The Wings of Dragons: Book One of the Dragoon Saga

by Josh VanBrakle

  The situation was hopeless. Those fires didn’t care who lived or died. If they could wipe out everyone and everything on the plain, they would. He had no choice. This fighting had to stop. Raising his arms and summoning the full draw of his power, he prepared to cast his spell.

  With a scream, Iren Saitosan awoke and shot into a seated position. He didn’t stay there long, though, as a torturous jolt ripped through him and sent him back to the floor, gasping.

  While his pain subsided, Iren took stock of his location. He was lying in a tiny enclosure not tall enough to stand up in. The structure was earthen, save one wall made of thick wooden poles spaced a handbreadth apart. He winced. Someone had captured him.

  More than his imprisonment, the mere fact that he was still alive surprised him. He’d expected to die after carrying Minawë into the woods.

  Forcing himself to sit up, slowly this time, he groaned and looked through the wooden bars. His cage sat on the ground in a quiet forest. As far as he could see, gigantic trees, some with trunks thirty or forty feet in diameter, dominated. Their thick canopies blocked out nearly all the sunlight, darkening the wood into subdued twilight. He could spot no evidence of inhabitation: no buildings, no farm fields, nothing but his cramped prison.

  He couldn’t see anyone around, either. His captors had apparently left him unguarded. He didn’t have a weapon to cut the wooden poles, but maybe he could still escape. The puny prison surely couldn’t withstand the kind of beam he’d used against Zuberi. He focused, but he couldn’t draw on any energy. That confused him. He’d used magic against both Zuberi and Balear. Minawë had said the magic resided inside him. His body was like a bucket, with magic constantly refilling it. If that were true, he should be able to feel it now, yet he felt nothing. Frustrated, he leaned against the back wall of the prison and crossed his arms.

  Rather, he tried to cross them. His right arm shifted just fine, but his left one was immovable. For the first time, he realized a splint held it tightly to his chest beneath his shirt.

  His shirt! It was different, far different from the one Amroth had given him back in Haldessa. Whoever had captured him must have not only set his broken arm but dressed him as well. He still had on his old pants, but they looked miserable compared with the glowing shirt, pure white and crafted of what felt like fine silk. Even the best noblemen in Lodia would only have one or two garments of such quality. In all his life, Iren had never expected to find himself wearing clothing as fine as this.

  As he contemplated his new attire, he heard a strange voice. It came from behind him, calling in a singsong tone with a high pitch. A few seconds later, a young boy carrying a wooden plate and cup and dressed in white clothes that looked like miniature versions of Iren’s rounded the cage. The child grinned as he sang to himself. Iren noticed the boy’s short green hair and at last knew for certain that he was in Ziorsecth Forest. Forgetting the cage’s height, he tried to stand and smacked his head hard on the ceiling. That, combined with the strain on his sore muscles, dropped him back into a prone position. He moaned.

  The Kodaman boy just laughed, saying mockingly, “You would do better not to cry so much, sir. It doesn’t suit you.”

  The child spoke so fast and with such a squeaky voice that Iren had trouble comprehending him. He understood enough to catch the insult, though. He glared at the boy.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that, sir,” the Kodama said with false injury. “Without our help you surely would have died, and being hurt is better than being dead!”

  Admitting the wisdom in the young guard’s words, Iren obliged himself a thin smirk. Returning the expression, the boy set down his cup and plate, loaded with food, in front of the cage. Immediately ravenous, Iren reached through the bars and pulled chunks of the meal back, devouring them. The meat looked like smoked fish, but it didn’t taste at all like the saltwater varieties common in Haldessa. An assortment of berries and dark, robustly flavored mushrooms three times the size of any Iren had ever stolen from the castle’s kitchens rounded out the dinner.

  When he’d finished everything, Iren asked his guard, only mildly sarcastically, “So who do I have to thank for my accommodations?”

  “You’re here at the request of Queen Aletas. She asked me to take care of you, although you haven’t been much for conversation until today.” The boy laughed at his own wit. “I’ve had to watch you sleep for a whole week. You’re quite a lazy fellow!”

  “Enough, Ulto,” an authoritative female voice sounded from behind the cage. “Leave him alone.” The boy chortled and trotted off. A moment later, a female Kodama, this one fully grown, appeared before him.

  She looked about the same age as Minawë when they’d first met, but Iren knew he couldn’t trust appearances. This woman could be twenty, two hundred, or two thousand and still look the same. Still, something about her made him think that she was very old. Unlike the boy guard or Minawë, this Kodama exuded formality. In contrast to Minawë’s loose tousled hair, this woman tied hers in a tight bun atop her head. Her dress, made of intricately interwoven silks and dyed a brilliant green that matched her hair, made Lodia’s most ornate clothing look plain. On the whole, the woman transfixed Iren. He found her at once beautiful yet, in a way he couldn’t place, terrifying.

  With a sweep of her hand, the wooden poles of his prison fell aside. The Kodama gestured for Iren to emerge. He stretched his three unbroken limbs, ignoring his sore muscles as he reveled in his ability to stand. Recalling an earlier conversation with Minawë, he took the index and middle fingers of his right hand and placed them vertically over his chest in the Kodaman sign of friendship.

  The woman looked surprised that Iren knew their custom, and she only haltingly returned the gesture. At length she spoke, every word calm and regal, “I apologize for the prison, but we take no chances here. We have not welcomed outsiders into Ziorsecth in a thousand years, and we have not welcomed Maantecs for far longer. My name is Aletas, Queen of the Kodamas.”

  Iren told Aletas his name, and when she winced, he quickly added, “I’m sorry. I know about Iren Saito, the man who cursed you, and I have no connection to him. Minawë told me about his horrible deeds.” Shock struck. “Wait! Minawë! What happened to her? Did she . . .”

  The Kodaman queen adopted an inscrutable expression. “You should see for yourself. Come with me.” She walked to the base of a huge maple some hundred feet away. Gingerly, Iren tried a few steps, and when he found his legs could support him, he followed after her.

  “Minawë’s in my house at the moment.” She gestured at the tree’s enormous trunk, which easily measured thirty feet across.

  Iren cocked an eyebrow. “Queen Aletas,” he said, “forgive me, but what do you mean ‘your house?’ That’s just a tree, albeit a big one.”

  The Kodama shook her head. “You Maantecs never did understand how we live. Let me show you.” She waved her hand again, and to Iren’s amazement, a line appeared in the trunk. It arched from the ground, up seven feet high, and then came back down. Giving it a light push, Aletas forced the wooden plug inward. It rotated on hidden joints, and Iren gaped as it swung aside.

  The interior of the tree had been hollowed into a grand living space, leaving the outer two feet of wood to form thick walls. “Most of the inside of a tree is dead,” Aletas explained as they stepped through the threshold. “All the vessels that transport water and nutrients are along the outer edge, just below the bark. Leaving this outer ring provides both structural support and allows the tree to continue growing. Our homes are truly one with the forest. We have no buildings, which makes for perfect camouflage. No one can find our villages unless, like us, they already know where they are. Your prison sat in the middle of Yuushingaral, our capital. You couldn’t see us, but everyone in the village could see you.”

  Iren walked around the carved-out room with an expression of amazement. Even though the tree had no windows, the chamber was well lit, thanks to a round, white orb floating near the ceiling. “We
light our homes with magic,” Aletas answered when she caught him staring at the strange glowing ball. “It produces neither flame nor smoke, so it does not betray our presence. From the outside, you would never know this tree made such a comfortable home.”

  The room’s all-wooden furniture impressed Iren as much as the magical lighting. Rather than separate pieces, all the décor, including a long sofa, six chairs, and two low-slung tables, melded into the wooden floor. Combined with their elegant, curved lines, the pieces looked truly organic, almost still growing. Aletas said, “We carve everything at the same time we hollow the tree, shaping it into whatever pattern suits us. This way.” The queen motioned to the back end of the room, and Iren noticed a set of narrow wooden stairs winding their way up and around the trunk.

  Following the queen, he asked, “How many floors are in this place?”

  “We use as much of the tree as possible. My home has four floors, each narrower than the previous, until the trunk diverges into its canopy. Traditionally, we use the first floor for gathering, hence all the seating. The second floor is primarily for cooking and eating, and we devote the higher floors to sleeping areas. Ah, here we are.” She left the stairs at the third floor. Unlike the open floor plan of the entry room, this level had walls in it to create separate rooms. Peering into them, Iren saw more organically carved wooden furniture, this time beds and dressers.

  “In here,” Aletas motioned.

  Iren had barely taken a step inside the room when he was suddenly ambushed. A pair of slender arms wrapped themselves around his neck so hard he could barely breathe. Minawë’s face, even younger and more vibrant than the day he’d met her in Akaku, appeared in front of him. In an exasperated tone she cried, “You moron, what took you so long? I got tired of waiting!”

  For several seconds Iren struggled to form words. At last he stammered, “How? Last time I saw you, you looked as old as Rondel! How did you survive? How did you regain your youth, when biological magic can’t be replaced?”

  Minawë smiled and released him. “Kodaman sentinels found us on Ziorsecth’s border a week ago and brought us here to Yuushingaral. As for how I recovered, I just used this.” She patted the wall of her room.

  “The tree?” Iren looked doubtful.

  “Unique among all species, Kodamas can restore their biological magic,” Aletas interjected. “It comes at a terrible cost, though. The environmental magic we regularly absorb from plants doesn’t harm them. But in desperate need, we can restore our biological magic by directly siphoning it from another life form. Doing this nearly always kills whatever we use, but Ziorsecth has so much magic, we can draw from it with impunity.”

  “Mother gave me enough of her biological magic to bring me back to consciousness,” Minawë motioned at the queen. “Then we both used the tree to restore our younger forms.”

  Iren was still digesting that Minawë had survived, but her statement sent his head whipping to Aletas. “You two are mother and daughter?”

  The queen nodded, and Minawë blushed, apparently embarrassed that she had identified her royal heritage. Iren, however, only felt new respect for her. He had no idea she was a princess, yet somehow, it felt appropriate. She had such strength, such willpower, and such courage. She’d risked her life to enter Lodia, though he had no idea why.

  Now seemed as good a time as any to ask, so he said, “Minawë, there’s something I’ve wanted to know ever since I first met you. Why did you come to Lodia, when you knew it would probably kill you?”

  Now mother and daughter both looked embarrassed, and neither answered for almost a minute. Finally, Aletas, gripping herself tightly, murmured, “I made her go.”

  Anger flew into Iren’s eyes. He roared, “You? Her own mother? Why?”

  Minawë put a soothing hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off, waiting for Aletas’s reply.

  The queen’s voice remained subdued. “For information.”

  “Information?” Iren shouted as loud as he could. “You Kodamas haven’t left your forest in a thousand years! What information could matter so much now?”

  The queen sighed and sat on the bed. Minawë joined her, putting an arm around her for support. They looked odd together, their similar apparent ages making them seem more like sisters than mother and daughter.

  “Several weeks ago,” Aletas began, “the Heart of Ziorsecth gave me a vision. It showed me our forest, our beautiful home, burning. A giant firebird descended from the eastern sky and set it ablaze. The inferno consumed even the Heart itself in an explosion that shook Raa to its core. Something foul dwells in Lodia. I had to know what it was so we could prepare. Whoever I sent would almost surely die. I could command no one to do it, but Minawë volunteered.”

  “Why?” Iren turned to Minawë. “Why would you do that? Why would you sacrifice yourself for someone else?”

  Minawë shrugged. “Why did you?”

  Iren stopped short.

  “Ziorsecth is my home,” Minawë explained. “My only family dwells here. If I lost them, where else could I go? I would gladly die if the information I gathered helped them live. I learned little, though. Originally, I’d planned to go from Ziorsecth to Akaku, passing through Caardit along the way. The distance between the two forests is small in that region, and I thought I could make it before the curse attacked me. Unfortunately, I lost consciousness almost immediately after leaving Ziorsecth. A group of Quodivar must have found me and taken me to their base in Akaku. When I awoke there, Zuberi tortured me for information. When it became clear I would reveal nothing about my home, he grew frustrated and knocked me out. That’s when you found me. In the end, I made a worthless journey. I know I didn’t see any giant firebirds.” She crossed her arms and glared at the floor.

  Iren looked at Minawë as though seeing her for the first time. She’d wanted so desperately to get back to Ziorsecth, and at last he understood why. He’d thought she simply wanted to live, but she didn’t care about that at all. All she wanted was the chance to pass on the little she had learned in Lodia to her fellow Kodamas. Still, it was hard not to see her mission as a failure.

  But maybe it didn’t have to be. Minawë might not know much about Lodia, but Iren did. At least, he knew more than any Kodama. “Queen Aletas,” he said, “I can tell you what’s going on in Lodia.”

  The queen rose from the bed, regal even in that simple gesture. “Actually, Maantec child, you can’t.”

  He snorted indignantly, mostly because she called him “Maantec child.” Sharply, he asked her, “Oh, and why not?”

  She swept gracefully past him to the bedroom door, her silk dress flowing behind her. “Because you don’t understand a thing about what’s happening in Lodia.”

  “And you do, I suppose?”

  “Well, better than you, anyway. Follow me; I’ll show you my source. Minawë, you should come too.”

  Iren thought the queen would lead them back downstairs to the foyer, but Aletas went up instead, leading them to the top floor.

  “I have only one chamber on this level, the guest room,” she explained as she pushed open the door a crack. “I suppose I should offer it to you while you stay in Yuushingaral, but regrettably, it’s already occupied.”

  Aletas opened the door the rest of the way and walked in. Curious who could give the Kodamas information, Iren hurried up the last couple steps and entered. As he did, a sarcastic voice said, “Hey, long time.”

  Iren’s jaw dropped. Sitting in a carved wooden chair, wearing Kodaman robes, calmly reading a book, and sipping a drink, was Rondel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Evil Unveiled

  Iren stood frozen in the doorway, fists clenched, face livid, caught somewhere between relief that the double-crossing witch was alive and fury at the depth of her betrayal.

  In absolutely no hurry whatsoever, Rondel set down her book on the end table beside her and rose. “Care for a drink?” she offered, holding out her wooden cup. “Kodaman brandy, made from distilled maple
sugar.”

  “I’m not thirsty,” Iren growled.

  “No? A shame. The taste is distinctive, though admittedly it always reminds me a bit too much of breakfast. Well, if you change your mind, I’m sure Aletas must have a bottle or two still hidden somewhere in this tree, the squirrel.”

  Aletas folded her arms but said nothing.

  “Can’t you look a little more excited, Iren?” Rondel prattled on, her familiar dumb smirk filling her face. “I did come all the way from Haldessa just to see you.”

  Iren flared and lunged forward. With his unbroken arm he grabbed the diminutive Rondel by the lapels of her robe, bodily lifting the old woman and driving her against the far wall. He pinned her there with her feet dangling. Her cup crashed to the floor, spilling its contents. The pungent maple smell hit Iren’s nostrils, but he ignored it as he yelled, “How dare you talk about Haldessa! Let me guess; you left it burning in ruins?”

  If Iren’s reaction took Minawë, Aletas, or even Rondel aback, they didn’t show it. The two Kodamas simply watched passively, silent observers leaning against the wall by the room’s entrance. Rondel maintained her grin, apparently unthreatened.

  The traitorous hag’s smile only incensed Iren further. “Stop that ridiculous look! I know it’s false! You can’t fool me anymore, Rondel. I know the truth now. Balear found your letter and showed it to me. I still have it, too, right here in my shirt pocket.” He glanced down, but then his expression flattened. In his anger, he had forgotten. He’d cast away his shirt, and the letter implicating the crone, during his flight with Minawë. The only evidence of Rondel’s guilt must surely be shredded beyond recognition on the Lodian plain.

  Rondel cocked a mischievous eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Lose something?”

  Growling, Iren smashed her against the wall again.

  The old woman didn’t seem concerned. “Really, Iren, this is unnecessary.”