A Memory of Fire (The Dragon War, Book 3)

by Arenson, Daniel

  Erry blinked at him, tears still falling. "Really?"

  He nodded. "Many years ago, there was a great queen in Requiem, Luna the Traveler of House Aeternum. She visited Tiranor and appears in our lore. They say she wed a Tiran prince, and that her children inherited the magic of Requiem and became princes of your realm. Perhaps all Vir Requis have some Tiran blood deep inside them. Be proud of it, child. You are a noble daughter of starlight and of sand."

  She nodded, blinking her tears away. That didn't sound too bad. A thought struck her, and she reached under her shirt, slung her medallion off her neck, and held it out.

  "This is my only memento from my father," she said. "He was a Tiran sailor. He gave this to my mother in Lynport twenty years ago. Sila, you commanded a merchant fleet. Maybe you recognize this medallion?" Her voice shook. "Maybe you knew my father?"

  His eyes narrowed and he took the medallion from her palm. He examined it, turning it over and over, and exhaled slowly. Old dreams seemed to dance in his eyes.

  "I know this medallion," he said.

  Erry trembled like the last leaf on a tree. "Do you know who gave it to my mother?"

  He nodded, placed the medallion back in her palm, and closed his hands around hers. He smiled again, a soft, secret smile full of pain and memory.

  "Of course I do. I did."

  TILLA

  "The moon is new," said Shari. "The time for his torture has come."

  They stood in the Citadel's courtyard, torchlight illuminating the falling snow. The walls rose all around them, lined with cells. From behind a hundred oaken doors, prisoners howled, wept, screamed, and begged. Below Tilla's feet, she could feel the cobblestones trembling; down in the dungeon, racks turned, whips lashed, and flesh tore. The very stones of this place shook with pain.

  Now that pain would tear through the man she loved.

  Tilla looked up at the Red Tower. It rose into the night, wreathed in snow, a bone rising from a grave. In that tower he waited, chained, foolish, still hoping he could sway her to his cause. In that tower he would now scream.

  "I will begin with my punisher," Shari said. "I will burn every inch of him. His skin will crack and fall." She sucked in her breath. "Every day I will introduce a new instrument. Tonight the punisher. Tomorrow the rack. The third day the hammers. I wonder how many days he will last."

  Tilla returned her eyes to her princess. It was the first time she had seen her commander without armor. Shari had not dressed for battle today; she had dressed for torture. She wore tall boots over black leggings, a leather apron, and thick gloves. Her mane of dark curls cascaded down her shoulders, and her eyes shone with bloodlust. Her punisher crackled in her hand, red energy racing across its tip.

  Today she does not look like a warrior, Tilla thought and shivered. Today she looks like a butcher.

  "Commander," Tilla said, "I need more time. I am beginning to sway him. I—"

  "You've had long enough," Shari said and caressed the dagger that hung on her hip. "Are you softening to his cause, Lanse? Whose side are you on—ours or his?"

  Tilla's heart pounded. Her voice was weak. "Commander, a flayed, beaten, broken man cannot fight for us. He cannot break the spirit of the Resistance, only embolden them. If I can sway him with words, and he joins us willingly, the Resistance—"

  Shari snarled, reached out, and grabbed Tilla's throat.

  "The Resistance is scattered!" she said and squeezed. "They fled into the sea with their tails between their legs. Most likely they all drowned." Shari growled like a feral dog. "I grow tired of your excuses, Lanse."

  Tilla gasped for breath. The fingers were crushing her. She thought Shari would snap her neck. Stars, the woman was strong. How could anyone be so strong? She grasped at Shari's hand, trying to pry her fingers off, but could not. She was seeing stars and her legs were wobbling when Shari finally released her.

  Tilla clutched at her throat, wheezing, and stared up with burning eyes.

  I saved your life! she wanted to say. Rune almost killed you, and I saved you from him!

  Yet she could not speak those words, even if she had breath for them. To speak them was death. Shari was too enraged now.

  I am her groom, Tilla thought, sucking in air. And I saved her life. And I fought at her side in battle. Yet if I cross the line, she will still kill me. And she will enjoy it.

  "Commander," she managed to say, voice raspy. "Let me do it. If I cannot sway you, let me hurt him."

  Shari laughed, the laugh of a madwoman. "A moment ago, you were pleading for him."

  Tilla took a deep breath, unable to conceal its shakiness. "I thought I could sway him with words. But if we must use pain, we must hurt him fully. We must break him." She allowed herself a small, crooked smile. "What would hurt him more than his dearest friend torturing him?"

  Please let her agree, Tilla prayed silently. Please, old and new gods, let her agree.

  If she could torture Rune herself, she could perhaps hurt him less than Shari would. She could make him scream, but not cause permanent damage. If Shari tortured him, she would drive all her malice into her work; she would break his mind. Tilla could still save him... save him by burning him herself.

  Shari reached over and touched Tilla's punisher, which hung at her hip. Her gloved fingers caressed its leather grip.

  "You will torture him," she said and sucked in her breath. "Yes. That will hurt him, and it will harden you. We begin. Now. We enter the tower."

  They crossed the courtyard, a chorus of screams rising from the cells alongside. They entered the Red Tower, climbed its stairs, and emerged into his cell.

  Oh, Rune, Tilla thought, and her eyes stung.

  He stood bound, arms chained to the ceiling. He met her gaze and did not break it. He knew what was coming. He had been waiting. He was ready.

  "Begin," Shari said.

  Tilla wanted to flee. Yet if she fled, Shari would give him a worse fate. She wanted to plead with Shari again, but if she did, she too would suffer this pain.

  I'm sorry, Rune, she thought.

  She drew her punisher.

  She did as she was trained.

  At first he withstood it. Then his screams joined the rest of them.

  "You don't have to do this!" he cried, voice torn, as her punisher burned his flesh. "Tilla, you don't have to—"

  But his voice drowned in his agony.

  And she kept working.

  It seemed an hour, maybe more, before Shari nodded and placed a hand on Tilla's shoulder.

  "Good, Lanse," she said. "Good." She admired the welts that rose across him. "You did well for tonight. Tomorrow you will continue. You've made me proud."

  Tilla stood shaking. Sweat and tears burned in her eyes. She looked at her commander.

  "Will you not ask him to join us?" she whispered. "Will you not ask him to hail the red spiral?"

  "In time," Shari said and smiled. "When he's suffered enough. Not this night. Not until my vengeance is sated. Your work here only begins."

  With that, Shari turned and left the chamber. Tilla remained in the tower. A moment later, she heard a roar and, through an arrowslit, saw a blue dragon fly into the distance.

  "Tilla..." Rune spoke in a choked whisper.

  Now she could not curb her tears. They stung her eyes and streamed down her face, and she took two great steps toward him. She wanted to embrace him but froze; embracing him would only double the pain in his wounds. Instead she stood trembling and touched his cheek, the only part of him not scarred.

  "I will heal you," she whispered. She rummaged through her pack for bandages. "I will bring you laceleaf milk for the pain. I—"

  "I don't want you to heal me," he said, hanging from his chains. "Will you heal me only to hurt me again? Tilla... flee with me."

  She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  "I cannot," she whispered. "He would hunt us. He would kill us. I have to make you serve h
im. I have to save you."

  His eyes softened, and alongside the pain, she saw pity in them. Despite what she had done, he pitied her.

  "And I must save you," he whispered. "I must save you from what you've become, what they turned you into. My body is burned. But worse is the pain of seeing your soul broken."

  Tilla closed her eyes and trembled. She remembered Nairi burning her a year ago; that pain had only lasted for several minutes, and it had left Tilla in an infirmary for days. Now she had burned Rune for an hour, maybe longer, and still he only thought about her. Still he cared for her soul more than his pain.

  She opened her eyes and kissed him, a kiss deeper than any they had yet shared, and she loved him more than any love she had felt.

  "You are noble," she said through her tears, "and you are brave, and you love me. But you are wrong. My soul was never broken. I do what I must to survive. Please, Rune. Tomorrow when Shari returns, hail the red spiral. Worship Frey Cadigus. And this pain will end."

  "It would only begin," he replied.

  She looked at his manacles. She had the keys on her belt. How easy it would be to unlock him, to fly with him again! They could fly like in the old days, find some distant beach, heal together, kiss in the sand, and—

  No, she told herself and tightened her lips. Those were the dreams of youth. She had to follow this path—for Requiem, for herself, and for his life.

  She left him in the tower.

  She returned to her home.

  She sat upon her bed, pulled out her string of seashells, and held them all night.

  ERRY

  She sat on the islet, eyes burning, and stared out across the sea.

  "Pissy pig-shagging maggots," she said, eyes burning, and clenched her fists—small fists no larger than a child's. "Damn bloody gutter shite." She snarled and shouted to the waters. "Damn you, you latrine-licking dog's son, and damn all of you beef-witted cockroaches, you... damn..."

  Her throat tightened. Her eyes watered. She pulled her knees to her chest, lowered her head, and let her body shake.

  "My father," she whispered. "He is my father. Damn him. Oh stars, damn them all."

  She looked at the sea. The waves shimmered through her tears. It was easy to remember like this. It was easy to pretend that she still sat at home, on the beaches of Lynport.

  Her belly rumbled with the old hunger, and she remembered rifling through trash for scraps, eating live fish when she could catch them, dead ones that washed ashore when she couldn't. She remembered all those men who had taken her in the sand, all those times she had spread her legs for a meal, a roof in a storm, or a broken promise. And most of all, she remembered the demon inside her, the icy tendrils that clutched her belly and heart and mind, pulling her into shadows of loneliness and gloom worse than any blow. So many times she had lain in the sand, stared up at the stars, and prayed to die. So many times she had walked into the sea, sunk under the water, and tried to drown but never found the courage to swallow the water.

  "I spent eighteen years on the docks," she whispered. "I lived with cats and I became a feral beast, and I fought and I hurt. And you weren't there. You left me to that nightmare."

  She still clutched his medallion in her palm. She looked at it, her face twisted, and she emitted something halfway between growl and sob. She had thought this amulet a symbol of hope, of home, of a better world. Yet now it disgusted her.

  She whispered through tight lips, "You abandoned me."

  She rose to her feet. She tossed the amulet into the sea.

  The sun began to set, and Erry stood watching it, frozen as a statue, just standing, just staring, alone. So many nights she had stood like this, watching the waters, dreaming of what lay beyond. But now she knew.

  "They were there. My father. My sister. Living in peace. They left me."

  Darkness fell and the stars emerged. It was her seventh night alone on this islet. The others had been searching for her; she had seen the dragons flying overhead, calling her name. She had hidden among the trees until they passed.

  "They can all leave," she said. "They can all fly to their war, and I will stay here, and they can all go die. Especially him. Especially Sila." She clenched her fists. "I hope he dies first."

  She howled at the moon, fingers raised like claws.

  But no. She could not let him die like this. Not yet.

  She shifted into a dragon, rose into the air, and roared fire across the sea.

  "You will answer to me first."

  She howled in the darkness. She beat her wings. She flew through the night.

  The sea spread below her. The sky spread above. Erry flew between black and black, her fire lighting the way. Her blaze reflected against the water, and her roars pealed. The night was clear but she was a storm.

  "I've been hiding and running all my life," she spoke into the wind. "But now I will learn the truth. Now I will learn why I suffered."

  She flew for hours before she saw Horsehead Island ahead, a dark patch upon the inky sea. They would be mustering for war now. Tomorrow they intended to fly out, to invade Requiem, to kill and to die. That was their war; Erry fought her own, a battle that had been raging inside her since her birth upon the boardwalk.

  She crashed down onto the beach in a cloud of smoke and flame. Valien had forbidden them to light fires, worried the Legions were patrolling the seas, but Erry didn't care. She howled and sprayed her flames, lighting the island.

  "Sila!" she cried upon the beach. "Come see me. I'm here. Come face me!"

  She tossed her head, scattering fire, not caring that others saw. She beat her wings, raising the sand into a storm. They stood upon the beach, Vir Requis and Tirans, gaping at her.

  Let them gawk, she thought, eyes burning. Let them see the orphan, the dock rat, the creature. He made me this thing.

  Through the smoke and flying sand, he emerged, walking grimly and staring ahead. Captain Sila of Tiranor. Her father.

  "Erry," he said.

  She growled and snapped her teeth at him, still in dragon form. He stood before her, wide-shouldered, leathery-faced, gruff and strong and weathered, but still only a man. She was a dragon. She was fire and claw and fang, and she could kill him. She could make him hurt like she hurt.

  But her eyes only dampened again.

  She lowered her head, blasting the sand with smoke, and growled and clawed the beach.

  "Why?" she said, spitting the words out with spurts of fire. "Why did you do this?"

  He stood before her, not cowering back even as her smoke and fire flickered. Sparks from her flame burned upon his tunic, but still he stood firmly, staring at her steadily. His eyes were still hard, his face inscrutable.

  "Will you face me as a woman?" he said.

  She growled. "Will you face me as a man? I don't see a man. I see only a coward. I see only a whoring sailor. I see a dog who... who abandoned my mother." Her tears streamed now, steaming in her fire. "A dog who abandoned me."

  He met her gaze steadily. "Return to human form, Erry, and we will talk."

  She howled. She wanted to blast him with fire. She wanted to dig her claws into his flesh. But he only kept staring, eyes hard, lips tight, silent. He stared her down. With a yowl, she blasted a pillar of fire skyward, and she released her magic. She returned to human form and stood in the sand, panting. Her flames rained around her as sparks.

  "Speak to me!" she said. "Tell me why you did it. You abandoned me!"

  "Is that what your mother told you?" he asked.

  She could barely see through her tears. "She never told me anything! She died when I was only five. You didn't even know, did you? You didn't care. Frey killed her, and you only lived here on the island. You never cared about her. You only fled here, a coward."

  People were gathering around them, but Erry didn't care. She panted and rubbed her eyes and stared at this man she hated.

  "Erry, where is the medallion I gave her? The medallion y
ou carried all these years?"

  "I threw it into the sea. It's a piece of garbage. Meaningless. It's a trifle you paid for a whore." She snorted through her tears. "I hope you enjoyed bedding her that night. I hope it was your best damn time. I hope your silver bought you an hour of joy. It bought me a lifetime of pain."

  He remained calm and cold. If any pain filled him, his eyes did not betray it. He had a captain's eyes, eyes for staring down mutinous sailors and enemy ships, for staring down death and life.

  "You have lived for years upon the docks. You have served in the Legions. You have seen the underbelly of the world. Have you ever, Erry, in all those years, seen a man hire a whore with a silver medallion?"

  She gritted her teeth. "You probably spent your last few coins on booze."

  He shook his head. "I never did drink booze, not then and not now. No, Erry. I did not hire your mother for a night of cheap passion. I loved her. I courted her. I wanted her to marry me, to return with me to Tiranor. When she refused, I gave her my amulet, a parting gift. I never knew she was with child. You must believe that. Had I known, I would have returned for you."

  "I don't believe you!" Her body trembled, and she could barely breathe. "If this were true, my mother would have told me."

  "Would she have? Would she have told a toddler of these things even adults struggle to grasp? Yes, Erry, I loved her. She was a flower blooming in the sand. I found her living in boardwalk squalor, and I wanted to save her, to show her a better life. I would have brought her to the desert and built a palace for her. But she would not leave her home. Her heart was in Requiem, land of her fathers, not my desert. She stayed—with my medallion, with my heart... and with my daughter."

  Erry shook her head, staring at her feet. "I am not your daughter. By blood? Maybe. I don't care." She looked up at him, and her voice cracked. "Do you have any idea how I suffered? I was an orphan. I slept on the docks. I always wanted to know who you are, but now... now I hate you."