They took flight, four thousand souls, one of their scopes lost, leaving their dead to the sea. They would need to set camp soon. They would need to rest, to eat and drink, to sleep, to nurse their wounds before the fight ahead. But not here. Not upon this beach of death.
They flew through the night, a small light in the endless darkness. As Valien flew at their lead, he could not swallow the pain that filled his throat.
RUNE
They had flown for barely a league when the city erupted behind them.
Rune had never found flying harder. He had not taken dragon form in many days, not since surrendering himself. His wings felt as creaky as the old chains. His scales clanked and slammed together, sending jolts of pain through him. When he twisted his head and looked at his body, he did not see the slim, strong black dragon he had been, but a wretched beast, haggard, his ribs pushing against cracked scales.
He looked at Tilla. She flew at his side, a white dragon clad in black armor, the red spirals still blazing upon her steel. She looked behind her and cursed.
"They found her," she said. "They found Shari and they'll scour the sky until they find us."
As Rune flew, he again glanced over his shoulder at the city. Alarm bells clanged. Pillars of fire shot skyward, thick as a forest. Dragons began to rise, tens of thousands of them, like flies rising from a disturbed carcass. Their shrieks rolled across the land. The Legions began spreading out from the city in every direction, a puddle oozing across the forest.
"Oh stars damn it!" Tilla said and panted. "They'll find us. They'll bring us back. Oh stars."
Rune shook his head. He wheezed and barely forced the words from his lips.
"They won't find us," he said. "I've hidden from the Legions for two years. Follow me."
He spotted the place ahead. Two piney hillsides dipped down, creating a fold between them. The trees were thick and white with snow, but Rune knew that a stream ran beneath them, hidden from the air. He began descending, the wind rushing against him. Fire crackled and shrieks rose behind.
"What are you doing?" Tilla said. "We have to fly far. We have to fly south. They're chasing!"
"Trust me," he said. He slapped her with his tail, gesturing her on. "Follow. I know a hiding place. Don't blow fire. Glide dark and silent as a ghost."
He glanced behind him. The Legions were swarming closer. Firelight glinted against armor. Tens of thousands of dragons were flying out, shrieking, blowing fire and lighting the night. Rune was a fast flier, but he was too weak now, too slow and hurt. They would have to hide.
He dived down, silent in the night. Tilla dived beside him. They crashed through the forest canopy, stretched out their claws, and landed on the forest floor. Rune allowed only a glint of fire to fill his maw. The orange light fell upon a frozen stream, boulders, and snow. Hillsides flanked them, thick with birches and pines, forming two walls.
"We're too close to the city," Tilla said. The white dragon glanced up nervously. Their pursuers shrieked above; they would fly overhead in moments. "They'll uproot every tree here."
Rune grunted and wheezed. "Uprooting trees takes a while. And they won't burn the forest. They want us alive or dead. Burning us gives them only ash. Follow me. We're close. It's somewhere around here."
"What is?" she said. "Rune, we must head south. We must get as far from the capital as possible. I can carry you if you can't fly. But we—"
"We cannot flee," he said. "They're too many and too fast. Tilla, trust me. I've spent two years fighting with the Resistance. I know how to hide. We walk in human forms from here; walking as dragons disturbs the trees."
He shifted back into a human. His head spun and he nearly fell. Tilla had burned him with her punisher; every inch of his skin ached. But she didn't know of his deeper wounds, those kicks and punches the guards had given him at nights while she slept. He could barely walk. Every step blazed. Yet he forced himself to move, one step after another.
Tilla walked at his side. Perhaps sensing his weariness, she held his hand.
"Are you all right?" she whispered.
He could barely see her; she was but a shadow in the night. He squeezed her hand.
"Keep walking. Let's be silent. We're almost there."
His throat burned. More than he worried about the dragons hearing him, he worried about his voice cracking. They walked atop the stream, the ice coarse with fallen pine needles. The dark trees creaked, a wolf howled, and the dragons screamed above.
"Find them!"
The cry rang out. Wings beat. Wind howled and trees bent.
"Find the heir! He's in these trees. Find him!"
Rune cursed and began to move faster, limping. Wings thudded above. Claws tore at trees. Firelight blazed overhead.
"Rune..." Tilla said. She clutched the hilt of her sword. "I won't let them take us alive. I..." She shook. "It doesn't have to hurt. One thrust into the heart. I—"
He growled and grabbed her wrist. "What are you talking about? Stars! Come, quickly. We're close."
They ran along the stream. Ice creaked and the fire blazed above. A thousand shrieks rose.
"Find the prisoner!"
A dragon swooped ahead. A lashing tail shattered a pine. Branches snapped and icicles fell. To their left, claws uprooted an oak. Dirt and snow rained.
Tilla froze, whispered a prayer, and lifted her sword.
Rune grabbed her and tugged. "Here!"
As trees snapped behind them, they scurried up a hillside. Brambles tore at their legs. Rune knew this place. Boulders should rise in a henge nearby, their surfaces carved with ancient runes. He ran among the trees, seeking them.
"Come on, where are you?" he whispered, and fear pounded through him. Had he flown to the wrong riverbed? Had he already passed the boulders?
"Uproot every tree!"
Fire cracked. Branches tore. Red light blazed against scales, and Rune cursed and ran at a stoop.
There!
In the firelight, he saw the boulders. He ran, ignoring his pain, pulling Tilla behind him. He raced around the henge and behind an oak. He knelt, fished through snow and fallen leaves, and cursed again.
"Where are you...?"
A tree ahead crashed down. Claws glinted. Rune's hand closed around the rope.
With a tug, he opened the trapdoor, revealing an earthen tunnel. He leaped in and pulled Tilla with him. He tugged the rope again, and the trapdoor closed above.
They slid down in the darkness, mud and moss smearing against them, and landed in a cold chamber. They lay silent for a long moment. Rune barely dared breathe. He couldn't see in the darkness, but he felt Tilla grab his hand.
"Did they see us?" she whispered.
He squeezed her hand. Her body pressed against him.
"No," he whispered back. "But wait. Listen."
They lay in the burrow. Above them, he heard the shrieks of the dragons, claws lashing at wood and soil, and wings beating. The Legions howled. Fire crackled. With every heartbeat, Rune squeezed Tilla's hand tighter, praying the dragons didn't find the trapdoor.
After what seemed an eternity, the shrieks grew distant. The dragons flew on.
Rune let out a shaky breath.
"We're safe for now," he said. He leaned his head back against the soil. Every part of him throbbed with pain. Every last shred of his skin burned. His bones themselves felt ready to shatter, his muscles to tear. He could do nothing but breathe.
In the dark, Tilla reached her arms around him. She held him and kissed his lips, and her tears splashed his face.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, voice trembling. "I'm so sorry that we hurt you. I love you."
He held her for a moment, too pained to move or speak. Finally he raised his head.
"Let's crawl deeper in. There's food and supplies here."
They wriggled through the darkness. Rune felt around, arms outstretched, tracing the walls. He soon felt the wooden chest, opened it, and rumma
ged. It took long moments to find what he sought: a tinderbox and an oil lamp.
He rubbed flint against steel. When the lamp flickered to life, it illuminated a chamber the size of his old prison cell. Shelves lined the walls, laden with jars of preserves, dried meats, jugs of wine, and wheels of cheese. Swords and crossbows hung upon another wall. In a second chest lay blankets, bandages, cloaks, and leather boots.
"What is this place?" Tilla asked. She stood hugging herself and shivering in the cold.
"A gopher hole," Rune said. "The Resistance uses them. Hundreds exist across Requiem. They're safe places for us to hide and recover from injuries." He smiled wanly. "I suppose I no longer have to worry about sharing our secrets with you."
He took a step toward a shelf of food, but his legs swayed. His knees buckled, and he found himself on the ground.
"Rune!"
Tilla knelt above him. She placed her hands on his cheeks, her eyes soft with concern. He looked up at her. Her face was so pale, her eyes so large, her hair so smooth.
"There you are," he whispered. "My Tilla. Tilla Roper."
The coldness, the cruelty, the red spiral—they were gone from her eyes. In them he saw his old friend, his best friend, the woman he loved. The woman he had saved. In her eyes, he saw the waves and sand of their home.
"I'm going to heal you," she said. "I'm going to nurse you back to health. When you're strong enough, we'll find a place for us. A safe place to live."
Rune's eyes fluttered. He tried to hold her, but he had reached the end of his strength. She bustled around the room, fetching supplies. She bandaged his wounds. She laid fur blankets atop him. She held a mug of cider to his lips, and she fed him preserves and cheese and wafers.
"What else can I do?" she asked. "Tell me. Would you like more food? More drink? Another blanket?"
He laughed softly. "You've gone from soldier to a fussy old aunt. I want to sleep. Sleep beside me, Till. Remember how we used to sleep on the beach at home, wrapped in a blanket, watching the stars?"
Eyes damp, she nodded. "Of course."
She removed her boots, tunic, and leggings, remaining in her underclothes. Gently she crawled under the blanket and huddled close to him, embracing him.
"Does it hurt when I hold you?" she whispered, her lips touching his ear.
He shook his head. "Never."
She held him tighter, her body warm. "Good. I don't want to ever let you go." She blinked away tears. "You should never forgive me, Rune. I don't deserve your forgiveness. But know that I'm sorry. Know that I love you. I'll never let you go, and I'll never let you forget that." She kissed his lips. "Goodnight, Rune Brewer of Lynport."
"Goodnight, Tilla Roper."
The lamplight guttered away. They slept in each other's arms.
LERESY
As the high command convened, moving pieces across maps and discussing battle plans, Leresy crossed his arms, stood in the shadows, and fumed.
How dare he slap me? he thought, grinding his teeth. How dare he? I am prince of Requiem!
Fists clenched, Leresy stared at this Valien Eleison, this ragged, outcast knight—no better than a common outlaw—who styled himself the leader of the Resistance. The vagabond stood at the table, moving his finger across a parchment map. His hair was long, scraggly, and streaked with white. Salt-and-pepper stubble covered his cheeks, while the rest of his face looked like beaten leather. Even his dress was coarse; the man wore leathers, furs, and wools, the raiment of a beggar.
And my sister follows him? Leresy scoffed.
"At dawn, we fly northwest," Valien said, tracing his finger along plains and forests. "We head straight to the capital. We cannot win a slow war; we are too few. We must seize Nova Vita before the Legions learn to fight our Genesis Shards. Speed is our ally."
His lieutenants stood at his sides: Kaelyn with her ever-present bow and quiver, that southern creature Sila, and a dozen resistors with gaunt cheeks and somber eyes. The rest of their forces camped below the hill, a few thousand men and women nursing wounds, eating and drinking, and polishing swords.
They are a rabble, Leresy thought, disgust rising in his throat. They are nothing but outlaws. They only won a battle because I found the Genesis Shards. He looked back at Valien and hissed under his breath. And Valien takes credit for this victory.
"Let us fly out at once," said Kaelyn, chin raised. "We've lingered here long enough."
Valien shook his head. Leresy was surprised the decrepit thing didn't shed dust with every movement.
"We'll fly at dawn," the outlaw said. "We've been flying with no rest for days now, and too many are wounded. Our fighters need one night upon solid ground, not in the saddle. They need a night to nurse their wounds, to eat, to ready their weapons and their souls. At dawn we fly. We will fly for seven days and nights, and we will fall upon the capital." He pointed at the map. "And we take the throne."
Leresy hissed again from the shadows. They had invited him to their council, but he would not speak here. He would not dignify this mob rabble with his wisdom.
You want the crown for that pup, Rune, he thought, glaring at the man. You want to pull his strings even as he sits upon the Ivory Throne. I know your mind, Valien Eleison, traitor of Requiem.
Leresy couldn't help it. He had vowed to remain silent, but words fled his lips.
"I demand another Genesis Scope," he said, taking a step closer to the table.
All eyes turned to stare at him. Some glared with open disdain while Kaelyn sighed and gazed with pity. No emotion, however, filled Valien's eyes; his stare was cold and dead.
"You lost your scope, Leresy Cadigus," the outlaw said. "You insisted on clutching your scope in your claws, for you were too proud to bear a rider. You will have no new scope. Kaelyn, Erry, and I will bear the remaining three."
Leresy bared his teeth and hissed. "It's I who found the Genesis Shards. They are my weapons! It's my ingenuity that won us the battle upon the coast. I will have a new scope!"
Valien himself bore one scope upon his belt. Leresy marched up toward the man, prepared to wrestle the scope free, but froze a few paces away. His heart raced and sweat trickled down his back. Leresy was a strong warrior—he had proven himself in battle—yet Valien was still taller and wider.
"Hand me your scope!" Leresy barked. When Valien said nothing, Leresy spun toward his sister. "Kaelyn—you bear a scope too. The one I gave you. Return it to me! Or give me half the shards within so I can build a new one."
His sister shook her head. "Stars damn it, Ler, you're drunk. There aren't enough shards to go around, and you know it. Go to bed. Sleep it off."
Leresy cackled. "Oh, I'm very sober. I see things very clearly." He pointed a shaky finger at them. "You want the throne for yourselves! You want to use my weapon—mine!—to seize my prize."
"Leresy!" Kaelyn shouted, her voice ringing across the hill. She stomped forward, eyes blazing, and grabbed his arm. She leaned close, sniffed, and wrinkled her nose. "Damn it, you reek of booze." She looked back at the council. "I'll take him to his bed."
When she began dragging him downhill, Leresy struggled, but she was damn strong for her size. He couldn't pry her fingers off his arm, so he only stumbled after her.
"I had only a few sips," he said, tugging his arm but failing to free himself. "Kaelyn, damn it! Release me. Give me my scope back. You want the throne too! You want all the glory, and you don't care about anything I do." Tears of rage stung his eyes. "I found the weapon. I should lead this rabble, not you and that outlaw. Did you bed him, Kaelyn?" He spat. "The camp says you did. Are you a princess or a whore?"
She gave his arm a twist. Her eyes blazed. "Leresy, damn you!" They reached his tent, which stood in a valley by an oak. "Sleep it off. I'll forget what you said here, but promise me—sleep it off, and no more booze tonight."
With that, she shoved him into his tent. He stumbled backward, his heels hit a chair, and he fell down hard. The tent flap c
losed, and he could hear Kaelyn march away, returning to her council.
Leresy wanted to run after her. He wanted to shout, to fly as a dragon, to torch the council and burn them all. How dared they steal his weapons? How dared they send him to bed—as if he were some temperamental child, not a prince? He grabbed a bottle of rye from his pack, uncorked it with his teeth, and drank deeply.
"I am prince of Requiem!" he said, speaking to his bottle. "I'm the one who found the Genesis Shards. And now they plot to take my throne. Valien wants what is mine!"
His head spun and the spirits burned down his throat. He barely felt the hand touch his shoulder. He spun around, spilling half his drink, and saw Erry there.
The little urchin was staring up at him, her eyes solemn, that ridiculous short hair of hers falling across her brow. Leresy had forgotten he'd let her stay in his tent, warming his bed at night.
"Ler," she said softly and tried to take the bottle from him. "You've had enough."
He scoffed. "I can hold my liquor. I'm larger than a shrimp like you. I'm a man! I'm a prince. And Valien..." He hissed and took another swig. "He's a pig who plots to steal what is mine."
The solemnity left Erry's eyes; they flashed with rage. She pulled the bottle from his grip and tossed it aside.
"You fool!" she said, teeth bared, no taller than his shoulders but snarling like some wild beast. "Valien doesn't want the throne. He's fighting to restore the throne to Rune. You know that. You're drunk, Leresy. Go to bed."
He stared at the fallen bottle; its precious liquids had seeped into the earth. He spoke through a tight jaw.
"Oh, but Rune is only a puppet. Valien is the one pulling the strings. Even should he place Rune upon the throne, Valien would still be the master, controlling the boy-king's every move." He looked back at her, shaking with rage. "It's not right, Erry. The man is a cunning devil, a slimy worm. Why should I follow at his heel like a dog? I cannot bear him!"
Something cold and afraid filled Erry's eyes. She froze for just an instant, a deer staring at a hunter. Then the moment was gone. She tightened her lips, stepped toward him, and pressed her body against his.
A Memory of Fire (The Dragon War, Book 3) Page 13
