"Julian, is . . . is Roen here?" Fidelity asked, and she heard the tremble to her voice, and she felt a heat rise inside her.
The bearded old man grew somber, and when he looked at her, his eyes softened. "He's out hunting, lassie. He'll be back by evening. Come inside meanwhile. I've got a pot of mushroom stew cooking."
Cade frowned. "Come inside where? I only see a tree, not a house."
Julian bristled and raised his chin. "This is my house!" He lifted a branch and rapped Cade's shoulder. "And you'd be wise not to look down upon it." He turned back toward the great oak, and his voice became wistful. "This tree here is my castle, my temple, greater than any in the realm. Certainly greater than that garish lump of glass and crystal in the capital." He snorted and looked back at Cade. "Don't tell me you worship the Spirit, boy. If you're a man of the Cured Temple, I won't have you here."
Fidelity stepped forward and placed a hand on Julian's shoulder. "Cade's one of us, Julian. He's Vir Requis."
Julian's eyes widened, and his jaw fell open. "Well, I'll be! A fellow Vir Requis. Can you do this, boy?"
The old man took a few steps back and began to shift. Dry leaves fluttered. Twigs snapped. Wings creaked, scales hardened, and finally Julian stood as an old silver dragon.
Cade nodded. "I can." Among the trees, he too shifted, becoming a golden dragon.
The two dragons stared at each other, then released their magic, returning to human forms. Julian's eyes sparkled with tears.
"I'll be," the old man whispered again. "A new one."
He cleared his throat, blinked furiously, and turned around. He hopped toward the tree, scuttled up the trunk, and vanished among the branches.
Fidelity and Cade followed. They climbed over several branches and found a hole leading into the tree trunk. Fidelity entered first, slid down a little wooden slope, and found herself within Old Hollow. Cade slid down next, bumping into her.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
On the inside, Old Hollow hid a cozy little burrow. The walls were formed of the oak tree, smoothed and polished. Rugs covered the floor, and three stools rose around a table. Strings of beads and feathers hung from the walls, and a curtain of lichen formed the ceiling. A pot of mushrooms bubbled over embers. They sat and ate.
For a long time, Fidelity talked.
She spoke of meeting Cade, of fleeing to the islands, of carrying the last Book of Requiem. She spoke of the library falling, of wanting to print hundreds of copies, to distribute the books across the Commonwealth, to let people know their magic was blessed, a magic to cherish and protect, not sear away with tillvine. And she spoke of her father falling into the sea, almost certainly dead, and then her voice choked, and her eyes watered, and she could speak no more. Cade took her hand in his under the table, and she squeezed it for comfort.
As she spoke, Julian listened quietly, growing more and more somber. Finally, when her story was told, he placed down his spoon and spoke carefully.
"We'll dig up the treasure," the old man said. "The coins of Old Requiem will shine again in the sunlight. We'll buy the printing press." He reached across the table to pat Fidelity's arm. "I'm here for you, Fi. You know that. Always."
She nodded, sniffing back tears.
Before she could reply, she heard singing from outside. The voice was deep, the song merry, a song of hunting, of planting, of deep woods and rain and sunlight. Fidelity's heart burst into a gallop.
Roen.
Suddenly Fidelity hesitated. She had dreamed of seeing him again for years, yet now she wanted to hide. Julian saw her turmoil, and his eyes softened.
"Go speak to him," he whispered.
She nodded. Leaving the old man and the boy, she climbed out of the tree, hopped down onto the forest floor, and saw him there.
At first he didn't notice her. He was holding a brace of pheasants across one shoulder, a bow across the other, and an axe hung from his belt. He wore tan trousers and tall boots, and his chest was bare in the summer heat. His hair was still a mess, strewn with leaves, and his beard was thick and brown. He was seven years older than Fidelity; he had already been a man when she had left him, but she had been only seventeen, and the pain had never left her.
Perhaps he's forgotten me, she thought as he hung his hunted birds upon a branch, still singing. Perhaps he pushed me out of his memory while I clung to his.
"Hello, Roen," she said softly.
He spun toward her and froze. His face remained still, but she saw the feeling in his eyes, the deep pain that surfaced there. His song died on his lips. And she knew: He never forgot me. He never stopped thinking of me.
"Fidelity," he whispered.
She approached him hesitantly, dragonflies and fireflies hovering around her. He dropped his bow, approached her with three great strides, and seemed ready to embrace her, then hesitated. She placed a hand on his chest, and her touch seemed to remove all doubt from him. A grin split his face, and he pulled her into his arms. It was an engulfing embrace, the warm, strong embrace she had missed so much. His arms were wide, his chest damp and hot against her cheek. He pulled her up into the air, nearly crushing her against him, and spun her around. She laughed and he placed her down.
"Fidelity," he said again. "I . . . I didn't think you'd return. I'm . . . oh stars, Fi." Something seemed to break inside him, and his smile faded. "I'm sorry. So many times I wanted to tell you I'm sorry, but—"
She placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "Let's walk."
He nodded.
They left Old Hollow behind, and they walked for a long time through the woods. Fidelity repeated her story, telling Roen about the past few days—and about the past few years. He listened silently as they walked between the trees, as the setting sun's rays fell upon them, glistening with pollen.
"I often missed you," Fidelity finally said. "In the library, at night, when I'd fall asleep holding a book, I wished I were falling asleep holding you." She lowered her head, feeling her cheeks blush. "I wish you had come with me."
Roen sighed and looked around him at the forest. "What I told you then is still true. I'm no man of the city. All I know is these woods. I'm descended of the Vir Requis of Oldnale, and even then we shied away from cities, choosing a life in countryside and forest." He looked at her, eyes pained. "Every day after you left, I hurt. Sometimes I even started to walk through the woods, seeking the road, wanting to join you, but . . . I always turned back. I could not bring myself to live under the heel of the Cured Temple."
"And I could not bear to live without you," she whispered. "But I had to leave. I had to protect the books. And I failed. Now only one book remains." Suddenly she could not curb her tears. "Now my father is fallen. Now my library lies in ruin, and all I have left is this one book, Roen. All I have left is a story and pain."
"You have me," he said and held her hand. "You've always had me. And my father too. Even if we did not join you in the city, we were always here for you. Thinking about you. Loving you. I love you, Fidelity."
He kissed her. At first she did not want it. She did not need that old love; it would be too sweet, too painful to lose his love again. She turned her head aside, and his lips brushed her cheek, but then she could resist it no longer. She turned her head back toward him, and she kissed him, a deep kiss that tasted of her tears, the kiss she had dreamed of so often, had missed with such intensity that sometimes her body had been unable to bear it.
She placed her hands in his hair, and he wrapped his arms around her. He knelt before her and pulled her down, and they lay upon the forest floor. She gasped as his hands reached under her tunic, hard and callused hands, yet gentle as they caressed her body, rising to cup her small breasts, exploring her. She closed her eyes as they undressed, as he kissed her body. They made love as they used to, a wild thing like fire.
I missed you, she thought as their naked bodies moved together. I love you, Roen.
The sun was setting as they walked back, and Roen lit a tin lantern. Fireflies
glowed around them, adding their light. He did not return directly to Old Hollow, but instead he took her to a towering boulder. A rune shaped as a dragon glowed upon it, peeking through a cloak of moss.
"The Vir Requis raised this stone," Roen said. "Back when Requiem still stood. As House Oldnale fell to ruin, we buried a treasure here—a treasure for us to claim when we rise again." He stared at her solemnly, his eyes gleaming in the soft light. "It's time we rise."
He shifted then, becoming a green dragon, and dug through the soil with his claws. Five feet deep, his claws clattered against an old chest. He pulled it out, placed it down before Fidelity, and cracked open the rusty padlock. He returned to human form and opened the chest.
Fidelity gasped with wonder and passed her hands through the treasure. The golden coins chinked. Each was engraved with a dragon on one side, a birch leaf and the word "Requiem" on the other.
"The ancient treasure of Requiem," she whispered.
Roen nodded. "I hate to lose the coins. They are precious. You don't need to use them all; only a few will be enough to buy your printing press." He smiled thinly. "Of course we'll have to melt the gold into a bar or two. It's not exactly legal to use Requiem currency."
They returned to Old Hollow, bearing the treasure, and slept that night outside the tree under blankets of lichen. Fidelity lay awake for a long time, nestled between Cade and Roen. When she closed her eyes, she kept seeing it again and again: her father falling into the sea, bleeding, and Amity roaring and burning.
Finally she clutched her book to her chest, and she slept and dreamed of old Requiem and skies full of dragons.
KORVIN
The two dragons, gray and red, had been flying across the sea for days before they saw the southern land of the Horde.
"The continent of Terra," Korvin said, gliding over the sea toward that distant coast.
Amity flew at his side, a red dragon wreathed in smoke. She grinned toothily. "A land of vicious killers, terrifying beasts, and ancient monsters of terror. Just the sort of gang we're looking for."
Korvin grunted. "Just the sort of gang that could kill us."
"Or kill High Priestess Beatrix." Amity winked.
He gave another grunt and said no more. Amity didn't know that he'd once loved Beatrix, that he had almost married her. She did not know that Beatrix had then gone mad, risen to the High Priesthood, and slaughtered his wife. Amity didn't need to know such things, Korvin decided. His was a private pain, deep, one he would keep buried within him.
And along with those memories dwelled other old hurts. He had been to these lands before, and the nightmares still filled him.
"The Horde," he grumbled. "Did you know that Requiem itself created it?"
Amity raised an eyebrow. "Requiem—created the Horde? Are you mad?"
He shook his head, scattering smoke. "Requiem was not always a land of righteousness and peace. For a generation, a madman named General Cadigus ruled the kingdom of dragons, and he burned all lands around him. He slaughtered the people of Tiranor and Osanna. He slew most of the griffins of the islands and most of the salvanae, true dragons of the west."
Amity frowned. "Nations of the Horde."
He nodded. "The original four nations, yes. And others joined them—the peoples of Terra, of the northern icelands, of the distant realms west of Salvandos—all gathered to fight Requiem." He laughed mirthlessly. "They thought they could destroy us. Turns out we destroyed ourselves from within. The Cured Temple rose from among our own people, effacing all memories of Requiem, but the Horde remains."
Amity blasted out fire and roared. "The Commonwealth rose upon the ruins of Requiem. She is a new enemy to the Horde. And we'll rise against this enemy, a great invasion." Her eyes lit up. "Imagine it, Korvin! The vast armies of the Horde, seeking revenge for their burnt outpost on Leonis, landing on the coasts, sweeping across the landscapes of the Commonwealth, charging through the capital and putting Beatrix's head on a spike." She laughed. "I'd like to chop off her head myself."
Korvin looked at the red dragon and sighed. He was once like her—eager for battle, filled with fire and brimstone, ready to fight the world. Losing his wife had changed him. He no longer craved battles or glory.
I just want to see my daughters again. I want to raise them in a world where they can fly free, where they no longer have to hide their secret. I want to see Requiem restored with starlight and magic, not bloodshed and flame.
Yet he flew on, for perhaps Amity was right. For years, he had lingered in the shadows, dreaming, whispering of Requiem. Perhaps Requiem needed Fidelity to whisper of her lore . . . and needed him to be a soldier again.
"We would be wise to approach the Horde in human forms," Korvin said. "If we fly in as two dragons, they'll think us firedrakes of the Temple. They'll kill us before we can speak." He blasted smoke out from his nostrils. "The soldiers of the outposts almost did the same, and they'll be less forgiving here in the mainland."
Amity snorted and spat out fire. "If we wander in as humans, they'll think us random beggars come out of the desert. They'd kill us even quicker." She winked at him. "I know the Horde, big boy. Fly on. Stay near me."
He grumbled. "I know the Horde too. The wounds it gave me still ache most days."
And yet he flew on with her, approaching the distant coast.
The noon sun was blazing when they finally reached the continent of Terra.
Five thousand years ago, the great civilization of Eteer had risen upon this coast, a nation of seafarers, first in the world to discover the secrets of metallurgy and writing in clay tablets. That civilization had fallen millennia ago; today all that remained of Eteer were a few columns rising along the coast, crumbling old walls, and ancient tales. Beyond these ruins, covering the dry plains and fields, sprawled Hakan Teer—northern settlement of the Horde.
While the wondrous palaces of Eteer had fallen, a great new wonder rose here: Eras and Elamar, the great Twin Stallions of the Horde. The two statues rose from the beach, soaring toward the sky, hundreds of feet tall—as tall as the Cured Temple in the north. Carved of limestone, they were shaped as wild horses, rearing and kicking, manes flying proudly. Their hooves were gilded and shining in the sunlight. For hundreds of years, Eras and Elamar had guarded the coast of Terra, the gateway to the southern continent.
Beyond the Twin Stallions, thousands of tents sprawled across the land, their coverings made of burlap, wool, or fur. Flags rose among them, displaying five serpents coiling together, symbolizing the different nations of the Horde. This was no mere camp like in the outposts; here was an entire city. Dirt roads ran between the tents, clogged with people: tall and fair Tirans from the desert, their skin golden, their platinum hair long and smooth; survivors of the old realm of Osanna in the north, shorter but wider, their hair and eyes of many colors; native warriors of Terra, the descendants of the old civilizations that had once risen here, their skin olive-toned, their hair dark, their eyes green. The warriors wore motley suits of armor: chainmail, iron plates, studded leather, even wood. They carried assorted weapons: clubs, spears, scimitars, axes, hammers. Many rode horses and chariots. They were more mob than army, not organized into units and subunits but a single mass, wild and fierce.
Along with the men, beasts dwelled here too. Hundreds of griffins stood beyond the tents, clad in armor. Salvanae, true dragons from the mythical realms of Salvandos, hovered several feet above the surface, their serpentine bodies coiling and streaming. Their scales glimmered, and their beards hung to the ground.
As the two dragons approached the coast, dozens of those griffins and salvanae took flight and came flying toward them. Riders rode upon them, armed with bows. Shouts rose from among the tents, and archers rushed forth and nocked arrows.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Amity!" Korvin shouted.
The red dragon grinned at him. "Follow my lead."
As the Horde flew toward them, and as archers fired arrows from the shore, Amity released her magic.
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She fell from the sky, a human again.
Korvin cursed, released his magic too, and fell down with her.
The arrows sailed harmlessly above them. The griffins and salvanae paused in midflight, hovered, and cried out in surprise.
Amity and Korvin kept falling, rushing down toward the water. An instant before they could hit the ocean, they shifted back into dragons and soared.
"Horde!" Amity cried out. "Hear me, Horde! I am Amity, one of your number. Do not mistake us for firedrakes! We are dragons of Requiem!"
The archers on the coast lowered their bows. The griffins screeched, and the salvanae bugled out unearthly cries, the sound of silver trumpets.
Dragons of Requiem . . .
In the Commonwealth, speaking the word "Requiem" was a capital offense; Amity would be drawn and quartered for speaking such a word in the light of the Cured Temple. Hearing the name of his fallen kingdom spoken in the open brought tears to Korvin's eyes. He prayed that someday even in the north, in his homeland, the name of Requiem would be spoken freely too.
A hundred griffins accompanied them to the shore. The two dragons landed on the sand and stood between the water and the tent city. The griffins landed all around them, and the salvanae coiled above, hovering in place, their long bodies swaying. Soaring above all rose the Twin Stallions of limestone, great guardians of Terra.
A company of men rode forward on horses. They wore iron breastplates engraved with five serpents, and their hair was long and braided. At their lead rode a tall man with long, platinum hair, golden skin, and an eye patch, and he carried a drawn saber. The other riders raised spears, and their banners billowed in the wind.
Amity returned to her human form and raised her chin. "Guardians of the Horde! We come from the outposts of Leonis. The Cured Temple attacks!" She bared her teeth at the riders. "Lower your weapons and take us to your lord."
Korvin returned to human form and stood, chin raised, jaw clenched. The riders stared down at him, and many more soldiers of the Horde covered the beach, hands resting on their weapons. Every breath rattled in Korvin's throat, and his old wounds blazed. Again he was a young man, only a youth, storming these beaches with thousands of his comrades, warriors of the Spirit, fodder of the Cured Temple. Again he saw the flaming arrows slam into his friends, steal their lives, and the blood flowing, and—
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