A Memory of Fire (The Dragon War, Book 3)

by Arenson, Daniel

  "What did you do, you gutter stain?" she said. "Damn you, you sheep-shagger, what the Abyss did you do?"

  He grinned. "I didn't do anything." He gestured at the sack of glowing shards. "They did. The red shards. Don't you see?" He whooped, joy brimming in him. "They cancel out magic! They're like... like anecdote to poison. Like light to shadow. Like song to silence."

  "Like booze to your brain," she said. "Pretty much wipes it out."

  "Pretty much," he admitted. "By the stars, Err! The old man got it. Bantis figured it out." He gave a little Bantis-style jig himself. "No wonder the bugger was dancing about. He knew the way to kill my father all along. Imagine it! The Legions flying toward you, hundreds of thousands of dragons roaring for blood. You wave these shards around, and they fall from the sky as humans. If any survive the fall, you blast them to death with hand cannons." He punched the air. "This is what I'm talking about. This is how you take Nova Vita."

  Erry rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, that's all fine and dandy, except for one little problem. Nova Vita is far in the north across the sea. And we're, well... stuck on this damn rock!" She shoved him. "How the Abyss do we get back now? We can't fly, you idiot, and Bantis has the raft."

  Leresy tapped his cheek. "We were able to fly here, back when the shards were underground." He stared at his makeshift sack of cotton. "See how they glow through the cloth? We need a thicker barrier against whatever magic they're spitting out. It's the light that does it, I reckon."

  He looked around the beach, considering. If he had a wooden chest, cast iron pots, or even a sack made of thicker cloth than his old tunic, perhaps he could contain the shards' magic and fly. Would he have to rebury them after all that work?

  "How about this?" Erry said. She scampered across the beach, lifted one of the magnifying cylinders, and waved it about. "The ladybug shite can go in here."

  "Will you please stop calling them that?" Leresy said.

  He grabbed the cylinder from her. It was made of hard, boiled leather like the armor his recruits used to wear. It could work, he had to confess. He popped off the lid, revealing the glass lens, and drew his dagger.

  "Don't scratch it," Erry said.

  "Be quiet. I'm working."

  With a few twists and pokes of his dagger, he pried the lens off the cylinder. He revealed a hollow receptacle about a foot deep. He filled it with red shards, popped the lens back in, and screwed the lid back on. Erry, meanwhile, scurried around the beach and returned with three more magnifying cylinders in her arms. She dumped them at his feet, and Leresy filled those too. It took four cylinders to seal all the red shards.

  "Now try to shift," Leresy said, holding the cylinders. "The shards are sealed. No more light. Go on, fly!"

  Erry gave a few stretches, touched her toes, and shook her legs. With a clearing of her throat, she shifted.

  Wings burst out from her back. Copper scales rose across her. She took flight, her beating wings tossing sand onto Leresy.

  "Moldy troll toes, it works!" she said and flew over the water, heading back west. "Now come on, fly after me. We're getting out here."

  Leresy unscrewed the lid off a cylinder and pointed it at her. Red light shone out the lens.

  Erry's magic vanished.

  She tumbled in human form and crashed into the water.

  "Leresy, you dung-sucking puddle of codpiece-juice!" She floundered in the water. "I'm going to shove these shards down your throat!"

  She swam back to shore, stepped onto the beach, and marched toward him. With a glower that could wilt flowers, she grabbed the cylinders from him and shoved him back.

  "Give me those, you piss-drinking maggot worm breath."

  "What does that even mean?"

  "It means you're a damn child."

  He shrugged. "I had to test them. And they work beautifully. Thank you for your dedication to our cause."

  She kicked his shin, and when he cursed and leaped with pain, she sealed the open cylinder. She held all four cylinders to her chest and shifted back into a dragon, taking the vessels into her larger form. She beat her wings and flew again.

  Leresy summoned his magic. It crackled through him, as familiar as a warm, old cloak. He rose as a dragon, blasted fire against the sand below, and flew after Erry.

  As they dived across the sea, heading back to Horsehead Island, Leresy imagined the Legions flying toward him, a storm of scale and fire covering the sky.

  And he imagined them falling.

  "I'm coming home, Father," he said into the wind.

  As he flew onward, a grin stretched across his face, wide enough to hurt his cheeks. He had to keep grinning. He had to keep drowning that fear under rage, or he would see the blood again, the fire and death and guns blazing.

  "I will face you again, Requiem," he swore. "And this time I will not run. This time I will win."

  He flew. He kept grinning—forced himself to keep grinning—even as his tears fell and his belly twisted.

  RUNE

  He sat in his cell, chained and bruised, and stared at the wall that awaited him.

  He had stared at these instruments for so many days, they had become like people to him, staring back at him, waiting, thirsty for his blood. The thumbscrew hung from the wall, its two bolts like eyes watching him, its vise like a mouth waiting to bite his fingers.

  I will crush your fingers and toes! it cried to him, staring, waiting. Your bones will snap between my jaws.

  Rune turned his eyes toward the stretching rack. Knots in the wood reminded him of a face, sagging and cruel.

  I will tear your bones from your sockets, Rune, the face hissed at him. Come lie with me.

  The pliers laughed from the wall, tiny iron crocodiles hungry for his fingernails. The rusted hooks sang for his entrails. The floggers screamed for his flesh.

  We await you, Rune! The instruments sang and danced upon the wall. We will make you sing with us. We will dance with blood.

  Chained to the wall, Rune only smiled at them.

  "I won't fear you," he said. "You're my friends. I can't fear friends."

  That confused them. They fell silent. Good. Good. If they had faces, friendly faces that were funny, he would not fear them. He would only laugh at their taunts.

  Friends.

  Tilla had been his friend once. Once. Years ago. Eras ago. In a different world, one that had burned. A world of sand and water and dreams now buried under ash.

  "Are you still my friend?" he whispered into the shadows as the sun fell outside.

  He did not know. Tilla served the red spiral now. She served those who hurt him. Tilla tried to protect him, but... she wasn't always here. She wasn't here when the guards kicked him, when they spat in his food, when they spilled his water across the floor, leaving him to lick moisture from dust and encrusted blood. But she had been there when Lynport burned. She had flown above, watched their city fall, and fought for him.

  "For the demon," Rune whispered through cracked lips.

  For the golden beast. For the creature with many heads. For Frey Cadigus.

  Rune could see it again in the darkness. His home burning. The golden dragon above, his minions behind him, a hundred thousand strong. Kaelyn cried for him from the tower, and everywhere below the corpses lay, all those he'd grown up with, all those he'd loved, burnt and torn apart. So many screams. So much fire. Evil itself, a blanket of scale and smoke and fang, swirling above in a storm.

  And her.

  "And you."

  The white dragon. A single beam of light breaking through the storm, warm and kind, caressing him, taking him under her wing. His dearest friend. His love. His Tilla.

  "I have to save you from him," he whispered, his throat dry, his lips cracked and bleeding. "Even if they break me. Even if all those tools on the wall hurt me. I have to save you from him."

  He tried to imagine it—Tilla leading him outside the tower, holding his frail body in her claws, and flying south
. Flying away from the capital. Flying to the sea, across the waters, and into distant lands where Frey could not find them. They would find another home. Another beach to walk along, sand to caress their feet, water to wash away their pain. He would hold her in the night, kiss her lips again, and they would be as they were.

  "And you will be good again," he spoke into the darkness, voice choked. "You will be Tilla Roper again, not Lanse Tilla Siren, not this creature they molded you into. And I will just be Rune. Not Relesar Aeternum, not any king. Just Rune and Tilla on the beach. That's all I want."

  For a year, fighting in the Resistance, Rune had prayed to see her again. And now he saw Tilla here every night. She came to him in her armor, a machine of the enemy, and she spoke to him. Sat with him in the dark. Held him in her arms, and whispered to him, and kissed his cheek, and begged him to join her.

  "But I will not let this happen to us. I cannot forget who you were."

  The sun fell outside, casting orange light through the arrowslits. On cue, keys rattled in the lock. The door creaked open. And there she stood.

  "Hello, Tilla," he said, sitting in the corner, his arms and legs chained.

  Her sword hung from one hip, her punisher from the other. She had never used the instrument on him, but when the moon fell to darkness, when her time to sway him ended, would she burn his flesh?

  As always, she sat by his side. As always, she wore her armor, the fine black plates of an officer. She stared at the wall with him, saying nothing.

  "A fine pair we make," he said. "Me wearing my prisoner rags, you wearing your steel. Me with my face all dirty and thin, you with your face so pale, your eyes sad."

  "It doesn't have to be this way," she whispered, her voice choked. She looked at him. "You can wear armor too, not rags. You can fight with us. For Requiem."

  He looked away from her, leaned back as far as he could in his chains, and smiled softly. "Do you remember the mancala board I carved that winter, the one with the seashell pieces? It was such a cold winter, too cold for the south. Rain and thunder and wind every day. We sat in the Old Wheel most nights by the fire. You'd wrap a blanket around your shoulders. And we'd play mancala and drink ale, and Scraggles would lie at your feet. Do you remember? We—"

  "Stop it," she said.

  He let his smile widen and closed his eyes. "And the apple pies my father would bake! Stars, the whole place would smell of apples, and—"

  "Stop it!" she said, more vehemently this time, and grabbed his arm. "Rune, those days are gone. The Old Wheel burned. You know this." Her fingers tightened and she stared at him. "Our home is gone. Everything we've ever known is gone."

  He looked into her dark eyes and shook his head. "You're still here."

  "I am not the woman I was."

  "You are Tilla Rop—"

  "I am Lanse Tilla Siren!" she said and bared her teeth. "I serve the red spiral. I follow Frey Cadigus. And so will you, Rune. So will you." She rose to her feet. "I placed you in the dungeon so you could hear the prisoners scream, see their blood, and languish in the dark. And still you did not worship him. So I placed you here, in this tower, so you could stare at the instruments of torture and imagine their pain. And still you do not join me."

  "And still you, Tilla, do not join me," he said. He struggled to his feet, the chains so heavy, and stood before her. "You can end this. You have the key. You can flee with me."

  She stared at him coldly, face blank as always, but something filled her eyes this time, something cold and afraid. She touched his cheek and whispered.

  "So I will take you to a third place. And in this place, Rune... you will join us. I promise you. This place will break you."

  She reached behind him and unchained him from the wall. She left his wrists manacled, but for the first time in days, no shackles bound him to the wall.

  She held his shoulder and guided him toward the door. He walked with small steps. For nearly a moon now, he'd languished in irons. His chain had been long enough to let him stand and lie down, but not to walk. Walking now, every step ached, shooting pain from his toes, up his legs, and down his spine to the tailbone. He winced and almost fell, but Tilla held his arm, a gentle jailor, helping him onward.

  The climb downstairs seemed an eternity. Rune did not count the steps, but there were hundreds, maybe a thousand. Each one shot more pain through him, and his head spun. He was too weak, too hungry, too hurt. The guards had kicked him too strongly. When they finally reached the bottom, Rune panted and swayed.

  They stepped through the doorway, past the two guards with the mocking eyes, and into a snowy courtyard. The walls of the Citadel rose all around them. More guards stood upon the battlements, faces hidden behind helms. From within those walls, screams rose, a chorus of a thousand prisoners mad and beaten and dying. Rune had spent his first week here with them, and just hearing their screams, he could imagine their anguished faces.

  "We fly from here," Tilla said. "I'll carry you."

  "Unchain me and I'll fly with you."

  He had tried to shift many times in his chains, only to find he could not. Whenever he'd summon his magic, the ancient starlight of Requiem, his body would start to grow, and wings would start to sprout from his back... and then the chains would slam him back into human form, leaving him panting and dizzy. Rune could shift with clothes, with weapons, even with armor; those were parts of him like his skin. The chains were foreign objects; they shackled his human form, and they shackled his dragon magic.

  Tilla shook her head. "I cannot unchain you. Not yet. Not until you join us. I'll carry you."

  She stepped away from him, leaving deep prints in the snow, and shifted. Her scales were white as the snow, but her eyes were black, two pools of night against a starry field. When she flapped her wings, she scattered snow across the courtyard, revealing its cobblestones. Smoke plumed from her nostrils, and fire glowed between her teeth, a single patch of color in a white and black world. Rune stood before her, chained and shivering, and she reached out her claws. She lifted him, an owl lifting a mouse, and flew.

  Wind whistled. Snow swirled around them. The Citadel dwindled below. Rune watched it shrink until it looked like a toy, just a pile of blocks white with snow. The city streets snaked around it, bustling with people, thousands of men and women and children all going about their lives. Thousands of souls who cared not for his war. Thousands of souls who knew him as an outlaw, a killer, a beast to be tortured.

  They flew over the streets, the city arena, and a dozen towering statues of Frey. They flew toward a fortress with black towers, a place Rune had only seen once in darkness.

  "Castra Draco," he whispered. "Bastion of the Legions."

  The Legions had many forts across the empire. Some trained recruits. Most housed garrisons of troops. Some, like the Citadel, housed prisoners, and one—Castra Academia—trained nobles for leadership. Draco was the heart of them all. If the Legions were an empire of their own, this would be its imperial palace. From this place did the generals command.

  Will she take me there for torture? Rune thought, watching the fortress grow nearer. Will she place me in another dungeon and in more chains, and will the whips of her comrades tear my skin?

  Yet when they almost reached the castle, Tilla banked and descended toward a street lined with tall, narrow houses. Rune remembered this street. Last year, he had rummaged here with Kaelyn through a barrel for posters. His heart twisted at the memory.

  "Kaelyn," he whispered, and his eyes stung.

  Last year, running and hiding with Kaelyn through the wilderness, Rune had often found comfort in thinking about Tilla—remembering her dark eyes, her smooth black hair, her soft lips, and his childhood spent with her upon the boardwalk. Hiding with Kaelyn, a wild rebel with flashing eyes, Rune had sought his comfort with the ghost of an old love.

  Today, clutched in that same old love's claws, Rune thought of Kaelyn.

  For so long, Kaelyn, I wanted to esc
ape you, he thought. I wanted to go back home, back to Tilla, to never see you and Valien and war again. But now I miss you.

  He missed her eyes rolling at him. He missed her finger jabbing his chest. He missed the sound of her groaning at his jokes. And he missed her smile. He missed her courage, her light that shone in the dark, and her love of life and home.

  He wondered if she even still lived. Last time he'd seen the young woman, she had stood upon the tower of Castellum Acta, dragon wings billowing her golden hair, and she had cried his name. Had she fled with Valien through the tunnel? Did she live now in exile, and was she thinking of him too?

  Wings puffed out, Tilla descended into a side street in the shadow of Castra Draco. Narrow, three-story houses lined the street, their tiled roofs white with snow, their gray bricks frosted. She placed Rune down outside one house, shifted back into human form, and stood beside him.

  Rune stood on shaky feet, shivering in the snow. He wanted to hug himself, but manacles still bound his wrists behind his back. Orange light glowed from windows, and oil lamps flickered along the street, but Rune saw no other people. Tilla walked toward the house, unlocked the door, and led him inside.

  "Welcome," she said, "to my home."

  A cozy room greeted them. An armchair stood by a fireplace. Leather-bound books stood upon shelves. Plates of bread, cheese, ham, and fruits stood upon a wooden table. Tilla stepped toward the fireplace and soon flames crackled, filling the room with warmth and light.

  "You are a legionary," Rune said, looking around the chamber. "I thought you would live in a fortress, surrounded by blades and shields."

  Tilla locked the door behind her, then began unbuckling her armor and hanging the pieces on pegs.

  "The common soldiers do. I'm an officer. I'm the officer who saved Shari's life." She gave a rare, crooked smile. "Some comforts are allowed for me here in the capital. The house is mine. When I asked to be stationed in Nova Vita, the Cadigus family bought it for me, a place of my own outside my barracks."

  Rune wondered who had lived here before Tilla, and if Cadigus had truly "bought" the place, or if he'd made the previous occupant conveniently vanish.