Dragons Reborn

by Daniel Arenson

  The Horde prepares for war, Fidelity thought. Do you truly lead them, Amity? Are you truly here with her, Father?

  Roars sounded above.

  Wings beat, blasting sand and dust across the camp.

  Fidelity coughed and rubbed her eyes, and then she saw them flying above.

  A red dragon blasting out fire. A charcoal dragon, scales like iron plates, burly and creaky.

  Fidelity's chest shook, and she couldn't breathe, but she could cry out, and she cried with all the strength in her lungs: "Father! Father!"

  Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she ran through the camp, reaching up to him. Domi ran with her, and the dark gray dragon dived down, hit the dirt between the tents, and shifted into a man.

  Fidelity's eyes watered as she ran.

  It's him. Oh stars, it's him, he's alive.

  There he stood—her father, the old soldier. Korvin was gaunter than she remembered, and his skin was tanned deep bronze, sharply contrasting with his white stubble. His eyebrows were as bushy and black as ever, and his hair was still a great, grizzled mane that flowed halfway down his back, the black streaked with more silver than before. He wore fine steel armor now, and a sword hung at his side—a soldier again. Yet despite the changes in him, it was still her dear father, the man who would bounce her on his knee years ago, who had lived with her in the library, who had fought with her for Requiem, who brought tears to her eyes and made her chest shake.

  "Father!"

  He held out his arms, and Fidelity leaped onto him, crying against him, holding him close. Her body shook with sobs, and she laughed through her tears.

  "Fidelity." Korvin held her close, and she was surprised to see his eyes dampen. She had never seen her father shed tears before, and she knew she would never forget this moment. "My daughter . . ."

  He could say no more, only hold her close, nearly crushing her slender frame against his armor.

  A soft voice rose behind them. "Father?"

  Fidelity turned around, still wrapped in her father's arms, to see Domi standing on the dirt path between the tents. Her orange hair once more fell down to hide her face, and her green eyes peered between the strands, hesitant. She dared not step closer.

  Gently, Korvin released Fidelity from his embrace, and the two stepped toward Domi.

  "My daughter," Korvin said, reaching out to embrace Domi.

  Domi took a step back. She seemed like a wounded animal, torn between fleeing and fighting. She began to tremble, and then tears flooded her eyes, and she leaped forward and wrapped her limbs around Korvin, squeezing him.

  "I'm sorry, Father," she whispered. "I'm so sorry for running away, for being Pyre, for everything I've done. I'm so sorry. I love you, Papa. I love you."

  As around them bustled an army of soldiers, chariots, and flying beasts, they stood together—father and daughters, holding one another close, united in the shadow of looming war.

  GEMINI

  "It seems like it's the time for family reunions," Gemini said, watching Domi and her sister hug the grizzled old warrior. He turned to look at Cade. "Should we finally have our own proper reunion? They tell me you're my brother."

  They stood in the tent city, two young men in the center of chaos. The Horde bustled around them. Burly, bare-chested warriors rode horses back and forth, both men and beasts clad in ring mail. A leathery old man walked by, leading a chained griffin, a massive beast with the body of a lion and the head of an eagle, even larger than most dragons. Tall, noble women and men walked all around, clad in pale steel armor, their platinum hair streaming like banners, their eyes blue like the sea—Tirans of the desert, a proud and ancient race, their sabers filigreed and their skin deep gold. Even a salvanae streamed by, its scales chinking, a serpent of the air, seeming to Gemini almost like a great sculpture of jewels. The creature blinked its crystal eyes at him—each as large as Gemini's head—fanning him with its eyelashes, and its beard streamed along the ground as its body hovered. And all around, past warriors and creatures, spread the tents of Hakan Teer—some lavish and embroidered, others simple dwellings made of animal hides stretched over cedar poles.

  Gemini was used to the order and cleanliness of the Commonwealth. Back home, every soldier wore the same exact armor—paladins in white steel plates, commoners in chain mail so meticulous that each soldier wore the same number of rings in his armor. Every home in every city was the same, a clay hut with a domed roof, built to perfect specifications, identical to its neighbors. Each city street, each warship, each saddle on a firedrake, all were created with precision, part of a flawless whole.

  The south, however, was a motley mess. No two tents were alike, and most seemed homemade. No two suits of armor matched. Warriors simply cobbled together whatever makeshift armor they could, strapping on hunks of iron, bronze, and copper, scraps of ring mail, sometimes simply boiled leather studded with bolts. Some men wore beards while others were clean shaven. Some women wore long gowns while others walked around bare chested, not a scrap of modesty to them, and Gemini would have thought them harlots if not for the swords at their hips. He didn't even see commanders, no units of troops, no order, only a great mass. The smells were just as plentiful and confusing and intoxicating: sweat, oil, perfumes, horse dung, cooking fires, fruits and roasting meats, a sickening and sweetly aroma.

  This was, Gemini decided, not an army but a mob.

  He looked back at Cade.

  Perhaps, he thought, this boy is the only thing I have left in this land of barbarians.

  He stepped closer. "Well, Cade? Aren't you going to say anything?"

  The boy stared at him, eyes hard. He was shorter than Gemini, younger, his hair brown, not bleached like the hair of a paladin, his eyes hazel, not blue like Gemini's. But Gemini saw the resemblance; Cade had a face remarkably like his own.

  It's true. We are brothers.

  Finally Cade spoke. "I had a true family once. A kind father. A loving mother. A sister." The boy clenched his fists. "Your family slew my parents and stole my sister. You are no brother to me."

  Gemini raised an eyebrow. "It sounds like I'm the only family you have left."

  Cade growled and grabbed Gemini's collar. "Be silent! Don't think that I trust you." He twisted the collar in his fist. "I know that you hurt Domi. I know of all those that your family hurt. I am not one of you." His cheeks flushed and his eyes reddened. "Do you hear me? I'm not part of your sick, twisted family."

  Gemini sighed and pried Cade's hand off his collar. "Sick, twisted family." The words tasted flat. "Yes. We are that. My mother. My sister. They're . . . not the most pleasant of people. I know of their sins—the people they killed, tortured, imprisoned, deformed." He shuddered, the nightmares of the dungeon never far from consuming him. "But that's them. They're the ones in power. I've never been like them, Cade. They hurt me too." Gemini winced, closed his eyes, and took a shaky breath. "You can't imagine what it was like—growing up with Beatrix as your mother, with Mercy as your sister." He barked a laugh, opened his eyes, and looked at Cade again. "Can you?"

  Cade's fists loosened. "No."

  Gemini placed his hand on Cade's shoulder. "Listen to me, brother. I'm here now. Helping you. Fighting with you. You are my brother, and I swear to you . . . we will fight back against our family." He sneered. "We will kill Mercy and Beatrix, and then we—the Deus brothers—will rule the land."

  "I want nothing to do with your land." Cade glowered. "I fight only for Requiem."

  Gemini nodded. "Requiem is what you'll get if you fight with me. Against my mother and sister. Our mother and sister." His eyes stung. "Spirit, Cade, their cruelty, their bloodlust . . . Such horrors, brother. Such horrors. And I've always felt very alone. I sought love with women. With wine. With Domi. With firedrakes. Seeking some relief, somebody to understand." He was surprised to find tears stinging his eyes. "But I found you. A brother. A real brother. Somebody to fight with me."

  Surprising himself again, Gemini hugged Cade. The boy stood sti
ffly at first, then relaxed.

  "My brother," Gemini whispered. "My little brother. I promise that I'll never hurt you like Mercy hurt me. I promise to always fight with you."

  Cade pulled himself free. He stared at Gemini with a mix of confusion, contempt, and wonder, then turned and walked several steps away. The boy stood with his back to Gemini, staring toward the water.

  I don't know if we can ever be friends, Gemini thought, gazing at the boy. I've never had a brother, never had a friend, never had anyone love me, never loved anyone but Domi who betrayed me. His damn eyes stung again. Please, Spirit, let this boy, this brother, be a friend to me. Let him fight with me against the world, against all those who hurt us.

  "Gemini!" The voice rose behind him. "Cade, you too! We're going to find something to eat. Gemini, come on!"

  Gemini turned around to see Fidelity gesturing to them. He raised his chin, dried his eyes, and nodded. He walked toward the others, the weredragons, those who had captured him, who perhaps would fight with him, who perhaps would be the only people in the world to love him.

  MERCY

  Her firedrake perched upon the tower, the tallest point in Altus Mare, and from the saddle Mercy watched her armada muster.

  "Altus Mare," she whispered into the wind. "The great Eastern Light of the Commonwealth. From here our greatest beam of righteousness will shine forth."

  Below her spread the second largest city in her empire, the greatest port of the Commonwealth, larger than three Lynports. Altus Mare was an ancient city, harkening back to the days of the Osannan civilization which had first built a port here three thousand years ago. The eastern sea pushed into the continent here, a cove of calm warm water, and the city spread along the coast, embracing the bay. Hundreds of monasteries rose here, their steeples white and soaring, and great tillvine blossoms shone in their stained glass mirrors. Between the temples, thousands of cobbled streets rolled along hills toward the water, and countless houses rose alongside them. The homes were all built of the same white clay, their windows round, their roofs domed. Among them rose libraries, silos, workshops, and fortresses.

  Altus Mare—fabled for its beauty, for its white spires like crystal shards, for its crystal blue waters, for its wisdom, its music, its history and holiness. Altus Mare, the Jewel of the East.

  Today it was home to an army.

  Hundreds of warships filled the cove: towering brigantines with many sails, their decks lined with cannons; carracks topped with archers and soldiers ready for war; longships lined with oars and shields; portly cogs laden with barrels of gunpowder and siege engines; and a hundred wooden hulks bearing firedrakes upon their decks. Ships had come here from across the coasts of the Commonwealth, forming the greatest armada the empire had ever seen. On the horizon, Mercy saw many more masts rising, drawing closer, more ships come to join the greatest invasion of the age.

  Thousands of troops gathered here too. They stood along every boardwalk, mustered in every square. They wore white robes painted with tillvine blossoms over chain mail, and they held shields and swords. A thousand paladins commanded them, clad in white plate armor, bearing great lances and banners. As Mercy watched from the tower, hundreds of rowboats were busy moving back and forth, ferrying troops from the boardwalks and onto the warships. Dozens of firedrakes flew overhead, gliding down to land on decks. Hundreds more would fly above the armada as it sailed, swapping places with the beasts on the decks every few hours, forever forming a cloud of scale and fire above the fleet.

  Lynport lay far southwest from here, and Sanctus far north. Altus Mare was not only the largest of the Commonwealth's port cities but also the closest to her destination: the great tent city of Hakan Teer in the continent of Terra . . . the great army of the Horde.

  "We will face them in battle, Talis," Mercy said, leaning across the saddle to stroke her firedrake's white scales. "We will burn them all."

  Talis was a young firedrake, not yet fully trained, jittery but fast and mean and strong. He was smaller than Felesar, her old mount which Gemini had stolen, but quicker, crueler. Scales as pure and pale as snow flowed across his muscular form, and his jaws kept snapping, and his claws kept digging into the steeple of the monastery he perched on. He gurgled and cackled as she stroked them, then spread his wings wide, tossed back his head, and blasted upward a great fountain of fire, an inferno that shrieked and roared, blue in its center, spreading out to white and blazing red.

  "Yes, Talis," Mercy said. "Soon you'll blast this fire onto the weredragons. Soon they will cower before you and die in your flame."

  Suddenly pain drove through Mercy, and she closed her eyes. Again she felt the agony in her belly, her husband's fists killing the child who had slept within. She shivered, biting her lip so hard she bled, and her eyes snapped open. She stared at the fleet below.

  "I do this for you, Eliana," she whispered. "I will lead the Temple to its greatest battle, and I will purify the world so that you never know pain. So that you never know war. I will bring about the Falling and raise you in a world of light . . . even if my life is one of shadow and flame."

  She dug her spurs into Talis's tenderspots, and the beast took flight. His wings beat madly, and he cried out, a bugling cry, eager for the fight. They dived over the city streets, over thousands of domes, thousands of soldiers. They soared, scattering flame, rising high above the cove, and they circled above the hundreds of ships that spread for miles. Mercy's banner rose high, thudding in the wind, displaying a golden tillvine blossom upon a white field. The sun beat down, shining on Talis's white scales and her white armor.

  "Hear me!" Mercy cried to the army below, to the multitudes, to the wrath of the Temple. "I am Mercy Deus, and I will lead you to victory! We are the light of the Spirit! We are the blade of the Cured! Sail forth, armada! Sail forth, holy warriors!"

  Across hundreds of decks, men blew into silvery horns. The cries rose from below, growing and multiplying, a thousand clarion calls, calls for holiness, for war, for triumph. The last rowboats reached the warships, and the last soldiers climbed onto the decks, and with the roar of drums and horns and chanting men, the armada began to sail.

  Talis turned toward the east and flew, leading the way out of the port, blasting fire and screeching, his cry rolling across the cove and city. A thousand other firedrakes took flight, blowing fire, their cries shaking the sky. Below them, the ships raised their anchors and began to sail: brigantines, carracks, hulks, hundreds of vessels bearing a hundred thousand soldiers. Cannons blasted out in triumph. Priests led chants, and countless voices rose in song upon the decks. All along the cove, men and women cheered, waved flags, and blew horns. Sunbeams fell upon the water, and Mercy felt as if the Spirit himself watched from above, blessing her with light.

  It was an army the Horde could not stop. It was a light the weredragons could not extinguish. It was the great battle of Mercy's life—for her mother, for her daughter, for her god.

  And for the fear inside me, she thought. For the emptiness that I cannot fill.

  The great army of the Cured Temple sailed out of the cove into open water. Ahead, across the horizon, they waited: the continent of Terra, the weredragons, her brothers, and her triumph or her death in fire.

  KORVIN

  A gray dragon, he perched atop Elamar, one of the great horse statues that guarded the coast of Terra. The colossus rose three hundred feet tall, almost as tall as the Cured Temple in the north. Clutching one of the horse's raised, gilded hoofs, Korvin felt as small as an eagle on an oak's branch.

  Amity sat perched on the horse's second kicking hoof. The red dragon spat out fire, and smoke rose from her nostrils. She turned her scaly head toward Korvin and grinned, showing all her teeth.

  "We're almost ready," she said.

  Korvin grunted, puffed out smoke, and stared at the coast below. Behind him sprawled the tent city of Hakar Teer, the great northern garrison of the Horde. Before him in the water, the ships of this empire spread across the sea. Many were
old ships captured years ago from the Commonwealth in battle: brigantines, carracks, and caravels, the tillvine blossoms scratched off their hulls, their banners now displaying the serpents of the Horde, and cannons lined their decks. Among them sailed hundreds of vessels built here in Terra: dhow ships with lateen sails, some small with only one mast and a dozen men, others sporting three masts and a crew of a hundred; massive baghlah ships, long and curved, their hulls masterworks of engravings and precious metals; hulks and cogs, massive ships the size of forts; longships like great centipedes lined with oars; and countless smaller vessels, some oared and some raising single sails, like bustling flies around the larger warships.

  On the fleet's decks, the warriors of the Horde roared for battle and brandished their weapons. Osannans, the descendants of outcasts from their lands in the north, wore scraps of iron, leather, and wool, and they wielded axes, hammers, spears, and longswords. For the first time in hundreds of years, they would sail back to their ancestral home in the northeast, the home the Temple now ruled. Among them roared warriors of the Terran tribes, survivors of the fallen civilizations of Eteer, Goshar, and the other city-states that now lay buried under the sand. They were shorter and darker, their skin olive toned, their hair black, their eyes green, and they wore bronze breastplates, suits of scales, and ring mail, and they brandished scimitars and khopeshes and spears tipped with iron. Thousands of Tirans sailed here too, tall and noble people with golden skin, piercing blue eyes, and long platinum hair, warriors hailing from the deserts of the west, come to join the great Horde in its conquest.