Dragons Reborn

by Daniel Arenson

  Domi rose higher, crashing through the enemies. Her tail slammed into a rider, knocking him off his saddle. Her fire and claws drove firedrakes aside. She soared into open sky high above the city, opened her jaws wide, and bellowed out only one word, the word that meant everything, the word the city needed to hear, that she needed to shout with all her rage and pain one last time.

  "Requiem!"

  Cade soared at her side, several scales missing from his back, several quarrels sunken into him, but he too blasted out his fire, and he too roared the cry.

  "Requiem!"

  The firedrakes screeched all around, and the riders shouted, and more of the beasts kept soaring, but from the east Domi heard it: the cry answered. Again. Again.

  "Requiem! Requiem! Requiem!"

  Domi gasped, soared higher. Who—

  She stared toward the east, and her eyes watered.

  Three dragons came flying toward the battle, not firedrakes but noble dragons of Requiem.

  "Fidelity!" Domi cried out. "Julian! Roen!"

  The three charged forth and blasted out their dragonfire.

  The firedrakes surrounding Domi and Cade howled and burned. Their riders fell, and hope filled Domi, and her tears streamed down her cheeks.

  "Requiem!" Domi cried, weeping, calling out the forbidden name, letting all hear, all see the glory of her fallen kingdom.

  The cries echoed in the night. Requiem! Requiem!

  The song of dragons in her heart, Domi blew more fire, hitting a drake, and swooped, her claws tearing at another. Her comrades fought around her, four other dragons of Requiem, proud and strong.

  A scream shattered the battle.

  Flames, blue with heat, showered skyward, and the city shook.

  With a deafening cry, with light and heat and roaring sound, the great firedrake Felesar soared up from the Temple—the largest of the beasts—and upon his back rode Mercy.

  The paladin's face was white with rage, and her eyes burned, two blue pools of rage. Twenty more firedrakes rose around her, emerging from the tunnels below the Temple, and her voice stormed across the city.

  "Slay the weredragons!"

  Dozens of flaming jets blazed toward Domi. Dozens of arrows flew, and the firedrakes closed in.

  Domi snarled and flew to battle, to blood, to death.

  "Domi!" Cade grabbed her tail and tugged her. "Come on!"

  The young golden dragon shot eastward, dragging Domi with him across the sky.

  "Domi, fly with us!" Fidelity cried ahead, a blue dragon blasting out fire. She, Julian, and Roen were driving forward, breaking through the noose of firedrakes.

  "I won't flee from battle!" Domi shouted.

  Cade growled and bit right into her haunches. "Yes you will. Now move it!"

  Domi yowled and flew, Cade chomping at her backside. They shot forward. Firedrakes charged toward her. The dragons blew their fire and lashed their claws. One firedrake's teeth dug into her shoulder, and Domi yipped and swung her tail, digging its spikes into the creature's flanks. An arrow shot through her wing, and she cried out in pain. Cade flew above her, blasting fire, clearing a path forward.

  Domi roared and flew with him, biting and clawing, knocking the enemies aside.

  I won't let that damn boy live while I die!

  Together, the fiery and golden dragons burst forward, breaking through the ring of firedrakes. The other three dragons flew ahead.

  The five dragons, perhaps the last Vir Requis in the world, flew over the dark city of Nova Vita. Behind them, a hundred firedrakes or more roared and flew in pursuit, their flames lighting the night.

  KORVIN

  The two dragons, gray and red, perched atop the citadel's highest tower and gazed down at the sprawling land of stone and iron.

  "Gosh Ha'ar," said Amity, her red scales burning bright in the sunset as if aflame. Her eyes shone. "Thousands of years ago, the ancient civilization of Goshar fell upon this mountainside." Fire flicked between Amity's teeth. "Now Gosh Ha'ar, the Heart of the Horde, is mine to rule."

  Korvin grunted, his claws digging into the parapets. "It's one city, Amity, and you're not yet crowned. The Horde is vast and covers much of Terra. Not all will accept your rule, even if you did cut off the old abina's head."

  She turned her scaly head toward him, and her jaw opened in a smile. "They will. Gosh Ha'ar will swear its loyalty to me tonight. This city, this mountain, this citadel—they will be mine. And soon all the Horde will swear its allegiance to me, Abini Amity." Smoke blasted out of her nostrils. "And then Beatrix will beg me for mercy . . . mercy I will not grant."

  Korvin's belly clenched; it felt full of rocks.

  And so Amity, the new woman I love, the woman I made love to in the bowels of the mountains . . . will fight Beatrix, the woman I loved and spurned. His chest felt too tight. And only one will survive this.

  He gazed across the landscape. He and Amity stood on the tower of Sin Hanar, the great citadel that rose from the mountain. The fortress was the largest Korvin had ever seen. Clusters of towers rose in a ring around the mountain, connected with thick stone walls. Within this shell rose a second layer of walls, thrice as high, topped with parapets and massive towers whose height challenged even the Cured Temple far north across the sea. This citadel was old; its bricks were craggy, and many weeds grew between them, and men spoke of ghosts that haunted the halls. Two thousand years ago, the last survivors of the Goshar had built this fortress to protect their flickering civilization, yet their fortress had become their tomb. Today the Horde, this great army of many nations, ruled here.

  Korvin turned his gaze to look down the mountains. Buried deep within them lay the arena where they had fought Behemoth. Korvin hoped to never enter that place again. The rocky, barren slopes stretched thousands of feet downward. The mountain range spread across the land like a raised scar, separating the northern desert and the southern arable lands where rivers flowed. In a mountain pass, Korvin could still see remnants of Ancient Goshar: a few chipped walls and the capitals of columns rising from the dust, hints of the civilization that had once ruled the path from desert to grasslands.

  Across the southern grasslands now spread the tent city of Gosh Ha'ar, sister to the northern bastion of Hakar Teer on the coast. A towering sandstone archway led into the city, soaring as high as a palace, its crest gilded and topped with statues of warriors and dragons. Beyond spread countless tents and dirt roads. Hundreds of thousands lived here: warriors from many nations in iron and bronze armor, griffins with silver helms and leather saddles, and salvanae with long beards and chinking scales. Many women and children lived here too, for in the Horde, there was no distinction between the military and civilian life. All here served the Horde. All here were warriors, from the gruff swordsmen to the women whose wombs bore future fighters.

  As Korvin watched children play below, he thought of his daughters. Fidelity and Domi were both adults now, but to Korvin they would always be some mixture of babies, children, youths—simply his daughters, always his children, no matter how old they all grew. He missed them. He had not stopped thinking of them since flying here.

  Do you know that I'm alive, Fidelity? Korvin thought, staring down at the tents. Do you miss me as I miss you? Do you still fly as a firedrake, Domi? Do you think of me too? Do you still love me, pray we meet again?

  As much as he mourned the loss of Requiem, Korvin ached with loneliness, with longing to see Fidelity and Domi again. Since Beatrix had murdered his wife, his daughters had been the reason he stayed alive, all he had in this world.

  I'm still alive, daughters, and I'm thinking of you, and I love you, always. Always.

  "This army will follow us, Korvin," Amity said, interrupting his thoughts. The red dragon pointed her claws down to the camp, and her eyes shone. "Imagine it! A host of a hundred thousand warriors, screaming and thirsty for the blood of the Commonwealth, storming the beaches, burning all in their path, heading toward the Cured Temple." She sneered. "I will cut off B
eatrix's head myself."

  Korvin grunted, smoke puffing out of his nostrils. "Will we be replacing the Commonwealth with the Horde? Where in all this does Requiem rise?"

  The red dragon spun her head toward him, baring her fangs. "Once Beatrix is dead, I will pull the Horde back, and Requiem will rise from the ruins."

  "Wildfire is easy to ignite." Korvin stared down at the hosts below. "It might not be as easy to put out."

  Amity snorted. "Platitudes. I'm strong. I'm fierce. And we're fighting for justice, Korvin." Flames flickered out from her mouth. "Justice always prevails. Light always banishes the darkness."

  "Does it?" Korvin sighed. "Beatrix thought herself a warrior of justice and light. She too was sure of her path, full of rage and righteous certainty." He shook his head sadly. "Blind righteousness is like a fortress of paper, likely to burn in the flame and collapse. Doubt is the path to wisdom. The winding, uncertain path through a dark forest leads to victory, not the brash warrior cutting down every tree along the way."

  Amity beat her wings and took flight. "You'll have time for grim philosophy later. Come now. The coronation is about to begin."

  Korvin watched her fly for a moment, chest tight. Amity was all fire and passion, sure of her path, her eyes bright and fierce. He had seen such fierce passion before. The last time he had gazed into eyes so lustful for glory and victory, he had been holding Beatrix in his arms.

  He tightened his jaw. I will not let Amity take that path to madness. I will not let her inner light burn her soul. He beat his wings, taking flight. Amity will be queen of the Horde, but I . . . I must guide her path, and I must keep her fire from consuming us all.

  The two dragons glided down across the mountainside, heading toward the sprawling tent city below. Amity dived near to the ground, leveled off, and flew through the White Arch. Korvin followed; the arch was large enough to dwarf even a dragon. A field of packed earth spread ahead, and a dais of giltwood rose here, a throne atop it. A hundred soldiers in bronze breastplates, bearing spears and round shields, surrounded the dais, and ten clerics stood at the base of a stairway, kneeling as the dragons approached. A crowd of the Horde—women, children, elders, and warriors—stood in the field. They cried out as the two dragons dived down and landed on the dais.

  As soon as Amity's claws hit the dais, she tossed back her head and blew a shrieking pillar of dragonfire. The inferno rose into the sky, a beacon for all to see, and Amity roared out her cry. "Come see me, Horde! Come see your new queen crowned!"

  The cry shook the stage, deafening. As the crowd cried out in response, waving swords and axes, Amity released her magic. She shrunk in size, returning to human form: a woman with short blond hair that fell across her brow and ears, brown breeches and a tan vest, and a crooked smile on her face. A sword hung at her side, and an axe was strapped across her back. She wore no gown, no jewels; she was a warrior of the Horde, and the Horde cared for steel, blood, and sweat more than silk or gems.

  Korvin released his magic too and stood a foot behind Amity, hand on the hilt of his own sword. Amity waved to the crowd, crying out wordlessly, basking in the glory, but Korvin found himself scanning the perimeters of that chanting crowd. Not all, he saw, were pleased at this display. Many men slunk at the back, eyes dark, hands clutching their weapons, lips downturned.

  Amity slew the old king, but our work here is not yet done, Korvin thought.

  Amity stepped toward a chest, opened it, and pulled out the withered head of the fallen Abina Kahan. She raised the ghastly trophy high, displaying it for the crowd.

  "Here is the rotting head of your old king!" Amity shouted. "I slew him, and I take his place as your leader. Under Kahan's rule, you rotted like his head rots now. You lingered here in the south, living in the dirt, in mere tents, polishing spears with no enemy to slay." She spat. "I promise you war and glory! Under my rule, we will swarm north, crush the Commonwealth, and send the Cured Temple crashing to the ground!"

  The crowd cheered and Amity panted, teeth bared in a savage grin, chest rising and falling. When Korvin looked at her, his belly soured.

  He closed his eyes, and the memories resurfaced: himself as a young man, only twenty years old, holding the woman he loved. He lay in her bed in the Cured Temple, a mere soldier, a humble man she had taken into her life. She stood before him, naked in the dawn pouring through the windows, a young priestess with rising power, beautiful and strong and noble, heiress to the world.

  "When I'm High Priestess, the Horde will pay." Beatrix had clenched her fist, grinning savagely, a grin that twisted her face into a blazing mask. "All those who oppose me will burn in my fire. They will beg for mercy before I crush them. I will slay all the enemies of the Spirit. I will slay every last beast of the Horde, every last weredragon, every last heretic who resists me."

  He had fought the Horde for her. As she preached in the light of the Temple, he fought on the beaches, in the mud, cutting down enemies, washing his hands and soul with blood, learning of the madness of war, the madness of the woman he loved . . . the woman he had to spurn.

  Korvin opened his eyes and looked at Amity again, and that same fear clutched his old warrior's heart.

  Clerics began climbing the stairs toward the dais, interrupting his thoughts. They wore crimson robes fringed with gemstones, and they held staffs carved from ancient reptile bones dug from underground. Bronze masks hid their faces, shaped as horned demons. Around their necks hung amulets shaped as hands with four fingers, the index finger nearly twice the length of the others—sigil of Adon, the Sky God. Each cleric had cut off a finger from his own hand, an attempt to grow closer to his god.

  As the Adonite clerics stepped onto the dais, Amity knelt before them. For a moment, Korvin stood stiffly; he worshipped no god but the Draco constellation, the stars of Requiem.

  Amity turned her head and glared at him. She gestured with her eyes: Kneel!

  With a grumble, Korvin bent the knee, though he thought only of his stars, bringing their light into his mind as the clerics approached.

  One of the clerics stepped toward Amity. He wore a crimson mask shaped like a lurid face, eyes large, jaw unhinged, tongue dangling. The mask's horns curled, and the symbol of Adon, a four fingered hand, was painted onto the brow. The cleric's own hands, their little fingers removed, held a crown molded of finger bones worked together with golden wires. The cleric came to stand behind Amity, holding the crown above her head.

  "Hear me, Amity of Leonis!" he called out. "Five thousand years ago, the wise Adon, Warrior of the Sky, rode his flaming chariot into a desert, a land of rock and thirst and pain. When he pressed his holy hand against the mountains, rivers gushed forth, and the grasslands grew, and trees gave forth fruit. With his holy hand, he shaped the wet dirt, and he formed men and women to toil in the fields. Adon himself blessed the first king and queen with his holy hand. Now a new queen rises! Now a crown of cleric finger bones will bless you as Adon blessed our forebears." He began to lower the crown. "I bless you, Amity of Leonis, and by the glory of Adon, I name you Queen of—"

  "Queen of Filth!" rose a shout from the crowd. "Queen of Whores! Queen of Reptiles!"

  The cleric hissed and stepped back. Amity growled. Korvin stared into the crowd, and his throat tightened, and he grabbed the hilt of his sword and drew a foot of steel.

  A man came walking through the crowd toward the stage. People stepped back before him, forming a path, bowing their heads. He was easily the largest man Korvin had ever seen. The brute towered over the rest of the crowd, over seven feet tall. His muscles bulged and rippled. He wore nothing but a loincloth, and he carried a mace and a round shield. A scar crawled up his cheek, through one empty eye socket, and across his bald head, the groove a deep canyon.

  Korvin was a large man, but looking at this beast, he felt as small and frail as a stooped elder. Still he forced himself to step forward, and he shouted down from the stage, "Who are you to challenge your queen?"

  The brute below laughed.
Several griffins walked behind the giant, wings folded against their flanks, and on their backs rode warriors with shaved heads, bare chests, and round shields. All the men's shields, Korvin noticed, sported a red fist.

  Amity cursed under her breath. "Shafel," she muttered, then raised her voice to a shout. "Shafel, leave this place! Your master is dead. Serve me or die too."

  Korvin sneered. Shafel. He had heard that name before. Back in the war years ago, legends had spoken of a giant among the troops, a beast who snapped spines in his great hands, who cracked skulls and feasted on the innards, who stood twice the height of most men, whose skin was thick as armor. They had said that Shafel was only a boy yet stronger than any grown man in the Horde.

  The boy had grown even larger.

  "I will not serve the spawn of reptiles!" Shafel spat into the dirt. "As you slew our old king, I slay you now. I will rule the Horde!"

  With a battle cry, Shafel leaped into the air. With what seemed like inhuman strength, he soared onto the stage and swung his mace toward Amity.

  Korvin roared, leaped forth, and shifted in midair. His wings beat and his claws swiped.

  Pain exploded as Korvin blocked the mace's blow. The iron head slammed into his paw, shattering two scales. Korvin yowled and would have blasted Shafel with dragonfire, had he not stood so close to Amity and the clerics.

  "Careful, little man." A charcoal dragon, Korvin snarled down at Shafel. "You're big but not big enough."

  With shrieks, the dozen griffins flew toward the stage, Shafel's warriors on their backs. Amity screamed, shifted, and soared as a red dragon. Korvin sneered and blasted fire skyward, trying to hold off the griffins, but the beasts mobbed him, flying in rings. Shafel leaped onto one griffin, brandished his studded mace, and charged toward Amity.

  "Stop this madness!" shouted the head cleric. The man slammed his staff down, and thunder boomed. A blast of lighting rose from the staff, piercing the sky, sending griffins and dragons tumbling backward. "In the name of Adon, you will not shed blood in the holy city of Gosh Ha'ar!"