A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2)

by Daniel Arenson

  He had not finished his sentence when a shadow leaped.

  Wild barking rose.

  A black dog came running into the camp, a beast nearly as large as a wolf. The hound snarled and came racing toward Leresy.

  "Scrags, no!" Erry shouted.

  The guards cursed and one kicked, hitting the dog in the belly. The beast fell, mewled, and leaped back up.

  "Scraggles, down!" Erry cried. She leaped toward the dog and leaned over it, whispering into its ear. It growled beneath her and stared at Leresy, seemingly unsure whether to huddle with Erry or resume the attack.

  "Bloody stars!" Leresy cursed. "Men, kill that flea-bitten thing."

  "No!" Erry shouted, and tears brimmed in her eyes. "Please, my lord! Don't hurt him. He's my dog. Well, he's a friend's dog. But I'm looking after him now." Wrists still tied behind her back, she huddled over the mutt. "Don't hurt him. I'll do anything, but don't hurt the dog."

  Well well, Leresy thought. The little urchin who screamed, cursed, and kicked had a soft spot. That was good. The dog would help tame this one. He licked his lips. And she said she'd do anything…

  "Men!" he said. "Do not harm this hound. Give him water. Feed him. Treat him as if he came from my royal kennels." He reached down and touched Erry's hair. "Stand up, child. Your dog will be safe. I'll protect him, and I'll protect you."

  She stood up and glared at him. "Child? I'm nineteen years old, Leresy, same age as you."

  Yet her voice had lost its fire, and her eyes were still damp.

  "Very well, you're a big girl now," he said and gave her a mocking smile. "And I'll feed you too, Erry, and I'll treat you well—as well as I treat my dogs. Come with me into my tent. We'll eat and drink there, and we'll be warm." He looked at the mutt. "The dog stays here."

  They stepped into his tent, leaving the songs and cheer outside.

  It was a small tent, no larger than the room he'd frequent in the Bad Cats brothel. He had a cot with an old blanket, a chest of clothes, and a table laden with jugs. It was enough for Leresy. His days of pomp and grandeur seemed but a distant memory; he had lost the desire for pomp when the resistors slew his wife upon the forest.

  "Stars, Leresy," Erry said softly. "I've been to your chamber at Castra Luna. You had tapestries. A stained-glass window. A bed larger than any I've ever seen. You had fine cloaks with fur and embroidery." She looked around the tent and smiled crookedly. "You live like a common soldier now."

  He snorted, walked to a table, and poured a mug of wine.

  "What were you doing in my chambers in Castra Luna?"

  She shrugged. "Rifling through your chest of undergarments, of course. Stars, Leresy, you own more corsets than I do."

  "Funny," he said. "Funny girl. That chamber, Docker… that chamber was nothing but a fisherman's hut compared to the grandeur of the capital." He stared at the tent wall, lost in memory. "Have you ever seen them? The walls and towers of Nova Vita?"

  She shook her head. "I've seen the boardwalk at Cadport and I've seen forts. I've never seen grandeur, my lord."

  He closed his eyes. "The walls rise so tall there, Docker. Taller than you can imagine. The towers rise above them, and ten thousand banners fly. The streets are so wide twenty soldiers march abreast. And the palace! The palace scratches the sky itself, and—" He stopped himself. He clenched his jaw. "But I will build myself a new kingdom, a better kingdom, a realm of wonder in the south, far beyond my father's reach." He turned toward her. "I will take you there with me. You are mine now, Erry Docker, and I will look after you. You are safe with me. All conquerors have concubines; you will be mine."

  She gave him a crooked smile. "Will you untie me first?"

  He raised an eyebrow. "Why would I do that?"

  She slunk forward, pressed herself against him, and looked up into his eyes, her chin against his chest.

  "Because I'm asking you nicely?"

  He snorted. "I prefer you tied up."

  She rolled her eyes, turned her back toward him, and bent her knees. Fast as a weasel, she reached out her tied hands, grabbed his dagger from his boot, and leaped away.

  "Thief!" he shouted and gasped.

  She spun back toward him, dagger clutched behind her, and flashed a grin.

  "It's how I survived in Cadport." She twisted her lips, then brought her hands forward. The rope that had bound her fell severed at her feet. "How would you like your dagger back? In your neck or in your chest?"

  "How about," he said, "you hand it over hilt first, and you may eat our boar, drink our wine, and share my bed. Surely those pleasures eclipse the pleasure of stabbing me."

  She twisted her lips. "How fatty is the boar?"

  "Very."

  "We shall see. Let's eat first; I'll keep the dagger in the meanwhile."

  He shouted for his men, and one brought in a plate piled high with steaming roast meat. When the man left, Leresy held out one of his two chairs.

  "Sit," he said to Erry, "and we'll dine."

  He had never seen a woman eat so fast.

  Erry was perhaps as small as a child, but she attacked the roast boar like a starving jackal. She stuffed the meat into her mouth until her cheeks bulged, gulped noisily, and drank wine directly from the jug. After every bite, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, then reached for more.

  "Have you ever heard of chewing?" Leresy asked her, nibbling his own serving.

  She glared at him over her plate. "Chewing is for fine, fancy-pants princelings like you." She stuffed more meat into her mouth. "But I'm from the docks and mgfdfffgg…"

  He shook his head sadly. "You're eating your own weight in food. How do you stay so small?"

  She grabbed the jug of wine, held it up with both hands, and guzzled. When she slammed it down, wine dribbled down her chin.

  "I'm like a snake," she said. "I eat a lot when I can find it. It usually has to last a while."

  When the plate was empty—Erry had eaten most of the meal—she licked it clean. With a sigh, she leaned back, kicked off her boots, and slammed her feet onto the table.

  "I don't want to see your smelly feet," Leresy said, staring at them in distaste.

  She wriggled her toes and raised an eyebrow. "They're not smelly. I'm not one of your filthy men. I'm a petite, lovely young maiden."

  "I wouldn't know by the way you eat," he said. "You could eat and drink my men under the table."

  She closed her eyes, and an impish smile spread across her face. After a moment, she nodded and rose to her feet.

  "Very well," she said. "I'm ready now."

  She walked to the bed, turned toward him, and began to undress.

  Leresy stared in disbelief, one eyebrow firmly raised. Erry did not undress seductively like Dawn and Dusk and the other girls at the Bad Cats. She made it seem as casual as a girl getting ready to bathe. When all her clothes were gone, she stood before him, staring at him curiously.

  "Well?" she said. "Are you just going to sit there?"

  Leresy stared at her.

  Bloody stars, he thought. I was right. Barely any teats on this one.

  And yet his loins stirred, and he found himself marveling at how smooth her skin was and how lithe her limbs.

  "Do you always undress in strange men's tents?" he asked, still seated at the table.

  "You're not a stranger, my lord," she said. "In Castra Luna, I dreamed of this. Whenever I sneaked into your chambers—and I did several times—I dreamed of this. But I was always afraid, unsure if you wanted me. You fancied Tilla then, I knew it." Her eyes hardened. "But Tilla is gone from you now. And I'm here. You said that I'm yours now, Leresy. So make me yours."

  She climbed onto his bed, lay down upon her belly, and closed her eyes.

  Leresy stood up, walked toward the bed, and stared down at her. Flaming Abyss, he thought. He had never known a woman to give herself to him so easily—at least, not one he wasn't buying. Without her muddy clothes, and despite her boyish hair and boyish frame, she seemed oddly intoxic
ating to him. He sucked in his breath, and he took her.

  He took her roughly. He conquered her. He had never taken a woman so roughly, not in all his days of conquering them. He hurt her. He was sure he hurt her, yet she made not a sound. She had let many men hurt her, he realized. She had let many men claim her like this, lying down with her eyes closed, offering her body to get what she needed—if not money then food or protection or shelter. Leresy did not care. From this day she would be his alone.

  When he was done with her, he wanted to toss her out of his tent. He hated women sleeping in his bed; he always had. He slept alone; he always did. He going to grab her, to toss her out, but he found himself holding her desperately and stroking her hair, and tears filled his eyes.

  "I love you, Nairi," he whispered. "I love you."

  They lay in his bed as his candles guttered. He kept stroking her hair, short hair like a boy's, and holding her so close, and his eyes stung. He had never let a woman sleep in his bed. Tonight he slept with Erry Docker in his arms.

  KAELYN

  She walked through Lynport, her cloak wrapped around her and fear gripping her heart.

  Soldiers lined the streets, standing vigil at every corner, their helms hiding their faces. An imperial dragon patrolled the sky, clad in black armor bearing red spirals, his flames crackling in a wake. Kaelyn tightened her cloak around her, struggling to calm her trembling fingers. She felt bare without her sword and bow, as fragile as a mouse treading among cats.

  I've walked here before in disguise, she told herself. She had visited Lynport—Cadport to her father, but always Lynport to her—dressed as a priestess twice before. I will live today too.

  She walked around a bakery where a white scarf hung at the window, a sign of mourning. This house, like many in Lynport, had lost a soldier in Castra Luna. Kaelyn swallowed an icy lump in her throat.

  Today Lynport is more dangerous than ever, she knew. Today the resistors are no heroes here, but demons. We slew the youths of this city.

  Kaelyn reached for her sword—the hundredth time today—and found it missing. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and kept walking.

  She passed by a tannery, a chandlery, a smithy, and a dozen other workshops. They were built of wattle and daub, white clay filling the space between their timber frameworks. From the ground floors wafted the sounds and smells of their trades: the ring of hammers on anvils, the tangy scent of beeswax molded into candles, the creak of looms weaving cloth, and more. At their top floors, where the tradesmen and their families lived, shadows moved behind windows and more white scarves flew.

  So many scarves, Kaelyn thought, eyes stinging. So many youths we killed.

  As she walked down the cobbled road, she looked to her left. Alleys sloped between houses down to the boardwalk. The sea churned gray there, waves spraying foam like watery phoenixes rising. She glimpsed the cannon, the oldest one in Requiem, watching the southern horizon.

  The Old Wheel used to stand nearby, Kaelyn thought. As she walked by another alley, she stared south and saw an empty patch of rubble and ash. She whispered a prayer.

  Yet today she had a new errand here. She raised her head and looked northwest instead. There, upon a hill, she saw the fortress rising. Kaelyn squared her shoulders and clenched her fists.

  Castellum Acta rose craggy and tall, a single tower above a wide hall. Bird droppings and moss stained its tan bricks. Arrowslits lined its walls. Battlements crowned the tower, and two dragons perched there, clad in bladed helms, watching the city. Flags of the red spiral thudded around them.

  Castellum Acta, Kaelyn thought with a shudder. For five hundred years, benevolent lords had ruled here, governing a prosperous port. Today a general of the Legions, a pet of the emperor, lurked behind those bricks.

  The man I must kill today, Kaelyn thought.

  She trudged up a narrow, cobbled road that climbed the hill. The fortress rose above her. Boulders and brambles littered the sandy hillsides, and gulls circled above, cawing in mockery. As she climbed higher, Kaelyn rose above the city roofs. When she looked behind her, she could see Lynport's boardwalk lined with rotting shops, the docks that stretched into the water like fingers, and the sea rolling into the horizon. The scent of saltwater tickled her nostrils, and the waves whispered in her ears.

  "Girl!" rose a growl. "Girl, halt!"

  Kaelyn spun back toward the fort, which rose a hundred yards away upon the hilltop. Two soldiers came walking down from its gates, swords drawn. Upon the tower, the sentinel dragons glared, smoke rising from their nostrils.

  When the guards reached her, Kaelyn curtsied.

  "Good morning, sons of Requiem," she said. "I've come to see General Gorne, lord of this fort." She handed them a scroll sealed with a snake stamp. "A birthday gift from Lord Teus of Castellum Sil. It is General Gorne's birthday, is it not?"

  The soldiers frowned, and one snatched the scroll from her hand.

  "What's this then?" he demanded. "This scroll is a gift?"

  Kaelyn gave him a crooked smile, pulled open her cloak, and revealed the scanty silks she wore beneath.

  "No, my lord," she said. "I am. Lord Teus, a friend of your commander, already paid for my services. I shall be spending the night."

  Their eyes widened, and Kaelyn sighed inwardly. Men were so easy to fool. She tugged her cloak back shut and glared at them.

  "Well, take me to your lord," she said. "He would not like you delaying his gift."

  Soon they entered the gates of Castellum Acta. Inside the main hall, Kaelyn held her breath and her heart pounded. The whisper of waves and the salty air faded behind; she stood among stone and shadows.

  Columns supported a vaulted ceiling. Doorways led to other halls; through them, Kaelyn saw a dining room, an armory, and a barracks full of cots. Dozens of soldiers moved through the chambers, and the clank of armor echoed.

  At the hall's end, a trestle table stood below a banner of the red spiral. General Gorne, Lord of Cadport, sat at the head seat.

  "Commander Gorne!" cried one of the guards, slamming fist against chest. "A gift for you, Commander. Lord Teus sent her."

  General Gorne leaned across the table, and his eyes narrowed. Upon his breastplate, he sported an engraving of a boar, sigil of his house. The man himself bore a striking resemblance to his emblem. He was beefy and pink-skinned, and his wide nose spread across his face like a snout. His hair was such a pale blond, it was nearly white, cut to stubble too sparse to hide his scalp.

  Please don't let him recognize me, stars, Kaelyn prayed, and her fingers trembled. Gorne had visited the capital eight years ago and dined with her family. Kaelyn had been only a child, but still she caught her breath. If he recognizes me, all is lost.

  "Teus?" the porcine lord said and rose to his feet. Despite his hoggish appearance, his eyes were shrewd. "Lord Teus is an old goat's piddle stain." He glared at Kaelyn. "Who are you, girl?"

  She curtsied, allowing her cloak to open seemingly by accident, revealing the silks she wore beneath. The thin cloth showed more than it hid.

  "Your birthday gift," she said. "That is all, my lord. Teus has paid for me already."

  Gorne stomped around the table, frowning. He moved at a waddle, nearly as wide as he was tall. When he reached her, he placed a finger under her chin—that finger was wide as a sausage—and lifted her face toward his. He scrutinized her. His eyes were pale blue, and his nose was bulbous and veined.

  "Teus must be after my son," he said, disgust dripping from his voice. "The old bastard's daughter is coming of age. The pathetic gutter lump must want to soften me before suggesting a marriage between our houses." He snorted, shoved Kaelyn back, and roared to his hall. "As if House Gorne would stain its blood with the venom of Teus!"

  The soldiers across the hall cheered at this—Kaelyn guessed they'd cheer at anything their commander announced loudly enough. She cursed inwardly, and sweat trickled down her back.

  He might not have recognized me, but he'll send me away,
she thought with a chill. Stars, or he'll imprison me, or he'll toss me to his men, and our plan is doomed.

  "My… my lord?" she asked. She straightened, allowing her cloak to open another inch. "Shall I return to Lord Teus? I'm already paid for, and… if your lordship would return me, I will gladly warm Lord Teus's bed instead."

  He spun toward her. His lip curled back, revealing small, sharp teeth. With a hand like a paw, he grabbed her arm.

  "Oh, I'll have my gift," he said, and his eyes simmered. "Teus beds only the goats he raises on that forsaken farm he calls a fort. We'll have a taste of you, girl."

  He dragged her from the hall, his men howling behind, and onto a staircase. They climbed up the tower. His fingers dug into her arm, and she stumbled behind him, struggling to climb fast enough. As the stairs spiraled up, pocked with embrasures, Kaelyn glimpsed the southern boardwalk, houses stretching east and west, and the northern forests. Looking upon those misty trees, her eyes stung and her throat tightened.

  You wait for me there, Valien, she thought. I will not fail you.

  They climbed hundreds of steps, and General Gorne was wheezing when they finally reached the tower top. He yanked open a doorway and dragged her into a chamber.

  Kaelyn felt herself pale. Her breath died.

  "Stars," she whispered.

  General Gorne snorted and dug his fingers deeper into her arm.

  "Aye, you're a fine gift, child," he hissed. "A gift I won't be returning soon."

  Kaelyn's eyes dampened.

  Stars, oh stars, she thought.

  A dozen women filled Gorne's dusty chamber. A bed rose in the back, but the women sat upon straw piles. They were naked and sallow, and chains bound them to the walls. They stared at Kaelyn with blackened eyes, and their swollen lips moved silently. One was pregnant, her belly swollen but her limbs scrawny and her eyes sunken.

  "Filthy lot!" General Gorne said and spat. "Grown old and sickly, these ones have." He turned toward Kaelyn and licked his chops. "Aye, but you're fresh. You'll make a good addition to my collection."

  The harem writhed upon the straw, and chains clattered. One woman, her nose bashed and bloody, reached out and whispered. Her voice was too soft to be heard, but Kaelyn could read her lips.