A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2) (19 page)

"But no more, Scraggles,"
she whispered, and a tear trailed down her cheek. "I'm done
with this life. I can't be that old Erry again. I can't let more
men beat me, use me, toss me scraps to eat and worthless promises.
I'd rather live alone in the wilderness with you, Scraggles, even if
we starve to death."

The forest was thick. The
fallen leaves rose above her feet. Bushes, wild grass, and ivy
tangled around her legs, rising to her shoulders at some spots. The
trees crowded around her—twisting oaks, craggy pines, and white
birches with peeling bark. Red and golden leaves rustled above her,
hiding the sky. Erry didn't even know in what direction she walked.
She couldn't see more than several yards ahead. Yet she kept moving,
just to get away from the Lechers, from Leresy, and from her past…
from the old Erry she vowed she'd never become again.

"No more," she
whispered. "Never again. I can't go back to the person I was."

His voice rose behind her.
"Erry!"

He was in dragon form now; his
voice was deeper and louder, ringing across the forest. Wings
thudded in the distance. Erry kept moving.

"He can't see us down
here," she whispered. "The trees are too thick."

She kept walking, and the wings
kept beating above, and Leresy roared. The trees bent madly and
leaves showered down; he was flying right above. Erry found herself
gripping her sword but released it with a shaky breath.

He
still can't see me,
she
thought. This forest rolled for leagues and leagues, and the canopy
was thick as a ceiling. The dragon would have better luck finding a
single fish in a murky ocean.

And then Scraggles began to
bark.

"Hush!" she whispered,
knelt, and grabbed the dog. "Scrags, quiet!"

Yet he kept barking madly at the
sky, tail straight as an arrow. Erry tried to calm him—hugging,
petting, and whispering to him—but he kept barking. Even when she
tried to hold his mouth shut, he tore himself free—he was stronger
than her—and barked some more.

The dragon above roared.

The canopy crashed open. Claws
glinted. A red dragon swooped down into the forest, fire trailing
from his maw. His tail lashed, tearing down trees, and his wings
raised fallen leaves into a flurry.

Erry turned and ran.

She leaped over roots, bushes,
and rocks. She didn't turn to look back. A root snagged her foot,
and she crashed down into fallen leaves, filling her mouth with mud
and moss. She leaped up. She kept running.

"Erry, damn it!"
Leresy shouted behind her. "Stop and listen to me. I'm not
going to hurt you."

"You already did, you
dung-sucking gutter stain!" she shouted over her shoulder.

She could not see him, but he
was near, and she cursed herself for yelling and revealing her
location. She kept racing. Scraggles ran at her side. A rock
twisted under her foot, and she fell again. She pushed herself up,
but before she could keep running, something grabbed her tunic.

She spun around, swinging her
fists, and struck Leresy hard on the jaw; he was back in human form.
He grunted, his lip bleeding, but kept holding her. She struggled
and screamed, but he grabbed her arms. She tried to kick, but her
feet found only dry leaves, showering them onto Leresy.

"Damn it, woman," he
said and spat out leaves. "Will you just listen to me? Calm
down and let's talk. I just—"

Scraggles bit him.

Leresy screamed.

The black mutt clung to his leg,
digging his teeth deeper. Leresy kicked, trying to shake Scraggles
off, and screamed again. The dog would not release him.

"Good boy!" Erry
shouted. "Bite his leg off!"

Cursing, Leresy drew his sword
and raised it above the dog.

Fear flooded Erry like a bucket
of ice.

She screamed, leaped, and
grabbed Leresy's arm, pulling his sword down. The blade sliced her
thigh, she fell to her knees, and blood dripped into the leaves.

The fight froze.

Teeth deep in Leresy's leg,
Scraggles stared at the blood, released the prince, and mewled.
Leresy too stared at Erry's wound. His eyes widened, and he tossed
his sword into the leaves like a viper.

"Oh stars," he
whispered and knelt beside Erry. "I didn't mean to… Damn it,
that dog of yours, he—"

She punched him again.

She punched him so hard his head
snapped sideways, and he fell onto his back.

"You drunken, flea-bitten
bastard!" she said. She rose to her feet, blood dripping down
her thigh, and glared down at the prince. "You gelatinous piece
of chamber pot goo. You—"

Lying bleeding in the leaves, he
reached up, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her down.

She fell atop him, snarled, and
tried to bite his face. He held her back; her teeth missed his nose
by an inch.

"Erry," he said,
"listen to me, damn it. I love you, all right? And I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I struck you."

She spat on his face, hitting
him square in the forehead.

"Go to the Abyss," she
said. "I'm not one of your whores."

"I don't want you to be
one," he said, blood and spit and mud mingling on his face. "I
don't want a whore. Stars, Erry, I'm too poor to afford one now
anyway."

She rolled her eyes. "Your
sweet talk is truly winning me over."

Yet she felt her anger ebb as
her blood dripped. She rolled off him and lay at his side, staring
up at the canopy.

"Erry," he said, voice
choked. When she looked over, she was surprised to see his eyes
dampen. "Erry, I… I haven't been right since the battle.
Everything is just… my mind is all…"

"Tiny?" she suggested.
"Slow as a snail? Nonexistent?"

"Muddled,"
he said. "Too much damn drink, and too many damn memories.
Since Nairi died—since everyone died there—I just keep seeing it.
The blood. The corpses. The Resistance flying against us. Stars,
Erry, there were so many of them, thousands of dragons and soldiers.
They knew me. They knew my name.
Death
to Leresy!
they shouted." Tears joined the mess of blood, saliva, and mud
on his face. "So I drank too much, and I whored too much, and I
hit you. I'm sorry."

She snorted weakly and her eyes
stung. "And you think you can tell me you love me now? And
I'll forgive you? Did you say that to Nairi or all the girls you
bought?"

"Nairi?" he said.
"No. I never loved Nairi. I thought I did. She was young,
beautiful, and powerful, and… a typical young man, I courted her.
But loved her?" He sighed. "I loved her power. But you,
Erry, you have no power."

"Again, my prince, your
sweet talk is falling somewhat short of my standard."

He propped himself up onto his
elbows. "Erry, damn you. You're nothing but a feral little
beast. You have no money. You have no noble blood, no influence, no
standing at court." He stared down at her chest. "Stars
damn it, you've got barely any meat on your bones. But… you joined
my camp. You wanted to be with me. And I wanted you."

"To bed me every night and
dawn," she said bitterly. "To use my body, and because I'm
so poor, I'd let you do it—for food, for shelter, for your promises.
And I did that for a while. Because you fed me, and because you
protected me." She rose to her elbows too and looked at him.
"But then you struck me, so deal's off, Leresy. No more."

"The deal was off a moon
ago!" he said, voice rising now. "The deal was off after
the first two days." He snorted. "Use you? For sex?
Erry, I don't care about that. You know what you gave me? You gave
me intolerable arguments over that stupid game you just can't play.
And you gave me cuss words I never even knew existed; I use some of
them now. And you gave me somebody to hold at night. I never held a
woman before; I never held Nairi or the others. But I hold you all
night, and I stroke your hair, and I kiss you, and… when I do that,
it's better than all the booze and sex. It's not just forgetting the
past with you. It's seeing a future."

She was about to snort again.
She was about to spit at him, punch him, and run. But she only
sighed.

"Stars damn you, Leresy
Cadigus," she said.

He held her hand. "Erry,
I'm sorry. I'm truly deeply sorry. I… I want to show you
something."

He rolled up his sleeve and she
gasped. She covered her mouth and her eyes stung.

"Stars, Ler," she
whispered.

He
sighed and nodded. "My father gave me that scar. He burned me
because I couldn't learn a sword thrust fast enough. I was only six
years old." He unlaced his shirt, pulled it down, and showed
her a scar across his chest. "And he gave me this scar with a
hot poker. I was ten and I couldn't remember the name of some
ancient fort that no longer exists." He closed his shirt. "I
have about a dozen more scars across me, a dozen more stories. Erry,
my siblings and I… we were raised in violence, in fear, in hate.
My sister Shari turned into a heartless killer; my father broke her
mind. My sister Kaelyn fled. And I, well… I'm a damn broken
wreck. I drink too much and I hit you, and my past can't justify
that, I know. I know it's not an excuse. I don't ask for
acceptance, only for forgiveness. Will you forgive me, Erry?"
His voice shook and his eyes dampened. "Because I don't want
you to leave me. Please.
Please
don't leave me."

Her own eyes watered and she
embraced him, laid her cheek against his chest, and felt her tears
wet his shirt.

"I have scars too,"
she whispered. "You only have a dozen? You weakling. I have
more. And I'll probably have another one on my leg from your damn
sword."

He held her close, nearly
crushing her. "I'll never hurt you again, Erry Docker. I
promise. I promise. Just stay with me, and we'll figure things out.
We'll find a home somewhere, you and I. You won't have to be my
concubine or my mistress. You will just be… whatever you want to
be, so long as we're together."

A weight pressed down onto
Erry's shoulder; Scraggles had joined the embrace. The three lay in
the forest, dry leaves falling around them, and Erry sighed.

"All right, Leresy,"
she whispered as he stroked her hair, not knowing if she made the
right choice, but feeling too weak to run. "All right."

 
 
TILLA

On a cold rainy morning in Castra
Sol, the Emperor of Requiem arrived with all his contingent and asked
to speak with her alone.

Tilla was drilling that morning
outside her tent, sparring with her troops and imagining swinging her
blade against resistors. The forest bobbed and dripped rain beyond
their tents, the wet autumn leaves turned dark as blood.

When
we reach Cadport,
she thought, thrusting blows against one of her troops,
they
will flee into houses and holes. It will be a battle of blades then.

The soldier before her, a young
flight leader with two red stars upon his armbands, cursed as he
parried. Sweat dripped down his temples. Tilla kept attacking,
using every thrust she'd learned at the academy. She shuffled
forward with small, quick steps, sword swinging down from side to
side. It was all her opponent could do to parry. Finally Tilla
slammed her sword—a dulled training blade—hard onto his pauldron.

"That's a kill!" she
said.

He grunted and tossed down his
own training sword.

"Commander," he said,
"your sword wouldn't break through this steel. My armor is
thick, and—"

"And my true blade was
forged in dragonfire from northern steel," Tilla said,
interrupting him. "A thrust this hard, with two hands, would
cleave your armor and bone; your arm would be lying in the dust."

The
young corelis—he
ranked above a green periva, but below a hardened siragi—cracked
his neck.

"The Resistance don't got
northern steel forged in dragonfire," he argued. "Bastards
fight with rusted, chipped blades."

Tilla fixed him with an icy
stare. "Valien Eleison carries the sword of a knight, a blade
of the old order of bellators. It would cut through your armor like
parchment. Do you not dream of slaying Valien?"

The soldier stared back, then
nodded and lifted his blade.

"Next man!" Tilla
shouted.

Yet before another soldier could
step forward to drill, roars trumpeted in the distance.

Tilla froze, sword raised.

The roars pealed across the sky,
thousands of them rising from the north. The beating of wings rose
like a storm. A distant voice cried out, hailing the red spiral, and
countless voices answered in a chant.

"Keep training!" Tilla
said. She turned to her siragi, a brawny soldier with dark eyes, her
right-hand man in the phalanx. "Siragi, take command."

The man nodded and Tilla
shifted. She rose from the square, white wings raising clouds of
dust, her flames crackling.

She soared high above the camp.
Lines of tents sprawled before her like a great city; fifty thousand
now mustered here, marching and drilling. Beating her wings and
rising higher, Tilla raised her head and stared into the north.

She gasped. A shiver clanked
her scales like a purse of coins.

"By the Abyss," she
whispered.

A great army flew ahead, as
large as the army mustered below. Tilla had never seen so many
dragons fly together; she could barely breathe. They flew in five
great squares across the sky—five brigades, each one ten thousand
dragons strong. Within each brigade, the square further divided into
ten milanxes, then into ten again, forming phalanxes of a hundred.

"Fifty thousand dragons,"
Tilla whispered, hovering in the air, watching them fly from the
north.

This was not only a force to
capture a city.