"Requiem is dead," she whispered. "I can no longer help the others." She looked back at Cade, and her eyes were softer now, haunted and grieving. "You're right, Cade. I want to die in combat. That's all the honor that's left to me. Would you deny me that?"
"I would." He nodded. "There's no glory in a suicide mission. There's glory in survival. In fighting on rather than charging headstrong to certain death. Stay with me, Amity. If we can no longer fight for Requiem, we can fight for ourselves. To survive. To live. To find Korvin, Roen, Fidelity, and Domi."
His voice choked as he spoke their names. He lowered his head. He missed them so badly his belly seemed to freeze, his heart to crack.
Korvin--the noblest, strongest man Cade had ever known. Fidelity--his dearest, wisest friend. Domi--the woman Cade loved, the woman he had lain with in the field, the woman he missed with every beat of his heart. Cade even missed the tall, solemn Roen, a man he had not known long but had come to think of as a brother.
"I miss them," he whispered.
Amity lowered her head, leaned forward, and pressed her forehead against his. Rather than gripping him painfully, she placed her hands on Cade's shoulders, her touch now soft and comforting.
"I miss them too," she whispered. "I miss that big hunk of meat Korvin. I don't know the others well, but . . . they are fellow Vir Requis, so they are my brothers and sisters." Amity nodded. "If they're alive, we must find them. You're right, Cade." Surprising him, she kissed his forehead, then spun around and began walking down the road. "So come on! Don't lag behind, lazy."
He nodded, still feeling her kiss on his brow, and hurried to catch up.
* * * * *
The road stretched on through the fields of the southern Commonwealth, narrow and pebbly, many leagues long. They had been traveling along it for two days now, heading north toward the mountains.
"Fly to Draco Murus!" Fidelity had cried out in the battle, soon vanishing into the smoke and flame.
"Draco Murus," Cade repeated now, walking behind Amity on the road. He knew that name from The Book of Requiem. He had arranged the letters himself in his printing press to spell those words. Draco Murus--the Wall of Requiem. An ancient fortress. The bastion of the bellators, the knights of Requiem's golden age. The place where Queen Lacrimosa had reigned, fighting off the twisted mimics with her daughters, the princesses Gloriae and Agnus Dei. For thousands of years, dragons had guarded Requiem from the towers of Draco Murus. Now, perhaps, a sapling of hope would rise from those ancient ruins.
Very distant ruins, Cade thought with a sigh. Fidelity just had to choose a northern hideout all the way across the Commonwealth.
"Cade!" Amity looked over her shoulder and frowned. "Hurry up or I'm leaving you behind."
She spun back forward and kept walking. With the daylight blazing down, they dared not fly. Even flying at night felt risky without clouds to hide them. Mercy would be seeking them. Her paladins would be trained to inspect every flying beast in the sky. Even disguising themselves as firedrakes would not work, not without saddles or paladins to ride them.
Cade's feet ached. The soles of his boots were worn down and cracked, letting in mud and small stones that stabbed his feet. His clothes were in no better shape. He still wore the woolen trousers and cotton tunic the Horde had given him, but the battle had left them in tatters. Beneath his clothes, his skin was just as ravaged. Bruises, cuts, and welts covered him, still aching even now, several days after the battle.
"Maybe we should have stayed in the south," he mumbled. "Stayed with the others."
He thought back to those he had saved from the Horde, the women and children he had borne on his back across the sea. Survivors. Homeless. Scarred and burnt. He had carried them from fire and death, carried them across the sea to a new land . . . only to abandon them. To leave them in the wilderness by a stream, with nothing but a few makeshift fishing hooks and spears.
"We abandoned them," he whispered. "We saved their lives only to leave them in an enemy land, no food, no shelter, no--"
"What are you mumbling about?" Amity demanded. "Are you talking about the Terrans again? I told you, Cade, there's nothing we could have done. Would you have them following us through the wilderness, a group of foreigners for the firedrakes to hunt? They're safer in the south--safer than we are up here."
He nodded. "I know. It's just . . ." He sighed. "We need to stop Beatrix. We need to stop this Cured Temple from spreading across the land, burning, killing." He stared at the distant firedrakes; they were just specks on the horizon now. "Gemini's original plan was to sneak into the Temple, to kill Beatrix in her bed. Do you think there's still hope for that?"
Amity raised an eyebrow. "Only a moment ago, you were the one lecturing me about hope." She sighed. "No, Cade, I don't think there is much hope left at all. We can't sneak into the Temple without Gemini's help. I don't even know if Gemini is still alive, the only heir who would have given us a kingdom. Perhaps there's no hope left, and all we can do is die in combat, foolish though you think that might be. But let's go to Draco Murus first. Let us seek the others." Her eyes shone. "And if all hope is truly gone, then I will fight in those ancient ruins like Queen Lacrimosa a thousand years ago. That is where I will make my final stand."
The road stretched on and they walked for hours. Cade struggled to keep up. With his worn soles and shorter legs, he kept falling behind, and Amity kept glaring over her shoulder at him, sometimes walking so far ahead he barely saw her.
It was afternoon before they passed by their first tavern.
The building rose at a crossroads, two stories tall and built of clay. A tillvine blossom was carved above the rounded door, and two chimneys pumped out smoke. An herb garden grew outside, and Cade winced to see ilbane growing there. The fumes stung his nostrils, and his hand tingled in memory of the ilbane that had burned him on the day of Eliana's purification. But above the stench of that poison . . .
He sniffed.
"Ribs," he whispered. "Oh, stars, pork ribs in gravy." His mouth watered, but he shook his head wildly and kept walking. "Come on, Amity, let's walk by quickly before we can't resist it. We can reach the forest by nightfall, and . . . Amity?"
Ignoring him, the tall warrior was making a beeline toward the tavern, the aroma guiding her like a siren's song.
"Amity!" Cade whispered. "We can't go into taverns!" He rushed toward her. "People might see us."
She shrugged and kept walking. "So? Let them see us. I'm famished."
He glared at her. "Amity! Mercy must have spread our description across the land. What if somebody recognizes us?" He reached out to grab her.
"Then I'll invite them to share some ribs, or at least I'll get to fight them on a full belly." Shoving him aside, Amity crossed the last few steps toward the tavern, yanked the door open, and stepped inside.
The smell of the roasting meat--oh stars, it was being stewed in tomatoes--nearly knocked Cade off his feet.
Well, I can't just let Amity in there alone. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes with pleasure. I have to protect her.
Mouth watering, he stepped into the tavern too.
The common room was humble, its walls and floor made of clay, its windows round. This was not one of the ancient, wooden taverns like the Old Wheel, a building that had survived from the days of Requiem. Here was a newer, simpler structure built in Templer style. Perhaps this had once been a monastery, its priest having decided to pursue a life of cooking rather than praying. Several tables stood here, empty of patrons. Bottles of wine stood on shelves, and the smell of the cooking meat wafted from the kitchen.
The innkeeper stood at the bar, a little old man wrapped in burlap robes. At the sight of Amity and Cade--both bruised, muddy, and clad in rags--his eyes widened. He reached under the bar, perhaps for a weapon.
"We mean you no harm," Cade said, smiling thinly, trying to make himself look less like an outlaw and more like a paying customer. "We--"
"We want food." Amity pounded her f
ist on the bar. "Two plates piled high with whatever you have cooking at the back. Then another two plates ten minutes later. And ale. Two pints now and two more once they're empty."
Cade sidled over to Amity and whispered, "Can we afford all this?"
She dragged him toward a table. "My treat. Sit down."
He dutifully sat down at the scarred pinewood table, and she sat across from him. Not a moment later, the old innkeeper brought over two plates piled high with stewed ribs on a bed of roast potatoes.
A sudden pang of guilt stabbed Cade. What were the Terran survivors on the beach eating? Had they caught food in the river or were they starving while he dined here? And what of Fidelity, Domi, and the others? Were their bellies full or--
"Oh thank you, Spirit!" Amity said and tucked in.
Cade could no longer resist. He grabbed a rib in each hand and feasted. The meat was so soft it fell off the bone and melted in his mouth. It was delicious. It was heavenly. Cade had barely eaten in days, and this tasted like a meal for gods. The flavors filled his mouth: tomatoes, brown sugar, and fatty goodness.
He finished his second rib to see Amity devouring her tenth.
"Slow down!" he said. "Chew."
"No time." She stuffed another entire rib into her mouth, sucked off the meat, and tossed the bone over her shoulder. She kept attacking the meal like a wild animal.
"You eat like a damn wolf."
She grunted. "Good. I like wolves."
"A rabid wolf all covered with mud and fleas."
She swallowed more meat. "Quiet, kid. Eat more and talk less." She looked over her shoulder. "Innkeeper, more! Keep 'em coming. And where's the damn ale? Ah! There. Bring it over, good man."
She grabbed a tankard and drank deeply, a trickle of ale dribbling down her chin. She slammed the emptied stein down, wiped her mouth, and returned to her meal. As she kept devouring the meat, Cade sat and watched her.
She almost doesn't seem Vir Requis, he thought. With her tangled hair, mad eyes, and the table manners of a wolverine, Amity seemed to Cade more like a barbarian of the Horde than a daughter of Requiem. To Cade, a Vir Requis was somebody holy, mysterious, a proud and noble bearer of an ancient torch. Somebody like Fidelity, wise and solemn, or like Domi, mysterious and fair, or like Korvin and Roen, strong and noble and proud.
But Amity is different, he thought. Rougher. Darker. She didn't have the noble heart of a Vir Requis but a wild heart, eager for bloodshed and fire.
Cade thought that, deep down, he was a little afraid of Amity. Afraid and, well . . . He gulped. He had to admit that Amity stirred other feelings in him too, that she heated his blood in ways he didn't like and yet found intoxicating. He flushed to remember her kissing his forehead, and all those times she had grabbed his hand or arm. Looking at her now, Cade realized that, beneath the grime and gravy, Amity was a beautiful woman. Domi was beautiful too of course, in a soft and fragile way, the sort of beauty that Cade wanted to cherish, to protect, the beauty of a delicate rose struggling to bloom in snow. But Amity was no fragile flower. She was fire, wild and free and hot, a strong older woman who dripped sex, who could probably teach him things in her bed, who--
"What are you staring at?" Amity demanded.
Cade gulped and hurriedly reached for his ale. He drank quickly, hiding his flushing cheeks behind the raised stein.
I can't think of Amity this way, he told himself. Guilt filled him. Domi is the woman I love.
The memory of making love to Domi filled him, more intoxicating than the ale. He remembered fleeing the burning forest with her, lying with her in the grass, undressing together, making love, how her body had seemed so fragile, so pale, how Cade had vowed to always protect her, always love her.
Where are you, Domi? Are you still alive, flying north, thinking of me too?
The innkeeper returned with two more plates of food, and Amity and Cade were tucking into their second helpings when the firedrake screech rose outside.
Cade froze, a spiced potato wedge halfway up toward his mouth.
Oh stars.
* * * * *
The shriek rose just outside the tavern; this was not a beast flying high in the sky. Cade spun toward the window and saw the flash of brass scales outside, the puff of smoke, and the glaring eyes of a Templer firedrake. Cade glimpsed a glint of sunlight against scale armor.
He leaped to his feet. "Amity, out the back door!" He began to race across the common room, but Amity wouldn't budge. "Amity!"
She sat hunched over, elbows on the table, and swallowed another bite. "I'm eating."
Cade raced back toward her. "Amity," he whispered urgently, "there's a star-damned paladin outside!"
She reached for a roasted potato. "And there are potatoes inside. I'd rather focus on them. Sit down or I'm eating your leftovers."
Cade gulped, torn between fleeing for his life, grabbing Amity and trying to drag her away, or hiding behind the bar. Before he could decide, the tavern door slammed open, and a paladin marched in.
Cade cursed and sat back down.
I should have run.
The paladin who entered the room was tall and coated in white steel. His helmet's visor was raised, revealing a face as cold, hard, and pale as his armor. He held a chain in his hand; it trailed out the door. The man stared around the tavern in disgust.
"Wretched piss pot." The paladin spat onto the floor. "Innkeeper! Wine! Have you got any wine in this hovel?"
The innkeeper rushed forth, knelt, and bowed his head. "Yes, my lord! Fine wine from Lynport, my lord, would--"
The paladin kicked the kneeling man, knocking him down. "Go get some, scum! A bottle for me. And bring a dog bowl of water. Put it on the floor for my pet."
The innkeeper nodded and rushed off.
Cade reached across the table and placed his hand near his knife.
The paladin stared right at him and Amity, wrinkled his nose, and spat again. "Filthy urchins." He tugged his chain. "Come on! In!"
Cade expected to see a dog enter the tavern, but instead a chained woman followed the paladin inside.
Oh stars. Rage rose in Cade, and his fingers inched closer to the knife.
The woman had olive skin, large green eyes, and curly dark hair--a Terran woman of the Horde. The chain connected to her wrists, and bruises covered her face. She wore a tattered woolen dress; those tatters had been made with clutching hands, Cade guessed.
A slave, Cade realized, belly curdling. A slave he captured in the war.
Icy guilt filled Cade. His actions--fleeing Mercy, burning the tillvine, gathering the Vir Requis--had spurred this war. Now the world had burned. Fleets had sunken. Countless lay dead. And women were taken captive. How much more pain could the world endure for Cade's dream, a dream of Requiem?
The paladin marched toward a table and sat down with a grunt. His captive knelt on the floor beside him, head lowered, arms still chained. The innkeeper stepped forth, bringing a bottle of wine and a bowl of water.
The paladin grabbed the bottle, uncorked it with his teeth, and drank deeply. He swallowed and wiped his mouth. "Tastes like swill." He belched. "Bring some food!"
Soon a plate of ribs steamed before the paladin. After swallowing the meat off each bone, he tossed the bone to his captive on the floor. The woman nervously nibbled on whatever meat and fat remained. It was probably her first meal in a long time.
Cade found himself trembling with rage.
I cannot let this happen.
"Calm yourself, kid," Amity muttered under her breath, busying herself with the last few potatoes. "Not our battle."
Cade's eyes widened with rage. He leaned across the table and whispered, "Not our battle? Amity! That's a woman of the Horde! You're her queen!"
Amity drank her last drop of ale. "Was her queen." She stared up at him. "That dream is over, Cade. Now come on. We keep moving north."
Cade shook his head. "I'm not leaving."
"Suit yourself." Amity began to rise from the table.
She cracked her neck. "Ain't no glory in a tavern brawl."
He wouldn't release her. "We're not leaving without this woman, we--"
The paladin's voice rose from across the tavern, hoarse and already slurred with wine. "Silence, you maggots! A paladin's trying to drink here. You should be kneeling before me, not blabbering to yourselves. Look how this one kneels!" The paladin turned toward his captive. "Kneel lower! Lower!" He backhanded the woman, knocking her to the floor.
Cade couldn't help himself. He stormed forward, trembling with rage, and knelt by the woman. Blood speckled her lips. Lying on the floor, she gazed up at him with fear, eyes damp. Her lips wobbled.
"I'm sorry," Cade whispered. "Let me help you."
The paladin rose to his feet, placed his hands on Cade's chest, and shoved him back.
"Hands off my prize, you peasant!" The paladin drew his sword. "Kneel now or I'll slice off your head."
Cade gulped and glanced over his shoulder. "Amity, a little help?"
Amity leaned against the wall, and a smile touched her lips. "You don't need me, kid. I'll enjoy the show."
Cade spun back toward the paladin and cursed. There was no room in here to shift into a dragon, not without trapping himself between the walls, easy prey for the paladin's sword. He raised his chin, reached to the table, and grabbed a knife. He raised the little blade.
"I challenge you to a duel!" Cade had read that phrase in one of his old books, though in the stories, the heroes never had cold sweat bead on their brows. "For this woman's honor. Let's take it outside." He was pretty sure he'd read that phrase before too.
The paladin stared at him with wide eyes, then burst out laughing. The captive at his feet stared up, still shaking, her lip bleeding. Shaking his head with amusement, the paladin sat back down and returned to his meal.
"Funny creatures, you peasants are." He polished off another bone and tossed it at his captive.
Dragons Rising Page 2
