Dragons Reborn (20 page)

"Of course, my
child!" Beatrix patted Mercy's back. "Of course, my sweet daughter.
Mother didn't scare you, did she? I would never hurt your adopted daughter. I
know that you would do everything in your power to make this world safe for Eliana,
to bring about the Falling."

Mercy lifted her
daughter and held her close, rocking her until she calmed. She stared over the
soothed baby at Beatrix. "Mother, the weredragons have fled to the Horde.
Not just the island outposts but to Terra itself. Weredragons lead the Horde
now. The Red Queen Amity rules both the mountains and coast, and they say a
million souls flock to her. It must be war. Allow me to summon the armada. Give
me a thousand firedrakes and a thousand ships. The time for war has come, a
time for fire to engulf the world, for the light of the Spirit to crash through
the heathens and shine upon even the southern continent."

Beatrix rose and
stepped toward the window. She stared out into the night, and the soft breeze
rustled her white robes. She spoke softly, and for the first time that Mercy
could remember, perhaps the first time in her life, it seemed like some
humanity filled Beatrix's voice, some emotion, not just calculating sweetness
or cold cruelty but true doubt, true fear.

"For long years I've
feared this day," Beatrix said, gazing out onto the city. "For long
years, I stood at my windows, gazing into the darkness of the night, and I felt
a chill not of the wind, not of winter nor early spring's frost, but a chill
that comes from the great, hot land overseas, the deserts and stony mountains,
the fire of a mob gathered from many nations, from all those heathens we failed
to bring under our light. The Horde has been gathering for many years,
throughout my reign, throughout the reign of my mother, forever a thorn in our
sides. Yet now they're no longer a thorn." She turned toward her daughter.
"Now they are a spear aimed at our heart. Now weredragons fly with them.
Now weredragons lead them. Now they would seek to supplant us, to crush this
Temple, to undo the Commonwealth and bring back the heathen kingdom of Requiem.
We cannot sit in wait while our enemy rises. When an enemy rises to slay you,
you must slay him first. History is full of fallen empires, of kings and queens
lost to memory. Survivors strike first. Survivors cut down all who would rise
to slay them. And so we will strike first. War is upon us. We will muster the
fleet. We will summon the firedrakes from across the empire. And we will
strike. And you will lead our forces south. You will return with your shield,
or you will return upon it. You will return victorious, or you will not return
at all. You will bring the lands of Terra under our dominion, or all light will
go dim in this world."

Mercy nodded. "I
will win."

That night Mercy did
not place Eliana in her crib, but she took the babe into her bed, and she held
the child in her arms, stroking her hair. She never wanted to let Eliana go.
She never wanted to see the babe in danger again, to feel that loss again, that
grief that tore out the soul.

She had spoken her
secret.

She had brought that
banished memory to her mind.

She had spoken of her true
child.

In the darkness of her
chamber, Mercy grimaced, clinging to the babe in her arms like a drowning woman
to floating debris. Again she felt his fists pummeling her belly. Again she
screamed, giving birth to her daughter, to a stillborn babe, to a life of
memory and pain. Again she thrust her sword, driving the blade into her husband's
heart, the first time she had killed, the first time she had known the joy of
killing.

She had doffed the
robes of the priesthood then, and she had donned armor. Armor of white steel.
Armor to protect her from memory. To protect her from loss. To protect her from
all emotion, from those things that hurt, that dug deep.

And she kept killing.

And she would forever keep
killing. No longer just a huntress but a great general. She would kill
thousands, millions. She would kill everyone else in the world until none were
left but her and her new daughter, this precious child she had found.

"I vow this to
you, Eliana," she whispered. "I will love you forever. Forever. Our
love will burn the world."

 
 
AMITY

She had left Terra's northern coast
dragged behind a horse, beaten and whipped and waiting to die. She returned
from the mountains a red dragon, roaring out her pride, as her army marched
below.

"The Horde
musters!" Amity cried, voice rolling across the desert. "The Red
Queen will lead you to victory!"

She grinned as she
flew. Her wounds still ached—the wounds from her battle against the firedrakes
in Leonis, from dragging across the desert behind Abina Kahan's horse, from
fighting Behemoth, from slaying griffins and burning Shafel the false king. But
every scar made her stronger, every bolt of pain pumped her with ambition.

I am stronger than
giants, mightier than gods.
I am Amity of the Horde, and I'm coming for
you, Beatrix.

She stared around her
at her forces. Five hundred griffins flew to her right, great lions with the
heads and wings of eagles, each the size of a dragon. The sunlight shone upon
their armor, and riders sat on their backs, holding bows and the banners of the
Horde: five coiling serpents on a golden field. Their homeland, Leonis, had
fallen to the Commonwealth. Now these griffins fought for the Horde, for a
chance to reclaim their ancient isles.

When Amity looked
to her left, she saw the salvanae, several hundred strong. Here flew the true
dragons, creatures who had no human forms like Vir Requis, not even a human
form burned away like firedrakes. Their bodies were a hundred feet long, thin
and coiling, covered in gleaming scales. They had no limbs, no wings, but swam
across the air like snakes on water. Their eyes were like crystal balls, topped
with long white lashes, and their beards fluttered like banners. No men rode
them, for they were ancient creatures, wiser than men and honorable and sad.
Their homeland, the mythical realm of Salvandos, lay under the dominion of the
Cured Temple, and firedrakes now flew over its mountains.

When Amity looked
down, she saw her ground troops below: thousands of warriors on horses, clad in
patches of armor forged from bronze, iron, and steel, and myriads of infantry
soldiers, armed with axes, spears, sickles, hammers, or simple clubs, wearing
armor from metal and leather. Their women and children moved with them, leading
flocks of sheep, goats, and camels. Wagons held rolled-up tents, blankets,
sacks of grain, boxes of fruit and vegetables, and treasures of gold and gems.

And among the
soldiers, rising like a moving mountain, walked Behemoth.

The beast dwarfed
the soldiers around him, as large as an anthill among ants. His six feet
pounded the earth, tipped with claws the size of men. His tail dragged behind
him. A great disk of bone crowned his head, large as a gatehouse, topped with
horns like towers. On his back rode a dozen archers, and more men sat atop his
horns in crow's nests like men atop the masts of ships.

A voice rose
beside Amity. "The beast has not seen sunlight in thousands of years. It's
already killed a dozen troops, feasting on their flesh, their bones, their
armor and weapons. It's a danger to us all."

Amity turned her
head to see Korvin gliding a few feet away. The burly dragon was larger than
her, his scales thick and deep gray like plates of armor. His dark eyes stared
down at Behemoth, and his jaw twisted. She grinned at him.

"Imagine the
danger he'd be to Beatrix. The beast can smash through the Cured Temple like a
drunkard through a tavern's door."

Smoke blasted out
from Korvin's nostrils. "Assuming you can ship it to the north. We'll need
a big ship . . . or you'd better hope it can swim."

Amity grinned. "He'll
make it across the sea if you and I have to carry him." She gestured ahead
with her chin. "And there is the sea before us."

The coast
stretched ahead, and beyond it the blue waters of the Tiran Sea that led to the
Commonwealth. Thousands of years ago, the ancient civilization of Eteer had
spread across this coast, building the world's first ships and raising its
first buildings of stone. Today only ruins remained of that lost culture: a few
shells of walls, a few columns along the beach, and old stories.

The city of Hakan
Teer sprawled ahead of her, the place where Amity had first faced the abina she
had later slain in the southern mountains. Countless tents rose along the
coast, and a great mass of people bustled among them. Griffins and salvanae
flew above them. A hundred ships sailed in the water: brigantines and carracks
captured from Commonwealth merchants, their old banners replaced with sigils of
the Horde; locally constructed baghlah ships with elaborately carved hulls and
elongated prows; and many small dhow boats of warriors, traders, and fishermen.

"We'll muster
hundreds of other ships," Amity said, gliding toward Hakan Teer. "We'll
muster countless more warriors. From all across the lands of Terra, we'll
summon the vast multitudes of the Horde and cross the sea. The Cured Temple
will shatter before us."

The army below, seeing
Hakan Teer in the distance, cheered at the sight. They had marched for a long
time across the desert, leaving the mountains of Gosh Ha'ar behind in the
south, and here they would enjoy feasts around campfires, music and dancing,
and the pleasures of camp followers from many lands. As they reached the tent
city, the people of Gosh Ha'ar unburdened their mules, raised new tents, and
kindled thousands of fires. Women beat timbrels and danced, men dueled with
swords and spears, and children scampered about, firing arrows from homemade
bows.

Among countless tents
rose a single permanent dwelling: the villa where Amity had first confronted
Abina Kahan. Stone walls surrounded the complex, holding within their embrace
flowering gardens, a grove of pines, a columned bathhouse, and finally the
adobe villa itself, the coastal home of the Horde's monarch. Amity and Korvin
glided down, landed on a pebbly path between cypress trees. A dozen griffins
landed with them, riders on their backs, their long platinum hair streaming
like their banners. Guards stood outside the villa, clad in bronze
breastplates.

Amity tossed back her
head and blasted flame.

"Bow before Abini
Amity, Queen of the Horde!"

She shifted back into
human form, and they bowed before her. Surrounded by guards, Korvin at her
side, she marched into the hall.

Here the abina
doomed me to death,
she thought.
From here I will launch an army to
conquer the north.

She gazed around at the
main hall: a round chamber, the floor a mosaic of many Terran animals, the
columns engraved with vines, the ceiling painted with murals. Trees grew from
stone pots, sending forth flowers, and birds flitted between them. A throne of
precious metals rose ahead, and columned windows afforded a view of the sea.

"Beats the old
prison cell, doesn't it, big boy?" Amity patted Korvin's cheek.

The gruff warrior
stared around. White stubble covered his leathery, tanned face, but his thick
eyebrows were still black as coal, and his shaggy mane of hair was still more
black than silver. With his craggy countenance, tattered clothes, and scars and
bruises, he seemed as out of place here as . . . well, as she herself was,
Amity supposed.

The old abina had
been a vain man, filling his hall with several bronze mirrors, and Amity
regarded her reflection in one. She saw a bruised, beaten woman, clad in rags.
Her yellow hair was growing longer, almost long enough to reach her chin now,
tangled and caked with dirt. Dust and grime covered her skin, but not enough to
hide the cuts and burns that spread across her body. A tall woman. Strong. Powerful
and lithe. A scarred warrior. A queen. A conqueror. A lost girl.

As the sea whispered
outside the windows, as guards moved about the hall, as the beating of timbrels
and the song of men and birds rose outside, Amity stared into the mirror, and
she saw a young girl, frightened, fleeing, her parents gone. A girl swimming
across the midnight waters. A girl shivering in the dark, weeping, so afraid.
Always so afraid. She saw weakness. She saw pain. And it seemed to Amity that
woman and girl were one, that weakness fueled pain, that forever the scared
girl and the proud warrior would fight within her.

She tightened her lips
and spun away from the mirror. She faced Korvin.

"I need to get out
of these clothes," she said. "And so do you."

He frowned. "Now is
hardly the time."

She groaned. "Was
that a joke, big boy? You know what I mean. Now come, there's a bathhouse
somewhere in this place. I saw it from above. Let's go find it."

They left the villa and
walked outside until they found the bathhouse, a stone pool surrounded by
columns, and here Amity peeled off her clothes. Guards stood around her, and Korvin
stood at her side, but they did not shy away from her nakedness, for the Horde
regarded the human body as no more shameful than a suit of armor. She stepped
into the water and called to Korvin to join her. He undressed slowly, grumbling
and wincing as his tattered clothes brushed against his wounds. His body too
was covered with wounds: cuts, burn marks, the stripes of whips. He stepped
into the water; it rose to his shoulders.

"Look at us,"
Amity said. "Two beaten up chunks of meat."

"Living chunks of
meat," Korvin replied, "which is more than I expected."

"Ruling chunks of
meat." She clasped his hands. "Together." Suddenly her eyes
stung, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Amity?"
Korvin's eyes softened. "Why do you shed tears?"