The Legions had built a palisade of sharpened logs around the debris, and Erry approached an opening where two guards stood. When she reached them, they frowned down at her, two beefy men in black steel. They moved to block the palisade gateway.
"Move it!" Erry said, craning her head up to glare at them. She stood five feet tall only on tiptoes, and these brutes towered above her, but she had fought men this size before on the docks. "I'm reassigned to this fort. Let me in, mules."
The guards wore a single red star upon their armbands. They were perivas, the same lowly rank as her. They snorted.
"You got to be eighteen to join the Legions, shrimp," one said and snorted. "You look about three years old. Get lost."
Erry rolled her eyes. "And you got to have a brain to join too, and I've seen logs with bigger brains than yours." She brandished her scroll at them. "Can you even read? This is my new fort. Move!"
With a great shove, she pushed between them and entered the camp.
Chaos awaited her.
Dragons trundled about, snorting smoke and dragging wagons of bricks and wood. Masons cursed and yelled at one another, jabbing fingers at building plans. Workers swung hammers, erecting scaffolding. Other dragons grunted as they dug ditches. Between these workers, hundreds of troops marched in clanking armor, trained with swords, and flew overhead as dragons. A thousand legionaries must have bustled here, engineers and fighters alike.
"I'm looking for Lanse Tilla Siren," Erry said to one mason, speaking Tilla's new, noble surname. "She commands the Sea Cannons phalanx. Where do I go?"
The mason ignored her, rushed toward a worker, and began admonishing the man for using the wrong chisel.
Erry grumbled, spat, and moved on. She had to ask a dragon tugging a cart, three soldiers sorting through rubble, and another guard.
Finally the last man scratched his chin, sucked his cheek, and said, "Lanse Tilla Siren? Tall woman, sort of looks like a statue?"
Erry nodded. "That's her all right."
The legionary snorted. "You asked to serve under Lanse Siren? The Cadport Cannon?" He whistled. "You crazy or what?"
She growled at him. "You stupid or just an idiot?" She waved the scroll at him. "Yes, Tilla Bloody Siren, says so right here. Where is she?"
The soldier raised his hands in defense, and his eyebrows rose just as high.
"All right, little one, don't have a fit. It's just that, well…" He snickered. "Siren's got a bit of a reputation around here. Say she not only looks like a statue, but got a heart of stone too. Loves her punisher, that one does. But well… if you're a glutton for pain, you might like her." He gestured his chin to a gateway behind him. "Step out the palisade, down the road for two hundred yards, and look for a tent with a cannon banner. You'll find her there."
"Yeah, well, you're a glutton for… dumbness!" Erry said and marched away, fuming.
So what if people badmouthed Tilla? Erry had heard others say the same about her friend, even back in Cadport, calling her cold and haughty. But Erry had seen a different side to her. Erry had seen a kind, sensitive woman beneath the icy exterior. She had seen a friend.
I myself was always an outcast, Erry thought. I myself was always called names. They called me a dock rat, a harlot, and a diseased stray. She knuckled her eyes. But I'm not. And Tilla isn't cruel. We're two outcasts, two lost souls from Cadport… and we'll get through these damn Legions together.
She stepped through the palisade gates, walked down a dirt road, and saw a clearing between the trees. A hundred tents rose here, their black cloth emblazoned with red spirals. Troops marched between them, and several dragons flew above in patrol. If the ruins bustled with workers, here there were only fighters. These men did not wield hammers and chisels, but swords and shields.
Frey is mustering a new army here, Erry thought. Green recruits used to train in this forest clearing. Now Castra Luna will house seasoned warriors to fight the Resistance. She gripped her sword. And I will fight with them.
The tents displayed the banners of their phalanxes. Erry saw sigils of wolves, lions, dragons, swords, and many others. Each phalanx had two tents to its name: one large tent for the common soldiers, one smaller one for its commanding officer. After walking through the camp for several moments, Erry saw two tents bearing Tilla's banners—a cannon overlooking the sea.
When she walked closer, Erry saw the phalanx training in the dirt outside. A hundred perivas and corelis—younger soldiers sporting only one or two stars—stood in black steel, swinging swords. The clashing blades rang. A hulking siragi—an older, gruffer soldier with three stars upon his armbands—was moving between the lower ranks, barking at soldiers to correct their stances and thrusts.
Behind the troops, upon a boulder, stood Lanse Tilla Siren.
Erry's heart skipped a beat.
Stars, she thought and felt herself pale.
She hadn't seen Tilla in six moons, not since the battle here. But Tilla looked like she'd aged six years. Soldiers like Erry wore breastplates, vambraces, and greaves over tan leggings and tunics. Tilla now wore the full plate suit of an officer; the steel covered her from toes to shoulders, perfectly molded to her body. Her pauldrons displayed red spirals—the insignia of command. She did not bear the simple sword of a common soldier anymore, but a fine weapon with a dragonclaw pommel.
Upon her hip, she bore a punisher. Erry gulped. The wounds across her, those her former officer had given her, blazed anew. Did Tilla too punish soldiers with this weapon of lightning and pain? Erry remembered how Lanse Nairi had nearly killed Tilla with her punisher. Did Tilla herself now torture others?
But worse than the punisher was Tilla's face. Erry felt ice fill her belly. Tilla had always seemed pale and aloof, but this… this was different.
No color touched Tilla's face now; she could have been carved from marble. No emotion or life filled her eyes. As she stared upon her troops training, her eyes were dead. Cold. Hard as stone.
She looks like that statue of Frey that stands in Cadport, Erry thought and shivered. She seems just as cold and cruel. Stars, what happened to her at Castra Academia? How, in only six moons, did they freeze her eyes?
When Erry stepped closer to the phalanx, Tilla turned those cold eyes toward her, and their gazes locked.
Erry smiled and waved, expecting Tilla to smile too, to greet her, maybe even to rush forward and embrace her. But still no emotion filled those dark eyes. Erry didn't even see a flicker of recognition within them. Her heart sank.
Stars, doesn't she remember me?
Then Erry realized: Of course! Of course Tilla could not rush toward her, embrace her, or even acknowledge her. She was leading her own phalanx now! She had to act aloof. She had to be strong like Nairi had been. But it was all an act for her soldiers. It had to be.
Erry sucked in her breath, slammed her fist against her chest, and called out.
"Hail the red spiral! I am Periva Erry Docker. I report to duty." She raised her scroll. "I've come from Castra Lan. I'm to serve in the Sea Cannons."
Tilla's eyes narrowed the slightest bit, a movement so subtle Erry wasn't sure it even happened.
For the first time, Tilla spoke.
"Step forward, periva. Hand me that scroll."
Stars! Erry thought. Tilla's voice was even colder than her eyes. It didn't even sound human; it was the voice of a statue. Erry gulped, suddenly not sure this was an act at all. Briefly, she wondered if she had even found the right officer. Was this truly Tilla or simply somebody who looked like her?
Erry stepped forward and held out her scroll.
Everybody was watching them, she realized. The soldiers of the phalanx, a hundred men and women in steel, had stopped drilling and stared.
Tilla looked toward them, and her eyes narrowed further. "Keep drilling!" she shouted, and her voice rolled across the camp. "Do you think the Resistance is standing around gawking?"
The swords began to swing again. The men were hulking warriors, many of them standin
g well over six feet tall, their frames burly. Yet even they looked sheepish as Tilla commanded them.
Merciful stars, Erry thought. She's even harder than Nairi.
Tilla marched toward her, boots thudding, and snatched the scroll from Erry's hands. She scanned the writing quickly, then stared into Erry's eyes.
"Says here you're a troublemaker," Tilla said, scrutinizing Erry. "Says here you break swords, lose helmets, and earned the punisher every day. What makes you think you can serve here, soldier?"
Erry gasped. She wanted to shake Tilla madly, to scream at her. Don't you remember me? You think I'm just some… some troublemaker soldier? I'm your friend! I'm Erry from Cadport!
She glanced back at the drilling soldiers and forced herself to take a shaky breath.
It's just an act, she told herself. It has to be. She's just acting this way for her troops.
"Don't look at them, soldier!" Tilla barked. "I asked you a question. Look at me and answer."
Erry couldn't help it now. She gave a shaky laugh.
"Stars, Tilla," she whispered and shook her head. "Don't you remember me? It's Erry."
Tilla hissed. Her eyes blazed. She looked so much like a rabid wolf that Erry took a step back.
"Into my tent, soldier," Tilla hissed. "Go!"
With that, the young officer spun around and marched into her tent. Shakily, Erry followed her into the shadows, leaving the phalanx to drill outside.
Inside the tent, Erry saw a cot, a small table and chair, and a wooden chest. It was a small tent, maybe nine by nine feet, a retreat for an officer to find privacy from those she commanded.
Finally Tilla can drop her act, Erry thought.
"Well, this is nice, Tilla!" she said and allowed herself a hesitant smile. "Sure beats the old dirt we used to sleep on, right?" She reached for an apple on the table. "And they give you apples! Stars, I should become an officer too. I—"
"You will refer to me as Commander," Tilla said, eyes blazing. "Or you will refer to me as Lanse Tilla. Do you understand, soldier?"
Erry froze, the apple halfway to her mouth, and frowned.
"By the Abyss!" she said. "All right, Commander." Erry laughed shakily. "You… you remember me, don't you? I—"
Tilla snarled. Erry could not believe it. The young woman—her best friend!—snarled at her. Her lips peeled back, her teeth showed, and she growled like a wolf.
"Do not test my patience," she said. "I remember you, Docker. We trained together, yes. You know it. I know it. Those days are over." Tilla took a step forward, towering over the smaller Erry. "I am your commanding officer. That's all I am to you now. Do you understand?"
Erry stood frozen, almost too shocked to breathe.
Merciful stars, she thought. What did they do to her at the academy?
Her eyes burned, and Erry tossed down her apple in disgust. She spat on the floor.
"Well, dog dung, Commander," she said, spitting out that last word like an insult. "You might remember me, but do you remember yourself? Do you remember who you are?"
Tilla clutched her punisher, and its tip crackled to life. "Be careful, periva. Be careful that—"
Erry snorted. "You think I'm scared of you, Tilla? You're just a common, seaside ropemaker's daughter from Cadport. Bloody stars, you and I pissed in the woods together. Now you act all high and mighty?" She laughed mirthlessly, and her eyes would not stop stinging. "Sweaty codpieces, Tilla! Don't you remember? I came here to serve with you again. Like in the old days. Like—"
Tilla drew her punisher. Lightning wreathed its tip.
"I will tell you this once more, periva," Tilla said. "Those days are over. You are no longer a recruit, but a soldier with insignia on your arms. I am no longer the woman you knew. I am your commander now and your officer. Salute me, hail the red spiral, and pray that I forget your words here today. Anyone else would hang for them. This is the one mercy I will show you."
Erry looked at the drawn punisher and barked a laugh.
"What are you going to do—burn me?" She snorted. "Go shove that thing up your fat arse, Roper."
Tilla moved so fast Erry barely saw it. The punisher drove forward. Lightning raced across Erry's breastplate, pain flared, and she screamed.
Her old officer had burned her before, short blasts that made her yelp and jump. Tilla was crueler. She kept her punisher against her, driving all its pain into Erry's armor, flesh, and bones. Tears ran down her cheeks. She fell to her knees. When Tilla finally pulled the punisher back, Erry doubled over, panting and spitting.
"If you will serve under my command, periva," Tilla spoke above, "you will show me respect, or you will burn."
Erry stared up, wincing. Stars floated across the tent. Tilla stood above her, her punisher still drawn, her eyes still dead.
Erry struggled to her feet.
She raised her chin, only as tall as Tilla's shoulders, but stretched to every inch of height she had. She slammed a trembling fist against her breastplate.
"I salute," she said through stiff lips. "I salute Cadport. I salute the friend I once had. And I salute the memory of Mae Baker, a memory you shame." She spat on Tilla's boots. "And you, Commander, can go lick horse dung."
With that, she fled the tent, shifted into a dragon, and took flight.
She soared above the clearing. She heard shouts, roars, and flapping wings behind her. Erry didn't bother looking back. She was among the slimmest, fastest dragons in the Legions. If she did not want to be caught, she wouldn't. She streamed over the forest and blazed fire skyward.
Damn you, Tilla, she thought. Her eyes dampened and she spewed her flame. Damn you to the Abyss, and damn these Legions, and damn you, Mae, for dying, and damn you this stupid, stupid war.
She didn't know where to go now. She didn't care. She'd had enough of forts. She'd had enough of damn commanders. She'd had enough of this whole damn world.
Erry Docker howled and flew into the horizon, tears in her eyes and fire in her throat.
RUNE
They climbed the hill, rose from the cover of trees, and beheld a canyon that halved the land.
"Cain's Canyon," Rune whispered, the wind billowing his cloak and hair. "Burn me, it's larger than I imagined. All of Lynport could fit in there."
At his side, Valien nodded and scratched his grizzled stubble. "Aye, and Lord Cain will brag to you about it, wait and see. 'All the people of Cadport could fit into my canyon!' he boasts to all who visit. The man's been hunkered down in there for years, and he never forgave Lynport for calling itself the Jewel of the South. He sees himself as a southern lord and Lynport as stealing his glory."
Rune sighed. "If he saw Lynport now, its homes rotten and its port dead, maybe he'd feel less jealous."
Valien raised an eyebrow. "Lord Devin Cain lives in a hole in the ground—literally. I think even a barren boardwalk is enough to stir his jealousy." Valien hefted his pack over his shoulders, rattling its pans and knives. "Come now, it's still a long walk there among the trees, and I dare not fly yet. The Legions patrol these skies too."
Rune stood for a moment upon the hilltop, staring down over the trees at the canyon. It stretched across the land as far as he could see. The forest plunged into it, trees tilting over its rim, roots sticking out like hair over a scar. Mist floated within its depths, and flocks of birds flew over the shadows, their cries echoing. Rune had seen wonders before: the towering Ralora Cliffs over the sea, the lost glory of Confutatis in the east, and the clock tower of Castra Luna. Yet he thought Cain's Canyon the greatest among them, certainly the largest; he could probably fit all those other wonders into its depths.
"Rune!" Valien's raspy voice rose from the trees coating the hillside below. "Come, follow. You're too visible up there."
Rune too hefted his pack, gripped the hilt of his Amber Sword, and began climbing downhill.
They walked between the trees in silence. They had been walking through this forest for three days now, leaving their camp far behind. Since abandon
ing Castra Luna, the Resistance had been hiding in the western forests of Old Salvandos, a lush wilderness of oaks, pines, and maples so thick no scouts could see through the treetops. Three thousand resistors still hid in their camp, living in holes, treetop nests, and hidden burrows.
Rune had found the camp a blessed change from the ruins of Confutatis, the fallen city where the Resistance had once hidden. The Legions had taken three resistors alive at Castra Luna and flown them north to the capital. That meant three bodies had been tortured, and three mouths had screamed of their old camp. And so, for several moons now, the Resistance had hidden in the wilderness. Their new forest home was humble, but green and safe. Walking here with Valien, Rune missed it. He missed his warm underground burrow with its soft bed of leaves. He missed drinking ale with his fellow resistors and whispering old stories of Requiem. And he missed Kaelyn.
You wait for me there, Kaelyn, Rune thought. Watch over our people. He squared his jaw. I'll be back with aid. I promise you. I promise.
"Rune!" rose the voice ahead, and Valien's leathery face peered from between the trees, framed with shaggy hair. "Move your arse. We have little time to spare."
Rune gave a mock salute. "I'm right on your heels, old man."
As they kept walking through the forest, Rune sighed. He had spent days now alone with Valien, whom he found far, far less pleasant company than Kaelyn. True, Valien was a great warrior, a strong leader, and a man Rune admired. But he was also gruff. He still cursed and drank too much. Whenever Rune slipped or fell behind, Valien had a sharp remark.
And the training. Stars, the training still left Rune bruised and cramped. Every evening, Valien insisted they practice their swordplay, and the man was ruthless, slamming his sword against Rune's armor again and again, denting it and bruising the flesh beneath.
"Tough in training, easy in battle," the former knight kept saying, but amusement always filled his dark eyes; Rune thought he rather enjoyed beating him black and blue.
The noon sun shone when they reached the canyon. A flock of cranes flew overhead, singing and beating their wings. The trees tilted over the crevice, clinging to the canyon's rim and nearly falling over. Rune approached gingerly, grabbed a pine, and leaned forward. The depth spun his head. The canyon plunged a mile deep, ending with a rocky floor. Mist floated in the depths like ghosts.
A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2) Page 5
