Dragons Lost (23 page)

"Sorry," he mumbled.

On the inside, Old
Hollow hid a cozy little burrow. The walls were formed of the oak tree,
smoothed and polished. Rugs covered the floor, and three stools rose around a
table. Strings of beads and feathers hung from the walls, and a curtain of
lichen formed the ceiling. A pot of mushrooms bubbled over embers. They sat and
ate.

For a long time,
Fidelity talked.

She spoke of meeting
Cade, of fleeing to the islands, of carrying the last
Book of Requiem
.
She spoke of the library falling, of wanting to print hundreds of copies, to
distribute the books across the Commonwealth, to let people know their magic
was blessed, a magic to cherish and protect, not sear away with tillvine. And
she spoke of her father falling into the sea, almost certainly dead, and then
her voice choked, and her eyes watered, and she could speak no more. Cade took
her hand in his under the table, and she squeezed it for comfort.

As she spoke, Julian
listened quietly, growing more and more somber. Finally, when her story was
told, he placed down his spoon and spoke carefully.

"We'll dig up the
treasure," the old man said. "The coins of Old Requiem will shine again in the
sunlight. We'll buy the printing press." He reached across the table to pat
Fidelity's arm. "I'm here for you, Fi. You know that. Always."

She nodded, sniffing
back tears.

Before she
could reply, she heard singing from outside. The voice was deep, the song
merry, a song of hunting, of planting, of deep woods and rain and sunlight.
Fidelity's heart burst into a gallop.

Roen.

Suddenly
Fidelity hesitated. She had dreamed of seeing him again for years, yet now she
wanted to hide. Julian saw her turmoil, and his eyes softened.

"Go speak to
him," he whispered.

She nodded.
Leaving the old man and the boy, she climbed out of the tree, hopped down onto
the forest floor, and saw him there.

At first he didn't
notice her. He was holding a brace of pheasants across one shoulder, a bow
across the other, and an axe hung from his belt. He wore tan trousers and tall
boots, and his chest was bare in the summer heat. His hair was still a mess,
strewn with leaves, and his beard was thick and brown. He was seven years older
than Fidelity; he had already been a man when she had left him, but she had
been only seventeen, and the pain had never left her.

Perhaps he's
forgotten me,
she thought as he hung his hunted birds upon a branch, still
singing.
Perhaps he pushed me out of his memory while I clung to his.

"Hello, Roen,"
she said softly.

He spun toward
her and froze. His face remained still, but she saw the feeling in his eyes,
the deep pain that surfaced there. His song died on his lips. And she knew:
He
never forgot me. He never stopped thinking of me.

"Fidelity," he
whispered.

She approached
him hesitantly, dragonflies and fireflies hovering around her. He dropped his
bow, approached her with three great strides, and seemed ready to embrace her,
then hesitated. She placed a hand on his chest, and her touch seemed to remove
all doubt from him. A grin split his face, and he pulled her into his arms. It
was an engulfing embrace, the warm, strong embrace she had missed so much. His
arms were wide, his chest damp and hot against her cheek. He pulled her up into
the air, nearly crushing her against him, and spun her around. She laughed and
he placed her down.

"Fidelity," he
said again. "I . . . I didn't think you'd return. I'm . . . oh stars, Fi."
Something seemed to break inside him, and his smile faded. "I'm sorry. So many
times I wanted to tell you I'm sorry, but—"

She placed a
finger on his lips, silencing him. "Let's walk."

He nodded.

They left Old
Hollow behind, and they walked for a long time through the woods. Fidelity
repeated her story, telling Roen about the past few days—and about the past few
years. He listened silently as they walked between the trees, as the setting
sun's rays fell upon them, glistening with pollen.

"I often missed
you," Fidelity finally said. "In the library, at night, when I'd fall asleep
holding a book, I wished I were falling asleep holding you." She lowered her
head, feeling her cheeks blush. "I wish you had come with me."

Roen sighed and
looked around him at the forest. "What I told you then is still true. I'm no
man of the city. All I know is these woods. I'm descended of the Vir Requis of
Oldnale, and even then we shied away from cities, choosing a life in countryside
and forest." He looked at her, eyes pained. "Every day after you left, I hurt.
Sometimes I even started to walk through the woods, seeking the road, wanting
to join you, but . . . I always turned back. I could not bring myself to live
under the heel of the Cured Temple."

"And I could
not bear to live without you," she whispered. "But I had to leave. I had to
protect the books. And I failed. Now only one book remains." Suddenly she could
not curb her tears. "Now my father is fallen. Now my library lies in ruin, and
all I have left is this one book, Roen. All I have left is a story and pain."

"You have me,"
he said and held her hand. "You've always had me. And my father too. Even if we
did not join you in the city, we were always here for you. Thinking about you.
Loving you.
I
love you, Fidelity."

He kissed her.
At first she did not want it. She did not need that old love; it would be too
sweet, too painful to lose his love again. She turned her head aside, and his
lips brushed her cheek, but then she could resist it no longer. She turned her
head back toward him, and she kissed him, a deep kiss that tasted of her tears,
the kiss she had dreamed of so often, had missed with such intensity that
sometimes her body had been unable to bear it.

She placed her
hands in his hair, and he wrapped his arms around her. He knelt before her and pulled
her down, and they lay upon the forest floor. She gasped as his hands reached
under her tunic, hard and callused hands, yet gentle as they caressed her
body, rising to cup her small breasts, exploring her. She closed her eyes as
they undressed, as he kissed her body. They made love as they used to, a wild
thing like fire.

I missed
you,
she thought as their naked bodies moved together.
I love you, Roen.

The sun was
setting as they walked back, and Roen lit a tin lantern. Fireflies glowed
around them, adding their light. He did not return directly to Old Hollow, but
instead he took her to a towering boulder. A rune shaped as a dragon glowed
upon it, peeking through a cloak of moss.

"The Vir Requis
raised this stone," Roen said. "Back when Requiem still stood. As House Oldnale
fell to ruin, we buried a treasure here—a treasure for us to claim when we rise
again." He stared at her solemnly, his eyes gleaming in the soft light. "It's
time we rise."

He shifted
then, becoming a green dragon, and dug through the soil with his claws. Five
feet deep, his claws clattered against an old chest. He pulled it out, placed
it down before Fidelity, and cracked open the rusty padlock. He returned to
human form and opened the chest.

Fidelity gasped
with wonder and passed her hands through the treasure. The golden coins
chinked. Each was engraved with a dragon on one side, a birch leaf and the word
"Requiem" on the other.

"The ancient
treasure of Requiem," she whispered.

Roen nodded. "I
hate to lose the coins. They are precious. You don't need to use them all; only
a few will be enough to buy your printing press." He smiled thinly. "Of course
we'll have to melt the gold into a bar or two. It's not exactly legal to use
Requiem currency."

They returned
to Old Hollow, bearing the treasure, and slept that night outside the tree
under blankets of lichen. Fidelity lay awake for a long time, nestled between
Cade and Roen. When she closed her eyes, she kept seeing it again and again:
her father falling into the sea, bleeding, and Amity roaring and burning.

Finally she
clutched her book to her chest, and she slept and dreamed of old Requiem and
skies full of dragons.

 
 
KORVIN

The two dragons, gray and red, had
been flying across the sea for days before they saw the southern land of the
Horde.

"The continent of
Terra," Korvin said, gliding over the sea toward that distant coast.

Amity flew at his side,
a red dragon wreathed in smoke. She grinned toothily. "A land of vicious
killers, terrifying beasts, and ancient monsters of terror. Just the sort of
gang we're looking for."

Korvin grunted. "Just
the sort of gang that could kill us."

"Or kill High Priestess
Beatrix." Amity winked.

He gave another grunt
and said no more. Amity didn't know that he'd once loved Beatrix, that he had almost
married her. She did not know that Beatrix had then gone mad, risen to the High
Priesthood, and slaughtered his wife. Amity didn't need to know such things,
Korvin decided. His was a private pain, deep, one he would keep buried within
him.

And along with those
memories dwelled other old hurts. He had been to these lands before, and the
nightmares still filled him.

"The Horde," he
grumbled. "Did you know that Requiem itself created it?"

Amity raised an
eyebrow. "Requiem—created the Horde? Are you mad?"

He shook his head,
scattering smoke. "Requiem was not always a land of righteousness and peace.
For a generation, a madman named General Cadigus ruled the kingdom of dragons,
and he burned all lands around him. He slaughtered the people of Tiranor and Osanna.
He slew most of the griffins of the islands and most of the salvanae, true
dragons of the west."

Amity frowned. "Nations
of the Horde."

He nodded. "The
original four nations, yes. And others joined them—the peoples of Terra, of the
northern icelands, of the distant realms west of Salvandos—all gathered to
fight Requiem." He laughed mirthlessly. "They thought they could destroy us.
Turns out we destroyed ourselves from within. The Cured Temple rose from among
our own people, effacing all memories of Requiem, but the Horde remains."

Amity blasted out fire
and roared. "The Commonwealth rose upon the ruins of Requiem. She is a new
enemy to the Horde. And we'll rise against this enemy, a great invasion." Her
eyes lit up. "Imagine it, Korvin! The vast armies of the Horde, seeking revenge
for their burnt outpost on Leonis, landing on the coasts, sweeping across the
landscapes of the Commonwealth, charging through the capital and putting
Beatrix's head on a spike." She laughed. "I'd like to chop off her head myself."

Korvin looked at the
red dragon and sighed. He was once like her—eager for battle, filled with fire
and brimstone, ready to fight the world. Losing his wife had changed him. He no
longer craved battles or glory.

I just want to see
my daughters again. I want to raise them in a world where they can fly free,
where they no longer have to hide their secret. I want to see Requiem restored
with starlight and magic, not bloodshed and flame.

Yet he flew on, for
perhaps Amity was right. For years, he had lingered in the shadows, dreaming,
whispering of Requiem. Perhaps Requiem needed Fidelity to whisper of her lore .
. . and needed him to be a soldier again.

"We would be wise to
approach the Horde in human forms," Korvin said. "If we fly in as two dragons,
they'll think us firedrakes of the Temple. They'll kill us before we can speak."
He blasted smoke out from his nostrils. "The soldiers of the outposts almost
did the same, and they'll be less forgiving here in the mainland."

Amity snorted and spat
out fire. "If we wander in as humans, they'll think us random beggars come out
of the desert. They'd kill us even quicker." She winked at him. "I know the
Horde, big boy. Fly on. Stay near me."

He grumbled. "I know
the Horde too. The wounds it gave me still ache most days."

And yet he flew on with
her, approaching the distant coast.

The noon sun was
blazing when they finally reached the continent of Terra.

Five thousand years
ago, the great civilization of Eteer had risen upon this coast, a nation of
seafarers, first in the world to discover the secrets of metallurgy and writing
in clay tablets. That civilization had fallen millennia ago; today all that
remained of Eteer were a few columns rising along the coast, crumbling old
walls, and ancient tales. Beyond these ruins, covering the dry plains and
fields, sprawled Hakan Teer—northern settlement of the Horde.

While the wondrous
palaces of Eteer had fallen, a great new wonder rose here: Eras and Elamar, the
great Twin Stallions of the Horde. The two statues rose from the beach, soaring
toward the sky, hundreds of feet tall—as tall as the Cured Temple in the north.
Carved of limestone, they were shaped as wild horses, rearing and kicking,
manes flying proudly. Their hooves were gilded and shining in the sunlight. For
hundreds of years, Eras and Elamar had guarded the coast of Terra, the gateway
to the southern continent.

Beyond the Twin
Stallions, thousands of tents sprawled across the land, their coverings made of
burlap, wool, or fur. Flags rose among them, displaying five serpents coiling
together, symbolizing the different nations of the Horde. This was no mere camp
like in the outposts; here was an entire city. Dirt roads ran between the
tents, clogged with people: tall and fair Tirans from the desert, their skin
golden, their platinum hair long and smooth; survivors of the old realm of
Osanna in the north, shorter but wider, their hair and eyes of many colors;
native warriors of Terra, the descendants of the old civilizations that had
once risen here, their skin olive-toned, their hair dark, their eyes green. The
warriors wore motley suits of armor: chainmail, iron plates, studded leather,
even wood. They carried assorted weapons: clubs, spears, scimitars, axes,
hammers. Many rode horses and chariots. They were more mob than army, not
organized into units and subunits but a single mass, wild and fierce.