EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (183 page)

“There,” she said and gestured below. “There’s an old ruined temple on the hill. Do you see it?”

Rune squinted. He could discern only vague shapes in this darkness. He thought he saw pale columns, some only broken stems, rising upon a hilltop.

“A temple,” he said. “An old temple to Requiem’s stars.”

Kaelyn nodded and began diving toward it. “It
was
a temple. Priests used to worship the Draco constellation here. My father...” Kaleyn sighed. “He didn’t like that.”

Rune descended beside her. Wind and rain stung his face. A temple of marble columns had once stood in Cadport; Rune had heard the city elders whisper of it in awe. They said priests and healers would play harps there, sing to the Draco stars, and bless the city. Today that temple was a courthouse, its walls draped with banners of the red spiral, its marble columns stained with blood.

But there was no use for a courthouse here in the wilderness, and as Rune descended toward the ruins, he marveled at the columns. Their marble shone like moonlight. Some columns lay shattered upon the hillside, but others still stood, forming a rectangle. The roof they had once supported had fallen; its bricks lay strewn across the grass, pale lumps in the night.

The two dragons landed upon wet grass. Above them loomed the temple columns, two hundred feet tall at least. Rune tried to imagine this temple standing in its glory days—back when the Aeternum Dynasty had ruled. He could almost see priests’ white robes fluttering between the columns, almost hear their harps.

When he looked above, Rune gasped to see the clouds part. The Draco constellation shone between them, the holy stars of Requiem.

“Our people used to worship these stars,” he said softly. “My father would pray to them at night. He thought I couldn’t hear. Many of Cadport’s elders would still pray secretly, knowing that if any soldiers heard, they would be broken upon the wheel. Do you think those stars have any real power, Kaelyn?”

She stood at his side, a slim green dragon, and watched the constellation with him. The starlight glimmered on her wet scales.

“I’ve never doubted it,” she said. “My father hates those stars. How he would rail against them! He would shout that these stars had never protected Requiem, that under their light, so many of our people died. He claimed that only he could defend this land, that only he was worthy of being called godly, not some lights in the heavens.” Kaelyn blasted smoke from her nostrils. “Anything he hates so much must have power, Rune. And so I believe.”

She shifted into human form. The rain dampened her hair, and her clothes clung to her. She smiled, spread out her arms, and twirled in a circle.

“Oh, you’re one of those horrible people who loves dancing in the rain, aren’t you?” Rune said.

He shifted into human form too, then hugged himself as the rain chilled him. Grinning, Kaelyn grabbed his hand.

“Dance with me,” she said. “Join us horrible people for one night.”

He tried to tug his hand free. “Bloody stars, Kaelyn, did we fly all the way here for this—to dance in the rain? I’m cold and wet.”

“Poor baby.” She pouted at him, then grinned again. “The stars shine between the clouds! The old priests would always dance when rain and stars met.”

She began to skip around him, tugging his arm.

“You made that up,” he said.

Yet she was tugging his hand too powerfully—damn it, the girl was strong for her size!—forcing him to spin around.

“Come on!” she said and danced around him, the rain drenching her. “It’s fun.”

He sighed and gave a quick, sarcastic jig. “Happy?”

“Not nearly enough.” She placed both arms around him and pressed her body against his. “Just... do like this. Sway a bit. That will be an easier dance for your clumsy feet. Now go on! Put your hands on my waist—like this. Don’t stand there like a block of wood!”

She grabbed his hands and placed them against her waist. Rune held her awkwardly. Even through her cold, wet tunic, he felt the heat of her body. She placed her arms around him, laid her head against his shoulder, and swayed gently. Her hair smelled of grass and flowers.

Rune rolled his eyes and allowed himself to sway with her.

“This is hardly the time to dance,” he said. “Not here in the rain and darkness.”

She looked up at him. “It’s always time to dance, especially in the darkness.”

Fast as a squirrel after a nut, she broke apart from him, grabbed his hand, and tugged him.

“Now come on!” she said. “I want to show you something. Follow me. Come
on
!”

She laughed and tugged him toward the temple columns. With a sigh, he allowed himself to be pulled. They leaped over a fallen column and raced between two standing ones, entering the ruins of the temple. Only the moon and stars, shining between gaps in the clouds, lit their way.

Bricks and shattered columns littered the grass here, lumps of white upon black. Kaelyn scurried around the ruins like a dog seeking a scent. Finally she approached the fallen capital of a column, its marble carved as leaping dragons, and tapped the ground with her boot.

“Here!” she said, leaned down, and pulled a rope from the grass. She tugged open a trapdoor.

“Another gopher hole,” Rune said.

Kaelyn smiled. “My favorite one.”

They walked down a rough, wooden staircase and into a chamber. Kaelyn scurried around the room, lighting candles that stood upon shelves. Orange light fell upon jars of preserves, jugs of wine, racks of swords and bows, and...

Rune gasped.

“It’s... me?”

Upon one wall hung a painting, life-sized, of himself clad like a king. Rune rubbed his eyes and stared. His doppelganger wore a crown, a green cloak embroidered with silver birch leaves, and a golden broach shaped as a two-headed dragon—sigil of House Aeternum. The painted king held a wide longsword, its dragonclaw pommel clutching polished amber the size of a chicken egg.

It’s Amerath,
Rune realized.
The Amber Sword.
It had been the sword of the Aeternum kings for a hundred years.

Kaelyn came to stand beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You look just like him,” she said.

Rune tore his eyes away from the painting. He frowned at Kaelyn.

“What kind of joke is this?” he said.

She smiled sadly. “This used to hang in the royal palace. You gaze upon Ardin Aeternum, King of Requiem, the man my father slew.” She looked at Rune. “Your father.”

Rune could not believe it. Could not! Surely Kaelyn had found some painter to trick him, or used dark magic, or... Rune clutched his head. Wil Brewer was his father! The Old Wheel was his home! He was only a brewer, not a prince, not...

“Oh stars,” he whispered.

Kaelyn approached a rack of weapons. A dozen swords hung there, the rough and simple blades of soldiers. Among them hung a bundle of green cloth embroidered with silver dragons. Kaelyn lifted the bundle, brought it toward Rune, and held it out.

“It’s yours now,” she said solemnly. “It’s time you raised your father’s sword.”

Her eyes shone with tears. She pulled back the green fabric, unveiling Amerath, the Amber Sword of Aeternum.

It was the sword from the painting; every detail was the same. The candlelight danced along the black scabbard. The platinum pommel, shaped as a dragonclaw, clutched the amber stone. It was a large sword, at least four feet long, its hilt built for two hands. It looked heavy enough to chop down trees.

To Rune’s surprise, Kaelyn knelt before him, holding the sword upon her upturned palms.

“My prince,” she whispered.

Rune wanted to laugh. Her prince? Stars, she was an emperor’s daughter! Yet he found no mirth upon his lips. Amerath beckoned to him, and Rune reached for the hilt and wrapped his fingers around it. The black leather was warm, soft, and worked in by many hands.

“The kings of Aeternum have wielded this sword for generations,” he whispered.

“Draw the blade,” Kaelyn said, still kneeling before him. Her tears shone in the candlelight. “Let its light shine in a temple of Requiem.”

Rune took a step back. He drew Amerath, and its blade caught the firelight and shone, golden and red and white—a shard of memory and light. Despite its size, the sword was surprisingly light; it felt lighter than the Old Wheel’s broom. Rune raised the blade and saw his reflection within. He held it side by side with the painting before him.

My father and me,
he thought.
The same face. The same sword. The same blood.

“It’s true,” he whispered. “Stars, it’s all true, isn’t it Kaelyn?”

She rose to her feet. “You loved Wil; I know it. He was a father to you too, more so than the king. This will not diminish your love for Wil Brewer or cheapen your memories of him. But now you have drawn Amerath, the Amber Sword of Requiem. Now the light of Requiem shines again in the darkness.”

Rune sheathed the sword.

“Well,” he said. “Lovely blade. Lovely painting. I do think I’ll need a better cloak now, and maybe some fancy doublet and jewels, but overall, not bad.” He looked around. “There’s only one more thing missing.”

“What’s that?” Kaelyn asked

“A chair. I really need to sit down.”

He stumbled to the corner, slumped down onto his backside, and leaned against the wall. His head spun, and he clutched it. Kaelyn sat beside him and patted his shoulder.

“No chairs here, but how about a strong drink?” she asked.

“I would
love
a strong drink.”

She nodded, rushed to a shelf, and grabbed a bottle. She yanked the cork out with her teeth, sat back beside Rune, and passed him the drink.

“Here,” she said. “It’ll help.”

Rune drank. It was strong rye—southern brew, he thought, possibly even from Cadport. The spirits burned down his throat and through his head. Stars, it felt good. He passed Kaelyn the bottle.

“I think you deserve a drink too.”

She took a swig, then wrinkled her nose. “Horrible stuff. I don’t know how Valien can drink it.”

“It’s
fantastic
stuff,” Rune said. “And I reckon it’s from my hometown or very near it. We would serve this in the Old Wheel.” He sighed. “But the Old Wheel is gone now. And Wil is gone. And this sword is here.”

Kaelyn leaned over and kissed his cheek. “And I’m here. I’m here to help you, Rune. You’re not alone.”

His cheek blazed; her kiss shot through him, stronger than the spirits. Rune drank again and Kaelyn leaned against him. He placed his arm around her and found himself stroking her hair—soft, golden hair like silk. Her breath fluttered warm against his neck, and she placed her hand on his thigh. They huddled in the dark and cold, passing the bottle back and forth.

“I don’t like any of this,” Rune said. “And I never wanted this war. I hold no love for your father, but I never wanted to pick up a sword and fight him. But yes, my home is gone now. My best friend is a soldier, and my family is dead. Like it or not, this is my life now.”

“You have a new family,” Kaelyn whispered. “You have me, and Valien, and the rest of us. You will never be alone. Will you fly with us?”

She was looking up at him, her eyes large and her lips parted.

“I will fly with you,” he said. “I’m no warrior; I don’t know how to wield this sword. But I can fly as a dragon and roar fire, and however I can help you, I will, Kaelyn. I will fly by your side.”

She smiled tremulously and touched his cheek, and her tears fell.

Rune kissed her. He did not mean to. He did not want to. Yet he stroked her hair, and he kissed her, and her tears mingled in their kiss. It was warm and soft and wet, and it tasted of spirits, and Rune never wanted it to end. He held Kaelyn in his arms, and she was so small, a delicate doll held against him, and at that moment Rune loved her—loved this woman who had dragged him from his home into shadow and fire.

He pulled away from her, leaving her breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed.

I can’t,
he thought.
I have Tilla. I can’t. This is wrong.

Kaelyn leaned against him, wrapped in his arms, and smiled softly. She closed her eyes and slept in his embrace.

TILLA

T
ILLA
STOOD
IN
THE
SQUARE
, arms pressed to her sides and chin raised. Her helmet topped her head. Her leather armor still squeezed her, so tight she could barely breathe. She kept her fist around the hilt of her sword.

Nairi stood before the phalanx, face twisted like a woman staring at dung upon her boot.

“Listen up, maggots!” the lanse shouted. “You are now divided into flights of three. These flights are your life! In tunnels and halls, you will swing swords in threes. In the skies, you will roar fire as three dragons. Every flight will have one leader—one attacker!—and two defenders. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Commander!” Tilla shouted along with the others.

It was the only acceptable answer, of course. One recruit, only an hour ago, had dared to ask a question. Nairi had driven her punisher into the girl for so long her flesh had cracked.