The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga

by Josh VanBrakle

  What exactly made Iren get off his bed an hour later, wipe his face, and attend Amroth’s feast after all, even he didn’t know. Perhaps he longed to escape the dragon’s probing look. Or perhaps he simply realized that, should he not attend, he likely wouldn’t eat until at least the following morning. Reluctantly, he left his room and plodded down the steps of the Tower of Divinion, emerging into the long shadows of the castle courtyard.

  Much to his pleasure, Iren found the area mostly deserted. Pairs of guards still lined each doorway except, Iren noted with distaste, the one to the Tower of Divinion. A group of five young women, dressed in gowns for the evening’s festivities, chatted and giggled excitedly. Iren rolled his eyes at the noise; no doubt each girl hoped that her dolled-up looks would impress the great Amroth, well known as Lodia’s most eligible bachelor.

  The moment Iren began walking across the courtyard, the girls stopped talking and stared at him with cold, empty eyes. Most everyone in the castle looked at him that way, with eyes that saw past him, a thing so contemptuous the senses rejected it.

  Doing his best to ignore the women, Iren headed for an archway at the northern end of the courtyard. The guards there glared at him, but they said nothing as he approached. Their lack of response barely fazed him; few people ever opened their mouths around him. Passing them without a second glance, Iren walked down a long stone corridor lined with torches. Gradually, he began smelling the sweet odors of fresh water, perfumes, and soaps, signaling that he’d almost arrived at his destination.

  At last the passage split in two, with a pair of guards blocking the left path. For a moment Iren stood at the intersection, debating. He could hear vociferous calls from both directions. Initially he turned to the left, but when the soldiers drew their swords, he backed down and went to the right.

  “The one place in this stupid castle they’ll actually stop me from entering,” he grumbled.

  After a short walk, the new passage opened up, revealing one of Haldessa Castle’s most spectacular features: its baths. At over a hundred feet square and thirty feet high, only the grand hall surpassed them in size. Thick stone columns supported the ceiling, and seafoam green Tacumsahen tiles covered every surface. The light reflecting off them from the numerous torches gave the space a warm, ethereal glow.

  Iren followed the outer border of the room. It was an open space wide enough for two men to walk abreast with the chamber wall on one side and an interconnected series of seven-foot high wooden changing closets on the other. To Iren’s delight, most had their doors shut, indicating they were in use. Better still, he could hear splashing in the pool. Evidently, he wasn’t the only one planning a bath before the feast.

  After walking nearly halfway around the room, he found an unoccupied changing station and stepped inside. The closet had just enough space for one person, but it had a door on two sides. One, which Iren had entered, faced the chamber’s outer wall, while the other faced inward toward the pool. A stout wooden shelf about two feet off the ground provided a place to sit, as well as a spot to house a stack of white linens.

  Undressing, Iren stifled a chuckle. He never tired of what came next. Grabbing a towel and washcloth from the pile, he slammed open the door facing the pool and paraded forward, grinning broadly. At the noise, several faces turned and initially disregarded him as just another bather, albeit a noisy one. A few seconds later, their heads snapped in a double take as they realized that bather’s identity. Shouts filled the bath, and the furious splashing of water as everyone rushed for the edge only added to the din. In less than five minutes, the uproar ceased. The chamber had emptied completely.

  Sliding into the water, Iren laughed. “How lucky I am!” he shouted, a little louder than he’d intended. “Nobody else gets to bathe in private!”

  Iren neither knew nor cared how long he bathed. As long as he stayed, nobody else would dare enter the chamber. Whenever he came here, he typically stayed for hours, gleefully noting that all the while he forced dozens of other boys and men in the castle to go on smelling awfully.

  As he relaxed, he couldn’t help but admit a grudging admiration for the people who’d constructed the baths. To heat the water, the engineers had excavated a basement chamber that passed beneath both this bath and the women’s adjacent to it. Inside that room, fires burned constantly. The basement’s location as a heat source proved ideal. Not only did it make for tepid water, but it also gave the tile floor a warm touch. Even on the coldest winter nights, one could always thaw out here.

  At the pool’s far end, just below the water line, Iren spied the chamber’s water source: a heavy metal gate, linked by thick chains to pulley systems on either side of the room. The gate separated the pool from a long canal that connected to the clear waters of the Ute River, which flowed past the northern side of the castle and cascaded in a magnificent waterfall to the sea. A second gate linked the pool to another canal that allowed used water to exit. When the baths needed changing, castle workers opened the second gate to drain the pool, then closed it and opened the first, letting fresh water flow in. The staff obeyed a rigorous schedule in replacing the water, changing it daily precisely when the sun reached its highest point.

  Iren closed his eyes and dozed, as close to content as he ever came. When he awoke, he reluctantly pulled himself from the water, dried off, dressed, and made for the passageway back to the courtyard.

  As he reached the doorway out of the men’s bath, though, a shadow passed the corner of his eye. Reflexively, he turned, watching intently, but the only movement came from torchlight playing off the pool’s surface and the shiny tiles.

  Shaking his head at his own paranoia, Iren returned to the courtyard. By now, the sun had set, plunging the open area into darkness. As his eyes adjusted, Iren noted that the guards had all gone, and even the crowing maidens had vanished.

  “The feast must have started already,” Iren said to the empty quad, rubbing his hands together. This was great. He could sneak in without anyone noticing, all the better for pilfering a bite or pulling someone’s chair out from under them.

  He crossed the courtyard, went through another archway, and traveled down a hallway until he came upon a massive set of wide open, thick cherry doors. Festive carvings adorned the behemoths, alerting all that the room beyond was a place for celebration.

  And indeed it was. Haldessa Castle’s grand hall had no other purposes besides opulence and revelry, and tonight it was in full form. More than twice the size of both the men’s and women’s bathhouses combined, its high vaulted ceilings precluded the need for support columns and made the room appear to stretch on almost infinitely. Eight gargantuan chandeliers, each glimmering with gold plating, lit the hall, their thousands of crystals spreading the light from hundreds of candles. The room contained enough tables and chairs to seat every man, woman, and child in the castle. Upon those tables the kitchen staff had piled inordinate amounts of food: whole roast chickens and pigs, trays of each of the eight Lodian cheese styles as well as two goat’s milk varieties imported from the Tengu mountain men of Eregos, mounds of fruits and vegetables procured from local farms, fresh breads and cakes direct from the castle bakery, and of course, more wine, beer, and spirits than the entire population of Haldessa could consume in a week, let alone an evening.

  Near the room’s far end sat a circular wooden platform raised two feet above the floor. Upon it, three troupes of musicians armed with trumpets, drums, flutes, and raucous singers belted out the king’s favorite songs. Two court jesters and no less than a dozen dancing girls in billowing skirts paraded around the stage’s edge, swaying in time with the music. It came as no surprise that many of the older men in the crowd had chosen their seats as close to the platform as possible.

  The instant Iren entered the hall, he grimaced. Why did parties always have to include so much noise? It didn’t help that the feast had apparently started some time ago, and already the assembly had become thoroughly drunk.

  Iren nicked some food o
ff the tray of a passing servant and took up a standing position along the back wall, searching for easy victims to prank. The ideal candidate, of course, had to be King Azuluu. Seated at the front of the dining hall on a golden throne, the obese king laughed and carried on so loudly that even from over a hundred yards away, Iren could clearly discern his bass voice. Wine and grease spilled down his fine purple robes as he plowed through yet another turkey leg in one hand and a goblet the size of Iren’s head in the other.

  In the place of honor immediately to the king’s right sat the man of the hour: Captain Amroth Angustion, leader of the Castle Guard. Though in his early forties, his broad shoulders and toned body indicated age hadn’t decreased his physical prowess in the slightest. He wore the same black military uniform as Balear, except the captain’s had gold trim and, Iren wryly noted, wasn’t soaked in old laundry water. Amroth laughed heartily, slapping his knee at the king’s raunchy jokes. The five young women Iren had passed in the courtyard encircled the captain, playing with his auburn hair and offering to help him eat and drink.

  Of course, it wasn’t all fun for the captain. Iren smiled thinly. As loud as Azuluu sounded from the back of the room, Iren couldn’t imagine how Amroth’s left ear felt at the moment.

  No one else sat at the front table with Azuluu and Amroth. The king had no family, though he had a well-deserved reputation for debauchery. New claims of illegitimate children cropped up almost monthly. He had no advisors either; he had no need for them. With the exception of occasional Quodivar raids, Lodia had been peaceful for nearly two hundred years.

  Finally Azuluu stumbled to his feet, nearly falling on his face before Amroth reached out and steadied the fat king. Stretching his arms to either side, Azuluu called in his booming voice for silence. The volume in the hall continued unabated. Azuluu shouted again, and this time Amroth rose beside him. The room fell silent at once, and all the dancing girls and musicians cleared the dais to make space for the captain. As they did, Amroth, looking mildly embarrassed at upstaging Azuluu, sunk back into his chair.

  Clearly unaware of what had just happened, the king stepped around his table to the platform. He raised a meaty hand and, still clenching his goblet, shouted, “Cheer with me, friends, for the great hero of our time has returned to us!”

  Everyone in the hall save Iren cried, “Hail, hail!”

  As the cheers subsided, Azuluu continued, “Long under my reign, and that of my fathers, has Lodia prospered. To what do we owe our thanks for this wealth? Naturally, much of the praise must be lavished upon myself. Without a strong leader, no nation can survive.”

  The audience responded with more than a few chuckles, but Azuluu ignored them as he prattled on, “However, some matters no king can resolve alone. We face one such challenge even now. As many of you know, a bandit gang calling themselves the Quodivar has been attacking our merchant convoys. I cannot stop them by myself, but fortunately a champion has emerged who will combat the Quodivar and keep our caravans safe. His name is Amroth!”

  Cheers of, “Hail Amroth!” and, “Hail the captain!” filled the hall.

  “Amroth,” the king continued, “I know of no mightier warrior in all of Lodia, and your talents extend off the battlefield as well. I cannot in good conscience allow you to remain merely a captain. No, for the first time since taking the throne, I will formally offer to someone the position of king’s chief advisor. I offer it to you, Captain Amroth Angustion. Do you accept?”

  The entire crowd, Iren included, became silent. The king had no heir; illegitimate children were ineligible. In Lodian governance, if a king had no direct male descendent, rule passed to his chief advisor. Naming Amroth to that position virtually proclaimed him the next king of Lodia.

  Amroth froze for a pair of seconds at the king’s words. Quickly, however, he regained his composure and answered Azuluu, “My liege, you honor me beyond words. If this is how I may best serve this great nation, then I cannot decline. I humbly accept the position of chief advisor. I hope to bring glory to the station as well as you in all my actions henceforth.”

  The audience erupted in applause at Amroth’s acceptance, and now cries of “Hail the king!” accompanied the cheers of Amroth’s name. Iren folded his arms and scowled at all the useless flattery.

  Content with his speech, the king took his seat and downed his glass in a single gulp before nodding to Amroth. The meaning was unmistakable. Amroth couldn’t possibly get away without a speech after becoming heir to Lodia’s throne. After only a brief hesitation, Amroth rose with much ceremony and took the platform. He addressed the crowd, “Fellow lords and ladies! I welcome your cheers, but I do not deserve them. Without the gallantry of my fine companies, I surely could not have achieved my victories these past days. These thieves, these hoodlums, these Quodivar, have arms that rival our own and viciousness far surpassing mere bandits. I believe their ambitions lie beyond simply raiding our traders. In fact it would not surprise me if they seek no less than the utter domination of Lodia itself!”

  Gasps filled the room. Only when the clamor began to die itself down did Amroth press on, “Take a look around this grand ballroom. Gaze upon its walls, lined with tapestries and paintings passed down through generations of Lodians. I myself am fortunate enough to have six of my own works on display here. It humbles me to have my paintings in such company. In between missions I have labored hard on my art, so that future generations may remember me for more than just bloodshed. Into each, including my favorite,” he pointed at a portrait of Azuluu seated at his throne, “I have striven to include the deepest detail, the utmost intricacy, and the fullness of every brushstroke. Into these paintings I have poured my soul, and I will fight long and hard to protect them from brutes like the Quodivar. But know that I would sacrifice all these paintings to the fire if, in so doing, it brought peace to Lodia. The security of this nation means everything to me. This country is truly great. Its people are truly great. And I shall never, while breath is in me, allow Lodia to fall!”

  Iren yawned. Although Amroth’s words enamored the rest of the audience, Iren just found the exaggerated rhetoric annoying. It was all a bunch of nonsense; the captain didn’t deserve the attention he was getting for it. What this party needed wasn’t more boring speeches but something truly spectacular, something the attendees would never forget. He glanced around, seeking inspiration. There were any number of pies and gravy boats that he could toss into the crowd, but those wouldn’t have nearly enough effect.

  Then he spied it. One of the chandeliers hung directly above the platform on which Amroth stood. Tracing with his eye, Iren found the single heavy rope that held the chandelier in place. To light its candles, the fixture needed to be lowered to the floor, so the rope connected from the chandelier via a pulley system to a metal hook on the wall. Ordinarily, a dozen strong men or more would work together to lower the light and then raise it again. Snagging a carving knife off the nearest table, Iren stealthily made his way across the room.

  If Amroth noticed Iren’s actions, he didn’t show it. He dropped his volume and adopted a more somber tone, drawing in the audience with his tension. “Much like our great king,” he gestured to Azuluu, who smiled stupidly, “I cannot win this fight alone. Our latest battle with the Quodivar taught me much. I rode out not a fortnight past with a company of two hundred men to squelch these vermin. The Quodivar, however, do not fight like soldiers. Indeed, they do not fight like men at all. They enter battle only when they know they can catch their opponents unawares, and if the situation turns against them, they flee like cockroaches. Many fine men who rode with me did not reenter these castle gates. We cannot fight this enemy as soldiers. However, I have a plan that will rid us of these vile cowards once and for all!”

  Everyone in the room leaned forward, desperate to hear Amroth’s strategy. The Quodivar were the greatest threat to Lodia’s economy in more than a century, and the vast majority of the nobles gathered here had strong ownership in at least one merchant company. A
mroth provided hope not only for peace, but for fat wallets as well.

  “My plan requires great risk, but it is the only hope we have. Large armies do not work against the Quodivar. My last mission proved this. Instead, I will assemble a small team, an elite force of Haldessa’s finest. With this team we shall seek out the Quodivar and battle them the way they battle us: with stealth and cunning. I come here tonight to name the two men with whom I intend to enter battle. I will trust these two with my life, and with the fate of Lodia itself.”

  A young boy near the front cried excitedly, “Who? Who will save us along with you, Captain Angustion?”

  Amroth smiled kindly at the child, apparently not begrudging the interruption at all. “The first is a man whom you all know as a fine swordsman, a capable leader, and a loyal companion: Sergeant Balear Platarch!”

  The crowd cheered heartily, and Balear, seated about midway between Amroth and the back of the room, stood and waved his hand with an embarrassed gesture. He bore the vacant expression of someone who had clearly drunk too much. Amroth motioned for him to come to the platform and stand beside him. Balear tripped more than once, but in the end he reached his beloved commander.

  Across the room, Iren arrived at the chandelier’s cord. He spun the knife in his hand expectantly. He would time it just as Amroth finished his speech. The moment they stepped off the stage, he would cut the cord and drop the chandelier. It would crash horrendously behind them, everyone would gasp, and he would have the pleasure of watching both Amroth and Balear pick themselves off the floor.

  When the cheers calmed, Amroth became contemplative as he said, “The second person I have chosen you all know well, and yet, I would guess, also do not know at all. I have thought long and hard on this choice. I do not make it lightly. I make it for the sake of Lodia, for we must have the best to succeed in this endeavor. For the final of my group I have chosen Iren Saitosan!”