Dragons Reborn

by Daniel Arenson

  Mercy nodded. "I will win."

  That night Mercy did not place Eliana in her crib, but she took the babe into her bed, and she held the child in her arms, stroking her hair. She never wanted to let Eliana go. She never wanted to see the babe in danger again, to feel that loss again, that grief that tore out the soul.

  She had spoken her secret.

  She had brought that banished memory to her mind.

  She had spoken of her true child.

  In the darkness of her chamber, Mercy grimaced, clinging to the babe in her arms like a drowning woman to floating debris. Again she felt his fists pummeling her belly. Again she screamed, giving birth to her daughter, to a stillborn babe, to a life of memory and pain. Again she thrust her sword, driving the blade into her husband's heart, the first time she had killed, the first time she had known the joy of killing.

  She had doffed the robes of the priesthood then, and she had donned armor. Armor of white steel. Armor to protect her from memory. To protect her from loss. To protect her from all emotion, from those things that hurt, that dug deep.

  And she kept killing.

  And she would forever keep killing. No longer just a huntress but a great general. She would kill thousands, millions. She would kill everyone else in the world until none were left but her and her new daughter, this precious child she had found.

  "I vow this to you, Eliana," she whispered. "I will love you forever. Forever. Our love will burn the world."

  AMITY

  She had left Terra's northern coast dragged behind a horse, beaten and whipped and waiting to die. She returned from the mountains a red dragon, roaring out her pride, as her army marched below.

  "The Horde musters!" Amity cried, voice rolling across the desert. "The Red Queen will lead you to victory!"

  She grinned as she flew. Her wounds still ached—the wounds from her battle against the firedrakes in Leonis, from dragging across the desert behind Abina Kahan's horse, from fighting Behemoth, from slaying griffins and burning Shafel the false king. But every scar made her stronger, every bolt of pain pumped her with ambition.

  I am stronger than giants, mightier than gods. I am Amity of the Horde, and I'm coming for you, Beatrix.

  She stared around her at her forces. Five hundred griffins flew to her right, great lions with the heads and wings of eagles, each the size of a dragon. The sunlight shone upon their armor, and riders sat on their backs, holding bows and the banners of the Horde: five coiling serpents on a golden field. Their homeland, Leonis, had fallen to the Commonwealth. Now these griffins fought for the Horde, for a chance to reclaim their ancient isles.

  When Amity looked to her left, she saw the salvanae, several hundred strong. Here flew the true dragons, creatures who had no human forms like Vir Requis, not even a human form burned away like firedrakes. Their bodies were a hundred feet long, thin and coiling, covered in gleaming scales. They had no limbs, no wings, but swam across the air like snakes on water. Their eyes were like crystal balls, topped with long white lashes, and their beards fluttered like banners. No men rode them, for they were ancient creatures, wiser than men and honorable and sad. Their homeland, the mythical realm of Salvandos, lay under the dominion of the Cured Temple, and firedrakes now flew over its mountains.

  When Amity looked down, she saw her ground troops below: thousands of warriors on horses, clad in patches of armor forged from bronze, iron, and steel, and myriads of infantry soldiers, armed with axes, spears, sickles, hammers, or simple clubs, wearing armor from metal and leather. Their women and children moved with them, leading flocks of sheep, goats, and camels. Wagons held rolled-up tents, blankets, sacks of grain, boxes of fruit and vegetables, and treasures of gold and gems.

  And among the soldiers, rising like a moving mountain, walked Behemoth.

  The beast dwarfed the soldiers around him, as large as an anthill among ants. His six feet pounded the earth, tipped with claws the size of men. His tail dragged behind him. A great disk of bone crowned his head, large as a gatehouse, topped with horns like towers. On his back rode a dozen archers, and more men sat atop his horns in crow's nests like men atop the masts of ships.

  A voice rose beside Amity. "The beast has not seen sunlight in thousands of years. It's already killed a dozen troops, feasting on their flesh, their bones, their armor and weapons. It's a danger to us all."

  Amity turned her head to see Korvin gliding a few feet away. The burly dragon was larger than her, his scales thick and deep gray like plates of armor. His dark eyes stared down at Behemoth, and his jaw twisted. She grinned at him.

  "Imagine the danger he'd be to Beatrix. The beast can smash through the Cured Temple like a drunkard through a tavern's door."

  Smoke blasted out from Korvin's nostrils. "Assuming you can ship it to the north. We'll need a big ship . . . or you'd better hope it can swim."

  Amity grinned. "He'll make it across the sea if you and I have to carry him." She gestured ahead with her chin. "And there is the sea before us."

  The coast stretched ahead, and beyond it the blue waters of the Tiran Sea that led to the Commonwealth. Thousands of years ago, the ancient civilization of Eteer had spread across this coast, building the world's first ships and raising its first buildings of stone. Today only ruins remained of that lost culture: a few shells of walls, a few columns along the beach, and old stories.

  The city of Hakan Teer sprawled ahead of her, the place where Amity had first faced the abina she had later slain in the southern mountains. Countless tents rose along the coast, and a great mass of people bustled among them. Griffins and salvanae flew above them. A hundred ships sailed in the water: brigantines and carracks captured from Commonwealth merchants, their old banners replaced with sigils of the Horde; locally constructed baghlah ships with elaborately carved hulls and elongated prows; and many small dhow boats of warriors, traders, and fishermen.

  "We'll muster hundreds of other ships," Amity said, gliding toward Hakan Teer. "We'll muster countless more warriors. From all across the lands of Terra, we'll summon the vast multitudes of the Horde and cross the sea. The Cured Temple will shatter before us."

  The army below, seeing Hakan Teer in the distance, cheered at the sight. They had marched for a long time across the desert, leaving the mountains of Gosh Ha'ar behind in the south, and here they would enjoy feasts around campfires, music and dancing, and the pleasures of camp followers from many lands. As they reached the tent city, the people of Gosh Ha'ar unburdened their mules, raised new tents, and kindled thousands of fires. Women beat timbrels and danced, men dueled with swords and spears, and children scampered about, firing arrows from homemade bows.

  Among countless tents rose a single permanent dwelling: the villa where Amity had first confronted Abina Kahan. Stone walls surrounded the complex, holding within their embrace flowering gardens, a grove of pines, a columned bathhouse, and finally the adobe villa itself, the coastal home of the Horde's monarch. Amity and Korvin glided down, landed on a pebbly path between cypress trees. A dozen griffins landed with them, riders on their backs, their long platinum hair streaming like their banners. Guards stood outside the villa, clad in bronze breastplates.

  Amity tossed back her head and blasted flame.

  "Bow before Abini Amity, Queen of the Horde!"

  She shifted back into human form, and they bowed before her. Surrounded by guards, Korvin at her side, she marched into the hall.

  Here the abina doomed me to death, she thought. From here I will launch an army to conquer the north.

  She gazed around at the main hall: a round chamber, the floor a mosaic of many Terran animals, the columns engraved with vines, the ceiling painted with murals. Trees grew from stone pots, sending forth flowers, and birds flitted between them. A throne of precious metals rose ahead, and columned windows afforded a view of the sea.

  "Beats the old prison cell, doesn't it, big boy?" Amity patted Korvin's cheek.

  The gruff warrior stared around. White stubble covered his leat
hery, tanned face, but his thick eyebrows were still black as coal, and his shaggy mane of hair was still more black than silver. With his craggy countenance, tattered clothes, and scars and bruises, he seemed as out of place here as . . . well, as she herself was, Amity supposed.

  The old abina had been a vain man, filling his hall with several bronze mirrors, and Amity regarded her reflection in one. She saw a bruised, beaten woman, clad in rags. Her yellow hair was growing longer, almost long enough to reach her chin now, tangled and caked with dirt. Dust and grime covered her skin, but not enough to hide the cuts and burns that spread across her body. A tall woman. Strong. Powerful and lithe. A scarred warrior. A queen. A conqueror. A lost girl.

  As the sea whispered outside the windows, as guards moved about the hall, as the beating of timbrels and the song of men and birds rose outside, Amity stared into the mirror, and she saw a young girl, frightened, fleeing, her parents gone. A girl swimming across the midnight waters. A girl shivering in the dark, weeping, so afraid. Always so afraid. She saw weakness. She saw pain. And it seemed to Amity that woman and girl were one, that weakness fueled pain, that forever the scared girl and the proud warrior would fight within her.

  She tightened her lips and spun away from the mirror. She faced Korvin.

  "I need to get out of these clothes," she said. "And so do you."

  He frowned. "Now is hardly the time."

  She groaned. "Was that a joke, big boy? You know what I mean. Now come, there's a bathhouse somewhere in this place. I saw it from above. Let's go find it."

  They left the villa and walked outside until they found the bathhouse, a stone pool surrounded by columns, and here Amity peeled off her clothes. Guards stood around her, and Korvin stood at her side, but they did not shy away from her nakedness, for the Horde regarded the human body as no more shameful than a suit of armor. She stepped into the water and called to Korvin to join her. He undressed slowly, grumbling and wincing as his tattered clothes brushed against his wounds. His body too was covered with wounds: cuts, burn marks, the stripes of whips. He stepped into the water; it rose to his shoulders.

  "Look at us," Amity said. "Two beaten up chunks of meat."

  "Living chunks of meat," Korvin replied, "which is more than I expected."

  "Ruling chunks of meat." She clasped his hands. "Together." Suddenly her eyes stung, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  "Amity?" Korvin's eyes softened. "Why do you shed tears?"

  She blinked furiously and rubbed them away. "It . . . it always happens in water."

  I have to swim! I have to flee! The little girl again, scared, orphaned, alone, swam across the midnight ocean, so afraid, so weak, forever inside her.

  Her vision cleared, and she touched Korvin's cheek. "Can we truly do this?" she whispered. "Can we truly rule this mass of armies, people, creatures, truly take them overseas? Can we win?" She closed her eyes. "I'm scared, Korvin. I'm so scared."

  He waded closer in the water, and his arms—large, wide arms, strong and scarred—wrapped around her. He held her close and stroked her wet hair.

  "I don't know," he said, voice a low grumble, soothing as rolling thunder in a dying storm. "But whatever happens, I'm with you. Whatever enemies we face, I will fight them with you. Always."

  She caressed his prickly cheek and kissed his lips. "I love you, big boy." Those damn tears flowed again. "You know that, don't you?"

  That night they held a great feast in the villa. Trestle tables were laid out in the main hall, and cooks brought out the bounty of the Horde: steaming pies of all kind, full of fish, fowl, and fruit; roasted peacocks on silver platters, their garish tail feathers reattached; skewers of lamb and camel meat on beds of rice; golden bowls full of grapes, persimmons, figs, and a hundred other fruits; and honeyed clusters of nuts and dried berries. Hundreds of men and women filled the hall, the generals of her army, feasting, drinking wine and spirits, and singing old songs. Musicians moved between the tables, playing lyres and drums, and dancers performed in silks that revealed more than they hid.

  Amity sat at the head of the table, singing hoarsely, drinking deeply whenever servants filled her cup, pounding on the table and laughing whenever a jester stumbled. She wore iron armor and a resplendent red cloak, and Korvin stood at her side, ever her guardian, wearing a dark gray breastplate and a charcoal cape. As silent as he was, Amity was loud—clapping, singing, laughing, drinking, belching, shouting, for her cries drowned the pain, and the wine drowned the memories, and she drank more and more and cried out more and more, all to hide that old fear, to bury that scared little girl beneath endless laughter, endless wine.

  The feast lasted into dawn. When the last warriors stumbled out of her hall, they left a disaster: shattered tables, piles of bones and apple cores and apricot seeds, spilled wine, toppled jugs. Amity rose to her feet and swayed. She was tired. Bone tired. So tired the memories of that little girl were almost drowned, too muzzy to claim her.

  "Let's find a damn bed in this hovel." She spat. "Korvin, help me walk."

  He held her hand, and they walked together through the villa, her swaying, him a solid pillar. They explored several hallways until they found a staircase, climbed it, and discovered a bedchamber. The room was massive, almost the size of the hall downstairs. It had no fourth wall, only a portico of columns affording a view of the sea. The floor was tiled, the walls painted with murals of birds, and a great canopy bed stood in its center.

  "Perfect," Amity said, tugging Korvin toward the bed. "Now, undress again."

  He frowned at her. "We've already bathed."

  She snorted. "Do I have to rip your damn clothes off? Undress!"

  She tugged at the straps of her armor, and the iron plates clanged to the floor. She all but tore her clothes off, and when she grabbed at Korvin's clothes, she did tear them, ripping through the cotton, tearing through the lacings, tearing at his skin with her fingernails.

  "Make love to me now," she said.

  His eyes narrowed. "You're in no condition to—"

  She growled and shoved him onto the bed. He lay on his back, and she stared at his naked body, the many scars and bruises, the contours of his muscles, the peace he brought to her, the strength he gave to her life, the anchor of her soul. She climbed onto the bed, and she straddled him, and Amity rode him, head tossed back, fingernails digging into his chest, and she cried out again—shouting as she had in the feast, shouting as she did in battle, shouting as she had in her childhood, fleeing across the sea. The bed rattled. The sheets tore. His skin tore beneath her fingernails, and still she rode him like a woman riding a dragon, and still she cried out, not caring if the entire camp heard.

  She did not even remember falling asleep. She knew only dreams—dreams of drinking in an endless feast, endless masks floating around her, and dreams of riding a dragon across the sea. The dragon kept calling to her, opening his mouth to roar, but only a knocking sound left his jaws, knock after knock.

  Her eyes opened.

  The knocking continued.

  Amity was lying sprawled out in the bed, still naked, the sheets damp with her sweat. Korvin lay beside her, still sleeping. Afternoon light fell into the bedchamber.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Amity growled and rose to her feet.

  "Enter!" she barked.

  The door opened and a serving girl entered the chamber, clad in a white tunic. The girl lowered her head, looking away from Amity's nakedness.

  "My abini." She knelt.

  "What is it?" Amity glowered. "Why do you disturb me?"

  The servant gulped, and her eyes flicked up, full of fear. "Dragons, my queen. Four dragons flew in from the sea . . . and they're looking for you."

  FIDELITY

  As Fidelity stood on the southern coast of Terra and beheld the great, sprawling camp of the Horde, more fear than she had ever felt flooded her. Countless humans and beasts mustered here, preparing for war—griffins, salvanae, and warriors from many lands—but Fidelity care
d for only one man.

  "What if he's not here?" she whispered. "What if the merchant's story was false, if . . . if we don't find him?"

  Standing at her side, Domi reached out and clasped Fidelity's hand. Fidelity turned to look at her little sister, seeking comfort in Domi's presence.

  "He's here." Domi's red hair fluttered like a torch's flame in the wind. "I know it."

  Fidelity looked to her other side. Roen stood there, and he reached out to hold Fidelity's other hand. The tall, bearded forester had never liked crowds, and it was hard to imagine a more crowded place than this camp, but he seemed to Fidelity a pillar of calmness, one she could tether her anxiety to. Behind him stood Cade and Gemini, both wrapped in cloaks, both looking as out of place as pups who'd wandered into a wolf's den.

  Fidelity took a deep breath and looked around her. Two massive statues rose at her sides, hundreds of feet tall. They were shaped as rearing stallions, carved of sandstone, and their kicking hooves were gilded. Here were the fabled Eras and Elamar, Guardians of Terra. Beyond this gateway spread the camp of the Horde. Fidelity's left lens was still missing, but through her right lens, she beheld a massive camp that spread toward the horizon. Tens of thousands of tents rose here, bustling with activity. Soldiers were drilling with swords, and griffins flew above in formations, their riders tossing up clay targets and shooting them with arrows. In the sea, a hundred ships or more were hoisting banners, and rowboats kept moving back and forth, bringing soldiers from the land onto the warships' decks.