Dragons Lost

by Daniel Arenson

Cade grunted and twisted his head from side to side, trying to free himself from her grip, to knock her off. As he struggled, he noticed something lying between the trees, and he narrowed his eyes.

  A firedrake saddle.

  He looked back at his limbs. They were bound with straps taken from that saddle.

  "Domi," he whispered, "what happened to that firedrake? The one with orange and red scales?"

  Finally she got off him. She took a few steps back, and fear seemed to fill her eyes. "Don't ask me about that. Never ask me." Her eyes dampened, and her lips trembled. "Now stay here! Until I say you can leave."

  She turned and marched away, disappearing between the trees.

  Cade remained lying on his back, bound to the pines. In the distance, he thought he could hear firedrakes screeching. They could still be attacking his home. He had to fly there. He had to try to save his family.

  He gave the straps a few more tugs. They wouldn't budge. Was he truly at Domi's mercy? Would she even return or just leave him here to die of thirst or wild animals? He cursed, tugging the bonds again, desperate to escape.

  "Domi!" he shouted but heard no reply. "Domi, damn you!"

  He grunted and cursed, then noticed something. He sucked in breath.

  A sword was hanging off the discarded saddle.

  If he could only reach it, he could cut his bonds loose. Yet it lay three feet beyond his grip. He inhaled deeply, raised his chin, and tried to shift into a dragon again.

  The magic began to fill him. Golden scales appeared across his body. Wings began to sprout from his back. The leather straps tightened painfully, digging into his widening limbs. He felt the magic slipping away. Just before he could lose his grip on the magic, he stretched out one of his sprouting wings. It scraped across the forest floor. The claw on its tip touched the sword. He almost had it. He—

  He cried out in pain as the bonds dug into him. His magic fizzled away, leaving him human again, panting, his wrists and ankles chafed and bloody.

  When he looked back at the saddle, Cade saw that his wing had knocked the sword down to the forest floor. It still lay beyond his reach. He inhaled deeply, summoned his magic again, and began to shift. Halfway through his transformation, just before the bonds could shove him back into human form, he hooked his wing's claw around the sword's crossguard and tugged it close.

  He lost his magic again. He stretched out his fingers and grabbed the sword's hilt.

  He grinned as he tugged and shook the hilt, drawing the blade from its scabbard. It took some finger acrobatics to position the blade properly, but soon Cade cut one arm free. He laughed, relief spreading across him, and quickly lashed the blade against the other straps, freeing his second arm and both legs.

  He rose to his feet, leaped into the air, and shifted. He rose into the sky as a dragon.

  He flew over the mountains, not caring if any paladin or firedrake saw. He reached the foothills and beat his wings mightily, streaming across the fields and farms.

  Finally he reached the village of Favilla . . . and he cried out in agony.

  The paladins and their firedrakes were gone. The village, the only home Cade had ever known, lay in ruin.

  "Mother!" Cade cried out hoarsely, flying above the devastation. "Father!"

  The flap of his wings raised clouds of soot and ash below. Pebbles raced across the ground. Bones scattered. Tears filled Cade's eyes. The humble clay huts had been crushed, the marks of firedrake claws upon what remained of their walls. The gardens still smoldered. And everywhere—everywhere lay the bodies. He couldn't even recognize the corpses; they were burnt black, charred like logs after a forest fire. Bones thrust out through what remained of the flesh. A few splotches of red was all the blood that remained; the rest was all black, all darkness, all death.

  "Mother! Father!" Cade cried out, voice torn in agony.

  He flew down and landed outside the ruin of his bakery. The roof had caved in. The walls had been torn down. Cade rummaged through the bricks with his claws, trying to find them, to find Derin and Tisha, the only parents he had ever known.

  Finally, under a pile of bricks, he found them.

  He lowered his scaly head, tears in his eyes.

  Derin and Tisha, the bakers who had adopted him, who had raised him as a son, were dead, burnt to nothing but bones and shreds of blackened skin. Empty eye sockets gazed at him as if asking, Why weren't you here? Why didn't you help us, Cade?

  Cade looked away, tears stinging.

  "Eliana," he whispered.

  Still in dragon form, he kept digging, praying the girl still lived, praying he did not find a third corpse. Under more bricks he found her cradle, and his breath caught . . . but the cradle was empty. She was gone.

  Cade no longer had the will to hold on to his magic. It fizzled away like the last flames in the ruins. He knelt over the empty cradle, lowered his head, and tasted his tears.

  An hour later, he stood outside the village over two graves.

  He stared down at the mounds of earth, then stared at his hands—hands covered with the ashes of the dead.

  "I'm sorry, Mother and Father," he whispered to the graves. "I'm sorry."

  He could speak no more. His chest shook with sobs, and he clenched his fists and lowered his head.

  A voice spoke behind him, hesitant, softer than the breeze.

  "Oh, Cade . . . I'm sorry."

  He spun around, heart leaping, ready to fight. But it was not a paladin behind him. Instead he found himself staring at Domi.

  She still wore her rags—a tattered burlap sack tied around her waist with a rope, stockings full of holes, and no shoes. More dust than ever coated her skin, and ashes rained into her mop of tangled red hair. Those green eyes of hers stared at him from between the strands, shining with tears.

  "I should have been here," Cade said, voice choked. "I should have fought for them, saved them." Sudden anger rose inside him, and his hands balled into fists. "You kept me away. You bound me as they died! Why?" He shook with his rage.

  "To protect you," she said softly. "I could not save the villagers, but I could try to save you."

  Fresh tears stung his eyes. "I'd have preferred to die with them."

  Her eyes narrowed, and she bared her teeth, a wild animal again. "You cannot die! You're too rare. You're Vir R—" She bit down on her words, and her cheeks paled.

  "I'm what?" he said.

  She sighed. "You're like me."

  She took a few steps back, stared at him solemnly, and shifted.

  Wings burst out from her back, red and tipped with white claws. Scales rose across her body in all the colors of fire. A tail sprouted from her back, and she grew taller and finally stared at him as a dragon.

  Cade recognized the firedrake from the battle, one of the twelve who had chased him.

  Mercy's firedrake.

  He reached deep inside him for his magic, but before he could shift, Domi released her dragon form, returning to a human again. She approached him slowly, her bare feet sinking into the soft soil.

  "You . . . you're no firedrake," he said.

  She shook her head, and her matted red hair swayed. "I'm like you, Cade. I was never purified. But while you chose to live as a human, hiding your dragon form, I chose the opposite life. I live as a dragon, pretending to be a mindless firedrake with no human form to shift into, no human thoughts. I bear paladins on my back, and I live in an underground cell, and I serve the cruel Cured Temple—all for the freedom of flying." A wistfulness filled her eyes. "All for a taste of the sky . . . the sky that was taken from us."

  So many emotions filled Cade—grief for his slain parents, worry for his missing sister, rage at the Cured Temple, amazement that others like him still lived—that he could only stand still, overcome, not knowing what to say, how to feel, what to do.

  Finally he found the words he needed to speak. They left his lips in a whisper. "Are there others?"

  Domi smiled tremulously. "There are. At least four others—f
our others that I know of. They call us weredragons, creatures cursed, diseased, poor souls that need to be purified. But our true name, our ancient name, is . . ." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Vir Requis."

  Others like him. Spirit, there were others who hadn't been purified, who hadn't been branded. Others who could become dragons. Other Vir Requis.

  "Where can I find the others?" he said. "Can you take me to them?"

  Domi looked from side to side, and fear filled her eyes. "I can no longer help you. Lady Mercy will be seeking me. She left me to keep scouring the mountains and flew here on a different firedrake, but I'm her favorite mount. She'll want to ride me home, and if I don't return to her, she'll think me lost, think me a recalcitrant beast to hunt down. I must return to her now. And you must leave this place. They'll be hunting you. Already they're back hunting you in the mountains." She pointed toward distant figures on the horizon—firedrakes. "You must travel to the city of Sanctus on the coast. Visit the city library. Speak to the librarian. She will help you." She took a few steps back, glancing around nervously. "I must leave."

  "Wait!" Cade said, reaching out to her. "What do I tell this librarian? Why would she help me?"

  Domi was hopping from foot to foot, anxious to leave. She chewed her lip, then looked back at him. She stepped closer to Cade and, surprising him, embraced him. Her body was soft, warm, slender, and her embrace was full of such goodness, such compassion, that Cade never wanted it to end.

  "Tell the librarian the name of our kingdom." Domi caressed Cade's cheek. "Tell her the forbidden name, the name the paladins would kill anyone who utters. The name that means everything, that is who we were, who we can become again." She pressed her lips against his ear, and she whispered a word—whispered it with such awe, such holiness, that goose bumps rose across Cade. "Requiem."

  With that, Domi broke apart from him. She took a few steps back, stared into his eyes, and shifted. She rose into the sky as a dragon—a wild firedrake in disguise—and turned to fly away. She glided toward the northern mountains, toward the true firedrakes and their riders.

  Requiem.

  The word felt too holy to even repeat aloud. New tears filled Cade's eyes, but these were tears of wonder, of awe.

  Requiem.

  The word—the way Domi had whispered it, the way it echoed in his ear—spoke of ancient magic, of old halls of marble, of something precious, something lost. Something Cade knew that he carried inside him, that he would always seek, that he would never forget.

  Requiem.

  He looked back at the two graves. He looked at the burnt village. He needed to leave this place. He needed to find his sister. He needed to seek the library in Sanctus, to learn more about that forgotten place, that forbidden word . . . to learn about Requiem.

  He rose into the sky as a dragon. He flew east, and he did not look back once.

  GEMINI

  Lord Gemini Deus, second born to High Priestess Beatrix, stared into the mirror and liked what he saw.

  "Do you see this?" he said, looking over his reflection's shoulder at the naked woman in his bed. "A paladin in all his glory. Feast your eyes, my darling, for you'll never see a sight so beautiful again."

  His bedchamber was lavish, coated in gold and jewels. The woman in his bed was beautiful, and she stretched with a yawn, displaying her splendid nakedness in the sunlight. But Gemini returned his eyes to his own reflection; it was fairer by far. He was a tall, slender man of twenty-two years, young enough for youthful beauty, old enough for masculinity. Like all paladins and priests, he shaved the left side of his head, leaving only stubble. Long, luxurious hair cascaded down to his right shoulder, bleached white as snow. His cheekbones were high, his eyes blue and clear, and he wore priceless armor of white steel. He turned to admire all angles.

  "I prefer you naked," said the woman in his bed. She patted the mattress. "Remove that armor and return here to my arms."

  He spun toward her and frowned. "What for?" He snorted. "I've already planted my seed inside you. I'm done with you. Leave."

  Hurt filled her eyes. "But . . . my lord."

  "I didn't say you can talk back." He drew his sword and stroked the blade with a handkerchief, polishing the steel. "I'm pureborn. No dragon disease ever filled my blood. It's my duty to give you peasant girls pureborn babes, not tolerate your prattle." He pointed his blade at the door. "Leave and never return here, and never speak to me again, or next time I'll thrust my sword into you instead of my manhood."

  Her eyes dampened, and she fled toward the door, pulling on her tunic. Gemini watched her leave, admiring the rear view. She had a good figure to her, he thought, curved in the just the right places, but there were plenty more women in the Commonwealth, and the last thing Gemini Deus needed was one puttering around his chamber and thinking herself his lover.

  Today Gemini would find a greater prize than a woman. Today he would seize a power that would deal his older sister a blow as sure as a gauntleted fist.

  "You might be older, dear Mercy, and you might be heiress to the Cured Temple." Gemini smiled thinly, sheathing his blade. "But soon I will be more powerful by far."

  He left his bedchamber, stepping out into a corridor. The walls were carved of marble, inlaid with golden leaves and jewels, and murals sprawled across the vaulted ceiling, depicting ancient scenes of myth. Arched windows lined the southern wall, affording views of the city of Nova Vita, capital of the Commonwealth. It was a dreary view, Gemini thought, simply miles of the filthy commoners' huts. The sight disgusted him, and the sunlight burned his eyes.

  He snapped his fingers toward a maid who knelt before him, clad in livery. "Girl! Go clean my bedchamber. Change the sheets, empty my chamber pot, and refill my jugs of wine."

  The servant bowed. "Yes, my lord."

  Hideous thing, Gemini thought as the girl hurried into his chamber. Why couldn't the damn priests hire beautiful help for once? He was second born to the Temple, for Spirit's sake. He shouldn't have to look at scrawny, mealy-faced servants.

  "Girl!" he barked. "Wait. Come back."

  She hurried back into the hallway and bowed her head. "My lord?"

  "After you're done cleaning my chamber, leave this temple. Return to whatever brothel or filthy alleyway you came from." He snickered. "You're done here."

  Tears filled her eyes, but Gemini only scoffed as he walked away. The girl was lucky he didn't order her stoned to death; that ratty face of hers was practically heretical.

  He walked through the Cured Temple, the center of his family's power, the heart of the Commonwealth. The palace was a great jewel, a masterpiece such as the world had never seen. Mosaics of precious metals and gemstones sprawled across the floors, depicting animals of every kind. Murals of stars, suns, and birds covered the ceiling between strands of gold and silver. Columns lined the hallways, topped with golden capitals, and statues of druids stood between them, their eyes jeweled.

  Finally Gemini stepped through a towering white archway, leaving the Temple and emerging into the sunlight. He walked down a wide staircase and stepped onto the Square of the Spirit. It sprawled ahead of the Cured Temple, a vast expanse, larger than most towns. During the High Priestess's speeches, hundreds of thousands of souls gathered here to worship her and the Spirit. Today thirty firedrakes stood in the square, great beasts of scales, wings, and claws. They had once been weredragons, humans born with the disease inside them, the curse that let man become dragon. The Temple had burnt out their humanity; now only the beasts remained.

  "Ventris!" Gemini barked. "Here. To me." He patted his thigh. "Come."

  It was not a firedrake who rushed forth but an old man, clad in leather and wool. Gemini barked a laugh. The firedrakes' keeper was no better than an animal himself.

  "Hurry!" Gemini raised his sword. "To me, old man. Now bow."

  Ventris reached him, huffing and panting, and bowed his head. "My lord Gemini! I've been training them, my lord. Training them well. Today they're learning how to—"


  "You treat them like dogs." Gemini spat. "Training them? Teaching them tricks more like. To sit, roll over, beg for scraps like pups? Are you a kennel master or a trainer of firedrakes?"

  Ventris straightened. Sweat dripped down his forehead. Farther back, the firedrakes hissed, smoke blasting out from their nostrils. Their scales clattered, their wings creaked, and fire sparked between their fangs. Their eyes blazed like molten metal. Each one of these beasts, Gemini knew, could crush the Cured Temple and burn everyone in it. Only the harshest, strictest training kept the drakes submissive, under command, under control.

  "My lord," said Ventris, "today we're training for aerial assault. Perhaps if you'd like to watch, I could demonstrate how—"

  "Watch?" said Gemini. "Do you think me some boy, some pup come to gape at tricks?" He sneered. "I'm a paladin of the Cured Temple! I am the son of the High Priestess! You dare insult me?"

  Ventris blanched. He knelt and bowed his head. "No, my lord! I beg your pardon. Forgive me, please. How may I serve you?"

  Gemini stared down at the sniveling man. Pathetic wretch. "Is it true, Ventris, that you're not even noble born?"

  The graying man looked up, then quickly down again. "I was born to House Erus, my lord, nobles of the eastern coast, lords of—"

  "Lords of chamber pots and sea scum." Gemini snorted. "Ventris, I'll be taking command of the firedrakes. I will be supervising their training from now on." He smiled thinly. "Don't think your little games have eluded me. You may dress like a commoner, and you may hold no honor in the Temple, but I know the power your position holds." He licked his lips. "He who rules the firedrakes . . . rules the Commonwealth."

  He raised his eyes and stared at the beasts. He inhaled deeply and licked his lips, already imagining it. When he controlled the firedrakes, he would have more power than any army. He would have more power than his sister, that was certain. Perhaps even more than his mother.

  All my life, you looked down at me, Mother, he thought, and his hands curled into fists. All my life, you spat upon me, sister. All my life, you thought me weak, second born, worthless. His teeth ground. But I will have power to make you kneel before me.