The Hearts of Dragons (3 page)

Four days after parting
with Minawë, Iren Saitosan stepped across the threshold of Ziorsecth and into
western Lodia. He was used to the forest’s dim light, so the morning sun on
Lodia’s open fields all but blinded him. He stumbled forward, shielding his
eyes from the glare.

He’d only walked a few
steps when he tripped and fell in a hole. Iren took in a mouthful of dirt and
came up spluttering.

“Who on Raa put this
here?” he demanded, though no one was around to answer. He waited until his
vision adjusted, and then he climbed out and surveyed what he’d fallen into.

Iren took two steps back
in amazement. The hole was thirty feet across and at least a dozen feet deep in
the center. It didn’t compare to the devastation where the Heart of Ziorsecth
had ripped free of its roots, but whatever had landed here must have hit with a
lot of force.

Dusting himself off,
Iren headed southeast. He had no desire to travel on foot any longer than
necessary, so he headed for the closest city, Orcsthia. He didn’t have money
for a horse or even food, but that didn’t worry him. He’d figure something out
when he arrived.

He’d hiked for several
hours when he heard the telltale pounding of horse hooves. Iren paused to face
the noise, and he spotted a pair of riders galloping toward him. Both wore thick
leather armor and crude helms. One had a bow with an arrow already nocked,
while the other cradled a spear across his lap.

When the horsemen
reached Iren, they leveled their weapons. “Who are you?” the one with the bow
asked.

Iren put his right hand
on the back of his head. “Just a wanderer,” he said. “Do you know how far it is
to Orcsthia?”

“What do you want to do
in Orcsthia?” the spearman demanded.

“An inn would be great.
Can you recommend one?”

The spearman eyed Iren
up and down. “You don’t look like an ordinary traveler.”

Iren had to give the guy
that. His Kodaman silk shirt and leather trousers were definitely not Lodian
style. He opened his mouth to explain, but then the bowman said, “Hey, what’s
that on his belt?”

With a silent curse,
Iren realized his mistake. People might overlook his clothes as some odd
fashion, but there was no mistaking his katana. No one in Lodia carried a sword
like it, and even if they did, they’d never keep it on their right side.

“You . . .”
the spearman gasped, “you’re a Left!”

The bowman drew back his
arrow. Iren threw up his arms and shouted, “Wait, it’s a mistake!” He tried to
think. “I’m not a Left,” he said, improvising. “Actually, you just proved why I
carry my sword this way. Bandits would love to attack a lone traveler on foot,
but if they think I’m a Left, they’ll leave me alone. Everyone knows Lefts are
undefeatable in battle.”

It wasn’t much of a
ruse, but Iren didn’t need it to be. If the men believed him, they’d probably
let him go. If they didn’t, well, he’d reminded them how dangerous messing with
a Left could be.

The riders exchanged
glances, and at last the bowman lowered his weapon. “You shouldn’t travel
alone,” he said. “People are going to think you’re a spy.”

“Yeah, we already nabbed
one traitor yesterday,” the spearman put in. “Don’t make our job harder.”

“Sorry about that,” Iren
said. “So would it be all right if I went to Orcsthia?”

The bowman scowled.
“That’s a different matter. The city’s under martial law. If you want to go
there, you’ll have to come with us. Hand over your sword. If the mayor clears
you, you can have it back.”

“I guess I don’t have a
choice,” Iren said. He pulled the Muryozaki, sheath and all, from his belt and
gave it to the soldier. Part of him wanted to knock out the men and be done
with this nonsense, but they were just doing their jobs.

Besides, hurting them
wouldn’t make him any friends in Orcsthia. He wouldn’t get far in Lodia without
a horse or provisions, and he should try to change clothes. The city was the
only settlement within a day of here.

All the same, Iren felt
ill at ease. Last year, he’d traveled Lodia’s entire length without being
stopped. Nobody back then would have questioned the business of a lone wanderer,
bizarre sword or not.

It took the trio until
early afternoon to reach Orcsthia’s outskirts, and by then Iren was starving.
He’d supported himself on food and water from the forest during his journey,
but now he didn’t even have a pack for supplies. That was one more item to add
to his shopping list.

As he approached
Orcsthia, Iren noted a system of earthworks surrounding the city. Workers had
gouged a deep ring in the ground and then piled the fill in a wall close to the
outermost buildings.

Iren scrunched up his
face. The crude fortification looked new and hastily done. Its height varied,
and the dirt hadn’t settled. Iren had never been to Orcsthia, but he doubted
the wall had been here a year ago.

At the city entrance,
armed guards wearing chainmail stopped them and demanded identification. Iren’s
escorts each revealed a sheet of parchment with a wax seal. The guards nodded
gruffly and then turned to Iren.

“He’s with us,” the
spearman said. “We’re taking him to the mayor for clearance.” The guards didn’t
look pleased, but they ushered the trio through.

What Iren noticed first
upon entering Orcsthia was the noise. People crowded the streets, far more than
should be here given the city’s size. Orcsthia was among the smaller of Lodia’s
cities, and it was more a hub for the surrounding farmers, mostly sheepherders,
to bring their products to market.

Today must have been an
active market day. It seemed like all the farmers for miles had brought not
only their wares, but their flocks as well. Before long Iren and his guards were
wading their way through a three-foot sea of bleating fluff balls.

Worse than the noise was
the smell. Between the overcrowded conditions and all the animals, Iren
couldn’t help but pinch his nose. Contrasted with the meticulous clean of his
childhood home in Haldessa Castle, this place better resembled a neglected
latrine than a city. Garbage and waste, both animal and human, coated so much
of the street that Iren couldn’t avoid it.

Iren’s escorts wound
their way through the mass of humans and livestock until they reached the city
square. The spearman smirked. “Looks like the mayor isn’t wasting any time with
that traitor,” he said. He looked down at Iren. “It’s your lucky day, traveler.
I think we’re just in time for a beheading. It’ll be good for you to see it. If
the mayor doesn’t approve of you, that’s where you’ll end up.”

Iren was in no mood to
watch an execution; he’d come close enough to one himself last year. He thought
he should be friendly, though, so he asked, “Who’s the traitor? You said you
caught him.”

The spearman beamed with
pride. “You bet I caught him, and what a catch! Once his head rolls and I get
my reward, I’ll never have to work again.”

Looking across the body-to-body
expanse of the city square, Iren observed the criminal. The condemned man stood
on a platform above the crowd alongside an executioner and several soldiers. He
wore ragged clothes, and he had a hood covering his head. He didn’t seem like
someone who would have a price so high a captor could retire after catching
him. “What’s his name?” Iren asked.

“B-something, I think,”
the spearman replied. “I don’t remember exactly, but I do know that during
Amroth’s regime, he was the king’s general! At least he was until he turned
traitor and went to those cursed Kodamas. I wish I could kill the straw-haired filth
myself. I lost my brother in that battle. I told him to ignore the draft like I
did, but he never could do anything the least bit shady.”

It was good the spearman
was busy with his diatribe, because Iren had lost all color in his face. The
executioner ripped the hood off the criminal’s head, and that removed any doubt
about the man’s identity. Unable to control his panic, Iren whispered,
“Balear!”

“Huh?” the spearman
looked down from his horse. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s the guy’s name. You a
draft-dodger like me, Mr. Not-a-Left?”

“Something like that,”
Iren said as he worked to calm his hammering pulse. He couldn’t let Balear die,
not after all they’d gone through together. But a hundred yards, and the
dragons knew how many people, separated them. He’d never reach his friend
before the axe fell.

Unless . . .

Iren eyed the bowman,
who had his full attention on the execution stand. The Muryozaki hung loosely
from his saddle on the same side as Iren.

The young Maantec
frowned. More than likely, this plan would kill him. If he didn’t try, though,
he’d regret it forever.

His strike came in a
fluid burst of motion. Using his Maantec strength, Iren vaulted onto the
bowman’s horse behind the rider. He kicked the man in the head. The soldier
fell from his horse, unconscious.

Iren freed the Muryozaki
and drew it. The spearman’s focus had drifted back to Balear, but the noise of
his collapsing partner put him on alert. He had just enough time to shout a
curse before Iren knocked him out with a blow to the head from the Muryozaki’s
dull side.

With his guards out of
the way, Iren swung his katana and hit the spearman’s horse on the rump with
the blade’s flat. The startled beast shrieked and charged into the square.
Bedlam ensued as people screamed and fled from the crashing hooves.

Taking advantage of the
break in the crowd, Iren rode the bowman’s horse closer to Balear. The former
general was already on his knees. Two men pushed on his back to force his head
onto the chopping block.

Iren still couldn’t
reach the platform, but that was all right. The chaos in the square had
distracted the executioner from his duty. The axeman ran to the guards
surrounding the platform and jabbed a finger at Iren. The soldiers stormed
through the crowd toward him.

He couldn’t have asked
them to do him a better favor. The guards’ unsheathed weapons made all the
residents between them and Iren flee the square. Iren now had a clear path to
the execution stand.

Leaping from his horse,
he charged the first soldier. The man wore an iron skullcap and heavy leather,
but his face was unprotected. Iren swung the Muryozaki’s back into the
soldier’s nose. Blood spurted, and the soldier fell to the ground, clutching
his wound.

Iren raised the dragonscale
katana high in his left hand to let the other guards know his heritage. “Left!”
one of them cried. All of them backed away. Iren scaled the platform, ducked a
blow from the axeman, and sent the would-be executioner tumbling to the ground
with a shoulder charge. The unarmed men holding Balear released their prisoner
and ran away without a fight.

Iren hauled Balear to
his feet. The usually meticulous soldier looked like a beggar. His blonde hair
hung long and scraggly, and he had a beard to match. His face was drawn and
gaunt. When he saw Iren, though, his eyes lit up with mingled joy and
astonishment.

“What on Raa are you
doing here?” he asked.

Iren cut the bonds that
tied Balear’s hands behind his back. “Let’s get out of here first. Can you
fight?”

Balear rubbed his
wrists. They were bloody and raw from the thick cords. “I would prefer not to.”

“Believe me, so would
I.”

Whistles sounded across
the courtyard. Dozens of soldiers poured into the square.

Iren surveyed the
terrible odds. “We make for the west exit,” he said. He didn’t know if it was
the fastest way out of the city, but at least he was familiar with that route
thanks to his former escorts.

With a shout, Iren
jumped off the execution stand. There was no other choice. The Muryozaki
flashed, and a guard stopped breathing. Balear grabbed the man’s sword and
followed Iren.

As they dashed through
the square, Iren’s vision faded into the haze of combat. The battle for their
lives became like a dance. Step, parry, thrust. Step, parry, thrust. One, two,
three . . . one, two, three . . .

The rhythm stopped.
Fifty guards surrounded them. Even Iren’s Maantec abilities couldn’t overcome
those odds.

Balear put his back
against Iren’s. “I don’t suppose you’d care to show them any of those moves you
used against Feng, would you?”

The man was right. Iren
needed magic, and he needed it now. He extended his right arm. Focusing his
effort on his open palm, he called for Divinion to help him.

Nothing happened. No
beam of white light knocked his enemies unconscious; no shield of energy
surrounded him.

“Are you kidding?” he
shouted. “It still doesn’t work!”

The guards knew they had
won. “Lay down your weapons,” one of them called, “or die!”

Balear dropped his
sword. “That’s it, Iren. Thanks for trying, but we’re not walking away from
this one.”

Iren sheathed the
Muryozaki and put his hands on his head.

As the soldiers closed
to capture them, a pebble bounced off a guard’s helm and skittered to the
ground. Several of the men turned to look, and at that moment, a black blur
rushed in.

Two guards collapsed as
a fist and a foot simultaneously connected with their faces. Three more dropped
before the soldiers realized they had a new threat to confront.

The newcomer paused a
second. Iren’s jaw fell as he got his first good look at his rescuer.

It was a young woman
with long black hair.

“Stop standing there and
come on!” the girl cried. Then she was gone, leaving an opening in the guards’
line where she had struck.

Iren pulled himself from
his daze. Grabbing Balear, he shouted, “Hurry!” and chased after the woman.

“Who are you?” he asked
when he and Balear caught up to her. Her straight hair had a red ribbon tied in
it and whipped behind her as she ran. “Why are you helping us?”