Dragons Rising

by Daniel Arenson

  "You wool-brain!"

  Cade yowled and scuttled away from her. "Amity! Stars damn it. What are you doing?" He touched his ear and winced. "Bloody Abyss! That's dangerous."

  She glowered at him, arms crossed. "So is talking shite. Cade, you bollocks-for-brains, you listen to me. You forget about that night right away, you fly down to the city, you find Domi, and you ask her to marry you. Do you understand?"

  "I--"

  "Tonight!" Amity said. "Cade, I'm not for you. I was never for you. I'm too old for you, too strong for you, and far too wise to fall for a foolish boy when I'm sober. Go find Domi. And . . . have a good life, kid. Have a good life with her."

  Before he could reply, Amity shifted back into a dragon and took flight.

  She flew away from the columns of Requiem.

  She flew above the city roofs, the snaking streets, the thousands of people below.

  She flew over the fields, the forests, flew until she reached the mountains.

  Often Amity flew like this in the darkness. As King's Column was different from the other pillars, so was Amity different from the other dragons. She knew this.

  Cade. Domi. Fidelity. They had one another, bound by family and love and friendship. The people in the city--they shared bonds such as Amity would never again know.

  Because I'm alone.

  Amity glided under the stars in silence. Many times she flew for days and nights until she reached the sea, and then she flew over the dark waters, and she thought of her parents who had fallen there. She thought of the thousands of warriors of the Horde who had drowned under her rule.

  And often she thought of Korvin, the only man she had ever truly, fully loved. The man she had betrayed. The man who had died in her arms. The man she would give anything to see again, anything to hold one more time, to beg forgiveness from. And when she thought of him, Amity roared out in pain, and she blasted her fire across the sky, and her tears fell, and her chest shook.

  Though sometimes, on some clear nights with no clouds or storm, she would gaze up at the stars, and Amity would imagine that Korvin was up there, watching her, waiting for her to join him.

  "But I can't join you yet, Korvin," she would whisper. "I have to keep my promise to you. A promise I made as you lay dying in my arms. I have to protect the young ones, to protect Requiem. To see her halls rise again."

  And she tightened her jaw at these times, and she knew that she was not alone, not truly. Amity knew then that she carried an ancient torch of starlight, that future books--books like those Fidelity tended too--would remember her.

  She had lost her family, lost all those she loved, but Amity had new people to love now. People in generations ahead. The people of Requiem. She would build this kingdom for them. She would keep it safe.

  In the mornings after her flights in darkness, she would return to the city, to her soldiers, to the sight of those columns rising anew. No matter how far she flew, how deep the pain ran, she would always return to Requiem. It was always her home.

  CADE

  On a chilly autumn morning, dragons from the capital arrived at the village of Favilla.

  Cade was inside his humble clay bakery, busy braiding loaves of sweet sesame bread, when he heard the dragons' cries outside. The oven was already heating up, ready to bake the loaves, filling the bakery with warmth in the cold dawn. Soft sunlight fell through the round windows, falling upon rolling pins, bags of flour, and the two people Cade loved most in the world.

  His wife looked up from the loaf she was braiding. She wore an apron, and flour whitened her hands and hid the freckles on her cheeks. A kerchief covered her hair--hair as fiery and beautiful as autumn foliage. Her green eyes stared over the loaves of bread at Cade--the same green eyes that first stared at him five years ago, piercing his soul. Eyes he had never forgotten. Eyes he loved more than ever.

  "They're here," Domi whispered, reaching across the table to clasp Cade's hand.

  Beside Domi stood little Eliana, also wearing an apron and kerchief. The girl was five years old now, her eyes large and hazel and full of wonder.

  "Dwagons!" the girl whispered. "Weal dwagons fwom the nowth!"

  The dragons' cries rose again outside alongside the sound of beating wings. Air fluttered the curtains, and Cade winced in sudden pain. He could not stop the fear from springing into him--even now, five years later. Perhaps that fear would never leave him.

  Five years ago, he thought, Mercy Deus arrived here from the capital, leading her firedrakes. Five years ago, Derin and Tisha died in the fire.

  His jaw tightened, and for a moment Cade could not breathe. He stood in a new bakery now, but this was the same place, and this was the same pain.

  How do I forget? he thought, his hands balling into fists. How do I stop those memories? The ashes of this place. The bones. The pain. The terror. The war of thousands drowning. His eyes stung. So much blood and death, so much, I cannot--

  Domi saw his turmoil. Her eyes softened, and she walked around the table toward him. She laid her hands against his chest and looked up at him, and he stared into those soft green eyes, and all anxiety, all fear, all memory faded from him, her kindness washing them away.

  Only one thought remained.

  Domi.

  He embraced his wife and kissed her forehead.

  "I love you," he whispered.

  She kissed his lips. "And I you. Always. Come. Let's go see her."

  The flapping wings were louder now, and Cade heard the laughter of children from outside. Eliana was already bouncing, eager to run out and see the "dwagons."

  Cade nodded to his wife and kissed her again. He walked toward the back of the bakery, stepped through a doorway, and entered the nursery. He approached the crib that lay there, reached inside, and lifted his son. The little boy, only a year old, was still asleep, even with the noise from outside. Cade kissed the babe's hair, held him against his chest, and stepped outside the bakery with his family.

  The new village of Favilla spread around him. All the ashes of the war had been cleaned. All the dead rested under the grass. New huts rose here now, built in the same style as before--humble clay dwellings with round windows and domed roofs. But now, unlike in the days of the Cured Temple, flowers grew in gardens and upon windowsills. Grass carpeted the ground. Young birches and maples, already as tall as Cade, rustled between the homes, their leaves turning gold and orange and red.

  In the center of the village rose a dragon sculpture, life-sized, built of steel and glass. The dragon was gazing up at the sky, perhaps watching the stars. Upon its wings were engraved the names of all those who had fallen in this village, all those the paladins had murdered. Derin. Tisha. Many others. Souls lost but not forgotten.

  "Look, look!" Eliana pointed. "Dwagons! Weal Dwagons!"

  Indeed, real dragons flew above, gliding down toward Favilla--twenty or more. Most were children, no larger than ponies, their scales soft and their wings beating madly. They dipped in the sky, wobbled, and laughed. Eliana stood in the dirt, staring up with wide, envious eyes. She was a year older than these dragons but could not shift herself. Her magic had been stolen--stolen on that horrible day that still tore at Cade's heart. He placed a hand on her head and stroked her hair.

  She looked up at him. "Cade, when I'm gwown up, will I leawn to be a dwagon too?"

  Cade passed his son to Domi, then knelt and looked into Eliana's eyes. "When you're older, you're going to be a beautiful, wise, strong woman, and you're going to ride dragons like the great Queen Laira of Requiem. She could not become a dragon, but she was very brave and very loved across Requiem." He kissed the little girl's cheek.

  She nodded and looked down at her feet, seeming disappointed, then smiled when he tickled her. "Okay."

  Cade looked back at the sky. Among the child-dragons flew one adult, a slender dragon with beautiful ocean-blue scales. Spectacles, each lens as large as a man's head, perched upon the dragon's snout.

  "Children, children!" the blue dr
agon said, laughing. "Fly around me! You're wobbling like turkeys' waddles. Now fly straight!"

  "Yes, Queen Fidelity!" the little dragons chanted together, struggling to form a line in the sky but only bumping into one another.

  Giving up all attempts to herd them, Fidelity glided down the last few feet and landed on the grass. She shifted back into human form. Though Queen of Requiem now, Fidelity wore no gown, no fine armor, not even a crown or tiara. She wore the same outfit Cade had first seen her in: tan leggings, brown boots, and a blue vest with brass buttons. Her round spectacles slid down her nose, and her golden braid hung across her shoulder, tied with a blue ribbon.

  She reached out her arms. "Cade! Domi! Eliana!"

  They all approached and took turns embracing. Slowly some of Cade's memories eased.

  The pain of that day five years ago will always be here, he thought as he watched the sisters laughing together. But this is a good day. This is a day for joy.

  The little dragons were landing all around and turning back into human children. Every month now, new children across Requiem, four or five years old--born after the fall of the Cured Temple--were discovering their magic. Somebody needed to teach them how to fly, and Fidelity spent much of her time giving them lessons.

  Most of the children were laughing, running around the village, and squealing. Eliana raced off to join them; now that they were in human forms, she could finally play and be one of them.

  One of the children, however, stood apart. He was a somber child, his hair brown, his eyes dark and sad. He stepped up quietly and held Fidelity's hand.

  Cade knelt by the boy and smiled. "Hello, Tam."

  The boy pressed his face against his mother's hip, still shy.

  "He's a lot like his father," Fidelity said softly, stroking the boy's hair.

  Cade nodded. Roen too had shied away from others, preferring the solitude of the forest.

  "He will grow to be strong and noble like Roen," Cade said.

  Domi hefted her own son and kissed his head. "And this little one will grow up to be as strong and noble as you, Cade."

  Cade bristled. "Are you mocking me?"

  Domi grinned, stepped closer to him, and kissed his lips. She leaned in and whispered into his ear, "Always, Goldy."

  That evening everyone from the village left their homes, stepped out onto the hills beyond the farms, and lit campfires. The stars shone above, and many smaller lights shone below upon the hills, a second sky of stars. The people laughed, sang, and roasted sausages on sticks. Children were allowed to stay up past midnight and play between the fires and under the moon. Even Tam, perhaps emboldened by the shadows, played with Eliana, racing with her around a campfire and dueling her with wooden swords.

  It was New Night, a holiday they'd been observing every autumn for the past few years.

  "In the days of the Commonwealth," Fidelity said to villagers who gathered around her, "in autumn all people from across the land would donate most of their crops, animals, and coins to the Cured Temple. Now we live in Requiem. Now your life is yours, not belonging to any priestess or paladin. And tonight we celebrate a great harvest of plenty."

  And indeed they feasted upon that harvest, roasting apples and nuts, drinking sweet wine and cider, eating the fresh breads Cade and Domi baked. And laughing. Always laughing.

  The stars wheeled across the sky, and the dawn rose, and the snows of winter fell, and the years turned, and the pain and joy lingered.

  Cade baked his breads, and his children grew, and Requiem grew, and every year more dragons flew in the sky, and the pain and joy lingered.

  The first strands of white filled Domi's red hair, and Cade's son stood taller than him, and Eliana gave birth to a son of her own, and the marble halls of Requiem rose again, resplendent and tall, and the pain and joy lingered, and Cade grew older.

  Often at dawn, as he baked his breads, a sudden stab of pain would hit him, and he would think of that dawn long ago--the dawn his sister had arrived in his village, riding on Domi's back. Often at night, as he walked outside upon the hills under the stars, he would look up into the shadows, and he would remember that night long ago--the night the fleet of the Horde had sunk, as hundreds of thousands drowned and burned while he lingered on, gray in his hair, a single life when so many lights had gone dark.

  And often--as Cade played with his child and then his grandchildren--he would think of those he had lost, those who should have been here with him. Of Korvin, the wisest man he had ever known. Of Julian and Roen.

  And of my family.

  Cade did not think of his family often, usually only before he drifted off to sleep or woke from dreams. He thought of them in the shadows of his chamber, as the walls seemed to close in and trap him. He thought then of the time Mercy, his sister, had dragged him into the Temple in chains. He thought of how Beatrix, his mother, had vowed to slay him upon the balcony. He thought of Gemini, his brother, dying in his arms. And those times, in those dark nights, Cade found that he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, that cold sweat washed him, that the pain seemed too great, and he thought that he would never find peace in his life. At those times, he thought that he might as well have fallen in the war like so many others, for the memories were too real. Even in Requiem reborn, even with the halls rising again, the pain seemed too great.

  Some wounds do not heal, he knew then. Some memories do not fade. Some victories do not bring joy, only lingering shadows that no light can cast aside.

  And when those times happened, those nights of short breath and long memories, he would turn in his bed to face his wife.

  Always, like the column of his people, she guided his soul. Always Domi lay at his side, his anchor, his beacon of hope. On those nights, Cade would wrap his arms around her and hold her close, and he would whisper to her.

  "Many years ago, Domi, you flew into my village, and you whispered 'Requiem' into my ear, and you made me love you. And I love you, Domi. Always."

  She would mumble in her sleep, smile, and kiss him, and Cade would hold her for the rest of the night, and they would both feel safe. At dawn, as light fell into their bedchamber, as the laughter of their grandchildren rang through their humble home, Cade would wake to bake his bread, the weight lifted, and the memories faded into a pale shadow in the back of his mind.

  Because dawn always rises, he knew. The morning always brings some hope. There is always light after darkness, always joy after pain, always life even after so many lives lost.

  One autumn long after the fall of the Cured Temple, Eliana's daughter--a beautiful child named Elory--burned a tray of loaves in their oven. Black smoke filled the bakery, and they all fled outside and sat in the garden until the burnt smell would fade. Cade sat among the peonies that morning, watching the smoke drift out the windows, then turned to watch the red leaves of maples glide down into their garden. His family sat at his side, laughing at the misfortune, but Cade only sat quietly, gazing at the falling leaves.

  Elory wrung her hands, and tears filled her eyes. The child approached Cade, looking fearful.

  "Are you mad, Uncle Cade?" she said.

  He smiled and pulled the girl close to him. She sat at his side--with him, with Domi, with their son and his sons, with Eliana, a family in a garden.

  "Are you sad then?" Elory whispered, seeing the tears on his cheeks.

  Cade shook his head. "No," he whispered and held his family close. "I'm happy."

  Find more Requiem novels at... . . .

  DanielArenson.com/Requiem

  New Requiem novels are coming soon! To learn when they're released, sign up to the Daniel Arenson mailing list (you'll also receive a free ebook as a gift): DanielArenson.com/MailingList

  AFTERWORD

  Thank you for reading the Requiem for Dragons trilogy. I hope you enjoyed these novels.

  I've written several other trilogies set in Requiem, and I'm writing new ones all the time.

  You can find a list of existing Requiem novels at: DanielA
renson.com/Requiem

  Want to know when new Requiem books are released? Here are some ways to stay updated:

  * Join my mailing list at (and receive a free ebook): DanielArenson.com/MailingList

  * Like me on Facebook: Facebook.com/DanielArenson

  * Join our Facebook group: http://tinyurl.com/kg472wy

  * Follow me on Twitter: Twitter.com/DanielArenson

  And if you have a moment, please review a Requiem novel or two online. Help other fantasy readers and tell them why you enjoyed reading. And please help spread the word! Lend a Requiem novel to a friend, talk about Requiem online, and help others discover the books.

  Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.

  Daniel

  NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

  THE MOTH SAGA

  Moth

  Empires of Moth

  Secrets of Moth

  Daughter of Moth

  Shadows of Moth

  Legacy of Moth

  REQUIEM

  Dawn of Dragons Requiem's Song

  Requiem's Hope

  Requiem's Prayer

  The Complete Trilogy

  Song of Dragons Blood of Requiem

  Tears of Requiem

  Light of Requiem

  The Complete Trilogy

  Dragonlore A Dawn of Dragonfire

  A Day of Dragon Blood

  A Night of Dragon Wings

  The Complete Trilogy

  The Dragon War A Legacy of Light

  A Birthright of Blood

  A Memory of Fire

  The Complete Trilogy

  Requiem for Dragons Dragons Lost