Dragons Rising (12 page)

"Fidelity!"
Korvin rumbled from below. "Land with me!"

She
nodded briskly and dived down with her father. As the sun rose above
the horizon, the gray dragon and the blue dragon landed in a field of
wild grass and released their magic.

Fidelity
stared at her father. He looked more haggard than she'd ever seen
him. His stubble was still white as snow, thickening into a beard,
and now his hair--a wild mane that flowed down to his waist--was
turning white too, at least half its black hairs gone pale. Only his
thick, bushy eyebrows remained jet black, but they shaded weary eyes
set into a gaunt face. He wore one of the green cloaks they had
bought on the southern coast, and beneath he wore his armor, but even
so he seemed thin to Fidelity, no longer the bluff, gruff soldier she
had known but a haggard refugee. She embraced him.

"We're
halfway to the mountains," she said. "We'll be there before
long, and we'll find the others. I know we will."

He
nodded and they began walking through the field. They had been flying
most of the night, but Fidelity wasn't weary yet, not enough to
sleep. She needed to keep going, to cross the land, to reach the
mountains of Dair Ranin; she would find no rest until she did. It was
a cold day, and patches of snow covered the land. She shivered and
tightened her cloak around herself. A coyote stared from between
distant blades of grass, then fled. Crows circled and cawed above.
Soon they reached a dirt road and walked between swaying fields of
rye, wheat, and barley.

They
walked, moving closer to the city. The road would take them by its
walls before leading them farther north. Fidelity stared at New
Confutatis with longing. Her left eye saw only smudges, and while her
right spectacle lens still filled its frame, the crack in its center
split the world. Still, she was able to make out pale walls topped
with soldiers, perched firedrakes, and tillvine blossom banners.
Behind the walls, she saw soaring towers and domes. She wondered if
one of them was the library.

"We
should go into the city," she said suddenly.

Korvin
frowned. "Fidelity, you know we can't do that. It's too
dangerous in there. Cities are swarming with priests, soldiers,
paladins, and firedrakes."

She
nodded. "And the wilderness is swarming with bonedrakes."
She shuddered. "We've seen . . . ten bonedrakes since the two we
killed? Eleven? More? More of the creatures fill the sky every day.
We can't keep hiding in burrows and storm clouds. Sooner or later
we'll have to fight the bonedrakes again, maybe many of them."
She took a deep breath. "In this city rises the White Library.
It's renowned for its bestiaries, books that detail every creature to
crawl, swim, walk, and fly in the world. Maybe we'll find information
about bonedrakes."

"Or
maybe we'll find a thousand paladins on a thousand firedrakes."

"Maybe,"
Fidelity confessed. "But I think we should risk it. The undead
fill the sky, and . . . what if they're hunting Domi and the others?"
A lump filled her throat. "We know what firedrakes are. We know
how to kill them. But a bonedrake is stronger than several
firedrakes, and we need to learn everything we can about these
creatures. That, and . . ." She lowered her head. "There's
another reason I want to visit New Confutatis."

Korvin
stood on the road and stared toward the city. Snow began to fall,
dusting his hair and cloak. "It had better not be to admire the
architecture."

She
smiled wanly. "I wouldn't even be able to see the architecture
well. That's the other reason. I need to buy new spectacles. My
broken spectacles came from here originally. Old Master Ferin
Lensmaker made them. He's made all the spectacles in the world, and
many other lenses too--lenses to see tiny creatures living in water
and stars in the night sky. To fight the bonedrakes, I don't only
need to research them; I need to see them!"

Korvin
groaned. "Fidelity, you know what I think, I--"

"We'll
be safe, Father! Maybe even safer in there than out here. We'll hide
in our cloaks and hoods, and nobody will know who we are. And I doubt
any bonedrakes are flying above that city. The bastards freeze
everything they fly over, colder than the worst ice storm. If they do
serve Beatrix, the High Priestess won't send them to harm her towns."
She tugged Korvin's sleeve. "Just for a few hours."

Korvin
grumbled, but then he looked at her shattered spectacles and sighed.
"One hour. That's all."

She
hugged him. The old soldier cared more, she thought, about her eyes
than about all the bonedrakes in the world. As she embraced him, his
chest jostled the rim of her spectacles, and the cracked lens
shattered and fell.

"It
seems now we really have no choice," Fidelity said with a wry
smile.

They
walked toward the city. Now Fidelity could see only smudges from both
eyes, but she could make out the pale walls, and she could see the
glint of sunlight against the firedrakes and soldiers who stood
above. When she squinted, she could even see the blurred, pale
towers, though they soon faded into the snowy sky.

The road to the city was busy, and guards stood at the gates, testing
everyone with ilbane. Korvin and Fidelity paid a peddler to smuggle
them through the gates in his wagon, hidden beneath sacks of produce.
Fidelity thanked the stars that humble city guards were, at least,
easier to fool than determined paladins.

Inside the city, they emerged from the cart, and they walked down a
cobbled boulevard lined with homes. Fidelity squinted to see many
clay buildings, some two stories tall, with round windows and domed
roofs--the homes of priests and commoners. Many of those people
walked along the boulevard with her. To Fidelity, the priests in
their woolen robes were mere white smudges, while commoners in burlap
tunics were tan smudges. In the distance, she could make out several
towers, mere faded lines, rising up into the clouds.

While
her eyesight was blurred, her other senses were nearly overwhelmed.
The music of the city played in her ears: the chiming bells of the
temples calling to prayer, the chant of priests in marble halls, the
song of caged finches in a window, the shuffling of feet and the
thumping of donkey hooves, and the laughter of children, all
combining into a symphony. The smells filled her nostrils: baking
breads and simmering stews, incense burning in monasteries, and
perfumes the priestesses wore. Even Fidelity's sense of touch came
alive here: the brush of soft robes and coarse burlap against her, a
stray cat rubbing against her leg, and the craggy feel of clay walls
when she ran her fingers against them.

Anyone
here, she knew, could potentially recognize her, even with her hood
tugged low. Anyone here might be a priest or paladin searching for
weredragons, armed with ilbane. She should be terrified, yet for the
first time in many months, Fidelity actually felt some of her fear
ease. She was no longer a lost soul wandering the wilderness. She
stood in civilization again, close to beloved books, even if this
civilization was ruled by the Temple, even if no copies of Requiem's
books could be found here. She had survived war. She would survive
this city.

"We
should head to the library first," she said. "I can see
well enough up close, and finding a book about bonedrakes is our top
priority." She stared around her. "Which way to the
library? Do you see any signs, Father?"

"No
signs, and I'm not asking for directions." He stared around.
"What does this library of yours look like? Describe it to me."

"A
dome," she said. "A beautiful, wonderful dome all in
silver, and four pale towers like beams of moonlight rise around it,
each topped with a golden roof. It's a building said to make even
gruff soldiers weep, and poets lay down their quills before it,
knowing they could never write words as fair."

Korvin
grunted. "Well, I see a silver dome and white towers and I'm not
weeping. Got to be the wrong place."

Fidelity
leaned forward and squinted, struggling to bring the world into
focus. There--she saw it ahead! The dome shone like fallen moon, and
she could even make out the towers around it, capped with gold. She
straightened and blinked, and the library faded into smudges again,
but she knew where it lay.

"It's
beautiful," she whispered and grabbed her father's hand. "Let's
go."

They
kept walking down the streets, moving from boulevards to narrow roads
and back to wide avenues. Monasteries rose at their sides, steeples
soaring, and priests stood at their gates, blowing horns. Barracks
loomed over clay homes like lions among mice, and soldiers stood on
their battlements.

On a cobbled street, Fidelity leaped aside from the sound of many
drumming hooves. Trumpets blared, armor chinked, and men cried out.
Townsfolk moved to the roadsides and stared as a cavalcade, a hundred
horses strong, came riding down the road. Paladins in burnished,
white armor sat astride horses just as white and fair. Each man held
a lance and shield emblazoned with tillvine blossoms. Behind these
holy warriors of the Spirit marched hundreds of soldiers in chain
mail and white robes. Above, screeching, flew three firedrakes. The
beasts shot fire across the sky, then dived down to fly above the
street, bellies almost skimming the horse riders. Townsfolk cried out
in awe and knelt.

"The war is won!" cried the lead paladin, a beefy lord who
shone with splendor. Fidelity didn't need sharp eyesight to make out
his wide array of golden jewels and gemstones. Some of them looked
like Horde jewels. "The Horde is vanquished, and the Temple is
victorious!"

The crowd on the roadsides roared. Fidelity's heart sank, and
memories of that Templer victory rose in her: the burnt children on
the beach, people running aflame, the thousand ships sinking, the
thousands of men and women drowning in the water, and Roen . . . her
sweet, strong, wise Roen burning in the fire, giving his life to
fight the paladins. She missed him so badly, and the horror of her
memories made her head spin. At her side, Korvin placed a comforting
hand on her shoulder.

"The Horde is destroyed!" cried the lord as the procession
rode by. "And soon the weredragons will follow! Soon all the
beastly reptiles will burn in our light, the cursed column will fall,
and the Spirit will descend into the world."

As the crowd cheered, Fidelity balled her hands into fists.

No,
she vowed
. No, King's Column will never fall. It cannot
fall while a Vir Requis still lives. And I will not die so easily.

When finally the procession passed them by, Fidelity tugged her
father's arm. "We keep going. To the library."

As she walked, a new determination filled her.

She was not only fighting to survive. She was not only fighting to
see Domi, Cade, and Amity again. She was fighting to defeat the Cured
Temple and rebuild Requiem from ruin. She mustn't forget that,
mustn't forget that hope, that dream.

"Remember Requiem," she whispered to herself. "Never
forget."

They
kept following the sight of the library's towers in the distance.
Finally, after a few wrong turns, Fidelity and Korvin reached the
library gates.

Fidelity tilted her head back, gaze up at the building, and sighed
deeply.

"This," she whispered, "is a library."

With her bad eyes, she couldn't see the gargoyles said to perch upon
the eaves. She wouldn't see the statues of ancient druids who stood
along the walls and above the doors. She wouldn't see the horses,
birds, and stars engraved into the marble columns. All these things
Korvin had to describe to her. But she could see the silver dome
gleaming, the pale towers soaring, and she could feel the magnitude
of this place, the wonder of it . . . and the sadness too.

Here was the world's greatest repository of books, and yet so many
books would not be found here. Books of Requiem. Books of old
adventure and poetry. Books of astrology and mathematics and foreign
languages. All those would be forbidden so long as the Cured Temple
reigned. This seemed to Fidelity both the most beautiful and most sad
place in the world, like a marvelous statue with broken arms, a thing
of splendor marred beyond repair. How many thousands of books had
once filled these halls, burned by the priests? How much knowledge
and magic and wonder were lost? Perhaps for the first time, Fidelity
realized that she was not only fighting for Vir Requis. She was
fighting for all living souls who craved freedom and knowledge. She
was fighting for wisdom, for books, and they were as holy to her as
Requiem.

Coated
in the grime of their long journey, wrapped in their snowy cloaks,
they stepped into the library of marble and gold.

"It's
a bit bigger than our old library, isn't it?" she whispered to
Korvin.

She
squinted to bring the library into focus, and suddenly Fidelity
wished she had visited the lens shop first for new spectacles. She
thought the floor was a great mosaic, but it was hard to be sure; she
saw only smudges of color. She could see that pastel paintings
covered the ceiling, but not see what they depicted. Statues rose
between columns, but whether they were statues of druids, seraphs, or
warriors, she couldn't tell.

But
she didn't care for fineries today. Books filled this
library--thousands of them, millions of them, lining countless
shelves that filled the hall.

And
she couldn't even read their spines.

"I'm
going to need a little help," she said.

Korvin
nodded. "Let's find a librarian."

"No."
She shook her head and watched a white smudge--a robed priest, she
presumed--walking between the aisles of books. "I don't want
anyone to know what we're looking for. They must think we're simple
pilgrims come to read the holy words of the Cured Temple. We'll find
a proper book ourselves. All libraries, even Templer libraries, are
divided into sections. The priests burn all books that aren't related
to the Spirit, but they do keep bestiaries, tomes listing all the
creatures of the world. They see all creatures other than Vir Requis,
even monsters and magical beasts, as being the Spirit's creations.
It's a holy task for scribes to detail all living species. Even, I
hope, bonedrakes." She looked around her. "Help me find a
bestiary section."