They were children of Requiem. They were Vir Requis, an ancient race blessed with starlight. For thousands of years, their people had flown as dragons, free and wild over forest and mountain. Today they flew in darkness, alone and afraid under the Draco constellation, stars of their fathers.
Their wings scattered the waves below. They rose higher until they glided over the sea, two dragons, black and white. They rose above the cliffs. Rune could see for miles along the shore and all the distant lights of Cadport.
Years ago, when they would first fly here, they would circle the moon and pretend that they could almost reach the stars. These days too many eyes could be watching the skies, and so they flew low over the water. They watched their shadows scuttle over the moonlight, and the cold salty night filled their lungs.
He looked at her. She looked back with a soft smile. They kept racing over the sea, flying south away from Cadport, away from what awaited her tomorrow, away from a place where no ships sailed, where not enough ropes could be sold, where drunk loomers screamed upon wheels and brothers returned in coffins. They flew over the water, and Rune wished they could keep flying forever, streaming forward until they reached whatever distant lands ships had once sailed from.
And why not? Rune thought. Why can't we just keep flying? Why can't we see what lands we find?
He looked ahead into the darkness, and a sigh clanked his scales.
No—those distant lands of ships and merchants had burned long ago. There was no more wonder in the world. Only this empire. Only the iron fist of the Cadigus family. There was no more light in the world, and no matter how far they flew, they could not escape the darkness.
But we can fly together one last night. Like we used to. Me and her.
They flew until the shore and the lights of Cadport disappeared behind them, then turned and flew back, landed upon the beach, and released their magic. They stood on the sand, a boy and girl again, and he held her hand.
"We will fly together again, Tilla Roper," he said.
She touched his cheek. "Remember this night, Rune. No matter what happens, remember how we kissed, and how we flew together, and even if we fight, and we bleed, and we're very alone and afraid, know that we have this memory. Know that we must stay alive so we can fly here again."
He wanted to say more, but could not speak; his eyes stung, and his throat tightened, so he only kissed her again and held her close as the waves lapped at their feet.
They walked back home in darkness, hand in hand.
Nobody knew whether Cadport, with its fifty thousand souls, was a city or a town. It was a common argument among its people; most elders longingly spoke of their rustic town, while youngsters boasted of their modern city. Whatever it was, tonight Cadport's brick walls, cobbled streets, and seaside boardwalks seemed dark and lonely to Rune. It was his hometown, but tomorrow it would feel empty.
When Tilla stepped back into her small home, Rune stood outside for long moments, then turned and walked alone down the silent streets. His throat still felt tight, and his lips were cold.
Instead of returning to his own home, he walked to the old port. He stood on the cobblestones and placed his hand upon an old iron cannon that pointed to the sea. Rune stared into those dark waters. He tried to imagine days long ago when ships sailed here, Tilla's father sold his ropes, his own father served ale to merchants, and life and laughter had filled this city, not soldiers and broken men on wheels and boys returning home in coffins. Rune's eyes stung and he could barely fathom that tomorrow night, he would walk on the beach alone, and Tilla would be gone—maybe for years, maybe forever.
"We were called Lynport then," he whispered. "And ships sailed here. And none of this would have happened."
But that had been long ago. It had been a different world. It was best to forget. Remembering brought pain, danger, and hammers that cracked bones.
Rune turned away from the water. He walked to the tavern that was his home. He stepped into the empty common room, walked upstairs to his chamber, and tried to sleep. But he could only lie awake, thinking of Tilla and her brother and what would happen in summer.
TILLA
She stood in the city square, hands clasped so tightly she thought her fingers would snap.
Be strong, Tilla, she told herself. Do not show fear now. Even if your heart trembles, and even if your chest feels so tight you can hardly breathe, you must hide it. If you show weakness now, they will crush you.
The others crowded around her—six hundred youths her age, all just turned eighteen this year. Their faces were pale. Their lips trembled. Tears flowed down one girl's face, and another girl was sobbing into her palms. A few boys huddled together, snickering and speaking of killing rebel men and bedding rebel women, but they too were scared; Tilla saw the sweat on their foreheads and the tremble to their fingers.
They laugh to hide their fear, she knew. They will stop laughing soon.
The Regime's soldiers surrounded the square, sealing in the youths of Cadport like wolves surrounding deer. They wore armor of black steel, the breastplates emblazoned with the red spiral, sigil of Emperor Frey Cadigus. Steel spikes tipped their boots, and steel claws grew from their vambraces. Crimson capes fluttered behind them. On their left hips, they bore swords with dragonclaw pommels. On their right hips, they bore their punishers, the tips crackling with lightning.
That last weapon scared Tilla more than the steel claws or blades. Each of these batons, their grips wrapped in leather, ended with a ball of spinning energy. Tilla had once seen soldiers torture a fisherman with their punishers. The man had writhed, wept, and screamed so loudly the whole city heard; his flesh still bore the scars.
They are demons, Tilla thought, looking upon these soldiers of the empire. They were created to kill, to torture, to destroy. She gripped her fingers so tightly she winced with pain. And they will turn me into one of them.
One soldier, a burly man who stood across the square, met her gaze.
Tilla froze.
The man's eyes were dead; his stare chilled her like a blast of winter through a door. He was easily the largest of the soldiers, probably the largest man Tilla had ever seen. He hunched over as if his arms were so beefy his back bent under their weight. Even so, he towered above the men around him; he must have stood almost seven feet tall. Lines creased his olive skin, and scars rifted his stubbly head. Dark sacks hung under his eyes, and his brow thrust out like a shelf. His armor was crude, all mismatched plates and chainmail cobbled together, and he bore no sword. Instead he carried an axe—not even an elegant battle-axe, but the heavy axe of a lumberjack, forged for felling trees.
This one must be Beras, Tilla thought with a shiver, unable to tear her eyes away. She had heard of him; everyone in this city had. Lowborn, once an outlaw, Beras was infamous for raping and strangling a girl two towns over. The Cadigus family had hunted him down… and employed him.
The brute kept staring at Tilla, his eyes blank, his expression dead. There was no humanity in Beras's eyes, no rage, no hatred, just cold ruthlessness. Tilla forced her eyes away and found that she had held her breath.
"Tilla!" whispered a girl beside her, a short and demure cobbler named Pery. "Tilla, what fort will they send us to?"
Tilla shook her head free of thoughts, blinked, and glanced at the girl. Pery was a pale, mousy thing, barely larger than a child. Her hair was so pale it was nearly white, and her eyes seemed too large above her gaunt cheeks. Her fingers were slim and quick, accustomed to helping her father make shoes. Could those small fingers ever wield a sword? Pery looked up, a foot shorter than Tilla and trembling like a rabbit cornered by a fox.
"I don't know, Pery," Tilla said softly. "They'll sort us when they're ready."
Pery's eyes swam with tears, and her fingers clutched at Tilla's tunic. "But… I can't go too far. I can't. My father needs my help at the shop. His joints hurt, and his fingers don't move quickly anymore, and…" She sniffed. "Tilla, do you think they'll station me at Castellum Acta here in
Cadport—the little fort on the hill—so I can go home at nights to help him?"
"Maybe," Tilla said and patted the shorter girl's arm. "Maybe, Pery. Let's just wait and see."
Pery nodded, bit her lip, and lowered her head.
Dozens of other girls stood around them. Tilla stood tallest among them; she had always thought herself far too tall. Today she found her height useful. She looked over the heads of the others, scanning the crowds that stood behind the soldiers. Parents, siblings, or just curious townsfolk stood in the city streets, peering into the square. A few even stood upon roofs or gazed from tall windows. Many mothers were weeping and waving at their sons and daughters. Some fathers were beaming with pride and speaking about how their sons would slay resistors; most fathers looked as tearful and worried as their wives.
Tilla's own father did not stand here.
I saw my son recruited in this square five years ago, he had told Tilla last night. He never returned.
Tears had filled the old ropemaker's eyes, and Tilla had embraced him and whispered her goodbyes. He was not here today, but her father was in her heart; she would carry his love to wherever this war took her.
There was one more man in her life, and this winter morning, Tilla sought him, scanning the crowd of faces.
"Where are you?" she whispered.
Finally she saw him in the crowd, and her heart gave a twist.
Rune Brewer stood in an alley a few hundred feet away. Two soldiers stood before him, separating the new recruits from the crowd of onlookers; Tilla could only glimpse half of Rune's face. He leaned sideways, stood on his tiptoes, and gazed between the soldiers.
Tilla's eyes locked with his.
She wanted to wave to him. She wanted to mouth a goodbye. The youths around her were reaching out to friends and family, waving and weeping. But Tilla could only stand still.
Stars, she thought, fire blazing inside her. She wanted to do something, even shed a tear. And yet she could only stand frozen, staring at Rune over the hundreds of youths, and he only stared back, frozen too. Their stare seemed to last an era, and though still and solemn, his eyes cried out to her. They spoke of their lives: of wrestling together as children on the floor of the Old Wheel Tavern; of forbidden flights over the sea at night; of Rune sneaking bread rolls and porridge over to Tilla's house when they could just not sell enough rope; and finally of what had happened last night, their first kiss, a memory Tilla knew would anchor her during the years ahead.
And then soldiers stepped in front of him, severing their gaze, and Tilla thought: I won't see him again for years. Maybe never again. Her eyes stung and she blinked. My brother never came home. He left us from this very square, and we never saw him again. Will I ever return?
Wings thudded above, interrupting her thoughts.
A roar sounded across the city.
Tilla looked up and clenched her jaw.
A blue dragon flew above, still distant but diving fast toward the square. The dragon was female; her horns were shorter than those of a male dragon, and her was body slimmer but no less powerful. A wake of smoke and flame trailed behind the beast.
Within an instant, the blue dragon was circling above the square. She howled a cry so loud, people across the city covered their ears and grimaced. The dragon's wings blasted Tilla's hair and filled her nostrils with the scents of ash, smoke, and oil. The dragon flew so low her claws nearly toppled the roofs of buildings. With another roar, she blew fire, forming a flaming ring around the square. The flames crackled, blasting Tilla with heat, then descended as a wreath of smoke.
Many youths cowered and whimpered. Since the Cadigus family had taken the throne, only soldiers were allowed shift into dragons; the magic was forbidden to everyone else, and many here had never seen a dragon display its might with flame and roar. At her side, Pery mewled and covered her head, but Tilla only stood tall and stared up at the blue beast.
This one is boastful, she thought and narrowed her eyes. This one delights in fear. This one I will watch out for.
Across the square rose Cadport's courthouse, a building of marble columns. Tilla's father would whisper that once, before the Regime, this had been a temple to the Draco constellation, the stars of Requiem. Today the banners of Cadigus hung from the building's balcony, black and long and emblazoned with the red spiral. With a final blast of fire, the blue dragon descended toward the courthouse, shifted into an armored woman, and landed upon the balcony.
The woman stood before the crowd, and Tilla sucked in her breath.
"Stars damn it," she whispered.
She knew this woman who stood on the balcony. She had seen this one in a dozen paintings; by imperial decree, they hung in Cadport's courthouse, guildhalls, and even Rune Brewer's tavern.
The Demon of Requiem. The Princess of Pain. The Blue Bitch.
"Shari Cadigus, the emperor's daughter," Tilla whispered.
Heir to the empire, Shari wore the garb of a soldier. She stood tall in leather boots and clad in black steel. Her breastplate sported the red spiral. Upon her hips hung her weapons: a black longsword and a punisher wrapped in red leather. A mane of brown curls cascaded down her shoulders, and her dark eyes stared upon the crowd in amusement; Tilla could see that amusement even standing a hundred yards away.
What was Shari Cadigus herself doing here? Every winter and summer, Tilla had come to this square to see youths drafted into the Legions. She had stood here seeing her cousins, her brother, and so many other townsfolk taken to distant forts to fight and die. Yet it was always some old, gruff soldier who arrived to lead the youths north. What was Requiem's princess herself doing here, so many leagues away from the glory of the capital?
Shari raised her right fist high, then slammed it against her breastplate.
"Hail the red spiral!" the princess shouted, voice ringing.
All across the square, hundreds of youths, eighteen years old and pale and shaky, repeated the salute. Hundreds of fists thumped simultaneously. Tilla hit her chest so hard, a gasp of pain fled her lips.
I will give the salute, she thought. But my heart does not belong to the red spiral. It does not serve Emperor Frey or his daughter. My heart belongs to my father and his ropes, to Rune and his tavern, to secret flights above the water and a kiss I will not forget.
Shari lowered her fist to her hip, nodded, and looked over the crowd. A thin smile played across her lips. Her head moved from side to side, scanning the youths. When her gaze fell upon Tilla, the princess nodded and pointed.
"There!" Shari barked at Beras, the burly soldier with the scarred, stubbly head; he stood below the balcony, axe in hand. "That one, Beras. Bring me that one."
Tilla stood frozen. Her heart thrashed. She could barely even breathe.
Beras's eyes remained dead and shadowed under his brow. With a grunt, he shifted into a dragon.
He was easily the largest dragon Tilla had ever seen, a beast of bronze scales, spikes, and black horns. The creature took flight, grunting and snorting smoke, and swooped toward the crowd.
When Beras flew directly above Tilla, he reached out claws like swords.
Tilla winced, ducked, and a yelp fled her lips.
Beside her, Pery screamed.
The claws closed, wings beat, and the bronze dragon soared. It took Tilla half a moment to realize she still stood in the square, hunched over and drenched in sweat.
Pery no longer stood beside her. Beras now flew with the cobbler's daughter in his claws.
Thank the stars.
Tilla couldn't help it. She breathed out a shaky breath of relief… and hated herself for it.
The bronze dragon howled and beat his wings, blasting the crowd with waves of stench. In his claws, Pery screamed and begged.
"Bring her to me!" Shari commanded, still standing on the balcony in human form. She laughed. "Place that mouse before me."
The youths in the square stood still, faces pale. The crowd behind them, separated from the youths by the soldiers, stirred an
d whispered. A graying woman reached out her hands—Pery's mother.
Beras flew to the balcony, hovered before it, and tossed Pery down. The girl thudded onto the balcony and mewled. With a grunt, the dragon flew down, landed outside the courthouse, and shifted back into human form. He stood still, clutching his axe.
"Stand up, darling!" Shari said to the fallen girl. "Stand up—you are a daughter of Requiem! Stand before me, child."
Pery rose to her feet and stood before the princess. She looked so small and frail, a good foot shorter than Shari, and wispy in her tunic next to Shari's armor and blades. The girl trembled and whimpered.
Be silent! Tilla thought, watching from the square. Her heart pounded. Don't show her any weakness, Pery. You must be a soldier today.
Tilla wanted to shout out to her friend. She wanted to shift into a dragon too, to fly to the balcony, to shake Pery and slap her until she stood strong and silent. And yet she dared not. Danger hung in the air. A wrong movement meant death now. All around the square, the people stood frozen; not a whisper rose.
Upon the balcony, Shari's face softened. Her lips pouted. The princess looked like a woman who saw a mewling, kicked puppy that begged to be hugged. She reached out and, with gloved fingers, caressed Pery's hair.
"Are you frightened, child?" Shari asked.
No! Tilla thought. No, Pery, no. Tell her that you're brave, tell her you're strong.
Pery looked around nervously. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and they fell upon Tilla, and the girl whispered something Tilla could not hear.
"My child!" Shari said. She touched Pery's chin and turned her face back toward her. "Don't seek answers there. Simply speak the truth. Are you frightened?"
Pery lowered her eyes, bit her lip, and nodded.
"I thought so," Shari said. She leaned over and kissed Pery's forehead.
A scream fled Pery's lips.
Shari stepped back with a smile.
No. Stars no, stars no. Standing below in the crowd, Tilla shook, and her heart thrashed, and tears filled her eyes. Oh stars no.
A dagger, its pommel shaped as a dragonclaw, thrust out of Pery's chest.
A Legacy of Light (The Dragon War, Book 1) Page 3
