EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (188 page)

In the long days of impossible pain, it was freedom.

It was joy.

It was the song and light of dragons.

It’s why I stayed,
Tilla thought, flying over the forest with her phalanx, roaring fire and howling the might of the Legions.
It’s why I never ran away when I had a hundred chances to. It was for this—wind in my wings, smoke in my nostrils, and fire in my heart.

As the dragons of Requiem flew, Tilla thought:
I wish you were here with me, Rune. I wish we could fly together again—one more flight like those above the sea.

That night, when she lay in her tent, Tilla thought of him. Her fellow soldiers slept around her, a great mass pressed together. Tilla closed her eyes and tried to remember Rune: his dark hair, his somber eyes, and his hand holding hers. Yet hard as she tried, every night his face seemed more blurred to her, and he seemed farther away.

“I miss you, Rune,” she whispered.

But I also have a new home now. And I have new friends and a new purpose to my life. I have Erry and Mae and all the others—and an hour a day of wings and fire.

He faded into the shadows. She slept.

RUNE

“S
O
I
SUPPOSE
YOU
WANT
to know about that night,” Valien rasped, took a swing of spirits, and slammed down his mug. “The night I saved your life. Don’t deny it, boy; you’ve been burning to ask. I’ve seen it in your eyes since Kaelyn dragged you into this place.”

Rune stood at the entrance to Valien’s dark, dusty chamber. Candles, bottles, and books covered the shelves. A spider wove a web in the corner. A log crackled in the hearth. Valien sat at an oaken table, his scruff thickening into a beard, and drank from his mug. His grizzled hair hung wild around his face—a face as rough and leathery as the ancient codices around them.

“Did you summon me here,” Rune asked from the doorway, “to tell me the tale?”

Valien grumbled and snorted something that sounded like a laugh. He drank again, swishing the spirits before swallowing, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“Ah!” he said. “Seemed as good a night as any to remember. I’ve had a bit... to drink. In with spirits, out with secrets, they say.” He slapped his palm against the table. “If I didn’t summon you, you’d be coming here soon enough to ask. I reckoned we’d talk when I’m nice and ready, with a hearth fire warming my bones and rye warming my belly. Come on. Step in. Sit down. Make yourself at home and all that, as you innkeepers say.”

Rune hesitated. He had seen Valien gruff before. Stars, the man was always scowling and rasping and cursing. But this—this was worse. Valien’s voice was slurred and scratchier than ever, and something about that invitation seemed less than welcoming.

“Come on, boy!” Valien said again. “Aye, I’m a bit drunk, but I won’t hurt you. Sit down. I have some memories to spill, and well... You’re the one to listen.”

Rune did not want to enter this room. He wanted to return to the main hall, walk outside and look at the stars, or seek Kaelyn in her chambers; he had begun to teach her mancala, using a board he’d carved himself. At the same time... Valien was right. Rune had wanted to ask these questions, to learn more about that night. He knew the story, of course—everyone in Requiem did. He too had heard of Valien Eleison battling Frey Cadigus, snatching the last heir, and smuggling the babe out of the palace. Yet all those stories had been told in taverns, or at military rallies, or in dark caverns. Here before him stood the man himself, the great outlaw, the rebel leader; here was the story of Rune’s life.

Rune entered the room, pulled back a chair, and sat at the table. Valien leaned forward and fixed him with a red-rimmed glare.

“They say you battled a hundred men with a broken sword,” Rune said, “all the while holding the Aeternum babe—me—in one hand.”

“Aye,” Valien agreed. “They also say that Frey Cadigus stands eight feet tall and the sun waits for him to piss every morning before it rises. What do you believe, Rune?”

He thought about this for a moment. He answered carefully.

“I think,” he said, “that I would very much like a bit of whatever you’re drinking.”

When Rune too held a mug and the warmth spread through him, he allowed himself to lean back. Valien seemed less frightening through the glaze of spirits, and after all, Rune had seen many drunken warriors at the Old Wheel.

“You’re eighteen now, are you?” Valien asked after another gulp of the rye.

Rune nodded. “Almost—a moon away. If I were eighteen already, I’d have been drafted last recruitment with my friends.”

He had almost said:
with Tilla.
He had stopped himself just in time. Valien did not need to know about Tilla Roper. Nobody did. That memory was pure, and Rune would not stain it with this war.

Valien sighed and leaned back. “Aye, still a youth. I was only a squire when I was your age. It was another few years before I was knighted—I was twenty-one and still too young for wisdom.” The grizzled man’s eyes seemed to be looking back upon better days. “Had my proper armor and all and a good sword; I still carry it. I served your father, and he was good man. And those were good days.”

“Until Frey Cadigus flew with his troops into the capital,” Rune said. “We’ve heard the story countless times in Cadport. They always tell us how Frey Cadigus, the hero, saved Requiem from its weakness, from the old corrupt blood.”

Valien raised his eyebrows. “Cadport? No, we don’t call it that here. Lynport is the name of your city. It was named after the great Queen Lyana Aeternum, an ancestor of yours. She fought a battle upon Ralora Cliffs outside the city. Cadport!” Valien snorted. “Frey Cadigus renamed half the cities in this kingdom after his miserable self. But it’s still known as Lynport here, Rune, and you should call it that.”

“My father did,” Rune said. “My stepfather, that is, but I still think of him as Father. He would whisper ‘Lynport’ sometimes late at night after our tavern closed, but... it was a forbidden name. Once a man was caught saying ‘Lynport’ in our tavern. The soldiers dragged him outside, and...” Rune had to drink again. “Nobody’s called it Lynport since, not even in a whisper.”

“It’s a good town,” Valien said softly. He stared at the wall as if lost in memory. “A good town. Good, honest folk. It’s why I took you there, Rune, why I placed you in the Old Wheel with your stepfather. And Wil Brewer kept you safe for seventeen years. Aye, a good town, and good folk.”

“How did you know Wil?” Rune asked. “Why did he agree to raise me as his own, to place himself in danger, to protect me?”

Valien said nothing for a long moment, only stared at the wall. Finally he took a gulp of spirits, grimaced as he swallowed, and slammed the mug down.

“My wife, Rune,” he said and clenched the mug so tightly, it trembled. “My wife. Frey Cadigus slew her the night I saved you. He stuck his blade into her as she screamed for me. I couldn’t save her, but I could save you, Rune. So I took you to my wife’s hometown. And I took you to her brother.” He grumbled and sighed. “Yes, Rune. I took you to the only family I still had, to Wil Brewer. He lost his sister that night, but he gained a son.”

Rune’s head spun, and it wasn’t from the drink.

“Stars,” he whispered. “My father—I mean, Wil—spoke of losing a sister. I never imagined...”

“Of course you didn’t.” Valien scowled into his mug. “I told Wil not to speak of it. You were never to know who you were—not until you were old enough, until you were ready to fight with us.”

Rune lowered his head, and his belly felt cold. Guilt and sorrow swirled inside him. He tried to imagine losing the woman he loved, losing Tilla. Of course, Tilla wasn’t his wife, and he had only kissed her once, but he loved her. She was his best friend, his companion all his life. If Frey killed her, Rune would become a ruin of a man.

I would become like Valien,
he thought.
Hurting. Mourning. Seeking solace in my cups.

“Valien,” he said and looked up at the man. “I’m sorry for your loss. For Marilion dying. I know it must hurt, and—“

“Oh do you now?” Valien hissed and leaned forward, and suddenly fire filled his eyes, and rage twisted his face. “Do you know what it’s like, boy? Are you sorry? What do you know of loss, of—“

Valien sucked in his breath, grimaced, and growled. He swallowed his words, then pushed himself back. He seemed to wilt. His shoulders slumped, and all the fire left his body.

Rune watched, heart thrashing.

“I...” he began.

Valien waved him silent. “It’s not your fault, boy. I know you mean well. And... thank you.” He heaved a rattling sigh and drank again. “I don’t talk about her much, as you can imagine. She looked like Kaelyn, do you know?” He laughed bitterly. “Same age when she died. Same golden, wavy hair. Same eyes. When I look at Kaelyn sometimes, I... Well, never mind that.”

“She was very pretty,” Rune said softly.

Valien laughed. “Marilion was, and Kaelyn is.”

“I’m sorry.” Rune was surprised to find his eyes stinging, and his voice shook. He clenched his fists in his lap. “They say that you saved me while Frey killed her. If... if you weren’t saving me, maybe you could have... you could stopped Frey from...”

“Maybe,” Valien agreed. “But you were only a babe. What did you know? It was a bad night, Rune. It was a bad night for me, for you, for the land. Frey Cadigus and his battalions flew into the capital as heroes; we welcomed him, the great general returning home from the wars. He entered the palace unopposed. He was in the throne room before he drew his sword. I was there, and I fought him. I fought him well, and I suffered the wounds of his sword, and still I fought. But his men were too many; he slew your father, your mother, your older siblings. But you... you were a babe. You were in a nursery upstairs. I ran. I burst into your room. And I saw a soldier above your crib, a blade in his hand.”

Rune leaned forward, clutching his mug like a sword. “And you killed him,” he whispered.

“Well... I tried to,” Valien said. “Thrust my sword at him, but he saw me in a mirror, and I was too weak, too wounded. He blocked my blade, and our swords shattered in a rain of steel. We fought with fists upon the floor. He grabbed my throat. He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. I saw stars. I thought he would snap my neck. I kicked. I punched him. Still he squeezed. Finally—stars, I must have been seconds from death—I kicked down the mirror, shattering it. I grabbed a shard the size of my fist. I drove it so deep into his eye it scraped the back of his skull.” He gave a gruff laugh. “He released me then. I wheezed and coughed on the floor like a wretch, every breath like a saw of fire working at my throat. He couldn’t kill me, but he did ruin my voice; left it all gravelly and scratched, the bastard. Since that day, I’ve sounded like a man dying of consumption.” He gave Rune a squinted, sidelong look and spat. “If you ask me, you weren’t worth it, boy.”

“Maybe I will prove you wrong someday,” Rune said. “You kept me alive for a reason. You need me now. We’re going to kill that bastard Frey Cadigus, and we’re going to rename my city, and stars, Valien—we’re going to get you a bath. You stink.”

And I’m going to see Tilla again,
he thought.
I’m going to save her from whatever fort they dragged her to. We’re going to return to Cadport—to Lynport!—and rebuild the Old Wheel, and Tilla and I will live there together.

“Aye!” Valien said, leaned back, and slammed his boots against the tabletop. “You know what they say. Good men stink of soil, oil, and other toil; villains smell of roses.”

Rune was about to reply when the door slammed open behind them.

Kaelyn burst into the room. Her eyes were wide, her hair wild, and her fingers clutched her bow like a drowning woman. Her chest rose and fell as she panted.

Both Rune and Valien leaped to their feet and gripped their swords.

“What is it, Kaelyn?” Valien demanded.

“It’s Beras,” she said, panting. “He’s back with news. He claims this one’s worth gold. Oh bloody stars. He’s waiting in the main hall.”

They rushed down the corridor, boots thudding. As they moved, Rune frowned.
Beras.
Surely she didn’t mean Beras the Brute, the infamous enforcer of the Cadigus Regime, the man Rune had seen deliver a trembling girl to her death in Lynport?

As they burst into the main hall, Rune’s stomach sank.

It was him.

Rune cursed and drew a foot of steel.

The burly man stood in the crumbling hall, facing them. Circles hung under his eyes, black rings upon an ashen face. His armor was a tattered jumble of buckles, scraps of chainmail, rusted plates, and beaten leather. In his fists, he clutched his axe—not the axe of a soldier, but a great thing of wood and steel built for felling trees. Rune had seen this man in Lynport before, but only from a distance. Facing him in the hall, Rune felt a chill; Beras stood nearly seven feet tall, his shoulders wide as a wagon. Even before Frey Cadigus had taken power, Beras the Brute was feared across the kingdom, the most bloodthirsty outlaw in Requiem, a thief and murderer and rapist.

He raped a child once,
Rune remembered and snarled.
He strangled her and buried her body in the woods.

Frey Cadigus had been so impressed, the stories whispered, he had hired Beras at once, elevating him from outlaw to bodyguard.