Curses rose and echoed down the alley.
"Nothing but damn dummies again!" Beras shouted. "Don't touch them, men. Damn Resistance has rigged up these bastards with Tiran fire. A spark from your sword can set them off."
The brute trundled back into the alley, and his men followed.
"Damn it," Leresy whispered. "They figured out the dummies."
He himself had almost died touching one of the straw men; Kaelyn had pulled his hand back, saving his life. The Resistance had spent days sewing these decoys together. They wore armor and helms, and they carried swords, but inside their suits, they were only straw soaked with Tiran fire. The liquid was costly—a single vial of Tiran fire cost more than ten barrels of gunpowder—but it would ignite on a single spark. Any soldier within ten feet of a Tiran straw man would be torn apart.
As Leresy watched, Beras and his men kept moving down the street. They passed by the next house. A family had lived in the small, clay home before being evacuated. Since then, Leresy knew from his map, a family of Tiran dummies had taken residence.
"Load your crossbows," Beras ordered and kicked in this door too.
The men stepped forward. Crossbows fired.
An explosion rocked the street.
The house crumbled.
The clay walls shattered and the roof blazed. One man fell back, burning and screaming.
"More dummies," Beras said. He hawked, spat, and glared at the burning man. "Somebody put that bastard out. We keep moving. Bloody resistors are in one of these houses; dragons keep rising from this alley. Their tunnel is here somewhere."
Leresy gulped.
Stars, they're only a few doors away now, he thought. He clutched the hilt of his sword, but his hand was so sweaty the hilt kept sliding. They will be here in moments.
"How far are they?" Erry asked, kneeling beside him.
He pulled away from the keyhole. "Five doors down." The sounds of shattering wood and thrumming crossbows rose outside, and Leresy swallowed. "Four."
Erry sucked her teeth. "Ready?"
He nodded.
He looked up at the rope. It dangled over the pottery shop doorway. He traced it up to the rafters, where it vanished into a hole in the ceiling. Leresy tried to draw a deep breath, but it shuddered and only entered his lungs in spurts.
Another door shattered outside. More crossbows thrummed.
"Three," Erry whispered, replacing him at the keyhole.
Leresy could barely breathe. His throat was too tight. His pulse raged in his ears like galloping horses. He looked behind him at his twenty men, hardened Lechers with stubbly faces and dour eyes. They clutched the hilts of their swords, ready for battle.
Oh stars, the blood will spill. Oh stars, I'm going to die.
Leresy closed his eyes for just an instant, but it was enough. He could see the battle again, the massacre at Castra Luna. Behind his eyelids, he saw his soldiers fall screaming, so many youths torn apart.
You died there too, Nairi, he thought, and his eyes burned with tears. And now Erry was here, a new light in his life. Now Erry was in danger.
Another door shattered outside, and Erry peeked through the keyhole.
"Two," she whispered.
His throat was so dry. His breath panted. The room spun. He looked over at Erry, and his chest twisted. She was so young. She was so small. Beneath the mud caking her, she was only a frail doll, so delicate, so fair.
I can't lose her too. I can't…
A door shattered outside.
"One more door," she whispered, peering out the keyhole. "Wait for it…"
Leresy grabbed the rope. His hand shook, damp with sweat, but he clutched the rope tight like a drowning man. He could hear the soldiers creaking outside, only a few yards away. He could smell their sweat and leather.
I don't want to be here, he thought. Stars, I want to be back home. I want to be back at the Bad Cats. Anywhere but here…
"Wait for it…," Erry mouthed, not even daring to whisper.
Boots thudded.
Shadows fluttered under the pottery shop doorway.
"Now!" Erry screamed.
Leresy started. He stared.
"Now, damn it!" Erry cried, grabbed his hand, and yanked the rope down.
Shouts sounded outside. Leresy knelt, stared through the keyhole, and saw three barrels crash down from the pottery shop roof. They hit the alleyway and slammed into the soldiers.
"Back, damn it!" somebody cried and yanked Leresy backward.
The world seemed to explode.
Gunpowder blasted, so loud Leresy thought it would tear his eardrums. The pottery shop door crashed open. Leresy fell onto his backside and stared, eyes wide. Outside in the street, the barrels were gone. Flames roared. Soldiers lay dead, torn apart. A severed head burned. Blood spilled. A few men still lived; they clutched at their cracked armor as their innards leaked. They wept.
"Attack!" Yorne shouted, leaped over Leresy, and burst into the alley. The other Lechers ran behind him, swords swinging. Erry ran among them, howling for battle and waving her blade.
Leresy sat in the pottery shop, unable to rise, unable to breathe, just staring through the shattered door.
Five or six legionaries still stood. They swung their swords against the Lechers. Blades clanged. Yorne's sword cleaved a man's leg, then slammed down against his helm. Erry screamed as she duelled another legionary.
Leresy could only stare.
So much blood, he thought, chest rising and falling like a frightened hare. So much death.
"Leresy, damn it, come on!" Erry screamed outside. She gestured toward him, then cursed and raised her blade, parrying a blow.
He wanted to fight. Truly, he wanted to! He tried to rise. He could not. His legs had stopped obeying him. It was all he could do to even breathe.
"I…" he whispered and licked his lips. "I can't… I…"
He managed to rise to his feet. He gripped his sword's hilt, but his hand was too sweaty to draw it. He stumbled two steps forward, and blood flowed around his boots. He clenched his jaw and struggled not to gag.
Outside the smashed door, Beras came lolloping down the alley, boots crushing planks of wood and corpses. The brute snarled. Half his face was burnt away, yet still he raised his axe.
Erry stood with her back to him, dueling another man.
The axe rose higher above her.
Finally Leresy could move. His heart seemed to stop and his lungs to collapse, but he leaped forward. A torn howl left his lips. Screaming, he managed to draw his sword but not raise it. He flung himself into the alley and crashed into Beras, driving his shoulder into the beast.
"Erry!" he shouted.
Beras was so large he didn't fall back a single step, let alone fall; Leresy might as well shove a dragon. But his shove was enough to throw off the brute's aim. His axe swung down and missed Erry by an inch; it embedded itself into a corpse at her feet.
With a grunt, Beras turned toward Leresy.
The brute looked less like a man and more like a demon. The burnt half of his face twisted and leaked blood. Drool dripped between his teeth and down his chin. He towered, a foot taller than Leresy and twice as wide.
Leresy stumbled and raised his sword.
With a lurch, Beras tore his axe free from the corpse and swung it, knocking Leresy's blade aside. The man's hand—large and hairy as a paw—reached out and grabbed Leresy's throat.
Leresy sputtered. He tried to raise his sword, but Beras squeezed tighter, and the weapon fell from his hand. Stars spread across his vision.
"Well if it isn't the young princeling," Beras said. He grinned and licked his lips. "My my. Or is it princess? I never could tell with you. A pretty one, you are."
Leresy kicked. He scratched at the hand, but it was like scratching at stone. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't scream. He tried to look around for Erry, for Yorne, for the others, to plead for aid, but he could only see the burnt, drooling mask before him.
"I'm going
to cut you slowly," Beras said. Blood dripped down his wound into his mouth. "I'm going to savor this, princess."
Stars floated and blackness spread.
Still clutching Leresy's throat with one hand, Beras drew his dagger and raised it.
"I'm going to start by slicing your pretty face," he said. "Then I'm going to—"
Beras howled.
His fingers opened.
Leresy gasped for breath, fell to his knees, and saw Erry behind the beast. She leaned against her sword, driving it deeper into Beras's unarmored leg.
With a thud that shook the alleyway, Beras fell to his knees and howled.
Erry. No. I can't lose you too, Erry, I can't.
Leresy grabbed his fallen sword, rose to his feet, and thrust the blade.
The steel crashed into Beras's neck and emerged bloody from the other side, missing Erry by an inch.
Leresy stood still, clutching the hilt, staring with wide eyes. His breath froze.
Blood spurted from Beras's mouth. His dagger clattered to the ground. He raised his hand, and for an instant Leresy thought he'd choke him again… and then he fell.
Beras the Brute, enforcer of Cadigus, the beastliest man Leresy had ever known, lay dead upon the ground.
I killed a man, Leresy thought, staring down at the corpse. Stars, I killed a man.
He had dreamed of this moment. For years, he had dreamed of making his first kill. In his fantasies, he'd always brag, walk into the Bad Cats with his victim's head, and be hailed a hero. Dawn and Dusk would welcome him with kisses, and later that day, his father would host a feast in his honor. Today Leresy doubled over and heaved; if he'd had any food in his belly, he'd have lost it.
Erry approached him, grumbling under her breath.
"Damn mule of a man," she said, staring down at the corpse. The bodies of the other legionaries lay around them, torn apart, bones rising from gore like shattered branches. The Lechers stood above the remains; Yorne was busy tugging his blade free from a breastplate it had cleaved.
Leresy took two great steps forward, climbed over the corpse, and pulled Erry into his embrace. He held her so tight he must have hurt her. Tears filled his eyes and he kissed her head, smearing his lips with mud.
"Thank the stars, Erry," he whispered.
Shrieks sounded above. Fire crackled.
"Dragons!" Yorne howled. "Into the tunnels!"
They ran. They raced back into the pottery shop. Outside, fire bathed the alley. They leaped into the hole in the floor.
They crawled in darkness, heading toward their next house.
They had been fighting for two nights and days, and Leresy hadn't slept and had barely eaten, but his body tingled with fire.
"I killed Beras the Brute," he whispered in darkness, knuckled his eyes, and snarled. "And I will kill you, Shari. And I will you, Father. I will kill every last one of you, I swear."
As they crawled, he could not stop his damn tears.
LANA
In the sunset, she saw the canyon ahead, and tears filled her good eye.
"Home," she whispered.
She beat her wings with more vigor. She glided over the forests, heading toward the chasm. The refugees of Lynport flew all around her, tens of thousands of dragons. When they saw the canyon, they wept in relief, blessed the stars, and blasted fire.
"Home," Lana repeated as she flew. "Safety."
She took a shuddering breath. Almost two decades ago, she had hidden from Cadigus for a year in this canyon. She had seen so many die around her from starvation, thirst, and disease. She herself had dwindled to only skin and bones and trembling fever.
"I lost my eye that year to his fang," she whispered. "I lost my three older brothers. Do I fly into another year of agony?" She looked behind her toward Lynport, but the city was too distant to see. "Fight well, Valien. Make this our shelter, not our tomb."
The dragons pulled their wings close and dived down, a great herd descending above the forest. The trees creaked below, the last of their autumn leaves tearing under the flap of wings. Lana sucked in the cold air, tightened her jaw, and dived into the canyon. Behind her, the refugees followed, a mass of scales and smoke and wings that blocked the sky.
The canyon walls rushed at her sides. Behind her, the myriads of dragons filled the canyon like a rushing river. She raced down this great stone corridor. The old pain pounded through her, and her missing eye blazed again, and her body shook with memory of fever. She flew.
The Castle-in-the-Cliff loomed ahead, its facade carved into the living rock of the canyon. Its limestone columns rose hundreds of feet tall. Its Stone Guardians, great statues with fists like carriages, flanked its doors.
"Home," she whispered. "Memory. Salvation."
The City of Cain delved deep into the cliff, a network of great halls, chambers, bridges, and corridors. Libraries lit with hundreds of lamps hid behind the stone. Staircases rose and fell, leading to kitchens, armories, nurseries, and barracks. All those Cain ruled lived here—the Vir Requis of the Canyon, the dwellers in stone.
We will barely squeeze Lynport into our halls, Lana thought. They will sleep in our libraries, our armories, our corridors, and our pantries. They will hide under the stone.
"They will survive," she whispered. "Fight well, Valien. Fight well, Rune. Defend your home. I will protect your people."
Her belly twisted with the old hunger, and her two eyes blazed, the one in her head, and the one that still screamed. One eye always seeing the present, the eye of a woman, a warrior, a leader. And one eye torn away, taken by Cadigus, the eye of a girl grown up too fast… always seeing old hunger and blood.
She landed outside the Castle-in-the-Cliff, her claws clattering against the canyon floor. She shifted into human form and gripped the hilt of her sword. She raised her eyes and stared at her home: the statues, the columns, and the wide stairs that led to a shadowy archway.
The dragons of Lynport landed around her and took human forms. Mothers clutched their children. Elders prayed to the stars, the forbidden gods of Requiem. They huddled close and gasped at the castle carved into the canyon's facade.
Lana climbed a dozen steps toward the palace doors, then turned to face the people. The Stone Guardians rose at her sides.
"I welcome you to the Castle-in-the-Cliff!" she called, her voice echoing across the canyon. With this welcome, the Stone Guardians would accept them. "Enter my home. Enter safety."
She turned, climbed the last steps, and walked through the archway.
The shadowy grand hall greeted her. Two lines of columns ran into the depths of the cliff. Braziers crackled between them, lighting a path toward her father's throne. Beyond the columns, darkness spread; Lana knew that it spread through many chambers and halls. Figures stood in those shadows, still and silent. Her father always boasted that his guards stood in darkness like vipers, ready to strike any who strayed from the path of light.
Lana turned around to face the gateway. The people of Lynport stood there, glancing into the darkness but daring not enter. They were humble townsfolk; most had never left Lynport before. They clutched their belongings: packs of clothes, bundles of firewood, pots and pans, and sacks of grain.
One eye of hope, one eye of pain. One eye saw frightened townsfolk. The other saw starving, haggard people at siege, dying upon the staircase as the Legions swarmed upon them.
"Enter my hall, people of Lynport!" she called. "Enter and find shelter, warmth, and food."
She beckoned to them. They hesitated, glancing around nervously, and Lana remembered that to outsiders, her home looked like a mausoleum to giants. Yet she kept calling to them, and they climbed the stairs. They entered the shadows.
Lana turned back toward the throne; it rose distant across the hall, so small she could hide it with her thumb. She walked across the mosaics, her boots clattering, and breathed deeply of the warm air. The shadows of soldiers fell between the columns, and the braziers crackled and tossed red light.
"Fath
er!" she called out. "Father, I've returned."
When she drew closer, she frowned. Her father sat hunched over in his throne, wrapped in a great bear hide. A man stood beside him, clad in a red cloak lined with gold. A crimson hood hid his face. Lana gripped the hilt of her sword.
The colors of Cain were yellow and gray. The colors of the Resistance were silver and green. Who would wear red here, the color of Cadigus?
She kept walking forward. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw the townsfolk of Lynport follow, elders on canes, mothers holding babes, and children staring with wide eyes. Again her phantom eye saw them starving, naked, and begging for water. She blinked and returned her gaze ahead.
"Father!" she called.
She was close enough to see his face now. He looked up at her from under heavy eyebrows. His hair, red streaked with white, hung wildly around his leathery face. His shoulders stooped, and circles ringed his eyes.
"My daughter," he said, voice gravelly. "My daughter… He killed them. He killed your brothers." Devin Cain's fists trembled and his eyes watered. "He killed them all and he took your eye."
Lana paused. She sucked in her breath. She gripped her sword.
"That was almost twenty years ago," she whispered. "Father, we can save these people now. We can—"
Lord Cain rose to his feet. "No, daughter. I will not suffer another siege. I will not lose another child." He turned to the man robed in red. "Take your blood. Take it all and leave."
The man pulled back his crimson hood, turned toward Lana, and smiled thinly.
"Hello, Lady Lana," said emperor Frey. "It's a pleasure to meet you again." He grinned wildly and raised his voice to a shout. "Purification!"
From among the columns, the soldiers leaped. They were not men of Cain, robed in gray and wielding sabers. A thousand legionaries leaped into the hall, clad in black steel and bearing longswords, red spirals blazing upon their breastplates.
"Purification!" they cried.
The people of Lynport began to flee.
Shrieks echoed as Frey Cadigus shifted into a dragon, opened his maw, and blasted fire across the hall.
The flames roared. The people of Lynport fell and burned. Outside, the shrieks of more dragons rose, chanting for the red spiral and blasting their flames.
A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2) Page 20
