Dragons Reborn (3 page)

The prisoner knelt
inside, chained. Her red hair hid her face, and bruises covered her body. Her
green eyes stared at him, shining with tears.

"Domi!"
he cried.

He tried to break
free from Mercy. He tried to dash toward her cell, to speak to her, to reach
inside and touch her hand, comfort her.

"Cade," Domi
whispered.

"Move!"
Mercy cried and drove her fist into Cade's kidney. He cried out in pain,
stumbling forward. Mercy grabbed a fistful of his hair, dragged him the last
few feet forward, and tossed him into his own cell.

Cade fell onto the
floor, chains rattling, and banged his knees. Mercy stood in the doorway, clad
in her priceless armor, a seraph of beauty and light. She stared down at him in
disgust and spat on him.

"I hope you
choose death," she said. "I'll be the one to torture you. And I'll
enjoy it. And I'll make it last a very long time." A mad grin stretched
across her face, lurid, inhuman, a grin that tugged at her cheeks as if her
face could split in two. It was the grin of a demon. "But not before you
watch me do the same to your precious Domi."

With that, Mercy
slammed the door shut, sealing Cade in darkness. He heard her footsteps leaving
the dungeon, and then he heard nothing but the screams.

 
 
ROEN

He stood
outside, slamming his axe into the logs again and again, and with every blow he
wanted to shatter the world. With every blow, Roen saw her eyes again, saw her
walking away, saw her blazing into his life with heat and softness and love,
then vanishing, elusive as a sprite.

"Why
did you ever come here?" He swung his axe down, cleaving the wooden log.
He placed another log on the tree stump and swung again. "Just to love me,
hurt me, leave again?"

His
axe cleaved through the log, drove into the tree stump beneath, and embedded
itself there. Roen grunted and tugged on the axe so mightily he couldn't
control it. It tore free, flew backward through the air, hit an oak, then
thumped to the forest floor.

Roen
dropped to his knees with a similar thump, lowered his head, and clenched his
fists at his sides. Piles of chopped wood rose around him in the forest, the pieces
of his soul, for Fidelity had broken that soul as surely as he had chopped the
wood.

He
looked around him. The forest was beautiful, a place of peace, of home. Aspens,
oaks, and sugar maples rustled around him, their leaves turning yellow, orange,
and gold. Moss coated boulders and fallen logs, and the song of birds and
rustling leaves filled the canopy. Roen had chosen this life, a life of
solitude in the wilderness, a life of forgetting. Of escape. A life away from
the Cured Temple, the bustle of cities, the oppression of the priests . . . and
away from her.

Roen
closed his eyes, the memories resurfacing.

It
had been almost four years ago, on a summer dawn, that she had come into his
life. From beyond the years, Roen could still hear the shrieks of firedrakes,
still see the fire blaze overhead.

"Slay
the weredragon!" the paladin had shouted, and the blast of their
firedrakes' wings had shaken the forest canopy. "Burn the reptile!"

While
his father still slept, Roen had woken before dawn, and he was fishing from a
stream as light slowly filled the forest. At first he thought he was still
asleep, still dreaming. Yet when he stared up, he saw her: a blue dragon
fleeing across the sky, two firedrakes in pursuit.

"Burn
the weredragon!"

Roen
stared up, chest constricting, fingers shaking.

Weredragon.

His
eyes stung.

My
father and I are not alone.

He
summoned his magic, the magic the Temple called a curse, and he soared as a
green dragon. He crashed through the canopy, rose behind the firedrakes, and
blasted out his fire.

His
flaming jet washed over one paladin, and the man screamed, and his firedrake spun
madly. Roen shot forth and lashed his claws, thrust his fangs, tasted blood,
roared with rage. The firedrake crashed down to the forest, dead before it hit
the trees. The second beast shot toward him, roaring out fire, and its rider
shot arrows. Roen bellowed as the weapons slammed against him, but he refused
to fall. He beat his wings, soared higher, and swooped. He felt like a mindless
beast, like a firedrake himself, as his claws tore the paladin apart, then sank
into the firedrake, ripping it open, sending it crashing down dead.

With
his enemies slain upon the forest, Roen reared in the sky, stretched out his
claws, and roared, a great roar that echoed for miles.

He
had fled the Cured Temple to this forest. They had invaded his territory. He
had sent them to their deaths, and his cry of rage rang across the land, a
warning for all other enemies to hear and fear.

Hovering
before him in the sky, the young blue dragon stared at him, eyes wide, wings
beating.

The
two dragons glided down and landed in the forest. Roen released his magic first
and stood before her, a man again, clad in furs, his boots muddy, his face
bearded, his hair strewn with leaves. The blue dragon released her magic next,
stood before him as a girl, and pierced his heart with more pain than any arrow
or sword could.

She
was beautiful. Her blue eyes shone with tears behind her thick, round
spectacles. Her golden braid hung across her shoulder. A gash bled on her
thigh, and her lips trembled.

"I
. . . I only wanted to fly a little in the night, but they saw me, and . . . oh
stars, you're one of us." Her tears streamed down her cheeks. "Another
Vir Requis. And you're hurt."

He
gazed down at the blood pouring from his chest, then back up at her.

"Hello.
I'm Roen."

She
blinked away her tears. "I'm Fidelity. Oh stars, let me tend to your
wounds."

She
bandaged him, tearing off strips of her clothes, and she spoke to him of her
life, of her books, of Requiem. He took her back to Old Hollow, his home within
the log, to meet his father, to rest, to heal.

She
told him she'd been traveling to Lynport in the south, seeking rare books the
merchants were said to bring from overseas. He told her she was wounded, that
she had to stay with him a few days longer to rest, to heal.

She
stayed with him that autumn, an autumn of walking together through the forest,
hand in hand, speaking of Requiem. An autumn of secret glances over dinner, of
sitting close by the fire, of whispering of their dreams. An autumn of making
love under the stars, feeling her naked body against his, holding her close,
kissing her, sleeping with her in his arms.

An
autumn that ended with snow, with loss.

"Stay,"
Roen told her. "Stay with us here. With Julian and me. You don't have to
leave."

She
wept. "I must. I must find the old books of Requiem, collect them, cherish
them, hide them." She touched his cheek. "Come with me, Roen. Fight
with me to preserve the memory of Requiem. To find our kingdom's old books, to
keep them safe. To keep the memory alive."

He
only shook his head. "And live in Sanctus, in a city full of priests and
paladins? Surround myself with their holy books, pretending to serve them?"
He laughed bitterly. "My father and I came into this forest to escape all
that. To escape the Temple. How can I now go into that vipers' nest?"

"To
be with me," she whispered and kissed him.

Yet
he could not, no more than she could abandon her quest. With the first snows
falling, she left him. Left his life cold. Empty. Scarred.

Until
she returned.

"Until
you returned, almost four years later," Roen whispered, kneeling between
the piles of chopped wood. "Until you returned with your kisses, with your
love, your life, your beauty, your softness . . . all those weapons that
shatter me. You came to shatter my heart again, then leave."

A
voice rose ahead of him. "That's a lot of firewood. Any trees left in the
forest?"

Roen
looked up to see his father. Julian wore old fur pelts and a leather belt. His
feet were bare and muddy, and dry leaves were strewn through his long white
beard. His tufted eyebrows shaded kind eyes.

"Enough
are left," Roen said.

Julian
walked toward the tree stump and sat down with creaking joints. "She'll be
back someday, son. You'll see her again."

Roen
nodded, jaw clenched. "In three years. Or four." He found himself
digging his fingernails into his palms. "Is this such a bad home, Father?
That she'd leave?"

Julian
reached out and patted Roen's shoulder. "I like to think that I gave you a
good home here, son. I moved to this forest so that I could raise you with your
magic, keeping the light of Requiem burning inside you. But Fidelity, well . .
. she craves more than solitude. She wants to spread that light. To let others
see its glow. She wouldn't be happy here in the forest, shying away from a
world she wants to save."

More
anger filled Roen. He grabbed a rock and hurled it into the forest. "Save
the world?" He snorted. "The world can go to the Abyss. Requiem is
gone, Father. Why can't she see that? Is it really so bad to . . . to just want
to live? At peace? To find a pocket of light in a world gone to darkness?"

"I
don't think so." Julian smiled sadly. "That's why I raised you here.
That's why we're sitting here now. But you cannot judge Fidelity for her war.
She's brave and strong and willing to sacrifice her life for Requiem. So is her
father. There is nobility to that."

"The
line between nobility and foolishness is often blurry." Roen stared at an
old maple tree which he had once climbed with Fidelity. "I care about my
life. Our life. Not the life of dead heroes, not a dead kingdom. She chose that
dead kingdom over me." His voice was hoarse. "She abandoned me."

Julian
nodded. "Aye, laddie. And she thinks the same of you. In her eyes, you
chose the forest over her."

Roen
spun toward his father, eyes red. "I wanted her to live in this forest!
With us!"

"And
did she not offer you to join her in Sanctus, to live with her father in the
library?"

"That
library burned." Roen's fists shook. "The paladins made sure to burn
it. And now Fidelity and Cade are fighting some war they cannot win." He
barked a laugh. "Cade—that foolish boy. I saw how he looked at Fidelity,
how his eyes strayed down across her body, how he kept trying to hover around
her, how—Father! Why are you laughing?"

The
old man sighed. "Julian, do you hear yourself? Jealous of a boy? Fidelity
loves you, my son. She'll love you always, even if you two are apart."
Julian rose from the stump, walked toward Roen, and clasped his arm. "Now
come, let's return to Old Hollow, and I'll cook you some mushroom stew."

Roen
nodded, feeling weak, and lifted his axe. The two men turned to walk toward Old
Hollow, the grand oak that was their home.

Dry
leaves crunched behind them, making them pause.

Roen
spun around and gasped.

"Fidelity,"
he whispered.

She
stood in the forest, her clothes tattered, her skin scraped and bruised. Her
spectacles hung crookedly on her nose, and her eyes were red.

"It's
Cade," she whispered, trembling. "They captured him. Please. I need
your help."

 
 
GEMINI

His mattress was stuffed with
softest down, and his sheets were woven of purest silk, and Gemini would have
stayed forever were his bladder not protesting. The damn thing felt ready to
burst.

"Ggreehhar!"
he called out, voice slurred. That was the name of his servant, was it not? It
usually sufficed. "Grerehhuuu. Wherema chamer pot?"

He opened his eyes to
slits and instantly regretted it. The damn sunlight was too bright, burning his
eyes. Why had the servants not drawn his curtains? Why weren't they answering? Gemini
pushed himself up in bed and saw the chamber pot all the way across the room.
No servant was in sight.

His heart sank.

He'd have to walk.

"Spirit damn it."

He wanted to sink back
into slumber, and for a moment he even tried to let sleep reclaim him, but his
bladder wailed in protest. Grudgingly, he left the bed, stumbled nude toward
the chamber pot, and proceeded to fill it. The damn thing was ridiculous. Was
he the son of the High Priestess, or was he some peasant?

With a groan, he
stumbled back into bed, pulled the sheets over him, and reached for the lump at
his side.

"Domi," he
whispered, stroking her. "Domi, I'm awake. Let's make love."

He reached down to
caress her curves and kissed her, then winced.

What the Abyss?

He pulled the silken
covers off to reveal not a gloriously nude Domi in the morning light . . . but
a pillow. It was a fine pillow, to be sure, embroidered with sunbursts and
stars, but it could hardly compare with the wonderful woman who had gone to bed
with him last night.

This was not Gemini's
morning.

He groaned, grabbed a bathrobe,
and shoved his arms into the sleeves. This whole day was torturous so far. It
didn't help that the damn palace was a hub of noise. From outside, he heard
footsteps thumping, armor clanking, and priests chanting. It was louder than a
den of firedrakes.

"Shut the bloody
Abyss up!" he shouted.

Think, Gemini,
he told himself.
Think. You'll get through this.

"What do I do now?"

His eyes fell upon his
table, specifically the jug of wine that stood on it. Yes. That's what he
needed to do first. To drink a little. To clear that damn headache and think
clearly. He shuffled forward, grabbed the jug, and drank deeply, letting
rivulets of wine flow down his chin and chest. When finally he slammed the jug
down, the pain blessedly left his head.