Dragons Rising (24 page)

Knees
shaking, the chains still wrapped around him, he stumbled across the
balcony.

The
place lay in ruin. The renegade bonedrake's beam had shattered the
windows, doorway, and tiles. Soldiers lay dead, their armor cracked,
their flesh charred. In the middle of the devastation, Beatrix lay on
her back. The marble tiles were charred around her, and black lines
spread out from her in a star. Blood dripped down her chest.

But
the High Priestess was still alive. Light still coiled around her
fingertips, and she moaned and struggled to rise.

Korvin's
breath sawed at his throat. Burns spread across him. His skull felt
ready to crack. His sword had fallen in the battle. He wanted to lie
down and die, but he forced himself to begin unslinging the chains
off his torso. He would need his body free to become a dragon. Loop
after loop, he tugged the chains off.

Beatrix
pushed herself onto her elbows, then her knees. Bonedrakes kept
swooping down, only for the dragons and firedrakes to crash against
them, knocking them aside.

I
have only a few breaths left . . . only a few heartbeats to kill her
before she rises.

He
tugged off another loop of chain.

Beatrix
rose to her feet.

Korvin
sneered. With three loops still wrapped around him, he couldn't
shift. He lifted a free length of chain.

"You've
lost, Beatrix," he said. "The war is over, and your light
is fading."

She
laughed, eyes alight, grin insane. The light of her god pulsed
through her, showing and hiding her skull. "You are mistaken, my
old lover. The Spirit's light will never leave me. I tortured you
with that light. I made you scream. But now . . . now I give you the
full wrath of my god. Now, Korvin, you die."

That
light pooled in her hands. She thrust it toward him.

Korvin
swung the chain.

The
light slammed into him.

A
loop of chain wrapped around Beatrix and tightened.

Light
blazed across Korvin, then raced along the chain, flaring out. Red,
green, purple, blue, all colors flared across the sky, searing the
balcony, searing their flesh. Beatrix screamed. Korvin roared as the
light covered him. The skin blackened on his fingers, but he gripped
the chain. He tugged. He pressed his boots against the balcony floor,
pulling Beatrix toward him even as her light pulsed into him, even as
he burned.

His
feet hit the edge of the balcony.

He
gave a mighty tug.

And
he was falling.

Though
still in human form, he felt almost like he were gliding, a dragon
again. He knew the pain would end soon. He knew the war was over.

I
do this for you, my daughters,
he thought as the sky streamed
around him.
For you, Fidelity. For you, Domi. For you, Cade. And I
do this for you, Amity. I love you all.

The
chain yanked taut, tugging Beatrix to the edge of the balcony above
him. The High Priestess shrieked, a horrible sound, desperately
trying to cling onto the balcony. She teetered over the edge, burnt
and casting out her light. Her skin peeled off. Her scream tore
across the city. Above her, the glass steeples of the Temple
shattered. Crystal shards flew in a great fountain, gleaming like
drops of rain. Ghostly tendrils coiled out from Beatrix, taking the
form of screaming mouths, of grasping fingers--the soul of the Spirit
fleeing a dying vessel.

The
Spirit himself was trying to enter the world.

And
then Beatrix fell.

She
tumbled down above Korvin, and then they were both falling together,
the chain flailing between them. Their hands reached out in midair,
still trying to grasp at each other.

Korvin
hit the ground first.

Pain
flared in a great, all-consuming instant and then died just as
quickly. He felt nothing. Only numbness. Only warmth. In that
instant, he knew that his spine had shattered.

With
a scream, Beatrix crashed onto the courtyard beside him. Her head
slammed against a flagstone, only a foot away from Korvin, and
shattered. Her skull split open, but instead of soft innards, it was
liquid light that spilled out, seeping, screaming with many mouths,
reaching with many tendrils, then rising into the sky and vanishing.

The
light faded.

The
sound died.

Beatrix
lay still.

Korvin
lay on his broken back, feeling nothing. The pain was gone now. A
haze was spreading over him, warm and comforting as a blanket. A rain
was falling, a rain of light and bones. Above him, the bonedrakes
were shattering. With their mistress dead, with the Spirit fled back
into its realm, their light too vanished. They clattered down around
Korvin, nothing but bones again, crumbling to dust.

All
was dust.

All
was ending.

"It's
over," Korvin whispered. "The Cured Temple. This war. Our
lives, Beatrix. Over."

A
cry of anguish sounded above.

Red
wings flapped and Amity came diving down. She landed on the
cobblestones, kicked Beatrix's corpse aside, and shifted into a
human. She knelt by Korvin, eyes wet.

"Korvin!"
Amity placed her hands on his shoulders. "Oh, Korvin. You're
hurt. I'm going to heal you. I'm going to save you." Her tears
splashed against him.

He
reached up and caressed her cheek. "Amity. My Amity." Her
tears wet his fingers. "How beautiful you are. How strong and
brave and wise. I'm proud to have known you, Amity, proud to have
fought with you, to have loved you." The haze grew thicker
around him. "Watch over the young ones, Amity. Watch over Cade
and my daughters. Keep them safe. Help them rebuild Requiem."

She
growled at him. "
You
will help them!
You
will keep
them safe."

Korvin's
smiled thinly. "I've lived long, Amity. I've had a good life. I
saw two daughters grow into women. I met you. I saw the Temple
fallen. And I can see it now. I can see it above."

Amity
was sobbing. "What, Korvin? What can you see?"

He
gazed up at them, and his smile widened. "The halls of
starlight. The columns of Requiem rising beyond the Draco
constellation. They are waiting there, Amity. Our fallen. Our ancient
heroes. Our parents. They are calling me home. I go to them now, to
drink wine and sing in their company."

"Don't
leave," Amity whispered, pulling him into her arms. Her tears
dampened his cheek. "Please don't leave me. I love you."

Scales
flashed above. Golden scales. Blue scales. Scales in all the colors
of autumn. Three dragons landed by him and became human. Cade.
Fidelity. Domi.

My
children.

"Father!"
Fidelity cried, leaping toward him.

"Father,"
Domi whispered, eyes tearing up.

His
daughters clasped his hands. Cade placed his hand over Fidelity's,
joining the grip. The young man's eyes were huge and haunted, and he
held a baby in his arms.

"Korvin,"
Cade whispered.

Korvin
smiled at them. He could no longer speak, but he spoke to them with
his eyes, and he knew they understood.

I
love you all. I will always look after you. I will always watch you
from the stars.

They
wept, holding him.

I
have fought for many years,
he thought, gazing at the people he
loved.
I go now to my well-earned rest. I go knowing that Requiem
will rise again.

The
light washed over him, but it was no longer the cruel, searing light
of evil. It was a soft light, comforting. Starlight. The light of
Requiem. The souls of his ancestors gazed down from above, singing to
him, calling him home.

Goodbye,
my family. Goodbye.

He
let the starlight flow over him, and after his many wars, Korvin
rested.

 
 
DOMI

They
stood on a hilltop outside the city, gazing down at three graves.

It's
a beautiful place,
Domi thought. The snow glittered in the
sunlight like a field of stars. Icicles hung from the branches of
maples, birches, and oaks, gleaming like jewels. The sky was clear
blue, the sun offering a little warmth, a little comfort, a little
hope of coming spring. And when spring came, Domi knew, many leaves
would sprout here, and the grass would rustle, and flowers would
grow, and the song of birds would fill the air.

They
will forever rest in peace and beauty,
Domi thought, gazing down
at the gravestones. She read the names engraved into them.

"Julian,"
she whispered. "Roen." Tears filled her eyes. "Korvin."

Domi
had not wanted to cry. She had shed too many tears during this war,
and the war was over now, and her father was at peace. Yet she could
not stop the tears from falling. Fidelity saw and stepped toward her,
and her older sister held her close and kissed her cheek.

"I
miss him," Domi whispered. "I never told him how much I
love him. I ran away from him--to be Pyre. To be something I was not.
Did he know, Fidelity?" She looked into her sister's eyes. "Did
he know that I love him?"

Fidelity
nodded, holding her close. "He knew every day. Every day, Domi.
And he always loved you and missed you too." She looked up at
the clear sky. "He's there now. In the stars. He's at peace, and
he knows we love him."

Cade
and Amity stepped closer and joined the embrace. The four stood
together, the four last Vir Requis. Sisters. A wild woman of the
Horde. A son of the Temple.

"We
are the last survivors of Requiem," Domi whispered. "The
last four who lived. The four who will rebuild. The Column stands."
Now her tears were tears of joy. "Requiem rises."

Gently,
she stepped away from the embrace and stood in the snow. She summoned
the ancient magic of her stars, a magic no longer forbidden, and
became a dragon--no longer Pyre the firedrake but Domi, a proud
daughter of Requiem. She spread her wings and rose into the sky.

The
others took flight around her. Amity, a red dragon wreathed in smoke,
long and scarred. Fidelity, a slender blue dragon, spectacles perched
upon her scaly snout. Cade, a golden dragon, a dragon Domi had come
to love deeply, a love she would foster and see grow stronger every
day. The four rose together into the sky, and Domi blew her
dragonfire, raising a pillar of flame. The others joined their fire
to hers, and the four jets rose together like new columns for their
hall, four lights of heat, memory, and the dreams of dragons.

With
their loved ones at peace, the dragons returned to the city of Nova
Vita, flying freely over the walls. Fidelity, Cade, and Amity stepped
into the Temple where priests and paladins were shedding their robes
and armor, knowing they could not fight the dragons and the
firedrakes who now served Domi; where Eliana slept in the arms of her
nurse; where the column rose within a shell that would soon be torn
down. But Domi did not join her fellow Vir Requis. She did not wish
to wander those jeweled halls, the place where she had been captive
for so long.

Instead,
she walked through the city and visited a second place of memory. In
the ancient graveyard of the priesthood, Domi stepped toward two
other graves.

She
stood above them, staring down at the twin tombstones.

Mercy
and Gemini.

Domi's
eyes were dry now, but her chest felt tight. Fidelity had wanted to
burn the bodies, to scatter the ashes into the wind, but Domi had
insisted on burying them. They too were a part of Requiem's history,
worth remembering. While Domi was no librarian like Fidelity, she
knew that Requiem could only survive by remembering not only its
ancient glory but also its sins.

Mercy.
The woman who rode my back for years. The woman I served as Pyre.
Gemini. The man who beat me, then loved me. The man I hated. The man
I pitied. The man I almost loved.

Domi lowered her head. A chill breeze blew, and she stepped closer
and placed her hand on Gemini's grave.

"You
poor fool," she said softly. "You sad, cruel, broken boy."
She closed her eyes and remembered all those times she had lain in
his arms, feeling safe in his embrace, their naked bodies huddling
together for warmth, for comfort from the fear, for solace in pain.
"Goodbye, Gemini Deus. Wherever you are, I hope you finally
found some peace."

Light
snow began to fall. Domi turned and walked away.

 
 
FIDELITY

The
snow fell, and the world turned, and the ice of winter melted. Spring
came to the land, this realm no longer called the Commonwealth.
Leaves sprouted and shaded the graves of the fallen, and for the
first time in a hundred years, flowers filled the city of Nova
Vita--peonies, lilacs, lilies, all the flowers the Cured Temple had
forbidden during its reign. And for the first time in a hundred
years, babes were born without paladins to burn their skin, to tear
away their magic.

Throughout
this spring, dragons and firedrakes and men worked together.

Wings
beat as claws tugged at shards of crystal and glass, ripping them
free and carrying them off to the plains. Within marble halls, men
worked with chisels, chipping gold, platinum, and gemstones off the
walls, filling wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow with the treasures,
ready to distribute them to the people of the city. Tails lashed
against walls, letting brick by brick fall. Day by day, month by
month, the Temple was peeled away.

On
a warm night, the four last Vir Requis--the four first of a new
Requiem--stood in their city and stared up at King's Column.

The
marble pillar soared above them, finally standing in the open, no
palace hiding its marble. It rose hundreds of feet tall, dwarfing
every other structure in the city. The Draco constellation shone
above it, casting its silver light against the white stone.