For Requiem.
Elory screamed below in the boat. The second chariot was circling above it, and the seraph fired down arrows. One arrow slammed into Vale's shoulder, and the young slave shouted.
Meliora thrust her spear again, driving it deep into the seraph's torso, and shoved him off the chariot. She grabbed the reins. She snarled.
Just like the chariot race down the boulevard.
She grinned savagely and drove the firehorses forward. She slammed into the second chariot of fire, and she leaped through the air.
The chariots blasted out flame.
Meliora soared skyward, then plunged down, spear lashing, and drove the blade into the second seraph.
His lance scraped across her thigh.
Fire seared her blood.
The firehorses tangled together, the chariots shattered against each other, and the great ball of fire plunged from the sky.
They crashed into the river.
Black water flowed above her head, dousing the fire on her arm, extinguishing her halo. She sank. Around her in the water, she saw the firehorses still kicking, sinking, their flames dying, leaving them as pale, withered things that faded into nothing. Her blood danced around them.
Meliora kicked underwater.
The water beckoned to her, demons of the deep tugging at her feet. The pain flared through her, and the river whispered, Sink, join us . . . let us soothe the pain . . . there is no pain down there, only warm darkness.
She sneered and kicked with all her might.
I do not die this night.
She rose in the water, shoving her way through the last, crackling pieces of the chariots. She saw nothing. She barely knew up from down. She kept kicking. She could not find the surface. She sank again.
"Meliora!" The voice rolled through the water, and she swam toward it. "Meliora!"
She bumped into him, and she cried out wordlessly, and arms wrapped around her. His legs kicked, and they rose together, and their heads burst over the surface.
Meliora gulped down air, coughed, inhaled again. The air was hot, full of ash, and beautiful.
Vale swam in the water, his arms still around her, breathing deeply.
"You saved my life," she said, love for this man—the brother she had never known—filling her with warmth.
He smiled thinly. "Just returning the favor, sister."
Hands reached down toward them—Elory and Tash leaning over the boat—and they climbed in, coughing. Scraps of fire still burned on the river, fading one by one like extinguishing stars. They sailed onward, passing between the towering idols . . . and out into the open darkness.
The boat flowed onward, leaving the walls of the city behind. Soon the darkness was complete, cloaking them like a blanket.
Meliora lay in the boat, letting Vale bandage her wounds with strips from his cloak, and she stared back at the city, at the lights fading in the distance, at the chariots of fire that still streamed overhead. The lights of Shayeen shone, and from dark Tofet still rose the screams of the dying.
"We will return to you, my people," Meliora whispered, guilt and pain in her heart. "We will return with the key, with the chest, with hope to see Requiem again."
The river pulled them onward. For only the second time since Requiem's captivity began five hundred years ago, slaves escaped into the wilderness.
VALE
The world.
Sitting in the boat, Vale stared around him as dawn rose, unable to speak, overcome with awe.
The world beyond.
Rushes and reeds swayed along the riverbanks, and farther back grew palms and fig trees. Ibises and herons waded through the shallow water, and hippopotamuses rose like boulders between lilies. Hundreds of sparrows and finches flew overhead. Looking westward along the river, Vale saw no signs of civilization. Gone were the huts of agony, the quarries of breaking backs, the fields of desolation and despair. Gone were the obelisks, temples, and palaces capped with platinum and gold.
The world. The true world beyond. It's real. It truly does exist.
Vale's eyes dampened. In five hundred years, only one Vir Requis—the hero Lucem—had ever made it past the walls. Often Vale had thought the world only a myth, and yet here it was—legend become reality.
Elory sat at his side. She smiled at him, wriggled closer, and leaned her head against his shoulder.
"It's real," she whispered. "We made it. There is an outside." Her eyes shone. "And Requiem is real too. It lies thousands of miles away, but it too exists. We will see the birch forests again."
Meliora and Tash sat before them in the boat, also looking around with wide eyes; neither one of them had ever seen the world beyond, for both had spent their lives in the ziggurat, one in the glittering pits underground, the other in the glittering halls of its crest.
Vale turned around and looked behind him. A few miles away, he could still see the great walled heart of the empire, divided in two—the city of Shayeen and the land of Tofet. As they sailed onward, he thought of those he had left behind. His father. His fellow workers in the quarries and bricklaying fields. Hundreds of thousands of other slaves. All of them were his family too.
I found the world, but not for my own freedom. To find the Keymaker and the Chest of Plenty. To find our magic.
Meliora pointed and her sunburst eyes narrowed. "Chariots."
Vale saw them. A hundred chariots of fire, maybe more, rising from the city, spreading across the land.
"They know we escaped." He grabbed an oar. "We must leave the river. Elory, help me oar. We make to the northern bank."
As the chariots streamed nearer, they rowed toward the riverbank and stepped out into the shallow water, scaring away several herons. Their boat was made of reeds, and when they pulled it between the reeds that lined the water, it seemed to vanish.
"Down," Vale whispered, kneeling in the shallow water between the rushes. "Hide anything reflective."
The others crouched around him, lowering their weapons into the water. Algae floated around them, and the rushes swayed, rising over their heads. Frogs trilled, dragonflies buzzed, and a snake coiled across the water.
Fire roared.
The air screamed.
A dozen chariots charged overhead, raining fire.
"Burn the rushes!" cried a voice above—Ishtafel's voice. "Burn them all down. They're hiding here. Burn the riverbanks! Burn every tree and every reed."
Vale looked up between the rushes and saw the tyrant there. Ishtafel flew in a great chariot, a shining god of gold. His lieutenants spread around him, nocking flaming arrows. Vale's hands balled into fists.
You murdered my mother. You cut the wings off my sister. You slaughtered millions. He grabbed his collar, wishing he could tear it off, rise as a dragon, fight Ishtafel again as he had over Shayeen. Someday I will face you again, Ishtafel. I swear this. I will fly as a dragon again, and when I do, you will burn in my fire.
But for now he wore a collar. For now the only fire was raining from the sky, the fire of Saraph.
The flaming arrows slammed into the reeds. Despite growing from water, the reeds—at least the part of them above the river—were dry and brittle. They caught flame at once, and the fire began to spread around Vale and his companions. Smoke unfurled, and more fire kept raining from the sky. Elory gasped at his side and clutched his hand.
Vale grabbed a reed at his side which hadn't yet burned. He snapped it off.
"Quick, take these." He snapped three more reeds and handed them to his companions. "Now swim. Go!"
He placed the reed in his mouth and sank underwater.
The water was murky, full of algae, leaves, and scurrying fish. He could barely see, and his eyes stung, but he made out the others sinking with him. Meliora's halo extinguished underwater, and Tash's harem pants fluttered like spirits. Elory still gripped his hand. They all closed their mouths around reeds, breathing through the tubes.
Vale led the way, swimming away from the burning riverbank
, and the others followed. Only the tips of their reeds emerged from the water. The seraphim flew above; Vale prayed that the tips of the reeds would look like nothing but bits of leaf or wood on the water.
They remained underwater until they could no longer hear the chariots, then waited longer. Finally Vale dared raise his head from the water for a look. The riverbanks were burning, and the chariots flew in the distance, almost too far to see now.
Tash's head popped out from the water beside his, and she spat out her reed. Algae filled her hair. "I think we just lost a boat."
Meliora rose from the water next, her halo crackling back into life, and Elory followed. The reeds on the riverbank burned down quickly, and soon the companions found a patch of barren, charred land. They climbed over the hot earth and cinders, wincing with pain, and made their way onto a hilly, rocky land. Patches of fire burned ahead, and a tree blazed on a hilltop. Most of the landscape was dry soil strewn with limestone and chalk boulders, and Vale spotted a cave on a hillside.
"There." He pointed. "We'll seek shelter in the cave before more chariots arrive."
The others nodded, dripping wet. Vale couldn't help but notice that Tash's silken trousers and top became translucent when wet. Her breasts pressed against the thin material, and a jewel shone in her navel. She looked at him and smiled thinly, and he quickly looked away, feeling his cheeks flush.
What was it about Tash? He had been looking at the young woman too often since meeting her. Vale had no use for such thoughts. He was only a slave, doomed to toil, to suffer the whip, not to desire women, not to—
We're not slaves out here, he thought, still seeing Tash from the corner of his eye. And why shouldn't I desire a woman? Am I not a man?
But no. Out here in the wilderness, he was a warrior of Requiem. The only love of his life was the memory of that fallen land. He would allow no other desires to fill his heart, only the desire to see Requiem again.
They walked across the rocky land between burning bushes, climbed the hill, and made their way to the cave. It was smaller than their hut back in Tofet, no larger than their burnt reed boat. They crowded inside, covered with scrapes, bruises, and burns.
Again, Vale couldn't help but notice Tash at his side, pressing against him, slender yet curved, her hair against his shoulder. Yet again, he forced the thought of her away.
More chariots streamed outside, fire raining. More seraphim cried out.
Inside the cave, the companions huddled in silence. Meliora leaned against the back of the cave, pale, her wounds still bandaged. Elory prayed, lips moving silently.
"We wait until darkness," Vale said. "When night falls again, we move out. Meliora and Elory to find the Keymaker. Tash and I to find the Chest of Plenty."
If they truly exist, he thought. Perhaps both were merely old legends. But Vale had to believe, for if those were mere legends, then what hope was there for Requiem to be real? And Requiem was real, had to be real, even after five hundred years of servitude. That land had to exist, far in the north beyond desert, sea, and forest, or there was no hope at all, and he might as well burn in the fires.
"We will find them," Meliora whispered, sweat on her brow, her cheeks gaunt. "We will bring back hope."
Vale nodded, reached out, and took her hand in his. "We will see Requiem again. We will find her sky."
"But not before we sleep." Meliora closed her eyes.
They were wounded and weak, but most of all weary. They lay down together in the cave; it was just large enough if they lay pressed together. As soon as Vale closed his eyes, he fell into a deep slumber, and he dreamed of whips, bricks, and endless fire.
ISHTAFEL
He stood on the boardwalk, facing the three trembling soldiers—three traitors to the realm.
"Now then," Ishtafel said, pacing before them. "I heard you found some lovely jewels last night, didn't you? Oh, I am rather fond of the art of jewelry making. I possess many fine jewels myself. I own the Horn of Fidelium, did you know? Encrusted with the finest sapphires from the Arctic."
The guards hung before him from wooden levers, chained and dripping blood, their breath sawing at their lungs. These cedar beams were normally used to haul crates from the boats; they could quite easily bear the weight of three seraphim . . . three who would soon be much lighter.
"Forgive us, my lord," said one soldier. Blood dripped from his mouth, and his voice lisped between his shattered teeth. "We didn't know it was her, my lord. We—"
"Please!" Ishtafel raised his hand. "I understand! No need to beg. A stranger flowed by on the river. On a night when the city was searching for escaped prisoners, and the skies were lit with flaming chariots, it could have been anyone! And after all, the sailors tossed you such beautiful pieces of art."
Ishtafel examined the jewels in his hand, seized from these soldiers. Two anklets of silver, worked with topaz. A bracelet of impure gold inlaid with tiger's eyes. The jewels of a pleasurer, given to her by her seraphim lovers. Her jewels, the brown-haired little harlot he had claimed underground. The one who had fled with Meliora.
"My lord," rasped another soldier, hanging from the beam on chains. "Forgive us, my lord. Send us out to hunt them! We will scour the land, we—"
"You will scour the land?" Ishtafel tsked his tongue. "But my friend! You saw the escaped prisoners here on this very river. They sailed right by you! And you accepted their bribe. You let them sail on." Ishtafel tilted his head. "Perhaps you too are traitors to my crown?"
The soldiers began to beg, to pray, to praise him. They jangled on their chains, blood dripping. Ishtafel walked across the boardwalk, turning winches, moving the beams to dangle the prisoners over the water—just a foot away from the boardwalk. As their blood splashed into the river, the crocodiles within—massive, black-skinned beasts, twice the size of the crocodiles of the northern swamps—reared from the water. The beasts splashed, snapping their jaws, desperate for a meal.
"Please, my lord!" one soldier begged. "Forgive us!"
Ishtafel smiled thinly. "I am the King of Saraph. I am strong. I am proud. I am wise. They call my sister 'Meliora the Merciful.' That is not a quality to boast of."
He drew his sword and approached one soldier.
The man begged, screaming before Ishtafel even touched him.
The blade lashed. Blood sprayed. Half the man's foot splashed down into the water.
As the dangling soldier screamed, blood gushing, the crocodiles below thrashed in the water. One caught the morsel and swallowed, and the others snapped their jaws at the dripping blood.
"Oh, they are getting hungry!" Ishtafel said. "Look at my lovely pets." He sighed. "Poetic justice, isn't it? That the river where you suffered your shame should now feed upon your blood?"
He approached a second dangling soldier. The man pleaded, tears on his cheeks.
"Please, my lord! Please. My wife is pregnant, my lord. I only wanted a bauble for her, I only—"
Ishtafel swung his blade again. The man's toes fell into the water, and the crocodiles grabbed them.
Ishtafel kept moving between the soldiers. Slowly. Savoring the hot day, the scent of blood, the fervor of his river pets. He sliced the meal bit by bit—easier for the digestion—until the men no longer screamed. He slashed up what remained, letting the last morsels fall into the river, then spread his wings and took flight.
He soared higher and higher, the wind shrieking around him, rising until the air chilled and his head felt light. He could see for miles from here. South of the river spread Shayeen, glorious in the sunlight, its temples and palaces forming a tapestry, the ziggurat a jewel in its center. North of the water sprawled that wretched, filthy land of Tofet. Even from so far away, he could see the miserable slaves toiling, mere ants from up here.
"You escaped me, Meliora," Ishtafel whispered. "You and three other vermin slaves. Your people will pay for your sin. The river will run red with the blood of Requiem." A smile stretched across his lips. "I've only whetted your appetite, m
y dearest river pets. You will feed more. The elderly, the weak, the useless slaves who cannot meet their quotas . . . they shall fill your bellies, my lovelies."
He stared beyond the walls. The river spread into the distance between smoldering lands. She was out there somewhere—burnt in a field, drowned in the water, or still running. Thousands of chariots were streaming over the landscape, flying across the horizons, covering the sky with fire.
"Wherever you are, sweet sister, I will find you." Ishtafel licked his lips, remembering the taste of Meliora's blood. "I will bring you home."
MELIORA
As the sun set, the four escaped slaves stepped out of the cave into a ravaged landscape.
When first entering the wilderness, this mythical world beyond the walls, Meliora had thought it beautiful—a land full of animals, plants, clear skies, and wonderful landscapes. For once, her fairy-tale dreams from childhood had seemed true—the world was truly full of wonder and magic.
Yet now, after a night of fire, the landscape lay in desolation.
Scattered fires still burned in the darkness, the last bushes and trees crackling. In their light, Meliora could make out lumps along the riverbanks—dead crocodiles, hippopotamuses, and other animals of the Te'ephim River. The flowers were gone. No more birds sang, and no more wonder filled the world. Ishtafel's chariots had come, burned, and flown on, seeking her. She knew that they would never stop—not until they found her . . . or until she found the Keymaker and freed the dragons of Requiem.
I will free them, Meliora vowed, fists shaking at her sides. And then the empire will truly burn.
Elory came to stand at her side, and the scattered fires reflected in her brown eyes. "Are you ready, Meliora?" Elory gently touched her fingertips. "You're still wounded."
Meliora winced, just the touch of Elory's fingers stabbing her with pain. Her wings had been gone for perhaps a fortnight now but still ached; she could still feel them on her back, twitching, apparitions that perhaps would always haunt her. The new wound on her thigh, the lash of a seraph's spear over the river, blazed with more immediate pain. She felt lightheaded, her brow hot. Perhaps she was feverish. She could not remember the last time she'd had a proper meal, only a little gruel yesterday. She craved nothing more than to lie down in the cave and sleep some more.
Crown of Dragonfire Page 7
