She shuddered but kept walking. Soon she reached a stone archway, its heavy doors open. In the bustle of priests and guards, she stepped through and entered the dungeon.
A hallway stretched ahead, roughly hewn from the subterranean rock, and many cells lined it. Screams echoed and the smell of blood, sweat, and urine flared so powerfully Domi nearly gagged. Many soldiers stood here, rushing back and forth, talking and cursing. A priest stood at the back, chanting and praying to the Spirit.
There's room to shift here, Domi thought. Room to become a dragon. To kill them all.
But not yet. If she shifted here, if she filled the hall with dragonfire, the flames might enter the cells, might roast Cade and the other prisoners. She had to get closer, to make sure she stood with her back to Cade, protecting him from her fire.
She raised her chin and entered the corridor. As she walked, she glanced into every cell, looking for Cade. She grimaced. Inside the first cell she passed, a whipped man hung from chains, blood dripping from his lacerated chest. In a second cell, a guard was laughing as he stretched a woman on the rack; the prisoner screamed and wept as her arms popped from her sockets. Domi trembled and felt close to fainting, but she forced herself to keep walking. In a third cell, a mere boy lay curled up in the corner, not even reacting as rats fed on his legs.
The holiness and glory of the Cured Temple, here in all its sanctity, Domi thought and clenched her fists. On the surface, the High Priestess and her champions spoke of godly light, of righteousness. Here Domi saw the true rotted soul of the Cured Temple.
I must save them all, she realized, tears in her eyes. Along with her fear, loathing filled her, deep and hot—loathing for herself. She had been living here for months, a servant of this evil. She had slept in the bed of Lord Gemini himself, second born of the High Priestess, letting him invade her body, while here in the darkness lurked these terrors.
Some of this blood is on my hands, Domi thought, tears in her eyes. She raised her chin. I will fight this. I will redeem myself. For Cade. For Requiem. For all who scream here in pain, and for all who cry across the Commonwealth.
She passed by a few more cells, a few more pits of anguish and torture, until she reached a crowd of guards too thick to walk through. Two guards were laughing; another spat into a cell. Domi could not see past their shoulders, could not see inside that cell, but she heard a soft moaning.
Cade. Her chest shook and her heart seemed to shudder. He's alive. He's hurt.
She had to see him. She had to move closer, place herself between him and the guards, to protect him.
And then I'll shift. She dug her fingernails into her palms. Then I'll fill this whole damn dungeon full of fire. Perhaps she would burn the tortured prisoners inside the other cells. Perhaps that would be a mercy.
She inched closer. "Excuse me! I'm here to collect the rags. Excuse me!"
Domi began to worm her way between the soldiers when a hand clutched her shoulder.
"Domi."
Her heart sank. Fear leaped through her. Domi spun around and saw her there.
Mercy.
The paladin still wore her fine armor, and Domi saw blood on it. More blood speckled her boot and fists. Mercy's long, white hair fell neatly down her right side, revealing the shaved left side of her head. Her lips smiled, but her blue eyes were colder than the heart of winter, crueler than daggers of ice.
"My lady," Domi said and began to kneel.
Quick as a striking asp, the paladin grabbed Domi's neck and tugged her up.
"What are you doing here?" Mercy hissed. She leaned close and bared her teeth.
Domi wanted to mumble an excuse, wanted to shed a tear, to tremble, to play the part of a frightened servant, so confused in this great big temple full of lords and ladies.
Instead, Domi found herself staring firmly into Mercy's eyes, found herself hissing with the same rage. "Let me go."
Mercy growled and tightened her grip on Domi's neck, constricting her.
"You little whore." The paladin leaned closer, so close their noses almost touched. "Who are you?"
Domi would wait no longer.
She summoned her magic and, fast as she could, shifted into a dragon.
Her growing body shoved Mercy back. Her wings banged against the ceiling. Her claws dug into the floor, and her scaly flanks slammed into the cells at her sides. She filled the corridor, too large to move.
But not too large to blow fire.
And Domi blasted out that fire.
Her dragonfire shrieked forward, white hot, casting out red tongues of flame. Through the inferno, she glimpsed Mercy rolling aside and scuttling forward. Soldiers ran and fell, blazing. Prisoners screamed.
Domi glanced down, pausing for air. Instead of fleeing, Mercy had rolled forward, passing under the fire. The paladin now leaped up, shouting, and drove her sword into Domi's shoulder.
Domi screamed, whipped her head aside, and grabbed the paladin between her jaws.
"Die now," Domi said, driving her teeth into Mercy's white armor, bending the steel, seeking the flesh, ready to taste the blood and—
Pain drove into Domi's back.
She opened her mouth to scream, and Mercy fell from her jaws.
The pain drove into her again—swords behind her cutting her scales—and she lost her magic. She fell to the floor, a woman again.
"Weredragon in the dungeon!" men cried. "Loose weredragon!"
Soldiers charged toward her from all sides. Men screamed. Domi tried to shift again, and scales grew across her, and a crossbow fired. Men leaped forward with ilbane, and the poison pressed against her, and Domi couldn't even scream. All her magic faded.
"Open a cell!" Mercy shouted.
The paladin grabbed Domi's hair and dragged her across the floor. Domi struggled to breathe. She saw stars. She could barely see anything but shadows and floating lights. Before the darkness covered all, she saw Mercy leaning above her, smiling thinly.
"Two weredragons with one stone," the paladin said.
Then her fist drove forward, and Domi plunged into a land of blood, shadows, and endless screams.
CADE
"Domi." His voice rattled, barely more than a scratch in his throat. "Domi . . ."
The soldiers grabbed him. They tugged him to his feet and pulled him out of his cell. His feet dragged across the floor. He was too weak, too hurt to walk on his own.
"Domi!"
As they dragged him across the corridor, Cade looked aside and saw her in a cell. Domi lay on the floor, unconscious, maybe dead, bleeding from several cuts. Cade's eyes stung. There she lay—the woman he had dreamed of so often, the woman who had told him about Requiem. Her red hair spread around her head like another puddle of blood, and her eyes were closed.
Cade tried to break free. He tried to rush toward Domi's cell, to break through. He was too weak. Too many chains covered him; he could not break free, could not become a dragon. They dragged him onward. He moaned.
Mercy was walking ahead, leading the way. She looked over her shoulder at him. "Be silent, boy. My mother wants to see you. Save your breath for her. She has many questions for you, I'm sure. And save your strength too." She smiled thinly. "You will need it."
The soldiers manhandled him onward, and Cade struggled to walk, to place one foot in front of the other, not to let them drag him. They left the dungeon, rose up a flight of stairs, and walked through the Cured Temple.
It was a lavish building. The Temple preached humility and poverty, forcing commoners to live in huts and wear burlap, but here within the Temple itself, Cade saw splendor. Precious metals, gems, and marble coated the halls. Murals sprawled across the ceiling, and statues rose everywhere, depicting ancient druids in flowing robes. Cade took some satisfaction that his blood dripped behind him, staining the priceless mosaic floors.
He forced himself to look away from the wealth, to stare at Mercy who walked ahead of him. He let everything around him disappear until only the paladin filled his
vision, let all his pain fade until only rage simmered inside him.
I'm going to kill you, Mercy, he thought, and a resolution rose in him. Before they killed him, he would shift. He would become a dragon. The chains were not a part of him like his clothes; they would not be absorbed into his dragon form. When he grew into a dragon, the manacles would likely squeeze and squeeze until they ripped off his hands and feet. He would let it happen, let the manacles mutilate him. With his dying breath, he would become a dragon and blow his fire, taking Mercy with him to the pits of afterlife.
And he would do it in front of the crowd. He would roar his fire for the Commonwealth to see, and before he died, he would roar one word: Requiem.
After what seemed like miles, they reached a doorway, and the guards released him. Cade stood on his own, wavering, still bound in chains.
Mercy placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come, Cade."
She opened the door and guided him through.
Cade found himself in a vast chamber, wide as a village square, with a plain floor of marble tiles. Round walls soared hundreds of feet high; this chamber rose like a shaft, probably spanning the entire height of the Cured Temple.
In the center rose a marble column, pale and smooth. Seeing it, Cade lost his breath.
"King's Column," he whispered.
Tears filled his eyes. Throughout The Book of Requiem, this column appeared like a silver strand, connecting all generations of Requiem from its founders to him here today. King Aeternum himself had carved this column thousands of years ago, and the legendary Queen Laira—Mother of Requiem—had prayed before it. Blessed with the magic of the Draco constellation, this column had withstood Requiem's fall to the army of griffins, the fire of Queen Solina's phoenixes, and even the cruelty of General Cadigus the tyrant.
A middle-aged woman knelt before the column, seeming deep in prayer. Slowly, she rose and turned around. She wore simple white cotton, though the robes were richly woven and hemmed with silver. Her hair was white, flowing down the right side of her head; the left side was shaved. Her smile did not touch her blue eyes. Cade did not need to be told her name; she looked just like her daughter. Here before him stood High Priestess Beatrix, ruler of the Cured Temple and the lands of the Commonwealth.
"Hello, Cade," Beatrix said softly. She looked back toward the column. "Magnificent, isn't it? Over four thousand years old, and not a scratch on it. No matter how many hammers we swing. No matter how many men try. The column stands." She looked back at him. "It will stand so long as the dragon curse exists in the world. Until you and your kind all perish. Until the Falling." She clasped her hands together. "That day, the column will shatter, and the Spirit himself will descend to the world."
Cade grunted. "Yes, I've read The Book of the Cured."
Beatrix smiled thinly. She stepped closer to him and reached out a pale hand to touch his bruised cheek. She looked over his shoulder at Mercy.
"Daughter, I told you not to harm him."
Mercy shifted her weight, armor creaking, and sneered. "He resisted. So he bled."
"Again, you act like a butcher when I want a surgeon." Beatrix sighed and returned her eyes to Cade. She brushed the hair back from his brow. "Do you know why the dragon magic is a curse, Cade? As an impure child, you probably think it magical, a thing of wonder. You probably grew up flying at night, in secret, the wind beneath your wings, fire in your maw, feeling so free, so powerful. When Domi told you about Requiem—oh yes, I know all about Domi—you probably imagined that you could be like those old heroes. Like Kyrie Eleison who fought the griffins. Like Rune Aeternum who fought in the great civil war. I can imagine how, for a boy in a village, a dragon might seem enchanting, magical."
Cade stared into the High Priestess's eyes. "I'm guessing you're going to explain why I was wrong."
Beatrix laughed—a short, trill sound with no mirth or joy. "Because those old heroes, Cade . . . they all suffered. The hero Kyrie Eleison fought in a world of death, when griffins hunted our babes, when all but seven of us died. Because Rune Aeternum knew war and hunger and pain, a Requiem torn asunder. Because even King Aeternum himself, founder of Requiem, was a man full of grief, his wife and daughter slain because of their magic. To you, Requiem is a world of myth and wonder, but to those who lived in it, Cade . . . theirs was a kingdom of endless war, endless agony." Beatrix caressed his cheek. "We had to abolish that kingdom. We had to root out that magic. We had to become . . . normal. Only this way can we live in peace. Only this way can the Spirit come and bless us. We must all be cured."
Cade stared into her eyes, and he spoke hoarsely. "You didn't bring me here to debate theology. You brought me here for death. So do it. Kill me and get it over with."
But before I die, he added silently, I'll be taking both you and your daughter with me.
Beatrix raised her eyebrow. "Death, my boy? Oh no. I did not bring you here to kill you."
Mercy gasped. "What? Mother!" The paladin stormed forward and drew her sword. "We will flay him before the crowd! We will draw and quarter him! We will—"
"—do no such thing," Beatrix finished for her. "Sheathe your sword."
"I will not!" Mercy said. "I will slay him here myself, here in the Holy of Holies!"
"Sheathe your sword!" Beatrix demanded. "I will not allow you to slay your brother."
Mercy froze.
Cade blinked.
Beatrix smiled. She turned back toward Cade. "Yes, Cade." She touched his cheek, and those cold, heartless blue eyes suddenly dampened. "For years I sought you. For years after your father stole you away, I scoured the Commonwealth for you. You've returned to me at last. My lost son."
Cade stared at the High Priestess, then laughed.
All his pain, fear, and rage melted away into the laughter. His chest shook, and he fell to his knees, consumed with the laughter, with the madness.
Mercy seemed less amused. She stared at the High Priestess, pale, fists clenched. She managed to whisper only one word: "What?"
Ignoring her daughter, Beatrix knelt before Cade and caressed his hair. She stared into his eyes. "We're going to cure you, son. We're going to burn out your dragon magic and make you a paladin. And then, my son . . . you will hunt for me. You will hunt weredragons until this column falls."
Cade fell and lay on his side, too weak to laugh anymore, too weak to cry, too dazed for thought. King's Column soared above him, stretching toward the sky, a pillar of memory, of legend, and of dying magic.
The story continues in . . .
DRAGONS REBORN
Requiem for Dragons, Book Two
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AFTERWORD
Thank you for reading Dragons Lost. I hope you enjoyed the book.
The next Requiem for Dragons novel is titled Dragons Reborn. Click here to grab your copy or search your favorite ebook store for "Dragons Reborn."
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Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.
Daniel
NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON
THE MOTH SAGA
Moth
Empires of Moth
Secrets of Moth
Daughter of Moth
Shadows of Moth
Legacy of Moth
REQUIEM
Dawn of Dragons Requiem's Song
Requie
m's Hope
Requiem's Prayer
The Complete Trilogy
Song of Dragons Blood of Requiem
Tears of Requiem
Light of Requiem
The Complete Trilogy
Dragonlore A Dawn of Dragonfire
A Day of Dragon Blood
A Night of Dragon Wings
The Complete Trilogy
The Dragon War A Legacy of Light
A Birthright of Blood
A Memory of Fire
The Complete Trilogy
Requiem for Dragons Dragons Lost
Dragons Reborn
Dragons Rising
The Complete Trilogy
ALIEN HUNTERS
Alien Hunters
Alien Sky
Alien Shadows
OTHER WORLDS
Eye of the Wizard
Wand of the Witch
Firefly Island
The Gods of Dream
Flaming Dove
KEEP IN TOUCH
www.DanielArenson.com
[email protected]
Facebook.com/DanielArenson
Twitter.com/DanielArenson
Dragons Lost Page 23
