Dragon’s Fate and Other Stories

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  He would kill his own son and Papa if Daniel did not cooperate. He’d kill Antonius.

  He’s going to kill them no matter what you do.

  Daniel winced again.

  Faustus snorted in a way very similar to his war steed. “Fight your weakness, Daniel. Demand the education you deserve. Take your umbra obscura, grandson. Few carry such a gift. Cultivate it correctly.” He reached out again. “For the betterment of the world, you and your brothers must be trained by other Primes.”

  Slowly, Faustus pulled a dagger from his belt. The same dagger he’d held at the ruins—the one wrapped awkwardly in leather.

  He unwrapped it.

  A jewel the color of blood sat between the guards and the hilt. A beautiful, death-bringing jewel that caught the stray torchlight and glowed like the eyes of the demon prancing in front of Daniel’s house.

  “Alexander the Great carried this dagger,” Faustus said. “It is strategy. It is intelligence.” He held it out for Daniel to see. “It is destiny.”

  Faustus meant for the dagger to become their talisman. That sharp, cutting thing, with its intentions that aligned to the man holding it, was to become the context through which the brothers would see. It was meant to override all their roots to the land, all their willingness to protect the people, all their connections. That dagger and its death-jewel were meant to take a young Prime triad and mold them into the Children of War.

  “You will wear this talisman, young man. You will belong to it,” Faustus growled. “I have foreseen it.”

  “No.” Daniel stepped back. Threat wafted off Faustus as strongly as the demon-stink wafted off the giggling woman.

  Faustus made a show of scoffing his disapproval. “You choose to do this the hard way?”

  Daniel had to get away. He needed to find his parents and his brothers.

  Faustus shook his head. “You disappoint me, Daniel.” He waved over his shoulder at the armored men surrounding the demon woman.

  One slapped the reins of the two horses hitched to the wagon, and Daniel’s mother’s life, his father’s goods, and many of their wares disappeared into the night.

  The second one plunged his dagger through the heart of the demon. Right there, in the threshold of the house Daniel shared with his family, one of Faustus’s men murdered a demon.

  “We call the Ambustae ‘Burners’ now,” Faustus said. “It seemed fitting to give them a new name for a new world.”

  The woman dropped to her knees. The stabbing man left his blade in her chest and ran into the woods. She danced her fingers over the hilt, obviously confused, and yelled words in a language Daniel did not understand.

  “She is from a place east of Constantinople.” Faustus’s horse pranced as if the animal knew something the humans did not.

  The demon woman gasped. Her head fell back.

  The torches cast a hot light, but the woman seemed to reflect more than just the fire’s oranges and golds. She flickered as if she’d turned into shards made of the red glass the window-maker created for the rosette at the church.

  But the shards wiggled and writhed like insects and worms. Then they didn’t, and the woman ceased to be a woman.

  She drew into herself as if her body collapsed under its own weight. The remaining ball floated in the air for a split second before it, too, vanished.

  “This is the power I hold, Daniel. The power I wanted to share with you.”

  Hell itself flashed from where the woman used to be. Cold, blistering light. Hot, rending heat. Fire. Ice. Death, for certain.

  When Daniel opened his eyes, Faustus’s horse stared down at him, the war steed’s great eyes reflecting the fire that now tore through the remains of his family’s home.

  Run!

  Daniel did not blink. He did not falter nor did he consider. He allowed the parts of his soul he normally squashed with his questions to explode outward through his muscles. He let those parts out—the ones that danced with joy at his first kiss with Antonius and understood the beauty of the man in the pond; the others that comprehended the meanings of the words when his mother taught him to read, not just to name the markings on the page.

  The cherished parts of Daniel took over. And Daniel, the son of an emperor’s daughter, the son of an assassin’s son, the grandson of a kingmaker, ran.

  He’d been correct at the church when he told Father that Antonius was not safe. He’d been correct. He’d known. No one he loved was safe.

  No one.

  He had to reach Antonius.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Laughter and singing rose from the tavern, as did the scents of roasting meats and free-flowing drink. Animals snorted in the stables. A lone figure shuffled through the night toward one of the huts beyond the village center, but most was quiet.

  Daniel hoped that Timothy had found the Shifter and was, right now, begging for her help. And that, right now, the Shifter cared enough to offer.

  Daniel needed to get Antonius away from the church. Together, they would find his family and leave this place.

  He snuck across the open grass between the trees and the dormitory, his feet moving fast and his senses primed for any sight or sound. Another wave of laughter peeled from the tavern but he heard no approaching hooves or screaming women.

  The dormitory door was attached to the sturdy wood walls with metal hinges and most likely could stand against a frontal attack, but not for long. Daniel crept along the wall toward the slats near which he knew Antonius’s pallet rested, and crouched next to a knothole.

  “Antonius?” he whispered.

  Rustling echoed from inside. What if he’d counted wrong? What if he woke another priest? Would they punish his friend?

  “Daniel?” An eye moved by the hole. “Why are you out in the depth of night?”

  “Men attacked my family.” Gently, Daniel pushed two fingers through the hole. “I don’t know where they are.”

  More rustling. “Lord God protect us.”

  Fingertips stroked over the pads of Daniel’s. Gentle fingers, rough from the church’s work.

  The questioning parts of Daniel’s mind winked off. All he wanted—all he needed—was this touch from his love. “Please come out,” he whispered. “I need to know that you’re safe.”

  “I….” The fingers pulled away and part of Daniel pulled away with them. “We shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

  Daniel leaned his forehead against the wall. “Please,” he whispered. “You’re not safe here.” He wasn’t. “Come with me. No matter what happens, I’ll get you to people who will protect you.” Even if Livia Sisto turned her back on Daniel’s family, he’d beg her to take Antonius to the dragons where he’d be out of Faustus’s grasp.

  Antonius looked through the hole again. “We can’t.”

  Daniel slapped the wall. “I can’t leave you here! Please come out.”

  “Daniel, go. You’ll be fine.”

  No, he wouldn’t be fine. He’d never be fine again. “I love you.” He did. More than he understood. Papa’s words rang true—it was more difficult for a future-seer. Much, much more difficult.

  Now Antonius hit the wall. “I cannot love you any way other than as a brother.”

  “Antonius…”

  The wall shook as if Antonius hit it again.

  “Come out!” Daniel kicked the slats. “Tell me to my face that you don’t want to see me again.” His foot moved to kick again but he stopped himself. What if he woke the other priests? “At least give me that.”

  Antonius’s eye appeared again. Slowly, he nodded.

  He’d come out. He’d look Daniel in the eye and say good-bye.

  Daniel’s skin jumped and squirmed. It felt too small and too brittle. He lived inside a sheath of glass like the colors in the church’s rosette window and he was about to shatter into tiny pieces and explode the way that demon which Faustus called a “Burner” had, but maybe he could change Antonius’s mind.

  Antonius moved toward the dormitory doo
r. Daniel moved as well, his hand on the wall, imagining Antonius doing the same on the inside. The wood separated their hands but they touched anyway. Daniel would not be deterred.

  The door creaked open just enough for Antonius to squeeze through. He immediately reached for Daniel, his thin-but-strong frame elongating as he wiggled through the crack.

  Bruises covered his face and one of his beautiful eyes swelled. He hunched as well, as if his hip caused him considerable pain.

  “Did Tambor do this to you?” Daniel did not care if the other man was a priest. He didn’t care if Tambor heard their Lord God. When this was done, Daniel would return and he would beat the bastard until his bones snapped.

  Antonius slowly nodded yes. “My father did the same before I ran to the church.”

  His fathers would never do such a thing. Never.

  Daniel looked over his shoulder. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

  Antonius’s brown irises all but vanished into the night. He looked at Daniel with shadows in his eyes.

  Daniel pulled him close. Antonius curled his arms around Daniel’s head, his fingers finding their way into Daniel’s dark hair even though he whispered that they shouldn’t touch. They shouldn’t do this.

  But they did. Their kiss groped more than either of them thought romantic, but they were together, if only for this small moment.

  “What happened?” Antonius lowered his arms to Daniel’s waist.

  “Men burned our farm.” Daniel kissed him again, this time trying to force down the questions welling in his gut. “We can’t stay here. Come.”

  Antonius stiffened. “Where?”

  They could go into the woods, or they could go into the village and make their way to Ingund’s family. They were safer from Faustus’s men in the trees, but the village offered the possibility of support.

  “Timothy rode for help. If we—”

  The screaming whisper of the arrow made them jump apart but the archer was better than any Daniel had ever met before. The arrow pierced Antonius’s shoulder. He yelped and staggered backward into the dormitory’s door, shuffling and stuttering and banging on the wood and the floor.

  Daniel whipped around. Did Faustus’s men follow him? But Livia Sisto had carried a bow. Please don’t be the Shifter, he thought. They needed her help.

  Another arrow flicked so close to his cheek the feathers of the fletching stroked his skin.

  A priest appeared at the door. “Brother Antonius? What is happening?”

  “Take him in!” Daniel bellowed. Where was the archer? He scanned the trees again but saw nothing.

  “I only take orders from God, you vile, sinful—” Another arrow notched in the wood of the door inches from the older priest’s nose.

  The priest slammed the door, leaving Antonius slumped against the wall.

  “You will help us!” Daniel slammed his fist into the door. “Do you understand, normal?” Where this voice came from, he did not know, but it flowed from his throat deep and commanding.

  Three men armored the same way as the man claiming to be his grandfather walked out of the trees, the two on the outside of their formation with bows lifted and the third, in the middle, with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “Come, boy.” Slowly, the man extended his hand. “No need for more pain.”

  They were a triad of Parcae, split three ways between seeing the what-was, the what-is, and the what-will-be. Three men with the abilities to see all the past, present, and future stalked toward Daniel and Antonius, weapons out and ready to kill.

  Antonius coughed.

  “Why did you pierce a priest?” Daniel yelled. “You burned my home!”

  The three men stopped. They looked at each other, all three of their faces flattening and staring the same as his parents when they used their seers.

  The man in the middle whipped around.

  A midnight-blue-clad shadow stripped the bow from the Fate on the left. The one in the middle raised his sword, but a gleaming blade in the shadow’s arm swung into the man’s neck. Blood spurted. The man fell to his knees, his hand over the wound.

  The remaining Fate planted his foot to fire his bow.

  A second shadow appeared out of the trees, one larger than the first, and not in the midnight shade of blue.

  Father’s chisel took the side of the archer’s face.

  The shadow stood over the dead Fate, his midnight blue assassin’s hood tight around his face. Dark blue leather assassin’s bracers covered his arms. More assassin’s armor covered his shoulders. The blade of the long, curved dagger in his hand flashed in the starlight.

  “Papa?” Daniel had never seen his papa’s armor or weapons. His parents laughed and said Papa once studied arts of “no value.” They’d always made small frightened blinks or tiny moments of physical tension. Then they said they loved Papa anyway.

  They always cut off questions.

  Papa pulled a blue scarf off his mouth. “Get your friend, Daniel. We go.” He nodded to Father.

  Daniel touched Antonius’s cheek. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

  Antonius stared wide-eyed at Papa. “What is he?”

  Daniel looked between his Papa and his Father, hoping for at least a sideways glance offering guidance. Papa sheathed his blade. Father paced like a crazed wolf. Daniel received nothing from either parent.

  “We are Fates, Antonius,” Daniel whispered. “I am destined to see the future.”

  Antonius closed his eyes. His fingers gripped his shoulder around where the arrow punctured his flesh. “I don’t know what that means. I don’t want to know.”

  Was he telling Daniel to go away? To leave him here? “Antonius…”

  Branches snapped. Daniel stepped between Antonius and the trees. Even if Antonius never wanted to see him again, Daniel would still protect his friend until the day they each drew their last breaths.

  Marcus led two horses out of the trees.

  “Brother!” Marcus appeared unscathed, though he stared straight ahead. He didn’t look at anyone—not his papa or his father. Not Daniel. He stared at their road ahead.

  “They took Mama,” Marcus whispered.

  Father swung his chisel through the air as if slashing ghosts. “They used that Burner to hide themselves in the what-was-is-will-be.”

  Daniel stood and clasped his brother’s shoulder. He didn’t like Marcus’s glassy eyes. “How is that possible?”

  Papa took the reins. “The fiends leave a wake of chaos. Our seers are not strong enough to see through it.” He jumped onto the back of the darker of the two mares. “Timothy comes.”

  Daniel’s other brother galloped up the lane toward the church. “We need to go.” He reined the horse around. “Ingund’s family is… angry.”

  Papa turned his horse toward Timothy. “Livia Sisto has not yet returned with your wife?”

  “Her papa swung a hammer at my head!” Timothy’s face fell. “They won’t listen. They refuse to deliver a message to Lady Sisto!”

  Father brought the other horse to Daniel. He clasped Daniel’s shoulder before leaning over Antonius. “We will take you, young man, if you wish to come with us.”

  Blood oozed around Antonius’s fingers. “You will take me?”

  Father touched his undamaged shoulder in the same manner in which he’d touched Daniel. “Yes, son. Always.”

  Father snapped the arrow from Antonius’s shoulder. He groaned but didn’t holler, for which Daniel was thankful.

  Antonius took Father’s hand. Father placed him on Marcus’s horse, then helped Daniel climb behind his love, with Marcus in front. “Do your best to keep pressure on it.”

  Daniel nodded.

  Father swung up behind Timothy. Daniel didn’t ask where they were going. He didn’t need to. He knew.

  By this time tomorrow, they would reach an end, whatever that end might be.

  Daniel, his brothers, and his love would beg for mercy at the gates of people—and beasts—more dangerous than
the grandfather who chased them from their home.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Papa whispered into his horse’s ear. The beast wagged his great head, his eyelids drooping over his gentle eyes, and they vanished into the trees, ahead of the group. Father and Timothy rode silently behind Marcus, Antonius, and Daniel.

  Out in the trees, sometimes to the side, sometimes behind, they heard quiet scuffles. Once, a quickly muzzled yell. Another, a howl that turned into a high-pitched yip before it, too, vanished.

  Corbus, the assassin’s son, used his “valueless skills.”

  Antonius rested his head against Marcus’s back. Daniel’s brother steered the horse through the trees and the bushes doing his best to keep the animal from knocking and jolting Antonius. Their mare trotted ahead of Father and Timothy’s beast, her ash-colored hide blending into the moon’s silver shadows.

  Antonius bled too much. The darkness hid the red, but not its stickiness or its hot metal tang. The torn strip of frock Daniel pressed into the wound did little other than to keep the blood from dripping down their arms.

  Antonius grew weaker and weaker.

  Wolves howled. Daniel glanced back at Father.

  In a beam of moonlight between two trees, the larger man shook his head. He said that the dragons would help. He was sure of it. So they rode.

  Perhaps Livia Sisto had taken Ingund to their lord. Perhaps the two women would speak well of them. But Daniel’s doubts whispered no.

  Daniel’s fingers trembled around Antonius’s wound. How long could he apply pressure without his fingers permanently cramping into a hooked snarl?

  When Papa came near, Father refused to speak of their coming activation other than to point out that they did not have a talisman for their sons at the same time he gripped the small bundle of gold twigs he wore on a chain around his neck. “Corbus, you carry your tools,” he said. Yet his skin paled and he looked as if he’d been formed of the moonlight.

  Papa paled as well. “Our boys will not be Palatini.” Then he rode off again.