The Flames of Dragons (14 page)

Lord Narunë sighed. “That she is. Come on. Let’s head back to Sorengaral. They’ll need our help to rebuild. Rondel and Minawë have their mission. It’s time we returned to ours.”

*   *   *

Minawë raced through the forest on four padded feet. Rondel dashed alongside her, cutting through branches and vines with her dagger.

The Kodaman queen hadn’t felt this way in months. For a time she’d believed her place was between Rondel and Iren. Then she’d believed it was in Sorengaral with Lyubo.

Now she realized those were mere distractions. Melwar had played them all for fools. He wanted to keep Iren, Rondel, and Minawë busy with fear and revenge so he could achieve his true goal, whatever that was.

But Minawë was onto him now. He wouldn’t get away.

Even so, it made her wonder. Iren was likely still in Shikari. Mother had said she would fight Melwar, but she hadn’t abandoned her desire to kill Iren either. Shikari was a small nation. What would she and Minawë do if they met Iren along the way?

Minawë’s thoughts drifted back to Lyubo. He had manipulated her, as had her uncle and mother. She had no doubt that Lyubo’s feelings were genuine, but she couldn’t get his betrayal out of her head.

That was how Iren must have felt about Minawë and Rondel. Minawë could see how those feelings could make him want to leave everyone behind.

Now that she understood that, she also had her answer. What would she do if she ran into Iren? The same thing she’d planned to do since she’d left Ziorsecth more than a year ago.

She would save him.

A cold southern wind pummeled Iren atop a bare mountain several miles from Goro and Chiyo’s farm. It cut through his increasingly threadbare kimono and threatened to send him into shivers, but he resisted. He couldn’t let anything distract him, not if Muryoka was going to succeed.

Despite its bleak conditions, the mountain peak was the only place Iren felt comfortable practicing the spell. The summit was a five-mile hike from the nearest farm. It was also above the treeline, so there weren’t even animals or plants to worry about killing. If the worst happened, at least Iren would be the only casualty.

Iren held out his left hand, palm up. His right hand gripped the Muryozaki. It was strange, holding the weapon in his off hand like that. But he had better control with his left arm, and control was the problem. He had enough magic to cast Muryoka, if only he could harness it.

His palm glowed. The brightness increased for ten seconds. Then, with a
whoosh
, it caught alight.

It was progress. The first two weeks after Divinion had shown him Muryoka, Iren hadn’t even been able to get the fire started. That required making the magic clash with itself to raise its temperature.

Unfortunately, making the flame was the easy part. Once it lit, Iren had to force it to take an unnaturally dense form as a ball in his hand.

That step was where his father had failed. The burning magic wanted to do anything but condense, and Iren Saito had lacked the control necessary to make it do otherwise.

After a month of trying, his son was finding that he had the same problem.

The worst part was that Iren couldn’t hold the spell indefinitely. The flame burned through magic at an astonishing rate. From his attempts so far, Iren had determined that he had only twenty seconds before the spell consumed all his magic, and that was under ideal conditions. In a battle, where he would be using magic throughout the fight, he would have even less time.

That was why his father had released Muryoka early. If he hadn’t, the spell would have begun drawing on his biological magic, possibly killing him.

Iren tamped down all those thoughts as he condensed the white flame in his hand. Today’s was a good attempt. The fire had started out taller than he was, but Iren shrank it to the length of his arm.

His energy sagged; he couldn’t last any longer. Abandoning hope of success today, Iren thrust out his hand. The white flame shot forth, burning the air in front of him. The peak was the tallest around, so there was nothing Muryoka could bounce off of and kill him with backwash.

All the same, Iren never escaped Muryoka unscathed. The failed spell left his hand and lower arm charred with heavy burns. Even the Muryozaki needed a few minutes to repair the magic-induced damage.

Iren dropped to his knees, spent. He fought a wave of nausea. He could only try the attack once per day. It used up all his magic to cast it.

While he rested, he looked down at Goro and Chiyo’s farm. He could see the pair of them—specks from here—working in the garden together. It made him smile. They were perfect for each other.

He was about to stand and head back when he happened to glance down the overgrown dirt track that led to the farm. Goro and Chiyo rarely traveled, and visitors were even rarer. Aside from the annual tribute collector, Iren had been the first in more than a decade.

That was why Iren’s breath quickened when he spotted two dots moving toward the farm.

As with Goro and Chiyo, Iren couldn’t make out the newcomers’ details at this distance. They were moving quickly though, too quickly for them to be on foot.

Iren frowned. Almost no one around here owned a horse. The few farmers who did had low-quality draft animals suited only to plowing fields. No farmer ever rode his horse. Only high-ranking samurai and nobles did that.

Nobles.

Damn.

Iren scrambled down the mountainside as quickly as he dared. It wasn’t a sheer cliff, but a misplaced foot could still end with him dropping a hundred feet in places. Even for a Maantec, falls like that could kill.

At last he hit more sloping terrain and took off. He didn’t have magic, but his Maantec strength and training gave him a speed far greater than most. He rushed through the miles of forest between the mountain and the farm, hoping he could make it in time. The newcomers had looked perhaps twenty minutes from the farm when Iren had seen them. If he hurried, he might just beat them.

He approached the farm from the direction opposite that of the strangers and hid behind the tool shed. He wanted to know who they were—and why they were here—before he revealed himself.

When the pair came into view, Iren knew he’d made the right choice in coming back. Both strangers wore full steel lamellar armor and rode on horseback. They each carried two swords, one a full-length katana and the other a shorter wakizashi.

Iren grimaced. As if it weren’t blatantly obvious whom these two served, one of the men bore an enormous flag twice his height. Emblazoned on the plum-colored fabric was the insignia of a mountain, the Melwar clan’s crest.

At least Iren didn’t have to worry about the samurai spotting him behind the shed. With steel helmets wrapped around their skulls, their peripheral vision would be nonexistent. They wouldn’t see him unless they turned to look straight at him.

The samurai stopped in front of Goro and Chiyo’s house. “Come out!” the one with the flag roared. “By order of His Excellence, Shogun Melwar!”

Iren’s brow furrowed. Shogun? He knew the word from his Maantec culture training with Hana. It signified a general, a military leader who outranked even the highest nobility. But Melwar hadn’t used that title during Iren’s time in Hiabi. In fact, from what little Maantec history Iren knew, there hadn’t been a shogun in more than five thousand years. There hadn’t needed to be. The emperor ruled the Maantecs.

Goro and Chiyo came around the side of the house. The moment Goro saw who had arrived, he jumped and started shaking. The farming couple prostrated themselves on the ground.

“To what do we owe the honor of receiving Shogun Melwar’s samurai?” Goro asked from the dirt.

“Shogun Melwar has ordered a draft of Maantec males,” the flag-bearer said. “Every family must supply a man as part of their tribute to His Excellence.”

Iren released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. When he’d first seen the samurai, he’d thought they might be looking for him. But what was this about a draft? What was Melwar planning?

“With all due respect, my lord, I am the only man in this family,” Goro said. “We have no children. Some of the harvest has come in, but we’re nowhere near finished. If I leave, my wife will starve.”

Iren couldn’t see the samurai’s expressions from this angle, but neither seemed moved. “We must all make sacrifices for the restoration of the Maantec people,” the empty-handed samurai said.

“But—”

“Enough!” the other samurai roared. “Or would you prefer us to run down your wife to save her the trouble of starving?”

Iren clenched his fists and teeth. Across the way, Goro did the same.

“Now on your feet, peasant,” the samurai with the flag ordered. “We’ll lead you to the camp with the other conscripts.”

Goro slowly rose. Chiyo climbed up alongside him. “Please, Goro, don’t go,” she begged. She wrapped her arms around her husband.

“Hey!” the flag-bearer shouted. “I didn’t tell you to get up. Get back on the ground.” He charged his horse forward and kicked Chiyo in the face. She sprawled in the dirt.

Goro didn’t react. “It’s all right,” he said, the hate in his voice so poorly contained even Iren picked up on it. “We don’t have a choice. No one else is here.”

As he spoke that last sentence, Goro tilted his head ever so slightly, just enough that one eye faced the tool shed. That eye locked with the one of Iren’s that peeked around the building’s wall.

Goro knew Iren was there. He’d known all along. Why hadn’t he said something? If Iren went with the samurai, then Goro could stay. Why was the man lying to them?

“What will I do?” Chiyo cried.

“Pray hard,” Goro told her. “Maybe an angel will come to help you.”

Iren felt tears on his cheeks. Chiyo often told him how much more productive the farm was with him around to help. By keeping Iren from the samurai, Goro was ensuring his wife’s survival.

“No angels around here, peasant,” the flagless samurai laughed. “The only one you should pray to is Shogun Melwar!”

Goro bowed. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for telling me.”

“Goro,” Chiyo said from the ground. “Please don’t. Please don’t do this.”

The flagless samurai dismounted. “I never said you could speak. You’re a disobedient little bitch, aren’t you? We can’t allow such a lack of respect among Shogun Melwar’s people.”

The samurai drew his katana. “It’s for the best,” he said. “You’ll starve once your husband leaves anyway.”

Goro’s control snapped. “No!” he shouted. He ran at the samurai, but the soldier thrust his gauntleted hand at Goro’s face. Blood spurted from Goro’s nose as metal fist and katana crossguard smashed into it. He dropped to the ground beside his wife.

“So easily overcome,” the flag-bearer said. “These peasants will be useless in the war with Lodia.”

Iren stifled a curse. So that’s what the draft was for. Melwar was raising an army to attack Lodia!

“They’d only slow us down and take up rations,” the dismounted samurai replied. “A drain on the army. Better to end them both now.” He raised his katana over Goro’s prone form.

This had gone far enough. Iren stepped out from behind the shed. “Stop,” he said. “You will not touch these kind people again.”

Both samurai turned to regard him. Iren could only see their eyes through their helmets, but he saw the disdain in them. He expected it. With his ratty clothes worn from training and chores, he looked even lower class than Goro and Chiyo.

Then the samurai’s expressions changed to shock and fury. Their eyes settled on Iren’s waist.

“You!” the flag-bearer said. “It’s punishable by death for anyone other than a samurai to carry a katana. Where did you get that weapon?”

Iren drew the Muryozaki. “If you want it, come and take it. Dole out your justice.”

“No,” Goro wheezed through his blood-stained face. “Run away.”

“Shut your mouth!” the dismounted samurai yelled.

Iren didn’t give the man a chance to do anything else. He charged. The dismounted man noticed and ran at him as well. When they were only a few feet apart, the samurai swung his katana at Iren’s head.

With an easy motion, Iren ducked the blow. The samurai’s bulky armor slowed him and left him open. Worse, it wouldn’t protect him from the Muryozaki’s dragonscale blade. Iren slashed.

His sword barely paused as it sliced through the steel and bit into the flesh beneath. The samurai fell and did not rise.

Iren marched forward. “Now talk,” he spat at the mounted flag-bearer. “What’s this about a war with Lodia? What’s Melwar planning?”

The samurai’s eyes trembled inside his helmet. He careened his horse around and galloped away.

If Iren hadn’t exhausted his magic on Muryoka, he might have chased after him. He might have fired a beam of white light and shot the horse out from under him. But he’d only recovered a sliver of magic in the time since he’d left the mountain, and he needed it for a more important purpose. He rushed to where Goro and Chiyo lay.

Iren put a hand on each of the two farmers and let his scraps of energy flow into them. Their cuts stitched together.

Goro raised his head and felt his repaired nose. “Katsu, how did you do all that?” he asked.

“With this,” Iren said. He held up the Muryozaki. “I suppose there’s no point in hiding anymore. You were right to distrust me, Goro. I lied to you. My name isn’t Katsu. It’s Iren Saitosan. I’m the Holy Dragon Knight.”

The farmer’s mouth fell open. “Iren . . . Saito . . .”

Goro dropped back to the dirt. “Forgive me, my emperor, for not showing you the proper respect!”

Iren rolled his eyes. “That isn’t necessary. I know how much you dislike the class structure. On your feet. You too, Chiyo.”

They both stood. Chiyo looked at Iren with admiration. “I knew there was more to you than what you let on,” she said, “but I never would have guessed you were the emperor.”

“I’m not,” Iren said. “Iren Saito’s dead. I’m his child.”

“That makes you the emperor, son,” Goro said, “whether you acknowledge it or not.”

Iren didn’t miss the way Goro had spoken to him. He’d called Iren “son.” In the three months Iren had stayed here, Goro had never used that word to describe him. In fact, it was the first time in his life Iren could remember anyone calling him that. The sound of it choked him up.

“Goro, don’t push the man,” Chiyo interjected.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Iren said. “To be honest, it felt good to be thought of as nothing more than a farmhand.”

“So that was you that night in the forest,” Goro replied. “I knew it.”