Scales and flame rolled across him.
He saw nothing else.
Goodbye.
Flapping his wings within the storm, caught in the whirlpool of fangs and steel and fire, he looked above him, seeking the emperor, seeking the man who'd destroyed his town, his soul, his life.
Yet when he looked above, the golden dragon was gone.
A white dragon hovered there, her scales glimmering, her eyes soft with tears.
Rune breathed shakily.
"Tilla," he whispered.
Her tears fell. She glided down toward him, a moonlit angel of celestial halls, and her claws shook.
"Rune," she said. "Rune."
And he was flying with her again, side by side over the sea at night. They danced around the moon. They stood upon the beach, held each other, and shared a kiss of farewell.
"Rune," she had said to him that day, a barefooted youth with seashells around her neck. "Fly with me. One last flight.
They had flown together then, two youths entering a war too big for them, leaving their home and flying into a battle they could not win.
They flew together now too, gliding in darkness and fire.
Tilla. Pillar of my memory. Anchor of my soul.
She reached out toward him, the Legions at her back, a hundred thousand demons cackling and howling for his death.
"Tilla," he whispered again, too tired to fight, too torn to shout.
Her claws wrapped around his shoulders, and her tears fell upon him.
"It's over now," she whispered. "We're together again."
The emperor laughed in the distance, and the Legions tightened around Rune. Claws cut him. Tails lashed him. His blood spilled. His breath died.
His magic left him.
He floated among the Legions in human form, cut and bleeding, Tilla's claws wrapped around him. The last things he saw was her eyes, dark and whispering of home.
KAELYN
She stood among the ruins, staring north across the sea.
The wind caressed her hair like his fingers had that night long ago, hiding in different ruins so far away. That had been in the cold north, in Requiem, in the land they had fought and killed and bled and cried for. That had been home.
That land had fallen.
"Relesar Aeternum," she whispered into the waves that rolled below the hill, and her voice shook. "Rune."
This southern island was small, smaller than the town she had fled. Standing here upon the hilltop, she could see the shore encircling her, forming a sanctuary in the Tiran Sea. The hillsides rolled below her, thick with boulders and cedars and pines. Where hills ended, wild grass and mint bushes faded into golden sand and azure, glimmering waves.
Where Kaelyn stood, high upon the island's peak, old ruins rose. An orphaned archway stretched above her, green with creeping ivy. The wall that had once held it lay fallen; grass and weeds overgrew its bricks. An ancient stairway plunged down the hillside, most of its steps now buried under dirt and grass. Three columns stood below upon the beach, the remnants of some old port or temple. A dozen more columns lay fallen among palm trees and brambles. Gulls, cranes, and small birds she could not name flew above.
"You would have liked it here, Rune," she whispered to the trees, the wind, and the sea that spread deep blue into the horizon. "You would have stood here with me, hand in hand, and told me about the old ships that would sail here, and you would name the birds that fly."
It was an island too small for maps. An island too small for the Legions to find.
An island you will never know. Tears filled her eyes and her throat tightened. I miss you Rune.
"Kaelyn."
The voice rose behind her, raspy like wind over gravel. She turned to see Valien.
He wore his old furs and wool, but his armor was gone. His hair hung around his face, streaked with more white than she'd ever seen in it. His face had always seemed so hard to Kaelyn, a face like tough leather, like a craggy cliff, a face with the strength of ancient stone. His eyes had always seemed so wise, eyes that hid all the secrets in the world, eyes she would follow into the Abyss itself.
Yet now… now she saw the sadness in him. Now the sunlight fell upon that face she loved. Now those eyes gazed north across the sea, and she saw the pain of her heart reflected in them.
He misses him too. And he misses her. His Marilion.
Kaelyn stepped toward him. She took his hands—great, calloused paws twice the size of her small, white palms. He towered over her, and she looked up at him, a deer before a bear.
He lost her, but he has me. He has me always.
Valien embraced her, and she laid her head upon his scarred chest, and she felt warm, and though fear trickled through her, there was still some safety here in his arms. He stroked her hair.
"Will we ever see him again?" she whispered.
Valien held her close. He was silent for a long time.
"I don't know," he finally said, voice soft. "But we will not abandon him to torture and death. And we will not abandon Requiem." He held her cheek and looked into her eyes. "I don't know what strength I still have, Kaelyn. I don't know what battles I can still win. But so long as breath rattles through me, and so long as my sword can swing, I will fight. I will fight for our home… and for him. For Relesar Aeternum."
She shook her head. "Don't fight for a king. Fight for Rune."
They turned back toward the north. They stood under the stone archway. Ivy dangled around them and mottles of sunlight danced like fairies. The wind from the sea played with their hair and filled their nostrils, scented of water, salt, and cedar. The waves whispered below across the sand and ruins.
"Lynport too now lies in ruins upon a beach," Kaelyn whispered. "I will not forget you, Requiem. I will not forget you, Rune."
They stood for a long time, silent, watching the sea.
LERESY
They lay on the beach at night, watching the moon and stars. The waves whispered, the trees rustled, and the sea glistened in the moonlight, but Leresy could not see this beauty.
He saw men torn apart with gunpowder, screaming in the dirt, their severed limbs littering the street.
He saw Beras clutching his throat and raising his dagger.
He saw his father flying above, tearing bodies apart, cackling like he would years ago when beating Leresy and his twin.
He closed his eyes.
How can you forget? he thought. How can you forget old pain? When night falls and all sound and light of the day fade, how do you stop the memories from rising?
Food had lost its flavor. The world had lost its beauty. This was all the remained to him now. Memories. Visions of blood. A chill in his belly he could not shake.
"Ler?"
She lay beside him in the sand, her dog curled up and sleeping on her feet. Leresy turned his head and looked at her.
"Erry," he whispered, and his eyes watered.
Erry Docker.
She lay naked in the sand, her slim body caked with the stuff. He had once mocked her skinny limbs and boyish frame, her short hair that always lay tangled across her brow, and her lowborn blood. Today Leresy could not see the light of stars, nor hear the music of the waves, yet Erry was beautiful to him. She was a precious doll. She was his to protect, to cherish. She was the only thing good he had left.
No, he thought. The only thing good I ever had.
He placed a hand on her waist and stroked her. He leaned forward in the sand and kissed her lips.
"I'm sorry, Erry," he whispered.
He expected her to snort, to laugh, or to launch into some creative string of cusses. This was Erry Docker, after all; she was a snort and a curse wrapped in skin. Yet her eyes only softened, and she touched his cheek.
"For what?" she said.
It was he who ended up snorting, though it sounded almost like a sob.
"Do you need to ask?" he said. "Do I really need to list everything?"
This made her grin, her huge grin that showed
so many teeth. She stuck her tongue out and poked him in the ribs.
"Not forgiven," she said. "Damn it, Leresy, you are a bloody piece of work, you are." She sighed. "I don't know why I lie here with you."
"Because I'm devilishly handsome?" he suggested and blinked to clear his eyes. "Because I saved your life? Because I'm your knight in shining armor?"
She sighed. She rolled onto her back and looked up at the night sky. Her dog stirred and fell back into sleep.
"You're not," she said softly, and her eyes grew somber. "You're not, Leresy. You're not heroic. You're not noble. You're not a knight." She looked at him. "You're a damn bastard, but… so am I. And we have each other. And we're learning. And we're getting a little better. That counts for something, doesn't it?"
He nodded, throat tight. He could speak no louder than a whisper, not without chancing his voice cracking.
"It counts for a lot."
She lay still for a moment, watching the stars, then propped herself up on her elbows. She placed a hand on his chest, leaned over him, and dusted sand from his hair.
"Valien and the others want to keep fighting," she said. "They counted over a thousand surviving resistors on this island. They think more might have fled into the forests of Requiem." She bit her lip. "They will go back, and they will find new allies, and they will fight on. What do we do, Ler? Do we join them?"
He touched her cheek, marveling at how her features were so soft and small; she seemed made of porcelain.
"I gave Valien the rest of the Lechers," he said. "Three hundred battle-hardened brutes. That's my gift to his Resistance. May they fight well. The bloody lot stank anyway; I couldn't stand the stench." He sighed and looked up past Erry at the stars. The Draco constellation shone, the old gods. "But I won't join him. You're right, Erry. I'm not a hero. I'm not a knight or a warrior at all." His throat tightened. "I thought I was. When I ruled Castra Luna, I thought I was a great fighter, but… I was a boy. A foolish boy."
She nodded. "A very foolish one. I remember."
It was his turn to stick his tongue out. "You fancied me even then. I knew it." He smiled weakly. "You were bad at hiding it. So what will you do, Erry Docker of Lynport? Will you fly off with the warriors and fight and maybe die another day? Or will you stay here with me?"
She raised her eyebrows, still playing with his hair. "With you and what—sand?"
"Sand," he said. "Palm trees heavy with dates and pines heavy with nuts. Mint bushes for tea. A spring of fresh water. All the fish that we can catch." He grinned. "I'd rather like seeing you wear a skirt of leaves and clam shells on your breasts, a wild islander."
"I should think," she said and straddled him, "that you should prefer me like this—naked as the day I was born."
He chewed his lip and looked up at her, examining her body in the moonlight. "You are damn right."
He made love to her, the sand beneath them, the stars of his fathers above. So many times he had taken her to his bed, had used her, had clung to her to forget his pain. Yet now he made love to her, and now he loved her, and for a moment under the stars, Erry Docker in his arms, Leresy Cadigus could forget. He could no longer see the memories.
They will always be with me, he thought, holding Erry as she slept against his chest. But so will Erry. So will this woman that I love. And that's not too bad.
He closed his eyes, kissed her cheek, and slept.
RUNE
They flew in darkness for a long time.
She held him in her claws like a mother bird clutching her young. Sometimes he heard her say his name. Sometimes he felt the rain and the wind, and sometimes he could see her, a white dragon under the sky. Sometimes he thought he could hear the sea below.
He dreamed.
He had lost so much blood. The chains bound him so tightly. A sack covered his head, leaving him always in night, always in sleep and memory and nightmares. They flew. They flew in darkness. They flew for a long time.
"Rune," she said softly. "Rune, I'm here."
It was her voice. Tilla. She stood before him on the beach, and he embraced her, and they kissed. The waves raced over the sand and wet their feet, and she scurried away like always, and he laughed.
The sky cackled and creaked and clattered. Heat blasted him and he heard dragonfire storm all around. He floated through the sea at home. He floated through a sea of dragons in the sky. But she was here. His love. His Tilla.
"Rune," she whispered, her claws gentle around him. "We're almost home."
He tried to open his eyes. He saw nothing but the sack. He tried to call to her, but his throat was too parched, and he was too weak. So many wounds. So much blood lost.
They flew.
They flew in darkness for a long time.
After dreamscapes and eras of memory, trumpets sounded ahead.
"Silver trumpets will call you home," a knight had said in eras long forgotten.
And now they called. And Rune knew them. He saw only darkness, but he heard their song. They were calling him to his new home. To Nova Vita. To the capital of Requiem.
To the place where they would break him.
"Rune," she whispered. "Do not be afraid. I'll be with you."
Rain pattered him. Clouds grumbled above. And the dragons roared. Thousands of throats bellowed their rage. Dragonfire crackled and heat blasted Rune. Air from countless wings pummeled him, and the emperor howled ahead, a shriek like wind through canyons.
"We have captured the heir! Relesar Aeternum is ours!" The emperor's voice rose like steam from a kettle, a voice of demons. "Purification! The Resistance is fallen. Requiem is pure!"
And they cheered.
Rune heard them cheer below.
A million people lived in the capital, they said. Rune could not see them. He could see nothing but the sack around his head and blurs of red where firelight flared. But he heard them. He heard the million. And they howled for his death.
"Hail the red spiral!" the emperor shrieked, and they answered. The cry rolled across the Legions. It rolled across the city below. It tore through Rune and it tore through the kingdom he loved.
"Hail the red spiral! Purification!"
The rain fell, and Tilla's claws tightened around him, but her grip did not hurt.
She did not mean to hurt him.
She was protecting him.
"Rune," she whispered. "You will worship him. You will join us. And the pain will end."
The roaring swelled like an ocean below.
Wind shrieked and his ears popped as they descended.
He did not know where they landed. They left the sack over his head. They left the chains wrapped around him, binding his arms to his sides.
And they shouted.
And they shoved him.
Rough hands grabbed and tugged him. Something sharp jabbed his side. Something hard—perhaps a steel-tipped boot—drove into his spine, and he fell to his knees and cried.
"Move him forward!" rumbled a deep voice.
"Get him into the darkness!"
Tilla's voice rose too. "Leave him! He is mine. He is my catch. He is mine to break!"
Steel hissed—blades being drawn from sheathes. Swords clashed. Hands grabbed him and tugged him to his feet.
"You will have your chance, Siren," spoke another voice, and Rune recognized it; it was Princess Shari speaking. "He tore off my wing. He will be yours, but first I will have vengeance."
Boots kicked him. He fell again. Fists landed upon him. Something heavy clashed against his head, and his cheek hit the ground, and laughter rose, and voices screamed. He screamed too. He screamed louder than them all.
He fell into darkness.
He floated on the sea.
He flew under the stars with her at his side.
They stood again on the beach, and he embraced her, and she kissed him, and her fingers touched his hair.
"Rune," she whispered. "Rune, I'm here."
Her lips were soft. Her hands caressed his cheek. The
waves rolled around them, the stars shone above, and the cliffs of Ralora rose behind them. He was home.
"Rune," she whispered again. "Rune, they're gone. Open your eyes. Look at me."
I can see you, he thought. We stand on the beach again. Your face is pale like moonlight, and your black hair is waving in the wind, and you are mine. You are the woman I love.
"Rune… Stars, Rune, can you hear me?"
He opened his eyes.
And he saw her.
Dream melted into pain.
She knelt above him, no longer the pale youth he'd known, but a woman with haunted eyes, her face smeared with ash, her cheek scarred with war. Brick walls topped with battlements rose behind her.
"Tilla?" he whispered.
He could not rise. He could barely keep his eyes open. They had broken his body. They had shed too much blood. She squeezed his hand, but he could not squeeze back.
"Rune," she whispered, and a trembling smile found her lips, and her tears fell upon his face. They stung.
She was here. This was real. She was with him again, and he wept.
"It's over now." She kissed his lips. "You saved our people. It's over. They will no longer hurt you. You only have to do what we say. You only have to join us, to hail the red spiral, to serve the emperor." Her tears ran along her lips. "And we'll be together again."
"I…"
I can't do that, Tilla, he wanted to say. I can't. Let me die. Let me die here in your arms.
But his throat felt too tight.
"Come, Rune, you must stand now," she said. She placed her arms around him and tugged. "We have to go. Quick, before they return."
He rose to shaky feet and leaned against her. Chains still wrapped around him, slick with blood. He wore nothing but rags beneath. Tilla stood clad in fine armor, holding him up.
"You'll be with me now, Rune," she said. "You'll be safe if you obey."
They limped across a courtyard. All around them, the brick walls rose in the night, topped with battlements. Clouds hid the stars. They stood in the courtyard, alone.
"Tilla," he whispered hoarsely. "Tilla, fly. Take me in your claws and we'll fly from here."
A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2) Page 22
