EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (164 page)

And then soldiers stepped in front of him, severing their gaze, and Tilla thought:
I won’t see him again for years. Maybe never again.
Her eyes stung and she blinked.
My brother never came home. He left us from this very square, and we never saw him again. Will I ever return?

Wings thudded above, interrupting her thoughts.

A roar sounded across the city.

Tilla looked up and clenched her jaw.

A blue dragon flew above, still distant but diving fast toward the square. The dragon was female; her horns were shorter than those of a male dragon, and her was body slimmer but no less powerful. A wake of smoke and flame trailed behind the beast.

Within an instant, the blue dragon was circling above the square. She howled a cry so loud, people across the city covered their ears and grimaced. The dragon’s wings blasted Tilla’s hair and filled her nostrils with the scents of ash, smoke, and oil. The dragon flew so low her claws nearly toppled the roofs of buildings. With another roar, she blew fire, forming a flaming ring around the square. The flames crackled, blasting Tilla with heat, then descended as a wreath of smoke.

Many youths cowered and whimpered. Since the Cadigus family had taken the throne, only soldiers were allowed shift into dragons; the magic was forbidden to everyone else, and many here had never seen a dragon display its might with flame and roar. At her side, Pery mewled and covered her head, but Tilla only stood tall and stared up at the blue beast.

This one is boastful,
she thought and narrowed her eyes.
This one delights in fear. This one I will watch out for.

Across the square rose Cadport’s courthouse, a building of marble columns. Tilla’s father would whisper that once, before the Regime, this had been a temple to the Draco constellation, the stars of Requiem. Today the banners of Cadigus hung from the building’s balcony, black and long and emblazoned with the red spiral. With a final blast of fire, the blue dragon descended toward the courthouse, shifted into an armored woman, and landed upon the balcony.

The woman stood before the crowd, and Tilla sucked in her breath.

“Stars damn it,” she whispered.

She knew this woman who stood on the balcony. She had seen this one in a dozen paintings; by imperial decree, they hung in Cadport’s courthouse, guildhalls, and even Rune Brewer’s tavern.

The Demon of Requiem. The Princess of Pain. The Blue Bitch.

“Shari Cadigus, the emperor’s daughter,” Tilla whispered.

Heir to the empire, Shari wore the garb of a soldier. She stood tall in leather boots and clad in black steel. Her breastplate sported the red spiral. Upon her hips hung her weapons: a black longsword and a punisher wrapped in red leather. A mane of brown curls cascaded down her shoulders, and her dark eyes stared upon the crowd in amusement; Tilla could see that amusement even standing a hundred yards away.

What was Shari Cadigus herself doing here? Every winter and summer, Tilla had come to this square to see youths drafted into the Legions. She had stood here seeing her cousins, her brother, and so many other townsfolk taken to distant forts to fight and die. Yet it was always some old, gruff soldier who arrived to lead the youths north. What was Requiem’s princess herself doing here, so many leagues away from the glory of the capital?

Shari raised her right fist high, then slammed it against her breastplate.

“Hail the red spiral!” the princess shouted, voice ringing.

All across the square, hundreds of youths, eighteen years old and pale and shaky, repeated the salute. Hundreds of fists thumped simultaneously. Tilla hit her chest so hard, a gasp of pain fled her lips.

I will give the salute,
she thought.
But my heart does not belong to the red spiral. It does not serve Emperor Frey or his daughter. My heart belongs to my father and his ropes, to Rune and his tavern, to secret flights above the water and a kiss I will not forget.

Shari lowered her fist to her hip, nodded, and looked over the crowd. A thin smile played across her lips. Her head moved from side to side, scanning the youths. When her gaze fell upon Tilla, the princess nodded and pointed.

“There!” Shari barked at Beras, the burly soldier with the scarred, stubbly head; he stood below the balcony, axe in hand. “That one, Beras. Bring me that one.”

Tilla stood frozen. Her heart thrashed. She could barely even breathe.

Beras’s eyes remained dead and shadowed under his brow. With a grunt, he shifted into a dragon.

He was easily the largest dragon Tilla had ever seen, a beast of bronze scales, spikes, and black horns. The creature took flight, grunting and snorting smoke, and swooped toward the crowd.

When Beras flew directly above Tilla, he reached out claws like swords.

Tilla winced, ducked, and a yelp fled her lips.

Beside her, Pery screamed.

The claws closed, wings beat, and the bronze dragon soared. It took Tilla half a moment to realize she still stood in the square, hunched over and drenched in sweat.

Pery no longer stood beside her. Beras now flew with the cobbler’s daughter in his claws.

Thank the stars.

Tilla couldn’t help it. She breathed out a shaky breath of relief... and hated herself for it.

The bronze dragon howled and beat his wings, blasting the crowd with waves of stench. In his claws, Pery screamed and begged.

“Bring her to me!” Shari commanded, still standing on the balcony in human form. She laughed. “Place that mouse before me.”

The youths in the square stood still, faces pale. The crowd behind them, separated from the youths by the soldiers, stirred and whispered. A graying woman reached out her hands—Pery’s mother.

Beras flew to the balcony, hovered before it, and tossed Pery down. The girl thudded onto the balcony and mewled. With a grunt, the dragon flew down, landed outside the courthouse, and shifted back into human form. He stood still, clutching his axe.

“Stand up, darling!” Shari said to the fallen girl. “Stand up—you are a daughter of Requiem! Stand before me, child.”

Pery rose to her feet and stood before the princess. She looked so small and frail, a good foot shorter than Shari, and wispy in her tunic next to Shari’s armor and blades. The girl trembled and whimpered.

Be silent!
Tilla thought, watching from the square. Her heart pounded.
Don’t show her any weakness, Pery. You must be a soldier today.

Tilla wanted to shout out to her friend. She wanted to shift into a dragon too, to fly to the balcony, to shake Pery and slap her until she stood strong and silent. And yet she dared not. Danger hung in the air. A wrong movement meant death now. All around the square, the people stood frozen; not a whisper rose.

Upon the balcony, Shari’s face softened. Her lips pouted. The princess looked like a woman who saw a mewling, kicked puppy that begged to be hugged. She reached out and, with gloved fingers, caressed Pery’s hair.

“Are you frightened, child?” Shari asked.

No!
Tilla thought.
No, Pery, no. Tell her that you’re brave, tell her you’re strong.

Pery looked around nervously. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and they fell upon Tilla, and the girl whispered something Tilla could not hear.

“My child!” Shari said. She touched Pery’s chin and turned her face back toward her. “Don’t seek answers there. Simply speak the truth. Are you frightened?”

Pery lowered her eyes, bit her lip, and nodded.

“I thought so,” Shari said. She leaned over and kissed Pery’s forehead.

A scream fled Pery’s lips.

Shari stepped back with a smile.

No. Stars no, stars no.
Standing below in the crowd, Tilla shook, and her heart thrashed, and tears filled her eyes.
Oh stars no.

A dagger, its pommel shaped as a dragonclaw, thrust out of Pery’s chest.

Tilla couldn’t help it. She cried out.

“Pery!”

Everything seemed to happen at once.

Pery fell, blood gushing. Princess Shari stood above her and laughed. Pery’s parents cried out below, reached toward her, and wailed, and soldiers dragged them into an alley. The crowd rustled and whispered. A girl not far from Tilla fainted. One man shouted and tried to run toward the courthouse, but soldiers held him back.

Tilla stood frozen, fingers trembling, and her eyes widened. She had not thought things could get worse. She had not imagined greater terror. She gasped and covered her mouth and her eyes stung.

“No,” she whispered. “Oh stars no.”

Shari knelt above the body, laughing. She had pulled the dagger free and thrust it into Pery’s neck. More blood gushed. Shari hissed as she sawed back and forth. Finally she lifted Pery’s severed head and held it above the crowd.

“See what happens to the weak!” Shari shouted and laughed. Blood splashed her face, and the severed head dangled and dripped in her hand. “See what happens to cowards!”

Some people wailed and tried to flee; soldiers grabbed them. One man—Tilla recognized him as Pery’s uncle—began driving through the crowd. Soldiers twisted his arms, and one drove a punisher into his back; the man collapsed and screamed, his flesh smoking. Above the commotion, Shari laughed and tossed the head off the balcony.

It arced through the air and slammed down by Tilla’s feet, splattering blood.

Tilla closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and swallowed a lump in her throat. A tear streamed down her cheek.

I’m sorry, Pery. I’m sorry. May your soul find its way to our starlit halls of afterlife.

“Beras, bring me another one!” Shari’s voice rang above. “That one—the one who cried out, the tall one beside the head. Bring me her!”

Tilla’s eyes snapped open.

The bronze dragon swooped toward her.

Tilla winced and sucked in her breath. Beras’s claws closed around her, and the beast lifted her.

They flew above the crowd. Strangely, no fear filled Tilla as the dragon carried her toward the balcony. Perhaps after seeing Pery’s death, after flying in the night with Rune, and after losing her brother to the war, no more fear could fill her. The crowd spread below, a gray sea, and Tilla looked back, trying to find Rune. Before she could locate him, the dragon reached the balcony and tossed her down.

Tilla tumbled and landed on the balcony, slamming her knees against the floor. She inhaled sharply, gritted her teeth, and made no sound.

Below the balcony, the crowd hushed. All the whimpers, whispers, and wails faded into tense silence. Jaw clenched with pain, Tilla raised her head to see Shari standing above her.

Kneeling so close, Tilla saw that Shari wore finer armor than a common soldier. Golden filigree covered her steel plates, shaped as dragons aflight. The red spiral upon her breastplate was not just red paint but formed of a hundred rubies. Small golden skulls grinned morbidly upon her boots like spurs. The princess was a soldier, but she was also vain.

“My princess,” Tilla said, still kneeling before her. She slammed her fist against her chest. “Hail the red spiral!”

Standing above her, Shari nodded approvingly. “Hail the red spiral! Well spoken, child. Stand. Stand before me.”

Barely daring to breathe, Tilla rose to her feet. She raised her chin, thrust out her chest, and squared her shoulders. She stood tense and proud, one fist still against her breast.

This is the stance of a soldier,
she thought. She was just the daughter of a roper, of course, but the daughters of ropers and cobblers would die today. Soldiers would live.

I must live,
she thought, her throat tight.
My father lost one child already. I must survive.

Shari scrutinized her, her brown eyes narrowed. Tilla was among the tallest women in Cadport; she stood almost as tall as Rune, who was taller than most men. Her arms were strong from weaving ropes and carrying casks of Rune’s ale. And yet she felt short and frail beside Shari; the princess stood several inches taller, and even her armor could not hide her powerful body.

Many call her the greatest warrior in Requiem,
Tilla knew. She could see why.

“You stand well,” Shari said and nodded. She placed a finger under Tilla’s chin and raised her head higher, examining her jawline. “Show me your teeth, child. Open your mouth.”

Rage flooded Tilla. Was she a recruit or a horse? She hissed. If Shari noticed her anger, however, she showed no sign of it. As Tilla snarled, she bared her teeth, and Shari got her look at them.

“Good,” the princess said. “White, sharp, straight.” She grabbed Tilla’s arm and squeezed it. “Strong arms; slim but ropy. What is your profession, child?”

Tilla stared into her princess’s eyes. “I was a ropemaker, Commander. I will be a soldier.”

The princess barked a laugh. “This one will be a soldier!” she shouted to the crowd.

When she turned back toward Tilla, a dagger gleamed in her hand.

Tilla gasped. Fast as striking lightning, Shari placed the blade against Tilla’s neck.

Tilla froze.

Her heart thrashed.

Shari held the blade so close Tilla felt it nick her skin.