Dragons Rising

by Daniel Arenson

  DRAGONS RISING

  REQUIEM FOR DRAGONS, BOOK THREE

  by

  Daniel Arenson

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE: GEMINI

  CHAPTER TWO: CADE

  CHAPTER THREE: BEATRIX

  CHAPTER FOUR: KORVIN

  CHAPTER FIVE: GEMINI

  CHAPTER SIX: CADE

  CHAPTER SEVEN: FIDELITY

  CHAPTER EIGHT: DOMI

  CHAPTER NINE: CADE

  CHAPTER TEN: FIDELITY

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: KORVIN

  CHAPTER TWELVE: FIDELITY

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: MERCY

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: DOMI

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: KORVIN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: BEATRIX

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: DOMI

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: AMITY

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: KORVIN

  CHAPTER TWENTY: FIDELITY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: KORVIN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: DOMI

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: GEMINI

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: FIDELITY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: KORVIN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: DOMI

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: FIDELITY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: AMITY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: CADE

  AFTERWORD

  NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

  KEEP IN TOUCH

  FOREWORD

  Dragons Rising is the third volume of Requiem for Dragons, a fantasy series about an ancient kingdom whose people can turn into dragons.

  This novel assumes you've already read the first two Requiem for Dragons novels, Dragons Lost and Dragons Reborn.

  If you haven't, you can find them at all the usual ebook stores.

  With this introduction out of the way, I welcome you back into a world of blood, steel, and dragonfire.

  GEMINI

  He washed onto the beach at dawn, coughing, shivering, cut and burnt and barely alive. He lay on the sand and waited to die.

  The sun wheeled above, a wanderer of blazing heat and light, a ball of dragonfire, mocking him, burning him, leaving him shuddering in darkness.

  The stars winked at him. The moon glared down, bloated, obscene, a pale glob of pus. The Draco constellation flew over him, its eye staring, boring into him, digging through his soul and tugging out his innermost secrets like a hook tugging out entrails.

  Gemini slept as the heavens wheeled.

  The sun burned his chest again, and the sand burned his back. He blinked. Was he awake? His back--his back burned. The pain yanked him up from death.

  Let me die. Let me die! I don't want to feel anymore. I don't want to hurt.

  Yet the sand dug into his back, into the cuts the whip had left, digging through him. Insects were eating him, he thought. Beetles and crabs were digging through his flesh, reaching for his bones, reaching for his heart, ready to suck it dry. He gasped for breath.

  I'm alive.

  Where was he? What had happened? Gemini could only recall vague, fuzzy images. Flotsam burning across a dark sea. The screams of creatures above him. Men drowning--thousands of men, reaching for him, trying to grab the slat of wood he clung to. And his own hands--beating them back, gouging out their eyes, shoving them down to their watery graves. And above--the dragons flying, the last dragons of Requiem, and one among them gleaming with the colors of fire, a living spirit of flame.

  "Domi," he whispered.

  The word cracked Gemini's lips. He tasted sweet, coppery blood and sucked it greedily. He had not drunk anything else since before those hazy memories of fire and water. Looming above the pain, above those memories, rose Domi.

  Domi--a dragon with scales of red, orange, yellow, and all other colors of flame.

  Domi--a pale woman, slender, mysterious, green eyes peering between her wild strands of red hair.

  Domi--the firedrake he had ridden, the servant he had taken into the Temple, the woman he loved, the only soul he had ever truly, fully loved.

  "Where are you, Domi?" he whispered.

  She needed him, he knew. He had vowed to protect her. He had vowed to defend her from Mercy, from Beatrix, from all the evils of the world. He could not die here alone, far from her.

  The memory of her green eyes gave him strength he had not thought in him. He pushed himself onto his elbows, then rose to his feet.

  He wobbled, nearly falling back into the sand. He looked around him, and his eyes dampened, and his belly knotted.

  "Oh Spirit," he whispered.

  He stood in a world of desolation.

  Crimson smoke still covered the sky, a stinking shroud. Jetsam and driftwood covered the beach: emptied coffers, bits of shattered balustrades, half a mast, the burnt shreds of a sail, and millions of other charred, damp relics of the Horde's fleet. Among them lay the dead. Waterlogged bodies of warriors, burnt children, a rotting griffin, and thousands of dead fish washed ashore.

  I was one of these corpses, Gemini realized, looking around him. For a day and night, I was one of them. He trembled. I've risen from the dead.

  He raised his head, stared up at the sky, and whispered through bleeding lips, "Why did you choose me to live, Spirit?" Tears stung his eyes. "Why do I stand here while countless lie dead around me?" His hands balled up into fists, and his tears flowed down to his lips, tasting of salt and sand and ash. His voice rose to a hoarse cry. "What do you need me to do? Why am I still alive?"

  He fell to his knees, trembling. The wounds on his back screamed with agony. His head swam. His tongue was so parched. He needed water. He needed food. He needed to find Domi.

  "Domi," he whispered.

  He thought of her eyes and took a step.

  His knees wobbled. His chest ached. He gritted his teeth and took another step.

  He walked over charred, wet wooden slats, perhaps once the hull of a ship. Dead fish rotted before him; Gemini was not yet famished enough to touch them. Past a shattered bulk of driftwood, perhaps a chunk of a mast, he came across the corpse of a soldier.

  It was a woman, young by the looks of her, at least based on what remained. Crabs were feasting on the flesh, tugging at her exposed legs. One was clawing at an ear. Others were clattering over her leather armor.

  Disgust rose in Gemini. He doubled over and gagged. He spat out nothing but bile and spit.

  "Go away!" he cried out. He lifted a chunk of wood and swatted at the crabs. "Leave her alone, for pity's sake!"

  The animals scattered, and Gemini knelt over the dead woman, for a moment sure it was Domi, sure that it was his love, her face waterlogged and chewed. But no. This woman had long, black hair, and she wore armor of the Horde. Gemini's eyes strayed to her belt.

  Two precious, beautiful gifts hung there: a sword and a canteen.

  Gemini leaped forward and tugged at the canteen first. He cursed, at first unable to remove it from the belt. His fingers shook madly. He was too weak. Come on . . . come on! He could not tear it free, and he finally gave up, lay down in the sand, and pressed his head against the dead woman's hip. He opened his mouth and unscrewed the canteen's lid above him.

  A few drops of precious water--beautiful, lovely, healing, life-giving water--dripped out onto his parched tongue.

  Oh Spirit . . . thank you.

  Gemini jangled the canteen--it was still attached to the woman's hip--spilling out a few more drops. They gave him the strength to push himself back up and draw the woman's sword. It was a curved saber, short and wide. Gemini kept walking, blade in hand.

  He stepped over more wreckage: slats of wood, shreds of canvas, a wooden crow's nest fallen from its mast, and a section of elaborately carved balustrade. Finally he found another corpse--this one a beefy, bearded warrior, his face bloated and white--with another canteen. Gemini worked
his blade against the man's belt, tore the canteen free, and opened it above his mouth.

  Oh Spirit.

  More lovely, beautiful water spilled out, filling Gemini's mouth, dripping down his face, fresh, pure, heavenly. He emptied half the canteen and then closed the lid, sealing in the rest.

  He kept walking.

  He had walked for a long time, passing the wreckage of many ships and the corpses of many warriors, before he found the first other survivor.

  The man crawled across the beach. He wore scraps of leather armor, and his hair was dark and curled and caked with sand and blood. His left leg was shattered, broken several times; Gemini nearly gagged to see its odd angles. The poor wretch groaned as he crawled across the sand, reaching shaky hands toward a leather pouch. Gemini squinted.

  Oh dear Spirit.

  His mouth watered.

  His blade thumped into the sand. He was too weak to carry it.

  Inside the leather pouch Gemini saw the greatest treasure he'd ever laid eyes on. He nearly fainted from desire, and his nostrils flared to inhale the sweet scent.

  "Fresh lemons," he whispered.

  Gemini could already taste them. He shivered at the aroma. Lemons--sweet nectar of life for sailors . . . and perhaps for survivors in the ruin of the world.

  At the sound of Gemini's voice, the wounded man on the beach turned his head around, saw Gemini, and hissed. At once the wretch spun back toward the pouch and crawled with more fervor, dragging his shattered leg across the sand.

  Gemini stumbled forward.

  "My lemons," he hissed. "Mine!"

  The wounded man crawled, broken leg trailing behind. Gemini limped forward, fell into the sand once, pushed himself up and kept lolloping onward, hands in the sand like some ape.

  The wounded man grabbed the pouch.

  Gemini roared, leaped forward, and clutched the pack too. Lemons rolled across the sand.

  "Mine!" Gemini screamed. "I saw them first! My lemons!"

  The wounded sailor cried out hoarsely, face red. His lips bled. He clung to the pack pathetically. One lemon inside was crushed, dripping juice.

  "You're wasting them!" Gemini shouted. "Give me the pouch. Let go!"

  "We can share them," the man whispered. "We--"

  Gemini shouted and tugged the pack mightily, but the man refused to let go. More lemons spilled. With one hand, the man reached out and grabbed one of the rolling fruit.

  "Thief!" Gemini shouted. "You're trying to steal them. You want to eat them all yourself! I won't let you. I won't let you."

  Rage flowed over him, and Gemini released the pack and grabbed the man's throat.

  The man screamed.

  Gemini squeezed.

  The man's scream died to a gurgle.

  "You're a thief!" Gemini growled. "A dirty thief after my lemons. Mine. My lemons."

  The man gasped, pawing at Gemini's chest. Gemini squeezed harder. The man's eyes bulged, and spittle rose on his lips.

  "And thieves deserve to die," Gemini hissed.

  He squeezed harder, and his enemy's face turned blue. The sailor's hands fell to the sand . . . and curled into fists.

  One fist drove upward and slammed into Gemini's jaw.

  White light exploded, and Gemini's grip loosened on the man's throat. He fell back into the sand, blood on his lips. He saw stars.

  The wounded sailor rasped for air, shoved himself up, and grabbed the pack of lemons again.

  Gemini struggled to his feet, still bleeding, and took two steps forward in the sand. He slammed his foot down hard, driving his boot into the man's broken leg.

  Gemini had never heard a scream of more agony. It was a horrible sound, a shattering sound, a cry of pure pain fading to a whimper and silence.

  The sailor slumped into the sand, perhaps dead, perhaps unconscious. Gemini would take no chances. He stepped off the shattered leg, grabbed the man's throat, and squeezed again, squeezed and squeezed with all his anger--for Domi, for his ruined fleet, for his ruined life--squeezed until the man breathed no more, until the precious lemons were his, his alone, his prize.

  Gemini sat in the sand and he feasted upon them. Their juice blazed against his cut lips but he only laughed at the pain. Pain was good. Pain meant he was alive.

  His mouth stinging, the lemon juice mingling with his blood, Gemini rose to his feet. He hefted the pack with the remaining lemons across his back. He walked on along the beach, leaving the dead man behind.

  "I will live," he whispered. "The Spirit wants me alive. And I will kill anyone who comes between me and my task."

  He knew his mission now. He knew why the Spirit had spared him while taking so many.

  I stand on the continent of Terra, he thought. And my homeland awaits beyond the sea.

  He looked across the water. North, beyond the great sea of sunken ships, the Commonwealth awaited him. Its people cried out under the yoke of Beatrix, desperate for him, for the blessed Lord Gemini Deus, to rule the Cured Temple.

  "I will not forget you," Gemini whispered. "I will find my way home, a holy warrior, blessed by the Spirit." He clenched his fist. "The Temple will be mine!"

  As if in answer, a moan rose from the beach.

  Gemini frowned. Was the wounded sailor still alive? Did he still want to fight for his lemons?

  The moan sounded again--soft, high.

  Gemini spun toward the sound. He could see only piles of driftwood, scraps of sails, and another corpse, its legs missing. He walked forward, taking slow steps, the lemons and water giving him some strength. A ship's entire figurehead, detached from its hull, lay on the sand before him, carved as a nude woman. Seaweed entangled around her wooden hair. Gemini stepped around the figurehead and saw her there.

  His eyes widened, then dampened.

  He fell to his knees.

  Thank you, Spirit.

  Gemini knew then that he was truly blessed, that the Spirit had truly chosen him.

  Lying before him in the sand, her clothes soaked with blood but her chest still rising and falling, was Domi.

  CADE

  They trudged along the gravelly road, two haggard travelers coated in dust, while paladins in priceless armor flew their firedrakes above and chanted for victory.

  "Easy now, Amity," Cade said, using the same careful tone he would with a growling bulldog. He placed a hand on her arm. "Let them fly by. We're not looking for trouble."

  Looking at Amity, Cade winced. A growling bulldog would appear downright docile next to the woman. Amity's fists clenched at her sides, trembling with rage. Her teeth ground, and tendons rose along her neck. Her cheeks flushed red beneath the layer of grime covering them.

  "We attack," she whispered through her tight jaw. "We fly as dragons. We burn them." Her voice rose louder. "We--"

  "Amity!" Cade placed a finger on her lips. "Hush! We must choose our battles. We--ow!"

  She grabbed his wrist, yanked his hand away from her mouth, and twisted his arm. He bit down on another yelp, not wanting to alert the creatures above.

  "Do not touch me." Amity glared at him, eyes wild, the mad eyes of a killer. "Or I will burn you too, kid."

  Good, he thought. Good, focus on me. Just don't shout and don't fly.

  He glanced back above. The procession kept flying overhead, thirty firedrakes or more, the great reptiles clad in gleaming white armor and spiked helmets. On their backs rode the paladins, each in white steel plates, and their banners streamed behind them, displaying tillvine blossoms on snowy fields. The firedrakes bore more than riders today. The treasures of the Horde rose upon their backs: chests of jewels, golden statues, and even chained slaves from the southern lands. As the paladins flew, they chanted out for victory, for glory.

  "The Cured Temple triumphs!" one paladin cried out and blew into a silvery horn. "Hear, Commonwealth! We are victorious!"

  The rhetoric perhaps impressed other travelers on the road and the farmers in their fields, but it only further enraged Amity. She growled. She wore rags-
-tattered leggings, a ripped vest, and dusty old boots--but seemed fiercer than a knight clad in steel. Once known as the Red Queen, ruler of the Horde, Amity seemed ready to challenge the Commonwealth to war again, with or without an army.

  Another blast of the horns above, and Amity leaped into the air and began to shift. Red scales flowed across her, the nubs of wings grew from her back, and claws grew from her fingertips.

  "Amity!" Cade whispered urgently. He leaped after her, grabbed her leg, and tugged her back down.

  The force of his grip seemed to sever her concentration. Her magic vanished, and she landed on the road, fully human again. She spun toward Cade, grabbed his arms, and dug her fingernails into his skin. Her hair, normally blond and just long enough to fall over her brow, was now tangled and caked with mud. Her eyes stared from a face just as muddy, brown and flashing and horrible to behold.

  "Why did you tug me down?"

  She tightened her grip, and Cade winced. She felt strong enough to snap his bones. Amity was a dozen years older than him, taller, stronger, and far deadlier, but Cade forced himself to stare into those blazing furnaces of eyes.

  "To save your life." He raised his chin. "Because you're stupid enough to believe you can defeat a hundred firedrakes on your own."

  She growled and raised her fist. "You dare call me--"

  "Stupid." He nodded. "Yes. You are stupid, Amity. And you're proud. And you're hurt. And you're grieving. And your whole world has fallen around you. And maybe you don't think you can defeat them. Maybe you know you'll die and you want to. Maybe you just want to die in battle. But I won't let you."

  He was surprised to see her eyes dampen. Her fist trembled in the air. "Why not?" she whispered, still clutching him with one hand.

  "Because I need you." Cade placed a hand on her arm and guided her fist down. "I can't survive in the wilderness on my own. Requiem can't survive without you. I need you to live. So we can find the others."

  Amity looked away, blinking. Above them, the firedrakes flew on, heading toward the horizon. The road suddenly seemed so quiet. Cade heard nothing but the rustling fields at their sides, a few crickets, and Amity's heavy breathing.