The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga

by Josh VanBrakle

  The shouts of praise died in the crowd’s throats. Iren whipped his head up, utterly shocked, and then it happened. As his body jerked to face the captain, his hand swung downward. The sharpened carving knife sliced through the chandelier’s rope without pause.

  Only Amroth’s quick reactions saved him from death. When he’d called Iren’s name, he had turned to face the lad, revealing that he’d known all along where Iren was. Reaching out, the captain grabbed Balear by the sleeve and tugged hard. The pair spilled over the dais just as the chandelier smashed down, splintering the stage, the light fixture, and all the musical instruments into countless pieces. Shards rained over the audience, but fortunately, no one was seriously injured.

  As the crowd slowly recovered, all eyes turned to Iren. He gulped at their faces. Some looked at him with fear, others with loathing, and still more with blank stares pretending he didn’t exist at all.

  King Azuluu slammed his meaty hands on either side of his throne. “Seize him!” he roared. “Bring him forward to meet the justice of Lodia!”

  Two Castle Guard members approached Iren. Though they looked like touching him was the last thing they wanted to do, they grabbed him roughly and shoved him on his knees before the king, Amroth, and Balear.

  “Too long have we suffered your antics! Now you’ve nearly killed the heir to the throne!” The king swung his fat fist. “I took you in when any other man would have let you die, filthy Left orphan dog. This is the thanks I get for my kindness. Well, it ends here. Justice! Execution!”

  The crowd cheered, their faces gleaming with sadistic glee. The denizens of Haldessa enjoyed nothing more than a public beheading.

  Iren scowled at the unfairness of it all. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone; it was just a mistake of timing. The oaf only wanted an excuse to get rid of him.

  “My liege, please do not do that.”

  Iren’s eyes leapt to the speaker: none other than Captain Amroth Angustion himself. He had spoken quietly, so that only Balear, Azuluu, Iren, and the guards grasping him could hear. Even so, the crowd fell silent just seeing Amroth’s lips move.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the king asked curtly. “Explain yourself, Amroth!”

  The captain gestured at Iren. “If he dies, my mission cannot succeed. I can’t defeat the Quodivar without him. Choose between your vengeance and your desire for security in Lodia.”

  The king looked like he might detonate. “Just a minute!” he cried, his face purple. “How can you think you can rely on Ir . . . Ir . . .” he seemed unable to bring himself to utter Iren’s name, “that thing for this mission of yours? This plan risks not only your life, but the hopes and dreams of all Lodians. With such stakes, you would put your trust in a Left?”

  Amroth’s expression leveled, and his voice matched his even look. He raised his volume so the crowd could hear, “No soldier in Lodia can match Iren’s strength. You’ve read the stories. He is a weapon. We should use him as such.”

  Iren couldn’t decide whether Amroth’s words made him happy or upset. True, the captain was sticking up for him as no one had ever done before, but getting referred to as an object wasn’t exactly uplifting.

  An old woman near the front of the crowd stood. Iren recognized her as Haldessa’s librarian. “Captain Angustion, please think of what you’re saying! I have read all the great texts of Lodia. I know of these Lefts; the oldest histories speak of them. None mention a name, but they all agree on two points. The Lefts spawn from darkness, and they bring death and destruction to all in their path! Just look at that chandelier!” She turned slightly, revealing a thin cut on her shoulder where a piece of glass from the shattered fixture had sliced into her. “That monster wounded many tonight, including myself. Worse, he almost crushed you and Sergeant Platarch to death, simply for his own amusement! He may look like a child, but he is a devil!”

  “Indeed,” Amroth spoke as though the librarian had proven his point. “Not many can claim to have nearly killed Amroth Angustion. Instead of wasting such destructive talent, why not point him in the direction of the Quodivar?”

  The crowd had nothing to say to that, but Iren could see them all fuming, particularly the Castle Guard members. Probably they felt cheated, believing Iren had stolen their spot on Amroth’s team.

  Looking ill at ease, the king raised his hands. “We’ve all had a lot to drink tonight. Let’s retire. Level heads will prevail in the morning. Guards, take the boy to the Tower of Divinion and ensure he stays there.”

  While no one had any desire to leave, the king had given his order. Slowly, the crowd headed out the back door. Several of those nearest Iren spat on him as they passed. Once everyone else departed, the two men clutching Iren dragged him to his tower chamber, tossed him inside, and slammed the door shut.

  Iren pressed his ear to the door. From just outside he could hear the two men’s tense breathing. He couldn’t escape. Hopelessly, he walked to his room’s window, staring into the starlit night. It was the first full moon of spring, and despite the crisp air, Iren found it clean and refreshing. If he had to pick a last night alive, this one would just about do it.

  Why wait? Azuluu wouldn’t change his mind on something like this, not even for Amroth. The castle residents would riot if the king denied them their spectacle. Iren clenched his teeth. Azuluu wouldn’t let him die quickly. He would be tortured, publicly humiliated, and then executed in as grotesque a manner as Azuluu could devise. He would suffer immensely, just to put on a good show.

  He slapped both palms on the windowsill. “Absolutely not!” If he had to die, he certainly wouldn’t let them have fun with it. Sticking his head out the window, he noted the dark courtyard a dizzying distance below him. If he fell from this height, there was no way he could survive.

  He had one foot on the sill when he heard a muffled scuffling on the other side of his door. Curious, he retreated from the brink and faced the tower steps. All fell silent for a moment, and then his door creaked open. Iren’s eyes widened.

  Standing there, the two guards unconscious at his feet, was Captain Amroth Angustion.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A Night of Three Murders

  Iren stood frozen until Amroth hissed, “Quit stalling and give me a hand with these two.” They dragged the soldiers into the room. Amroth swiftly shut the door behind him, leaning against it with his full weight so that no one could open it from the other side.

  Finding his voice at last, Iren asked belligerently, “What on Raa do you think you’re doing?”

  In the wan moonlight, Amroth’s mysterious countenance frightened Iren a little. “You pulled quite the stunt tonight. Thanks to you, I have to accelerate my plans.”

  The young man’s ears grew hot. Unspoken between them was the fact that if Amroth hadn’t stood up for him, Iren might well be dead now. Still, Amroth’s actions made Iren suspicious. “What plans?”

  “You’ve no doubt made the same determination I have about Azuluu. Tomorrow, he’ll order me to choose a replacement and then execute you. He’s left us no other choice. We’ll leave immediately. Do you know the stables just inside the castle gate?”

  Iren nodded, and Amroth continued, “Meet me there an hour before dawn. Make sure no one sees you. You shouldn’t have any issues. Everyone’s too drunk to pay much attention. You, Balear, and I will sneak out while everyone else is sleeping or fighting their hangovers.”

  With a skeptical look Iren asked, “You’ll directly defy the king? Why? For that matter, why did you stand up for me, or want me on this mission in the first place? I can’t fight!”

  Amroth averted his face and remained silent for a long time. When he at last looked at Iren again, the smug, almost arrogant expression he had worn during much of the feast had disappeared. A forlorn look replaced it, one that gazed upon Iren in a way the boy had never seen before. It was not fear, or hate, or even a desire for him to go away.

  It was pity.

  “I’m sorry,” Amroth struggled to say.<
br />
  “For what?”

  “I’ve made your life a nightmare.”

  Iren scowled. “You and everyone else in this castle.”

  Amroth shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. They all treat you poorly, but I caused them to do so. With this mission, I’ll atone for that mistake.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Working his mouth, Amroth asked, “Do you know how you came to Haldessa Castle?”

  “No. I’ve lived here my whole life.”

  “As I thought. You were only an infant when I brought you here.”

  Raising a disbelieving eyebrow, Iren asked, “You brought me here?”

  The captain nodded. “Just over seventeen years ago.”

  Iren’s head spun. He had, of course, wondered about his past for many years. He longed to know who the Lefts were, why people hated them so much, and why he was the only one. He could never get answers on his own, and nobody would ever talk to him about it. “Please, Captain,” he pleaded, “tell me.”

  “Are you sure?” Amroth asked darkly. “Sometimes, ignorance is better than the truth.”

  Iren’s voice hardened. “Yes. You can’t expect me to say otherwise when you’ve already said what you have.”

  Amroth sighed and motioned to the bed. “You’d better sit down for this.” Iren obeyed, and the captain began, “Seventeen years ago, I was a lieutenant in the Castle Guard. Because of my skill, Captain Tret Ortromp, a bull of a man and the Captain of the Guard before me, chose me to accompany him on an investigation. We’d heard rumors from farmers in Tropos Village that a Left man lived nearby. The villagers claimed he committed all sorts of terrible crimes. Officially, our mission was to verify their claims and, if true, arrest the Left. However, Captain Ortromp had other plans. He believed the legends about the Lefts and concluded that we couldn’t capture one alive. Instead, after he learned the location of the farm where the Left supposedly lived, he decided we would go just after midnight and kill the man in his sleep.”

  Iren felt sick. He didn’t like where Amroth’s story was heading at all.

  “The night we arrived at the farmhouse,” the captain continued, “we found it deserted. At first we were surprised, but then we heard, off in the distance, the ringing of steel against steel. We crept toward the sounds, and we were shocked to come upon two human shapes clashing in the fields, their weapons sparking on impact. A third person huddled away from the combatants, clutching a package. I didn’t know which of these people, if indeed any of them, was the Left we sought, but I sat transfixed as the battle unfolded.

  “I can’t say how long the pair fought, but it ended in an instant. One fighter lost his sword, the weapon landing but a few feet from the kneeling person. His enemy slew him with one stroke. Then, to my horror, the winner walked over to the helpless crouching person and sliced out their throat. I reached for my sword, but my captain stopped me. The murderer then hesitated, and I feared he’d noticed us. After what felt an eternity, though, he vanished into the night. Once he departed, Ortromp and I inspected the battlefield. The dead combatant was our Left; his sheath hung on his right hip. The kneeling person was a woman, and she too had departed this world. Whether or not she was a Left, I don’t know. When we examined the bundle she guarded with her life, the contents shocked us both: an infant boy.”

  Iren barely managed to whisper a single word, “Me.”

  Amroth nodded. “I can only conclude that the two slain people on the field that night were your parents. I don’t know why, but their killer must have chosen to spare you at the last moment.”

  Sitting on his bed, Iren’s vision grayed. In all his years, he’d never once suspected that someone had murdered his parents. He couldn’t believe it. A thousand questions filled his mind, but two took the fore. Who? Why?

  Then a new question popped into his head, and struggling to regain his composure, he said, “Wait. If Ortromp hated Lefts enough to kill a defenseless man in his sleep, wouldn’t he also want to slay a Left baby as well?”

  Amroth began shaking, as though something terrible inside him were finally bubbling to the surface. At length he said, “I am that reason, Iren. Ortromp did want you dead. He ordered me to kill you, but I couldn’t do it. Left or not, you were just an infant.”

  “I doubt Ortromp liked your decision.”

  Amroth collapsed beside the door, his head in his hands. “No, he didn’t. He told me that while you might look like an innocent baby, if we let you grow, you would become a demon just like your father. Then he shoved me aside and said if I lacked the resolve to do what was necessary, he would. Sword drawn, he came for you.”

  Iren’s heart thumped in his chest. Even though he knew he couldn’t have died that night, Amroth’s tone and the haunting moonlight filled him with dread.

  “I didn’t think twice,” the captain cried. “You didn’t choose to have a Left father. We didn’t even know if you were left-handed. I couldn’t accept Ortromp killing you, so I . . . I . . .”

  All at once the captain, the great Captain Amroth Angustion, newly appointed heir to the throne, started shrieking in a panic, “I killed him, Iren! I attacked Ortromp from behind and stabbed him. My body shook when I realized what I had done. It still keeps me awake. He was my commander! I, who have risen to become head of Lodia’s military, slew a Lodian officer!”

  Iren’s breathing came so rapidly he feared he would hyperventilate, but he couldn’t stop himself. Amroth had murdered a superior officer on his behalf, a crime punishable by death.

  “I knew I should take my own life,” Amroth clutched his knees with both hands, pressing so tightly Iren thought the captain might break them, “but I couldn’t do it. If I did, I would doom you as well. You would catch hypothermia and die in a day, making Ortromp’s murder pointless. So instead of committing suicide, I buried your parents and my slain captain and set off for Haldessa Castle with you in my arms. Day and night I traveled, not pausing even to rest, until I returned to the castle late at night. I banged on the front gate, but no one came. At last, when I thought I would have to sleep outside, an old woman happened by and offered me shelter. I didn’t know her, but she was tiny and appeared unable to cause any harm. She took me to her home, a hovel in the dirtiest section of Haldessa. She told me her name, Rondel Thara, and offered me what little food she had. Finally, she inquired about the bundle in my hands. When I showed you to her, she named you ‘Iren Saitosan.’

  “I suppose I could have left you with her, but she couldn’t have supported you. Instead, the next morning I took you to King Azuluu. I lied to him, to my own king, that the Left had killed Ortromp, and that you were a normal orphan boy whose parents the Left had also slain. He should have executed me, but not knowing the truth, he promoted me to Captain of the Guard. He also took you in, for a time raising you as his own.”

  Iren nodded. “I vaguely remember. He taught me to speak, as well as how to read and write. At least until he realized I preferred holding my pen in my left hand.”

  “When Azuluu discovered your left-handedness, he wanted to toss you from the castle immediately. I convinced him to let you stay in the Tower of Divinion. I couldn’t bear to put you on the streets of Haldessa so young, but neither could I adopt you. That is my greatest regret. In my desire for success, I chose my well-being over yours. I allowed you to suffer, alone and hated, when I could have served as your friend and mentor. I could have let you join the Castle Guard, but instead I kept up appearances and shunned you. For that, I am truly sorry.”

  Iren didn’t know whether to thank Amroth or punch him. On the one hand, the captain had sacrificed dramatically to keep Iren alive. On the other, to preserve his reputation, he had allowed everyone to treat Iren like a monster.

  Amroth began again, but now a twinkle sparkled in his eye. “On my last mission, though, I finally figured out the way to atone for my mistakes toward you.”

  Iren’s brow furrowed skeptically.

  “I want to defeat the Quodi
var, as you know. The mission I proposed at the feast can do that. However, I have two ulterior motives. First, by bringing you on this mission, I give you the chance to prove yourself to Lodia. If the Quodivar fall because of your aid, you may earn some respect among the people. Second, and far more important, it will give you a chance to avenge your parents.”

  “Avenge them? How?”

  Looking Iren dead in the eye, Amroth replied, “The night your parents died, the darkness prevented me from determining their killer’s identity. However, the sparks from the clashing weapons and my own battle experience taught me much of his fighting style. I have never forgotten it, for the image of your parents’ murders remains burned into my heart. How surprised I was, then, on my latest mission, when I fought no less than the leader of the Quodivar himself! When I clashed swords with him, I knew. His technique perfectly matches what I saw seventeen years ago. I can’t say for certain, but I suspect that the Quodivar leader killed your parents.”

  Iren felt like Amroth had struck him with a hammer. The man who murdered his parents still lived! “Did you kill him?” Iren asked, torn between hope and fear at how Amroth might respond.

  “Unfortunately, no. His strength overwhelmed me, and I barely escaped. But I believe you can defeat him. In fact, I believe you are the only person who can succeed where both your father and I failed.”

  Iren hugged himself, slowly absorbing Amroth’s words and what the captain hoped Iren would accomplish. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t fight. He had never even held a weapon. After hearing Amroth’s tale, though, he already knew his answer. Firmly, he replied, “I’ll see you at the stables an hour before dawn.”

  Amroth gave the slightest incline of his head, then rose and opened the door a crack, listening for any sign of movement. Satisfied no one was in the tower, the captain vanished down the steps.

  As Iren sat on his bed, taking in the poor trappings of his life, a sense of direction he’d never experienced came to him. For seventeen years, no one had wanted him. He’d been unnecessary. Thanks to Amroth, all those feelings of doubt and insecurity fled before a new resolve. What did he want from life? For years he’d asked himself that question, never having an answer. Now, for the first time, he did.