Dragons Rising

by Daniel Arenson

  Korvin patted her arm. "Domi is strong and swift, and she's been surviving on her own for many years. Last I saw them, Amity and Cade were flying together. The Red Queen is looking after the boy. We'll see them again."

  Fidelity nodded and lowered her head, and a tear flowed down her cheek. "But not Roen."

  Korvin felt a twinge to his heart, a blend of guilt and grief. For many years, he had mistrusted Roen, seen him as a man who tried to steal his daughter. Yet the green dragon had fought bravely. Had saved Fidelity's life.

  I'm sorry that I was always so cold around you, Roen, Korvin thought, head lowered. I thank you for your sacrifice.

  "I'm sorry, Fidelity." Korvin's voice was low and hoarse. "I know no words of sufficient comfort for this loss."

  She raised her chin and the wind dried her eyes. "We will keep fighting as he fought. We will honor his memory by keeping Requiem alive, by reaching the mountains, by finding the others. Requiem will rise in the ruins, reborn. King's Column will stand."

  As they kept walking across the wilderness, Korvin kept his fears to himself. He tried to be strong for Fidelity, tried to lift her spirits, to be the father she needed, dependable, calm as the world crumbled. But secretly his heart seemed to crumble too. He did not know if the others had survived. He did not know how he could survive losing them. To lose Domi, his youngest child, the girl he loved more than anything. To lose Amity, a new woman in his life, the first woman he had loved since Beatrix had murdered his wife.

  I don't know if you survived the flight over the sea. I don't know if you'll reach the mountains. And I'm scared, but I have to be brave for Fidelity. I have to let her believe there is hope, that we can reach the mountains, that we can find new life there. Perhaps Requiem is but a dream, a memory we can never resurrect. But if that's so, at least let me see the others again. At least let me hold Domi and Amity one more time, let me grow old with them, if not in Requiem then in hiding.

  He did not even know who he prayed to. The Spirit? That god, if real, held no love for him, a weredragon. The stars of Requiem? Korvin did not know if there was any consciousness to them anymore, any love for the last survivors of a dead realm. Perhaps he prayed to no one, perhaps his thoughts were hollow, as meaningless as their fight. But without that fight, without that hope, there was nothing left but death. And so Korvin nurtured that hope like a man fanning the last embers of a dying fire. It was all that could still keep him warm.

  They kept traveling across the wastelands of the southeastern Commonwealth. Hundreds of years ago, these had been the lands of Osanna, a kingdom long fallen, its survivors having fled to the Horde. The land was still barren, though as they traveled, Korvin saw signs of the lost kingdom that had once risen here. Several columns lay fallen upon a hilltop, corroded and cracked, perhaps the remains of a temple. A great boulder rose ahead, the size of a hill. It took a moment for Korvin to realize that it was the head of a lion, half-buried in the soil, perhaps thousands of years old, pounded down with so much wind and rain it had lost nearly all its features.

  The snow still fell when they reached the ruins of the town.

  "A relic of Osanna," Fidelity whispered. "Ancient enemy of Requiem, fallen to ruin."

  Most of the town lay buried under centuries of soil. Korvin could not see the old roads that perhaps had once run across this place. A portico of columns rose like the spine of a buried giant. Ridges of chipped walls twisted like a labyrinth. An orphaned archway, the walls around it long fallen, led to a courtyard lined with twisting oaks. A statue of a bearded king lay fallen, half-buried in the dirt, and the shell of a temple stood overrun with ivy, nests upon the remains of its roof.

  "We'll find shelter here," Korvin said. "Maybe even build a fire inside that temple, if we can find some dry branches on those oaks. We'll rest until nightfall, then fly in the darkness."

  Fidelity shivered. "This place looks haunted." She smiled wanly. "Do you remember how, when I was a child, you'd frighten me with your ghost stories?"

  A small smile stretched his own lips. "You used to pretend to be brave. But Domi would squeal in fright, especially when I'd lean forward and moan like a ghost. I used to terrify the poor kid. You'd comfort her, the strong older sister, but when you held her tight, I knew you were scared too." He laughed. "Were my stories really so terrifying?"

  "No." Fidelity's smile turned sad. "They were wonderful. And even after pretending to be a ghost, you'd always smile and laugh and scoop Domi and me into your arms. Then we'd sit by the fire and sing old songs. Those were good days."

  "Those days will return." Korvin stared at the ruins ahead, the crows on their old walls, the scattered stones, the whispers of ghosts. "The whole world feels like this now, a place of ruin, of death, of lost life. No more songs rise around the hearths of this place, and no more fire burns here. Even the memories of this place are long forgotten, and perhaps only the stones still remember the joy and light that had filled this town. So does life seem in times of hardship. Joy always feels lost when tragedy befalls us. Memories of warmth and family always feel like sinking ships, soon to be swallowed in darkness, when one is swimming through a storming sea. But as fire can be rekindled, as ruins can be rebuilt, so can joy resurface. So can new memories be made. We'll find Domi. And we'll rebuild our home, rebuild our family, rebuild our lives. We'll light new hearths and tell new stories, create new memories to warm us in future winters."

  Fidelity leaned against him as they walked. "We can start tonight. Here in these ruins. Let's light our first new fire here."

  They approached the remains of an old temple--a portico of mossy columns, a chipped wall, a few little hideaways under the remains of a roof. They stepped into a shadowy hovel and laid down their packs.

  "I'll go look for some firewood," Korvin said. "Maybe we can keep warm until night, even roast a few turnips. Those oaks on the hills might have dropped some branches, and--"

  A distant shriek rose on the wind. Korvin frowned and Fidelity stiffened and grabbed the hilt of her sword. The shriek sounded again, and another cry joined it, still distant but growing closer.

  "Vir Requis?" Fidelity whispered. "Firedrakes?"

  Korvin cocked his head. "No. The cries are . . . hollow." He shivered. "Too high-pitched. They grate on my bones like claws on stone."

  He stood up and peered through a crumbling, arched window in an old wall. Two specks of light were flying in the distance, growing larger--not the orange light of fire but a pale, eerie light the color of corpses. The cries rolled forth, unearthly, echoing like falling water in deep stone chambers.

  "What are they?" Fidelity whispered, shivering. "Oh, stars, it's so cold."

  Korvin nodded, shivering too. Icy tendrils creaked across the stone walls, sending icicles down from the window's arch. Frost floated in their breath and crawled across their cloaks like spreading leprosy. The cold invaded Korvin's bones, burrowing through the marrow, a deep cold that should not exist this far south, not exist anywhere in the world.

  "I don't know." His teeth chattered. "But they're not something we've seen before."

  The creatures kept flying closer, making a beeline toward the ruins. There were two of them, glowing with sickly light. Korvin could make out pale wings, ribcages, long claws, frost. Everywhere coldness. Winter. Death. They reeked of death, of rotted meat packed in ice. Of frozen corpses. Of worms. Of mold and soil under frost. Their cries rose again and again, ghostly, seeking him, calling to him, invading his ears like living beings of sound.

  Fidelity grimaced and covered her ears. She knelt behind the wall, shivering, teeth chattering. "Stars, they stink."

  Korvin knelt beside her. He pulled his cloak over them both, hoping the frosted cloth would make them look like nothing but a mound of snow.

  "Keep quiet," he whispered. "Keep still. Let's let them fly by, whatever they are. Let them--" He grimaced, unable to say more. The ground beneath him froze, the ice gripping at him, invading his body, his lungs. The ghostly shrieks pounded h
is ears, and the stench of rot filled his nostrils and churned his stomach. Fidelity grimaced at his side.

  "They're getting closer," she whispered.

  The cries were louder now, and wings creaked above. Blasts of air pounded their cloak, nearly tearing it off. A screech rose, followed by the sound of crashing stones. The ruins shook. The wings thudded closer, and more air blasted their cloak, lifting its edge, revealing the sky.

  Korvin stared above and lost his breath.

  Claws streamed over him. Light glowed within a ribcage. The segments of a tail, all its flesh removed, snaked above like a string of bone beads. The creature dived past him, and a blanket of its smell wafted down. Maggots rained and pattered against the cloak. The cries rose louder, and the creature seemed to turn in the sky.

  "They saw us!" Fidelity whispered.

  The cloak billowed madly. Korvin glanced from beneath it, saw the two creatures wheeling in the sky, then come swooping toward them.

  "Fly!" Korvin shouted. He tossed off the cloak and leaped onto the wall. "Shift, Fidelity, and fly!"

  She ran forward, placing more distance between them, and shifted into a blue dragon. She soared, blasting fire. Korvin summoned his own magic, beat his wings, and rose into the sky as a gray dragon, flames gathering in his maw.

  The creatures ahead screamed madly, the sound of butchered animals, and charged toward them.

  Bonedrakes.

  Korvin's belly roiled in disgust. He had read of such creatures in his old books. Before him flew not living beings but the animated bones of firedrakes. Their fangs and claws gleamed in the sunlight. Balls of sickly light pulsed within their ribcages like hearts, and shards of the same white light burned in their eye sockets. Shreds of flesh stretched between the bones of their wings, riddled with holes. Rotted saddles still rose on their backs, fused with the bones, and on them rode the skeletons of paladins, their armor rusty, their lances chipped.

  Korvin had only a second to contemplate them. Before the bonedrakes could reach them, Fidelity blasted forth her dragonfire. An instant later, Korvin added his flames to hers. The flaming streams wove together, shrieking and spinning, and slammed into the flying dragon skeletons.

  The bonedrakes roared, a torn sound, as the flames washed over them.

  The skeletons emerged from the inferno and slammed against the two dragons, biting and clawing.

  Korvin howled. Fangs pierced his scales as easily as a blade through hot butter. Those fangs were either blazing hot or impossibly cold. Korvin could not decide, but they stung with agony, tearing at him, shedding his blood. At his side, Fidelity screamed too, beating her wings madly as the second bonedrake clawed at her.

  Korvin swiped his claws. They clattered against the skeletal firedrake, scraping the bones, finding no flesh to cut. He growled, smashing at the jaws that bit him, slamming into the bones again and again, but there was nothing to wound, nothing to cut. He fell from the sky and crashed against the ruins. Bricks tumbled and Korvin roared, and still the jaws clutched him, freezing him. Korvin's wings beat uselessly, scattering snow, and his claws reached out and grabbed a fallen brick.

  He swung the brick, slamming it into the bonedrake's skull. The bone cracked, a tooth broke, and the jaws released him.

  Korvin beat his wings and soared, lashing his tail against the creature, knocking it down.

  "Fidelity!" he cried.

  She fought above him, crying out, caught in a creature's claws. She beat her wings and whipped her tail, but she could not free herself, and her teeth and claws only clattered uselessly against bones. The skeleton rider on the bonedrake's back hefted its rusty lance, prepared to thrust the weapon.

  Korvin growled. Hovering several feet above the ground, he reached down and grabbed a fallen chunk of a limestone column. He beat his wings mightily, rising higher in the air, roaring with the effort. He could barely keep hold of the heavy segment of column, barely rise, but fear for his daughter drove him onward. He ascended to hover by the skeletal firedrake attacking Fidelity, howled in rage, and swung the chunk of column.

  The heavy, rounded limestone drove into the creature's ribs with the force of a god's war hammer. The bones snapped. Shattered ribs flew through the sky. The bonedrake yowled and crumbled, freeing Fidelity. She flew backward, then charged forth, screaming, slamming against it, shattering more ribs.

  Korvin rose higher, still clutching the broken column, until he flew above the creature.

  He slammed the column down.

  The chunk of limestone, larger than a man, drove against the skeletal rider, shattering it into fragments, then crashed through the bony dragon's spine. The creature snapped in two, beat its wings pathetically, and then its glowing innards burst like an exploding sun. Light streamed out, searing hot, melting snow. The bonedrake slammed down in a rain of lifeless bones.

  The second bonedrake, its skull cracked, still thrashed upon the ruins below. It beat its wings and began to soar.

  Korvin and Fidelity spewed down their dragonfire together.

  It was a blaze so hot it melted snow, ice, and the rocks beneath them. It bleached the skeleton's bones, seared off the last bits of flesh and clinging soil, melted the dead paladin's armor. The creature screamed and crashed back down onto the ruins.

  Korvin and Fidelity kept blowing down their fire. The bonedrake screeched, unable to rise. Its bones thinned, withered, crumbled, but still it cried out, beating its wings, struggling to rise. Its jaws opened in the inferno, and it blasted out a jet of white, searing light.

  The beam crashed against Korvin with the heat and rage of shattering stars.

  He couldn't even scream.

  His fire died. His chest blazed. His breath died. He tumbled backward in the sky, emerging from the roaring, rising column of light the creature below still blasted skyward.

  Fidelity screamed and swooped. She landed on the ruins and swiped her tail, shattering the bonedrake's ribs. Korvin gasped for breath, head spinning, not sure if he was alive or dead. He crashed into the snow. The bonedrake's light still blazed, flowing from the bonedrake's glowing heart, along its spine, and finally blasting out of its jaws. It turned its head toward Fidelity, and the light hit her.

  The blue dragon cried out, stumbled backward, and crashed into a column. The limestone pillar shattered and fell.

  Korvin coughed, barely able to rise, to breathe.

  His magic vanished.

  He crawled forward in human form.

  The bonedrake still lay on the ground, its bones weakened by the fire, several of its ribs snapped, but still it blasted its light against Fidelity, pinning her against the ruins, burning her. The creature's heart blazed like a forge fire as it spewed out its beam.

  The ball of light keeps it alive.

  Korvin rose to his feet, drew his sword, and plunged the blade between the bonedrake's ribs and into the glowing sphere in its chest.

  The world seemed to drown in light, in sound, in pale searing fleeing life.

  Korvin's blade withered and disintegrated.

  The light bathed him.

  He fell to the ground, not feeling the pain, and stared as strands of luminescence coiled upward, rising like smoke, then fading, leaving only a ringing in his ears, only echoes.

  For a long time--silence. Snow fell. A crow cawed in the distance.

  "Fidelity," Korvin groaned. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled forward, crunching shattered bones beneath his boots.

  She lay against the stub of a shattered column, back in human form. She clutched her chest where the beam had torn through her cloak, tunic, and steel breastplate, finally burning her skin. She stared up at him, wincing.

  "Bonedrakes," she whispered. "Father, they were bonedrakes. Like from the old books."

  He knelt before her and examined her wound. He grimaced. Her skin was red and raw. If not for her armor absorbing most of the blow, that beam would have eaten right through her.

  "Nothing but dead bones now," he said, rummaging throu
gh his pack. He had some ointment in there somewhere; he was sure of it.

  "They were always only dead bones," Fidelity whispered. "But that light . . . that light let them fly, let them attack us. When it burned me, I saw . . ." She winced, and tears beaded in her eyes. "Oh Father, I saw King's Column falling. I saw dragons dying. I saw . . . I saw a cruel face, made of living light, mocking me, hurting me."

  "It won't hurt you anymore." He pulled her into his arms. "You're safe now, daughter."

  Fidelity shook her head. "We're not safe here. Maybe not anywhere." She looked at him with huge, haunted eyes. "I don't want to stay in this place. We have to keep moving. Now. We have to go."

  She pushed herself to her feet and began to walk. He followed. They kept traveling through the snow, leaving the ruins behind, and did not look back once. Ahead spread leagues of shadows and storm.

  GEMINI

  He carried her through the killing field, ash raining and corpses spreading around him. The husks of ships, the remains of men, and the shattered pride of a nation lay strewn across the coast, but he kept staring ahead, kept walking, holding Domi in his arms.

  "Gemini," she mumbled, eyelids fluttering, struggling to open her eyes.

  "I'm here, Domi," he whispered. "You're safe now. I'm here. I vowed to always protect you, do you remember? I'm here."

  He had bandaged the wound on her leg, and already the bandage was soaked red. She was so pale, so frail, a fragile lily trodden underfoot, barely clinging to life. Her armor had shattered. Her clothes had torn. The ashes of those burnt and fallen stained her skin, and sand and blood caked her hair. But her eyes were the same green. She was the same Domi he had first seen on the beach of a different nation, her true form revealed to him. The same Domi he had taken into his home, into his bed, into his heart. The same Domi who had betrayed him, locked him in the dungeon, used him to fight her war. The same Domi he loved, would always love.