Dragons Lost (28 page)

 
 
CADE

The two robed, hooded figures
walked down the cobbled street of Lynport, heading toward the piers.

This city was old,
among the oldest in Requiem. As Cade walked, stooped over, he felt the ancient
ghosts all around him, whispers and memories in every stone. Many of the
buildings were under a hundred years old, built of clay, humble and domed—constructions
of the Cured Temple. But unlike in the capital, some of Requiem's original
buildings still stood here in the outskirts of the empire. Their foundations
were built of wood, white clay filling the spaces between the timbers, and true
glass filled their windows. Down the cobbled road, still distant, Cade could
see the southern ocean and the masts of ships at the docks.

As they walked,
Fidelity turned her head toward Cade. He could just make out her face within
the shadows of her hood. Her eyes were bright, and a smile spread across her
face.

"We're actually in
Lynport! The legendary city! It's—" She swallowed her words as an old woman
hobbled by, leaning on a cane, then spoke again. "It's named after Queen Lyana
Aeternum, a legendary heroine of Requiem who fought the phoenixes and rebuilt
Requiem from ruin. Her story's in the book. I'm surprised the Cured Temple
never renamed the city, though once it
was
renamed. It used to be called
Cadport, named after General Cad—"

"No history lessons!"
Cade whispered. "Hush now. No talk of Req—I mean, of you-know-what until we
leave this city." He glanced toward the elderly woman who was hobbling away in
the distance. "There are ears everywhere. And we know that Mercy's after these
books."

He pointed at a poster
glued to a wall. They had seen such posters in every town they had visited so
far. With large red letters, the parchment proclaimed:

Heretical books have
infiltrated the Commonwealth! Turn your eyes aside from the Demon King who
infests the pages of lurid tomes! Storing heretical texts is punishable by
stoning. Turn in forbidden books to your local paladin to earn a silver coin.

Fidelity nodded,
examining the poster. "If nothing else, we're costing the Temple some money."

Cade grumbled. "They
have more silver coins than we'll ever have books. So keep quiet and let's keep
going. We've got to hide these books better. I don't want a repeat of last
time."

He shuddered to
remember how at their last town—Balefair in the north—the paladins had found
the heavy
Book of Requiem
before Cade and Fidelity had even left the
city. The paladins had burned that book in the town square, shouting that they'd
find and burn whoever had printed it too. Cade winced to remember that night he'd
spent with Fidelity huddled in an alleyway, finally sneaking out the southern
gates before dawn.

They kept walking
through Lynport. The huts rose around them, pale in the afternoon light. A
priest walked by, swinging a bowl of incense, chanting to the Spirit. A couple of
stray cats chased each other down an alleyway. The steeples of a monastery rose
ahead, pale and thin like finger bones. Cade tried to imagine this city back in
the days of Requiem—the Requiem of the awe and magic that had filled Domi's
voice, the Requiem of the stories from the book. Dragons would be flying above,
thousands of them in every color, their scales gleaming in the dawn. Temples to
the Draco constellation would rise here, their columns carved of marble.

When he looked
at Fidelity, he saw that she was smiling wistfully, a huge, trembling smile,
and he knew that she was imagining the same thing. Their eyes met, and their
hands clasped together. They did not need to speak. As they walked here,
staring at these old cobblestones and bricks—stones carved in the days of
Requiem—Cade and Fidelity shared something more powerful than words. They
shared the bond of their magic, the memory of Requiem, the dream of seeing
Requiem reborn, and it seemed to Cade that his thoughts in the forest—his love
or lust for Fidelity as a woman—seemed insignificant beside this bond, as
trivial as a torch by a great pyre.

Requiem,
he
thought. Requiem of Domi holding him, whispering into his ear. Requiem of the
stars of the dragons flying above. Requiem of his sister, free from pain, back
in his arms. Requiem—the anchor of his soul, the beacon of his heart.

They reached the
boardwalk. The Tiran Sea spread ahead, calm and pale blue and gray. Several
merchant ships docked between the breakwaters, wide carracks with many sails. Beyond
the port, warships patrolled the sea, their hulls lined with cannons. Many
other cannons lined the boardwalk, and soldiers moved among them, clad in
chainmail and white robes embroidered with tillvine blossoms. No other city in
the Commonwealth lay so close to the Horde; the continent of Terra, home to
that ragtag army from many nations, lay beyond this southern sea.

"There it is," Fidelity
whispered, pointing. "The Old Wheel."

Cade followed her gaze
and saw the tavern. It rose two stories tall, built of wattle and daub. Three
chimneys pumped out smoke, and stained glass filled its windows. One sailor sat
slumped outside the tavern, perhaps thrown out the night before. As he saw Cade
and Fidelity approach, the man groaned and crawled into an alleyway, perhaps
thinking them priests. A stray cat hissed on the roof.

The tavern wasn't much
to look at, perhaps, but Cade knew its significance. Here, within these very
walls, the famous Releser Aeternum had hidden from the cruel General Cadigus.
Here was the center of a great war that had liberated Requiem from darkness
three hundred years ago. Perhaps here Cade could now plant the seed of a new
rebirth.

"The Old Wheel,"
Fidelity repeated. "To us, it's a place of history, of dragons. To most people,
it's a place where sailors share tall tales, where wine and beer flows, where
women can doff their stifling robes, and where priests do not enter." She
grinned. "A perfect place to leave a book. From here, news will spread across
the Commonwealth."

Cade bit his lip. "Assuming
any of these sailors and loose women know how to read."

"Not all will know,"
Fidelity said, "but perhaps some old storyteller, long of beard and grainy of
voice, will sit by the fireplace, reading from
The Book of Requiem
to
merchants, sailors, and travelers from distant lands, and those stories will
spread. The mythos of Requiem, told from mouth to ear, father to son. Sometimes
such stories can spread faster than any printing press can work." She hefted
the pack across her back; a copy of the book lay within. "Come."

They entered the
tavern, wrapped in their cloaks. It was a dusty place, and Cade imagined that
it had changed little in the past three hundred years. The wooden floor was
scarred, and a wagon wheel chandelier hung from the ceiling. Casks of ale rose
behind the bar, and an aproned man stood there, polishing a mug. A few patrons
were nursing mugs of ale; they raised their drinks in salute as Cade and
Fidelity walked in. An old man sat in the corner, playing a lute.

"This doesn't even feel
like the Commonwealth," Cade whispered to Fidelity. "It's an old building from
before the Temple, and . . . it feels like we're back in time."

She nodded and a
mischievous light filled her eyes. "We should stay for a while. Order a drink.
It'll make us look less suspicious."

Cade wasn't sure about
that. He didn't like staying in any one place for too long, not as a wanted
man. But before he could object, the barkeep raised his voice.

"Oi, friends! What'll
be?"

Fidelity walked toward
the bar, motioning for Cade to follow. As part of her disguise, she did not
wear her spectacles, and she nearly tripped over a stool. Cade had to help her
approach the bar. They sat on stools, and Fidelity banged her hand on the bar;
she would have hit a bowl of walnuts had Cade not quickly tugged it aside.

"Two spirits, good sir!"
Fidelity said. "Strong rye." She glanced at Cade. "You can handle spirits, can't
you?"

"You're damn right I
can," he said, never having drunk any.

At least the
sort people drink,
he thought,
not those they worship.

The bartender placed
two glasses on the bar, and they drank. The spirits burned down Cade's throat,
so strong his eyes bugged out and he nearly choked. Fidelity seemed unaffected,
and she punched his arm.

"Good for you." She
winked.

He turned back toward
the bar and raised his chin. The world seemed a little blurry. "Another round."

They drank again.

After his third drink,
it seemed to Cade that his eyesight was blurry too, just as bad as Fidelity's.
In the haze, she seemed to him prettier than ever—which was saying something,
since he had always thought her beautiful. More people were pouring into the
tavern for their evening dinners, and more drinks flowed, and the flutist in
the corner began to play a jaunty tune.

Fidelity grabbed Cade's
hand. "Let's dance."

He blinked at her. "Are
you crazy?" He tilted his head. "Or drunk?"

She bit her lip. "Drunk.
Now let's dance."

She tried to drag him
off his stool, but he wouldn't budge. "I don't dance."

"Just because you've
never danced doesn't mean that you don't." She tugged him mightily; he slid off
his stool and nearly fell. "Dance. Now. That's an order, young man."

With a few drinks under
his belt, Cade didn't feel able to object. They left their pack, the book
inside it, at the bar, and they headed to a space between tables in the common
room. Fidelity grabbed him and began to sway to the music.

"Fi, there are people
watching!" Cade whispered, face red.

"So you better put on a
good show." She grabbed his hands and placed them on her waist.

Cade was thankful when
a couple of young women leaped forward to dance too, then an old man and his
wife. The jaunty tune soon morphed into a sad old song, and Fidelity leaned her
head against Cade's shoulder, swaying with him. Her golden hair brushed against
his nose, and when he tried to push the strands back, he found himself stroking
that hair, again and again, feeling incredibly awkward and incredibly stupid
but unable to stop.

Fidelity pulled her
head back and looked at him, eyes huge and blue, eyes he thought he could drown
in. Cade looked away, his cheeks flushing, and it was not from the booze this
time.

She held his hand. "Come
with me. There's another place I want to visit."

They left the inn.

They left the book
behind—for one of those young dancers, for the barkeep, perhaps for a sailor or
a singer of songs.

They walked along the
boardwalk and on the beach, and they kept walking, leaving the town behind
them. The sun began to set, and soon the sounds of Lynport faded behind. All
was sand and sea.

"Where did you want to
go?" Cade asked.

She pointed ahead and
her wistful smile returned. "Here. Ralora Cliffs."

The cliffs rose ahead
from the sand, overlooking the sea. Cade knew them from the books. Here in
Ralora, the great King Elethor and Queen Lyana had fought a battle against the
cruel Queen Solina from the south. Here in Ralora, the lovers Rune and Tilla
would walk along the sand, their light shining over all Requiem. It was a place
of legends forgotten, of legends they would resurrect.

When they reached the
cliffs, Cade and Fidelity found old ruins in the sand: a fallen porphyry
column, a statue of a king half-buried in the sand, and old pots of clay and
bronze.

"Relics of Requiem,"
Fidelity said. She lifted half an old urn. Dragons were painted onto the clay. "Do
you see? The red dragon painted here is Agnus Dei, and the golden one is Queen
Gloriae. They were twin heroines who fought the griffins." She smiled. "I
always wanted to be like them, to—"

Cade kissed her. He was
surprised at himself. He had not meant to do it. Yet one moment she was
speaking, eyes bright, and the next moment he held her in his arms, his lips
against hers.

And for just a moment,
she kissed him back.

Then she pulled away.
She blinked a few times. Her voice was soft. "I especially wanted to be like
Agnus Dei. I used to draw her in my notebooks, and . . ." She looked back at
him, then down at her feet. "I'm sorry, Cade."

A lump filled his
throat. He refused to look away from her. "Do you love him? Roen?"

Fidelity sighed. "I don't
know. Sometimes I think I do. Oh, Cade." She placed a hand on his cheek, and
she smiled—and this smile was warm and good, no trace of hesitation or
awkwardness to it. "Are you crazy? Or just drunk?"

He couldn't help but
grin. "Drunk."

She laughed and lay
down in the sand, and he lay down beside her. Night was falling, and Cade
pulled out bread, cheese, and apples from his pack, and they shared the meal,
listening to the waves, watching the stars. They talked about Requiem, sharing
the old stories of heroes and villains, monsters and dragons, castles and halls
of marble. Finally they slept, lying entwined in the sand, and they dreamed of
dragons.

 
 
KORVIN

He knelt in darkness, head lowered,
the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

All is darkness. All
hope is lost.

Korvin knelt in
the bowels of the Gosharian mountains, this realm across the desert south of
the sea. He could barely remember the soldiers of the Horde dragging him down
tunnels, plunging deep under the mountains, beating him, shoving him into this
cell. He felt like the weight of the entire mountains lay on his shoulders,
creaking above him, ready to crumble and bury him.

A chain ran from his
ankle to the wall. The floor was rough against his knees, stained with old
blood, some of it his, some the blood of previous prisoners. Craggy brick walls
rose around him. Mad scribblings were etched into the stone. Some marks were
letters, the names of men and women trapped here, while others were simply raw
scratches, fingernails drawn again and again across the stone until they cracked.
A stone door rose ahead, and dim light seeped around it, the only illumination.