Dragons Lost (25 page)

Kahan's boots slammed
down by Korvin's head. The abina snorted and spoke to his guards. "Toss them
into the dungeon for now, but ready the horses. We head south to the mountains
at dawn. We'll feed these murderers to Behemoth there. The old boy is hungry."

Hands grabbed Korvin
and Amity, yanking them up. Korvin kicked and shouted as the guards dragged
them out of the chamber, down a tunnel, and into an underground cell. The door
slammed shut, sealing them in darkness.

 
 
GEMINI

Again a woman moaned in his bed.
Again Gemini moved atop her, doing his duty to the Spirit, planting his
pureborn seed into her womb.

"My lord," the woman
moaned, eyes closed, sweat dampening her dark hair.

Once these
nights had been things of passion, of lust, of wonder and laughter at his luck
to serve as a Holy Father, to bed another woman every night. But they had
become tedious to Gemini, mechanical tasks. The woman beneath him was
attractive enough, all curves and heat, but Gemini no longer cared for such
things. He performed his task quickly, then rolled off her and lay in his bed,
covered in sweat, winded.

"My sweet lord
Gemini," the woman whispered, cuddling against him. "I'm sleepy." She kissed
his chest, nestling up for sleep.

"Get out," he
said.

She blinked,
hurt in her eyes. "My lord?"

"Get out." His
voice was strained. "Leave."

Her eyes filled
with pain, then with rage, then finally with cold acceptance. She nodded,
slipped her tunic back on, and left the chamber.

Gemini sighed,
staring at the doorway she'd gone through, then turned his head toward the
other side of his bedchamber. Domi stood there in the corner, head lowered,
hands clasped together.

"I'm sorry."
Gemini was surprised to find guilt fill him. "I'm sorry you had to see that,
Domi. I wish I could find you your own chamber, but I don't trust my mother
enough to let you out of my sight. It would not be safe, and . . ." He
swallowed. "Oh, to the Abyss." He patted the bed beside him. "Let's get some
sleep."

Domi nodded,
still daring not meet his eyes. Her cheeks were flushed. Silently, she climbed
into his bed and under the blankets. Gemini pulled her into his arms and kissed
her cheek.

"I know this
isn't the life you wanted," Gemini whispered to her, stroking her hair. "Until
I know you're safe here, that my mother holds you no animosity, I must keep you
close. I must protect you. I . . ." A yawn interrupted his words. "I'm bloody
tired."

Domi yawned too
and closed her eyes. Her body relaxed, and she cuddled against him and laid her
head upon his chest. He lay holding her, one hand on the small of her back, the
other caressing her hair. Gemini hated women sleeping in his bed—he always cast
aside those fertile women the priests sent him—but he found comfort with Domi.
He did not want to ever break apart from her. He wanted to lie like this
forever, their bodies entwined, two joined into one. He slept holding her.

Their life
continued.

Dawns rose, and
he walked with Domi through the temple gardens, and he fed her lavish meals,
and he bought her jewels and even a finch in a golden cage. She spoke little
and often stared at her toes, and her hair always fell across her face—a
fragile, frightened little finch of his own, his own precious songbird in a
cage.

But sometimes
he saw joy in her. Sometimes a smile broke through the darkness that always
engulfed her—a true smile, full of light, a smile that filled her eyes, that
filled his soul. He lived for those smiles. He lived to make her happy.

In the nights, he
took Domi into his chamber, and she stood in the corner, waiting patiently as
he performed his duty, as he bedded his women. And every night, as Gemini cast
those potential mothers out his door, he took Domi into his bed, and he held
her throughout the night. He never made love to Domi, never wanted to feel that
he defiled her, that she was just another woman to him.

And every night,
as she fell asleep in his arms, he kissed the top of her head, and he whispered
soft words to her: "I love you, Domi. Always. You will always be mine."

 
 
DOMI

Every night, she stood in the
corner, watching him make love to other women. Every night, Domi slept in his
arms, and she loved him, and she hated herself.

Forgive me, Requiem,
she thought every night, tears gathering behind her eyelids.

And then Gemini kissed
her head, and he whispered of his love, and Domi couldn't help it. She couldn't
help but feel warm, protected, cherished, and these were new feelings for her.
She had spent her life in hiding, afraid, hunted, a wild beast, an exile. Now
the most powerful man in the Commonwealth held her in his arms, and Domi couldn't
help it.

She loved him.

As she lay in Gemini's
arms, his hand stroking her hair, she held him close.

I love you for the
pain I see inside you,
she thought.
I love you for the fear I sense in
you, the broken pieces, the man shattered by his family, the man I want to heal.

"Look, Domi! A
cardinal!"

They were walking
through the summer gardens outside the Cured Temple. Birches, maples, and pines
rustled around them, and a thousand kinds of flowers bloomed. A man-made stream
gurgled at their feet, and the grass rustled in the wind.

Domi gasped and smiled.
The cardinal fluttered above, bright red, a splash of brilliant color. She
smiled.

"I love cardinals."

"Would you like me to
get you one as a pet?" Gemini said. "A companion to your finch?"

She shook her head. "No."
Sudden sadness filled her, and she lowered her head. "My finch was born in
captivity, and it would not survive on its own. It's accustomed to golden bars
around it, life in a comfortable cage, a life of endless food, safety, warmth
in the winter, shelter from the heat . . . captivity in luxury." She looked up
at the cardinal, and a tear trailed down her cheek. "But this cardinal, with
its bright red feathers, is a wild bird, a thing of freedom. It was born to fly
in the wild, alone. Sometimes it's hungry. Sometimes it's cold. Often it's
afraid and the winds buffet it, and sometimes it doesn't know if it can weather
the storm. It has no home, no security, and its life is hard. And it would not
choose any other life. It would choose a sky of hail, wind, and hawks over
safety in a gilded cage."

She looked away, tears
in her eyes.

Gemini looked at her
silently, and he softly held her hand.

That night the priests
sent another woman into his chamber, another womb for him to fill, to pass on
his pure blood, blood without the magic of dragons.

Gemini sent her away
without ever touching her.

That night, he stood
beside Domi at the window, and they gazed together outside at the night. The
stars shone brilliantly over the city. Above, Domi could see the Draco constellation,
the stars shaped as the dragon. The brightest among them, the dragon's silver
eye, seemed to gaze upon her. In
The Book of Requiem
, it was called
Issari's Star, named after the great Vir Requis who had saved Requiem from the
demons of the Abyss. Domi wondered who would save her from the Abyss inside
her, for not all demons were creatures of the underground. Some demons lived
within the soul, harder to kill.

"The stars are
beautiful," Domi said.

Gemini nodded. "I would
often look at them as a child, wondering what they are. The Cured Temple
teaches that they're messengers of the Spirit, but I've always wondered. They
seem so far away, too far even for the Spirit to reach. I dared to suggest that
once to the priests, ask if the Spirit even had dominion over those distant
lights." He laughed bitterly. "My mother ordered Brother Malum to beat me for
that question. I stopped asking after that, but I never stopped looking at the
stars." He turned toward Domi and held her hands. "It's strange, isn't it? How
we always want things we can't reach, can't have, things forbidden."

Domi nodded, and when
he leaned in to kiss her, she kissed him back, her hands cupping the back of
his head.

He took her into his
bed that night, and for the first time, he undressed her, hands gentle. And he
made love to her—not a rough, mechanical thing like she'd seen him perform with
the other women. Gemini loved her with softness and passion, with hesitation
and firm desire. He loved her, and Domi hated herself.

I betray Requiem,
she thought, tears in her eyes, as she gasped with her pleasure.
But I love
him, stars of Requiem. I love him and I hate myself.

He slept holding her in
his arms that night, but Domi could not sleep. She kept thinking about it again
and again—the village burnt, Cade crying out in grief, the library fallen, her
family hunted, her homeland forgotten. Gemini mumbled in his sleep, and his
arms tightened around her, and Domi felt that she couldn't breathe.

She lay awake
until dawn, and when the sun rose, she heard the bird's song. She looked
outside the window and saw the cardinal there, red and free. It flew off into
the morning.

 
 
AMITY

Amity stumbled across the desert,
the rope running from her wrists to the horse. Sharp stones cut her soles. The
sun blazed overhead, and a thousand men cheered and jeered around her. Her head
swam. She swayed. She fell, banging her knees against the rocky, cracked earth.

The crowd around her
roared with laughter.

The horse before her
kept walking, yanking at her ropes, and Amity dragged behind it. A rock tore
open the skin on her arm, and blood smeared the earth.

"Up, you maggot!"
shouted a guard, a smirking woman with olive skin, blazing green eyes, and a
shaved head. "The Behemoth likes his meat live. Up! You're not dying here on my
watch."

A whip cracked,
slamming against Amity's back. She yelped, ground her teeth, and rose to her
feet. She stumbled along, nearly tripping again.

"I'm going to kill you
all!" Amity shouted, voice hoarse, throat torn. "I'm going to cut out your guts
and feed them to you! I'm going to chop off your fingers and stuff them into
your eye sockets! Abina! Abina Kahan! I'm going to shove my hand so deep down
your throat I'll crush your bollocks. Let me go!"

Riding the horse that
dragged her, the bearded king burst out with laughter. He twisted around in the
saddle to stare at her. Golden threads were woven through his beard, and gilt
shone upon his scale armor. Many jeweled rings squeezed his fleshy fingers.

"Still a lot of life to
that one!" Kahan said to his men. "The Behemoth likes them feisty." He laughed
again and drank deeply from his mug of ale.

"Amity, save your
strength!" Korvin called out. His voice was just as raspy as hers. His wrists
too were bound, a rope running between them to a horse. He too stumbled after
the animal. Blood dripped down his knees and elbows from a recent fall, and his
white stubble was thickening into a beard. Dust coated his shaggy black hair,
making it look just as pale.

"Silence!" shouted a
guard of the Horde, a towering man with long platinum hair, a bronze
breastplate, and cruel blue eyes. He swung his whip, slamming the throng
against Korvin's back.

Korvin tossed back his
head and howled, the cry of a wounded animal. Blood dripped down his back.
Korvin was a large man, taller and wider than all but the largest warriors, and
with his thick black eyebrows, shaggy long hair, and jagged face like a
boulder, he made an imposing figure even while tied and whipped, a bound beast
likely to break free any moment. Some in the crowd—the men, women, and children
of the Horde—stumbled back, faces blanching. But as Korvin limped along, and as
his chin dropped down to his chest, they drew near again, laughing and tossing
pebbles at the prisoner stumbling after the horse.

So this is our fate,
Amity thought as she walked along, her feet bleeding, her throat so dry she
thought it would crack. They had flown here to summon an army to fly north to
the Commonwealth . . . now they lumbered south with this army, bound and
bleeding, to be fed to the beast.

A gust of wind blew
dust up from the desert. It invaded Amity's nostrils and eyes, and she coughed
and blinked, almost falling again. When her eyes cleared, she gazed around her.
The landscape seemed to sway, to fade into haze, only to reappear whenever she
blinked. Here was not a desert of golden dunes or fields of sand; it was a
rocky, barren, ugly place, the ground cracked and strewn with many rocks
ranging from pebbles to boulders the size of houses. The dry land seemed to
stretch forever, fading into horizons that swayed with heat waves.

And everywhere Amity
saw the Horde. Here were the men, women, and children who normally camped at
Hakan Teer upon the coast; they had packed their belongings, folded up their tents,
and come to see the two weredragons—Amity and Korvin—fed to the king's pet.
Hundreds of soldiers rode horses in a great herd, and a thousand more marched
afoot. The sunlight gleamed against their armor. Each man wore different metals,
pieces scavenged, stolen, cobbled together around campfires. Some men wore
bronze scales, others wore iron chainmail, while some sported breastplates.
Other, humbler soldiers wore mere leather armor studded with metal bolts, and
one man even wore a great turtle shell as a breastplate. Their hair was long,
and many men sported shaggy beards.

Here was no
organized, disciplined army like that of the Commonwealth. Here was a
collection of races, from the shaggy Osannans who had once called the Eastern
Commonwealth their home, to the proud Tirans from the western desert with their
long bright hair and blue eyes, to the olive-skinned tribesmen descended from
the ancient Terrans whose civilizations now lay beneath this very dust. Their
wives, their children, their livestock all traveled with them, a great hubbub
of laughter and song. Above them flew a host of griffins and salvanae, their
shadows racing over the army below.