Dragons Rising

by Daniel Arenson

  And what do I fight for? Korvin thought as the snowy wind whipped his cloak.

  He stared across the mountains. Between the two remaining columns of Draco Murus, he could see leagues of snowy peaks and valleys beneath a cloudy sky. Beyond that horizon, only a day and night's flight away, rose the Cured Temple. And within that crystal palace she waited.

  "Beatrix," he whispered.

  Staring into the flurries, Korvin remembered that summer. It had been almost thirty years ago, but it still seemed so recent to Korvin. He could recall every detail with a clarity so real he seemed to relive it. Once more, he was a young soldier, not much more than a boy, and she was a bright-eyed priestess. Once more, he was saving her from the mob, suffering their stones against his armor. Once more, he spent a dizzying summer with Beatrix--walking with her through the gardens, making love to her in the night, whispering of their dreams.

  "I love you, Korvin," Beatrix whispered to him on a hot summer night decades ago. She lay naked in his arms, their bodies sweaty and sticking together. "My soldier. My brave warrior."

  Korvin had kissed her, vowed to always love her. "I will always be your soldier. I will always fight for you. I will always love you."

  Standing on the mountain, Korvin lowered his head and clenched his fists.

  And I did love her . . . until I saw the madness within.

  Perhaps Beatrix had always been mad, had always hidden a rotted core. Perhaps the life in the Temple, the cruelty of her parents, the searing light of the Spirit had driven her mad. When Korvin had seen that madness, seen her lust to slay weredragons, he had revealed his secret.

  "I am one of them!" he cried to her, voice torn. "I am one of those you want to hunt!"

  And she had screamed.

  And she had drawn her sword.

  And she had tried to kill him--the one she had vowed to forever love.

  "I fled you then," Korvin whispered, jaw tight, the snow stinging his eyes. "I married another." Tears burned in his eyes. "And you murdered her. You could not kill me so you killed her--a way to hurt me, to kill my soul if you could not kill my body."

  In his memories, he could see Mishal again--sad, wise Mishal, the potter's daughter, the bride he had chosen, the mother to his daughters. The memories rose before him in the flurries: Mishal, a veil hiding her dark hair, holding his hands and whispering her vows on their wedding day; Mishal, smiling yet always a little wistful, a little sad, tending to their home and garden; Mishal holding their daughters, the toddler Fidelity and the babe Domi, radiant and fully joyous for the first time in her life; Mishal crying out, bleeding, dying, Beatrix's sword in her chest.

  "I'm sorry, Mishal," Korvin whispered. "I miss you. I love you always. And I will keep fighting for our daughters. I will avenge you, and I will rebuild the kingdom our daughters deserve."

  As if summoned by his words, those daughters emerged from the cellar and came to stand beside him on the mountaintop. Both had removed their Terran armor, discarding the old leather and iron. Instead, over their tunics and leggings, they wore the fireslug's scales. The armor was translucent, revealing itself only when the sun caught it. Korvin wore his own suit of the demonic scales. With the sunrays bouncing off them, it left him even colder than before, but he knew it would protect him from bonedrake light.

  "We're ready, Father," Domi said.

  Fidelity shifted her weight from leg to leg. "Are you sure we should do this? We could keep printing our books. Keep fighting in shadows. Keep--"

  "I'm sure," Domi said. "We must strike at the Temple's heart." She turned toward Korvin. "We're ready. Right, Father?"

  No, we're not ready, he wanted to say. No, I'll never be ready to fly with you, my daughters, to war. I'll never be ready to risk your lives, to risk seeing Beatrix kill you like she killed your mother. He looked at his daughters--a bespectacled bookworm and a wild, red-haired sprite--and Korvin knew that neither could he let them languish here. Neither could he let them become like he was--jaded, aging in exile, a soul without a home.

  "We're ready," he said.

  The others emerged from the cellar to join them. Gemini lolloped as he walked, wearing two suits of armor--the paladin's white steel and above it, translucent and shimmering, the armor of fireslug hide. Amity and Cade had both doffed their old armor, and they wore their invisible scales over their tunics. They all carried swords and spears.

  The others gathered around Korvin, staring silently as he spoke.

  "A hundred years ago, the Cured Temple rose to wipe out the magic of Requiem, to tear out our magic with tillvine or slay those who resisted. For a hundred years, the last Vir Requis lived in hiding as the Temple hunted us, seeking to kill the last of us, to bring about the Falling. For all our lives, we here--the last Vir Requis--have been hunted, scared. We've seen friends and family murdered. We've seen our homes destroyed. We've seen evil rise from underground to crush the world in an attempt to slay us. And now, for the first time in a century, we have a chance to bring Requiem back to life." Korvin turned toward Gemini. "We have a scion of the Temple willing to grant us a kingdom--a small kingdom but a kingdom nonetheless, a safe haven. Requiem."

  Gemini nodded. "Requiem will be yours once you kill Beatrix and Mercy."

  Korvin turned toward the others. "In two days is winter solstice, and Beatrix--as she does every year--will speak from the balcony of the Temple to the crowd. We cannot walk into the city in disguise, not with bonedrakes sniffing for us; they can smell a Vir Requis from miles away. We'll fly as dragons, cutting through whatever drakes fly our way, be they of fire or bone. And we will burn Beatrix down."

  Amity pounded her fist into her palm. "Burn her with fire!"

  Gemini sneered. "Burn her slowly so she has time to scream."

  Even Fidelity and Domi seemed eager for the fight, and their eyes shone.

  Cade, however, wrung his hands and spun from side to side. "No," the boy said. "No, this plan won't work. We can't just . . . just show up roaring fire and burn the Temple. Not with Eliana inside."

  Korvin laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "We won't burn down the whole Temple. We'll only be attacking Beatrix on the balcony. A pinpoint attack."

  But Cade seemed more distraught than ever. "And if you kill Beatrix, they'll kill Eliana! She's their captive, Korvin. Their captive! If we attack and Eliana is still in their hands . . . oh stars, they'll kill her before we land. Just to hurt us. We have to save Eliana first. We have to get her to safety before we attack."

  Everyone began talking at once. Amity kept trying to reassure Cade that the baby would be safe, while Fidelity and Domi acknowledged that Cade was right, and Korvin tried to get everyone to calm down and speak in turn. Only Gemini remained silent throughout the conversation, standing to the side.

  Finally the young lord spoke, softly. "I know where she is."

  Everyone was still talking. Only Korvin seemed to hear.

  "I know where Eliana is!" Gemini repeated, louder now.

  Cade spun toward him. Slowly the conversation died down, and all eyes turned to Gemini.

  The paladin continued, voice low. "I've seen the babe. Mercy adores her. She calls Eliana her daughter now. She keeps the babe in a crib in her bedchamber by the window. I know which window it is. I could recognize it even from outside the Temple." He turned toward Cade. "Eliana is Mercy's dearest prize--a prize I would love to take from her. You and me, Cade. The two lost brothers of the Temple. We will fly to that window together. As the others blow their dragonfire and Beatrix screams, we will snatch Eliana away from Mercy's grip." He drew his sword. "And if Mercy is there and puts up a fight, I will gladly shove this steel into her heart."

  Korvin nodded. "We begin our journey this morning. Let us shift into dragons."

  "Wait," Fidelity said. "Before we fly, let us pray." She looked up toward the sky. "I can't see the stars through daylight and cloud, but they're up there. Let us pray for their light." She took a deep breath and began to sing softly, the song from The Book of
Requiem, the most ancient prayer of their people. "As the leaves fall upon our marble tiles, as the breeze rustles the birches beyond our columns, as the sun gilds the mountains above our halls--know, young child of the woods, you are home, you are home." Tears streamed down Fidelity's cheeks, and their voices all rose together. "Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."

  Fidelity shifted into a dragon first. She wore her oversized spectacles, the lenses the size of dinner plates. Above her blue scales lay armor of transparent fireslug scales like more lenses. Domi shifted next, her scales all the shades of autumn leaves, and she too wore the glassy armor. New scales were growing over her old tenderspots, still thin but hardening into orange plates, and Gemini wore no spurs when he climbed onto her saddle. Amity then shifted, becoming a wild red dragon, her scales chipped, her belly covered with scars, her wings long and tipped with cruel claws, and she tossed back her head and blasted fire skyward with a roar. Cade followed, becoming a golden dragon, his eyes--once eager and full of light--now somber.

  The four dragons stared at Korvin--the last dragons in the world. And finally Korvin shifted too, became a burly dragon, the largest among them, his scales heavy and dark gray like plates of iron. Like the others, he wore transparent armor over his scales. He stared at them, and he spoke in a low, rumbling voice.

  "We are the last dragons of Requiem. We fly to our final stand--to death or to rebirth. For Requiem."

  "For Requiem!" the others cried out.

  They took flight together. Requiem's five last dragons rose into the sky and flew across the mountains, fire in their mouths, the prayer of Requiem in their hearts. They flew south--to the Cured Temple and to the column that rose within, the pillar of their kingdom, the beacon guiding them home.

  BEATRIX

  She stood outside the city before the charred weredragon skeletons: Julian and Roen, diseased traitors, now nothing but bones.

  "You flew against me," Beatrix whispered to the skeletons. They were human skeletons, but she knew them to be the bones of weredragons. "Death is too kind a fate for weredragons."

  She raised her eyes and stared toward the distant city of Nova Vita, capital of her empire, center of her power. She stood several miles away, but even from here, Beatrix saw the Cured Temple shining like a beacon, hiding within it a rotted bone--the column that locked the Spirit out of the world. But already the column's power was waning. With every weredragon death, the column weakened, rotting from within, and already tendrils of the Spirit were working their way into the world, letting the bones of firedrakes fly again.

  "Please raise these bones too, my lord." Beatrix raised her eyes to the heavens. "They too will fight for you. Only five weredragons remain, my lord. Only five more to kill, and King's Column will shatter, and then your true glory will bathe me, my lord. Then your beautiful light will shine across the world, and all will kneel before you." She raised her hands. "Grant me the power to fight them, my lord! Grant me your light so that I may raise warriors for your army!"

  She felt the light fill her, shine in her eyes, coil within her breast, cold and cutting and beautiful, making her scream in pain and ecstasy. The light gathered in her palms, sending out tendrils. Beatrix held out her hands toward the two blackened weredragon skeletons.

  "I summon your souls, weredragons!" she cried. "I will not let you rest. Return to your bones! Return and rise before me!"

  At first they fought her. The souls resisted as Beatrix tugged them. She felt them struggling, pulling back, trying to hide from her. Yet she would not let go.

  "You will rise, weredragons!" she shouted, the light pulsing out from her. "You cannot resist the light of my lord. Rise, bones! Rise, souls! Shine!"

  They screamed, a torn sound that rose from charred jaws. Beatrix tugged with all her might, screaming too, laughing, loving the pain. And slowly, creaking, shedding scraps of burnt skin, the two human skeletons rose.

  Beatrix raised her arms, and the skeletons levitated from the ground, shreds of burnt flesh dangling off them. One skeleton was short, the other tall. Julian. Roen. Two outlaws. Two weredragons, father and son. They thrashed in the air, jaws opened, crying out with hatred and pain. Beatrix thrust forth her light, and the strands invaded their ribcages and coiled within, thrumming, weaving tightly knit hearts.

  Their screams rose louder as she claimed them, as the Spirit's light made them her own.

  "You will fight for the Spirit!" Beatrix shouted, laughing. "You will fight against your own kin, and you will slay them, and they too will become bonedrakes. They too will serve the Spirit even in death. Shift, weredrakes! Shift into your dragon forms and fly!"

  With the Spirit's light within them, they were powerless to resist her. The two human skeletons cried out in anguish . . . and shifted.

  Long bones sprouted from their shoulder blades, tipped with claws, becoming wings. Their tailbones lengthened into whipping, spiked tails. Their skulls sprouted horns, and their torsos morphed, grew, curved. They beat their rotted wings and rose into the sky--two dragon skeletons, the light of the Spirit shining in their eye sockets. Bonedrakes. Weredrakes.

  "My servants," Beatrix whispered.

  The firedrake Beatrix had ridden here, a graceful female named Keera, yelped behind her. Beatrix approached the beast, stroked her lavender scales, and climbed into the saddle.

  "Do not fear them, Keera," Beatrix said. "They will be our greatest warriors." She smiled thinly. "The weredragons will come to me. I do not doubt it. I know Korvin. He will seek to fly against me this winter solstice. He will seek to kill me like I killed that whore he married. And his friends will await him."

  She drove her spurs so deep into Keera's tenderspots that the firedrake yowled in pain. Keera beat her wings and took flight, heading back toward the city.

  "Fly with me, weredrakes!" Beatrix cried.

  The dragon skeletons cried out in hatred. Their jaws opened, and they blasted out white jets--a blend of dragonfire and the Spirit's holy light. The pale flames roared across the sky, beautiful to behold. The weredrakes hated her, Beatrix knew, but they could not resist. The Spirit would not release them. They flew at her sides, a guard of honor.

  "You will fly with them, Korvin, my love," Beatrix whispered into the wind. "And you will fly with us too, Cade, my precious son. All weredragons will die, burn to bones, then rise again with the light of the Spirit."

  They flew over the fields where the forest of Requiem had once spread. Those birches were gone now, their legends long forgotten. They flew over the city walls and the many clay domes of Nova Vita, the city where the weredragons had once festered. Their marble halls were long gone. They flew toward the Cured Temple, a palace of crystal and glass, its round base sprouting up many curving shards, hundreds of feet tall, like a comet fallen to the world. King's Column rose within that temple, a last memory of Requiem, a memory soon to shatter.

  And everywhere around the Temple flew the bonedrakes.

  Hundreds of the beasts circled the temple like buzzards, dug up from their graves, filled with holiness, crying out to the sky, warriors of the Spirit waiting to greet their god as he descended into the world. It was a graveyard in the sky, a graveyard the weredragons would join.

  Beatrix flew above the temple. The curving shards flared below like sabers, glass and crystal and metal, gleaming in the sun.

  "Perch upon this crown, weredrakes!" she said. "This will be your aerie, and here you will wait . . . wait for your friends to arrive."

  Julian and Roen screeched and obeyed, landing upon the thrusting shards of crystal like birds upon blades. They clutched their perches with naked claws, tossed back their heads, and blasted out their fire--twin beacons of white, holy light, calling the weredragons home.

  DOMI

  So many times, Domi had flown this route among firedrakes, bearing Lady Mercy on her back. So many times, she had seen Nova Vita and the Temple rising from the distance and seen a home, a place where she could live as a dragon, wild and strong. So man
y times, she had flown here with pain in her heart, knowing that the spurs, the whips, the cellar underground meant she was forever a prisoner, even as a dragon, even as the great Pyre who bore tyrants on her back.

  Now again Domi flew across the fields toward that distant city that lay beyond the horizon. But this time, she did not fly with firedrakes, those mindless dragons whose human forms had been removed.

  Now she flew with the dragons of Requiem.

  She looked to her right. Fidelity flew there, her dear sister, a blue dragon Domi loved deeply. Throughout her childhood and youth, Domi had always felt scared, confused, angry, a lost child in a world that wanted to slay her. Fidelity had always been an anchor of stability, of wisdom, as pure and tall and strong as King's Column itself. Fidelity had always understood all those things Domi could not: the meaning of Requiem, the legends and histories, the songs and prayers, the hope that had always filled the librarian's heart but eluded Domi.

  I ran from you, my sister, and I hid for many years as Pyre, but I love you. I love you more than the stars above and the fallen forests of our kingdom.

  Domi turned to her left, and she saw her father flying there, a charcoal dragon twice her size. If there was anyone stronger and wiser than Fidelity, she thought, it was their father. And Domi knew that throughout even her wild days Korvin had loved her, sought to protect her. She knew that he would love and protect her for as long as they lived. She could not think of a better dragon to lead them to this battle.

  Finally Domi looked below her. Amity and Cade both flew a hundred feet down, her long and red, him lithe and gold. Domi did not know the red dragon well, but she saw Amity as a heroine, as a strong warrior like Domi wanted to become, proud and fearless, a true heroine. As for Cade . . . Domi's heart softened a little to see him, and some of her fear faded. Cade was so earnest, so eager to prove his worth and fight against evil, that he perhaps gave Domi more comfort than all the rest of them. Throughout the past year of hardship, Domi had often found comfort in thinking of Cade. She had found an angry, frightened boy in a village, and she had seen him grow into a man--a man she loved.