Not only men and women topped the ships but beasts too. A thousand horses stood within the hulls of lumbering cogs, and several ships even held elephants in their bowels. Griffins stood atop massive wooden hulks. Salvanae lay curled up on other decks like serpents, scales bright in the sun.
Finally, on the beach, loomed Behemoth itself. No ship was large enough to ferry the beast; he was large as the largest carrack. Crow's nests had been attached to his many horns, and archers stood within. More men stood on the beast's back in a great wooden howdah. As Korvin watched, riders shouted commands and lashed crops, guiding Behemoth into the sea. The creature walked through the water, moving between the ships. He would swim the ocean as he had in eras long ago, before the ancient lords of the Horde had imprisoned him in the mountain.
"This host has the might to sweep across the Commonwealth," Korvin said. "Lynport burned to the ground. We will land there in the ruins, facing little resistance, and make our way north—north across charred forests, north to the capital, to the Temple, and we will send that Temple crashing down." He looked at Amity. "And I don't know what land we will find when the Horde has done its work."
"We will find Requiem," Amity said.
Smoke seeped out of Korvin's nostrils. "The Horde might not be as willing as you think to retreat."
Amity snarled, and fire flickered between her fangs. "I will slay anyone who resists me. I will grant the Horde the lands of Osanna in the east, from Lanburg Fields to Altus Mare. I will grant them the forests of Salvandos in the west, the mountains of Fidelium in the north, the swamps of Gilnor in the south, all those lands annexed to the empire that was once our kingdom. Those will be the prizes of the Horde for their war—more than half the Commonwealth. For us, Korvin, I will keep our ancient kingdom, the classical realm of Requiem as it was in the days of King Benedictus."
Korvin twisted his jaw. "The old borders of Requiem leave us a small kingdom, fragile. It was the kingdom that fell so many times to invaders. If we carve but a small land for Requiem, we'll still have to face the Horde—a vast Horde, stronger than ever before, ruling not only the southern continent of Terra but wrapped around Requiem in the north too, a noose that will ever crave to tighten."
Amity grinned. "Big boy, I intend to rule both the neck of Requiem and the noose of the Horde, forever keeping one away from the other. I will be queen of both." She spread her wings and took flight. "Now fly with me! It's time to sail." She blasted forth a jet of flame. "The invasion of the north begins!" She roared, a cry that rolled across the land and sea. "Sail north, Horde! Sail beneath the Red Queen! To blood! To fire! To war! To war!"
The Horde roared beneath her. A hundred thousand warriors raised their weapons—men, women, youths, elders, all wearing patches of armor of metal and leather, brandishing swords and spears, hammers and axes. A great mass, a mob, a seething pot of anger about to overflow. They bellowed. They sang for her. Their voices rose together, shaking the sky.
"To war! To war!"
Korvin stared from the statue, and an icy shard sank through his chest. Amity was howling for victory, but Korvin found no lust for war within him.
I fought a war once, he thought. He had invaded Terra from the north, and he had faced the Horde upon the coast, and the scars still covered his body. Thirty years ago, when Amity had still been suckling at the teat, he had faced an enemy on the beaches, he too had shouted for victory.
Yet now I'm old, and now I know that war has no winners—only pain, only blood, only ruin.
How could he stop this tide? How could he stop the woman he loved—a woman he saw descending into madness, into bloodlust?
Korvin gritted his teeth, and his chest constricted.
I once loved another woman. I once loved a young priestess named Beatrix, an idealistic soul, her faith in righteousness strong.
That woman too had sent Korvin to war. That woman too had let bloodlust consume her. That woman had become a tyrant.
Standing on the gilded hoof, Korvin stared at Amity, at this new woman he loved, at the red dragon who flew and shouted ahead.
"I can lose my land, and I can lose my life," Korvin whispered. "But I cannot lose you, Amity. Do not lose yourself."
The thousand ships of the Horde set sail, heading north, leaving the coast of Terra behind. Finally Korvin leaped from the gilded hoof, spread his wings, and glided on the wind, flying with the fleet, flying to blood and fire, flying home.
CADE
He stood at the prow of the Kor Taran, a sprawling baghlah ship with many sails, and he stared north across the water. Many miles beyond the blue horizon, past sunsets and sunrises and waves, lay the northern continent, lay an empire called the Commonwealth, lay a memory of a fallen land called Requiem, lay a dream of a Requiem reborn, lay a stolen sister, lay all Cade's hopes and fears.
"Requiem," he whispered—the beat of his heart. "Eliana," he whispered—the fear and love in his chest.
For Requiem and Eliana, Cade vowed to fight. To kill. To give his life if he had to. He would liberate both the land of his forebears and the babe Mercy had stolen from him.
All around him, hundreds of ships sailed, griffins and salvanae flew, and warriors roared and brandished their weapons. Cade had seen the ships of the Commonwealth sailing in the northern waters, stern vessels, spotless, clinging to rigid formations. The Horde's fleet was like its army of warriors; a hodgepodge, scratched and dented and grimy, a swarm, a mass of metal, wood, and leather like flotsam spilled across the water. Drums beat and horns blared. Griffins and salvanae streamed overhead, screeching and bugling, riders on their backs, and thousands of banners streamed in the wind.
Scales clanked, wings thudded, and blasts of air ruffled Cade's hair. He looked up to see a dragon flying down toward the ship, her scales a mosaic of red, orange, and yellow of every shade. The fiery beast descended to hover above the deck, wings blasting the sails, then shifted into human form. Domi landed before Cade, her bare feet thumping against the deck.
"Hullo, Cade," she said.
For the first time since Cade had known her, Domi seemed . . . happy. Her orange hair was tucked behind her ears, not covering her face, and she smiled. Her nose and cheeks were turning red in the southern sun, and her freckles were seeming to multiply, but she was beautiful to Cade, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
And I fight for you, Domi, he thought. So that I can see you smile more often. So that I can see you happy, free, no hair covering your face, not a firedrake forever hiding your human form.
"Are you ready to roast Beatrix's backside?" he asked her.
She grinned. "We're going to roast it together—roast it until it falls off as ashes."
A grin stretched across Cade's own cheeks. "And don't forget about Mercy. I'm going to burn off her backside too. Burn it to ash. Burn it like she burned so many people. I'm going to burn her like she burned them." Suddenly he found that his eyes were stinging, that he was clenching his fists. "Like she . . . like she burned my . . ." He swallowed, looked away, and loosened his fists, the joke no longer funny, the pain too real, the memory too vivid.
She burned you, Derin and Tisha. I'll never forget you. I will avenge you.
Domi's smile faded, and she stepped closer and leaned her head against his shoulder. Then she looked up, kissed his cheek, and pinched his nose.
"I'm with you, Goldy," she said. "Always."
He raised his eyebrows. "Goldy?"
She nodded and her grin returned. "Your scales are gold when you're a dragon. Bit of a girl's color, if you ask me. Sort of like the legendary Queen Gloriae's scales. Or Princess Mori from the old stories. Or Laira, the first Queen of Requiem." Domi's grin widened and she hopped about. "Goldy! Pretty pretty Goldy!"
Cade grumbled. "At least I have a proper color. You don't even have one color, just all sorts of yellows and reds and such. Do you turn into a dragon or a quilt?"
She froze and gasped. Then a snort left her mouth, and she doubled over laughing. "A quilt? A f
lying magic quilt that blows fire?"
He nodded. "Yes. That's your new name now. Quilty."
She shoved him. "Shut it, Goldy."
He shook his head. "Getting angry, Quilty?"
She nodded and snarled, playfully pummeling his chest with her fists. Then she sighed and embraced him, her body warm against his. She wore only a cotton tunic, and Cade could feel her breasts press against his chest, her thighs against his. He closed his eyes, holding her close, never wanting to let go. He would be happy to live the rest of his life like this, on the open sea, the air fresh around him, Domi pressed against him. He thought back to the time she had first embraced him, had whispered "Requiem" into his ear.
He kissed her head, and he whispered to her, "Thank you, Domi."
She looked up at him. "For what?"
He cupped her cheek in his palm. "For a long time, I was confused. Sometimes I hated you, blaming you for what happened to my village, for how you bore Mercy on your back. But you tried to protect me. I realize that now. Without you, I'd never know about Requiem, never be standing here, sailing toward our home. And . . . it's not just about Requiem. I . . ."
I love you, he wanted to say. I love you more than Requiem, more than my life, more than anything. I've loved you since the moment you whispered into my ear.
Yet he could say none of these things; he dared not. So he only leaned down and kissed her cheek, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth.
She stared at him, eyes wide and huge, surprised perhaps at his audacity. But then she laughed, kissed his mouth with a quick peck, and pinched his cheek.
"Goldy," she said, stepped back, and shifted into a dragon. She flew off, heading toward Fidelity and Roen who glided above.
Cade remained standing at the prow of the ship. He walked across the deck, moving between many soldiers of the Horde: swordsmen, archers, gunners, and wild men and women bearing spears. When he reached the stern, he stood and stared south. Hundreds of ships sailed there, and beyond them stretched the coast of Terra, the southern continent. He stood for a long time, watching as the land grew distant and faded.
GEMINI
The red dragon flew above Gemini, circling the fleet, blasting fire and crying out words that chilled him.
"The Commonwealth will crumble! The Cured Temple will crash down! The bounty of the north will be ours!"
All across the fleet of the Horde, a thousand ships large and small, warriors roared for glory. Hundreds of beasts flew above the ships, just as mighty—griffins, salvanae, and weredragons. Greatest of all, Behemoth swam in their midst, back in the sea whence it had first risen, only its nostrils and horns thrusting up from the water. The coast of Terra grew distant behind them and faded to nothing but a strip, then a haze, then a memory.
As Amity, Queen of the Horde, roared above, and as her soldiers cheered, Gemini stood on the deck of a dhow ship and shivered.
"No," he whispered to himself. "No. No. It's not supposed to be this way."
Gemini paced the deck, shoving his way between warriors of the Horde—primitive men and women who stank of sweat and cheap wine. They didn't wear proper armor like paladins of the north, and their armor didn't even match, just random scraps of iron and metal scales sewn onto leather. It was disgusting. This was no army, this was a mob, a swarm of barbarians, a menace to the lands of Gemini's family and heritage.
"Domi!" he shouted, elbowing his way between the brutes. "Spirit damn it, Domi, where are you?"
The barbarians around him snorted and jeered. One man spat, and another wouldn't even move aside as Gemini tried to shove by. Gemini elbowed the bearded brute.
"Move!"
The barbarian stared down at Gemini and burst out laughing. Gemini was a tall man but thin. This brute stood several inches taller and must have weighed twice as much. His beard looked flea ridden, and his armor was a crude coat of rusty iron rings. Rather than a proper sword like the one Gemini had lost in the north, the barbarian held a heavy axe that looked more suited for chopping down trees than dueling an enemy.
"I'm warning you," Gemini said, glaring at the thug. "Move out of my way. Do you even know who I am?"
The brute grabbed Gemini's collar and sneered. "You're a maggot I'm about to squash."
Across the deck, other barbarians burst out laughing. One brute laughed so hard he sprayed spit onto Gemini, and a wild woman—her hair a great curly mane and her body barely covered—reached out to pat his cheek.
Gemini trembled with rage, shoving them aside. "I am Gemini Deus!" he screamed. "Lord Gemini Deus. This is my campaign. This is my army!" His voice cracked. "You fight for me. You serve me! This is my quest to redeem my home and—"
Roaring with laugher, several of the brutes grabbed Gemini and lifted him over their heads. They began to carry him across the deck, singing hoarsely.
"Put me down!" Gemini screamed. "I am your lord! We travel north to put me on the throne. I will kill you all! I order you to put me down!"
The bearded brute in iron mail laughed. "Very well."
The warriors swung Gemini backward, then thrust him forth. He flew through the air, screaming, tumbled off the deck, and—with horror and a strangled scream—crashed into the sea.
He floundered in the water, shock pounding through him. He breached the surface, gulped down air, and screamed.
"This is mutiny! I'll slay you all! I'll have your hides! I'm going to turn your skulls into chamber pots!"
Yet the dhow kept sailing away, leaving him behind. Hundreds of other ships sailed all around, more barbarians atop them, and the flying creatures kept gliding above. Nobody even glanced his way.
A shadow fell upon Gemini, and he looked up to finally see her. Domi glided down toward him, wreathed in smoke, her scales chinking. She beat her wings powerfully, hovering over the water, blasting him with air. Her claws reached out, and he climbed onto her leg.
"Gemini, what are you going in the water?" Domi asked.
"Fly!" he shouted. "Take me to a ship, damn it!"
As the fiery dragon flew, Gemini tried to climb onto her back, but he couldn't reach it. He remained clinging to her leg like some amorous dog humping its master. He could hear the army below mocking him, laughing at his wretchedness.
Apes, he thought, trembling with rage. Foul, flea-ridden apes.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to attack the Cured Temple with Domi alone, just two souls sneaking in, slinking through the halls, then burning down the guards and slaying Beatrix and Mercy. Later on, Gemini had allowed the other weredragons—the boy Cade, the whore Fidelity, and that brute Roen—to join his mission. They would have done the job quickly and easily, killing the High Priestess, killing Mercy, and placing him—Lord Gemini Deus—in command of the Temple. Not this. Not this . . . this swarm of insects, this diseased stain upon the land. Calling this ragtag army a "Horde" was being too kind. It was a brood of cockroaches.
Finally Domi glided down toward a sambuk ship—a long sturdy vessel with two masts, massive lateen sails, and an ornately carved hull. She landed on the deck, and once Gemini had climbed off her leg, she shifted back into human form and faced him.
"Are you all right?" Her voice was soft, and she reached out to touch his hair.
He shoved her hand away. "Don't pat me like I'm your dog! Of course I'm all right. I'm the lord of this host. Those brutes attempted to overthrow me." He pointed a shaky finger ahead at the fleet, not sure where the ship of mutinous warriors sailed but knowing it was out there somewhere, that the brutes still mocked him. This whole damn fleet was full of traitors.
Domi sighed. "Gemini, things are different now. Amity rules our assault." She pointed upward. The Red Queen was still circling above the fleet, calling out for war. "Amity is leading us now."
Gemini sneered. "That red-arsed baboon of a reptile? She's nothing! Just a barbarian harlot." He grabbed Domi's arms and snarled at her. "I'm the heir to the Cured Temple. Me! I'm the son of the Deus family. Me! Not some . . . some unw
ashed weredragon from the islands."
Anger kindled in Domi's eyes. "Release me. You're making a fool of yourself."
"I'm making a fool of myself?" He brayed laughter. "You're the one following this horde of miscreants. Domi!" His eyes dampened, and his voice shook. "Domi, we were meant to do this together. To fight Beatrix together, side by side. To take over the Temple and . . . and be together again. Me in the Temple, you in Requiem, a king and a queen. Allies. Friends." A tear streamed down his cheek. "In love. But now all that might be lost. Spirit, Domi, you hear Amity. She wants to crush the Temple—my birthright! To destroy it!" He trembled. "What would become of me then?"
Domi stared at him, her eyes cold, her face hard. "Nothing," she whispered. "You will become nothing."
Rage exploded through Gemini. Pure, all-consuming rage, hotter than dragonfire, louder than the roars of beasts. He howled and swung his arm, and he backhanded Domi so hard she crashed down onto the deck. Her blood splattered.
Gemini stood over her, hands trembling. His eyes widened, and he felt the blood drain from his face.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Domi, I didn't mean to . . . I didn't . . ."
A howl sounded behind him, and Gemini turned to see Cade running across the deck toward him.
The boy, face red with rage, leaped onto Gemini and swung his fists.
One fist slammed into Gemini's cheek, knocking his head back. He crashed to the ground, Cade's fists driving down again and again. Blood filled Gemini's mouth, and panic flooded him.
"Get off me!" Gemini shouted and kicked.
His knee drove into Cade's belly, knocking the air out of the boy. Gemini growled, bloodlust consuming him, shoved Cade off, and landed his own punch. He laughed, blood in his mouth, as he turned the tide, pummeling the boy.
"I'll teach you a lesson, rat!" Gemini shouted, laughing, blood dripping down his chin. He was taller and heavier than Cade, and he punched again, hitting the boy's chin.
Lying beneath him, Cade shifted.
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