Dragons Reborn (2 page)

"Slay her,
Behemoth!" Kahan cried from his alcove.

The beast charged
forward. Amity blasted him with fire, but the flames wouldn't hurt him. She
soared, narrowly dodging the assault. Behemoth rammed into the wall, horns
driving through an alcove's wire mesh to pierce a cheering man within. Across
the cavern, the crowd cheered louder than ever, delighted at the sight of death—even
the death of a fellow spectator.

Behemoth tugged
back from the alcove, letting his victim slump dead to the floor, then spun
toward Amity and charged again.

Amity cursed and
flew higher, but she was too slow. Behemoth's horn, still bloody, scraped
across her leg. She cried out, and her own blood spilled.

"Korvin, up
and fly, damn you!" she shouted down. The gray dragon rose slowly,
groaning, bleeding.

Behemoth leaped
toward Amity, and his jaws grabbed her wing.

Amity cried out
and lost her magic.

She fell and
slammed onto the ground, shouting in pain, a human again.

She could barely
see, barely breathe, and her blood would not stop falling. She rolled just as
the creature's paw slammed down. She rolled again, trying to swing her sword,
only to lose the blade under his foot. The sword shattered. Behemoth screamed
and blasted down his poisonous breath.

Amity closed her eyes, covered her ears, and knew she was going to die.

I can't beat
him,
she thought, gagging as the smoke washed over her. She couldn't see.
She could hear nothing but the roaring beast, the chanting crowd.
I'm going
to die here. I can't beat him.

"Amity, fly!"
Korvin's voice rose. "Fly, damn you!"

She could barely
see; her eyes would not stop watering. She thought she could make out Korvin
atop the creature, clawing and biting. Above in his alcove, the king laughed.

No, I can't
beat this creature,
Amity thought.
But maybe I can tame him.

"Keep him
busy, big boy!" she shouted. "I mean you, Korvin!"

She soared as fast
as she could.

"Where are
you going?" Korvin shouted, clawing at the creature.

"Lady
business. Just keep Behemoth busy!"

She growled as she
flew, narrowed her eyes, and sneered. Fire and smoke blasted around her, and
her wounds dripped, and her eyes and throat still blazed with pain, but she
refused to slow down.

I can ram
things too.

She flattened her
body into a spear and shot across the chamber. Ahead of her, inside his alcove,
Abina Kahan cried out and stepped back.

With a roar, Amity
drove into the iron mesh, shattering it. Her scaly head thrust into the king's alcove,
and she blasted out her fire.

Her inferno filled
the alcove like fire in an oven.

Kahan screamed and
cowered behind his shield. The flames blasted around him, reaching around the
shield to burn his limbs and grab his cloak. His guards screamed and fell,
ablaze.

Amity released her
magic.

She returned to
human form, grabbed the ledge of the alcove, and climbed into the chamber. The
fire died down, revealing the corpses of guards and a charred king.

Kahan was still
alive. His skin peeled, hanging in sheets, revealing burnt muscles beneath. But
still he roared, drew his sword, and raced toward Amity.

She knelt, grabbed
a fallen guard's scimitar, and parried. The two blades clanged together.

For an instant, as
outside still rose the roars of beast and dragon, Amity and the King of the
Horde stared at each other. His beard was burnt, his face blackened, and his
eyes blazed with hatred.

"Your son
died a hero," Amity said. "You will die like a coward."

The blades pulled
apart, then swung again. Showers sparked. Amity sneered and kicked, and her
boot drove into the king's stomach. As he doubled over, she swung her scimitar
with a scream, putting her entire body into the swipe. Her blade drove deep
into the abina's neck.

Blood showered
Amity, and she laughed. She tugged the blade free with a fresh gush of blood.
The king's head wilted, half-severed, and his body crumpled to the ground.

Hang on a
little longer, Korvin,
Amity thought, swung her sword again, and cut the
head free.

She lifted her
gory trophy by the hair, walked back toward the shattered exit, and faced the arena
again. Standing on the edge of the alcove, she raised the abina's head.

"Abina Kahan
is dead!" she cried. "I claim dominion of the Horde!"

Dozens of guards
had been climbing up toward her; they now froze and stared. Even the massive Behemoth
gazed at her, blasting out smoke. Korvin slumped to the ground, bleeding from
many wounds but still alive.

Amity's limbs
shook, her belly ached, and her throat still blazed with pain. She was still
bleeding, and poison still coursed through her. But she refused to collapse.
She raised the severed head higher, and she let her voice ring across the arena.

"I am Amity
of the Horde! I am your queen!" She tossed the head across the chamber. "Kneel
before me!"

She ground her
teeth, forcing a grin. The abina's son was dead, fallen in Leonis. The man had
no other heirs. By the ancient rites of the Horde, it was she—slayer of the
monarch—who ruled.

None had ever
ascended this way, she knew. Here was a tradition of only the most ancient
tribes, an ascension not seen in centuries. Would the people accept it?

"Kneel!"
she shouted. "Kneel before your queen! If any dare challenge me, come to
me now, and I will burn your flesh to ash. Kneel!"

The guards looked
at one another, then back at her . . . and knelt.

Across the cavern,
the thousands knelt inside their alcoves.

Even Behemoth,
perhaps not as mindless as Amity had thought, grunted and slumped down with a
thud, shaking the cavern.

Amity stood on the
ledge, dripping blood and sweat, and gazed upon her people. Her grin widened,
her jaw clenched, and her fingers tightened around her sword's hilt.

I came here
begging for aid,
she thought.
I found an empire to lead.

"And this
empire will fly toward you, Beatrix," she whispered. "The might of my
Horde will descend upon your Cured Temple. Your head is next."

 
 
CADE

He knelt in the chamber, dizzy, as
the world collapsed around him.

High Priestess
Beatrix, sovereign of the Cured Temple, ruler of the Commonwealth, tyrant and
monster . . . my mother.
Cade's eyes stung, and he could barely breathe.
Mercy
Deus, Paladin of the Spirit, the slayer of thousands . . . my sister.

He stared up, eyes
burning. He knelt in the Holy of Holies, the center of the Cured Temple and the
heart of its faith. Marble tiles spread across the floor, and the round walls
soared hundreds of feet tall, formed of white bricks. It felt like kneeling in
the alabaster well of a god. In the center of this chamber, like a bone inside
a hollow limb, soared King's Column, the most ancient artifact of Requiem, the
pillar King Aeternum himself had raised thousands of years ago.

Standing above him were
those who would see this ancient column fall.

High Priestess Beatrix
smiled thinly, and her hand reached out to smooth Cade's hair. Yet there was no
warmth to her pale blue eyes, no humanity to her face; it could have been a
face carved from the same marble of the column. She was as pale as the chamber
around her. Her robes were the purest white, her skin seemed bloodless, and her
hair was the color of dry bones.

Beside her stood Mercy
Deus, her daughter and heiress to the temple. While her mother was a priestess,
Mercy had chosen the life of a paladin, a holy warrior of the Spirit. Rather
than robes, she wore armor of white steel plates, a tillvine blossom—sigil of
the Temple—engraved upon her breast. Like all paladins and priests, she shaved
the left side of her head. On the right side, her hair was white, bleached to
mimic the steel plates she wore. But unlike her mother, Mercy showed emotion in
her eyes;
her
blue eyes were full of shock and loathing.

"What?" Mercy
whispered, turning toward her mother. She seemed barely able to push the words past
her lips. "This disease-ridden, pathetic weredragon . . . is my brother?"

Beatrix nodded and
stroked Cade's cheek. Her eyes never left Cade, even as she spoke to Mercy. "Your
father stole him. He tried to hide him. But Cade's back now. He's back in our
family, and we will cure his disease. We will cure him now in the sight of King's
Column." The High Priestess turned toward Mercy. "Bring forth
tillvine. I will perform the purification myself."

Those words shocked
Cade out of his paralysis. He rose to his feet, his chains clattering. He
glared at the High Priestess.

"Enough." His
chest shook, but he managed to stare steadily into those cold blue eyes. "This
is madness. I've heard enough of your lies."

"The truth stands
before you," Beatrix said. "Look at your sister. Her face is your
face."

Cade turned to stare at
Mercy. She stared back, eyes narrowed, lips tight. Cade tried to ignore her
bleached hair, the anger in her eyes, to focus on her face alone . . . and he
saw his face.

"Oh stars of
Requiem," he whispered.

Beatrix nodded. "You
are my son, Cade. You have a birthmark, shaped as a bean, on the inside of your
left thigh, do you not? You have a little scar on your head, hidden under your
hair, right above your ear. How else would I know, if I had not held you as a
babe, nursed you, and—"

"Enough,"
Cade said again. He balled his hands into fists. His voice shook. "Maybe
you're right. Maybe you were my mother. Maybe this was my family." His
eyes burned and his knees shook. "That doesn't matter. None of it does.
Derin and Tisha raised me. They were those who loved me, whom I loved." He
spun toward Mercy. "And you murdered them, Mercy." He turned back
toward Beatrix. "And you ordered them murdered, no doubt, like the countless
others you killed, all those who refused the purification. I refuse it too."
He raised his chin and forced himself to keep speaking, though his voice shook.
"You're going to have to murder me too then. Your own son."

Beatrix's face changed.
It was a subtle change—a deepening of the grooves alongside her mouth, a
slight tightening of the lips, a kindling of fire in her eyes.

"Do not think,"
the High Priestess said softly, "that I would hesitate to slay you. But
you would not die easily, boy. You would die screaming. In agony. Have you ever
seen my men execute a prisoner? They will slice you open and pull out your
entrails, but not before they cut off your manhood and burn it before you.
Emasculated and disemboweled, they will hang you upon the city walls, leaving
you to slowly die. It can take hours. Days. If you defy me, that will be your
fate, my beloved son."

A chill washed Cade.
Only a moment ago, she had stroked his hair, spoken to him as a mother. Now she
threatened mutilation and death?

"You're mad,"
he whispered.

Mercy stepped forth,
grabbed Cade's arm, and twisted it behind his back. She drove her foot into the
back of his knee, forcing him to kneel.

"I'll force-feed
him the tillvine!" Mercy cried. "I'll stuff it into his impudent
mouth!"

"No." Beatrix
shook her head. "He's not a babe. He has known the magic all his life. He
must relinquish it willingly. He must choose to devote himself to the Spirit,
to the coming Falling." She knelt before Cade, held his head in her hands,
and stared at him. "My son, my precious son . . . I will have you become a
great paladin like Mercy, devoted to our cause. This is a fate you must choose
for yourself, to abandon the disease inside you, to surrender your will to the
Spirit."

"Or die in agony,"
Cade said, voice dry. "What kind of choice is that?"

"Still a choice.
More than what Mercy offers you." Beatrix kissed his forehead. "I
will return you to your cell now, where I want you to linger in darkness, in
thought. I want you to think about the pain refusing me will bring you. I want
you to think about the glory of the Spirit, the only one who can save you from
that pain. You have until noon tomorrow to make your decision, son—to lose
your magic . . . or to lose your life."

Mercy grabbed his arms,
yanked him to his feet, and manhandled him toward the door. They left the Holy
of Holies.

Cade's chains
dragged and his blood dripped across the jeweled marble floors of the Cured
Temple. They walked through halls of splendor—the floors a mosaic of precious
metals, the columns gilded, the walls painted with pastel murals, and the
ceiling a masterwork of jewels that glittered like stars. Mercy dragged him
through these riches, then down into the craggy, dark dungeons, down into the
chasm where men screamed in cells, tortured, broken.

"You'll soon
break too," Mercy whispered into his ear, teeth clenched. "Look at
them, Cade. This will be your fate."

She dragged him
along a hallway lined with cells. Inside each cell, Cade saw the prisoners of
the Cured Temple. In one cell, a man hung from chains, flayed alive, bleeding
and weeping and begging for death. In another cell, a woman prayed feverishly
as rats fed upon her, eating her alive. In a third cell, children hung from the
wall, whipped and beaten, slowly dying. Aboveground, the Cured Temple displayed
its glory; here under the surface beat its rotted heart.

"Don't think
for a second that I believe this story," Mercy said, shoving him forward. "You,
my brother?" She snorted. "No more than a rat could be my brother.
Soon your flesh will be feeding rats."

They passed by
another cell, and Cade's heart seemed to freeze. His eyes dampened.

There she was.

Oh stars.