The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga

by Josh VanBrakle

  Balear’s expression flared, and Iren and Dirio averted their faces. Yokai, and Iren guessed Oni as well, had green blood. This blood came from a human.

  Rondel lowered her head. “Amroth most likely came charging in here after that Quodivar, and he met up instead with an Oni. Judging from the amount of blood, he didn’t survive. The Quodivar man then informed the Oni that more enemies remained, so the Oni dragged Amroth’s corpse away and ordered the Yokai we killed to set up an ambush.”

  Balear buried his head in his hands. He choked, “Of course. If they’d left Captain Angustion here, we would know to expect an attack. They had to remove him, dead or alive, in order to fool us into thinking the room was empty.”

  Iren swooned. Amroth was dead? He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it. Lodia had no better soldier than Amroth. The captain had just become heir to the throne, and he would have made a far better king than Azuluu. This entire mission had been his idea. It wasn’t fair for him to die now, not when they had come so close to victory.

  “We have to press on,” Balear said, clearly trying to sound stronger than he felt. “Even if he has fallen, we have to carry on Captain Angustion’s orders. The Quodivar leader still lives, and we also have to rescue Dirio’s fellow villagers.”

  Rondel gave him a skeptical look. “The three of you can barely move. Don’t forget that in addition to that Quodivar leader, we also face an Oni and who knows what else. You think you can handle all that in your condition?”

  “You said you’ve fought Oni before,” Iren pointed out. “We’ll have to rely on you.”

  Folding her arms, Rondel replied, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not as spry as I used to be. Yes, I’ve fought Oni before, in my prime. Even then, I barely survived. If I need to fight one down here, on his terms, in his territory, with my movement confined by the narrow walls of the cavern, what chance do you think I have?”

  Iren forced himself to his feet, wobbling on shaky knees. He steadied himself by sticking the Muryozaki’s tip into the gravel floor and putting his weight on the blade. “If we retreat,” he countered, “we’ll never get this close again. They’ll move their headquarters. We must keep going, for the sake of Veliaf as well as all of Lodia. The Quodivar are out there right now ruining lives, Rondel! They’re ripping apart families and sowing chaos throughout this country! As long as I can still breathe, I won’t let them do that!”

  Rondel remained silent for a long time. Iren wondered if she was waiting to see if his resolve would falter. He knew it wouldn’t. Even if he died in the process and no one ever knew he had gone to such lengths to help them, he would go on. He had seen Veliaf. He had seen all of the misery they had endured. His own paled in comparison.

  At last the old woman nodded. “It is Okthora’s Law. Evil must be annihilated.”

  Iren glanced at Balear and Dirio. “Can you two stand?”

  Thanks to Iren’s healing and their brief respite, Dirio rose to his feet. He grasped his pick and hammer tightly. With grim determination he replied, “I will go with you to the end. For Veliaf.”

  Balear, however, remained seated. “I’m sorry,” he said. “My body has gone numb. I can’t move at all. Go without me; I’ll catch up with you later.” He paused, then he hesitantly continued, “Oh, and Iren? Thanks for saving me.”

  Iren grinned sheepishly, but even as he did, Balear leaned back against a stalagmite, closed his eyes, and slipped into unconsciousness.

  Leaving Balear, the three remaining fighters took off down the canyon. Iren brought up the rear, while Rondel lead the way. Once more they entered an unnatural-looking passage, perfectly straight and round.

  “Obsidian,” Rondel muttered as she rubbed a hand on the tunnel’s smooth wall. “I wonder . . .”

  Iren wanted to ask what she meant, but he could barely form words. Every step brought more pain. Despite his rest, his breathing remained heavy. More than once Rondel glared back at him, wordlessly begging for quiet, but Iren couldn’t help it. He’d never felt so tired in all his life.

  They traveled several minutes before the black tunnel ended. At that point, the passage widened into a gigantic domed space easily twice the size of Haldessa Castle’s main hall. An underground lake took up most of the room’s center, leaving a ring around the edge about twenty feet wide.

  Iren gasped as he entered the chamber. More torches lined it than any other room they had yet encountered, but its enormity still made it hard to see all the way across the lake. Dozens of short wooden structures, perhaps six feet high at most, encircled the water. Heavy iron bars blocked their fronts. Dirio clenched his fists, and Iren understood why. He knew what those buildings were: cages.

  Without a trace of caution, Dirio ran to the nearest enclosure, crying for Rondel and Iren to join him. Sure enough, though the cage could only comfortably hold two or three people, the Quodivar had shoved ten Veliaf citizens into it. Their bodies had bruises and whip marks all over them, and their dejected, empty stares told Iren more than any words could. They didn’t give Iren, Rondel, or even Dirio a second glance. They had long ago accepted that the only people down here were those who wanted to hurt them.

  Running his fingers over the bars and door of the cage’s front, Iren despaired. There was no way to free the prisoners without a key. He couldn’t cut the bars, and even if he could, he’d likely collapse the cage on the hapless prisoners. Dirio pounded a fist on the iron door, the harsh ring echoing through the round chamber.

  Rondel’s eyes sparked, and a moment later, she said, “There’s a key on a nail by the entrance we just used.”

  Iren stared hard at the wall around the tunnel. He couldn’t see anything. Throwing up her hands, Rondel stormed over to the passageway. She quickly returned with the key.

  Dirio and Iren both shook their heads in amazement. At least fifty feet separated them from the wall, and the tiny key, no more than a few inches long and made of black iron, had rested squarely in a shadow where no torchlight reached. Rondel’s Lightning Sight was not to be underestimated.

  “Quickly,” Rondel barked, “let’s get them out before anyone else comes. We still have an Oni down here somewhere, remember?”

  Fortunately, no Oni or anything else interrupted them as they moved from one cage to another. They worked around the circle, growing increasingly nervous. The room had another tunnel at the far end, this one leading up, and something about it made Iren jittery. Their journey through the mine and cavern had been too easy. Ten Yokai and a half-dozen Quodivar weren’t nearly enough to guard all these slaves plus the treasure room earlier. Maybe the bandits had simply become so certain of victory that they no longer considered defense necessary. Enemies as capable as the Quodivar, though, didn’t seem likely to make such a blatant mistake.

  More than the lack of guards, the Oni’s absence particularly bothered Iren. It must have come through this room; the tunnel had no other exits. It could easily have faced them here, preventing them from freeing the prisoners. Instead, it had retreated up the far passage.

  The lack of enemies apparently didn’t bother Dirio. With each cage he opened, his smile grew wider. He hugged each person tightly, telling them their slavery had ended. When he headed to the last cage, he practically danced with glee. As soon as he reached it, however, he stopped short and called to Rondel and Iren.

  Unlike the previous cages, which had all held at least eight people, this cell contained only one. Amroth leaned against the cage wall, a streak of blood down his back. Dirio entered the cage and looked him over. The captain was unconscious, and despite his best effort, Dirio couldn’t rouse him. Still, Amroth looked remarkably unharmed, considering he had fought an Oni. The foreman determined that Amroth had no broken bones, though he did discover long furrows down the back of the captain’s clothing. Heavy claws had left fortunately shallow wounds along either side of his spine. Iren started offering to heal him, but Rondel silenced the young Maantec with a slap to the back of the head.

  W
hen Dirio emerged from the cage, Rondel said to him, “Take the villagers and lead them back through the mines to Veliaf. Iren and I will go on ahead. Leave Amroth here. If he comes to, maybe he can help us.”

  The foreman opened his mouth to protest, but Rondel cut him off, “You’d only get in our way. Besides, someone who knows the path back should go with the villagers. They may know their way around the mine, but probably not through this cavern.”

  Nodding reluctantly, Dirio assembled his fellow residents by the tunnel they’d used to enter the room. With a final glance back, he and the rest of Veliaf’s townsfolk disappeared.

  With everyone else gone, Iren and Rondel stood side by side before the passage on the opposite end of the room, staring into its black abyss. Iren gulped. “What’s waiting for us up there?”

  Rondel palmed the obsidian wall. “Something I hoped I’d never see again.”

  “What are our odds?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Change of Plans

  The torch-lined tunnel led up, seemingly forever. Iren hadn’t realized they’d traveled so deep underground. This path had no offshoots or large chambers like the others they’d passed through, though it did have occasional side rooms. They checked each one briefly for enemies, but all were deserted. One had a familiar-looking hand-and-a-half sword leaning against a desk piled high with sheets of parchment.

  Each step made Iren more nervous, if only because of Rondel’s anxious expression. After her display yesterday, he’d thought Rondel invincible. Apparently, she didn’t see herself that way.

  Finally the tunnel peeled away, returning Iren and Rondel to the surface. Instead of relief, however, Iren felt more claustrophobic now than at any point in the cavern. Densely crowded conifers towered over him. When he looked straight up, he could discern a miniscule patch of distant blue sky, but no more. His knees began wobbling uncontrollably. Although he’d never been here before, he’d heard enough from the others to know where he was: Akaku Forest.

  The cavern passage had dumped Iren and Rondel into a courtyard hemmed in by a palisade of standing logs each wider than Iren and over forty feet high. Several structures made of crudely stacked logs and with spruce boughs for roofs dotted the area inside the wall. Most of the buildings were short, but two or three watchtowers rose above the stockade. None had windows, though Iren quickly noted the numerous arrow slits in all of them. Equally unsettling, the fort’s builders had kept quite a few of the imposing Akaku spruces growing inside the stockade. Iren tried hard to convince himself that he only imagined the shifting shadows within their crowns.

  “What is this—” he started to say, but Rondel covered his mouth. Apparently she wanted silence.

  The old hag took a few steps forward, motioning for him to follow her. Slowly, she crossed the courtyard, stalking through it toward what looked like a stable built against one of the palisade walls. Her small frame generated no noise as it passed over the dense layer of spruce needles and icy slush covering the ground. Iren did his best to mimic her, though several times she glanced back at him with an exasperated look.

  They should go back. He kept thinking that over and over again. They should go back, back into the cave, back to Veliaf, back to Haldessa. He didn’t care about revenge. He didn’t care if he lived the rest of his life alone in the Tower of Divinion. It was better than sneaking through this unnaturally silent fort, waiting for the inevitable ambush. He kept listening for the thrum of a bowstring, the whistle of a sword, or the swipe of a clawed hand from the shadows that would end his life.

  Then he heard it. From inside the stable came a most un-horselike noise: the low moan of a person calling in pain.

  Rondel unsheathed the Liryometa and entered the stable. Iren followed, his katana ready. He crossed the threshold and turned a corner, ready to fight for his life.

  The stable itself was well stocked for a primitive wooden fort run by bandits in the middle of a forest. Well lit with candles, the stable housed extensive supplies of oats, straw, food, water, and riding gear. Over half a dozen fine war chargers, each putting to shame the horses Iren’s group had ridden, whinnied and shook their heads in irritation at the newcomers. Despite their annoyed disposition, however, Iren had seen enough of horses in the past four days to know that each of these stood fully adorned and ready to ride at a moment’s notice.

  Other than the horses, the stables appeared uninhabited, at least until Rondel started inspecting the stalls. Inside one at the far end of the building was an unconscious woman, slightly taller than Iren and looking to be in her late twenties, with her arms and legs bound to the cross beams using heavy cord. She had several wounds that Iren could see, including a long gash down the right side of her face. Without thinking, he cupped the Muryozaki in her hand, letting Divinion’s healing magic flow into her. He expected Rondel to yell at him, but she remained surprisingly quiet.

  When he finished healing the woman, he sheathed his sword and stepped back. The warm glow of the candles accentuated her soft features, making her positively alluring. He knew he had never seen a more elegant woman in all his life. Haldessa had its share of beauties, but none of them could match this woman’s grace. She had a rich tan complexion, darker than that typical of Lodians. Tight leather boots, leggings, and jerkin accentuated her slender yet muscular form. Adding a bit of color, an elaborately embroidered pattern of swirling vines with dark green leaves wound across her outfit.

  More than any other part of her, though, the woman’s hair caught Iren’s attention. Rimming her face, her tousled locks reached midway down her back. Had that hair been brown, blonde, or any of the other colors common in Lodia, he still would have considered it beautiful, but nothing he’d witnessed at the castle could compare with this.

  Her hair was the same shade of green as the leaves on her clothing.

  Iren glanced at Rondel in search of direction, and for the first time, he saw her truly unnerved. He’d thought she had looked concerned on their journey through the tunnel, but she’d been stoic by comparison to how she acted now. Her eyes bulged, and her jaw hung wide open. Rondel’s entire body trembled as though the young woman were, in fact, the most terrifying Oni she’d ever faced. Repeatedly, she tried to form words, but none came.

  Sensing that Rondel had lost her wits, Iren asked, “What on Raa is she?”

  * * *

  Rondel ignored Iren utterly. In fact, she momentarily forgot he existed. She just stared blankly at the woman, refusing to believe the truth. She couldn’t be here!

  Her presence changed everything. All of Rondel’s strategies and cunning deceptions had fallen flat upon beholding the unconscious woman.

  She needed a new plan, and quickly. She felt Iren’s skeptical eyes on her. The Rondel she had cultivated for him was always in control, but now she’d let that mask fall. Her true feelings were on full display, and even a social inept like Iren couldn’t help but notice them. She had to get them under control, had to refocus, yet every time she looked at the woman’s face, shock struck her anew.

  She wanted to run, to take the woman and flee. She wanted to grab one of those fine horses and tear through Akaku, letting the hard spruce branches whip at her, ripping her clothes and slicing her skin. The pain would mean nothing. Every fiber in her body told her to take this woman and race all the way to Ziorsecth Forest. It was about the only way to make it in time.

  She forced herself back, the effort more draining than any of the fighting on this mission. If she left now, all her efforts would be wasted. She was so close; it wouldn’t take much longer. The treason that had buried itself for so long would soon emerge. Only then could her plan enter its final stage.

  On top of that, there were the dreams, those dragon-cursed nightmares that kept her awake and filled her with a constant mix of regret and loathing. If she left now, they’d undoubtedly return, probably worse than ever. She managed a look at Iren and hoped that her malice didn’t come through in her expres
sion. It was all his fault. The dreams caused her enough problems when she’d lived just outside the castle walls, barely a mile from him. How bad would they become if the Oni killed him?

  No, she couldn’t leave this place just yet. Even so, she couldn’t let this woman die.

  She made her decision: gamble and hope for a good roll. Never in her life had she taken such a chance, but she didn’t have much choice. She needed to remain here and see this to the end. There was only one way to do that and still get the woman to Ziorsecth in time. The dreams would return, but she wouldn’t likely find time for sleep in the next few days anyway. With a great force of will, she faced Iren, adopted the fake innocent smile that served her so well and said, “You’ll have to take her to Ziorsecth Forest.”

  Iren did a double take. “I have to do what?”

  Her fragile grip on the false grin broke. She lashed out, “Know-nothing child! This woman is a Kodama, a guardian of Ziorsecth Forest. They’re a cursed race; they die if they leave their forest home. I don’t have a clue how she got here, but the only way to save this woman’s life is to return her there as quickly as possible.”

  Furrowing his brow, Iren asked angrily, “Why should I have to go? Take her yourself, if you care so much about her. In case you forgot, we have an important job to do here! The Quodivar leader is here, and I won’t leave until I have my revenge!”

  Rondel couldn’t contain herself anymore. She swung her wrinkled fist and struck Iren across the side of the face, sending the young Maantec sprawling. A brief pang of self-hatred and a flash of childhood memory long neglected hit her as she made contact. She repressed them both, concentrating on her anger. “Listen, idiot. Assuming Zuberi’s even here in the first place, he has an Oni backing him up, as well as potentially more Quodivar and Yokai. You think you can handle all that without my help? You said yourself that you’d have to rely on me to complete this mission. If I go with her, how do you expect to defeat the Quodivar?”