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Authors: Josh VanBrakle
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and leveled the tip of his sword at the man’s throat.
Despite his obvious discomfort, the defeated veteran stared defiantly at Balear. His pale green eyes dared the general to finish the battle.
Instead of killing the man, Balear smiled and put away his sword. He couldn’t see his own face, but he guessed it must look horrible. He could feel blood running down his chin, and one eye was swollen shut. “You were at the Battle of Ziorsecth,” he said.
“How did you know?” the man on the ground wheezed.
“Your expression. The way you fought. Everything about you screamed that you had experience. But I wasn’t certain until I disarmed you. Someone with training but who had never been in a battle would have given up. They would have assumed the match was over, that it wasn’t a fight to the death. You kept on going. You knew that if you didn’t, I would kill you. Isn’t that right?”
“I didn’t know,” the man admitted, “but I wasn’t about to guess wrong.”
Balear laughed. It made a raspy sound in his throat. “What’s your name?”
“Riac,” the man said, “and don’t tell me to call you ‘sir.’”
Balear held out his hand. “Riac, how would you like to be my second-in-command? You know these men. You know war. You can prepare them for what to expect when another city’s army comes calling.”
Riac didn’t answer right away. He grasped Balear’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. He was a grizzled man, with a chiseled jaw and a scar on his left cheek. His sandy brown hair had flecks of gray. Balear hadn’t realized the man was that much older than he was.
The veteran stared a long time into Balear’s unswollen eye. What he looked for Balear didn’t know, but the general held firm, unwilling to falter in front of his men.
After what felt like hours, Riac nodded. “Sure, no problem. Sir.”
Balear smiled. One down, nine-hundred and ninety-nine to go.
Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, Pito!” he said. He looked around. “Where’s Pito? I’d like to put him in your company, Riac. He could learn a lot from someone like you.”
One of the officers standing nearby shuffled his feet. “Um, sir? Pito left.”
“Left?” Balear asked. “Where’d he go?”
The soldier stared at his boots. “Well, I’m not certain, but I got a whiff of him as he ran past me. I think . . . um, sir, I think he went to change his pants.”
CHAPTER NINE
Gentle Heart
The paddy blurred as Iren dashed across it. With both hands he ripped at the weeds growing between the rice plants.
At this speed, telling the difference between what to pull and what to leave was almost impossible. But that was the point. He had to learn to pick out subtle differences even at high speeds.
Iren doubted his father had ever trained this way. In fact, he doubted pulling weeds had ever been part of any Dragon Knight’s training.
Still, it seemed to be working. When he’d started this morning, he couldn’t even tell where the weeds were. Now, as the sun set, he was getting the hang of it. He still occasionally grabbed a rice plant, or tripped and fell in the muck, but those mistakes came less and less often.
When dusk fell, Iren gave up for the day. Exhausted from running flat-out since morning, he left the paddy at a leisurely pace. He stopped at the well to draw some water and wash off the mud that caked him.
With his clothes and skin visible again, he headed for Goro and Chiyo’s home. His stomach grumbled at the thought of dinner. Even though Chiyo had only the most basic ingredients, her cooking was excellent. The meals were earthy and informal, like the woman who made them.
As Iren neared the tiny farmhouse, though, Goro and Chiyo were outside in front of the door. Goro had his jaw set like he was about to enter battle, and Chiyo wrung her hands as though she feared he wouldn’t come back from the fight.
At first Iren worried the two of them had seen him racing around, but he dismissed the
Despite his obvious discomfort, the defeated veteran stared defiantly at Balear. His pale green eyes dared the general to finish the battle.
Instead of killing the man, Balear smiled and put away his sword. He couldn’t see his own face, but he guessed it must look horrible. He could feel blood running down his chin, and one eye was swollen shut. “You were at the Battle of Ziorsecth,” he said.
“How did you know?” the man on the ground wheezed.
“Your expression. The way you fought. Everything about you screamed that you had experience. But I wasn’t certain until I disarmed you. Someone with training but who had never been in a battle would have given up. They would have assumed the match was over, that it wasn’t a fight to the death. You kept on going. You knew that if you didn’t, I would kill you. Isn’t that right?”
“I didn’t know,” the man admitted, “but I wasn’t about to guess wrong.”
Balear laughed. It made a raspy sound in his throat. “What’s your name?”
“Riac,” the man said, “and don’t tell me to call you ‘sir.’”
Balear held out his hand. “Riac, how would you like to be my second-in-command? You know these men. You know war. You can prepare them for what to expect when another city’s army comes calling.”
Riac didn’t answer right away. He grasped Balear’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. He was a grizzled man, with a chiseled jaw and a scar on his left cheek. His sandy brown hair had flecks of gray. Balear hadn’t realized the man was that much older than he was.
The veteran stared a long time into Balear’s unswollen eye. What he looked for Balear didn’t know, but the general held firm, unwilling to falter in front of his men.
After what felt like hours, Riac nodded. “Sure, no problem. Sir.”
Balear smiled. One down, nine-hundred and ninety-nine to go.
Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, Pito!” he said. He looked around. “Where’s Pito? I’d like to put him in your company, Riac. He could learn a lot from someone like you.”
One of the officers standing nearby shuffled his feet. “Um, sir? Pito left.”
“Left?” Balear asked. “Where’d he go?”
The soldier stared at his boots. “Well, I’m not certain, but I got a whiff of him as he ran past me. I think . . . um, sir, I think he went to change his pants.”
CHAPTER NINE
Gentle Heart
The paddy blurred as Iren dashed across it. With both hands he ripped at the weeds growing between the rice plants.
At this speed, telling the difference between what to pull and what to leave was almost impossible. But that was the point. He had to learn to pick out subtle differences even at high speeds.
Iren doubted his father had ever trained this way. In fact, he doubted pulling weeds had ever been part of any Dragon Knight’s training.
Still, it seemed to be working. When he’d started this morning, he couldn’t even tell where the weeds were. Now, as the sun set, he was getting the hang of it. He still occasionally grabbed a rice plant, or tripped and fell in the muck, but those mistakes came less and less often.
When dusk fell, Iren gave up for the day. Exhausted from running flat-out since morning, he left the paddy at a leisurely pace. He stopped at the well to draw some water and wash off the mud that caked him.
With his clothes and skin visible again, he headed for Goro and Chiyo’s home. His stomach grumbled at the thought of dinner. Even though Chiyo had only the most basic ingredients, her cooking was excellent. The meals were earthy and informal, like the woman who made them.
As Iren neared the tiny farmhouse, though, Goro and Chiyo were outside in front of the door. Goro had his jaw set like he was about to enter battle, and Chiyo wrung her hands as though she feared he wouldn’t come back from the fight.
At first Iren worried the two of them had seen him racing around, but he dismissed the
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