"Search the cellar!" Mercy began. "Find the—"
Shouting hoarsely, Fidelity and Cade came charging out from the cellar, swinging bookshelves.
The slats of wood slammed into the soldier at the trapdoor, knocking him down.
Everything seemed to happen at once.
Mercy swung her sword at Korvin. As the blade flashed, his old soldier's instincts kicked in, the same instincts that had saved his hide so many times in the war against the Horde. He leaped back, grabbed a thick volume of The Book of Auberon, and raised it as a shield. Mercy's sword slammed into the book, cleaving it down to its back cover.
The dozen other soldiers stormed toward him, drawing their blades, and the firedrakes screeched outside, and Korvin saw it before him—saw it again, the same vision he had been struggling to forget since the night his wife had died.
Death.
Again, in his mind, the paladins stormed into his home—not this library but a hut far away. Again Beatrix, his spurned lover, was thrusting her sword again and again into Korvin's wife, laughing, laughing as she died, laughing as he roared in agony. Again Korvin was fleeing into the darkness with Fidelity and Domi, his wife's blood on his hands, his old lover's laughter echoing in his ears.
Beatrix had killed a person he loved. Korvin would not let her daughter do the same.
He roared and charged forward.
Mercy tried to raise her sword in time, but Korvin barreled into the paladin before she could. He was twice her age but also twice her size, and he knocked the paladin down. She fell, armor clanging, and cried out in pain. More soldiers thrust swords toward him. Korvin bellowed, shoved a shelf, and knocked a rain of books onto them.
"Fidelity! Boy! Run!" he cried. "Outside!"
The two were still swinging bookshelves like clubs. Korvin charged toward the door, roaring, and ducked under a soldier's swinging sword. He knocked the man down, but two more soldiers replaced him, blocking the door. Mercy leaped to her feet, growling, and raised her blade. More soldiers came racing into the library from outside, clad all in steel, bearing shields and swords.
Stars of Requiem, Korvin thought.
"Fidelity, boy!" he shouted. "Back against the wall!"
Fidelity's eyes widened. She understood. She grabbed Cade and, instead of trying to make her way toward the exit, pulled him toward the back wall.
Soldiers swung their swords at Korvin.
The blades clattered harmlessly against scales.
Trapped in the library within walls of clay, Korvin shifted into a dragon.
It had been many days since he had summoned the ancient magic of Requiem, and he had never summoned it indoors. He wasn't sure he wouldn't crush himself to death. Ignoring the fear, he let the magic keep flowing through him. Dark gray scales rose on his body, the color of charcoal, thick as armor. His horns slammed into the ceiling, and his tail knocked down soldiers. Bookshelves shattered and fell. A swipe of his claws sent Mercy sprawling. And still Korvin grew. His body slammed into more bookshelves, cracking them, crushing books. He grew larger still, pressing against the walls, and roared, letting the magic flow through him.
Soldiers screamed, crushed.
The walls cracked.
The ceiling caved in.
The library shattered around Korvin in a rain of clay and dust. In the cascading rubble, he roared and tossed his head, his cry rising to the sky, tearing across the city. A charcoal dragon, he beat his wings and soared, leaving the ruin. At his right side, more scales flashed: Fidelity rose there, a slender blue dragon. To his left, a new dragon soared; Cade flew there, his scales golden as dawn.
As the three dragons rose from the devastation, leaving the soldiers in the rubble, they found themselves in a sky full of firedrakes.
Ten or more flew above them. Another dozen took flight from the boardwalk. Paladins rode the great reptiles, holding lances and crossbows. On one of the beasts, Korvin saw Gemini Deus, second-born child of High Priestess Beatrix, a slender man with a hard, pale face much like Mercy's. The firedrakes screeched, formed a ring around the three Vir Requis, and blasted forth their fire.
Korvin roared and blew his flames. Fidelity and Cade soared with him, spewing dragonfire. The jets slammed together, and flames exploded above the city, a fireball like a collapsing sun, crashing down onto the ruined library, the huts around it, the boardwalk, even spreading forth to the beach. Townsfolk screamed and ran, the fire clinging to their tunics. Flames burned across Korvin, heating his scales, cracking them, blazing against his wings. He beat those wings, trying to rise higher, but saw only firedrakes. They swooped, claws outstretched. Their fangs gleamed. And Korvin knew he was going to die.
A figure of fire streamed above.
A firedrake with scales in all the colors of flame dived, roared, and crashed into the drakes around it, forming a path of open sky.
Domi—a roaring dragon, mount to Mercy herself, Korvin's own daughter—stared into his eyes.
"Go!" the fiery dragon whispered.
Before the firedrakes could regroup, Korvin soared through the swath of open sky. Fidelity and Cade soared behind him, breaking through the circling firedrakes. Korvin shot toward the clouds, then leveled off and streamed eastward, flying across the beach and over the open sea. Fidelity and Cade flew at his sides, singed, scales cracked and bleeding.
When Korvin looked over his shoulder, he saw Mercy screaming for Domi—she called her "Pyre," not knowing her secret—to bear her on her back. Other paladins climbed onto their own firedrakes. Soon thirty of the beasts regrouped, riders upon them, and flew in pursuit across the water.
Domi gave Korvin one last look.
Go, Father, her eyes said as Mercy climbed into her saddle.
Then the fiery dragon bellowed, no longer seeming a Vir Requis but a wild firedrake with no human soul, bearing Mercy on her back.
Korvin returned his eyes to the east. He saw nothing but water stretch into the horizon. He flew. Fidelity and Cade flew at his sides.
"You're wobbling, boy!" Korvin shouted. "Fly faster."
The young golden dragon growled. "I've never flown for this long before."
"It shows," Korvin cried over the wind. "Learn fast or you'll be feeding those firedrakes!"
The creatures screeched behind, streaming across the sea, Domi flying at their lead. On the firedrakes' backs, paladins raised crossbows and fired. The bolts shot across the sky. The three dragons scattered, dodging the projectiles.
"Surrender to me now, weredragons, if you want to live!" Mercy cried from Domi's back. "Fly onward and die!"
Korvin growled and kept flying, streaming over the water. Cade and Fidelity flew at his sides, wings beating mightily. The coast disappeared behind them. The crossbows fired again, and Korvin yowled as a bolt skimmed across his scales.
"Faster!" he shouted at Cade and his daughter. "Out of range!"
They flapped their wings with all their strength, shooting across the water. The firedrakes screeched behind. The beasts blew fire, and the jets blazed forward, just reaching Korvin's tail. The heat singed him, and he bellowed, spurred onward to extra speed. All land had now vanished, but the firedrakes showed no sign of slowing down.
And my own daughter flies among them, Korvin thought, feeling ill.
When he looked over his shoulder, he saw Domi there. She was staring at him. The sun began to set, gleaming upon her red and yellow scales; she seemed woven of fire, a great mount of flame for Lady Mercy, more phoenix than dragon.
She has always been like fire, Korvin thought. As a child, Fidelity had always been studious, serious, a little bookworm who stayed up late to read, pondered the meanings of histories, and collected every secret book she could on Requiem. Domi had been the opposite. While Fidelity read books about dragons, Domi became a dragon as often as she could—in secret caves, in moonless nights, in empty fields, flying and dreaming of Requiem. Once the girl had even shifted in her sleep, becoming a dragon in her bed, shattering that bed and cracking t
he walls of their home.
Finally Domi could bear it no more. When she had turned sixteen, she had fled the library, vowing to never be human again. She vowed that if Requiem could not return, she would no longer live like this, keeping her dragon magic secret. Instead she would be a firedrake, her human form forever hidden.
But I never thought she'd serve Mercy herself, Korvin thought, feeling sick. Mercy—the daughter of my old lover. The woman who hunts us. The woman who rides Domi now to slay me.
Flying like this over the sea, he did not know who Domi was more loyal to—her family or her cruel mistress.
The sun vanished behind the horizon, and still the dragons flew, and still the firedrakes pursued. The three dragons managed to widen the gap, but only enough to emerge from the range of crossbows and flames, and then they could widen it no further. Ever the firedrakes flew behind them, their fire lighting the night, their screeches rolling across the sea. Korvin's lungs began to ache, his wings to blaze in protest, his tongue to droop. And still the distant firedrakes roared and gave chase.
"Where are we flying to?" Cade said, banking to fly closer to Korvin. "I see nothing but water! We can't fly like this forever."
"Feel free to stop and let the firedrakes catch you," Korvin said with a growl. "Be glad I don't slay you myself. Mercy followed you to the library."
The golden dragon lowered his head as he flew. "I'm sorry, Korvin. I don't know how they found me. I journeyed in secret. Nobody knew I was coming to the library. Nobody other than . . ." Cade's breath died. "Domi. Oh, Spirit, Domi knew!" A growl rose in him, and Cade began to spin in the sky, to fly back toward the firedrakes. "Domi told them! Domi told Mercy, her very own rider! She—"
"Stop your foolishness!" Korvin slammed into Cade with clattering scales, swiped his tail, and forced the young dragon to keep flying east, away from the firedrakes. "You will not speak of my daughter that way. Domi is perhaps wild, but she's loyal to Requiem. She let us escape."
Yet a chill filled Korvin, and the words tasted bitter in his mouth. Was Cade right? Had Domi truly led Mercy here?
No. No! It was impossible. Domi had knocked the firedrakes aside, letting them flee from the library. Domi bore Mercy as a mount, but only for the pleasure of flying, not for hunting her own kind.
She's good at heart, Korvin thought. Isn't she?
"We'll worry about how they found you later," Korvin finally said, glaring at Cade. "And if I discover you were clumsy, that you led the firedrakes to my door, I'm likely to burn you myself. For now, keep flying! Fly faster. Fly until we lose them."
Fidelity, who had flown a few dozen feet above them during the confrontation, glided down to fly at Cade's side. "Fly forward, Cade," the blue dragon said softly. "Fly with me."
They flew onward.
They flew for hours.
The moon rose and fell, and the sun emerged over the horizon again, and their wings ached, and their lungs felt ready to collapse. And still the firedrakes followed.
Korvin panted as he flew. More than anything, he wanted rest. How could the firedrakes still fly? How—
Crossbow bolts flew through the dawn. One slammed into his tail.
"Father, faster!" Fidelity cried, flying ahead.
"Speed up, old man!" Cade said.
Korvin grumbled. He was more than twice their age, but he refused to fly slower. He caught up with them, putting more distance between himself and the pursuit, but every flap of his wings shot agony through him. Fidelity and Cade were weary too; he saw the weak puffs of smoke from their nostrils, the glassiness to their eyes. Still the sea stretched on, no sight of land ahead. Still the firedrakes followed.
"Shift into humans," Korvin said. "Both of you."
Cade tilted his scaly head. "And what, swim?"
"You go swim and rid the world of your foolishness! Fidelity can ride on me alone."
Cade blinked. "I don't understand."
"I think I do," Fidelity said. The blue dragon rose a few feet higher, coming to fly directly above Korvin. She lowered herself, letting her belly skim Korvin's back, then released her magic. When Korvin looked over his shoulder, he saw Fidelity back in human form. Her golden braid flew in the wind, her spectacles slid down her nose, and she clutched a copy of The Book of Requiem in her arms.
"How do you even shift into a dragon and still keep the book?" Cade said, still flying beside them. "I've never been able to shift with objects before, not without them clattering to the floor."
Fidelity laughed. "The same way you can shift with your clothes. Your clothes have become a part of you, a second skin. Anything that's a part of you shifts with you, dead or alive. Your hair and fingernails shift with you for the same reason." She smiled. "This book is a part of me. Now ride with me!"
The golden dragon nodded, swerved to fly above Korvin, and released his magic. He thumped down onto Korvin's scaly back and nearly slid off; Fidelity had to grab him. Soon the two were seated together, their legs straddling him. The extra weight shot more pain through him, but Korvin forced himself to keep flying, ever mindful of the firedrakes screeching behind him.
"Now sleep," he told them. "Regain your strength. Then Cade will take a turn with us on his back." A crooked grin twisted his snout. "The firedrakes can't fly forever. Taking shifts, we can fly for a very long time."
"Until thirst kills us," Cade said, then yawned and lay down on Korvin's back. Fidelity joined him and closed her eyes.
As the two slept, Korvin forced himself to keep flying. If before the pain had been bad, now—with the extra weight—Korvin wanted to plunge down into the sea and drown.
Ignore pain, he told himself, flapping his aching old wings again and again. Pain is irrelevant. You will fly through the pain. It cannot stop you.
He had felt worse pain in his life: in the war against the Horde as the enemy's spears had torn into him; in his youth, loving Beatrix, learning of her madness, fleeing her rage; in his adulthood, meeting Beatrix again, crying out in grief as the High Priestess stabbed Korvin's wife, her revenge for her spurned love.
And yet I've always kept going, Korvin thought. For my daughters. For the memory of Requiem.
And so he ignored the pain. Pain could not stop him. Pain existed only in the mind. He kept flying.
After what felt like hours, the firedrakes were still pursuing. Still the paladins' armor glinted in the distance, and still Korvin heard the cries of their mounts.
"Wake up," Korvin finally said. "Cade, your turn. Shift!"
The young man rose upon Korvin's back, leaped into the air, and fell through the sky. Scales rose across him, wings burst out from his back, and he flew back up. Korvin flew above the young dragon, letting Fidelity dismount him and climb onto Cade's scaly back. Finally Korvin released his magic with a groan, landing on the golden dragon too.
He sprawled out, facedown against Cade's scales. He slept.
They flew on.
The firedrakes pursued.
Still the water spread in all directions, no sign of land.
Hours later, when Fidelity flew as a blue dragon, bearing Cade and Korvin in human forms, the firedrakes finally cried out in rage and turned back.
Cade rose to his feet on Fidelity's scaly blue back, shook his fists at the fleeing firedrakes, and laughed.
"Yeah, get lost!" He laughed. "You can't outfly Vir Requis! You—"
He wavered on Fidelity's back and nearly fell down to the sea.
Korvin grabbed him and pulled him back to a sitting position. "Sit down and shut up." He stared into the east, heart sinking. "Our troubles aren't over yet."
Cade laughed. "Mine are. We escaped them. We—"
Shrieks rose from the east, interrupting him. Cade turned toward the sound and his chest deflated. Korvin cursed, leaped off Fidelity's back, and shifted into a dragon. Cade joined him, and the three dragons flew together, flames crackling in their maws.
"What are they?" Cade cried out.
Ten great beasts, even larger than dra
gons, were flying from the east. They had the bodies of lions, but their heads were the heads of great eagles, and feathered wings sprouted from their backs. Their cries pealed across the ocean. Riders sat on their backs, bare-chested, their skin tanned bronze and their platinum hair streaming like banners, and they bore bows and arrows. They all cried out for battle.
"Griffins," Korvin said grimly, his belly twisting. "Warriors of the Horde."
CADE
The griffins swarmed around them in the sky, a ring of fur and feathers. Cade gulped.
"By the Spirit," he said, whipping his head from side to side. His scales chinked, and his wings blasted the sea below with air.
The griffins were massive beasts, even larger than dragons. Their lion bodies were slick yet muscular, their hides covered in thick tan fur. Their wings spread out, brilliantly white, the outer feathers as long as men. Their beaks, bright yellow, were as large as dragon snouts and looked even sharper than dragon teeth.
On the griffins' backs rode the strangest men and women Cade had ever seen. They were certainly not men of the Commonwealth; back home, people tended to have pale skin in the north and west, olive skin in the east and south. Many, like Cade, had light brown hair and hazel eyes. But these griffin riders had deeply tanned, golden skin, blue eyes that shone like sapphires, and long platinum hair that reminded Cade of strands of sunlight. Their limbs were long, their faces noble. Men rode bare-chested, while women wore small vests strewn with many beads. They all carried spears and bows, and they cried out lilting battle cries. A few nocked arrows and tugged back the bowstrings.
Cade sneered, drew fire into his mouth, and prepared to blow a searing jet.
"Stop that, boy!" Korvin said, and a slap from the gray dragon's tail knocked the fire out of Cade's mouth. Korvin turned toward the griffins. "Warriors of the Horde! We mean you no harm. We do not serve the Commonwealth but flee it."
Dragons Lost Page 10
