A BIRTHRIGHT OF BLOOD
THE DRAGON WAR, BOOK TWO
by
Daniel Arenson
Copyright © 2013 by Daniel Arenson
All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.
FOREWORD
A Birthright of Blood is the second volume of The Dragon War, a fantasy series about an ancient kingdom whose people can turn into dragons.
This novel assumes you've already read the first Dragon War novel, A Legacy of Light. If you haven't, you'll probably still get the gist of things here, though I do recommend reading Legacy first. You can grab the first book here or search Amazon for "A Legacy of Light."
With this introduction out of the way, I welcome you back into a world of blood, steel, and dragonfire.
KAELYN
They stood in the heart of evil, a woman and a man, two souls alone in a sea of steel, bloodlust, and fire.
All around them, line by line, stretched the ranks of a dark empire. Five hundred thousand strong they stood, the soldiers of the Legions, automatons of steel coated in plate and helm. Half a million demons. Half a million blades. Half a million souls screaming for blood and glory.
Youths broken and molded into beasts, Kaelyn thought, standing among them. Hidden within her helm, her eyes stung with tears. The Legions crushed their hearts; only fire burns within these breasts.
The soldiers covered the great Square of Cadigus, a cobbled expanse wider than entire towns. Not a boot strayed out of line. Fifty brigades mustered here, and within each, smaller units stood in perfect formation—milanxes divided into phalanxes divided into flights—paths running between them. Soldiers stood with drawn blades. Officers held the standards of Cadigus; each pole rose twice a man's height, topped with iron dragons perched upon red spirals. Flying above, a true dragon would see a great machine of metal, every soldier a single cog perfectly aligned, an imperial clockwork built to kill.
Kaelyn turned her head only slightly, for only a second, and glanced at the soldier who stood beside her. To the world, he was another legionary. Black steel coated him, the breastplate engraved with a spiral. His helm hid his face. He bore a dark shield and a longsword. He was one in myriads, a gear of metal and fire, identical to her and to half a million more.
He was, Kaelyn knew, the most important man in the world.
Be strong, Rune, she thought, wanting to whisper to him, hold his hand, and comfort him, but daring not. We are in the lion's den. Be strong. I'm with you. Be strong and we will live.
She looked back ahead. She vowed to not look aside again. One wrong glance, one tilt of the head, could mean bones broken upon the wheel.
Across the square, the palace loomed above the Legions. Obsidian tiles covered its bricks, the black stones so polished they shone white in the sun. Battlements lined the great hall, cannons peering between merlons like iron eyes. The banners of House Cadigus hung from the crenellations, each one sporting a red spiral against a black field.
Above this hall, stretching like a blade from a hilt, rose the tower of Tarath Imperium, the great steeple of the empire. A thousand feet it rose, piercing the clouds, the tallest structure the world had seen. Black were its bricks, and arrowslits squinted upon its walls. Its crest flared out into a crown of black spikes, watching Requiem in eternal vigil.
Before she had fled her father's rule, Kaelyn had once stood upon that black crown, a thousand feet above the empire. The city of Nova Vita, a million people strong, had rolled around her. Beyond the city walls, she had seen distant forests and mountains, Requiem sprawling into the horizons.
Today her father perched upon that crown. The Legions in the square below stood in human forms, soldiers clad in steel, but Emperor Frey Cadigus roared as a dragon. His golden wings spread wide. Fire shot from his jaws, a flaming pillar rising into the sky. His howl rang across the city; even standing below, Kaelyn winced at its depth and rage.
"Hail the red spiral!" cried the emperor.
Across the square, the Legions roared.
Half a million soldiers shouted together. Their fists rose, then slammed against chests. The sound exploded like thunder.
"Hail the red spiral!" the Legions shouted, and Kaelyn shouted among them.
The emperor's wings stretched like curtains of night, as if he could engulf the world. Smoke and flame rose from him. His eyes burned red. He perched upon the tower top like a gargoyle of molten fire, like a demon risen from the Abyss. He was scale, flame, and steel. He was the wrath and might of an empire.
He is my father, Kaelyn thought and her eyes burned. He is the man I must someday slay.
"An evil has risen in the south!" roared Emperor Cadigus. "A rot spreads. The Resistance raises its head in mockery."
The Legions howled, fists raised and voices torn in rage. The cries shook the square. The sound thudded in Kaelyn's chest and slammed against her ears. She shouted with them. She raised her fist and cried in fury. Yet she did not share the bloodlust of the thousands around her. She thought of how her father would beat her, how his hot irons would sear her flesh, and how his rod of lightning would thrust against her. The fires of old pain flared inside her, and Kaelyn screamed with the rest of them, letting her memories burn.
At her side, Rune shouted too, his voice hoarse, his fist raised. Kaelyn did not know where he found his rage, but she could guess. The Cadigus Regime had burned his home and slain his father. There would be rage enough in him to fuel a forge.
Emperor Frey blew fire, then shouted again.
"We have defeated the old enemies of Requiem!" His wings beat, churning flame around him. "We've slain the griffins, the salvanae of the west, and the weak men of the east. We've burned the desert barbarians south of our sea. The world is cleansed of their evil! Yet still darkness writhes among us."
The Legions roared in the square. They chanted for Requiem. They banged fists against breastplates. They were a smelter ready to spill over.
And they will cover the world, Kaelyn thought, standing among them in her disguise. They will drown all lands in their shadow, unless our small light can hold back the tide.
"We will slay the evil that has risen!" Frey howled upon the tower. "We will stamp out those who betray the empire. We will crush any weakness within us. Requiem must be united in its honor, pride, and strength." He roared fire. "We seek purification!"
The crowds below chanted, banging their fists.
"Purification! Purification!" Their cries rang across the city. "Hail the red spiral!"
Flames spewed from the emperor's maw and wrapped around him. He bellowed to the skies, wings roiling smoke and ash.
"All weakness must be eradicated!" he cried. "The sick must die. The old must perish. The traitors must be broken. Requiem will be pure in its strength and glory."
The crowds roared. "Purification! Purification!"
Kaelyn shouted among them. Rune did too. Her eyes burned.
So the stories are true, she thought. Whispers had reached their southern camp, speaking of the Axehand Order—the elite thugs of the emperor—slaying the sick and weak. Refugees spoke of axehands storming infirmaries and homes, snatching all those deemed impure. The ill, the handicapped, the wounded, the frail and old—all taken at night, never seen again.
"Purification!"
chanted the crowds, banging fists against steel. "Purification!"
Above them all, the great golden dragon howled. "Requiem will be pure! Weakness will be crushed. The southern rebels will be broken. Purification! Axehands—reveal the prisoners!"
Men of the Axehand Order stood upon the great hall's battlements. Their black robes swayed. Their hoods hid their faces. Their left arms ended with axe blades strapped to stumps; with their right hands, they grabbed and twisted cranks. The banners of Cadigus, sweeping black fields emblazoned with red spirals, began to rise from the walls like curtains.
Kaelyn winced. Tears budded in her eyes. She couldn't help it; a wail fled her lips.
It was a mistake—wailing here could cost her life—but none heard her. All around, the other soldiers roared with renewed rage. Their shouts rang, battle cries of unending hatred, shrieks of primordial fire.
"Oh stars," Rune said beside her, voice shaking; Kaelyn doubted any of the screaming soldiers heard him either.
As the banners rose, Kaelyn stared at the unveiled, bloody walls of the palace. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Upon the castle walls they hung from chains, twenty wagon wheels. Each wheel held a broken man, woman, or child, their shattered limbs slung through the spokes. They were still alive. They twisted and bled, too weak to scream.
"Behold the rot among us!" Frey called from his tower, a beast of flame and tooth. "Behold the so-called resistors caught lurking in our pure city. See their might now! See their wives and children broken upon the wheels. See the impure and cowardly crushed!"
Kaelyn wanted to look away. She knew these men. She knew their wives. She had played with their children. Tears blurred her vision, her throat tightened, and her fists trembled, yet she could not look away. She stared at them, her brothers in arms, now shreds of humanity.
They were naked, their flesh whipped and burned. Their bones had been shattered with hammers. Their spines had been cracked. They coiled through the spokes like ropes of flesh, and they bled, and they whimpered. A few were children barely older than toddlers.
Kaelyn wanted to fly to them. She wanted to shift into a dragon, to burn them dead, to end their pain, then flee this city. Yet she could not. If she shifted now into a dragon, the Legions would swarm, and she too would be broken. She too would hang among her comrades.
She clenched her fists, trembled, and bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
They served me. Her throat was so tight she could barely breathe, and she tasted tears on her lips. They served my rebellion. I doomed them to this fate. I'm sorry, my friends.
"So will happen to all who stain our purity!" Frey said from the tower top, voice ringing across the square. "Axehand Order—remove these wretches from the wheels. Send them to infirmaries. Heal their bones. Heal their spirits." His voice rose to a shriek, a sound like steam fleeing a kettle. "We will break them anew every year! They will hang here every summer, spines and limbs shattered, and we will heal them again, and break them again, and they will scream for decades, and we will never let them die. They will suffer! The enemies of Requiem will suffer! Purification!"
The Legions roared. "Purification!"
"Hail the red spiral!" cried the emperor.
"Hail the red spiral!" answered the crowds.
"Requiem is strong! Hail the red spiral!"
Kaelyn looked around her, feeling like a woman drowning in a sea of steel and hatred.
How? she wanted to shout. How could so many people worship blood? How could so many people cheer the torture of children? These were her people! They were fellow Vir Requis, children of starlight! They were born to an ancient race that, for thousands of years, had worshiped the stars and fought for justice. How could they now scream for blood?
Eyes burning, Kaelyn looked around at the howling soldiers. Though the slits of their visors, she saw young eyes. The eyes of boys. Of young women. Many were no older than her own nineteen years. And Kaelyn understood.
They were just babes when my father took the throne, she thought. And he molded them. He forged their souls into his blades of darkness. He turned a generation into a machine of murder.
Kaelyn looked up at her father. The golden dragon cackled atop his tower, wings drawing in smoke and flame, jaws spraying fire. Kaelyn snarled.
I will kill you, Father, she vowed silently. You will fall. I will restore Requiem to starlight.
The men upon the battlements twisted winches, and the wheels began to rise on their chains, leaving trails of blood along the walls.
Now Kaelyn could finally close her eyes. She wanted to reach out and clutch Rune's hand, but dared not. She prayed silently to the stars of Requiem, the old and forbidden gods.
Give them strength, stars of my fathers. Or show them mercy and let them die. Please, stars, let them die. Pity the children at least.
Yet could the stars even hear her? The ash and fire of Cadigus covered the sky. Darkness cloaked Requiem. The noble kingdom had fallen; the bloodstained empire rose.
The rally ended at sundown.
The troops marched back to their barracks. Their officers flew as dragons, blowing flames over the city roofs. The sun sank behind the walls and towers of Nova Vita, and Kaelyn's work began.
I will not fail, she swore in the shadows. I will keep fighting. For the memory of those fallen. For the sacrifice of those suffering. I will do my task. The tyrant must die.
In the night, she and Rune marched with the troops. Thousands of boots thudded along the cobbled streets. Thousands of faces stared forward through slits in dark visors. They moved through the city like a coiling snake of steel, each soldier a single scale. At their lead, their standard-bearers marched with their banners. At their sides, the city rose: rows of homes four stories tall, barracks of troops, smithies where hammers rang against anvils, the amphitheater where Frey executed his enemies, and everywhere statues of the emperor, fist to heart, eyes watching the city.
No civilians could be seen. The sun had fallen; the curfew reigned. Years ago, they said, light and laughter had filled these streets at night. Jugglers and singers would perform, merchants would hawk wine and pastries, and the people of Nova Vita would walk under ever-burning oil lamps. Since Cadigus had taken the throne, only steel filled these streets after dark. The singers, the jugglers, the merchants—they hid in their homes, languished in dungeons, or lay buried.
Kaelyn sneaked a look at Rune. He marched at her side, staring ahead, body stiff. He did not glance her way. He looked every inch a soldier, boots thudding and fist clutching his sword, but she saw the fear in him. She felt it.
Be strong, Rune, she thought, as if she could transfer those thoughts into him. Be strong and we will survive.
They marched with the Flaming Eye Brigade, a host of ten thousand warriors stationed here in the capital, tasked with defending Nova Vita. Rune and Kaelyn's armor, taken from the bodies of slain soldiers, fit snugly. Their armbands sported two stars each—the rank of corelis, low enough for officers to ignore, high enough to wield some respect among fellow soldiers.
Everything is perfect, Kaelyn told herself as she marched down the streets. Our armor fits. Nobody can see our faces behind these helms. Nobody knows of the two legionaries we killed. We are nothing but two more cogs with perfect hatred.
And yet fear pulsed through her, and every officer she passed sent her heart thrashing. What if something wasn't perfect? What if somebody found the corpses of the soldiers she and Rune were mimicking? What if they stood too tall or short? What if somebody saw their eyes through their visors and spotted the ruse?
What if we're caught?
Kaelyn swallowed a lump in her throat, knowing the answer.
If they catch us, they won't kill us. They will break us. They will hang us in the square every year, then heal us, then break us again, an endless cycle until our minds break too.
She tightened her lips and gripped her sword. She kept marching wit
h the thousands, passing from street to street.
Then we must not be caught, she told herself. We must not fail. We will do our task. We will live. And then we will flee far away from this place, back south to safety… and to Valien.
They marched, passing from snaking streets to a wide boulevard. Ahead rose a fortress all in black, its walls tiled in obsidian, its battlements topped with cannons and armor-clad dragons. Torches blazed upon these walls, their shadows dancing like dead spirits rising from graves. Four towers rose here, capped with merlons like the teeth of stone giants. The banners of Cadigus thudded upon each tower, hiding and revealing red spirals.
"Castra Draco," Kaelyn whispered. "The heart of the Legions."
Its towers dwarfed the buildings around it. Its halls held three brigades, thirty thousand troops in all. The generals of the Legions ruled from this place. If Tarath Imperium was the heart of the empire, here was its iron fist.
Castra Draco. Center of Requiem's military might. She winced. The place the two soldiers we mimic served.
She glanced around. Thousands of troops marched, clockwork demons of fire and steel. Boots thudded in unison. Eyes stared ahead, never moving, never straying. The fortress loomed above, and Kaelyn swallowed. She could not enter those dark halls, the place where bones were broken, where souls were forged, where the wrath of Requiem simmered. In there she and Rune would have to remove their helms, unveiling their deception. If she entered that darkness, they would not emerge.
"Come on," she whispered under her breath. "Where are you, Lana?"
She looked up at the rooftops along the streets, seeking movement. She kept marching with the troops. The fortress grew closer, rising like a tombstone for a god. Soon they were only a hundred yards away. Kaelyn bit her lip and cursed under her breath. She sneaked another few glances to the roofs of surrounding homes and shops.
Hurry up, Lana, she thought, chewing her lip. At her side, she saw Rune too searching the rooftops, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2) Page 1