Dragons Lost

by Daniel Arenson

  "I am Mehdan of House She'al, Guardian of the Coast," said the one-eyed rider, blessedly interrupting Korvin's memory. "Follow."

  The riders spun their horses around and began heading into the camp. With a shaky breath and grunt, Korvin followed, and Amity walked at his side.

  They entered the tent city of Hakan Teer.

  For three hundred years, the people of the Horde had refused to build permanent dwellings. They claimed that their true home was across the sea, in the Commonwealth; they would build no true houses until they reclaimed that land. Still they lived only in tents, a sign of their exile, wandering the great lands of Terra as they grew and gathered their strength. Hakan Teer was no different. Rows of tents spread out here, countless, a great city. Korvin and Amity passed by many tents of warriors; the men sat outside, sharpening swords, cooking game on campfires, drinking grog, and playing games of dice. But inside many other tents, Korvin saw dwellings for women and children. The wives of warriors gossiped, washed laundry in buckets, or wove garments of beads and wool. Children scuttled everywhere, laughing and playing with wooden swords. Goats, dogs, and cats wandered between the tents, hens pecked in pens, and roosters cawed. Hakan Teer, Korvin thought, was a blend between a military garrison, a refugee city, and an unorganized mass of squatters and roaming beasts.

  As he looked around him, he picked out different nationalities. Some here had the golden skin, blue eyes, and platinum hair of Tirans; their desert home, Tiranor, had been destroyed long ago in a war against Requiem. Others looked more like people from the Commonwealth; they were survivors of Old Osanna, a land annexed into the Temple's empire. Some people were shorter, their skin olive-toned, their eyes green, their hair black—survivors of the most ancient of civilizations that had once risen on this coast. All had lost their homes. All dreamed of reforming their nations—on the ashes of the northern Commonwealth.

  And they just might win this war, Korvin thought, staring at a courtyard where a thousand men and women were drilling with spears and shields. Sweat glistened on their skin, and they bared their teeth as they spun, leaped, and dueled one another. Korvin watched a wild, dark-haired woman shout as she swung her practice sword, knocking down a hairy warrior twice her size. She spat and cried out in triumph as around her a thousand others swung dulled blades against bruising flesh.

  They walked on. The land sloped upward from the sea, dry and strewn with rocks. They passed between lumbering warriors, seven feet tall, who bore barrels upon their backs; around a makeshift fortress of branches and rope, caches of weapons visible within their walls; and under gliding griffins and salvanae whose cries filled the air. The camp smelled of sweat and blood, oil and iron, ale and cooking fires and looming war.

  After walking for a mile or more, they reached a sprawling stone wall—the only brick structure Korvin had seen so far in this camp. Several guards stood at a gatehouse, armed with spears and holding round shields. The riders who had met Korvin and Amity at the beach dismounted their horses and spoke to the guards. For a moment, the men exchanged quick, harsh words. They spoke in Low Speech, a patois developed within the Horde a few generations ago, mingling the different tongues of its founding nations. Korvin spoke the language well; he had studied it during his two years of combat in this place.

  Finally Mehdan—the one-eyed, pale-haired man who had led them here from the coast—turned back toward Korvin and Amity. He spoke in a low voice.

  "You will now see the Abina Kahan, King of the Horde. His excellence has seen your approach from the sea; indeed he foresaw it many days ago, and he desires to speak with you."

  Abina, Korvin thought. Low Speech for 'king.' And this king might just restore the kingdom of Requiem.

  With that, the guards swung the doors open. Mehdan entered, not turning to look back. Korvin glanced at Amity. The young, golden-haired woman gave him a wink and grin, and the two passed through the gateway together.

  They found themselves in a lush garden. The land outside was dry and rocky and barren; within these walls, a cobbled path led between cedars and pines, and thousands of cyclamens and cacti grew among rocks. Limestone statues of griffins and men rose from carpets of fallen pine needles. Ahead rose a stone mansion, ivy climbing its walls. Two griffins stood before its portico, guarding the stairway that led to the doors.

  Amity whistled appreciatively. "Nice place they got here." She poked Korvin in the ribs. "What say you marry me and buy me a mansion like this?"

  He grumbled. "What say you watch your tongue when we're walking to meet a king?"

  She stuck her tongue out at him. "Like thith?"

  He groaned. "Put that thing away before it snags in a branch."

  When they entered the villa, they found themselves in a large, round foyer lined with columns. A mosaic sprawled across the floor, depicting eagles, foxes, hinds, and other animals of Terra. Ferns grew from stone pots, and murals of suns and stars covered the ceiling. A bronze statue of a nude woman holding a pitcher stood in the corner. A great mural covered one wall, larger than life, depicting a handsome king with a long, thick beard battling sea serpents to save a goddess bound to a rock.

  Amity examined the mural and whistled again. "If this is a portrait of the abina, he's a handsome one. Might be I'll marry him instead of you, Korvin."

  A door opened, and young serving women in white livery approached, their dark hair hanging across their left shoulders in braids. "The abina will see you now," said one and turned to lead them into a second chamber.

  They entered a grand chamber, its pale columns supporting a vaulted ceiling, and saw the abina ahead upon a cushioned throne.

  Korvin glanced at Amity. Still want to marry him? he asked with raised eyebrow.

  While the king in the painting was muscular and tall, a proud warrior with the body of a god, the abina before them was paunchy and balding, long past his warrior years. Golden ringlets were strewn through his graying beard, and many jewels adorned his fingers, neck, and wrists. He wore golden robes and held a chalice. Several guards stood at his sides, iron helmets hiding their faces.

  Korvin and Amity both knelt.

  The abina cleared his throat and stared down at them. His eyes narrowed shrewdly. "I have seen you fly across the sea, shapeshifters." His voice was deep and rumbling. "My men report troubling news. They speak of my outposts in Leonis attacked." The abina leaned forward in his seat, resting his arms on his thighs, and his face hardened. "What of my son? What of Prince Belas who commanded the northern isles?"

  Korvin grimaced. Belas—the man who had greeted him at the islands—was the son of the Horde's king?

  Amity straightened and raised her chin. "Your son fought bravely, my lord! I am Amity, a warrior of the Horde. I fought with Belas. He slew many of the enemy, and—"

  "Where is my son!" the abina roared, rising to his feet. His voice echoed, and his throne nearly toppled backward.

  Amity paled, for an instant lost for words. Korvin stepped forward, placing himself between the abina and Amity.

  "Your son fell, my lord," Korvin said, voice grim, staring at the king. "I am sorry. I grieve for your loss. I did not know Belas well, but he—"

  "Silence!" thundered Abina Kahan. His fists trembled. His lips peeled back. "Who are you, shapeshifter, to bring me news of my fallen son? Of a prince nobler than any man in the Horde or Commonwealth?" The abina tossed back his head, tore his tunic, and roared to the ceiling. "Alas! He is fallen!"

  Korvin and Amity lowered their heads. For a long moment, the King of the Horde roared in anguish, and his hands tore at his beard.

  Korvin moved closer to Amity. "Why didn't you tell me Belas was his son?" he whispered.

  She was pale, staring forward at the bellowing king. Ignoring Korvin, she took a step closer to Kahan.

  "My abina," she said, voice trembling at first but soon gaining confidence. "The cowards of the Commonwealth, paladins and their warriors, murdered your son. Let us seek vengeance! My sword is yours, and I vow to serve you
, to fight for you. Let us sail north to the lands of the enemy, and—"

  The king pointed a shaky finger toward her. Amity was a tall woman, nearly as tall as Korvin, but Abina Kahan loomed over her like an enraged father over an errant daughter.

  "You slew him!" Spittle flew from Kahan's mouth. "You and your fellow shapeshifter. You are weredragons! You led the Cured Temple to the islands. You murdered my son!"

  Korvin grunted and stepped forward, placing himself between the king and Amity. He had to struggle to keep his voice steady; it shook with anger. "My king, you grieve now. Perhaps next moon, we can discuss this again. Perhaps then—"

  "Murderers!" the abina roared. "Guards, capture them! Chain them up! Toss them into my dungeon!"

  Korvin had heard enough. He sucked in his magic and began to shift into a dragon.

  Before he could complete his transformation, the guards charged forth, swinging maces. The flanged heads slammed into Korvin, knocking him down. He hit the floor with a grunt, and more maces swung down onto him. The pain knocked his magic away. He writhed, kicking, as punches rained down.

  "Let us go, you flea-infested, piss-drinking goat!" Amity was shouting. Guards were slamming wooden staffs against her and closing chains around her ankles and wrists. She too tried to shift; as soon as scales flowed across her, a blow from a staff slammed into her head. She fell, unconscious and bleeding.

  "Amity!" Korvin shouted. He whipped his head back toward the abina. "Kahan, listen to me. We're here to help you, to—"

  A guard's fist slammed into Korvin's head, knocking it sideways. He saw stars. Before he could take another breath, manacles closed around his wrists and ankles. Korvin blinked and tried to shift but could not; the chains held him in human form. A kick from a guard knocked him to the floor. He lay beside Amity. Her breath was weak, and a trickle of blood flowed down her temple.

  I doomed her too, Korvin thought, the guilt nearly crushing him. She too will die because of me.

  Kahan's boots slammed down by Korvin's head. The abina snorted and spoke to his guards. "Toss them into the dungeon for now, but ready the horses. We head south to the mountains at dawn. We'll feed these murderers to Behemoth there. The old boy is hungry."

  Hands grabbed Korvin and Amity, yanking them up. Korvin kicked and shouted as the guards dragged them out of the chamber, down a tunnel, and into an underground cell. The door slammed shut, sealing them in darkness.

  GEMINI

  Again a woman moaned in his bed. Again Gemini moved atop her, doing his duty to the Spirit, planting his pureborn seed into her womb.

  "My lord," the woman moaned, eyes closed, sweat dampening her dark hair.

  Once these nights had been things of passion, of lust, of wonder and laughter at his luck to serve as a Holy Father, to bed another woman every night. But they had become tedious to Gemini, mechanical tasks. The woman beneath him was attractive enough, all curves and heat, but Gemini no longer cared for such things. He performed his task quickly, then rolled off her and lay in his bed, covered in sweat, winded.

  "My sweet lord Gemini," the woman whispered, cuddling against him. "I'm sleepy." She kissed his chest, nestling up for sleep.

  "Get out," he said.

  She blinked, hurt in her eyes. "My lord?"

  "Get out." His voice was strained. "Leave."

  Her eyes filled with pain, then with rage, then finally with cold acceptance. She nodded, slipped her tunic back on, and left the chamber.

  Gemini sighed, staring at the doorway she'd gone through, then turned his head toward the other side of his bedchamber. Domi stood there in the corner, head lowered, hands clasped together.

  "I'm sorry." Gemini was surprised to find guilt fill him. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Domi. I wish I could find you your own chamber, but I don't trust my mother enough to let you out of my sight. It would not be safe, and . . ." He swallowed. "Oh, to the Abyss." He patted the bed beside him. "Let's get some sleep."

  Domi nodded, still daring not meet his eyes. Her cheeks were flushed. Silently, she climbed into his bed and under the blankets. Gemini pulled her into his arms and kissed her cheek.

  "I know this isn't the life you wanted," Gemini whispered to her, stroking her hair. "Until I know you're safe here, that my mother holds you no animosity, I must keep you close. I must protect you. I . . ." A yawn interrupted his words. "I'm bloody tired."

  Domi yawned too and closed her eyes. Her body relaxed, and she cuddled against him and laid her head upon his chest. He lay holding her, one hand on the small of her back, the other caressing her hair. Gemini hated women sleeping in his bed—he always cast aside those fertile women the priests sent him—but he found comfort with Domi. He did not want to ever break apart from her. He wanted to lie like this forever, their bodies entwined, two joined into one. He slept holding her.

  Their life continued.

  Dawns rose, and he walked with Domi through the temple gardens, and he fed her lavish meals, and he bought her jewels and even a finch in a golden cage. She spoke little and often stared at her toes, and her hair always fell across her face—a fragile, frightened little finch of his own, his own precious songbird in a cage.

  But sometimes he saw joy in her. Sometimes a smile broke through the darkness that always engulfed her—a true smile, full of light, a smile that filled her eyes, that filled his soul. He lived for those smiles. He lived to make her happy.

  In the nights, he took Domi into his chamber, and she stood in the corner, waiting patiently as he performed his duty, as he bedded his women. And every night, as Gemini cast those potential mothers out his door, he took Domi into his bed, and he held her throughout the night. He never made love to Domi, never wanted to feel that he defiled her, that she was just another woman to him.

  And every night, as she fell asleep in his arms, he kissed the top of her head, and he whispered soft words to her: "I love you, Domi. Always. You will always be mine."

  DOMI

  Every night, she stood in the corner, watching him make love to other women. Every night, Domi slept in his arms, and she loved him, and she hated herself.

  Forgive me, Requiem, she thought every night, tears gathering behind her eyelids.

  And then Gemini kissed her head, and he whispered of his love, and Domi couldn't help it. She couldn't help but feel warm, protected, cherished, and these were new feelings for her. She had spent her life in hiding, afraid, hunted, a wild beast, an exile. Now the most powerful man in the Commonwealth held her in his arms, and Domi couldn't help it.

  She loved him.

  As she lay in Gemini's arms, his hand stroking her hair, she held him close.

  I love you for the pain I see inside you, she thought. I love you for the fear I sense in you, the broken pieces, the man shattered by his family, the man I want to heal.

  "Look, Domi! A cardinal!"

  They were walking through the summer gardens outside the Cured Temple. Birches, maples, and pines rustled around them, and a thousand kinds of flowers bloomed. A man-made stream gurgled at their feet, and the grass rustled in the wind.

  Domi gasped and smiled. The cardinal fluttered above, bright red, a splash of brilliant color. She smiled.

  "I love cardinals."

  "Would you like me to get you one as a pet?" Gemini said. "A companion to your finch?"

  She shook her head. "No." Sudden sadness filled her, and she lowered her head. "My finch was born in captivity, and it would not survive on its own. It's accustomed to golden bars around it, life in a comfortable cage, a life of endless food, safety, warmth in the winter, shelter from the heat . . . captivity in luxury." She looked up at the cardinal, and a tear trailed down her cheek. "But this cardinal, with its bright red feathers, is a wild bird, a thing of freedom. It was born to fly in the wild, alone. Sometimes it's hungry. Sometimes it's cold. Often it's afraid and the winds buffet it, and sometimes it doesn't know if it can weather the storm. It has no home, no security, and its life is hard. And it would not choose any other
life. It would choose a sky of hail, wind, and hawks over safety in a gilded cage."

  She looked away, tears in her eyes.

  Gemini looked at her silently, and he softly held her hand.

  That night the priests sent another woman into his chamber, another womb for him to fill, to pass on his pure blood, blood without the magic of dragons.

  Gemini sent her away without ever touching her.

  That night, he stood beside Domi at the window, and they gazed together outside at the night. The stars shone brilliantly over the city. Above, Domi could see the Draco constellation, the stars shaped as the dragon. The brightest among them, the dragon's silver eye, seemed to gaze upon her. In The Book of Requiem, it was called Issari's Star, named after the great Vir Requis who had saved Requiem from the demons of the Abyss. Domi wondered who would save her from the Abyss inside her, for not all demons were creatures of the underground. Some demons lived within the soul, harder to kill.

  "The stars are beautiful," Domi said.

  Gemini nodded. "I would often look at them as a child, wondering what they are. The Cured Temple teaches that they're messengers of the Spirit, but I've always wondered. They seem so far away, too far even for the Spirit to reach. I dared to suggest that once to the priests, ask if the Spirit even had dominion over those distant lights." He laughed bitterly. "My mother ordered Brother Malum to beat me for that question. I stopped asking after that, but I never stopped looking at the stars." He turned toward Domi and held her hands. "It's strange, isn't it? How we always want things we can't reach, can't have, things forbidden."