The Hearts of Dragons (8 page)

“I don’t know. That’s
why I need to go. All my life I’ve chased my father. This is my chance to find
out if I can catch him.”

Iren considered. It had
nothing to do with recovering his magic. Still, it wasn’t like he had a plan
for how to do that.

“All right,” he said,
“I’ll go with you to Veliaf, as long as Hana’s willing to come too. I need to
stick with her so she can teach me to read Maantec.”

“Thanks, Iren,” Balear
said.

Iren thought Balear
would smile then, but if anything, he looked more troubled than before.

Minawë would have
enjoyed her journey through Ziorsecth, except that whenever she and Rondel
rested, the voices came. She didn’t know whether they were real or not. Either
way, they both fascinated and terrified her.

She had to be careful
when she listened to them. Sudden changes in her thoughts or emotions would
scare them away and leave her in silence. Only when her mind settled would they
return. The boldest ones came back first, but sometimes it took minutes and
even hours before she could hear the smallest ones again.

Minawë wanted to ask
Rondel about them, but she didn’t relish admitting that she was hearing voices
in her head. She also doubted Rondel could help much. The Maantec knew a lot
about magic, but she wasn’t a Kodama.

Not that Rondel didn’t
teach Minawë. The old woman emphasized that here in Ziorsecth, Minawë had
little to worry about in using magic. The vast single tree that surrounded them
provided an almost unlimited supply of energy. Once they reached Lodia, though,
Minawë would have to restrain her spells.

That limitation worried
Minawë. Based on Rondel’s account, the Stone Dragon Knight was a Maantec. They
drew magic from the air, so they had access to it wherever they went. By
contrast, Kodamas like Minawë drew magic from being near other life forms,
especially plants. That gave her an advantage in the forest, but not on Lodia’s
more open terrain.

It didn’t help that she
lacked any spells that she could use in battle. She could open the doors of the
Kodaman tree homes, and she could create the glowing orbs that lit them. She
knew how to draw water from the soil through the tree’s vascular system so that
she always had enough for cooking and cleaning.

But those practical
skills wouldn’t be much use in a fight. If she and the Stone Dragon Knight met
now, Minawë knew she would die.

It was that realization
that made her confess hearing the voices.

To Minawë’s surprise, her
revelation didn’t startle Rondel. On the contrary, the old Maantec said, “I
wondered how long it would take. It’s said that Otunë heard the voices with his
waking ears from the moment he became the Forest Dragon Knight.”

“What are they?” Minawë
asked.

“You already know, or at
least, you’ve guessed. The way you stared at that deer carcass outside Yuushingaral,
it was like you recognized it. You heard its voice, and then you heard that
voice stop. Am I correct?”

Minawë nodded.

“The voices are those of
other living things,” Rondel said. “They’re the path to your Forest Dragon
Knight abilities. They are speaking to you; in turn, you must speak to them. As
the Forest Dragon Knight, you are their general. They will follow your orders
and defeat your enemies.”

“How can I speak to
them? Animals can understand Kodaman, but plants can’t. Besides, I don’t know
what they’re saying.”

“Is the only way you
communicate through words?” Rondel asked. “Frankly, I find words the least
useful way to communicate. They’re too easy to fake. Emotions and body language
tell more. If you can decipher them, you can see truth through deception. And
if you can control them, you can make anyone, and anything, believe what you
tell it.”

Minawë’s brow lowered at
that. Ever since Rondel’s odd behavior in the tree at Yuushingaral, a suspicion
had grown in Minawë’s mind. The old Maantec was hiding something from her.

Whatever it was, getting
it out of Rondel would be no small task. After all, the old woman was gifted at
exactly the type of deception she had just described.

Still, Minawë wasn’t
sure what any of that had to do with manipulating plants, and her creased forehead
must have signaled as much. Rondel looked around them for a moment. Then she
said, “Let’s try an experiment. Put your hand on that maple trunk.” She pointed
to the one closest to them. Small by Ziorsecth’s standards, it was still more
than three feet wide.

Minawë did as
instructed. The bark’s deep furrows and scaly ridges felt coarse beneath her
open palm.

“Relax your mind,”
Rondel said. “Focus on the tree. Hear its voice. Hear Ziorsecth’s voice.”

For several minutes
Minawë stood there, feeling foolish. Then, as she was about to pull away, she
felt it, like a tickle in her brain. It was less a voice than a vibration, low
in pitch and so steady that it was no wonder she had missed it earlier.

The forest lacked the
emotion of the other voices. It neither feared nor celebrated. It simply was.
Like the wind, it was a force of nature, always changing yet ever-present.

Minawë didn’t know the
tree’s language, so she couldn’t talk to it with words. She focused on an image
instead. It was spring, and the maple’s leaves had just regrown. Minawë
pictured those leaves, focusing on their bright green color. Then she imagined
Ziorsecth in autumn, when the leaves cascaded in gold.

A chill ran through her,
and she collapsed to her knees. She released the tree, sweat pooling on the
nape of her neck. Her vision grayed. She laid on the ground to wait out the
dizzy spell.

“I probably should have
started you with something smaller,” Rondel said. “Still, that was good for a
first try.”

It took Minawë fifteen
minutes before she could move again. When she did, she looked at the maple. A smile
blossomed on her face. Every leaf was shining gold.

The ride to Veliaf was
even more dismal than the one to Tropos had been. Balear hated every minute of
it. This part of the country was closest to where Amroth had marshaled his
army, and the thousands of new mouths had been more than the region’s farms
could support.

Worse still, between
Amroth’s conscription order and the civil war, large stretches of the region
had been depopulated. Balear, Iren, and Hana traveled through more than one
village where all the residents had vanished.

The scarred landscape
made Balear wish his mother had accepted his offer to bring her to Veliaf with
them. It was strange. She’d been cheerful throughout dinner, but when Balear
and Iren had come back inside, she’d treated them with reservation. She had let
them stay the night, but at daybreak she’d quickly sent them on their way.

She would be all right.
Balear kept telling himself that. The growing season had started, and she had a
garden going. Assuming Tropos had decent weather and no more raids, she would
make it through the year.

Balear sighed. If
nothing else, having Mom along would have given him someone to talk to. He
wanted to spend some time alone with Hana, but she was absorbed with teaching
Iren Maantec.

After six days of
blessedly safe travel, they reached Veliaf. The thirty-foot-high stone wall
surrounding the town looked as imposing as Balear remembered it. Its lone gate,
an impressive metal fortification, was shut.

The trio dismounted. “So
do we knock or what?” Hana asked.

Balear looked up.
Sentries paced the wall, but none of them stopped their patrols to hail the new
arrivals. Three people weren’t a threat to the town. “I don’t know,” Balear said.
“Last year, we could walk right in.”

Hana cracked her
knuckles. “Well, in that case . . .”

“Please don’t charge them,”
Balear pleaded. “That won’t make a great first impression.”

Hana looked
disappointed, but she relented and instead pounded on the gate. “Hello?” she
shouted. “Anybody there? We’d like to be let in!”

“Yes, I’m sure that’ll
work,” Balear said, rolling his eyes.

A few seconds later, though,
the gate creaked open. Hana grinned and stepped forward.

She stopped in mid-stride.
Twenty soldiers barred their way. “General Balear Platarch,” the one in front
said, “you and your companions are under arrest.”

Hana dropped into a
fighting stance, but behind her, Balear placed his sword on the ground and held
up his hands. “I won’t fight them,” he declared. “These people are my friends.”

Iren pulled the
Muryozaki off his belt and laid it beside Balear’s blade. “A man from Veliaf
saved my life,” he said. “I won’t kill them needlessly.”

Hana looked murderous at
their decisions. For a moment Balear thought she might attack anyway, but then
she tossed down her sword and raised her arms as well.

“Bind their hands and
take them to the jail,” the soldier who had spoken before said. “I’ll inform
the mayor.”

While the other guards
tied up Iren, Balear, and Hana, the lead soldier retrieved the prisoners’
discarded weapons and carried them away. Iren blanched when the man disappeared
with the Muryozaki.

Balear understood Iren’s
worry. Depending on what happened, Iren might never see that sword again.

As the soldiers marched
the captive trio through the streets, Balear scanned the village with
disbelief. Veliaf had been a wreck last year, all its homes with broken windows
and doors. No trace of that damage remained, though the town was as austere and
foreboding as ever. The two-story row homes that lined both sides of all the
streets seemed to glower down at Balear. It was late morning, yet the tight
structures and perimeter wall cast everything on ground level into shadow.

When they entered the
town square, Balear closed his eyes as he tried to shut out the memories. The
effort was wasted. He could still see them: the pile of militia corpses, the
Quodivar laughing as they beat a man to death, and the brutal justice Rondel
had exacted on the criminals.

The soldiers took them
to a plain stone structure. It had only the tiniest of windows, and they were
far out of reach. The men directed their captives into the building and shoved
them into prison cells separated by iron bars. They put Balear and Iren in the
same one, but they gave Hana one to herself. The soldiers stripped the trio of
their packs and other supplies and stored them in a corner of the jail. Then
they left without another word.

“This is homey,” Hana
spat. “What did you think you were doing back there? Honestly, you men and your
honor. What good is it if it gets us killed? I assume you both know the penalty
for treason, or even for consorting with traitors.”

Neither Iren nor Balear
bothered to reply.

“I’m not waiting around
to die,” Hana said. She rolled her arms.

“Do what you like,” Iren
said. “I’m staying here.”

“What?”

“Even if we escaped,
we’d have to fight our way back through the town. That gate we came through is
the only way in or out. I said it before. I don’t want to hurt these people.”

Balear nodded his
agreement. “We risked our lives to rescue Veliaf from the Quodivar and Yokai.
Starting a fight like we did in Orcsthia would make that effort meaningless.”

“Fine,” Hana pouted,
“but remind me to ask how noble you feel when our heads are mounted on spikes.”
She put her back to them and sat down, leaning against the bars.

They waited in the cages
for hours. Balear couldn’t mark the passage of time precisely, but his
grumbling stomach told him they’d missed the noon meal.

He’d just decided to
take a nap on the cold stone to pass the time when a man came in carrying the
Muryozaki. Iren and Balear both leapt to their feet. The newcomer, black-haired
and middle-aged, looked at them with a nostalgic smile. “So I was right,” he
said. “It is you two.”

Balear grinned and
exclaimed, “Dirio!”

“I never expected to see
you again,” Dirio said with a laugh, “particularly after King Angustion sent
these around.” He held up a wanted poster showing a fairly accurate drawing of
Balear. “As for you,” he continued, turning to Iren, “you’re a far cry from the
teenage boy I remember, but there’s no way anyone else has a sword like this.”

Dirio tossed aside the
wanted poster and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “This is a poor place
to catch up,” he said as he unlocked the cage. When he handed Iren the
Muryozaki, the young Maantec’s relief was palpable.

“That woman over there
is our friend too,” Balear said with a gesture toward Hana.

“Yes, the guards told me
what happened at the gate,” Dirio said. He looked over Hana with disapproval.
“It seems you’re more spirited than your companions. I’m sorry, my lady, but
for now, I’d prefer to keep you locked up.”

Hana stretched like a
cat as she stood. Then, without any effort, she grabbed hold of a pair of bars
and pulled them until they bent enough that she could step through them. “I’m
sorry, my gentleman,” she said, mimicking his tone, “but I’d prefer to be
free.”

Dirio’s jaw dropped, so
Iren explained, “She’s a Left, like me. You’re lucky we convinced her to stay
in there this long.”

The black-haired man
frowned. “It seems I have no choice,” he said. “Very well, follow me.”

He led them from the
jail and back into town, weaving through several side streets. Eventually they
reached a building twice the width of a normal row house but otherwise with
identical architecture.

“Welcome to my home,”
Dirio said.

Balear looked up and
down the street. “Don’t you live on the other side of town?”

“Sorry,” Dirio said,
blushing, “I forgot to mention. I’m the mayor now.”

Iren gaped. “You’re the
mayor?”

Dirio ushered them inside
and into a plush office. A pair of guards stood in the room, but Dirio asked
them to leave. He sat down in a high-backed chair behind a heavy wooden desk
and said, “I have you two, as well as Rondel and King Angustion, to thank for
it. The Quodivar killed the previous mayor when they took over the town last
year. When you helped me rescue my fellow villagers, they were so grateful they
unanimously asked me to lead them.”

Balear smiled. “You’re
doing a good job of it,” he said. “Unlike the other towns I’ve visited, Veliaf
looks better than it did a year ago.”

“It’s more luck than
leadership,” Dirio replied. “We’re too small to be a serious contender in the
civil war, yet our wall gives us a defense few cities can match. An enemy could
besiege us, but that would leave their city vulnerable in the interim. Combine
that with our remote location, and we simply aren’t worth the effort of
attacking.”

It was an enviable
position, Balear thought. With the rest of the country imploding, Veliaf was
probably the safest place in Lodia.

All the same, geography
alone couldn’t explain Veliaf’s recovery. Dirio could brush it off as luck, but
it took more than good fortune to go from conquered ruin to prosperous
community in one year.

Dirio leaned back in his
chair and pressed his fingertips together. He frowned. “So,” he said, “what
brings you here after all this time? Given the state of things, I’m sure it
isn’t a social call.”

The mayor’s change of
demeanor surprised Balear. Dirio was their friend. He’d fought alongside them
against the Quodivar and Yokai, and he’d released them from jail just now. Why
had he so abruptly become distant and cold?

Iren must have felt the
same as Balear, because he had a note of hesitancy in his voice as he said, “We
came to see Akaku Forest. We want to visit the fort where Zuberi and Hezna
died.”

Dirio’s scowl deepened.
“I thought as much. You’re interested in the sword.”

Iren rocked on his heels.
“How did you know?”

“After King Angustion
defeated the Yokai and Quodivar at Haldessa, some of the villagers and I braved
their cavern again. We visited the ruined Yokai stronghold too. When we did, we
found the giant blade.”

The mayor paused and
chewed his lip. Then he continued, “Iren, we saved each other’s lives. I’ve
never forgotten what you, Balear, and everyone else did for Veliaf. That said,
I can’t take you to that sword. It is altogether evil.”

“What do you mean?” Iren
asked.

“We wanted to rebuild
our strength after losing the town watch to the Quodivar. That sword was one
more weapon to wield against any who might attack us.”

“No,” Iren cried,
“surely you didn’t touch it!”

“I didn’t,” Dirio said,
“but one of the men with me did. He vanished the second his fingers brushed
against it. We looked around but found no sign of him. A few minutes later, we
heard a terrible crash deeper in the woods. We went to investigate, and we
found his body broken almost beyond recognition. A tree was smashed to kindling
beneath him. Since then, I’ve forbidden anyone to visit the fort. A few fools
have defied that order, and none have returned.”

Iren folded his arms.
“Everything adds up,” he said, though he seemed to be talking to himself. “The
sword’s wind pressure when Zuberi swung it, the Feidl painting, and the fact
that those who touch the weapon die. That sword is a Ryokaiten. Worse, it’s a
Ryokaiten without an owner.”

Listening to Iren,
Balear knew Dirio had been wise to order his fellow villagers to leave the blade
alone. But Balear hadn’t come all this way for nothing. “You will take us to
the sword,” he commanded, feeling a bit of his old officer self come back, “or
I will go to it alone.”

Dirio looked back and
forth between the two men. “I can’t dissuade you?” He paused, then sighed. “All
right. You aren’t Veliafans, so I can’t order you to stay away from it. It’s
too late to go today, though. A group of villagers is heading to Akaku tomorrow
morning to hunt game and cut firewood. We’ll go with them. You can stay the
night here; the mayor’s house has plenty of guest beds. In the meantime, I’ll
find you each a change of clothes. Those rags look like they’re about to fall
to nothing. I’ll also arrange for baths for you. And Balear? There’s a barber
in town who can get rid of that matting of hair and beard. He’ll get you
looking like a soldier again.”

The trio thanked him,
and the meeting ended. Hours later, after dark, Balear lay in the first bed
he’d been in since leaving Ziorsecth last year. His hair was trimmed, and he
felt cleaner than he had in months.

Yet sleep wouldn’t come.
His mind wouldn’t stop buzzing. He wondered about the sword and what he would
do when he saw it. If he touched it, he might become a Dragon Knight like his
father. He didn’t have magic, but the sword’s power would still help him end
the war.

Then again, he knew the
price of failure. He’d promised himself he would see peace in Lodia restored.
Maybe it would be better if he left the sword alone rather than risk death. As
long as he was alive, he could at least try to make a difference. He could help
Iren regain his magic.

Balear sighed and rolled
over. He closed his eyes. As he did, the Feidl painting of his father washed up
in his vision. Dad had passed the dragon’s test, but he had also been the
greatest human fighter Lodia had ever known. Could Balear match his level?

He’d find out the answer
tomorrow.