The Hearts of Dragons (7 page)

“We should be close,”
Balear called over his shoulder as he, Iren, and Hana headed down a worn dirt
road.

Iren’s heart fluttered.
After weeks of travel, after years of not knowing about his parents, he was
finally on the cusp. Soon he would see their home blossom on the landscape.
There would be something there, some clue to his magic and how to get it back.
There had to be.

“I thought you said your
parents lived on a farm,” Hana said. “No farm I know looks like this.”

She had a point. The
fields around them might once have produced crops, but now weeds choked them.
Even the packed dirt of the road was washing away. The horses had to tread
carefully to avoid the ruts where water had eroded the path’s surface.

“Growing up, Mom told me
never to come here,” Balear said. “She called it a haunted place.”

“Because a Left lived
here?” Iren asked.

Balear’s expression
darkened. “Because one died here.”

Iren frowned. He’d tried
to avoid thinking about that. Although this farm was where his parents had
lived, it was also the place where Amroth had murdered them.

“Lodian stories declare
Lefts invincible,” Balear reminded them. “One dying here was enough for the
village to declare the site cursed. No one will resettle these lands as long as
memory of him remains.” Balear paused and worked his reins. “Iren, I don’t know
what you expect to find, but eighteen years is a long time. Don’t hope for
much.”

Iren couldn’t bring
himself to respond. This place was all he had. He could do nothing but hope.

At last the trio topped
a small rise and saw the farm. Rather, they saw what was left of it. A single
ivy-covered building stood before them. A pile of rubble next to it indicated
the vestiges of another structure, demolished by the same plants that had used
it to climb.

Racing ahead of the
others, Iren leapt off his horse and ran to the remaining building. He felt
along the vines and found a trace of stone underneath them. A fervor took him,
and he ripped at the ivy with all his strength.

The task was brutal, and
before long, sweat cascaded off him. He stepped back to check his progress.
He’d only cleared a few square feet. Snarling, he drew the Muryozaki and
readied to slash at the ivy, but Balear rushed forward and grabbed him.

“Calm down!” Balear
shouted.

Iren spun around in
Balear’s grip, brandishing the Muryozaki. His expression was savage.

“Those vines are all
that’s holding up this relic,” Hana said. “If you collapse the place, what good
will your long journey have been?”

Iren fumed, but he knew
she was right. He stared at the ivy with futility. “I have to get in there.”

“And we will,” Hana
continued, “but let’s do it carefully. Come over here.” She gestured to another
side of the house. “You’re tearing at the wrong spot. You’ve been ripping at a
side wall. If you want to get in without destroying the place, then I think
there’s what used to be a porch over here. Where there’s a porch, there’s a
door. Sheathe your sword. We’ll help you pull down enough vines to get inside.”

Balear nodded so
frantically that Iren relented. Putting away the Muryozaki, he joined the
others at what Hana claimed was a former porch. It was hard to tell that it
used to be anything, but the vines did stick out farther here than anywhere
else on the structure.

The sun crossed more
than half the sky by the time the trio cleared enough ivy to expose the home’s
door. Iren grabbed the rusted handle. It refused to unlatch. He pulled on it,
and it ripped apart in his hand.

“I’ve come so far!” Iren
yelled. “I won’t be stopped by a half-rotten door!” Stepping back to gain
momentum, he slammed into the door with a shoulder charge.

The punky wood gave way
immediately. Caught by surprise, Iren fell into the house. His landing sent a
cloud of dust into the air.

Hana and Balear each
grabbed one of Iren’s legs and dragged him back outside. He coughed and
spluttered as he wiped off his clothes. “Well, that worked,” he said. He looked
through the open doorway, but the dust was so thick it was like peering into
fog.

They waited several
minutes for the air to clear, and then they entered the house. They moved
cautiously, trying to avoid stirring up another cloud.

With each step, Iren’s
eyes grew wider. “This is where they lived,” he murmured. It was a simple
structure with just two rooms. The floor was dirt, and the only furniture in
this room was a pair of rocking chairs. When Iren touched one, he put his hand
through the armrest without trying.

The most striking
feature was the stone fireplace against one wall. It alone seemed in good
shape. The vines hadn’t grown inside the building, so the mantle’s stone and
mortar remained intact. Metal pots and pans hung around it, long since rusted.

It was so familiar, yet
so foreign. Iren passed through the living area into the home’s other room.
There he found a dresser, a double bed, and a sight that made tears well in his
eyes.

Next to the bed was a
rough-hewn crib. Iren placed his hand on it, more gingerly than he had with the
chair. He rubbed his palm along its simple contours. “This was mine,” he said.

“Come on, Balear,” Hana
said. “Let’s give him a minute.”

The pair of them left,
and Iren examined the rest of the bedroom. The tattered remnants of blankets,
long since moth-eaten, draped over the bed. The dresser held a few pieces of
clothing, but they were so damaged Iren couldn’t tell whose they were.

Iren put his head in his
hands. He would find no answers here. Anything that could have helped him was
long gone, if it had ever existed. After all, this wasn’t the home of a Dragon
Knight. It was the home of a farmer, his wife, and their helpless baby boy.

Retreating from the
dresser, Iren loosed a long breath. He threw himself backward on the bed.

He was so lost in his
emotions that he forgot about the sorry state of the wood. The moment his body
hit the decaying mattress, the bed collapsed. Dust flew up and blinded him as
he fell to the ground.

Off in the distance
Balear cried, “Iren? Iren! Are you all right?” Iren started to answer, but dust
choked him.

He lay there several
minutes, afraid to move and churn up more dirt. When he could breathe without
gagging, he opened his eyes. He was staring at the ceiling. Splinters of rotten
wood filled the room. The straw mattress had all but dissolved.

Groaning, Iren rolled
over and pushed himself to his feet. His back ached. He went through a series
of stretches. Bruised, he concluded, but not broken.

“Iren!” Balear’s voice
was closer now. Seconds later the soldier burst into the room, Hana close
behind him.

“I’m fine,” Iren assured
them, but then he shook his head. “Let’s go. There’s nothing left. I’m sorry I
dragged you both here.”

“What will you do now?”
Hana asked.

Iren shrugged. “I don’t
know. I guess I was counting on there being something here, so I didn’t come up
with a back-up plan.”

“Well, there’s no need
to decide right away,” Balear said. He put a hand on Iren’s shoulder. “It’s
getting dark. We shouldn’t go anywhere else today. Let’s stay here tonight.”

Stay here? Iren’s throat
tightened. Just standing in this room was overpowering. He tried to speak, to
counter Balear’s suggestion, but no words would come.

“We can’t stay here,”
Hana said, her eyes on Iren. “This place could fall apart at any time. I don’t
want to die because some old roofing timber crushes me.”

Iren thanked her
silently, but Balear didn’t look pleased. “Where should we go then?” he asked.
“It’s too late to head to another town, and there aren’t any inns around here.
We could camp out again, but all those briars in the overgrown fields will make
for an uncomfortable night.”

Hana grinned. “Why don’t
we stay with your mom? You mentioned that she lives in Tropos Village. That’s
barely a mile from here.”

Now it was Balear’s turn
to look tight in the chest. “I . . . well, yes, I did say
that, but we can’t just drop in on her uninvited.”

“Nonsense!” Hana
laughed. “She’ll be happy to see her son. Now let’s get going!” Without waiting
for the others, she left the room.

Balear pressed his
fingers into his temple. “What did we get ourselves into with her?”

Iren smiled in spite of
himself. “I’ve wondered that ever since we met her. She does make life
interesting though.”

“Hurry up, Balear!” Hana
called from outside. “I don’t know which house is your mom’s. You don’t want me
to knock on every door in town, do you?”

Balear groaned. “Guess
she isn’t giving me a choice.”

“Guess not,” Iren
agreed. “Come on; we’d better catch up with her.”

Balear left, and Iren
followed. As he exited the bedroom, he took a final glance back. The power of
time was amazing. Even if he’d wanted to, he could never restore this place.

“Goodbye, Mom,” he
whispered. “Goodbye, Dad. I don’t think I’ll ever come back again.” He sniffed
and wiped his eyes. “Even so, I’m glad I got to see our home.”

He turned to leave, and
that was when he saw it. In the ruined pile of the bed, Iren caught the
briefest glimpse of a color that didn’t belong—a rich brown. Everything else in
the room bore the muted colors of dust and decay.

Iren reached down and
peeled back a layer of shattered bed. A triangle of leather poked out, all but
buried in the rotten wood and straw. Iren pulled it free, and when he held it
up for inspection, he gasped.

It was a book, and
thanks to its position hidden in the bed frame, it had escaped the ravages of
time. Iren leafed through it, wondering what it could be about. He could read
and write, so he expected to quickly determine the book’s contents.

As he paged through it, though,
consternation replaced curiosity. The text wasn’t Lodian. In contrast to the
Lodian alphabet’s rounded letters, the book’s characters had sharp lines. They
also weren’t divided into words, at least not words Iren recognized. Except for
a small group of markings at the top of each page, there simply seemed to be
columns of symbols filling the book.

Rather, filling some of
it. The first fifty or so pages had no writing whatsoever.

“Hey, Balear!” Iren
called, but there was no answer. The others had gone on ahead of him. Iren left
the house, mounted his horse, and galloped to catch up to them.

“You look better,”
Balear said when Iren reached them. “Did you find something?”

“I did,” Iren said. He
handed Balear the book.

“I can’t believe this is
in such good shape,” Balear said as he opened it. “What kind of writing is
this?”

Hana led her horse over
to them and asked to see the book. She’d only had it a few seconds before she
said, “It’s Maantec kanji, like the writing engraved on the Muryozaki.”

Iren grinned. This was the
clue he’d come searching for! It was a Maantec book, and he had a Maantec right
here who could tell him what it meant. He knew it must contain information
about magic and how to heal his wounded body. “What does it say?” he asked.

Hana flipped to the
book’s back page, opened her mouth, and then shut them both. She handed the
book to Iren. “I won’t read this to you,” she said. “How would you know what I
read would be truthful? I could make up anything I wanted, and you would have
no way of knowing.”

Iren shrugged. “I trust
you.”

She blushed, the red in
her cheeks making her even more attractive. Iren had a brief flash of the black-haired
woman in his dream. She really could be Hana.

“I’ll make you a deal,”
Hana said. “Rather than read that book for you, I’ll teach you the Maantec
language. That way, you can read what it says for yourself.”

Iren’s heart sunk. He’d
found the clue he needed. He was certain of it. But instead of Hana simply
telling him what was in it, now he had to learn a whole new language to find
out. It was crazy.

“I will tell you one
thing about that book, though,” Hana said.

The excitement came
back, just a flicker. “What’s that?”

“See those symbols
separated from the rest at the top of every page? They’re dates.”

Iren felt like he might
pass out. His hands trembled as he realized what he’d found: his father’s
diary.

When Iren, Balear, and
Hana reached Tropos around sundown, Iren barely noticed they’d arrived. Had
Balear not been there to confirm it, Iren wouldn’t have believed he had entered
a village. A few wattle-and-daub houses with thatched roofs dotted the area,
along with a well and a one-room church. That was it.

Dismounting, Iren and
the others walked among the homes. An empty breath of wind passed through the
village. No one was around, which Iren found strange. Though it was dusk, it
was too early for everyone to have gone to bed. Now that he thought about it,
they hadn’t seen any animals out to pasture either.

A chill ran up Iren’s
spine. This scene felt eerily familiar. “It’s like Veliaf,” he whispered.

Balear shuddered. “Don’t
say that,” he replied, but Iren knew the same worry must be going through the
soldier’s mind. The last time they’d entered an unnaturally quiet village, it
was because Quodivar bandits and Yokai had wiped out the town.

“This can’t be a Yokai
attack,” Balear said. “Amroth defeated them last year in Haldessa.”

He was right of course,
but it didn’t make Iren feel better. Humans could butcher a town just like
Yokai could.

“This village is too
small to be included in the civil war,” Hana put in. “Conquering it would be a
waste of resources.”

“Then where is
everyone?” Iren asked.

Hana shrugged. “If I had
to guess, I’d say they’re hiding.”

“From what?”

“Isn’t it obvious? From
us.”

Both Balear and Iren
gave her shocked looks. “Why would they hide from us?” Balear asked.

“Because farmers aren’t
stupid,” Hana said. “They know a war’s going on, and they know we’re not
residents. They’re assuming we’re enemies.” She glanced around. “Balear, you
said your mother lives here. Our best bet is to try her house.”

Balear squirmed. “Um,
actually, I think there has to be somewhere else we can stay. I’m sure the
church pastor would take pity on us.”

“What’s wrong?” Iren asked.
“You don’t want to see your mother?”

The young man threw up
both hands. “No, no it isn’t that! It’s just . . .”

Hana smirked. “Haven’t
been home since becoming a traitor?”

Balear stared at the
ground.

“They might not even
know here,” Iren pointed out. “A place this small—”

“Still receives wanted
notices,” Balear finished.

“So which house is your
mom’s?” Hana asked brightly, ignoring Balear’s discomfort.

Balear gestured to one
of the homes. “That one, but don’t just go over there—hey, wait!”

Hana was already
bounding across the open space toward the building. She banged on the door.
When no one answered, she shouted, “Mrs. Platarch! We’re here to see you! We
brought your son, Balear! He’s a friend of ours!”

Balear dropped his head
and groaned.

The door opened a crack.
“Balear?” a female voice asked. “Is it really you?”

Balear raised his hand
and waved half-heartedly. The person in the doorway gasped. “Balear!”

The door flung open, and
a middle-aged woman ran from the house. She wore a homespun dress covered with
an apron, and her hair looked grayer than her appearance suggested it should
be. Iren half-smiled. He wondered if Balear had caused it.

Balear’s mother wrapped
her arms around her son and pulled him against her. “You’re home!” she cried.
“When I saw that poster, I feared the worst. What has this country come to when
it calls a sweet boy like you a traitor?” She smothered him with kisses,
prompting a snort from Hana.

Iren looked away. Images
of a rotting home in an unkempt field flooded his vision.

“Come on, Mom,” Balear
said, “you’re embarrassing me in front of my friends!” His mother’s thick
embrace muffled the words.

The woman let go of him.
“Your friends?” She looked at Iren and Hana. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you
both. I’m Arianna, but everyone calls me Ari.”

Iren and Hana introduced
themselves, and then Ari asked, “What brings my boy home for a visit, and with
guests? Oh, I’ll have to throw some more vegetables in the soup. Come on in
everyone. I was about to have supper! How exciting!” She took off for the house
at a jog.

Iren cocked an eyebrow.
“Is your mom always this enthusiastic?”

“I haven’t been home in
seven years,” Balear admitted, “not since I left to join the Castle Guard.”

“Oh,” Iren said,
suddenly reserved. Even after seven years, Ari had recognized her son
immediately. It didn’t matter that he never bothered to visit her, nor that his
name was synonymous with treason. She’d run out and grabbed him like he was
more precious than the finest diamond. Iren clenched a fist.

The trio followed Ari to
her house, tied up their horses in the front yard, and set their swords inside
by the door. Ari’s home had an identical floor plan to Iren’s parents’. The
building had two rooms: an entryway that served as a combination of kitchen,
dining, and living areas, and a single bedroom behind it.

Ari bustled over a pot
above the fire, adding chopped onions and carrots to the soup. Simple though it
was, Iren had never smelled a better scent.

“You’ve caught me
unprepared,” Ari said. “The merchants don’t come like they used to, and, well,
I can only do so much.”

“Here, Mom,” Balear
said, “let me help.”

Ari smiled. “I’m quite
all right, dear, but if you want something to do, you can cut up those
potatoes.”

Uncomfortable yet again,
Iren searched for a distraction. A painting hung on the far side of the room,
and he walked over for a closer look.

The subject was a man
about ten years older than Balear with windswept blonde hair. He stood on the
deck of a ship and grinned like he’d just caught the biggest fish of his life.

Strapped to his back was
a gigantic sword. If the proportions were true to life, the weapon would have
been longer than the man was tall and weighed more than he could carry.

Exaggerated weapon
aside, the painting’s realism was stunning. Iren examined it for a signature.
When he saw the artist’s name in the bottom right, he read it three times to
make sure he hadn’t made a mistake.

Hana noticed him staring
at the painting and came over. She had the same reaction as Iren. “A Feidl?”
she asked. “Here?”

Ari must have heard her,
because the woman wiped her hands on her apron and said, “That’s my husband,
Balio.”

“Shi. . .oot!”
Balear cried. He let go of the knife and potato he’d been peeling and put his
thumb in his mouth. Drops of blood spattered the counter.

“Honestly,” Ari said,
“put a man in the kitchen and look what happens. I have some rags in the
bedroom, dear. Top dresser drawer.”

While Balear went to
wrap his wound, Ari cut up the remaining vegetables. Iren cringed. They were
the last bits of food in the house.

Hana walked to Ari and
offered to stir the soup. The woman smiled and handed over a ladle.

As Hana worked, without
looking up, she asked, “How long ago did they come?”

Iren didn’t understand
what Hana meant, but Ari must have. She stepped back and looked at the floor.

“It’s all right,” Hana
said, “My parents died not long after the war started. Soldiers from Orcsthia
came to our farm demanding food, and when my parents refused, well . . .”

Iren recalled the empty
barn and farmhouse where they’d recovered after fleeing Orcsthia. Hana was
another one, an orphan like him. In a perverse way, it almost made him happy.

“Men from Terkou came
about a month ago,” Ari murmured. “We thought we were safe, too small to be
noticed. But after King Angustion lost his army, all the towns were desperate
for soldiers and supplies. Even a place like this can’t escape. Five or ten
more men and a few more pounds of beef might make the difference between
victory and defeat. At least, that was their opinion. I was lucky to escape
with what I did.”

When Balear returned
with his thumb wrapped, Ari dished up the soup. They all sat down for dinner.
For a long time they ate in silence, until it became unbearable for Iren. “So,”
he asked, “how does a woman in a tiny place like this get a Feidl portrait of
her husband?”

Balear choked on his
bite of potato, and Hana shot Iren a withering look. He flushed; apparently
he’d made yet another social misstep. Growing up alone in a tower didn’t allow
for training in the finer points of manners.

Fortunately, Ari took it
in stride. “It was a gift,” she said. “Balio was a guard-for-hire in Kataile,
though we could never afford to live there. Merchants paid him to protect their
ships. Feidl was going to Tacumsah to paint a portrait of an island chieftain
when pirates attacked. Balio fended them off all by himself. Feidl was so
gracious he demanded that Balio let him paint his picture.”

Iren eyed the portrait
over Balear’s shoulder. “So that painting is true to life?”

Ari laughed. “Feidl never
exaggerated, even if it meant angering his patron by making an ugly subject
look ugly.”

“But there’s no way it
can be accurate,” Iren insisted. “No one could lift that huge sword.”

Balear stood. “I’m
finished, Mom. If you don’t mind, I need to take a walk.” Without waiting for a
reply, he stepped out the door and into the dark.

Ari smiled after her
son. “Forgive Balear. I don’t think he ever got over his father’s death. He was
such a small child then.” She shook her head, clearing away tears. “They say
the man who bested Balio was a giant more than seven feet tall. He took Balio’s
sword as his prize.”

Now it was Iren’s turn
to gag on his soup. In a flash, he knew who had murdered Balear’s father, and
he knew that Feidl had indeed been accurate when he’d painted that sword.

Leaping from his chair,
Iren ran to the portrait. “Hey,” Hana called after him, “you could at least ask
to be excused!”

Iren ignored her and reexamined
the painting. The sword was in a harness on Balio’s back, so Iren could only
see a little of it. The parts that stuck out, though, looked exactly as he
remembered them.

Suddenly he leapt back
as though from a poisonous snake. “Impossible!” he cried. From the table, the
two women gave him odd glances.

“Mrs. Platarch, did you
ever see Balio’s sword?” Iren asked.

Ari nodded. “He spent
most of his time at sea, but he always carried it with him when he came home
for visits. I thought it looked terribly heavy, but he was so strong that it
never bothered him at all. He was Lodia’s finest.”

“Do you recall what the
hilt looked like?”

“Well, now, let me
think. It was wrapped in leather, and the leather had strange symbols burned
into it. I asked Balio what they meant once, but he said they were meaningless
decoration.”

Iren swore, oblivious to
Ari’s and Hana’s stern looks when the word passed his lips. He ran to the door,
grabbed the Muryozaki, and rushed outside.

Balear stood beside the
village well, staring at the stars. He faced the door at the sound of it
shutting. “Iren?” he asked. “I’d rather be alone at the—”

“I know where your
father’s sword is.”

The former general
rocked back on his heels. “What are you talking about? A pirate took that sword
a long time ago. If it still exists, it’s off on some ship.”

“No,” Iren said, “it’s
in Veliaf. Or at least it’s near there. Last year, Zuberi almost killed me with
it.”

“Zuberi,” Balear said.
His brow furrowed for a moment. “Oh, the Quodivar’s leader?”

Iren nodded. He would
never forget that battle. The giant Tacumsahen had swung his massive sword like
it was no heavier than a dirk. Each time he slashed, a gust of wind had
accompanied the blow.

Back then, Iren had
thought it was the man’s insane strength combining with the weapon’s size to
push the air away from it. Now he thought differently.

Iren held up the
Muryozaki and pointed to the concentric rings of Maantec kanji carved around
the hilt. “Your mom said Feidl’s art is always realistic,” he said. “The sword
in that painting had writing on the hilt. I couldn’t see it clearly, but what
your mother said confirmed it for me. I think your father’s sword was a
Ryokaiten.”

Balear turned ashen.
“That can’t be,” he murmured. “That would mean that . . .”

“Yeah. Your father was a
Dragon Knight.”

The soldier put his back
to Iren. He gazed down into the well. For a long time he stood there in
silence. Then he said, “The only memory I have of my father is when I was four.
He came home for a surprise visit. I was excited to see him, but not long after
he arrived, he and Mom got into a terrible fight. I was too young to remember
the details, but I know I’ve never heard two people yell like that. Afterward,
Dad stormed out of the village. He didn’t even spend the night; he just picked
up his sword and gear and vanished into the dark. We never saw him again. We
received word a year later that pirates had killed him.”

He paused and released a
long breath. “I never blamed Dad for leaving. He fought to protect Lodia, to
protect Mom and me. You heard what Mom said. He was the best. After he died, all
I wanted was to follow in his footsteps.”

Balear’s hands gripped
the stone. “But I couldn’t do it. I get seasick, so I can’t serve on a ship. I
joined the Castle Guard instead, yet rather than protect my fellow citizens, I
murdered them.”

Iren wondered what he
would do if Balear started crying. It wasn’t a scene he looked forward to.

He was about to speak
when Balear faced him. “I want to go to Veliaf,” the Lodian said. “Please come
with me. You know where you fought Zuberi, and you’ll be able to tell whether his
sword is a Ryokaiten.”

“And then what?” Iren
asked. “If it is a Ryokaiten, when you touch it, it will test you. If you fail,
you’ll die. Are you prepared for that?”