A Legacy of Light (The Dragon War, Book 1)

by Daniel Arenson

  "He is in there," she said. "Our leader. Our guiding star. Valien Eleison, leader of the Resistance."

  Rune shook his head. She treats me like a child, he thought, yet she speaks of this Valien as a god. How mighty could this Valien be if he dwelled in ruin? Was this truly a man to speak of in awe? Judging by Valien's home, they were going to see not a great leader, but a ragged outlaw barely better than those who roamed the forests, seeking travelers to rob.

  They walked toward the archway. Several haggard men stood alongside it, their cloaks the same gray as the bricks, their faces ashy. When they saw Kaelyn, they lowered their bows and heads.

  "My lady Kaelyn," one said.

  "Welcome home, my lady," said another.

  She nodded at them, the wind in her hair. She stepped through the archway into shadow. With a last look at the skeletons that littered the boulevard, Rune followed into the darkness.

  TILLA

  Six soldiers surrounded the square, standing on pedestals and shouting names from scrolls.

  "Yar Potter!" one soldier shouted, a portly man with a dark beard.

  "Sana Tanner!" shouted another soldier, a muscular woman with a thin nose and cold, black eyes. "Sana Tanner!"

  Tilla stood in the square with the other youths of Cadport. As every name was called, that recruit moved to join the summoning soldier. As Tilla stood, waiting to be summoned, she squinted at the six soldiers crying out the names. Each wore a black breastplate and pauldrons. Upon each shoulder, they sported a red spiral.

  "Lanses," Tilla whispered. "That is their rank."

  When speaking from the walls, Nairi—the soldier with the short yellow hair—had called herself a lanse. The young woman now stood upon one of the pedestals, also shouting names from a scroll.

  The lanses seemed young—Tilla guessed them little older than herself—but lofty and well groomed. Each displayed a different sigil upon his or her breastplate. Nairi sported a black rose; other lanses displayed red skulls, dragon heads, towers rising from thorns, and other emblems. These were no brutes like Beras; Tilla guessed them the sons and daughters of noble houses, their blood too pure to serve among the unwashed commoners.

  She thought back to Cadport. Soldiers there displayed their rank—one or more red stars—upon black armbands; their shoulders bore no red spirals, and their breastplates sported no emblems. Only the lord of Cadport, a gaunt and dower man, wore red spiral insignia and displayed a sigil—his was a boar—upon his armor.

  The lanses are young officers, Tilla understood. Noble born. They wear their house's sigils upon their breasts. The others are the common soldiers, like I will become once I'm sorted.

  Standing on a pedestal, scroll in hand, Nairi shouted. "Mae Baker!" The young lanse looked over the crowd with narrowed eyes. "Mae Baker!"

  Tilla looked to her left. Mae stood there, eyes wide and damp, face chalk-white.

  "I…" Mae's lips trembled. "I… I don't…"

  Nairi shouted louder and reached for her punisher. "Mae Baker, damn it, report to me!"

  Mae sniffed, feet frozen on the ground. Her body shook.

  "Go to her, Mae," Tilla said. She gave the girl a gentle push. "Go to Lanse Nairi and stand before her. It's okay."

  Sniffing and looking around, Mae took hesitant steps forward. She looked over her shoulder at Tilla, as if unsure whether to proceed. Tilla gestured her on.

  But Nairi was less patient. The officer snarled and leaped off her pedestal. As she marched forward, she drew her punisher from her belt. The tip crackled with red lightning.

  "Are you Mae Baker?" the lanse demanded, marching toward Mae. Her every footstep clanked across the square.

  Mae stood frozen and nodded, tears in her eyes.

  With a snarl, Nairi drove her punisher forward, bringing its tip hard into Mae's stomach.

  Smoke rose.

  Lightning crackled across Mae.

  The girl screamed, doubled over, and begged. Nairi stood above her, growling and shoving her punisher against Mae's flesh.

  No! Tilla wanted to shout. She took two steps forward. She froze. She winced. Please stop! She wanted to rush forward, to shove Nairi back, to save her friend… yet she only stood staring, eyes stinging and feet frozen.

  Finally—after what seemed like ages—Nairi pulled her punisher back.

  Mae collapsed against the cobblestones, legs twitching and the last wisps of lightning racing across her before vanishing in smoke. Tears streaked her cheeks and she whimpered.

  "Mewling dog," Nairi said. She spat. "When I call you, you race to me like an obedient pup." She raised her voice to a shout. "Do you understand me, you flea-bitten mongrel? Stand up, damn it!"

  Mae whimpered, still lying on the ground.

  "You better stand up, dog," Nairi said, teeth bared, and raised her punisher. "Do you want some more?"

  Finally Tilla could move. She leaped forward, knelt by Mae, and reached under her arms.

  "Come on, Mae," she said softly. "Stand up. On your feet. I'll help you."

  She pulled the trembling, weeping girl to her feet. Mae stood shaking so wildly Tilla had to hold her up. Burn marks spread across her tunic.

  "Well, well," Nairi said. She laughed mirthlessly, tapping her fingers against her thigh. "Seems like you have a guardian, Mae Baker."

  "Just a friend," Tilla said quietly.

  She stared at the lanse; for the first time, she got a close look at Nairi. Most women were shorter than Tilla, and Nairi was no exception; the young woman had to raise her eyes to meet Tilla's gaze. But Nairi was strong, far stronger than Tilla; she could see that. This young woman had not shaped her muscles from weaving ropes, but from swinging swords. Her stance, her haughty green eyes, and her bared teeth all spoke of a huntress, a thirst for blood and battle. Her yellow hair was short like a boy's, but her lips were full and red and cruel, and they twisted in disdain.

  "What is your name, dog?" Nairi hissed.

  "Tilla Roper," she answered.

  Nairi stared at her, eyes narrowed and burning with green fire. Then she spat again, looked down at her scroll, and smirked.

  "Good," she said slowly, as if savoring the word. "Very good. Tilla Roper—you're one of mine." She looked back up at Tilla. "I will enjoy breaking you. Go join the others! Take your pup with you."

  Tilla's heart sank.

  Stars, oh stars, I've been sorted into Nairi's phalanx. She swallowed. The one officer here to use her punisher—and she's now my commander, and already I've angered her.

  "Go on, move!" Nairi shouted and snarled. She thrust her punisher, forcing Tilla to leap back.

  Clenching her jaw, Tilla began to walk toward the pedestal, helping Mae along; the young baker limped upon shaky legs, and her clothes still smoked. As Nairi kept shouting out names, the two girls reached the pedestal. Several other recruits already stood there. Looking around, Tilla saw Cadport's youths forming six groups.

  They're called phalanxes, she thought; she vaguely recalled hearing the term. Looking around, it seemed that each phalanx held a hundred recruits. A lanse commanded each group.

  Tilla squinted and tried to understand how each phalanx was formed. Who had written the names on the scrolls? Had they been sorted randomly, or was there some method here—farmers to one phalanx perhaps, tradesmen to another? All Tilla saw was that male lanses led three phalanxes; they took command of Cadport's boys. Women commanded the remaining three; the girls of Cadport were sorted into these.

  The lanses continued shouting out names. More and more girls kept joining Nairi's phalanx and crowding around Tilla.

  Finally Nairi shouted out the last name. "Erry Docker!"

  The slim girl, her short brown hair mussed across her brow, raised her chin and marched to stand among them.

  "Well, griffin guts," the waif said and flashed a grin. "Tilla-bloody-Roper. I thought I was rid of you, I did. Looks like I'm stuck with you." She shoved her way among the recruits, giving Mae Baker a particularly strong push. "Shove off! Make
room."

  Tilla was strangely relieved to see the fiery, foulmouthed girl among them. In Cadport, Erry was known as the city's chief troublemaker. An orphan, she claimed that her father had been a dockhand, and that she would beat bloody anyone who claimed otherwise. Behind her back, many did claim otherwise; they whispered that Erry was born of a dockside prostitute and a penniless, foreign sailor.

  Whoever Erry's parents had been, they had died or left Cadport years ago. Until her enlistment, Erry had lived alone upon the docks, as feral as a stray cat. A dock rat they called her, an urchin with a filthy mouth, skinned knees, and gaunt belly. Cadport's girls whispered that Erry herself was a prostitute; half the boys bragged that they had bedded her.

  Yet I too have always been an outcast, Tilla thought. At least Erry had some fire to her, which was more than Tilla could say about Mae and the others; they all stood here pale and sniffling.

  The sorting was complete. From her height, Tilla could see Cadport's youths fully divided into six phalanxes—three for the boys, three for the girls.

  "Move it, maggots!" Nairi shouted.

  The lanse marched between them, shoving them aside, and leaped onto her pedestal. She raised her punisher high; it crackled above her head, incurring several whimpers from the girls.

  "Listen up, you daughters of whores!" Nairi continued, holding the rod above her, a beacon of light and pain. "Form ranks—groups of threes! Triple up—now!—or I'm going to shove this punisher down your throats."

  Around the courtyard, the other lanses were shouting similar orders and threats.

  Tilla began to move. She grabbed Mae, who was still whimpering, and placed her upon a cobblestone.

  "Stand still!" she said. "Form the middle line. Erry, you stand behind her—"

  "You will form ranks silently," Nairi shouted, "or I'll cut your tongues from your mouths!"

  Tilla bit down on her words. Lips tight, she pulled Erry to stand behind Mae, then moved to stand before the baker's daughter. At her sides, the other recruits scurried into their own ranks, forming three lines before Nairi.

  The lanse stood, fists on her hips, and scrutinized the lines with narrowed eyes. Her lips curled in disgust.

  "Hail the red spiral!" she shouted.

  A hundred fists slammed against a hundred chests. Behind her, Tilla heard Mae sniff and Erry snicker.

  Flexing her fingers around her punisher, Nairi marched up and down the front line, snarling and cursing. When she passed by Tilla, she paused, thrust her face forward, and glared.

  "Roper," she said, voice dripping disgust. "You open your mouth again when I'm giving orders, and you will taste this punisher." She shouted. "Do you understand me, worm?"

  Tilla raised her chin and swallowed her pride.

  It's just a game, she told herself. Just a game. Nairi is just like me, just a girl, just somebody sucked into this war. We must play this game for now.

  "Yes, Nai—"

  The lanse drove her punisher forward, shoving its tip against Tilla's chest.

  Pain exploded.

  Fire raced across Tilla.

  She clenched her jaw, but a scream still fled her lips. Sweat drenched her. The fire! The fire burned her, twisting in her teeth, in her fingers, burning her bones—

  Nairi pulled the punisher back, leaving Tilla gasping. Tears filled her eyes, and it took every last bit of strength to stay standing.

  "You will call me Lanse Nairi," the young woman said, "or you will call me Commander. If you ever call me anything else, I will press this punisher against you all night; by morning you will be begging to die. Do you understand me?"

  Tilla could barely stay standing. She trembled. Pain throbbed across her chest.

  "Yes, Commander!" she managed in a choked voice.

  It's a game. Stars, let this just be a game. I will play by the rules, and I will survive this.

  Nairi spat, left her, and kept marching down the lines. Across the courtyard, the other lanses were doing the same, and punishers crackled, and recruits screamed.

  When Nairi reached the end of the line, she growled.

  Tilla peeked from the corner of her eye.

  The formation ended with a single recruit, a redheaded girl whose name Tilla could not remember. While all the others stood in threes, this recruit stood alone.

  "You!" barked Nairi. "I said form into threes. Where are your other two?"

  "I…" The girl faltered and sniffed. "There aren't enough others, Lanse Nairi. I… all the others formed into threes, but there are a hundred of us, and…"

  Nairi snarled, grabbed the girl's throat with a gloved hand, and squeezed.

  "Then you are useless," the lanse hissed.

  With her other hand, she drew a dagger from her belt and drove it forward.

  Tilla started, winced, and looked away. But she was too late. She had seen the blade enter flesh. She had seen the blood.

  Behind her, Mae whimpered and even Erry gasped. The red-haired recruit screamed. She thumped to the floor. She wept and begged.

  Tilla glanced over again, just long enough to see Nairi thrust the dagger again, this time into the girl's neck. The lanse smirked, pulled the blade back, and licked the blood from it. Her eyes burned with hunger, and she bared bloody teeth.

  No, this is no game, Tilla realized. She trembled and her chest still ached. Only the strongest will survive here. I must survive this place. I must. I will see Cadport and Rune again.

  "The rest of you miserable lot!" Nairi shouted. She cleaned her dagger on the dead girl's cloak before slamming it back into her belt. "Your groups of threes—these are your flight crews. These are your fellow warriors. From now on, you will remain in these same flights! The two worms with you—they will stick to you like boils to a leper throughout your training. Do you understand me, whores?"

  "Yes, Commander!" they shouted together.

  Nairi smirked. "Welcome! Welcome to my phalanx. You are now worms serving me. You are now miserable slaves. You now live for one purpose: to obey my commands." Nairi drew her dark longsword and raised it. "This is the Black Rose Phalanx. This is your new family. This is your new temple. This is your new life. You have no more parents, no more siblings, no more home. Your life is now the Black Rose! Your life is to obey me, your commander. Do you understand, worms?"

  "Yes, Commander!" they shouted.

  As much as her chest hurt, and as cold as her fear pounded, Tilla was glad to at least make some sense of things. Leaving Cadport, they had been nothing but a mass of frightened youths carted like cattle. But now Tilla had a phalanx and a commander. Now Tilla had a flight—a group of three. Now she finally had some grounding.

  There are thirty-three flights in a phalanx, she thought, vowing to remember the numbers. And a hundred troops: ninety-nine soldiers and one officer. She swallowed. The Black Rose Phalanx had one hundred soldiers. One too many.

  Tilla still had a thousand questions. Did she herself have a rank—the way Nairi was a lanse? Would her flight have a name too, or did just phalanxes get names? Would her flight have a commander, or was she equal to Mae and Erry? The questions kept bubbling inside her, but Tilla dared not ask. She had never had a chance to learn these things. Her brother had served, but he had died in the war. Those soldiers who did return to Cadport never spoke of their service, and Tilla could now understand why.

  A lump filled her throat. If I ever see Rune again, we won't talk about this either. Her eyes stung. We'll forget all about this nightmare. We'll walk along the beach, and he'll kiss me again, and we'll just walk there forever and look at the waves.

  "Now march!" Nairi shouted. She turned and began walking toward an archway in the courtyard's wall. "Follow me—three lines! Anyone who breaks formation tastes my blade."

  Mae whimpered. Erry rolled her eyes and smirked. But they all followed. A hundred legionaries of the Black Rose Phalanx snaked out of the courtyard, under the archway… and into a nightmare of blood and pain.

  SHARI

  Shari
flew upon the wind, blue scales clanking, and blasted fire. Across field and forest, she saw the distant lights of the capital, and she cursed.

  On any other evening, flying toward Nova Vita, the great torch of Requiem, would fill her with pride. Ahead shone the lights of Requiem's center of power, the mighty city that ruled the world. Ahead shone her birthright, a metropolis of a million souls, the heartbeat of her lineage. Ahead shone might, pride, and strength.

  Yet today Shari did not fly home as a heroine wreathed in glory. Today she flew in fear. Today she did not fly leading a battalion of dragons all roaring her name, announcing her return. Today she flew alone in the sky, a single blue dragon in the sunset.

  I've failed my task, she thought, and fire flickered between her teeth. Today I will face no glory but the wrath of my father.

  She streamed over the fields. The walls of Nova Vita rose before her.

  These walls snaked for miles around the city, thick limestone bedecked with obsidian tiles and lit with torches. Upon the battlements stood hundreds of cannons, each one as long as a dragon, mounted on gears fast enough to spin, aim, and fire within an instant. At each cannon, three men in armor stood vigil. Between the guns perched dragons clad in armor, their great dragonhelms topped with spikes. Thousands of warriors guarded this city, the jewel of the empire.

  During the reign of Aeternum, enemies had attacked and destroyed this place—griffins, phoenixes, and wyverns. But Frey Cadigus swore: Nova Vita would never fall again. All his wrath shone here, a glory of blade and gunpowder and fire.

  And tonight, the wrath of this emperor will fall upon me, Shari thought as she flew.

  The city sprawled below her, lit with countless lanterns. The streets were arranged like a great wagon wheel, its spokes leading toward the palace of Tarath Imperium, an obsidian edifice whose battlements clawed the sky. Fortresses, amphitheaters, aqueducts—thousands of great structures rose here, monuments to the empire's might, and Tarath Imperium dwarfed them all. The palace rose before Shari, clawing the sky, its windows burning with fire like the eyes of demons.