A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2) (8 page)

Rune gave a mock salute. "I'm
right on your heels, old man."

As they kept walking through the
forest, Rune sighed. He had spent days now alone with Valien, whom
he found far, far less pleasant company than Kaelyn. True, Valien
was a great warrior, a strong leader, and a man Rune admired. But he
was also gruff. He still cursed and drank too much. Whenever Rune
slipped or fell behind, Valien had a sharp remark.

And the training. Stars, the
training still left Rune bruised and cramped. Every evening, Valien
insisted they practice their swordplay, and the man was ruthless,
slamming his sword against Rune's armor again and again, denting it
and bruising the flesh beneath.

"Tough in training, easy in
battle," the former knight kept saying, but amusement always
filled his dark eyes; Rune thought he rather enjoyed beating him
black and blue.

The noon sun shone when they
reached the canyon. A flock of cranes flew overhead, singing and
beating their wings. The trees tilted over the crevice, clinging to
the canyon's rim and nearly falling over. Rune approached gingerly,
grabbed a pine, and leaned forward. The depth spun his head. The
canyon plunged a mile deep, ending with a rocky floor. Mist floated
in the depths like ghosts.

Valien came to stand at his
side, wiped sweat off his brow, and stared down into the canyon.
Burrs and mud stained his garb of leather and wool. He wheezed after
the trek; the wound on his neck, suffered when saving Rune's life
years ago, still pained the former knight.

"Remember," Valien
said, voice a mere rasp, "Lord Cain rebelled against the Regime
once. He was punished for it. His three sons were slain; Cain
himself was spared, but forbidden to emerge from his canyon since.
That was many years ago; you were just a babe. Cain now serves and
fears the emperor. His daughter Lana is sympathetic toward the
Resistance; you saw that in the capital. Lord Devin Cain himself
might not hold much love for us." He stared at Rune. "We
must be wary. We could find a great ally here, or we could find our
deaths."

Rune squinted down into the
canyon. "Where is he? You said he commands ten thousand men.
I see birds and a few lizards, that's all."

Valien nodded. "I said he
lives in a hole in the ground, didn't I? This is just a crack—far
too exposed for the likes of Devin Cain." He squinted upward.
"The sky is clear. We'll shift into dragons, fly down to the
bottom, and walk from there in human forms. We're close."

With that, Valien leaped from
among the trees and tumbled into the darkness of the canyon. Before
he could hit the bottom, he shifted into a silver dragon, filled his
wings with air, and slowed his fall.

Rune cracked his neck, hefted
his pack across his shoulders, and leaped too. He dived into the
canyon. The wind whipped his hair and cloak. The canyon walls
rushed at his sides. With a deep breath, Rune shifted into a black
dragon and stretched his wings wide. The wing caught them like
sails. Rune slowed his fall and glided down.

The two dragons, silver and
black, landed upon the canyon floor and shifted back into human
forms.

A rain of cutlery clattered down
around them. A fork nearly stabbed Rune in the shoulders.

"Stars damn it!" he
said. "Damn pack never did close properly."

Valien grumbled. "Come on,
we move. Quietly. This is not a safe place."

They began to walk along the
canyon floor. Rune craned his neck back and gulped. The canyon
walls rose a mile high; the sky was but a thin, blue strip above.
Every footstep echoed.

As he looked at the craggy
walls, Rune thought back to Ralora Cliffs at home. He remembered how
Tilla and he used to walk there between the cliffs and sea. They
would bang wooden swords, pretending to be old heroes. They would
wrestle, whisper quietly, or just look out across the waves.

And
one night we kissed,
Rune thought.
And
we said goodbye. And we vowed to see each other again.
A lump filled his throat.
And
we did. We saw each other again… and we fought with swords of
steel. And I lost her, maybe forever this time.

He blinked furiously and
banished those thoughts. Pining for Tilla would not help now. All
he could do was keep fighting.

I
can still save you, Tilla,
he
thought.
You
are good at heart. I know it. I can still save you from the soldier
they forced you to become.

They walked for about a mile
down the canyon, rounded a bend, and Rune's breath died.

"Oh merciful stars,"
he whispered.

Valien came to stand beside him
and nodded. "Welcome to the Castle-in-the-Cliff, home of Lord
Cain and his army."

Rune had seen castles before.
He had seen the small Castellum Acta upon the hill in Lynport. And
he had seen Castra Luna, a sprawling fort in the forest. But this
was different. This castle was not built of bricks and walls. Lord
Cain's home was carved into the cliff itself. The living stone had
been chipped away, forming a portico of columns, turrets carved with
dragon reliefs, and a balcony topped with statues of winged women.
The facade rose as tall and lavish as a palace.

Or
the world's largest mausoleum,
Rune thought.

A wide stairway led from the
canyon floor to the castle gates. No doors filled the archway; Rune
saw only shadows within. Two statues surrounded the entrance, carved
of the same limestone, a hundred feet tall each. Stone helmets hid
their faces, and their fists—each one large as a mule—were held to
their breasts.

"Are there no guards?"
Rune said. "No doors? Do we simply walk in?"

Valien was holding the hilt of
his sword. "Careful. We don't know if we meet friend or foe
here." He lowered his voice to a growl. "And remember,
Lord Cain has not left this hole in years, not since losing his
rebellion—and his three sons. By now, he is not what you would call
sane."

"Might take one madman to
help us kill another," Rune said.

He marched across the canyon
toward the towering facade. He craned his neck back, admiring it
from up close. The columns, balconies, and dragon reliefs soared.
The two stone guardians towered thrice the height of dragons. Rune
shivered. Helmets hid the statues' faces, but Rune could swear they
were watching him. He raised his chin, took a deep breath, and
approached the stairs that led toward the palace gateway.

Dust rained.

Stone creaked.

"Rune!" rasped Valien.

Hands grabbed Rune's shoulders
and tugged. He fell several paces backward. Stone slammed down
ahead of him, showering dust, and the canyon shook.

"Bloody bollocks!"
Rune cursed and scrambled several paces farther back.

Before him, a great stone
fist—taller than he was—had slammed onto the ground. As Rune
watched, coughing and rubbing his eyes, one of the stone statues
straightened and returned its fist to its chest.

"Well," Valien said,
still holding Rune's shoulders, "that explains why there are no
guards."

Rune nodded, legs rubbery.
Looking around, he saw that cracks covered the canyon floor around
the entrance. Those stone statues had slammed their fists down many
times before. He wondered how many people they had crushed.

A high voice rose ahead, echoing
in the canyon.

"We meet again, Relesar
Aeternum!"

Rune looked up.

"Lady Lana," he
whispered.

She stood upon the palace
balcony, a hundred feet above them. She held one hand to her hip,
the other upon her sword's pommel. Most Vir Requis bore longswords,
ancient weapons of wide, straight blades; Lady Lana, however, bore a
thin, curved saber like southern sailors used to wield. Lana's hair
billowed in the wind, a black mane sporting a single white streak.
She leaped off the balcony and shifted into a dragon, her black
scales bearing a similar streak across her spine ridge. She spread
out her wings, landed before Rune, and shifted back into a woman.

"The Stone Guardians were
built to slay any strangers who try to enter," she said, her
accent highborn and meticulous. "Thousands dwell within this
hall, and the Guardians know every one. In five hundred years, none
have entered here without their blessing." She reached out her
hand. "It's good to finally see you in daylight, Relesar
Aeternum. The sun agrees with you. Or should I call you Rune?"

Rune clasped her hand and shook
it.

Back in the capital, he had seen
Lady Lana masked and cloaked in shadows. Today he saw a noble face
with high cheekbones, arched eyebrows, and thin, pink lips. A patch
covered her left eye; the right one was gray and bright and
intelligent. She looked about thirty years old, but the white stripe
through her hair gave her an older, wiser look. She wore a yellow
belt over a gray tunic—the colors of House Cain—and tall boots over
leggings. Her cloak was dyed blue, the color of nobility, and
clasped with a pin bearing the sigil of Cain: two statues guarding an
archway.

"Lady Lana," Valien
said in his rasp of a whisper.

She turned toward him, and a
smile touched her lips.

"My lord Valien." She
reached out her arms, embraced him, and kissed his cheek. "Your
stubble grows rougher and whiter every time we meet."

"And you grow more
beautiful," he said and kissed her hand.

Rune raised an eyebrow. "Burn
me, he's a romantic," he said. "Who knew?"

Valien growled at him. "A
romantic who still kicks your backside in sword sparring." He
turned back to Lana. "My lady, we are here to see your father.
Will he speak with us? Will you take us to him?"

Her face darkened. "My
father's mood has been dark and his mind addled. He has spent too
many years in the shadows. You will not find him the man he was."
She clutched the hilt of her sword. "His temper flares without
reason. He sees demons in every shadow. He rails against the
cruelty of Frey Cadigus one day, then blesses the man the next. He
is feverish with stone and stale air. In years past, I could get him
to fly within this canyon and see the sky above, even if he refused
to fly into the forest. Now I cannot get him to even leave his
hall." She sighed. "My father has been a broken man since
Frey crushed his rebellion and killed my brothers. I do not know if
you can enlist him, Valien. You have my sword, always, and I've
tried to soften my father to your cause. I've praised the Resistance
in his ears. Whether he listened, I cannot tell; he will not speak
to me of this. Maybe he will speak to you. He once greatly admired
you."

Valien nodded and sighed. "He
was a good man, years ago. He was a friend. I pray that I find this
same man today."

"You will not," Lana
said, "but I will take you to him. Follow." She turned
and began walking between the Stone Guardians. "Do not fear
them! They will not harm my guests. Just walk close to me."

As they followed Lady Lana, Rune
glanced up nervously at the stone statues, ready to leap back should
they move again. Yet they remained frozen, stone heads raised, fists
still clutched to their chests. Lana led them between the statues,
up a wide staircase, and toward the gates of the Castle-in-the-Cliff.

Shadows loomed before them. The
gateway rose taller than dragons, carved into the living rock of the
cliff. More than a gateway, this was an ornate cave. Cold air blew
from within, chilling Rune, and mist swirled. As he stepped through
the archway, the sound of wind and distant birds faded. He entered a
realm of shadows and fog.

When he blinked, he saw a great
hall, larger than any he'd ever seen. Rows of columns stretched into
the shadows. Upon each burned an oil lamp, the light barely piercing
the darkness. A mosaic of dragons battling griffins covered the
floor. Shadows hid the ceiling. Rune had walked a hundred yards
before he even realized that guards stood between the columns,
cloaked in gray and armed with sabers; the shadows nearly drowned
them.

"Father!" Lana called
out, and her voice echoed across the chamber. "Guests are here
to see you. Will you speak with them, Father?"

As they walked deeper down the
hall, Rune saw a throne ahead; it too seemed carved from the raw
stone of the cliff. When they walked closer, Rune saw that a man sat
there.

"Stars," he whispered.

Rune had always thought
Valien—with his shaggy hair, leathery face, and grizzled
stubble—looked rough and weathered. Yet the man upon this throne
made Valien seem as well-groomed as a prince.

Lord Cain wore shaggy gray robes
lined with fur. His walrus mustache bristled beneath a bulbous,
veined nose. His face was as red and wrinkled as a dried apple. His
hair was even redder, wild and tangled and streaked with white. Yet
despite the snow invading his hair and the grooves lining his skin,
he did not seem frail. His shoulders were still wide, his body
stocky beneath his robes. His hands were large and strong, clutching
the armrests of his throne. A curved blade hung at his side, its
pommel shaped as a roaring dragon's head. When he looked up, his
eyes blazed under bushy brows—black, deep, and shrewd.

"So, Lord Valien Eleison!"
he called out, voice booming; it pealed across the hall. "You've
come at last to grovel and beg for my aid."

The haggard lord rose from his
throne. He was a large man, as tall and wide as Valien. He drew his
sword and held it aloft. His forearms were wide and crisscrossed
with scars. In his youth, he must have been a great warrior; he
still stood with the pride of one.

Valien kept walking forward, not
slowing down. Rune and Lana walked at his sides.

"I've not come here to
grovel," he rasped. "Nor to beg. I come to see a man who
was once great. I come to see if greatness can still be found within
him, or whether he's become but a ghost, a withered puppet for a
stronger lord."