Dragons Lost (10 page)

Belly rumbling and
tongue parched, he walked toward the city. As he drew closer, his eyes widened,
and some of his hunger and grief faded under the sense of wonder.

"By the Spirit," he
whispered.

He had never seen a
settlement other than Favilla, his village. He had heard tales of cities, but he'd
been unable to imagine any place so vast. He knew that Sanctus, the city before
him, wasn't particularly large as far as cities go; it was certainly smaller
than great metropolises like Nova Vita, the capital of the Commonwealth in the
west. But even Sanctus, this humble seaside town, was larger than any place
Cade had ever seen.

Hundreds of
domed huts covered the landscape here, sloping down toward the sea. Several
monasteries rose among them, their towers pale and thin, proxies of the Cured Temple
that rose in Nova Vita in the west. A massive fortress, its four towers rising
even taller than the monasteries' steeples, rose upon an outcrop of stone that
stretched into the sea. Several firedrakes perched upon the fortress walls, and
others circled above the city. Brigantines anchored in the port, tillvine
blossoms painted on their sails. Here was the eastern border of the
Commonwealth, and the distant Horde warriors were masters of the sea; this was
not only a city of holiness but of war.

"There will be many
paladins here," Cade said to himself. "Lovely."

His heart began
to beat more rapidly. Had word of his escape reached this place already? Did
the paladins in Sanctus know to seek him, to bring him back to Mercy? Cade could
not simply saunter into this city, or he'd be caught like a fish leaping into a
boat. If Mercy had any sense to her, she'd have sent a firedrake to every city
within days of Favilla, warning her men to seek him.

Cade bit his
lip, considering. There would be no sneaking into this city; high walls
surrounded it, and he saw only one gateway. He glimpsed sunlight on armor—guards.

Guards who might
be looking for me.

Cade looked
around him. To his left, a copse of aspens grew upon a hill. Their leaves
whispered in the wind, catching the sunlight, flashing back and forth like
thousands of green coins jostled in a purse. Cade bit his lip.

"I must be
crazy," he told himself. "But it might just work."

He approached the
trees, plucked off a bunch of leaves, and sat on the ground. He spent a while
meticulously tearing, biting, shaping. Finally he stuffed the leaves into his
pocket, rose to his feet, and walked on.

Before long he reached
the walls of Sanctus. The gates rose before him, several times his height. The
oaken doors were opened, revealing a cobbled street lined with homes. A handful
of guards stood here, wearing chainmail and white robes embroidered with
tillvine blossoms.

"Toll's a copper coin,"
said one guard, a portly man with a scruffy face. He yawned. "Though you don't
look like you got a copper on you."

Cade rummaged through
his pockets. He had fled his village in a mad dash, leaving behind everything
he owned. In his pocket, in addition to the leaves, he found a fallen button he'd
been intending to sew back onto his coat, a purple snail's shell he had picked
up a week ago, and thankfully a single copper coin. He handed the guard the
coin, the last money he had. With another yawn, the guard stuffed the coin into
his purse and gestured for Cade to enter the city.

With a sigh of relief,
Cade stepped through the gates and onto the cobbled street.

His breath died when a
hand grabbed him.

"Wait a moment,"
growled another guard, this one tall and gaunt. Holding Cade fast, he glared at
the shorter, yawning guard. "You heard what the paladins said. They're looking
for someone. A boy, they said. Brown hair like this one got." His voice dropped
to an ominous whisper. "Uncured, they said."

Cade's heart burst into
a gallop, and sweat trickled down his back, but he refused to show his fear.

"Here's my brand," Cade
said, pulling down his tunic to reveal his shoulder. "I'm cured. Look, I carry
around ilbane and everything." He pulled out the aspen leaves—the ones he had
carefully shaped, tearing them into long, serrated forms. "I like to make tea with
ilbane. I figure it keeps weredragons away too." He stuffed one of the mock
ilbane leaves into his mouth, chewed, and forced himself to grin. "You want
some?" He stretched out a muddy handful of the leaves toward the gaunt guard. "They're
good to chew."

The guard cursed and
shoved his hand. "Get away from me. You stink of sweat and shite, and you're
covered in filth." He grumbled. "Go on, get out of my sight. And I warn you, if
I hear you causing trouble in my city, I'll have your bones snapped and your
corpse hung from the walls. Now go!"

For the first time
since fleeing his home, Cade was thankful he hadn't bathed in a while; perhaps
his smell, even more than his fake leaves, had saved his life. Leaving the
guards, he walked into the city.

As he walked down the
boulevard, he wanted to appear nonchalant, just another city dweller. But he
couldn't help it. He walked with his head tilted back, mouth agape, eyes wide.
By the Spirit, he had never imagined buildings could be this large! True, the
domed huts were the same here as back home—modest dwellings for commoners,
their windows round, their gardens barren of any flower. But among the huts
rose buildings of splendor; they seemed to Cade like palaces.

A monastery
rose ahead, its columns soaring, its dome coated with gleaming silver.
Gargoyles shaped as dragons perched upon it, and statues of ancient druids
guarded its doors. Priests and priestesses walked between the columns, their
robes snowy white and trimmed with gold. The sounds of prayer rose from within,
old chants praising the Spirit and calling for the Falling. Cade kept walking.
Farther down the boulevard, he caught view of the city fortress; it was still
distant, all the way by the sea, but even from here it seemed massive. Its
towers soared, topped with perching firedrakes, and beyond the craggy walls spread
the sea.

Cade shook his head
wildly, looking away.

"The library," he
muttered. "I must find the library."

For all their beauty,
the monasteries and castles of the Temple were full of enemies, men and women
who would hunt him for his magic. If he were to believe Domi, in the city
library he would find aid.

He sighed.

I wish you were
here, Domi,
he thought.

The damn weredragon—no,
she was called
Vir Requis
, like him—was probably an enemy too, the woman
who had bound him, who had borne Mercy to hunt him. Yet by the Spirit, even
now, Cade could not stop thinking how her body—slender yet shapely—had pressed
against him, how her lips had touched his ear. He thought that even more than
soaring steeples or blue seas, Domi's large green eyes, peering from between
the tangles of her red hair, were beautiful.

For a second time, Cade
had to shake his head wildly, clearing it of thoughts. He kept walking,
exploring the city, seeking any building that looked like a library. He was
walking down a narrow, cobbled road lined with clay huts when he froze and
sucked in air.

A paladin was marching
down the street, leading twenty soldiers.

Cade slinked to the
edge of the road, his back to the huts. The paladin was an older man, his face
lined, and the hair on his right side—which most paladins bleached as a sign of
purity—looked naturally white. He wore the white plate armor of his order,
while his men—simple soldiers of common blood—wore alabaster tunics over chainmail.
As they marched down the street, a firedrake streamed above, its wings blasting
air down onto the street.

An urge filled Cade to
shift into a dragon, to fly away or fight, to blow fire. But he forced himself
to kneel, as all commoners were required to do at the sight of paladins. He
bowed his head. The procession walked before him, and Cade held his breath,
praying to any god who'd listen for them to keep walking.

But the paladin halted.
His soldiers slammed down their boots behind him, standing at attention. The
aging holy warrior turned toward Cade.

Oh damn it.
Cade
swallowed, keeping his head low.

"You," barked the
paladin, his voice scratchy. "I know every face in this city. I don't know you.
Rise. Who are you?"

Cade rose to his feet.
He knew he should keep his eyes lowered, keep showing subservience, but he
couldn't help himself. Hatred for the Temple filled him, and he met the paladin's
eyes. Those eyes were small, watery, and pale, but the gaze was piercing
nonetheless. A white mustache topped the man's lip, the edge stained red, perhaps
from wine.

"I'm a foreigner." Cade
tried to keep his voice high, to sound even younger than his eighteen years. "From
the farmlands. My parents died years ago, and I've come seeking the library.
To. . ." He thought for a moment. "To read the holy books. I wish to study more
about the Cured Temple and become a priest someday. I want to learn how to pray
really hard to the Spirit, to help bring about the Falling."

Some of the intensity
faded from the paladin's eyes. The aging man sighed. "It isn't the priests who'll
bring about the Falling, son, but noble paladins who slay weredragons." He
pointed down the road. "And the library's on the boardwalk, overlooking the
sea. You'll find enough holy books there to pray from, if you can even read
them."

Cade bowed his head. "Thank
you, my lord."

Once the paladin and
soldiers had moved down the road, Cade finally allowed himself to breathe. He
kept walking down the streets, heading toward the sea, sparing no more glances
at any tower or steeple. Finally he found himself upon a cobbled boardwalk that
stretched along the coast. The sun shone overhead, and the water gleamed bluer
than Mercy's eyes. Beyond the boardwalk spread a narrow beach, and several
priests knelt in the sand, hands pressed together, praying to the Spirit.
Fishermen stood upon a breakwater, their rods rising like great spider legs.

Cade turned toward the
buildings that rose along the boardwalk. He saw a few homes, a humble monastery
with a white dome, and several shops selling burlap, tillvine blossom amulets,
and small glass bottles said to contain the Spirit's breath. Few people were
here—a handful of commoners who hurried from a shop back to the streets, an
elderly priest in white cotton, and a few soldiers in chainmail. Cade walked
back and forth along the boardwalk, seeking the library, wondering if he was
truly in the right place.

He had imagined the
library to be a grand building, as grand as the castle or monasteries, a wonder
of architecture serving thousands of readers. When he finally found the
building, he realized he had passed by it twice, missing it. He paused outside
the simple structure and stared, confused. The walls were built of pale, rough
clay, rounded and supporting a domed roof. The door was simple wood. This place
was barely larger than Cade's hut back home. If not for the piles of books
balanced on the windowsills, he'd have never suspected this might be a library.
Could this humble little house truly be the Library of Sanctus, the place Domi
had spoken of in such awe?

He knocked on the door.

"Go away!" rose a voice
from inside.

Cade blinked. He
frowned. He knocked again.

"I said," rose the
voice again, more irritated than before, "go away! We're closed."

Cade grumbled. He left
the door, approached one of the windows, and stood on his tiptoes to stare
inside. The chamber was small and stocked with many shelves and piles of books,
more books than he'd ever seen in one place before. A figure sat at the back,
shrouded in shadows, mountains of books hiding everything but a bit of golden
hair.

"Hello!" Cade said. "Can
you let me in?"

"No!" came the voice
again—a woman's voice. "Now go away or I'll call the paladins. We always close
for Saint Olora Day."

Cade returned to the
door and knocked again. "Look, lady, I've been walking across the wilderness
for days, I paid all the money I had to enter this city, and I've been looking
for this library for hours. I'm not going away. So please, let me in."

An annoyed groan rose
from inside. Footsteps thumped, and the door was yanked open.

Cade found himself
staring at, he presumed, the librarian. She was a young woman, a little older
than him—perhaps twenty years old. Her blond hair hung across her shoulder in a
braid, and large, round spectacles perched upon her nose, magnifying her blue
eyes. She wore tan leggings, a white shirt, and a blue vest with brass buttons;
Cade had never seen anyone dressed so strangely. She carried a book in one
hand, and she placed her second hand on her hip.

"Who are you, and what
do you want?" she said, eyebrows pushed low.

Cade cleared his
throat. "I'm looking for the Library of Sanctus."

"And I'm looking for
some peace and quiet."

She tried to slam the
door shut, but he placed his foot in the way. "I was told to come here. Can you
at least let me inside so I—"

She cut him off with a
sneeze. It was a sneeze so loud, so powerful, that her spectacles flew right
off her nose. Cade had to catch them before they could fall to the floor.

"Give me those!" She grabbed
them from him. "You almost broke them."

"
I
almost broke
them?" He raised his eyebrows. "You're the one who sneezed."

"And you made me
sneeze! I sneeze when I'm nervous." She sniffed, froze, and swallowed a second
sneeze. "Oh, look what you've done. I suppose I'll be sneezing all over the
place now." She sighed. "Fine. If you're going to keep arguing and blocking the
door and making me ill, you might as well come inside." She grabbed his collar
and tugged him. "Come on!"