could help Iren regain his magic.
Balear sighed and rolled over. He closed his eyes. As he did, the Feidl painting of his father washed up in his vision. Dad had passed the dragon’s test, but he had also been the greatest human fighter Lodia had ever known. Could Balear match his level?
He’d find out the answer tomorrow.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Another Visitor
A week after Balear and his companions had left, Arianna Platarch was still scrubbing away the stink.
Oh yes, her son’s friend had hidden it well, but Ari was observant when it came to dinner. She’d noticed the way the man called Iren held his spoon. Why her good boy was consorting with a Left, though, she couldn’t begin to guess.
Whatever the reason, she hoped Iren wasn’t rubbing off on Balear. When Ari had first seen her son’s wanted poster, she hadn’t believed it. But another poster advertised a Left named Iren who was also wanted for treason. Admittedly, that poster described a much younger person. With Lefts, though, who knew? There couldn’t be that many left-handed “Iren’s” running around the country.
Ari scrubbed the table harder. This was the second time a Left had taken away someone important to her. While most Lodians only knew Lefts as creatures in bedtime stories, Ari seemed to have a knack for running into the devils. Like Iren, the Left who had come to Tropos twenty-five years ago had seemed decent at first. Yet Ari had known even before she learned he was a Left that he couldn’t be trusted—especially when he started spending time with her sister-in-law.
Throwing her scrub brush in the bucket, Ari cursed, something she almost never did. If she could have, she would have replaced everything in the house, but the civil war had made everyone too poor.
Lefts had probably caused that too. They were at the root of everyone’s problems. If it weren’t for that Left, Balio would still be alive.
Ari had warned her husband not to let a Left around his sister, but the stubborn man had refused to listen. Even when the girl wound up dead, Balio wouldn’t accept the truth. In his grief he’d blamed not the Left but the people of Tropos.
“For anyone else, you would have stood united against the killer,” he had screamed at Ari the night she’d told him what had happened. “But for a Left and his wife? Of course not.”
After that Balio had stormed out of the village. No one in Tropos ever heard from him again.
Ari stared into the water of her bucket. It needed to be changed, to have the filth dumped away. She carried the bucket outside and emptied it in some weeds far from her home. Then she headed to the village well to refill for another round of scrubbing.
An old woman was already there, hunched over the crank and trying with all her strength to turn it. She wasn’t making any progress, though, because she could only use one arm. Her left one was tied against her body in a sling.
Ari rushed to her. “Here, let me help you,” she said. Together they pulled up the well’s laden bucket.
The elder, barely five feet tall, looked at Ari with grateful green eyes. “Thank you. Getting by with a broken hand is hard for a woman my age.” She dipped her good hand in the bucket and took a long drink. “That’s the nicest water I’ve had in years. They don’t know what they’re missing in Terkou.”
“Terkou?” Ari asked. She forced herself to keep her voice level. It was Terkouan marauders who had attacked Tropos and conscripted the men. This old woman didn’t seem dangerous, but the big cities could be scheming something. They loved to stomp on the little folk.
“Yeah,” the woman replied, “I’ve wanted to get away from there ever since the war started. They don’t know which end is up. Comes from living all on top of each other, I say.”
Ari nodded as she filled her bucket. “I couldn’t agree with you more. Well, I’m glad you escaped. Can I offer you a place to stay while you’re in town? I’m afraid you won’t find any inns around here.”
“That would be kind of you,” the woman said. “These old bones of mine aren’t meant for sleeping outside. No, my camping days should be long behind me, if only those city fools would leave well enough alone instead of starting wars.”
Ari led the way back to the house. Inside, she offered the elder a seat by the fire and then started a kettle boiling. “So,” she said, “what brings you to Tropos, of all places?”
The old woman smiled sadly. “To be honest, I can’t say I wanted to end up here at all. I just did. Wars don’t care much for plans.”
“No, they don’t,” Ari reflected, her eyes drifting to Balio’s painting.
The elder followed her gaze. “That’s a beautiful portrait,” she said. “Did you paint it?”
Ari shook her head. “It was a gift to my husband a long time ago.”
The kettle whistled, and Ari filled two clay mugs. She handed one to the woman and kept one for herself. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to put in it,” she admitted.
Her guest cradled the hot water like it was Katailan wine. “It’s warm,” she said. “That’s what matters.”
Ari smiled. She liked this woman.
Sipping her water, the elder stood and walked to Balio’s portrait. “Feidl,” she said. “Seems to me I’ve heard that name before.”
Ari opened her mouth to answer, but then the old woman stepped back and spluttered. “Are you all right?” Ari cried.
The elder coughed again, but then she recovered. “It went down the wrong way,” she said. “Say, do you know if this picture is true to life? That sword seems much too large.”
“You know, my son came home last week, and one of his friends asked me the same question.” Ari hoped the bitterness stayed out of her voice.
“Did they now?” The old woman looked thoughtful. She paced the room twice. Then she flashed a grin so wide it took up more than half her face. “Well, this has been a splendid visit,” she said, “but I’m afraid I must be off.”
“Are you sure?” Ari asked. “You’ve only just arrived. I hope I haven’t offended you.”
“No, no, it’s just that at my age you never know how much time you have left.” She handed over her mug and walked to the door. As she opened it, she asked, “By the way, what’s your son’s name?”
It seemed like an odd question, but Ari said, “Balear.”
The woman nodded. “Interesting.” Then she was gone.
* * *
Those days might as well be years. Minawë kicked a stone on the path and sent it into the brush. Iren’s plan to come here had been their only clue. There was no way of knowing where he would have gone next.
Minawë took a deep breath and listened for the voices again. Ever since Rondel had explained what they were, Minawë had spent every available minute observing them and trying to communicate with them. She couldn’t speak their language, but her control with images had improved.
At last she heard them, just a whisper. Minawë concentrated on the weeds closest to the path. Under her direction they flowered, even though it was a few weeks early for most of them.
Her magic fueled their unnatural growth. It wasn’t hard now that she’d figured out how. Kodaman magic derived from plants, so all she was doing was giving it back to them.
The flower-lined path cheered Minawë. She managed a smile as she entered the village and caught Rondel lounging by a well.
“How’d it go?” the old Maantec asked. She sounded tense.
“Someone definitely visited the farm,” Minawë said, “but they’re gone now. I have no idea where.”
Rondel nodded. “In that case, my time here has been much more profitable. It’s good I suggested we split up. I know where Iren went.”
Minawë grabbed Rondel by the shoulders. “You do? Where?”
The old woman smirked. “An appropriate place for a reunion.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dropped
Balear wrinkled his nose as he walked through Akaku Forest with Iren, Hana, and Dirio. Dismembered corpses were strewn among the dense spruces, and broken trees lay beneath the bodies. Most of the dead were human, but Balear noticed a few Yokai corpses as well.
“I thought Amroth killed them all in Haldessa,” he said, gesturing at one.
“Most of them,” Dirio replied, “but they didn’t empty their lands. A few remain.”
Iren nodded. “Yokai ambushed Minawë and me when we fled their stronghold last year. There were dozens of them.”
Balear looked into the trees, uneasy. Yokai could leap great distances and climb like spiders. He wondered if they were out there now. A high-pitched cackling would be the only warning, and screams would follow it within seconds.
Fortunately, no Yokai or anything else disturbed them as they entered the clearing that had once been the creatures’ fort. Last year, the Yokai leader had ignited a forest fire to trap Iren and Rondel, so Balear expected to find a charred, lifeless husk.
What he saw instead shocked him. The former battle scene was alive with new growth. Grass grew tall in the open sunlight, and a few tree seedlings pushed through the soil.
Then Balear forgot everything else in the clearing, because at that moment he spotted the sword lying in the grass. He raced to it. There was no mistaking his father’s weapon. The double-edged blade portion alone measured seven feet, and at its base the steel was more than a foot wide and six inches thick. The hilt was so long Balear couldn’t have covered it even if he’d had four hands.
Balear’s breath caught. Sure enough, that hilt bore the same circular markings that adorned Iren’s katana.
Iren caught up to Balear and looked over the gigantic sword. “So it is a Ryokaiten,” he murmured.
Balear stretched an arm toward it, but Iren grabbed his wrist. “Don’t do that,” he said, “unless you want to die.”
Hana and Dirio had arrived by now. “I warned you yesterday,” Dirio said. “That sword made all the corpses we saw on our way here. It is evil.”
“Not evil,” Iren replied, “the dragons simply are. That said, it is dangerous. We should take it to Veliaf and hide it so people can’t touch it. I’ll carry it. I’m already a Dragon Knight, so it can’t test me.”
“If it won’t harm you, that sounds like a good plan,” Dirio said. “There’s a vault in my house. We can store it there.”
Balear’s eyes flicked from the sword to Dirio, then to Iren, and finally back to the sword. He’d come all this way. This was Dad’s weapon! He had wielded it, and so had Zuberi. Neither of them were Kodamas or Maantecs. They didn’t have magic. They were humans like he was.
Of course, that didn’t mean he was their equal. Balear had never met Zuberi, but he knew the man surpassed him. The giant Tacumsahen had murdered Dad, and he’d almost killed Iren.
While Balear warred with himself, Iren grasped the sword with both hands and pulled. His face reddened. His muscles bulged.
Iren fell backward on his rump. “I can’t,” he heaved. “That sword must be solid steel. It won’t budge.”
“We could bury it,” Hana suggested. “It can lie underground for all eternity.”
Dirio and Iren nodded, but at Hana’s words, Balear shouted, “Wait!” He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t let them entomb this weapon. It deserved better. It deserved to breathe the air.
Balear reached for the blade. Iren rushed to restrain him, but the Maantec was off balance from his fall. Balear’s hand closed around the weapon’s hilt.
Everything went black. A presence brushed against Balear’s mind. In a snarling voice it said, “What, another worthless human?” Stabbing pain shot through his head, like an eagle’s talons were ripping out his brain piece by piece.
The pain vanished as quickly as it had arrived. “So you’re a Platarch,” the voice said. “I thought I was rid of your family. I won’t have it said of Ariok that I have a weakness for some misbegotten lineage. I’ll test you like all the rest.”
The darkness fled Balear’s eyes, and he gazed around in awe. Surrounding him was the brightest, bluest sky he’d ever seen. A few clouds drifted beneath him.
At first he thought he was just disoriented. Surely the clouds must be above him. Then he saw the tiny green needles—the spire-like conifers of Akaku Forest—far, far below him.
“Where on Raa am I?” he shouted, but the wind ripped the words from his mouth. His pulse quickened, and he became lightheaded. Breathing up here seemed to do no good.
“The other dragons have complicated tests,” Ariok said. “Mine is simple.”
Balear gulped. He had a good idea what that test was, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What must I do?”
Inside his brain, Balear could sense the dragon smile. “Live.”
Like a puppeteer cutting his doll’s strings, the force holding Balear in midair vanished. He fell.
End over end he tumbled. Soon he couldn’t tell which way was up. Mist soaked him as he passed through a cloud. Balear screamed, but he couldn’t hear himself over the rushing air.
He was going to die. There was no question about it. Once as a child he’d fallen climbing a tree and broken his leg. It had healed well and never given him any trouble, but that was a fall from just a few feet. He recalled the bodies strewn across the forest. Now he knew how they’d ended up that way.
Even as his terror grew, though, his soldier’s mind ordered him to focus. “Concentrate!” he yelled to himself. “Slow yourself down!” He shifted his body in different positions and found that spreading out as much as possible helped.
But it wasn’t enough. At this speed the impact would shred him.
Balear pulled off his shirt and stretched it between his arms. He hoped the extra area would catch the wind and slow his fall. The force was too great, though, and the shirt ripped from his arms.
He was running out of time. The packed spruces of Akaku had gone from looking like a verdant field to a spiked pit.
There had to be a way to survive. There had to be! He needed to think. Dad had survived this. How had he done it?
Maybe that was
the problem. Dad could survive it because he was the best. Balear was no Balio.
Not that he hadn’t tried. He’d left his mother’s side a boy and joined the Castle Guard to become a man. There were other recruits with more talent, but he’d overcome them with effort. He’d trained three times harder than anyone else. When someone beat him in a sparring match, he’d practiced all the more so he could win the next time.
Had all that work been for this? To perish falling from the sky?
No! He wouldn’t allow it. The Castle Guard was gone. He was the only one left. Lodia was still at war. He had a duty to protect it and restore it to peace.
There was no way he would let some dragon and its devil magic interfere with that!
Although Balear had no idea what he was doing, he faced the ground. He was no longer screaming. Instead, his face scrunched with determination. He clapped his hands together, then pushed them away from his body, palms down.
The air responded to his gesture. He slowed a fraction, but he continued to plummet.
Balear put all his focus into his hands. To his amazement, the air bent around them. It swirled in a vortex, growing stronger until the only wind he felt came from his palms.
Just before he reached the trees, the air surged down. It shot toward the forest with such ferocity that the spruces beneath him cracked.
He had almost landed when his strength ebbed. His concentration faltered, and in that second, the wind around his hands ceased. He dropped to the ground with a crash.
* * *
Iren rushed through the claustrophobic Akaku Forest, heedless of the branches that whipped at him. Seconds ago he’d heard the snapping of trees, and he knew what must have caused it.
As feared, Iren reached an area of woods that had been smashed to tinder by an impact from above. At least an acre was flattened, and in its center lay Balear.
“Balear!” Iren shouted. He climbed through the mess of broken logs to his friend.
The Hearts of Dragons Page 9
