On any other night, being stuck in a burrow with a beautiful woman—overnight, too!—would have made Rune feel like the luckiest man in Requiem. Today the apple tasted stale, and he missed home, and he missed Tilla and his father.
When his apple was eaten, he lay down by a wall, and Kaelyn lay beside him. She covered herself with her cloak and placed her cheek upon her palm.
“Goodnight, Rune,” she said.
“You’re not going to stab me in the middle of the night, are you?” He rubbed his side. “Your dagger nicked me back there.”
She grinned again, a grin that showed all her teeth. “No, but I do kick when I sleep.” She gave him a mock kick. “You’re safe from Shari’s fire, but no promises that I won’t kick you to death.”
“Fair enough.” He closed his eyes. “Goodnight, Kaelyn.”
Goodnight, Tilla, he added silently, wondering where she was now, and whether she too had a dry, safe place to sleep.
Goodnight, Father, he thought. He wondered if the old man’s soul had risen to the starlit halls of afterlife… and how crazy Kaelyn was for claiming Wil Brewer hadn’t been his father at all.
7
SHARI
She flew back toward Cadport, shrieking and blowing fire. Her blood pounded in her ears. Her wings beat, bending trees below. Six of her warriors flew around her, metallic dragons blasting fire and howling.
The boy escaped.
Shari screeched and streamed above the city walls.
This backwater will pay.
“I seek Rune Brewer!” Shari screamed to city. She flew above the streets and homes, smoke streaming behind her. “You let the boy escape.”
She swooped, reached out her claws, and slashed at a home. Its clay walls collapsed, and the family inside wailed. Shari rose higher, breathing fire.
“You will bring me the boy!” she cried. “You will bring him to me, or this city will burn.”
She dived over a square and blew fire at another home. Its roof burst into flame. The family inside screamed and fled into the street.
Shari snarled, rage pounding through her. This foul southern city was conniving against her. This was a hive of resistors; she knew it. How else could Kaelyn have smuggled the boy out?
She turned to look at her warriors, six iron dragons who flew behind her.
“Each of you,” she said, “grab two of this city’s vermin. I don’t care who. I don’t care how young they are. Grab a dozen of these filthy maggots and break them upon a dozen wheels.”
The six dragons blasted fire, grinned toothily, and swooped.
Claws slammed into homes. Walls collapsed and people ran through the streets, wailing.
Shari beat her wings, flew toward the hill above the boardwalk, and circled around Castellum Acta, citadel of this city. She screeched orders, voice pealing across the sky. A hundred soldiers streamed out of the craggy fortress, shifted into dragons, and streamed above the streets. The city shook and jets of fire crisscrossed the sky. Homes burned.
“Raise twelve wheels!” Shari howled, wings beating back flames across the city. Smoke filled her throat, and she roared hoarsely. “Raise them outside the courthouse!”
As thousands wailed and fled across the city, her soldiers dragged twelve wagon wheels into the city square, that same square where Shari had spoken to the recruits. Dragons dived and grabbed people from the streets—men, women, and children.
“Break their bodies!” Shari shouted, flying above.
Her six dragons returned and rallied around her. Each clutched two people, one in each claw. They dived, tossed the people onto the square, and pinned them down. Soldiers streamed from alleyways to form a ring around the plaza.
Shari landed upon the cobblestones and blasted fire skyward. She roared so the entire city could hear.
“Break them!” she cried. “Shatter their bones and hang them here. I want the city to hear them scream!”
The twelve, selected randomly from the thousands, squirmed and tried to flee, but they could not escape the claws that pinned them down. One of them, a young man with wide eyes, tried to shift into a dragon, to break the law of Cadigus. Scales began to appear across his body, but the dragon above him, one of Shari’s soldiers, pressed his claws down. The young man below wailed and his magic left him.
“Break them! Bring hammers!”
Soldiers walked forward in human form, clad in black armor and bearing great hammers. The dozen townsfolk wailed, trapped under the claws.
“Please!” one begged, a young girl no older than ten. “Please…”
Another wailed, an old woman with white hair. “Please, my princess, have mercy—”
The hammers swung.
Bones snapped.
The dozen screamed.
Shari stood, snarling and snorting smoke, and laughed.
The hammers swung again. Again. Snapping limbs. Snapping spines. Shari laughed.
“Sling them onto the wheels!” she commanded.
The soldiers dragged the wailing, broken bodies onto the wagon wheels, slung limbs between spokes, and tied the dozen down.
“Hang them on the courthouse balcony!” she commanded, laughing and blasting smoke.
Her soldiers laughed too. Ropes were slung over the balcony, and Shari smiled; had she not met the ropermaker’s daughter at this very place?
The wheels were raised to dangle off the balcony like bloodied wind chimes. Upon each one, a shattered body twitched and wept. Shari stood in the square, still in dragon form. She was tempted to blow her fire, to roast these wailing bodies and taste their flesh. But no, she thought. No. She would let them linger here. She would let them scream a while longer.
She flapped her wings and rose high above the square. The city rolled around her. From up here, she could see Castellum Acta upon the hill, the boardwalk lined with rotting shops, the docks that stretched into the sea, and the abandoned lighthouse upon the breakwater. In the north, beyond the city walls, stretched the forest where the boy had fled.
Shari roared her cry, making sure every soul in Cadport heard.
“I seek Rune Brewer!” she shouted. “You let him flee this city. This is your punishment. These bodies will hang until they rot!” She blew fire down at homes, torching roofs. “You will bring me information about the boy. You will tell me where he fled. Or next moon, I will break a hundred bodies, then a thousand, then ten thousand, until none are left alive.” She screamed so loudly her eardrums thrummed. “You will bring me Rune Brewer or you will die!”
People streamed into the square below her, weeping and wailing and reaching out to those dying upon the wheels. They were the families of the broken, Shari realized, and her grin widened.
Good, she thought. Let them see their beloveds suffer. This city sheltered an Aeternum. She shrieked and blasted fire. They will suffer greatly until he’s mine.
She spun and flew away. Once she had crossed the city walls and flew over the forest, a chill claimed her belly, overpowering the fire of her rage.
She had told her father she would return the boy.
She had vowed to drag Relesar Aeternum back to the capital, he a broken wretch and she a glorious ruler. She had promised her father this gift within the moon.
Frey Cadigus, she knew, was not one to take disappointment well.
She howled, thrashed her tail, and blasted fire.
“You will pay for this, Kaelyn!” she roared. “I will break you too, and I will break the boy, and I will break this city, and the world itself will weep until Relesar is mine.”
With fire and roars, Shari flew north, heading to the capital, to her father… and to the rage of an empire.
8
LERESY
He flew on the wind, a red dragon snorting fire, and licked his maw. He saw it below, rising glorious from the forest.
“My birthday present,” he hissed, and smoke curled from between his teeth. “It’s mine. My own.”
He was eighteen today, a grown man, and his firs
t fortress—the first of many he would command—shone below. Obsidian tiles covered its limestone foundations, reflecting the winter sun. Its four corner towers rose like skulls upon scraggly necks, their tops snowy. Their banners flapped in the wind, hiding and revealing the red spiral, sigil of his house. A fifth tower rose above the grand hall, twice as tall as the others. Upon it ticked a great clock, its four dials as large as dragons, the hands shaped as blades.
“Castra Luna,” whispered the red dragon. “The oldest standing fortress in Requiem. My birthright.”
As he flew over the forest toward the castle, Leresy Cadigus, prince of the empire, grinned and breathed his fire.
The forest streamed below him, pines and oaks bending under the flap of his wings. When Leresy drew closer to the fort, he saw hundreds of soldiers in the courtyard, mere scurrying ants from here. He narrowed his eyes and found himself salivating.
Yes, he thought. Yes, lots of new recruits here—young, afraid, and female. He licked drool off his maw. So much flesh to claim. So much to taste, to savor, to conquer.
Some in the capital had wondered, Leresy knew, why he had demanded Castra Luna for his birthday gift. His older sister Shari had scoffed.
“You could have any fort in Nova Vita!” she had said. “You could command knights, seasoned warriors, and garrisons of legend. And you choose… a training outpost halfway across the empire?”
She had laughed, and Leresy had only stood before her, silent, a small smile on his lips. So little she understood. So little she knew of what lurked here in Castra Luna, this distant southern pile of stone.
Here lurked real power, more than Shari could imagine in her small, petty mind, the mind of a warrior.
“You think like a fighter,” Leresy whispered into the wind. “Like a brute. Like the mindless killer that you are. But I want more than the glory of war, dearest sister. When I am done here, I will have such power that you will kneel before me.”
Flames exploded within him. He clenched his jaw and blasted fire skyward. Shari thought herself so mighty, so proud, so powerful. As Leresy circled above the fortress, he roared his rage, a shriek that could tear through human eardrums.
You might be heir to the empire, Shari, but soon even you will quake before me.
He now flew directly over Castra Luna, the ancient fortress that had been guarding southern Requiem for seven hundred years. He dived toward the courtyard and flew so low the soldiers below—fresh meat just carted in from the backwaters—had to duck. With a grin and howl, Leresy blasted fire across the courtyard, then soared again. His wings stirred dust below, and he shrieked to the sun.
He rose high above the courtyard and blew fire. He had seen enough of the soldiers below to whet his appetite. Half were frightened, pale farm boys no older than himself—fools for him to crush under his heel. The rest were ripe females, and Leresy snorted and grinned and felt his pulse quicken.
I will savor them, he thought. This fort is mine, and they are mine. I own these bricks, and I own this flesh.
He flew toward the command tower, the tallest among them, a great spire of obsidian. It rose hundreds of feet tall, flaring into a capital like a flanged mace. Its clock ticked upon it, a masterwork of black and red gears that clanged the noon hour as Leresy approached.
He flew between towering black spikes, each taller than a dragon, and landed upon the tower roof. He snapped his teeth and grinned. Below him spread the fortress, barracks and armories and courtyards, and beyond them the snowy forests rolled into haze. He blasted fire upward, a beacon of his dominion, and shifted into human form.
Wind whipped him, trying to tear off his cloak. The rooftop spikes towered around him. When he peered off the roof, the height seemed dizzying. For an instant Leresy faltered, and his heart leaped, and he was sure he would fall to the courtyard below. He gritted his teeth, clutched his sword, and trudged across the roof.
A trapdoor lay below him, carved of bronze. Leresy grabbed the knob, pulled the door open, and found a ladder leading into a chamber. He entered, closed the trapdoor above him, and descended the rungs.
Once his feet touched the floor, he cursed.
The room was bare, cold, and utterly distasteful. Disgust washed Leresy, and for a moment, he wondered if he had made a mistake flying here. Only one wall held a tapestry, and even that tapestry was plain, black fabric emblazoned with the red spiral—cheap dye. The furniture was bare pine, and no gold or jewels adorned it. The bed’s mattress was stuffed with straw, not feathers; Leresy could tell just by looking. The chamber did sport a stained-glass window, but even its design was simple—it showed a dragon atop a red spiral—compared to the majestic stained glass of northern palaces.
Leresy’s lips twisted and he snarled.
“At least they have a proper mirror,” he said and stepped toward it.
The mirror rose taller than a man, and Leresy admired his reflection. Whenever he felt sour, his reflection could lift his spirits.
He was remarkably good-looking, he thought. He placed his hands on his hips, raised his chin, and felt his mood improve. His hair was woven of purest gold, short enough to look like a soldier’s hair, but long enough to shine. His eyes were blue as sapphires. His cheeks were smooth, his lips full and pouty.
Some said he looked like his twin, the filthy traitor Kaelyn, but of course, Kaelyn would be wearing rags now and crawling through the mud. Lersey’s dress was immaculate. Not a scratch spoiled his armor of black steel and gold. Not a single errant thread marred his fine cloak of crimson wool and fur. An apple-sized ruby clasped that cloak, and ancient stones—each one taken from the grave of a great hero—embossed his scabbard.
But his greatest treasure, greater even than his jewels and blades, was his punisher. Leresy’s lips peeled back. Delicately, he drew the rod from his belt and held it before him. The finest, softest leather wrapped around its grip. Upon its rounded head, red lightning crackled and flared. Leresy’s breath quickened and his eyes narrowed. He could already imagine the flesh he would burn with his tool, the screams he would hear, and the trembling females he would break and tame and invade.
“My birthday gift,” he whispered, holding the punisher before him; it throbbed in his hand. “My birthright. My—”
A creak sounded behind him—the trapdoor being opened.
Leresy spun to see a burly old man descending the ladder into the chamber.
The man wore leather armor studded with iron bolts—the crude armor of the outposts. White scruff covered his cheeks, and snow and mud stained the hem of his cloak. A longsword hung at the old man’s side, but no jewels adorned it; it could have been taken off a dead mercenary. Leresy’s lips curled in disgust.
“Lord Raelor,” he said, letting that disgust suffuse his voice. “Look at your garb. I’ve seen farmers dressed finer. Look at your beard. I’ve seen cleaner hair on seaside whores. And you call yourself a lord?”
The burly old man sucked in his breath. His eyes widened and he knelt.
“Prince Leresy,” he said gruffly, head lowered. “You surprise me with your visit, my lord.”
Leresy snarled, stepped forward, and grabbed the man’s collar.
“And I suppose you don’t like surprises, old man,” he said with a sneer. “If you knew I was coming, would you have improved your appearance? Would you have shaved your scruff, or washed that fleabag of a cloak, or prepared this room for a prince?” He spat on the floor. “Castra Luna is the oldest standing fort in the empire. Did you think you could allow it to rot, and the capital would sit by idly? Stand up.”
Raelor rose to his feet, his armor and joints creaking. His eyes were small, blue, and cold, the eyes of a hardened warrior, but Leresy saw fear in them too, and that pleased him.
“My prince Leresy,” he said. “Aye, it is a gruff life here in the south, far from the northern comforts of the capital. If you are tired from your flight, however, we have strong wine in our cellars, and—”
“Do I look tired?” Leresy narr
owed his eyes. “Are you saying I look tired, old man?”
Raelor stiffened. “My apologies, my prince, I merely—”
“But I will have some wine.” Leresy turned away from the man and stomped toward a table; a jug of wine stood there by a pewter mug. “Have you no servants here to pour your drink? Truly, this is a cesspool of a fort. Things will change around here.”
Lips curling, Leresy poured his own wine. It was the first time he’d had to pour his own drink. He sipped, swished the liquid in his mouth, then spat it onto the floor.
“Pig piss!” he said. He spun back toward Raelor and glared. “Do you drink pig piss here in the south, Raelor?”
The old man’s eyes hardened; Leresy could see the hatred and fear locking horns behind those eyes.
“If the wine is distasteful to you, my prince, we can order other vintages shipped in. We receive shipments every moon, and—”
“You won’t be around for that, Raelor,” Leresy said. He pulled the scroll from his belt and tossed it forward. “A letter for you. Read it.”
Raelor stared at Leresy for just an instant longer, just a heartbeat, but in that space of a breath, Leresy saw the man’s well of hatred… and he grinned.
Good, he thought. Good—hate me, old man. It will make this all the sweeter.
The scroll bore the emperor’s official seal, a red spiral surrounding the initials F.C. — Frey Cadigus. When Raelor looked at the seal, he sucked in his breath and blanched.
Leresy’s grin widened. A letter from the emperor is rarely good news, he thought and licked his lips.
With stiff fingers, Raelor broke the seal, unrolled the parchment, and his eyes darted as he read. His skin grew paler, and a drop of sweat rolled down his temple. He rolled the scroll back up and looked at Leresy.
“My lord prince,” he said. “If I have failed in my duties, allow me to mend them. My family has ruled Castra Luna for generations. We have served the empire loyally. We—”
Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels Page 37
