Dragons Lost

by Daniel Arenson

  Cade sighed with relief. He found himself flying over empty plains. He saw nothing but grasslands in the night, a few fields, and a distant barn. Clouds still covered the moon and stars.

  "Cade, are they gone?" Fidelity glided on the wind, looking around, blinking. "I can't see a thing."

  "They're gone," Cade said. "We're flying over fields. There's a farm below. No more soldiers. No more firedrakes. If the clouds part, the moon will shine bright. Until then I'll guide you."

  She looked around nervously. "I really can't see anything, only blackness, as if my eyes were closed." She sighed. "I really do need to get large dragon spectacles."

  Cade felt so tired and weak every flap of his wings was a battle. When he looked at Fidelity, he saw her panting, her tongue hanging loose, her eyes glazed.

  "Let's land and rest," he said. "Here's a good place."

  They dived down, stretched out their claws, and landed in a patch of wild grass. Scattered aspens rose around them, and a stream gurgled nearby.

  Both dragons were so weary they released their magic at once. They slumped down into the grass, humans again, and lay on their backs. The clouds parted above, finally revealing the moon and stars.

  Cade turned his head to the side. In the moonlight, he could see Fidelity more clearly. She clutched her book to her chest, and her spectacles were back. A tear flowed down her cheek.

  Cade didn't know what to say. How could he comfort her? How could he heal the grief inside her?

  I can't, he thought. There's nothing I can do to heal her hurt, to bring her father back. All I can do is be here with her.

  "I'm here with you," he whispered. "I don't know how I can help, but I'm here with you. For whatever you need."

  She nodded and rolled over toward him, and Cade found himself embracing her. She pressed her face against his chest, and her tears dampened his tunic. He kissed her forehead and held her in his arms until she slept.

  Cade lay awake for a long time. He stroked Fidelity's golden hair—her single braid hung across her shoulder—and watched her sleep. When he had first met Fidelity, she had seemed imperious, rude, and condescending. She had scoffed at him, maybe even hated him; he had tossed her life into a spin. Now, looking at her, she seemed younger, more vulnerable, no longer the haughty librarian but a hurt, fragile girl.

  Both our lives were tossed into a maelstrom, Cade thought. And maybe we're both alone in the world now. Maybe you, Domi, and I are the only Vir Requis left.

  At that moment, holding the sleeping Fidelity in his arms, Cade loved her—his last companion, perhaps the only other soul who understood him, who shared his magic.

  "I will always protect you," he whispered. "We'll print your book, Fidelity. We'll keep the memories alive."

  KORVIN

  His eyes fluttered open, then closed again. All was pain, haze, weariness.

  "Wake up, big boy," somebody said, and Korvin felt a hand slap his cheek. "Wake up, or I'm going to knock out your teeth and use them as counter-squares pieces."

  Korvin grumbled and forced his eyes open. At first he saw only stars and shadows. Slowly a face came into focus: a young woman, her blond hair just long enough to fall across her ears, her smile crooked, her eyes lit with mischief.

  "Amity," he groaned. "Let me sleep."

  She snorted. "Wake up! You've slept long enough. Breakfast is served."

  He looked around him. He was lying on bare rock, and more rocks rose around him. Ahead he heard the sea, saw faint light, and smelled salt.

  A cave, he realized.

  He tried to push himself onto his elbows, then fell back down and lay on his back.

  "I died," he whispered hoarsely. Speaking hurt.

  Amity groaned and rolled her eyes. "If you're dead, I'm the bloody High Priestess, because I brought you back to life. Now sit up! I collected some delicious seaweed to eat."

  He closed his eyes, forcing himself to think back. He had died. He remembered dying. Mercy—the daughter of his old lover—had thrust her lance into his neck. He had lost his magic. He had fallen under the sea. He had sunk, drowned, and—

  He frowned.

  Vague memories rose through the haze, flicking in and out of his mind like a fading dream at dawn. He remembered a red, scaly fish, large as a whale, swimming toward him, grabbing him. No, not a fish—a dragon underwater. He had swum with her. He had swum until he could barely stand it, his lungs aching for air, then burst above the water, gulped air, sank again, and bled, so much blood, and—

  "Eat," Amity said, stuffing seaweed into his mouth. "You lost a lot of blood, and you need to regain your strength."

  He grumbled but he chewed the clammy meal. It did give him strength—at least, enough strength to finally push himself onto his elbows.

  He finally got a better view of his surroundings. He lay in a cave, a small chamber not much larger than his fallen library back in the Commonwealth. Outside he saw golden sand and the blue sea. Amity sat beside him and winked. She still wore her brown trousers, leather boots, and vest, though burn marks now spread across them. Welts rose along her arms, but if she felt the pain, she gave no sign of it.

  Korvin brought a hand to his neck and winced.

  "Hey, don't touch!" Amity said. "I bandaged it all proper like. You're lucky you were in dragon form when that lance cut into you. Would have killed you right away as a human."

  Korvin lowered his hand. He stared at the woman, and he spoke solemnly. "I thank you, Amity. You saved my life. But what of the others? Where's my daughter? Where's Cade?" Fear flooded him, cold and all-consuming. "Are they—"

  "They're fine!" Amity patted his knee. "The two bloody runts got away. Well, to be fair, they only got away because I placed myself between them and a typhoon of dragonfire. Saved their little arses, I did. Same as I saved yours. I told you, big boy. I'm a warrior."

  Ignoring her protests, Korvin shoved himself to his feet. He wobbled for a moment and had to hold the wall for support. Everything hurt—the wound on his neck and the old scars on his back, the scars from his war against the Horde twenty years ago. His breath rattled in his lungs.

  "Where are the paladins? What happened to Mercy? What—"

  "You're full of questions today," Amity said. "You should rest. Mercy and the other paladins think us dead and drowned. Most are sailing back to the Commonwealth now, trying to find Spectacles and the kid." She raised her hand, silencing him before he could speak. "Don't worry! I gave the pups a good head start, and they're fast enough to make it home. It's the Horde I'm worried about now." She tightened her jaw and lowered her head. "They're all dead, Korvin. Men. Griffins. Salvanae. All gone." She clenched her fists at her sides, and her eyes reddened. "The people who sheltered me, who trained me . . ." Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. ". . . who loved me. Mercy butchered them."

  Korvin thought again—as he had thought almost every day since—of High Priestess Beatrix arriving on her firedrake, screaming for blood, shouting for revenge. Again Korvin saw the High Priestess stabbing his wife, smiling, blowing him a bloody kiss—her revenge for him spurning her love. That had been many years ago, back when his daughters had been only children, but the pain still dug through Korvin. Now Amity had lost her family—perhaps not a family of blood, but a family nonetheless.

  He stepped toward her. "Amity, I'm sorry. I know your pain is great."

  Along with his memories, guilt filled Korvin. He had arrived on these islands, fleeing the Temple. Mercy and the other paladins had followed him.

  It's my fault, Korvin realized with a chill. I led the enemy here.

  Amity raised her eyes. They shone with angry tears. "It'll be war now. War between the Commonwealth and the Horde. War again, like the war twenty years ago, when I was just eleven years old and so afraid." She growled and pounded a fist into her palm. "And this time, the Horde will swarm through the Commonwealth and crush the Cured Temple and kill them all. And I'll fight with them."

  Korvin stared at the sea outside. "I ne
ed to find my daughter and the boy. I need to help them, to—"

  Amity grabbed his arm and sneered. "You need to fight with me! You're a warrior. You were a soldier once; I saw it in the way you fought. I saw the scars on you; those are warrior scars." She tightened her grip on him. "I need you, Korvin. Let Spectacles and the kid print their books; they're not fighters like us. You and I, we're soldiers, and all we know is war. Travel south with me—to the continent of Terra, to the vast armies of the Horde that wait there. Not to an island outpost but to the true heart of our empire. Join me in the Horde's fight against the Temple."

  Korvin grunted. "I can't leave Fidelity alone."

  Amity's eyes flashed. "Your daughter is a grown woman. How old is she?"

  "Twenty-one."

  Amity snorted. "I was half that age when my parents died, when I had to survive on my own. You're no librarian, Korvin. Look at you, all grizzled, gruff, and grunting. Don't tell me you were happy living in a library, sorting books for a living. No. You were like a bear in a cage there. But now . . . now you can fly free. With me, Korvin." She touched his cheek, and her eyes filled with compassion. "With me."

  He stepped outside the cave and found himself on an islet; it was barely larger than the deck of a ship. True ships were sailing far in the west, hoisting the Temple's banners. They were going to hunt his daughter, to hunt Cade, to hunt the last Book of Requiem and destroy the last memories of that fallen kingdom. Korvin gritted his teeth and turned to face the south. He saw nothing but the blue sea, but he knew what lay beyond.

  The southern continent of Terra. His old scars blazed with new pain. The land of the Horde. The land where he had fought and nearly died. He lowered his head. The land that could now rise up and topple the Cured Temple.

  It would seem, he thought, that I now must choose which enemy is worse.

  And he knew the answer.

  Amity came to stand beside him, and a gust of wind ruffled her hair. She looked at him, silent.

  "My daughters are in danger," Korvin finally said. "My eldest is hunted, bearing the last treasure of our people. My younger daughter serves those who hunt us, her life forfeit if her secret is revealed. The enemy threatening my family is the Cured Temple, and you're right, Amity. I'm not a man of books or words. I'm not wise like Fidelity, not wild like Domi, not young and eager like Cade. I'm a soldier. That's all I am. Perhaps that's all both of us are." He stared across the southern water. "I drew the enemy to these islands, and the guilt of the dead will forever fill me. Their blood will forever stain my soul. But a beast is awakening here, a beast that has been slumbering for twenty years." He returned his eyes to Amity. "We will travel south to the Horde. We will tell its king what happened here. And we will raise the Horde's wrath and return to the Commonwealth with an army."

  FIDELITY

  "So how are we going to pay for this printing press?" Cade asked. "The thing probably costs more than a horse."

  Fidelity nodded. "It does. It's a big machine."

  Cade pulled out his empty pockets. "If you haven't noticed, we're broke. I haven't got a copper to my name, and neither have you."

  They were walking down a dirt road, aspen trees rustling at their sides. While Fidelity had allowed herself to wear finer clothes in her library, out here in the open, she wore a burlap tunic and a rope for a belt—the humble garb all commoners wore. If she wanted to blend in, nothing would serve better. She hid her spectacles in her pocket, and she had undone her braid and let her hair hang freely. She hoped that she now looked like yet another commoner, not a librarian on the run. As for Cade, he had begun to grow a beard in hope of better disguising himself, though the scruff looked woefully sparse.

  If anyone's looking for people of our description, Fidelity thought, hopefully we look different—and normal—enough.

  She hefted the pack that hung across her back. Inside lay their greatest treasure: the leather-bound Book of Requiem.

  The road stretched on between the trees, leading toward the city of Oldnale; it was still too far to see.

  "A long time ago," Fidelity said, "three great houses ruled Requiem. House Aeternum ruled the throne, House Eleison ruled the armies, and House Oldnale ruled the farmlands. The legendary heroine Treale Oldnale fought in the great war against the nephilim, evil half demons from the desert. Back then, there were only farmlands here, no cities, but where Treale was born, a village eventually grew, and—"

  "Fidelity, I don't need a history lesson." Cade kicked a rock. "What we need is money. Money to buy a printing press to make copies of all these lovely stories."

  She glared at him. "I was just getting to that part! See, according to my book, before the House of Oldnale was destroyed in the old Tiran War, back when the evil Queen Solina led wyverns to burn it, and—ow! Cade, stop elbowing me! Fine, no history lessons. Anyway, during the war, the Vir Requis buried a treasure here. A treasure of old Requiem." Her eyes lit up. "We just have to find it, and we'll have the money we need."

  Cade rolled his eyes. "Find buried treasure? Fidelity, this isn't some old pirate story. How are we going to find treasure from centuries ago without a map or anything?"

  She smiled softly, a sad smile, a smile that filled her with memories and pain buried as deep as that treasure. "We're going to find the Oldnales' descendants."

  She closed her eyes. She didn't want Cade to see them dampen.

  Roen, she thought, and her heart gave a twist.

  It had been four years. Four years since he had shattered her heart. Four years since that summer of joy, love, tears. She had never forgotten him. She had thought she would never see him again. And now she would wander right back to his door.

  Cade frowned. "I thought you said the Oldnale farms were destroyed. Something about an evil queen burning them."

  "Not all the Vir Requis of that ancient house died," she said. "Most fell in the war, their halls fallen, their fields burnt. But some moved into the forest, lived wild among the trees like the Vir Requis of old before our columns had risen. And two still live there today."

  She veered off the road, heading into the forest.

  "Fidelity!" Cade said. "The road's over here. Are you going to, uhm . . . water the soil?"

  She shook her head. "Come with me."

  He followed, glancing around nervously. The woods were thick here, maples and aspens and oaks growing all around, their leaves rustling. It was still summer, but the forest was chilly, and the canopy hid the sky. Blackbirds flittered between the trees, and hares raced across the forest floor. Twisting tree roots grew everywhere, flowing and coiling together like living tentacles, covered with moss. Eyes peered from burrows beneath them. Fallen logs and boulders lay strewn between the tree trunks, and mushrooms grew a foot tall. Dragonflies and fireflies flew around her, lighting the shadows.

  Fidelity lowered her head. She remembered herself here as a youth, only seventeen years old, racing through these woods with him, kissing him under the tree, making love to him upon the grass by the—

  "Fidelity," Cade said, "you're blushing. Are you all right?"

  She cleared her throat and shot him a glare. "I'm fine." She doffed her pack with the heavy book inside. "Here, carry this. Take a turn and be useful for a change."

  As he took the pack, she saw the hurt in his eyes, and Fidelity sighed. She touched his arm.

  "I'm sorry, Cade. I don't mean to sound harsh. It's just . . . I haven't been here in a long time. And sometimes memories, well, they can overwhelm you."

  He nodded. "I know."

  But did he know? What would a boy his age know of love? Fidelity saw how he looked at her sometimes, how his eyes sometimes gazed upon her, then quickly flicked away. She knew that Cade found her desirable—he was a boy of eighteen, after all, and she was a young woman, the only young woman he knew. But love? He would know nothing of the pain inside her.

  They walked for a long time in silence. The sun dropped lower in the sky. Fidelity knew these woods well, and she walked with a sure, st
eady pace.

  Finally she saw it ahead: Old Hollow.

  The forest floor sloped down here into a declivity, perhaps an old crater or dried out pond. A great oak grew from its center, its roots stretching out like the buttresses of a wooden cathedral, covering the sunken bowl of earth, twisting and rising and sinking back into the soil. The oak's trunk was wide as a home, knobby and mossy, and it soared higher than any other tree in the forest, ending with a great crown of rustling leaves. Lesser trees grew around Old Hollow, maples and birches and elms, bending forward as if bowing to their wise elder.

  Leaves shook. A head thrust down from among the oak's branches above.

  "'ello!"

  The man's body was still hidden among the leaves; only the head was visible, hanging upside down. The tree-dweller grinned, revealing two missing teeth. He had a bushy white beard strewn with leaves, tufted eyebrows, and scraggly long hair. His eyes were bright blue, warm and mischievous, and crows' feet stretched out from them, hinting at many years of laughter.

  Fidelity couldn't help but smile. "Hello, Julian."

  The man swung down from the branch and landed in the dirt, and his grin widened. He wore fur pelts and a necklace of beads.

  "Fidelity!" he said, reaching out his arms. "Give an old man a hug."

  She laughed—a laugh of relief, of some comfort after so much death and pain. She ran toward him and embraced him. He was a short man, no taller than she was, but stocky. Under his thick white eyebrows, his eyes gleamed.

  "And who's your friend?" he said, turning to look at Cade.

  The boy approached, looking a little hesitant at the sight of the wild old forester, and reached out his hand. "My name is Cade. I'm a friend to Fidelity and—"

  Julian grabbed Cade's hand and pulled him into a crushing embrace. "So you're a friend of mine, laddie!"

  Seeing Cade blanch, Julian released the boy, placed his hands on his hips, and laughed.

  "Nice to meet you," Cade only said, brushing moss off his clothes, looking as awkward as a shy pup who bumped into a rambunctious hound.