A Legacy of Light (The Dragon War, Book 1)

by Daniel Arenson

  Wind screamed.

  Blackness tugged at Rune and he gagged.

  Five metallic dragons, guards of the city, came soaring toward them.

  Kaelyn rained her fire.

  Flames exploded across the world, and the dragons below howled. Kaelyn crashed between them, and her tail lashed, and her fangs bit, and blood showered. The metallic dragons bit and clawed all around, their fire blasted, and Rune screamed.

  Kaelyn shot past the last dragon. She dived so close to the city that Rune—still held in her claws—nearly slammed against the rooftops. She began to rise again, the dragons in pursuit. More soldiers across the city saw the battle, shifted, and began taking flight.

  Kaelyn cursed. "You bloody blockhead, Rune! You got us killed!"

  She rose and flew above the city walls. The forest streamed below them. When Rune looked behind, he saw a hundred dragons, soldiers of Cadigus, shooting toward them.

  He also saw something that chilled him far, far more than all the soldiers in the empire.

  At the boardwalk, a building was burning.

  The Old Wheel tavern.

  Rune gasped and his eyes stung. Kaelyn kept streaming forward, cursing and beating her wings, and the dragons kept pursuing, but Rune could see nothing else.

  The rest of the city still stood; only his home blazed.

  They were looking for me, Rune realized. Kaelyn was right.

  A blue dragon took flight from the blazing tavern. The beast screeched and clawed the sky, wings wide and tail flailing.

  Shari Cadigus.

  "Bring me the boy!" the blue dragon screeched. "Kill my whore of a sister, and bring me the brewer's boy! Bring me Rune Brewer!"

  In her claws, Shari held a charred body. With a disgusted howl, she tossed the corpse down, and it crashed onto a nearby roof.

  The body was badly burnt, but Rune saw that it wore a red and green cloak.

  Rune knew that cloak. It was his father's favorite garment.

  Tears filled his eyes, and Rune screamed out, and the world spun around him.

  Then Kaelyn flew higher, crashing into the cover of clouds, and the city disappeared. The clouds streamed around them. Rune's eyes stung, his chest tightened, and he couldn't breathe.

  The Old Wheel. My father. Stars, they're gone. Shari burned them.

  "Father, no," he whispered, clutched in Kaelyn's claws. His voice rose to a howl. "What have you done, Kaelyn? What have you done? I'm a wanted man now, I—"

  "You were wanted from the day you were born!" she snapped. "You just didn't know it until today. Thank me for pulling you out of your tavern moments before Shari burned it, or you'd be dead too."

  "Kaelyn, what's going on?" he demanded, tears in his eyes. "Where are—"

  Fire roared.

  A hundred jets of flame pierced the clouds, shooting all around them. Hundreds of howls sounded behind, and Shari's voice pealed across the sky.

  "Grab them!" the blue dragon screeched in the distance. "Burn them! Bring me my sister and the boy!"

  Kaelyn howled, tightened her claws around Rune, and kept flying.

  TILLA

  The cart trundled down the road, jostling the recruits against one another. Tilla gasped for breath and clung to the girls around her. They had packed them like cattle, and even in the cold winter day, sweat drenched Tilla and she felt faint.

  "Tilla!" whispered the girl beside her. "Tilla, can you see anything? You're tall!"

  Tilla frowned down at the girl, the daughter of a baker, her blue eyes wide with fear, her cheeks pink, and her strawberry braid slung across her shoulder. Rune had been infatuated with the girl, Tilla remembered; her bakery stood only a few buildings away from the Old Wheel Tavern. Tilla herself had bought bread there, but could not remember the girl's name. She was a soft, doll-like thing, pretty but too fragile. Tilla could not imagine this one ever wielding a sword.

  "What could I possibly see?" Tilla said and gestured around her.

  The cart had no windows. It was wide enough to house a dragon… or about a hundred girls cramped so tightly together they couldn't even lift their arms. The shorter girls gasped for breath. At least Tilla was the tallest among them; her head rose above the mass, allowing her to breathe the hot, fetid air. The forest road was paved with rough cobblestones; the cart bumped and tilted with every turn of its wheels. The girls would have fallen were they not packed so close together.

  "I don't know!" said the baker's daughter, and tears filled those large blue eyes. She clung to Tilla's hip. "Maybe you can see a crack, or a very small window, or…" The girl sniffed, then began to quietly weep. "I just miss Jem. I love him so much."

  Tilla rolled her eyes. She remembered Jem Chandler, the girl's love. He was a useless dolt who spent more time drinking at the Old Wheel than crafting his candles.

  They had not seen any of the boys all day, not since leaving Cadport. Outside the city walls, Beras and his soldiers had herded the female recruits into three cramped, rotted carts. The boys had been rustled into their own carts. Beras had driven his punisher into the backs of those too slow to climb in.

  Dragons pulled these carts now, dragging them over bumps, ruts, and slopes that left the recruits bruised and whimpering. It had been a long day: a day of sweat, of gasps for breath, of recruits whispering and praying and—like the baker's daughter—weeping incessantly about loved ones.

  "What's your name?" Tilla asked, not unkindly, and touched the girl's shoulder.

  She sniffed and looked up at Tilla with damp, red-rimmed eyes.

  "Mae," she said. "Don't you remember? You bought bread from me once. Mae Baker."

  "Well, Mae, as I see it, you have a choice now," Tilla said. "You can cry and weep and mope for your boy. Or you can shut your wobbling lips, stop crying onto my shirt, and maybe act like a soldier. Okay?"

  Mae's eyes widened, her jaw unhinged, and for a moment she just stared as if trying to understand if Tilla had truly said those words. Finally fresh tears filled her eyes.

  "But I don't want to be a soldier!" Mae said. "All I want is my Jem, my sweet Jem who loves me."

  Tilla glared at her. "Well, you are a soldier now. Or at least you will be when we reach whatever fort they're taking us to. I don't want to be a soldier either, but given that we don't have a choice in the matter, you can either cry yourself to death, or you can toughen up."

  But the girl seemed not to hear her. She covered her eyes and began mumbling something about how her father was the richest baker in Cadport, and how he would save her from this place, and how handsome Jem Chandler was going to run away with her, and how Tilla would be so sorry she hadn't joined them.

  Tilla heaved a sigh.

  I'm not going to make any friends here like this, she thought. She had never been friends with any of these girls back in Cadport. She had always thought them moon-eyed, empty-headed peasants. It was no wonder she had never bothered learning their names. Standing here in a cart of them only confirmed her distaste.

  It's little wonder Rune was my only friend in Cadport, she thought. She missed him. Perhaps not with tears and trembles the way Mae missed Jem, but she missed him nonetheless.

  Where are you now, Rune? she wondered. Are you brewing ale for the soldiers, or walking along the beach, or thinking about me?

  Her eyes began to sting and Tilla growled. She tightened her lips, narrowed her eyes, and clenched her fists. No, she could not think of Rune now. She could not cry, especially not after admonishing Mae.

  I have three choices now, she thought. I can try to escape this cart, run into the forest, and live on the run, and if the Legions ever catch me, I will die. Or I can stay here and weep and yearn like Mae and the others. She raised her chin and ground her teeth. Or I can do this properly, and I can become a real soldier, and I can banish this pain from my chest and these tears from my eyes.

  She mulled over each option. Running seemed the worst of the bunch. Tilla had seen deserters caught before; the Cadigus family made sure every ci
tizen in Cadport came to see them quartered by mules. Tilla rather liked having four limbs, so running was out of the question.

  As for moping, she did not relish that option either. Thinking about Rune wouldn't get her back to him any sooner. Thinking about home would only weaken her. There was no point missing home now; or at least, she could try to suppress her homesickness. She could push those thoughts deep down where they couldn't hurt her. After all, how would weeping and yearning help her survive?

  And so that left only one option.

  I will play the game, she thought. I will become the soldier they want me to be. For now, I will play by their rules. And maybe I can survive the next five years. Maybe I will learn enough to fight and live once they cart us off to fight the Resistance.

  Tilla nodded. Here in this cart, surrounded by the weeping and trembling girls, she vowed that she would live. If she had to fight a war, she would be strong and she would survive it, and in five years she could return home. In five years, maybe she could see her father and Rune again.

  She looked at Mae, who still wept at her side, and iciness clutched Tilla, for she knew: Once their training was complete, and they were sent to fight, Mae would die.

  She would die first.

  Tilla closed her eyes and tried to forget Pery's head splattering down at her feet.

  The cart kept trundling on and on. Finally whatever sunlight leaked through cracks in the walls faded. Darkness fell over the cart, and even the heat of a hundred bodies pressed together could not warm Tilla. She had not eaten, drunk, or sat down since that morning. Her back, feet, and stomach ached. Wolves howled outside, wind shrieked, and still the cart kept rolling.

  "Tilla," Mae said, speaking for the first time in hours, "are we going to keep traveling all night?"

  Tilla grumbled at the baker's daughter. "How should I know? Do I look like Beras?"

  The girl whimpered and bit her lip. "Don't say his name," she pleaded. "Don't say the name of that man. They say he… he…" She sniffed. "It's horrible, but they said he r-r-… he did something horrible to a little girl. And then he strangled her to death." She shuddered. "Please don't say his name."

  Tilla wondered if the stories were true. Had Beras the Brute truly raped a child, then strangled her and buried her body? Had the Cadigus family, impressed with his cruelty and reputation, hired him based on that merit? Tilla did not know, but after seeing Shari Cadigus behead Pery, she was inclined to believe it.

  A woman like Shari would find a child-killer her perfect companion, she thought. Tilla looked at her boots and clenched her fists. Yet like it or not, Beras was the one leading this caravan. And Shari Cadigus, the emperor's daughter, was the one who had recruited them.

  I might find them repulsive. But if I'm to survive, I must follow them. Tilla gritted her teeth so mightily it hurt. I will live. I will return home. I will not be another Pery.

  After what seemed like hours of darkness, the cart finally slowed to a halt. It came with both a sigh of relief and a chill of fear.

  The girls around Tilla looked at one another, mewling and whispering. Mae grabbed Tilla's arm, squeezing it so hard Tilla grunted and yanked herself free.

  "What's happening?" Mae whispered.

  "Hush!" Tilla said. "Be quiet, Mae, and be strong. No more tears, okay? If you want to live, you can't cry. Wipe your eyes."

  Sniffling, Mae obeyed. After knuckling her eyes dry, she bit her wobbling lip so hard it turned white.

  Boots thumped outside, and a voice cried out hoarsely across the convoy, the words muffled. The door of her cart jolted madly, keys rattled in the lock, and a low voice muttered curses.

  Mae trembled. The hundred girls in the cart fell silent, and all eyes turned toward the door. Tilla squared her shoulders, straightened her back, and raised her chin. She could easily stare above the shorter girls, and she sucked in her breath and held it.

  The door yanked open.

  Beras the Brute stood outside in the night, holding keys in one hand, a torch in the other.

  The girls inside the cart stared, frozen. Beras stared back, his beady eyes shadowed beneath his thrusting brow. Dark sacks hung under those eyes, tugging them down toward his cheeks. His face was ashen, and though close-shaven, his beard was so dark it left his cheeks in perpetual shadow. He wore no black, polished steel like the other soldiers, but crude plates of iron over patches of mail. Even this suit of metal could not hide his size; he easily weighed twice as much as Tilla, a blend of muscle and fat that pushed at his armor.

  For a long moment, he merely glared at the girls. He grumbled, then hawked loudly and spat. A few girls started and Mae whimpered.

  For the first time, Tilla heard Beras speak.

  "All right, you miserable lot of whores," he rumbled. "If you ask me, you're good for nothing but spreading your legs in a brothel, the lot of you." He spat again. "But since Shari Cadigus thinks she can whip you into soldiers, you're mine for a few days until you reach your barracks." He clutched his groin and tugged it. "Any one of you harlots moves too slowly or disobeys my orders, you'll get a taste of this." His voice rose to a howl. "So move—now! Off the cart!"

  For an instant, rage bloomed inside of Tilla. It coursed through her and spun her head. How dared this man threaten them? There were a hundred women in this cart, and each one could turn into a dragon. He was one man, one miserable murderer who—

  She gritted her teeth.

  He's one miserable murderer who's a darling of the empire, she reminded herself. Unless you want to shift into a dragon and have that empire hunt you down, obey him.

  The girls began exiting the cart, silent, their eyes darting. Tilla moved among them. When she stepped outside, cold air stung her, so shocking after the stifling cart that she gasped. She found herself on a roadside in a forest clearing. All around the glade, dark trees rose naked to claw at a starless sky. Six carts camped here in a ring, and Cadport's youths were stepping out from each one, faces pale. At every cart, a soldier stood shouting, threatening to flay, whip, or behead anyone who moved too slowly. The shouts rose across the forest.

  "Move it, maggots!" howled one soldier.

  "Form ranks, worms!" cried another and raised his punisher, its tip crackling.

  Tilla had seen soldiers in Castellum Acta, the small hilltop fortress in Cadport; she knew about forming ranks, but did the others? The six hundred recruits stumbled into the center of the clearing. Around them spread the carts and twenty soldiers or more, each holding a crackling punisher.

  "Form ranks—move it!" one soldier howled, a gaunt man with one eye. "Or I swear, blood will spill tonight."

  The other soldiers all shouted and thrust their punishers, goading the recruits closer together. All around the clearing, the trees creaked and distant wolves howled.

  "Come on!" Tilla hissed and grabbed a girl beside her. She pulled her forward and stood her in place. "Stand here. You—Mae. Stand behind her, like this. Go. And stand tall and still, don't slouch!"

  The girls glanced around nervously, but they stood where Tilla directed them. She grabbed their shoulders, pulled them straight, and shoved their chins up. Around them, the other recruits saw and followed suit.

  "Form lines!" Tilla whispered, moving between the others. "Three soldiers deep; that's the standard form. Go! And stand straight."

  Finally the recruits began to form ranks. They stood in three lines, every recruit a foot apart from the others. Tilla took her spot at the front line; Mae stood to her left, trembling and standing so straight her heels did not touch the ground.

  Tilla stood frozen, barely daring to breathe. She stretched her own back straight, kept her arms firm at her sides, and raised her chin. She had seen this formation in Cadport before—it seemed the most common one—but she knew there were other formations too. Which one did these soldiers demand? If they formed these ranks wrong, and she was responsible, would they behead her too?

  When the ranks were complete, and the recruits stood at attention, Beras
began trundling down the lines. He lolloped like a bear, armor clanking and axe clattering against his back. His torch crackled and he grunted as he walked.

  "He walks like he got a thorny stick up his arse," whispered a girl beside Tilla, a scrawny little thing with short brown hair, an upturned nose, and fiery eyes. "You reckon he likes to shove sticks up there, Tilla? I knew me a man once who—"

  "Shh!" Tilla hushed her.

  She remembered this skinny girl—an orphan named Erry Docker, a dockside urchin who slept on the beach and ate whatever she stole. Some whispered that Erry was the daughter of a long-dead prostitute. Others whispered that Erry herself had taken up the profession and already bedded a thousand men.

  "I was only—" Erry began, eyes flashing.

  "Hush!" Tilla said.

  Beras kept lumbering around, indeed moving much like Erry had described. The recruits stood silently.

  "I could have bedded two whores by the time you formed ranks!" Beras shouted. "If you cannot form ranks here, in a guarded camp, how will you survive at war? When we send you miserable worms to fight the Resistance, do you think the enemy will wait for you to form the lines?" He spat and shouted hoarsely. "They will butcher you, and skin you alive, and they will rape your flayed bodies as you thrash and beg to die."

  Tilla's throat tightened. She had heard many stories of the Resistance. They whispered that these rebels, wild men and women who lurked in the forests, were even crueler than the Cadigus family. They were bloodthirsty.

  They killed my brother.

  Cold sweat trickled down Tilla's back. Could the Resistance be hiding in this forest, waiting to charge with steel and fire?

  Beras kept moving down the lines, inspecting each recruit in turn.

  "In a few days," he called out, "you will reach your barracks, and they will try to train you, to turn you whelps into soldiers. If you ask me, they'll be wasting their time. I don't see soldiers. I see cannon fodder." He stopped before one boy, leaned close, and sneered. "You're a skinny one; I bet you weigh less than my axe."