EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (177 page)

Mae whimpered. Erry rolled her eyes and smirked. But they all followed. A hundred legionaries of the Black Rose Phalanx snaked out of the courtyard, under the archway... and into a nightmare of blood and pain.

SHARI

S
HARI
FLEW
UPON
THE
WIND
, blue scales clanking, and blasted fire. Across field and forest, she saw the distant lights of the capital, and she cursed.

On any other evening, flying toward Nova Vita, the great torch of Requiem, would fill her with pride. Ahead shone the lights of Requiem’s center of power, the mighty city that ruled the world. Ahead shone her birthright, a metropolis of a million souls, the heartbeat of her lineage. Ahead shone might, pride, and strength.

Yet today Shari did not fly home as a heroine wreathed in glory. Today she flew in fear. Today she did not fly leading a battalion of dragons all roaring her name, announcing her return. Today she flew alone in the sky, a single blue dragon in the sunset.

I’ve failed my task,
she thought, and fire flickered between her teeth.
Today I will face no glory but the wrath of my father.

She streamed over the fields. The walls of Nova Vita rose before her.

These walls snaked for miles around the city, thick limestone bedecked with obsidian tiles and lit with torches. Upon the battlements stood hundreds of cannons, each one as long as a dragon, mounted on gears fast enough to spin, aim, and fire within an instant. At each cannon, three men in armor stood vigil. Between the guns perched dragons clad in armor, their great dragonhelms topped with spikes. Thousands of warriors guarded this city, the jewel of the empire.

During the reign of Aeternum, enemies had attacked and destroyed this place—griffins, phoenixes, and wyverns. But Frey Cadigus swore: Nova Vita would never fall again. All his wrath shone here, a glory of blade and gunpowder and fire.

And tonight, the wrath of this emperor will fall upon me,
Shari thought as she flew.

The city sprawled below her, lit with countless lanterns. The streets were arranged like a great wagon wheel, its spokes leading toward the palace of Tarath Imperium, an obsidian edifice whose battlements clawed the sky. Fortresses, amphitheaters, aqueducts—thousands of great structures rose here, monuments to the empire’s might, and Tarath Imperium dwarfed them all. The palace rose before Shari, clawing the sky, its windows burning with fire like the eyes of demons.

I should flee,
Shari thought.
I should turn around and fly away and—

She scoffed.

And what, live like my sister? Become a forest wildwoman like Kaelyn, fighting my father in a hopeless war?

She shook her head, scattering sparks and smoke. No. Shari was still a proud daughter of Cadigus, still heir to Requiem, the greatest empire the world had ever known. She would face her father. She would take his punishment. And it would make her stronger.

She flew over the great Cadigus Arena, the largest amphitheater in Requiem, and saw prisoners chained as dragons, their maws muzzled shut, forced to fight packs of tigers and wolves. Past the amphitheater, she flew over the Colossus, a gilded statue three hundred feet tall, depicting her father staring with cold eyes, his fist against his breastplate. She flew over the fortress of Castra Academia, its walls and towers bearing the red spiral upon black banners—the great academy that trained the Legions’ officers.

Finally she neared the palace, and fear roiled through her belly like a horde of icy demons.

Four thousand years ago, the stories said, the first king of Requiem—King Aeternum himself—had raised a column here, a pillar of marble and starlight. Requiem became a kingdom that day, and that marble column still stood; ancient magic let no claw, fang, or tail shatter it. King’s Column rose hidden now, a white spine enclosed in black flesh. Frey Cadigus had extended his palace, letting it spread like a growth. Today black walls, towers, spikes, and turrets covered the original marble the Aeternums had raised. Today this was no longer a place of beauty and peace, but an edifice of might—Tarath Imperium, terror of the empire. Dragons in armor perched upon its battlements. Men stood vigil, ready to fire cannons. Torches crackled and the dragons screeched and blew fire.

Black stone. Flame. Death.
My home.

The guards upon the walls recognized her blue scales, gilded horns, and dragonhelm that bore the red spiral. They howled in salute. Those in dragon forms blew pillars of fire. Those who stood in human forms, manning the cannons, slammed fists against chests.

“Hail Shari Cadigus!” they chanted. “Hail the red spiral!”

Shari ignored them. The palace, its base wide with walls and barracks, tapered into a great steeple. This tower of obsidian rose a thousand feet tall, crowned with jagged spikes, a black arm clutching the sky in its claws.

Shari flew toward the tower top. Its spikes rose before her, taller than dragons, greater than most homes in this city. Shari flew between them, descended, and landed upon a stone roof. All around her rose the battlements of Tarath Imperium, a crown upon the empire.

The red and black clouds swirled above her, swarming with dragons. Shari shifted into human form. The wind whipped her, billowed her hair and cloak, and stung her cheeks. She marched across the platform, heading toward a staircase that led into the tower.

Twenty figures stood guarding the staircase, robed in black—men of the Axehand Order. Here were no simple guards; the axehands were elite killers, chosen for their cruelty and strength. Within the shadows of their hoods, they wore iron masks; they were forbidden to ever remove them, not even when they slept. At their waists, they sported the tools of their trade: pincers and blades for torturing their victims. Worst of all, they had no left hands; their arms ended with axeheads strapped to stumps.

They maimed themselves to prove their loyalty,
Shari thought and shivered.
They lifted those axes, chopped off their own hands, and strapped the blades to the stubs. They are fanatics. They are ruthless. They are the only men I fear.

The Legions fought Requiem’s wars—a vast army hundreds of thousands strong. The Axehand Order was smaller, but far more dangerous. Its men were as much priests as warriors; they worshiped Frey as their god, and they spread fear of their lord across the empire.

Shari feared them too.

Seeing these men, shivers ran down her spine. She did not trust the Axehand Order; they were too fanatical. Soldiers in the Legions were broken, molded, and shaped into mindless warriors; all they knew was to serve. Shari had broken enough recruits herself to know that. But these axehands... they were too strong. Their order had gained too much power. Their commander, Lord Herin Blackrose, had grown too mighty.

Shari walked past them, heading down into the tower. Someday, she thought, she might find an enemy not only in the Resistance, but here at her very doorstep.

As she descended dark stairs, heading deep into the tower, she left such thoughts behind her. Today she had greater concerns. Today she might find her greatest challenge not with the Resistance, not with the Axehand Order, but with her father.

She reached the end of the staircase, opened a door, and walked down a hallway lined with braziers. Her boots thumped. Shari clutched the hilt of her sword, as if that could save her now.

“You little whore, Kaelyn,” she muttered. She drew her sword and swung it as she walked. “You and your boy will taste this blade.”

Guards lined the walls, saluting their princess, fists slamming against breastplates.

“Hail the re—“ one guard began.

Shari drove her sword into his neck. Blood flowed down the blade, and Shari growled as she twisted it. The guard gurgled, hanging upon the sword, blood in his mouth.

“This will happen to you, Kaelyn,” Shari hissed. “This will happen to you, Relesar Aeternum.”

She yanked her blade back with a gush of blood. The guard clattered to the floor. The other guards stood still and pale, fists still held to their breasts.

After several more halls and staircases, Shari reached tall iron doors. She paused outside them, for a moment frozen.

Father’s chambers.

Frey Cadigus maintained a throne room in the base of the palace. It was a chamber an army could fill, a paradise of gold, torchlight, and treasures plundered from around the world. That grand hall mostly stood empty. For all his glory and might, Frey Cadigus was at heart a soldier; he entertained guests in his throne room only several times a year.

Today, Shari knew, she would find him behind these doors in a humbler, darker place. These were the personal chambers of Frey Cadigus, far from his servants, his generals, and his gilt and glory.

Shari took a deep breath, steeled herself, and pushed open the doors.

She entered the wolf’s den.

For a moment she blinked, eyes adjusting. Outside in the corridor, torches and braziers crackled, their light shining off the black tiles. In here, nothing but a few candles lit the darkness.

“Father?” Shari kept her sword drawn and bloody at her side. “Are you here, Father?”

She walked a few feet deeper and saw him.

Frey Cadigus, Emperor of Requiem, Slayer of Aeternum, stood with his back toward her. In statues and paintings, he wore fine black armor filigreed with gold. Here before her, he stood in a tan, bloodstained jerkin. His dark hair was thinning, but his shoulders were still wide and strong. Several meat hooks hung from the ceiling before the emperor. Upon one hung a wild boar, still alive and squirming.

Frey spoke without turning toward her; she could not see his face.

“You come to me, my daughter, with fear in your voice. You come to me alone. I smell fresh blood upon you, not the blood of a corpse.”

Shari gripped her sword and bared her teeth. “I come alone.”

The wild boar kicked and squealed, its cry echoing in the chamber. His back still facing Shari, Frey raised a dagger, grabbed the boar, and sliced its neck. The beast wailed and its blood gushed into a bucket.

“Fresh blood,” Frey said and wiped the blade on his pants. “Ahh! Smell it, Shari. It is a wondrous smell, is it not? Tell me, my daughter. How did it smell when you shed the blood of the Aeternum boy?”

Shari lowered her head, jaw clenched. “Father, I...”

Slowly, bloody dagger in hand, Frey Cadigus turned toward her.

Today he perhaps wore no armor, no fine cloak, and no heraldry like in the paintings. In his bloodstained leather, however, he looked to Shari just as regal and cruel. His strength shone not from any armor or finery, but from the hard lines of his face, from the thinness of his lips, and from the cold, hard stare of his eyes, a stare as sharp and bloodthirsty as his blade.

“You let the boy slip away,” he said.

Shari could not speak. Her throat constricted and fear pounded through her. There were none she feared more than her father—not the Axehand Order, not Valien the Resistor, and not an army of rebels. She lowered her head and nodded silently. Her blade dipped and its tip hit the floor.

Frey turned away. Muscles rippling, he thrust his dagger into the boar’s stomach and pulled down, letting entrails and organs spill.

“I gave my useless son a useless fort,” Frey said. He reached into the boar, bare-handed, and scooped out innards. “I gave him a pathetic pile of stones far south where he can’t get into his usual trouble.” He tossed organs into the bucket with a splash and looked over his shoulder, eyes hard chips. “I gave
you
a chance for eternal glory. And you let it slip between your fingers.”

Shari glared and hissed. “I will find the boy, Father! I just need more time, and I need more men. He fled into the forests with Kaelyn. I need more dragons, and I can burn down every tree, and dig up every bolt-hole, and—“

“We used to be weak, you know,” Frey said. He wiped his hand on his pants, turned back to the boar, and drove his knife along its flanks. “Not us, not the Cadigus family; we were always strong. But our kingdom. Requiem. We used to grovel before the world, and they would hunt us.” He shoved his fingers into the boar and pulled down, peeling its skin; it came free with a tearing hiss. “Yes. They would relish our blood, and they reduced us to a quivering few. They butchered us like I butchered this boar. The Aeternum family did that to us; they had us kneeling in the mud before griffins, phoenixes, and men.” He tossed the skin aside and stared at Shari. “I made Requiem strong. The boy, the Aeternum heir; he is a relic of that weakness. He is a drop of poison in the pure blood of dragons. If he meets that Valien, that rat and his rabble, the boy could become a figurehead. Valien will dream that he could place the boy on my throne.” Frey snorted a laugh. “The man is a fool. He must be stamped out. Crushed. The boy must be taken from him.”

“I will ta—“

“You will do nothing. You had your chance, Shari, and you failed.” Frey snorted and began flaying more skin. “Maybe I should have sent your little brother on this task. Maybe—“

It was Shari’s turn to interrupt.

“My brother is a fool!” she said and spat onto the floor. “Leresy is as great a fool as his twin sister. The two were always pathetic.” She hissed. “But I am strong, Father. I am strong like you. I will make you proud and crush the Resistance, and I will bring you the boy so you can hang him here, gut him, and peel his skin.”