And as if he owns me, Erry thought.
He pointed at her. "There you are. Stars damn it, woman, didn't you hear me? Come with me. The council is about to begin, and I need you there."
She glared and spat at his feet. "Go find a rotting turtle carcass to shag, Leresy. I'm eating figs. I don't need no fancy-arse council for princelings."
He groaned and rolled his eyes. "Burn me. I need you to demonstrate the damn shards. Remember? Valien will be there, and so will my sister. The leader of this rabble will be there too, some oaf named Sila."
It was Miya's turn to glare. The young woman hopped onto her feet, crossed her arms, and growled.
"Sila is a great captain," she said. "He is my father. You will show him respect."
Leresy guffawed. He looked at Miya as if noticing her for the first time. His eyes trailed up and down, taking in her golden skin, pale hair, and slim body clad in leaves.
"Well, burn me," he said. "Another damn urchin. As if one weren't enough."
Erry grabbed a pine cone and tossed it at him. "She's got more bollocks than you do, Leresy. Brains too I reckon, but so does this pine cone. And I'm not some trained monkey. You want to demonstrate the shards? Use them on yourself, preferably while flying over a campfire."
He groaned, walked forward, and grabbed her arm. "Just come on. Bloody Abyss. Eating figs! We've got more important things to do. Planning how to kill my father, say." He began pulling her down the hillside, then called back up toward Miya. "You! Little girl. You come with us too. You'll want to see this."
Miya fumed, her arms crossed and her eyes blazing. She looked ready to claw Leresy to death. But it seemed curiosity overcame her anger. Grumbling under her breath, she followed.
They made their way downhill, heading toward the southern shore. Back at Horsehead Island, where the Resistance had been camping, Erry would fly from hilltop to beach. Since arriving here at Maiden Island that morning, she had been walking everywhere.
"These people watched dragons burn down their kingdom," Valien had told her. "We don't wish to stir those memories. Do not take dragon form around Tirans."
And so they walked, though Erry's soles ached, and rocks and thistles covered the hillside. Birds and mice rustled in the bushes, wild oats swayed taller than Erry's knees, and a falcon chased starlings overhead. The stems of old walls rose from the grass, only a foot tall and smoothed to lumps. Grass, vines, and cyclamens all but covered them.
"Somebody once lived here," Erry said.
Miya nodded, walking at her side, the wind in her hair. "My father said the Ancients lived on these islands. They were a wise people who vanished thousands of years ago. Father said they were great explorers who sailed around the world, navigating by the stars."
Walking ahead of the two, Leresy snorted. "Lot of good it did them. Nothing left of the buggers but a few old bricks."
He kicked an old wall, stubbed his toe, and wailed. Erry and Miya nearly fell over laughing.
After an hour of walking, they had crossed the island's waist and beheld a cove. Erry's eyes widened and she gasped.
"Stars above," she said. "Would you look at that."
Leresy frowned. "What the Abyss are those things?"
Erry grinned, remembering the paintings Rune had kept hidden under his floorboards. "They're ships. Tirans use them to navigate the seas."
Leresy guffawed. "Those things? Primitive. I'd take flying any day."
Erry glared at him. "Is it hard work being such a horse's arse, or does it come naturally to you? Tirans can't fly, and I think their ships are beautiful."
She stood a moment, admiring them. Six ships floated in the cove, their sails folded upon their masts. From bow to stern, they looked longer than the greatest dragon from snout to tail's tip. Cannons lined their decks, and their figureheads were shaped as birds. Their hulls sported sunbursts, the paint faded to dull ocher, and beneath them appeared words Erry could now read.
"We will never fall," she whispered.
Miya nodded. "See the largest ship, the one with the crane figurehead? That's the Golden Crane, our flagship. My father is captain. Our council will be held there."
They walked downhill, heading to the cove. A small oared boat waited at a dock, and they climbed in. As they rowed, Erry stared up at the Golden Crane, clutched her medallion, and felt peace flow across her. Leresy be damned, this ship was beautiful. It was not merely a vessel, she thought, but a symbol of a better time. It was Tiranor in her golden age, navigating the seas, a proud desert kingdom of spice, song, and secrets. It was Lynport before the Regime, a thriving port town, welcoming such ships to its docks.
Long ago, these ships would sail into Lynport, Erry thought. They had brought southern silk, spice, and gems. The boardwalk had been alive then, not a ruin of rotten wood and urchins rifling through trash, but a hub of trade. Rune's father would sell his ale to these sailors, and Tilla's father would sell his ropes, and Mae's father would sell bread.
And my mother sold her body, Erry thought. I come from these ships. They brought me too into Requiem.
When they climbed onto the deck, she saw Valien and Kaelyn already there. They had shed their charred, torn leather and wool—the clothes they had fled Lynport with—and wore tunics of maidenspun, a fabric the Tirans wove from wild cotton. They still bore their swords of Requiem. A heavy, two-handed sword hung across Valien's back, an ancestral weapon of House Eleison. Kaelyn wore Lemuria upon her hip, her thin sword of dragonforged steel. They were ancient blades, weapons of honor and history and tradition.
Yet honor, history, and tradition are passing from the world, Erry thought. She looked at a rack of hand cannons that lay against the bulwark—arquebuses, she had heard the Tirans call them. Our blades will rust; gunpowder will rise, a demon of greater malice.
"Welcome to the Golden Crane. Welcome to my council."
Erry turned toward the voice. She saw a man emerging from the ship's hold. He was tall and wide—as large as Valien—and almost as gruff. His face was wide, leathery, and golden, his nose flat and his jaw heavy. Stubbly platinum hair covered his scalp, cut so short he was almost bald. Grooves lined his face; Erry couldn't tell if they were wrinkles or scars. He wore maidenspun, a wide belt, and baggy pants—simple garb, yet he moved with the aura of command.
Miya approached the man, kissed his cheek, and introduced him.
"This is my father, Captain Sila. Father, this is Leresy Cadigus, the outcast prince of Requiem, son of Emperor Frey. His companion is Erry Docker, once a soldier in the Legions. Both now fight for Valien."
"With Valien," Leresy corrected, raised his chin, and cleared his throat. "I serve no man."
Erry jabbed him with her elbow, glowered, and hissed from the corner of her mouth. "Quiet, Leresy. Nobody cares about your stupid pride."
Under the noon sun, pelicans flying overhead and the ship gently rocking, the council began.
Valien spoke the most, straining to hiss the words through his ruined throat, but never slowing his speech. He spoke of battles they'd fought: the Battle of Castra Luna, where Erry had flown in the Black Rose Phalanx, fighting against the Resistance; and the Battle for Lynport, where Erry had fought on the other side. And he spoke of older battles too, battles that had raged in the north years ago, back when Erry had still lived upon the docks. And he spoke of future battles: of his plans to storm the capital of Nova Vita, to surround Frey in his palace, and to slay the man.
Sila spoke too, gruff captain of the Golden Crane, and Erry learned that he not only ruled this ship, but all the island. He spoke of leading a merchant fleet years ago, of fighting the Legions when they had invaded his homeland, and of fleeing burning Tiranor with all those he could load onto his ship.
"We've trained for battle," Sila said. "My father invented the arquebus, and we've forged two thousand of the guns here on this island, melting down everything from swords to belt buckles for the metal. I've drilled an army of men and women.
We know how to fight." He grumbled. "Yet we've only trained to fight off dragons should they attack our island. We've never dreamed of invading Requiem, let alone her capital. How would we? We are only a few. The Legions are half a million strong, they say."
Valien nodded. "We are few and they are many. Yet now we have new weapons. Now we have hope. Leresy!" He turned toward the former prince. "Show him the scope."
The young man nodded, rummaged through his pack, and produced one of the leather magnifying cylinders; Erry had learned the Tirans called them scopes. It rattled, still full of the glowing crystal shards they had found.
"Erry, go on, fly around a bit," Leresy said.
She placed her hands on her hips. "I'm not doing it again. Just tell them how it works."
"Bloody griffin vomit, Erry, they need to see it." Leresy scowled. "Just fly around, for stars' sake. It won't kill you."
Erry gave the loudest, longest groan of her life. Eyes rolling, she jumped off the ship, shifted into a dragon, and flew.
The beating of her wings blasted the hull, rocking the ship. She flew in circles, scales clattering, and blew fire upward—just to impress them a little more. She rose higher, roared to the sky, and swooped toward the ship, claws outstretched, feigning an attack.
Upon the deck, Leresy—still in human form—pointed the scope at her, then unscrewed the wooden lid.
The gems inside glowed. Their light blasted out from the lens, drenching Erry.
Like a tugged tablecloth, her magic vanished.
Erry returned to human form, fell through the air, and crashed into the water.
She sputtered, cursed, and swam back to the ship. When she stood back upon the deck, she shook herself wildly like a dog, spraying water onto the others.
"That," Leresy said, "is how we fight the Legions. I've got four scopes full of these shards. We fly to Requiem. My father's dragons will drop from the sky like dead flies." He nodded. "I've called my weapons Leresy Scopes. They will win me the throne."
The others began to growl and roll their eyes. Before they could object too much, however, a high voice rose above them.
"Big weapon! Big weapon is no Leresy Scope. Genesis Shards they are, yes. Bantis knows them!"
Erry looked up and raised her eyebrows. Crazy old Bantis, still clad in only a loincloth, perched upon a mast. His white hair billowed in the breeze and he laughed. Fast as a monkey, he scurried down the mast, landed upon the deck, and danced a jig.
"Grandpapa!" Miya said. "Have you been up there all along?"
The old man grinned. "You cannot hold councils without Old Bantis, no. Foolish boy, give me that." He reached toward Leresy, grabbed the scope full of shards, and began tugging, struggling to free it from the younger man's grip. "Mine. Mine!"
Leresy growled and held the scope firmly.
"Leresy, let him have it!" Erry said and kicked his shin.
The prince yelped, his grip loosened, and Bantis scurried back with his prize.
"These are Genesis Shards," the old man repeated. "Yes, that is their name. Bantis has been seeking them for many years, yes. They have languished underground for a thousand years. Dragons buried them! They did not want them found, no." He cackled. "Yet now Bantis has big weapon. Kills dragons!"
Leresy rubbed his shin. "Bloody Abyss. Why are they called Genesis Shards?"
Bantis hopped around on one leg, cawed like a bird, then smiled mischievously. "Created all life, they did. Ten thousand years ago, the gods created Animating Stones, big gems—big like chicken eggs!—that raised dust, earth, and water into men and beasts. Created us Tirans too, they did." He laughed, head tossed back. "Powerful magic, yes. Powerful enough to raise matter into life. Powerful enough to cancel out all other magic around them. Even the magic to become dragons." He winked. "The old Vir Requis found the gems a thousand years ago. They feared them. They broke them into tiny shards. They can no longer create life, no, not broken like this." He laughed and gave a quick dance. "But they can still cancel dragon magic. So they buried the shards. Buried them deep in a distant island. But Old Bantis found them! Old Bantis will take them to Requiem. And dragons will fall from the sky!"
Bantis himself fell onto his back, arms and legs splayed out, imitating a fallen dragon. He lay upon the deck, grinning.
Leresy began to pout and object, shouting that he had found the shards, and that they were called Leresy Shards. Kaelyn, Erry, and even Miya began to shout him down—and soon to kick him. Sila howled at everyone to be silent, and Bantis kept laughing. The council collapsed into chaos, and soon everyone was yelling above the others.
Only Valien stood silent, staring across the water, lost in thought. After a long moment, he nodded and spoke, but his voice drowned under the shouting.
"All of you, be quiet!" Erry howled, hopping up and down. "Valien is talking. Let him be heard!"
When finally everyone was silent, Valien stared at them one by one, then spoke again.
"We've fled here to these islands, two camps of refugees. On Horsehead Island, three thousand Vir Requis dream of reclaiming their homeland. Here upon Maiden Island, four thousand Tirans have found a new life, refugees from their fallen kingdom, and they too dream. They dream of returning to the desert, unafraid, of rebuilding their homeland without the threat of Cadigus looming. For long years, both our camps hid and fought separately, but we shared the same vision. We sang the same song. We dreamed of going home."
As they listened to the speech, Erry saw that Kaelyn and Miya had tears in their eyes. Kaelyn dreamed of returning to Nova Vita, the capital Erry herself had never seen. Miya dreamed of returning to Tiranor, land of her fathers, the desert kingdom her people still yearned for.
Yet what home do I dream of? Erry wondered. I never had a home, unless the docks at Lynport were a home. If we truly win this war, what awaits me if not more pain?
Valien continued speaking, voice scratchy but clear, the voice of wind over sand. "For many years, this was but a dream, a whisper of a hope. But today we found new hope—a hope that blazes bright as a pillar of fire. We no longer need hide. Together, with our magic and your machines, we can defeat the Cadigus regime. We can both reclaim our homes." He lifted a scope in one hand, an arquebus in the other. "I will lead my people into Requiem. We will fly as dragons, roaring and blowing fire. Upon our backs, we will bear you, noble people of Tiranor, and you will wield your weapons. You will point the Genesis Scopes at the Legions; they will fall from the sky. We will fly for days, felling the armies that storm toward us, until we reach the capital. We will storm the palace as men, firing our guns. The Axehand Order defends the palace, and they fight with blades; we will shoot them from a distance. We will find Relesar Aeternum, true King of Requiem, and free him from captivity. We will find Frey Cadigus, the usurper, and slay him." The grizzled man's eyes gleamed. "The war will end. Fear will fade. We will return home."
The council dispersed one by one. Leresy shifted and left first, flying off with a puff of smoke, still muttering about how he had found the shards. Kaelyn followed him, a slim green dragon, calling him a woolhead for all the island to hear. Miya left in her boat, while Bantis opted for leaping off the hull, crashing into the water, and swimming to shore. Valien departed with a grumble, a silver dragon with clattering scales and one horn.
Erry remained standing on the deck, watching the others leave. She placed her hand upon a cannon, remembering the battles she had fought, the friends she had seen die, and the men she'd killed. She lowered her head.
A voice spoke behind her.
"Will you not fly with your friends, Erry of Requiem?"
She turned to see Captain Sila. His golden, weathered face still seemed rough to her, a patch of leather left out in the sun, but she saw softness in his eyes.
"They're not my friends," she said. "I'm just here because..."
Because what? she wondered. Because the docks had burned? Because Tilla had turned into a killer, little better than Sha
ri Cadigus? Because Leresy fed and sheltered her, or because she felt she had to heal him?
Sila nodded. "I understand. You are here for the same reason I am."
"And what is that?" she demanded.
He smiled wryly. "Because there's nowhere better to be."
"Valien thinks there is. And he wants to fly out and fight for it. Will you fight with him, Captain Sila? Will you leave your haven for a chance to win this war?"
He cleared his throat, came to stand beside her, and placed his hands upon the railing. They both stared at the beach.
"My people mistrust dragons," he said at length. "Some were born here upon the island, but most remember the war. They remember thousands of dragons burning their homes, killing their families, and toppling their kingdom. They might not distinguish between the Resistance and the Legions; both are beasts to them. Yet I will do my part to sway them. I believe we should fight with Valien. I believe he is an honorable man."
Erry swallowed. "Maybe I... maybe I can help sway them. Your people, that is. The Tirans here." Her throat felt so tight, and her eyes dampened. When she looked back up at Sila, her vision was blurred. "I can tell them that not all Vir Requis are bad."
He smiled. "What makes you think they'd believe you and not me?"
Now her tears did fall. She had never told anyone here of her heritage—not Valien, not Kaelyn, and certainly not Leresy. Yet now she blurted out the words, voice choked.
"I'm half Tiran." She trembled. "I'm... I'm a bastard orphan. My mother was a Vir Requis from Lynport, a town in southern Requiem. My father was a sailor from Tiranor, though I never met him. I can shift into a dragon like a Vir Requis; I got that from my mother. But... I'm Tiran too." She rubbed her eyes. "I'm one of you, or at least half of me is. I can tell the people. I can tell them that Vir Requis and Tirans can work together. I'm living proof."
Sila laughed softly, and Erry sucked in her breath, sure that he was mocking her, but his smile was kind.
"There's no shame in mixed blood," he said. "Do not cry, Erry. Did you know? After the great Griffin War, a massacre a thousand years ago that left only seven Vir Requis alive, Requiem's survivors mingled with the people of Osanna and Tiranor. Most Vir Requis today carry some mixed blood."
A Memory of Fire (The Dragon War, Book 3) Page 8
