"Fly, Resistance!" she shouted through the inferno. "Fly to Tarath Imperium. Crush the tower!"
She could no longer see the city, only a storm of gray and red. Cannonballs flew through dust and smoke and ash. Dragons screamed around her, lost their magic, and collapsed into bits of flesh. Kaelyn screamed and kept flying.
"Forward, Resistance!" Valien howled somewhere ahead. "Fire your guns. Blow your fire!"
Kaelyn couldn't see. She could barely hear beyond the ringing in her ears. A cannonball blasted ahead of her, missing her by inches. A second round flew behind her; it banged against her tail, knocking off a spike, and she screamed. Yet she flew on. Through the dust and smoke, she could still hear the Resistance singing their song.
"To the tower!" she cried. "Fly on, Resistance. For Requiem!"
They flew over the walls. Through the smoke, Kaelyn glimpsed the city roofs and streets. Nova Vita sprawled below her, a labyrinth of shadows and firelight.
Shrieks tore through the sky ahead.
Flames blasted toward her.
Through the thinning smoke, she saw them swarm: countless dragons of the Legions, beasts clad in steel, death in their eyes, fire in their jaws.
"Miya, are you still there?" Kaelyn shouted above her shoulder.
Upon her back, the young woman shouted back. "I'm here!"
"Fire your beam!"
Kaelyn snarled and flew toward the Legions ahead, a mass of scales and metal and smoke. They covered the sky.
"Miya!" she screamed.
The Legions howled and charged toward her, their fire blasted, and Kaelyn winced.
Red light blazed above her head and slammed into the horde.
They lost their magic.
They fell as men and women, clad in armor and bearing swords, and crashed onto the roofs and streets below.
Ahead, she saw a second red beam pierce the smoke and fire. Valien flew there, her lord, the man she loved. The silver dragon flew through fire and blood, roaring his cry. The Legions fell before him and his fire rained.
For Requiem, Kaelyn thought. For Rune. And for Valien Eleison, the greatest man I know.
Their guns blasted. Their beams blazed. Their fire lit the night. The Legions surrounded them, darting between the beams to burn them down. Cannonballs flew from every tower, crashing into their ranks, felling them from the sky.
The Resistance flew over the city, and they died. They died by the hundreds. Their corpses covered the roofs and walls below.
And yet the survivors flew. And they sang. They fought on, and even as their ranks crumbled, and their comrades fell dead around them, they shot forward. They plowed through the Legions, an arrow driving through a giant's flesh.
Tears in her eyes, her scales cut and burnt, Kaelyn saw it ahead, rising from smoke and fire.
Tarath Imperium soared in the night, the tower of Requiem, the pillar of Cadigus, the heart of the empire.
My childhood home.
Smoke and light filled the night. The city burned and crumbled, and thousands fell dead all around. It was the greatest battle of her life, the last battle she would fight. It was the end of the war.
With song and blood and blazing light, the remains of the Resistance, only a few hundred strong, dived over the last streets toward the dark tower.
LERESY
Leresy flew high above the city, watching it burn.
The capital blazed and crumbled, a painting in red and black. A chunk of eastern wall had fallen, and scattered fires burned around it. Cannons and arquebuses rang out, dragonfire blazed, and smoke filled the sky. Corpses lay upon roofs and towers, and blood painted the streets. The Legions covered the sky, hundreds of thousands of dragons roaring. The Resistance drove through them, shining their two remaining Genesis Scopes, cutting down thousands of dragons, sending men crashing against roofs, walls, and cobblestones.
Leresy had fought in battles before. He had defended Castra Luna. He had fought in the great Battle of Lynport. He had slain legionaries upon the beaches. Yet he had never seen such death, thousands falling from the sky, a rain of corpses. For every resistor killed, the beams sent a hundred imperial dragons falling, yet the Legions kept swarming.
"Fly at them!" their officers shouted, voices ringing across the sky. "Fly and slay them, fly around their light, fly and die for the red spiral."
As Leresy flew above, watching the carnage, a chill gripped his heart. His father was willing to send thousands to die in the Genesis Beams, all to slay only a handful of rebels. Was the death of a resistor so worthy, the life of a legionary so expendable?
"Leresy, damn you!" Tilla shouted, clutched in his left claws, still in human form.
"You're going to die here with us, Leresy!" shouted Rune, also in human form, clutched in his right claws. "The Resistance is slaying your father's troops, and they will slay you too."
Leresy snorted fire. He tightened his claws, almost snapping his prisoners' ribs; they grunted and fell silent. He shook his head wildly, clearing it of morbid thoughts. He could not contemplate morality now. He had to deliver his gifts, claim his inheritance, and save his city.
"Oh, but you are wrong, little ones," he said. "The Resistance will fail. I will save this city in its hour of need. I will deliver you to my father." He tossed his scaly neck, allowing his Genesis Scope to swing on its rope like an amulet on a chain. "Then, with my scope, I will cut down your feeble Resistance and save my empire."
He grinned. With Shari dead and his newfound glory, everything was finally falling into place.
You will finally see my worth, Father. You will finally name me your heir.
Below him, the Resistance had crossed the city center. They were attacking the palace of Tarath Imperium, the great axle of the wheel. Cannons were blazing from its walls, ripping into resistors. Imperial dragons were leaping from its tower, only to crash into the Genesis Beams and tumble a thousand feet to the ground. Dragonfire bathed the tower, smoke unfurled, and the walls shook.
Leresy laughed. "Now, Father... now as you huddle in the darkness, waiting to die, it is I—Leresy, the son you outcast and shamed—who will save you."
He cackled, almost tempted to let the Resistance swarm the palace and kill the bastard. But no. Valien would only seize the throne for himself, one despot replacing another. Leresy did not crave to see this rabble rule his empire.
"So I will save you, Father, though you disgust me," he said. "In return, I will watch you age and wither until the throne is mine."
He blasted fire, narrowed his eyes, and dived.
Smoke raced around him. Flames exploded like fireworks. A stray cannonball whistled by his side. Still he swooped, snarling, his captives clutched in his claws. Rune and Tilla screamed—human bodies were so frail, the skulls so small, squeezing under a fast descent. Yet Leresy would not slow his flight, and he sprayed fire, crashing down like a comet.
A Genesis Beam blazed his way, red and humming.
Leresy banked sharply, skirted around the beam, and kept diving. The beam shone upon a battalion of imperial dragons to his north, scattering a rain of armored men.
The steeple of Tarath Imperium reached up from a sea of smoke and fire. Black spikes crowned the tower like the claws of a giant. In the inferno of war, the tower seemed like the charred hand of a corpse. Cannons fired from its battlements, and a hundred men in black robes stood upon its roof, warriors of the Axehand Order, awaiting the resistors.
Valien and his mob swarmed from the east. The Legions surrounded the tower and covered the city. Here above the tower's crest, Leresy flew alone. Laughing, he dived toward the outreached claw of battlements. Several feet above the tower roof, he stretched his wings wide. They caught the smoky air, billowing like sails, slowing his descent. He reared in the air and shot a blazing inferno skyward.
"I am Leresy Cadigus!" he howled, beating his wings, a beast of wrath and glory. "I bear Relesar Aeternum and his whore in my claws. Open the towe
r doors, axehands!"
Shrieks sounded behind him.
Leresy spun to see a dozen resistors shooting toward him, rabid dragons bearing riders. Guns blazed from their saddles. Their fire crackled. An iron round slammed into Leresy's shoulder, digging through scales into flesh, and he howled.
He landed upon the tower, pinning Rune and Tilla down under his feet. He twisted his neck, grabbed his Genesis Scope between his teeth, and popped off the lid with his tongue. More guns fired, and another round slammed into his flesh. Grimacing, holding the scope in his mouth, Leresy aimed the beam.
Red light blasted forward, lighting the resistors.
A dozen dragons, only feet away and howling for his death, lost their magic.
They resumed human forms—wild, long-haired men and women clad in leather and rags. They tumbled. Most crashed down beyond the tower and into the night. Three, the closest to Leresy, crashed against the tower roof. The Axehand Order swept forward, black robes swaying, and swung the blades strapped to their stumps. Resistors screamed and died.
Leresy panted and mewled. Two iron rounds dug into his flesh. Each was small, only the size of a marble, but crackled with agony.
He limped across the tower roof. With every step, he pressed his captives down against the floor, all but crushing them. He had to beat his wings to keep moving. The battlements towered around him, fifty feet tall, their obsidian reflecting the firelight. Across the roof, axehands chanted prayers, blades swung, and dragons roared. Fire crackled and cannons blasted, their booms deafening. Leresy's ears rang. His blood dripped. Yet he gritted his teeth and kept moving, his claws wrapped around his prisoners.
The tower trapdoor lay ahead. Fifty axehands surrounded it, blades raised. The firelight pierced their hoods, painting their iron masks a demonic red.
"Let me through," Leresy demanded, limping forward, slamming Rune and Tilla down with each step. "I've caught the escaped heir. Let me pass!"
As the battle raged beyond the battlements, the axehands stood in the firelight and smoke, hissing. One spoke, his voice ghostly, a sound like steam fleeing a kettle.
"You are Leresy the Outcast. Our lord, the God of Dragons, has banished you. Leave this place, or we will feast upon your organs for the glory of the red spiral."
Leresy hissed and blasted smoke their way. "The city is burning. I have the heir of Aeternum in my claws. I have the traitor Tilla Siren, the killer of Shari Cadigus. I have a Genesis Scope, the only weapon that can stop the Resistance now." He spat flames at their feet. "Let me pass or watch this tower fall."
The axehands stared, silent. Jets of dragonfire crisscrossed overhead. Arquebus rounds blazed; one slammed into an axehand, knocking the man down. Dragons screamed and flew above and corpses showered down. The tower shook. But Leresy only stared at the axehands, smoke rising from his nostrils, his claws gripping his prizes.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the axehands parted, clearing the way to the trapdoor.
Leresy barked a laugh and stepped between them, still in dragon form.
"Now grab these prisoners!" he said. "Chain them up. Drag them behind me, and we will present them to the emperor."
He tossed Rune and Tilla down, then shone his scope upon them. They were bloodied, bruised, and weak; he wondered if he'd snapped their bones. The wretches tried to escape. They could not shift under the light, but they crawled across the tower, coughing and struggling to rise.
Pathetic, Leresy thought. And yet... he found his blood heating. The boy Rune was a maggot, but Tilla... even as she crawled and gasped for breath, her skin bloody and ashy, Tilla was more intoxicating than wine. Her clothes were tattered, revealing her shapely flesh. Her eyes blazed with fury, shining like two black gems. Leresy watched her struggle and licked his lips.
I've craved you since I first saw you at Luna, he thought, and his drool dripped between his teeth. I will bed you yet. You will be my prisoner and my concubine.
The two struggled to their feet, pitiful lovers. Before they could take a step, the axehands swarmed around them. The robed warrior-priests grabbed them, shoved them down, and pulled chains from their cloaks. The two traitors screamed and kicked and punched. Rune managed to knock an axehand down. But they were too weak, and the axehands were too many. Within moments, the prisoners were chained, and the axehands were dragging them into the tower.
"Wait!" Leresy said. "I will lead the way. Drag the prisoners behind me."
He shifted into human form. His wounds blazed with new agony, and blood soaked his clothes, but he ignored the pain; soon all his pain would end. As the sky burned and bled, he stepped toward the prisoners. Rune and Tilla stood before him, struggling in their chains, screaming for his blood.
"My sweetness," Leresy said, approaching Tilla. Her wrists were bound, and four axehands held her still.
Leresy caressed her cheek, then pulled his hand back as she tried to bite. She spat at him but missed his face, and her spit landed at his feet. Iron rounds and fire crashed all around them, and dragons fought overhead. Blood pattered down. Chipped scales clattered around them like hail.
"I will kill you, Leresy Cadigus, you gutter worm," Tilla said, her cheeks red with fury.
He licked his lips. "Good. You're still feisty. I like that. I want you to struggle tonight as I make you mine." He snapped his fingers. "Axehands! Follow."
Grinning, he stepped through the trapdoor and into the tower.
He walked down a coiling staircase. Torches lined the walls, and the axehands walked behind him, dragging the kicking prisoners. Guards stood every few steps, armed with halberds and swords and shields, clad in black steel.
Soon they will serve me, Leresy thought. Soon these soldiers will hail Leresy as their god.
He laughed as he descended the steps. Finally, after all this blood and fire and pain, glory was his. Finally Shari was dead. Finally finally after all the agony, he—Leresy Cadigus—had emerged triumphant.
"Tonight you will see, Father," he said to the shadows as he descended. "You will see that Shari was weak, that she died like a dog. You will see that Kaelyn is a mere worm. You will see that I, your outcast son, am the strong one, the glorious one, the heir to your crown." Tears burned in his eyes, but Leresy forced himself to grin. "And you, Erry... you betrayed me. You will watch me rise to glory, and I will hunt you down, and I will force you to kneel. And I will force you to kneel too, Tilla. I will force this whole damn world to kneel and worship my glory."
He reached a corridor and marched across its black tiles. Guards stood alongside, swords drawn, waiting for battle. Within moments, Leresy knew, the Resistance could swarm down these halls like poison through the arteries of a giant. By then it would be too late for them; Leresy would have claimed his domain.
"Leresy, fight us like a man!" Tilla screamed behind, but hands muffled her cry.
Leresy's grin widened and he kept marching. When he reached a tall, bronze door, he paused and inhaled deeply.
Father's door.
The tower of Tarath Imperium rose from a sprawling palace, a complex of halls and courtyards. The throne room, far below this place, loomed so large a hundred dragons could fly within it. Intricate mosaics covered its floors, gold shone upon its columns, and paintings of dragons bedecked its ceiling. The Ivory Throne rose there, resplendent... and usually empty.
Lowborn Frey Cadigus was a soldier at heart, disdainful of pomp. Once or twice a year, he entertained guests in his throne room, putting on a show of majesty. The rest of the time, he lurked here in this tower, in the austere chamber of a soldier, a place where he could butcher his animals, torture his prisoners, and—so many times—beat his children.
Standing before this door, Leresy's knees shook, and he clenched his fists. He closed his eyes.
No, Father! cried a small voice within him. Don't hit her. You're killing her, Father! It's I who stole the fruit. Beat me instead.
He had stood shaking outside this door
so often as a child. Beyond this door, he had screamed, bled, and hurt so much. The throne room was a place of glory, but here... here beyond this door lurked blackness, pain, and terror.
He sucked in breath.
I must not fear the shadows today, he told himself. I suffered here as a child. But now, as a man, my glory will blaze within this darkness.
He opened his eyes, grabbed the doorknob, and pushed the door open.
Shadows greeted him. He entered the wolf's lair.
The place looked less like the chamber of an emperor and more like a butcher shop. The bricks were rough and gray. Meat hooks hung from the ceiling, holding animal carcasses. One poor lamb was still kicking as it bled out. Some slabs of meat, those in the shadowy back, looked oddly human, skinned and red. The stench of blood and offal filled the place. Leresy swallowed, feeling ready to gag.
Emperor Frey Cadigus stood before a table laden with cleavers. Despite the battle raging outside, he hadn't donned his armor, perhaps too proud to admit any danger. Instead, he wore his bloodstained butcher's apron. In recent years, Frey spent less time governing and more time with his passion, cutting and dissecting beasts and men. The meat was never eaten. Frey Cadigus never ate meat; he only craved to cut it.
"Father!" Leresy said, marching toward him over the bloodstained floor. "I've returned."
Frey stared at him across his table. His eyes were cold chips of obsidian.
"My son," he said, lips curling in disgust. "Have I not banished you? You return now as battle rages?"
"I return now to win your battle!" he said and tossed the Genesis Scope forward. It thumped against the table. "Have you wondered how the Resistance has been felling your dragons from the sky? They're using these weapons. Here is yours—a gift worthy of an emperor. And I bring further gifts, my lord." Leresy snapped his fingers and raised his voice. "Axehand! Bring forth my prisoners."
The robed priests entered the chamber, dragging the bound Rune and Tilla. Leresy pointed at the floor, and the axehands shoved the prisoners down. Smirking, Leresy placed a boot against Tilla's neck, shoving her face against the tiles. He drew his sword and held the blade against Rune's neck, keeping the boy too pinned down.
A Memory of Fire (The Dragon War, Book 3) Page 18