“Wait!” he called out. “I didn’t mean it! Zuberi said he would kill me if I didn’t take over Veliaf! I had no choice. Please, you believe in mercy, right?”
Rondel’s sparking eyes stared unfeelingly down at him. “No.”
The dagger swung hard and fast.
As the thief hit the ground, Rondel stepped around him without looking back. She wiped her blade clean and sheathed it. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes. When they opened again, they had returned to their normal green. The sparks had vanished without a trace.
Amroth, Iren, and Balear all stared into the village square, stupefied. When they recovered their wits enough to move from their hiding place, they ran to Rondel. Iren and Balear immediately bombarded her with questions. The old hag remained silent, her gaze fixed on Amroth. The captain calmly walked from bandit to bandit, checking each one’s pulse. When he finished, he faced Rondel with a passive expression. In a calm, level voice, he said, “I had no idea Lefts were so capable in battle.”
Rondel’s stupid grin sprouted on her face, but now Iren perceived what he had previously missed. A deep cunning hid in the narrow eyes behind the smile. “So you think I’m a Left too, just like Iren,” she replied, shaking her head and acting exasperated. “Always underestimating old people. You both really should learn to respect your elders.”
Amroth was not dissuaded. “I do respect my elders, and I know that no human, of any age, can move like that.”
The crone sighed but didn’t drop her grin. “I guess you have me. You really should stop calling us ‘Lefts,’ though. As I explained to Iren, the proper name for our species is ‘Maantecs.’”
Balear turned red. “So, so Rondel is one of them too? Great, Captain, just great.” He loosed a long string of curses.
Amroth shrugged. “Frankly, Balear, I can’t imagine a better situation. With two companions who can fight like that, we should have no trouble defeating the Quodivar. If we can find them, that is. I’d counted on getting information here, but Veliaf is deserted.”
Iren turned his gaze to the crumpled person the Quodivar had been beating before Rondel intervened. Kneeling down, he felt for a pulse. The man was still alive. “Maybe this guy knows.”
The captain leapt to Iren’s side, clapping him on the back. “You may be right, Iren! If he survives all these wounds.” Amroth gingerly ran his fingers over the man’s body. The captain’s expression grew grimmer with each passing inch. The man, who looked about the same age as Amroth, had bruises covering every exposed patch of skin, and blood matted his black hair. His tattered clothes bore testament to his beating. At last Amroth said, “He has multiple broken ribs, and his right arm and leg are shattered. The gash on his head goes clear to the bone. More than likely, he’s bleeding internally. If we move him, he’ll die immediately. If we leave him here, he’ll perhaps last another hour. Either way, he’s lost consciousness and will never wake up again. We won’t get any information from him unless, by some miracle, we can heal him.”
As he spoke those last four words, Amroth met Iren’s eyes, and the young Maantec guessed the captain’s thoughts. Amroth hadn’t accepted Rondel’s claim that Iren had avoided injury during the battle on the hill. He’d guessed that Iren had somehow reversed his own fatal wounds. The boy gulped, knowing that Amroth expected him to cure this man the same way. He didn’t know how he would do it though. Thanks to Rondel, he knew that he was the “Holy Dragon Knight,” but he had no clue what that even meant. All he knew for sure about it was that holding the Muryozaki caused his injuries to heal.
That gave him an idea. He had to try it. If he did nothing, the man would die anyway. Iren drew his father’s katana. Balear reached for his own sword, calling Iren a demon and arguing that killing the man was not proper. A withering glare from Amroth made the sergeant fall silent.
Iren placed the Muryozaki’s hilt in the wounded man’s palm. He watched and waited for the weapon’s healing power to take effect. Seconds, then minutes, passed.
Nothing.
“Why?” Iren shouted, becoming horribly frustrated. “Why doesn’t it work? Why can’t I save him?” He clutched the man’s hand along with the katana’s hilt, his eyes winced shut as he pleaded, “Please, Muryozaki, or Divinion, or whatever you are, I don’t know anything about you, or Maantecs, or dragons, but whatever you did for me, do it for this man too! He doesn’t deserve to die like this!”
It made no sense to him why he cared so much for this guy. He’d never known the man before today. In all likelihood, even if he had, the man would simply have hated him. He probably would have stared at Iren with the same empty eyes as everyone in Haldessa. Iren would have teased him, or carried out some awful prank in retaliation on the jerk. He certainly wouldn’t have helped him. And yet, kneeling over the dying man, Iren felt compelled to act. Maybe it was the injustice of the situation. Maybe it was watching Rondel avenge the fallen villagers. Or maybe it was just that, for the first time in his life, someone had regarded him as something other than a monster.
Whatever the reason, he couldn’t just sit here and let this poor man die!
A moment later, Balear, Amroth, and Rondel all gasped. Opening his eyes, Iren saw the Muryozaki glow a brilliant white. Its light spread over the man’s body, bathing the entire area in its glow. It did not blind or cause pain. On the contrary, it left Iren with a warm, calming sensation. Even Balear smiled when it washed over him.
Slowly, the light faded away. The wounded villager still lay on the ground, unmoving. Amroth felt over the man’s body as he had the first time, but now his morose expression shifted. After a breathless pause, he looked at Iren and beamed.
Iren, meanwhile, had gone deaf. He could see Amroth’s mouth move and his arms gesture excitedly, but no sound came from him. The injured man stirred and fluttered his eyes. As he did, gray rings formed around Iren’s field of vision. He just barely saw the villager sit up before his world went black.
CHAPTER NINE
Encounter with the Almighty
He was flying.
No, that didn’t make sense, because Iren could feel solid ground beneath his feet. Darkness surrounded him; he fluttered his hand in front of his face but couldn’t see it at all. The floor, if one existed, felt like flat stone. He took a few steps. The hollow ring of each footfall unnerved him. With trepidation he called, “Hello?” but only his nervous breathing replied. He reached for the Muryozaki, but it had disappeared from his hip. Fear took hold. Somehow, he had become lost in an infinite void without even a weapon to protect him.
Just as his desperation grew too great, a faint light appeared in the distance. At first Iren took it for a star, but it grew bigger the longer he stared. It soon took the form of a great undulating serpent with majestic wings, bursts of light erupting in every direction with each wingbeat. The vast majority of the dragon, for it could be nothing else, was of the purest white, with a few sky blue streaks accentuating the lines of its massive yet elegant body. Most impressive of all, however, were its eyes. Even from far away, they shone with a blue that bore through the blackness.
As the dragon flew closer, its light swallowed the shadows so that Iren nearly forgot they had ever engulfed him in the first place. The creature’s glow did not act like a beacon in the night, guiding ships to shore like the lighthouse at Ceere. Rather, it simply made the darkness go away, so that there was no need for such a lantern.
Iren gulped as the beast’s size truly came into perspective. Its eyes alone measured over five feet in diameter. The dragon’s teeth offered no comfort; each was longer than Iren’s entire body and had an edge that made the Muryozaki look like a worn butter knife.
The creature landed on four legs, each with three claws longer and sharper still than its fangs, and came into striking range. Iren expected it to devour him, but instead the dragon lowered its head in a deep bow of respect. The gesture so astonished Iren that he could do nothing but stare and take in the strange beauty of the awe-inspiring reptile. Lon
g blue hair grew all along its spine, and two gigantic blue whiskers, each as thick as Iren’s thigh, adorned its face.
At last the dragon rose and, giving Iren a curious expression, loosed a low grumble, which sounded more like a sigh than anything threatening. Then, with a booming voice that shook the very fabric of the universe, the creature said, “So you are my knight. You are Iren Saitosan.”
Iren tried stammering a few syllables but couldn’t. It was like meeting Juusa the Creator face to face.
The dragon watched him with its huge eyes, and Iren knew it could see past him into his mind and heart. He didn’t have to say anything, because the dragon already knew everything about him.
When Iren remained silent, the dragon blinked slowly, and then its whole body began shaking. Light streamed off of it, and as Iren watched, the mighty beast shrunk. It grew smaller and smaller, disappearing at such a pace that Iren thought it would vanish. He didn’t know whether to feel relief or despair at the possibility. As it neared his height, however, the shrinking slowed. Gradually, the dragon changed. Its wings disappeared into its back, and it stood up on its hind legs. As its scales melted into smooth skin, it took the form of an old man with long, pure white hair. An equally white moustache adorned his face. The man wore white robes, flecked with blue, and matching sandals. The transformation amazed Iren. He never would have guessed this man could be a dragon in disguise. The only clue lay in his eyes; they retained their original piercing blue. Though he looked like an ordinary old man, Iren knew he still couldn’t hide anything from him.
The transformed dragon gave Iren a genuinely warmhearted smile, then said, “Well, Iren. I believe you already have some idea of who I am.” His words sounded soft and kindly, not at all like the booming voice the dragon had spoken with earlier.
Though still nervous, the creature’s transformation set Iren marginally more at ease. “You . . . you’re Divinion,” he managed, “the Holy Dragon.”
Divinion nodded his approval. “Until now, the Holy Diamond has trapped my will inside it, keeping me hidden from you. However, today you released enough magic to breach that barrier.”
Iren’s face grew hot. He felt he’d made a terrible error. According to Rondel, the dragons were so dangerous they’d wiped out a continent.
If Divinion had any such plans in mind, however, they didn’t show on the old man’s face. Instead, he put an arm around Iren’s shoulder and said, “This is the first time you and I have had a chance to speak. I first met you over seventeen years ago, and I’ve waited desperately to see you again, to see how you had grown. I know you walk a difficult path, and you have walked it well.”
Iren didn’t know what he had expected the dragon to say, but that definitely wasn’t it. The people of Lodia always berated him, calling him “Left” or “freak” or any number of other derogatory terms. To hear such praise from the Holy Dragon himself was something he never believed possible.
The old man looked to the heavens, cocking his head as though studying something far beyond Iren’s sight. A warm but sad smile filled his face. Forlornly, he said, “It seems our time together has run its course. The part of my will that entered you when you cast that spell is dissipating back into the Holy Diamond. Soon you’ll return to the physical world, and I’ll return to my gemstone prison.”
Divinion once more took the form of the serpentine dragon, and as he took flight, he called with a hint of dry humor, “Until next we meet. Perhaps you’ll have more to say then?” With a shower of light, Divinion vanished, but the glow he had created lingered, illuminating that strange world for a few more brief seconds before it became dark once again.
CHAPTER TEN
Lightning Sight
Iren awoke with a start, heart pounding as he questioned what he’d seen. He wondered if he’d really met Divinion, or if it had just happened in his head. It felt so real.
Taking in his surroundings, Iren found himself in a small bedroom. The only illumination came from moonlight through the single broken window, remnants of shattered glass untended around it. He lay on a bed, though he considered the term generous. It was little more than a flap of canvas stretched between four boards. The Muryozaki leaned against the bed. An involuntary sigh of relief exited him. After his encounter with Divinion, he’d feared he might never see the sword again.
His weapon’s presence was the only thing comforting about the room. The rest of it looked like a storm had blown through. All the furniture was strewn about, and much of it was broken. Dresser drawers lay smashed on the floor. Someone had thoroughly rooted through everything in here.
The only other person in the room sat in a plain, hard wooden chair not three feet from him. Despite the darkness, Iren had traveled with this man long enough to recognize his profile and white blonde hair that almost glowed in the dark.
“Bedside vigil, Balear?” Iren asked.
Balear rose and walked to a door on the far side of the bedroom. Placing a hand on the latch, he replied curtly, “It was my turn.” He opened the door a crack, hesitated a moment, then looked back at Iren. To the young Maantec’s shock, the soldier wore a tiny grin. “By the way,” Balear said, “I still don’t understand who or what you are. I can’t explain how you can do the things you do. Maybe you do have devil magic. All the same, what you did today was impressive.” Then the sergeant departed, leaving Iren more confused than when he’d first awoken.
As he sat on the stretched-canvas bed, he noticed Balear had left a small plate on his chair with half a loaf of bread and a small cup of water. It was far from appetizing, yet the moment Iren saw it, a strong hunger attacked him. He hadn’t eaten since before they’d arrived in Veliaf. Grabbing the bread with both hands, he plowed into it. It was hard, stale, and tasteless, but his stomach didn’t mind.
He’d only taken a few bites when Balear returned, this time with Rondel, Amroth, and another man. Rondel tripped in the darkness, cursing in her high-pitched whine. The bottom of a glass bottle stuck out from her right sleeve. Iren shook his head. Leave it to the old hag to find alcohol even in a village overrun by bandits.
“I still don’t get why we can’t light a candle,” Rondel prattled on. “I’m likely to fall and snap my wrist, or worse.”
A sharp, low hiss came from the unknown man, “I’ve explained it perfectly well before, but if you’re so senile you’ve forgotten already, then just go to bed and stop bothering us.”
“Really, is that any way to treat your rescuer?” Rondel teased.
“Knock it off, both of you,” Amroth sounded tense. He turned to Iren. “From what Dirio’s told us, the Quodivar have issued a curfew for the village. Any lights on after dark, and the house becomes a target.”
His mouth full of bread, Iren asked, “Diwwio?”
The unknown man stepped forward. “Ah, yes, that would be me. I’m the lucky soul you and your comrades rescued this afternoon. I owe all of you my life, but it seems I owe you more than any of them.”
“What about me?” Rondel asked with mock hurt.
Amroth ignored her, saying to Dirio, “Perhaps in gratitude, you could tell us what happened to Veliaf.”
The black-haired man walked to the smashed window, a grieving look on his face as his gaze swept over the remnants of his once proud village. “All this damage has happened in the past week. As you probably know, Veliaf prospers thanks to its mine. The durable stone we extract gives us wealth beyond our size. You’ve seen its quality in the wall that surrounds the town, as well as our buildings and streets. I myself work in the mines as a foreman, or rather, I did until last week. You see, we were working in the mine when one of my employees reported that the walls in the northwest section sounded different when struck. I told the men to stop, fearing a possible cave-in, but the idiotic manager above me overrode my decision and ordered them to continue. Later that day, we discovered why the wall sounded different. The miners broke through it, revealing a natural cavern on the other side.
“We sent teams to
investigate whether the cave had any exits. You can understand our fear. We have always been careful to limit the ways outsiders can reach us, what with Akaku on our doorstep. Breaching the cavern jeopardized our safety. If it had an exit outside the village wall, enemies could reach us through the mines.”
Dirio paused a moment, his hands clutching the wooden window frame so tightly that even in the dark Iren saw drops of blood slide down the wall. At length the foreman continued, “The teams sent to explore the cavern never returned. Barely an hour after we sent them, we heard screams within the mine. I had returned to the surface at that point, so I ran to the mine entrance to see what was happening. Then I beheld the worst sight of my life: Yokai pouring from the mine, the blood of my workers slick on their blades.”
Balear opened his mouth wide, and Rondel’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Her grin became a furious scowl, her bottle utterly forgotten. Amroth, however, simply leaned against the wall nearest the door, arms crossed, and nodded as though he had expected this.
Iren had finished his meager meal by now, and he set his plate on the floor beside him. He gave everyone a quizzical look. “Yokai?”
Balear smacked himself on the head. “Surely you at least know about Yokai!”
The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga Page 8
