A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2)

by Daniel Arenson

  "Fill this place with fire!" Tilla screamed.

  She rose above the courtyard roof. Holes had been carved into the stone; she saw them too late. Arrows fired from within, and Tilla screamed. Several arrows shattered against the breastplate that protected her belly. Two more pierced her wounded wing, tearing straight through the skin. The pain nearly blinded her, but she turned and dived.

  She swooped down along the columns and sprayed her fire into the courthouse shadows.

  Cannons blasted from within. A hundred cannonballs flew skyward, tearing into dragons; one skimmed along her breastplate, raising sparks. Tilla snarled. Beyond the shadows and smoke behind the columns, she saw men scurry to scoop gunpowder from barrels.

  Tilla growled and blew fire.

  Her flaming jet spun between two columns, raced by a cannon, and slammed against the barrels.

  Tilla soared.

  Arrows whistled and shattered against her armor and scales. One scraped alone her tail. Tilla kept rising.

  An explosion rocked the courthouse below.

  Smoke burst skyward, enveloping Tilla.

  Chunks of stone flew, peppering her breastplate and slamming into her wings.

  She kept soaring. The dragons of her phalanx rose along with her, howling and coughing.

  "Get back down there," she shouted, "and slay them all!"

  She dived back into the square. She drove through the smoke, heading toward the courthouse. She beat her wings, shoving the smoke back, and revealed three shattered columns. A chunk of roof had fallen, and blood seeped from beneath. Some columns still stood, and cannons lay overturned beside them. Resistors scurried deeper into the crumbling building.

  "Warriors!" Tilla howled. "Human forms—enter after me!"

  She landed by the standing columns, shifted into a human, and drew her sword. Behind her, dozens of dragons followed suit.

  "Slay the Resistance!" Tilla shouted. "Slay them all."

  She ran between the columns into the shadows. Her men ran behind her. Arrows flew from within, and one grazed her armor. Others slammed into men behind her; some arrows punched through steel, and the men fell.

  "Slay them!" Tilla shouted. She ran, sword held above her, into a shadowy hall.

  They waited there, a hundred resistors. They were ashy and bloody, yet they drew their blades, shouted, and ran toward her.

  "Hail the red spiral!" Tilla cried, slammed into their ranks, and swung her blade. At her sides, her fellow warriors clashed against the enemy. Swords lashed and men fell dead.

  You made me do this, Rune, Tilla thought as she swung her sword, slicing into flesh, slaying men at every turn. She screamed madly, painting the hall red. You made me kill.

  Tears burned in her eyes, but still Lanse Tilla Siren fought and killed as her city burned around her.

  RUNE

  He crawled from the tunnel into the silo, covered in dirt and ash. At least, once this place had been a silo. The grain had been emptied, and the chamber now served as a pillbox, a brick outpost with embrasures along the walls for firing arrows or dragonfire.

  The corpses of two archers lay here, charred black.

  Fire can be blown inward too, Rune thought with a grimace, stepping over the remains.

  The brick walls surrounded him, sooty and still hot. Rune sucked in his breath and shifted into a dragon, all but trapping himself between the stone walls. Through the slits, Rune glimpsed legionaries running through the city streets, shouting in the night.

  He thrust his jaw against an arrowslit, sucked in his breath, and sprayed the street with fire.

  Screams rose.

  When his flames died, he saw soldiers falling ablaze, tearing at their red-hot armor.

  "A hundred or more outside!" Rune shouted over his shoulder to the hole in the floor; more resistors hid there.

  "Hold them back!" Kaelyn shouted from below.

  Rune peered out the arrowslit. A dozen soldiers had fallen. A dozen more were rushing forward. He blasted them with more flames, and they fell.

  A dragon shrieked.

  Blasts of air pounded the street, scattering dust, discarded armor, and a severed hand. Rune glimpsed blue scales in the night—a dragon swooping toward the pillbox. A boom echoed. The walls creaked and rained dust. The dragon slammed into the walls again, shrieking, and through the hole, Rune glimpsed a blue tail lashing.

  "Damn it," he muttered. He blasted flames out the arrowslit, and the blue dragon shrieked. Rune glimpsed the beast stumbling back in the street, and his heart seemed to freeze.

  The dragon had only one wing. The other was built of wood, rope, and leather.

  "Shari Cadigus," he whispered.

  Charred and howling, the blue dragon faced the silo again. Through the arrowslit, her eyes met Rune's.

  He blasted more fire outward.

  Shari shrieked.

  "Resistor in the silo!" rose her howls. "Topple it down. Tear down the walls!"

  More dragons slammed into the walls. Loose bricks fell and clattered.

  "Get out of there, Rune!" Kaelyn shouted below.

  He blasted more fire out the hole, scorching Shari, and shifted back into human form. The walls trembled and cracked around him. He leaped into the tunnel and plunged into darkness.

  Kaelyn grabbed him, and they crawled as fast as they could. Above him, Rune heard the silo collapse. Bricks and dust tumbled into the tunnel, and he coughed, blinded.

  "Keep crawling!" Kaelyn said and tugged his arm. They raced down the burrow. A dozen resistors crawled ahead of them, holding lamps.

  Shari's voice echoed above, muffled beyond the debris.

  "Clear the bricks and into the tunnel! The rats scurry there."

  Rune crawled as fast as he could, burrowing forward on his elbows. Heat blazed behind him.

  "Rune, they're coming after us!" Kaelyn shouted, crawling before him.

  "Keep moving!" he shouted back.

  Where's the rope? Damn it, where is it?

  He heard the legionaries tug bricks, clearing a path to the tunnel. Rune hissed and kept crawling. Armor clanked behind him, and the cries of legionaries filled the tunnel.

  There!

  The rope dangled from the tunnel roof. Rune scurried by and tugged.

  Hands reached out and grabbed his feet.

  The tunnel collapsed behind him.

  Bricks and soil crashed down, burying the legionaries who'd grabbed him. Dust blinded Rune, heat bathed him, and he coughed. When the debris cleared, he breathed raggedly.

  "Another tunnel lost," he said hoarsely, tugging himself free from the dead man's grip.

  They had been fighting for a night and day now. They had lost a dozen tunnels, a dozen homes, and a dozen pillboxes. The courthouse had fallen.

  So many were dead.

  Kaelyn coughed ahead of him, smeared with dust and dirt. She reached out and grabbed his hand.

  "Come on, Rune," she said. "We have to keep moving. Keep crawling. We're almost at Castellum Acta."

  He kept crawling, following her and the others. The sounds of battle faded behind. Judging by the other tunnels they had sabotaged, it would take the legionaries an hour to clear the rubble and crawl in pursuit.

  But they always did follow.

  They always emerged into the next hideout, swinging their swords and blowing their fire.

  But he kept crawling.

  He kept fighting.

  It had been a night and day, and he had not eaten, drunk, or slept, but he kept going.

  "How many still fight in the fort?" he asked, pulling himself through the darkness. It was almost winter, but the air was sweltering down here; he could barely breathe.

  "Six hundred men last time I was there," Kaelyn replied. "But the damn Legions keep blasting fire at the walls. We're down to only ten barrels of gunpowder."

  Rune felt his belly sink as he crawled.

  "We will not last a day there," he said. "They are too many."

  Still wriggling along the tunnel,
Kaelyn snarled at him over her shoulder. "We will last a moon. We will keep slaying them. Their bodies litter the hillside, and we will slay ten of them for every one of us they kill."

  They crawled for an hour, passing many forks in the tunnel where other resistors moved. Many were bloodied. Some were missing limbs. Some screamed as their comrades pulled them into safe burrows for healing. Rune could not guess how many had died already, but at every house and street where he had fought, he saw them there—the corpses of his brothers and sisters.

  Finally they reached the tall, narrow shaft that rose upward into shadow. A wooden sign stood here, bearing the word: "Library". The actual library lay hundreds of yards west of here; all the signs in these tunnels were mislabeled, meant to confuse the Legions should they crawl here. Kaelyn, Rune, and the other resistors climbed the shaft, clinging to its wooden ladder. They opened a trapdoor and emerged into the hall of Castellum Acta, the fortress on the hill.

  A hundred resistors stood here, surrounding a table heavy with maps, swords, and wooden pieces carved as dragons. Kegs of gunpowder rose at the back. A dozen archers stood along the walls, firing arrows from slits.

  Valien stood at the table, clad in leather armor, glaring down at a parchment map of the tunnels. Other resistors stood around him, caked with dirt, and moved pieces around the map.

  "Valien!" Kaelyn said, walking toward him. "The silo at Well Road has fallen. We destroyed the tunnel before fleeing."

  Valien looked up, cursed, and slammed his fist against the table.

  "Stars damn it." He lifted a piece of coal, and crossed out an outpost on the map. "Is the silo claimed or completely fallen?"

  Rune marched forward too, wincing. Welts blazed across his body.

  "Damn walls fell all around me."

  Grumbling, Valien moved several small wooden dragons across the map. When Rune stood closer, he stared down at the parchment and cursed.

  "Merciful stars, Valien," he said. "We've lost, what… a quarter of our tunnels already?"

  The grizzled old knight nodded. "And losing more fast. I—"

  Shrieks sounded outside the hall. The archers shouted and fired with more fervor.

  "Another assault!" one archer cried over his shoulder. "Two phalanxes—and they're angry."

  Valien was already shouting orders at his men. "Send two hundred dragons out—stop that assault!"

  Resistors leaped onto a stairway and raced up, leaving the hall and climbing the tower. Wings thudded and more dragons shrieked. Through the arrowslits, Rune glimpsed hundreds of resistors flying as dragons—they had emerged from the tower top—and crashing against the enemy. Blood rained.

  Rune began marching toward the tower stairs; the hall doors were bricked up, but the tower still held a trapdoor for fighters.

  "I'm joining them," he said, grinding his teeth.

  Before he could reach the staircase, Valien grabbed his arm.

  "No, Rune," he said and glared. Weariness filled his eyes, but fire too. "You do not fly out as a dragon. You fight in the tunnels. We've discussed this. They know the color of your scales; they would mob you on sight."

  Rune growled. "I want to fight in the sky!" he said. "I will not watch my comrades fly out while I cower here."

  Valien tightened his grip. "Cower, Rune? No. You fight the way I need you to fight—in shadow. Striking from the dark. That is your task."

  He looked out the arrowslits. The imperial dragons were crashing against the resistors. Scales flew like kicked seashells. Smoke and fire stormed across the sky. As dragons died, their magic vanished. Human bodies tumbled to the hillsides.

  "We won't last much longer here," Rune said. "They fight too well in the air."

  Valien nodded, released him, and returned to the table. "Which is why we must keep fighting underground. Tunnel by tunnel. House by house."

  Rune walked to the table too; he had to lean against it for fear of falling. He sighed and wiped sweat off his brow.

  "They are too many," he said. "They've claimed too much. How much longer can we hold out, Valien?"

  He no longer asked: Can we win? He knew the answer. They could not.

  "As long as we can," Valien replied. "A few days. Less than a moon. We cannot hold this city forever. But we can make them pay a heavy price here. We can make them bleed."

  Rune left the table. He walked toward the back of the hall. He faced the second, smaller staircase. This one plunged down into shadow, dug into the hill. It led to a tunnel, yet not one that linked to the network.

  "When do we take these stairs?" he asked softly.

  Armor creaking, Valien came to stand beside him. The older man placed a hand on Rune's shoulder.

  "I will not yet give the order," he said. "We cannot be seen to flee so quickly, not if we've already begun this fight."

  Rune looked at him. Valien's face was haggard and leathery beneath his beard. His eyes stared grimly at the shadowy stairs. A struggle raged behind those eyes, some old memory of pain. The man's calloused fists clenched at his sides.

  The tunnel leads into the sea, Rune thought, looking back at it. It led into the water where he'd swim with Tilla. The water where ships had sailed. The water this town had grown along, that had brought it life… that could now save them.

  He tried to imagine crawling down this tunnel on his elbows until water roared, dark and salty and stinging his wounds. He would swim—for how long? He'd have to hold his breath for as long as he could, swimming south. He'd emerge from the sea, breathe air, sink again and swim some more.

  He would flee his home… and Lynport would burn behind him.

  The bodies would remain behind him.

  The memories, his childhood, and Tilla… they would all remain behind.

  He turned away and marched back toward the table. Kaelyn and several other resistors were frowning at the map, tracing tunnels and discussing troop movements. Rune jabbed his finger against the parchment.

  "We'll strike them here in the butcher shop, the eastern gates, and the old smithy." He looked up and met Kaelyn's gaze; she stared back, eyes haunted in her sooty face. "Are you ready to fight some more, Kaelyn?"

  She managed a trembling smile, her teeth white against the mud and ash on her face. "Always."

  They returned to the tunnels.

  They fought on.

  LERESY

  He could not breathe.

  The fear pounded through him. His pulse beat in his ears like war drums. The air was cold in the potter shop—he knew it was—yet sweat soaked his clothes. At his side, Yorne, that gaunt bastard, was peering out the window's shutters and saying something to Leresy, but he couldn't hear.

  The damn blood in my ears is too loud! Leresy thought. He pawed at those ears, as if he could tear out the sound, but his fingers trembled. His breath shook.

  He looked around him. Twenty other Lechers filled the brick shop. The shelves had fallen and the pottery lay smashed. Their tunnel gaped open in the floor. Leresy had a map of the network, and Yorne claimed to have memorized it already. But it was all a mess to Leresy. It was all a confusion of darkness and blood and everywhere his father's soldiers. How many tunnels had he crawled through? How many men had he seen torn apart, their blood splashing the city? He did not know.

  I made a mistake, he thought, lips trembling. I should never have come here. Yet how can I flee without seeming the coward?

  Yorne turned toward him. The gruff, tattooed man was still talking, but still Leresy couldn't make out the words.

  I'm going to die here, he thought, staring at his men. The enemy approaches. I'm going to die with this lot of stinking, drunken louts. Oh stars.

  "Ler!"

  A small hand grabbed his arm. Leresy turned and saw Erry. The urchin was kneeling by the front door. She gave him a glower, peered out the keyhole, then turned back toward him. Soot filled her hair and coated her leather armor. A bandage wrapped around her arm.

  "Erry," he whispered.

  He tried to imagine the
day she had first come to his camp, how they had eaten the boar, how he had taken her into his bed. He tried to imagine holding her again, stroking her hair, kissing her head, and protecting her.

  When I protected her, I myself always felt so safe, he thought. I wish I could feel safe now. His eyes stung. I want to be back in my tent, back with Erry in my arms, not here waiting with her to die.

  "Ler, damn it!" she said and tugged his collar. "Are you listening to me?"

  She had been talking, he realized. He forced himself to swallow. He forced himself to speak through tight lips.

  "Yes," he said.

  She glared. "Good! They'll be here soon. They're down the block now, twenty of them, moving house by house." She grinned. "Ler, you take these ones out. It's your turn. Looks like a good batch of them too." She winked. "You'll find one of them familiar, I think."

  Leresy sucked in a shaky breath.

  Be strong, he told himself. Be strong. You're a Lecher. You lead the Lechers! Show Erry you're strong.

  He moved toward the door and peered through the keyhole. A small mirror was placed across the street, hidden in a water spout. In the reflection, he could see them.

  "Burn me," he whispered.

  Twenty legionaries were moving down the street, bedecked in black armor. They bore loaded crossbows. They were tall, strong men, an elite group of fighters, yet their commander towered above them. The brute stood seven feet tall and wide as an ox. He did not wear the polished black armor of the Legions, but patches of rusted iron cobbled together over strips of chainmail. Scars rifted his stubbly head, and dark circles hung under his beady eyes.

  "Beras the Brute," Leresy whispered. Through he still hid in the pottery shop, hidden from view, he clutched the hilt of his sword.

  He kept watching, sweat trickling down his spine. The legionaries were marching down the alley; it was too narrow for a dragon. They stopped at a barbershop about fifty yards away. Beras approached the door, grunted, and kicked.

  The door shattered open.

  At once, the legionaries leaped forward. Crossbows thrummed. Bolts shot into the house.

  "Slay all inside!" Beras howled and burst into the barbershop. His men followed, drawing their swords.