Dragons Lost

by Daniel Arenson

The tunnel opened up into a wide chamber, several stories tall, lined with cages. Thirty firedrakes, the personal mounts of the Deus family, lived here in cells so small the beasts didn't even have room to turn around inside them. Domi stared at the animals; they were banging against the bars, hissing, puffing out smoke.

  Over a thousand firedrakes lived in the Commonwealth, and most lived out in the open sky, protecting the Temple's forts, monasteries, and borders. Yet here in the city lurked the pets of the High Priestess herself. With no open fields in Nova Vita, theirs was a life of darkness. Domi had often shown recalcitrance to Mercy, hoping to be transferred to the provinces; there she would have open skies and open fields, fresh game to hunt, and no bars around her. Ventris had just begun to recommend that Domi be moved elsewhere, calling her too wild to serve in the city. Now, with Gemini taken over, Domi's hopes to ever leave this pit seeped away.

  One of the cellars was empty, its portcullis raised—her chamber. Domi began walking toward it, hoping to curl up and rest, but Gemini tsked his tongue.

  "Halt!" he barked. "I'm not done with you, Pyre." He grabbed a whip that hung on the wall. "My sister requested your punishment, and I intend to deal it."

  Domi stared at the whip and hissed. A normal whip would not harm her; the lash would crack uselessly against her scales, hurting only when hitting her tenderspots. But this was no ordinary whip. This was a tool Domi had never seen in the pit before, certainly not under Ventris's reign.

  A lightning lash, she thought and hissed.

  "Yes . . ." Gemini unrolled the whip. "You know what this is, don't you? You're not as mindless as my sister thinks. There is cleverness to you, perhaps more than in any other firedrake. That's why you cause so much trouble, isn't it?"

  Domi stared at the whip. The lash ended with a crackling ball of electricity. She did not know what magic or machinery operated the lightning lashes, but she had seen their scars upon firedrakes brought in from the skirmishes against the Horde across the sea.

  She lowered her head, showing submission, and began to back away into her cellar.

  "No!" Gemini shouted. "To me!"

  He lashed his whip.

  The tip crackled with energy, blue and searing, then hit her shoulder. Domi yowled. It felt like a bolt of lightning hitting her. She stumbled back, looked down, and saw that the lightning lash had cracked her scale.

  "Lost your saddle!" Gemini said, grinning now, and lashed the whip again. "You won't lose any more saddles under my rule."

  He lashed her again and again, cracking her scales, and her roar echoed through the chamber. She wanted to bite him, to tear him apart. At her sides, the other firedrakes screeched inside their cellars, banging against the bars. And still his whip flew.

  Finally, sweat drenching him, he relented. He hung the whip back on the wall and wiped his brow.

  "Now into your cell!" he said. "Go. Good firedrake. Good. I taught you who's master today. Don't you forget this lesson. Show any other sign of aggression toward me, any sign of disobedience, and I will make today feel like a caress."

  She backed up into her cell, her legs shaking. Her scales had cracked and blood seeped from between them. Once she was in the cell, Gemini tugged a lever. The portcullis slammed down, nearly hitting Domi, sealing her within.

  Gemini gave her a last look, smirked, and turned to leave the cavern. He took the last torch with him, leaving the pit in darkness.

  With Gemini and the light gone, Domi lowered her head. All across the cavern, the other firedrakes screeched madly; she saw no buckets of feed, and they must have felt as hungry as she was. She sighed.

  "I chose the life of a firedrake," she whispered into the darkness. "But not like this. Not underground. Not with Ventris gone, with Lord Gemini torturing us for his sport."

  Some nights, like tonight, Domi just wanted to burn them all.

  Some nights, like tonight, she felt that it would be better to escape the Temple, fly free, and roar for freedom even if all the hosts of the Commonwealth hunted her down.

  But no. She could not fight, not now. She could not die just as new hope emerged.

  "There is another," she whispered to the shadows. "Another Vir Requis. Another soul who knows the name of our kingdom, the holiest word we have, the word that means everything." Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Requiem."

  She waited a few moments, and when Gemini did not reappear, she released her dragon magic. She shrank, becoming a human girl again, clad in rags and covered in soot. At least this way she had room to lie down. She scuttled backward on her bottom until her back hit the wall. There she lay down, pulled her knees up to her chin, and closed her eyes.

  "Cade," she whispered.

  She imagined that he was lying here with her underground, that she was hugging him instead of her knees. She brought to mind the messy, light brown hair that fell across his brow; his large hazel eyes, fear and anger mingling within them; his tense muscles, ready to sprint. She remembered whispering "Requiem" to him, how her lips had touched his ear, how their bodies had pressed together. Even here on the cold floor, she felt warm, and a smile touched her lips. She reached between her legs and felt the heat there, the longing for him, the animal needs she could not curb. She slept and she dreamed of him.

  CADE

  He was walking through the grasslands, hungry and thirsty and feeling ready to collapse, when the firedrakes streamed above.

  "Spirit damn it!" Cade said. "Damn beasts flying everywhere."

  He dropped to his belly, hiding himself in the tall grass. The shrieks rose above him. Wings thudded like drums. The voices of paladins rose too; the riders were calling to one another, though lying facedown in the grass, Cade could not make out the words. He dared to peek over his shoulder and cursed again. Between the blades of grass, he glimpsed them—three flying in a triangle, scanning the grasslands.

  Cade lay as still as possible. The grass rose two feet tall, and he reached out and tugged some down around him, hiding his body. He had woven more blades of grass across his burlap tunic and into his hair. He hoped that, lying here, he vanished into the landscape. He had been traveling across these grasslands for three days now, daring not fly, not with firedrakes in the sky. The beasts had been scouring the land, flying overhead every hour.

  Seeking me, he knew.

  He was a weredragon, unpurified. The Temple had but two enemies: the Horde, a motley army of many nations that mustered across the sea, and the weredragons. Like him.

  Only . . . that's not our name, he thought, lying on his belly among the grass. Not our real name. I am Vir Requis.

  A mantis stared down at him from a blade of grass, its eyes green, and Cade thought of Domi's green eyes, of her body pressed against his, of her lips touching his ear. And mostly he thought of that word she had uttered, the word that would not leave him, that gave him strength even now.

  Requiem.

  To Domi, he had sensed, the word had been rich with memory, with understanding, a word that conjured lost tales, ancient cities, a world of magic. Cade didn't know more than what he had seen in Domi's eyes, but just the memory of those green eyes, bright and full of awe, infused the word with holiness and magic.

  "Requiem," he whispered as the shadows of firedrakes flitted across him.

  Only this time, unlike the past ten times, the firedrakes did not keep flying onward. Instead they circled above, their shadows darting across Cade again and again. He heard the paladins call to one another.

  "There's a trail in the grass!" one shouted. His voice was still so distant Cade could barely make out the words.

  Oh Spirit, he thought, fingers tingling.

  He glanced above him. The three firedrakes were flying lower—a black dragon, a bronze one, and a gray one. Upon each beast's back rode a paladin. They were spiraling down toward the grasslands—toward him.

  Cade grimaced, a cold iciness flooding him.

  Claws thumped down into the grass around him, digging into the land. The smell of the fired
rakes blasted his nostrils, scented of oil, fire, and raw meat. The beasts' scales clattered around him, and boots thumped into the grass as the paladins dismounted.

  "The drakes smell something," said a paladin.

  Another voice replied. "There! A lump in the grass. A man."

  With shaky fingers, Cade tugged off his grassy tunic, remaining in his underclothes. He shook more grass out of his hair, rose to his feet, and feigned a yawn.

  "Hullo, friends!" he called to the paladins, speaking through his yawn, and stretched out his arms. "Was just having a nap in the grass, I was. Old Barleyman from Ashgrove always said I nap too much, he did. Young Nappy, he'd call me, and—"

  "Shut your mouth," said one paladin, a towering man—by the Spirit, he must have stood closer to seven feet than six—in white armor. He stepped closer to Cade. "Who are you?"

  The two other paladins approached too. The three firedrakes, meanwhile, moved in slow circles around Cade, sniffing and snorting out smoke.

  "I told you!" Cade said, affecting a farmer's accent. "Nappy's my name. Well, it's what they call me in Ashgrove when I walk by. I wander a lot. Ain't got me a home, so I sleep in the grass, and the sky's my blanket. I—"

  "Show us your brand," the tall paladin demanded.

  Wearing only his underpants, Cade turned around and displayed the back of his shoulder to the paladins. Like purified people, he carried a brand shaped as a tillvine blossom, marking him cured of dragon magic. He did not remember getting the mark. The fake brand had been on his shoulder when, as a baby, he had been left at Derin and Tisha's doorstep.

  At the thought of his adoptive parents, grief flared through Cade. He saw their charred corpses again in his mind, saw Eliana's empty crib. The only family he had ever known—gone. The pain suddenly stung so badly his eyes dampened, even here with the paladins scrutinizing him.

  "What do you think, Sir Actus?" said the tall paladin.

  A shorter, wider man leaned close, peering at Cade's brand. "The blossom is too narrow. Crudely done. Might have been performed by a monk with poor tools. Might be a fake." The squat man turned his head. "Sir Stoen, bring the ilbane! We'll test him."

  Cade forced himself to grin dumbly, even though his insides roiled and his heart seemed to sink into his pelvis. "What you paladins testing for? Looking for somebody?"

  A leathery man with hard eyes, Sir Stoen pulled a bundle of ilbane from his firedrake's saddle and came walking forward with the leaves. The acrid stench and heat blasted Cade.

  Oh bloody Spirit's beard . . .

  Heart thudding against his ribs, Cade leaped into the air and shifted.

  "Weredragon!" the tall paladin shouted.

  Cade beat his wings three times, rose only several feet into the air, and spewed down dragonfire.

  The flames crashed down into the grass and showered back up. The three paladins screamed and fell back, the flames washing over them. The three firedrakes screeched madly, strings of saliva quivering between their teeth, and leaped toward Cade.

  He beat his wings mightily. He soared higher. Two firedrakes slammed into each other below him. The third blasted up dragonfire.

  Cade swerved.

  The flaming jet crashed against his tail, and he howled.

  He kept flying, rising higher. Air roared around him. More dragonfire shrieked, and he swerved again, dodging a second jet. He flew upward in a straight line, soaring higher and higher toward the sun. When he glanced behind him, he saw only one firedrake pursuing; the other two stood on the grass, paladins leaping into their saddles.

  Cade flipped over in the sky and swooped.

  He roared, plummeting down toward the soaring firedrake. Both dragon and drake blasted out flames. The jets crashed together and exploded in an inferno. Cade kept swooping, passing through the fire, and bellowed.

  He lashed his claws. He bit. He tasted blood. The firedrake crashed down below him, and Cade kept swooping.

  The two other firedrakes took flight, singed paladins upon them.

  Cade rained down all the dragonfire remaining in him.

  The paladins burned. They screamed. Their armor heated, blazing red, and their skin peeled off, and their flesh melted. Still their firedrakes soared, burning beasts with mad eyes, blazing men in their saddles.

  Cade flew between them, whipping his tail. One firedrake's claws cut deeply into his side, and Cade cried out, and his blood spilled.

  He leveled off just before hitting the ground and flew eastward. The grasslands burned, the fire spreading across them. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw only one firedrake pursuing, a corpse in its saddle. The other two beasts lay in the burning grass, wounded or dead.

  The creature chasing him was large and coppery, its wings longer than Cade's, its flight faster. It was gaining on Cade.

  Spirit damn it, Cade cursed. The firedrake reached out its claws as it flew, grazing Cade's tail.

  Cade sucked in breath and released his magic.

  He tumbled down into the grass as a man.

  The firedrake overshot him and kept charging forward. Before the beast realized what had happened, Cade shifted back into a dragon and roared out his flames.

  The jet crashed against the firedrake. The beast screamed, an almost human sound. Cade leaped forth, landed on its back, and clawed madly, ripping out scales, and blood spilled.

  The firedrake crashed down dead beneath him, slamming against the earth.

  Cade flew a few more feet, then fell to the ground, panting and bleeding. He released his magic. For long moments he knelt in the grass, breathing raggedly. The fires still blazed behind him, and the corpses of the firedrakes and paladins burned.

  Again, in only a few days, he had killed.

  "I'm just a baker," he whispered. "Spirit, I'm just a baker. And now my family is gone. My village is gone. And the blood of men stains my hands."

  But no. He was not just a baker. Not anymore.

  "Requiem," he whispered. The word he did not understand. The word that gave him strength, courage. The memory of Domi's eyes. The prayer of his heart.

  Requiem.

  He kept walking. He kept moving eastward, to the city of Sanctus, to the library, to find help, to find the meaning of the word he whispered over and over.

  MERCY

  Mercy had to pause outside the gates of the Temple, take a deep breath, and steel herself.

  Be calm, Mercy. You can do this. Her breath shuddered, her fingertips tingled, and the baby whimpered in her arms. You are twenty-four years old, no longer a child.

  And yet, around her mother, Mercy always felt like a child. Even now, a grown woman and paladin, she felt like a foolish toddler whenever Beatrix turned those icy shards she called eyes upon her.

  But she must know . . . know about the boy. Know that I failed.

  Mercy's eyes burned, and she clenched her jaw. She raised her chin, sucked in air, and climbed the last few steps toward the Temple gates. A marble archway rose here, inlaid with pearls. Guards stood alongside, clad in white steel and gold, holding spears and shields. They bent the knee as Mercy walked between them. She stepped under the pearly archway, entering the heart of the Commonwealth.

  The Cured Temple preached austerity, humility, and the nobility of poverty. Across the Commonwealth, the Temple's flock wore burlap, lived in clay huts, and owned no jewelry or fineries. They served the Spirit by living a life of modesty, feeding on simple bread and gruel, sleeping on hard cots, and devoting their souls to humble living.

  Here, inside the Temple, Mercy beheld a world of endless splendor.

  A polished mosaic covered the floor, a masterwork inlaid with gold, depicting stars and intricate designs. Marble columns rose in rows, engraved with figures of legendary paladins, and their capitals were gilded. Above the columns spread arches in blue, gold, and silver, painted with scenes from the Cured Book, depicting the miracles of the first druids to have healed the disease. The ceiling was perhaps more glorious than all; murals of clouds, stars, and
firedrakes sprawled above in pastels, and between them stretched lines of platinum and sapphires. The precious metals and gemstones gleamed in the sunlight falling through tall, narrow windows.

  All the treasures of the Commonwealth—its gold, its gems, its splendor—filled this single, holy heart of the empire. Some said that the Spirit himself dwelled not in the sky but within these very walls.

  Mercy took another deep breath.

  The Spirit and my mother.

  When she spotted a servant walking by, Mercy snapped her fingers. The girl rushed toward her and knelt, head bowed.

  "Take this baby to my chambers," Mercy said to the servant, handing Eliana over. "Find her a nursemaid and have her cleaned up and fed."

  The servant nodded, took the baby, and rushed off. Mercy watched them leave, and a strange emptiness filled her. She had grown accustomed to the warmth of Eliana against her. Without the baby, Mercy felt naked, barren, too cold. She had felt like this before, she remembered. She had felt such loss once, such coldness, such—

  No.

  Mercy clenched her jaw.

  No, that pain had happened in another lifetime, to another woman. Not to a strong, noble paladin.

  She snorted. I stole the babe as a hostage, not to become some surrogate mother. As soon as she captured Cade, the babe would be useless; she would kill both at that time.

  She walked on down the grand hall. Many priests and priestesses were walking back and forth here, and when they saw her—their future High Priestess—they turned toward her, knelt, and lowered their heads. Mercy walked between them. While those around her wore costly robes of white cotton and gold, her armor was still singed with dragonfire and coated with blood and ash.

  Good, she thought. Let them see that I'm a warrior, that I fight through fire and blood for the Spirit.

  She passed through the grand hall, under more archways, and through many other chambers. Each one was more wondrous than the one before. Statues of gold, silver, and marble rose everywhere, depicting ancient druids holding tillvine blossoms. Countless gemstones gleamed upon the ceiling like stars. Precious metals coiled upon the capitals of columns. She kept moving deeper and deeper into the Temple until no more sunlight reached her, and only the lights of lamps guided her way.