Dragons Reborn (7 page)

As Korvin watched children play below, he thought of his daughters.
Fidelity and Domi were both adults now, but to Korvin they would always be some
mixture of babies, children, youths—simply his daughters, always his children,
no matter how old they all grew. He missed them. He had not stopped thinking of
them since flying here.

Do you know that I'm alive, Fidelity?
Korvin thought, staring down
at the tents.
Do you miss me as I miss you? Do you still fly as a firedrake,
Domi? Do you think of me too? Do you still love me, pray we meet again?

As much as he mourned the loss of Requiem, Korvin ached with loneliness,
with longing to see Fidelity and Domi again. Since Beatrix had murdered his
wife, his daughters had been the reason he stayed alive, all he had in this
world.

I'm still alive, daughters, and I'm thinking of you, and I love you,
always. Always.

"This army will follow us, Korvin," Amity said, interrupting
his thoughts. The red dragon pointed her claws down to the camp, and her eyes
shone. "Imagine it! A host of a hundred thousand warriors, screaming and
thirsty for the blood of the Commonwealth, storming the beaches, burning all in
their path, heading toward the Cured Temple." She sneered. "I will
cut off Beatrix's head myself."

Korvin grunted, smoke puffing out of his nostrils. "Will we be
replacing the Commonwealth with the Horde? Where in all this does Requiem rise?"

The red dragon spun her head toward him, baring her fangs. "Once
Beatrix is dead, I will pull the Horde back, and Requiem will rise from the
ruins."

"Wildfire is easy to ignite." Korvin stared down at the hosts
below. "It might not be as easy to put out."

Amity snorted. "Platitudes. I'm strong. I'm fierce. And we're
fighting for justice, Korvin." Flames flickered out from her mouth. "Justice
always prevails. Light always banishes the darkness."

"Does it?" Korvin sighed. "Beatrix thought herself a
warrior of justice and light. She too was sure of her path, full of rage and
righteous certainty." He shook his head sadly. "Blind righteousness
is like a fortress of paper, likely to burn in the flame and collapse. Doubt is
the path to wisdom. The winding, uncertain path through a dark forest leads to
victory, not the brash warrior cutting down every tree along the way."

Amity beat her wings and took flight. "You'll have time for grim
philosophy later. Come now. The coronation is about to begin."

Korvin watched her fly for a moment, chest tight. Amity was all fire and
passion, sure of her path, her eyes bright and fierce. He had seen such fierce
passion before. The last time he had gazed into eyes so lustful for glory and
victory, he had been holding Beatrix in his arms.

He tightened his jaw.
I will not let Amity take that path to madness.
I will not let her inner light burn her soul.
He beat his wings, taking
flight.
Amity will be queen of the Horde, but I . . . I must guide her path,
and I must keep her fire from consuming us all.

The two dragons glided down across the mountainside, heading toward the
sprawling tent city below. Amity dived near to the ground, leveled off, and
flew through the White Arch. Korvin followed; the arch was large enough to
dwarf even a dragon. A field of packed earth spread ahead, and a dais of giltwood
rose here, a throne atop it. A hundred soldiers in bronze breastplates, bearing
spears and round shields, surrounded the dais, and ten clerics stood at the
base of a stairway, kneeling as the dragons approached. A crowd of the Horde—women,
children, elders, and warriors—stood in the field. They cried out as the two dragons
dived down and landed on the dais.

As soon as Amity's claws hit the dais, she tossed back her head and blew
a shrieking pillar of dragonfire. The inferno rose into the sky, a beacon for
all to see, and Amity roared out her cry. "Come see me, Horde! Come see
your new queen crowned!"

The cry shook the stage, deafening. As the crowd cried out in response, waving
swords and axes, Amity released her magic. She shrunk in size, returning to
human form: a woman with short blond hair that fell across her brow and ears,
brown breeches and a tan vest, and a crooked smile on her face. A sword hung at
her side, and an axe was strapped across her back. She wore no gown, no jewels;
she was a warrior of the Horde, and the Horde cared for steel, blood, and sweat
more than silk or gems.

Korvin released his magic too and stood a foot behind Amity, hand on the
hilt of his own sword. Amity waved to the crowd, crying out wordlessly, basking
in the glory, but Korvin found himself scanning the perimeters of that chanting
crowd. Not all, he saw, were pleased at this display. Many men slunk at the
back, eyes dark, hands clutching their weapons, lips downturned.

Amity slew the old king, but our work here is not yet done,
Korvin
thought.

Amity stepped toward a chest, opened it, and pulled out the withered head
of the fallen Abina Kahan. She raised the ghastly trophy high, displaying it
for the crowd.

"Here is the rotting head of your old king!" Amity shouted. "I
slew him, and I take his place as your leader. Under Kahan's rule, you rotted
like his head rots now. You lingered here in the south, living in the dirt, in
mere tents, polishing spears with no enemy to slay." She spat. "I
promise you war and glory! Under my rule, we will swarm north, crush the
Commonwealth, and send the Cured Temple crashing to the ground!"

The crowd cheered and Amity panted, teeth bared in a savage grin, chest
rising and falling. When Korvin looked at her, his belly soured.

He closed his eyes, and the memories resurfaced: himself as a young man,
only twenty years old, holding the woman he loved. He lay in her bed in the
Cured Temple, a mere soldier, a humble man she had taken into her life. She
stood before him, naked in the dawn pouring through the windows, a young
priestess with rising power, beautiful and strong and noble, heiress to the
world.

"When I'm High Priestess, the Horde will pay." Beatrix had clenched
her fist, grinning savagely, a grin that twisted her face into a blazing mask. "All
those who oppose me will burn in my fire. They will beg for mercy before I
crush them. I will slay all the enemies of the Spirit. I will slay every last
beast of the Horde, every last weredragon, every last heretic who resists me."

He had fought the Horde for her. As she preached in the light of the
Temple, he fought on the beaches, in the mud, cutting down enemies, washing his
hands and soul with blood, learning of the madness of war, the madness of the
woman he loved . . . the woman he had to spurn.

Korvin opened his eyes and looked at Amity again, and that same fear
clutched his old warrior's heart.

Clerics began climbing the stairs toward the dais, interrupting his
thoughts. They wore crimson robes fringed with gemstones, and they held staffs
carved from ancient reptile bones dug from underground. Bronze masks hid their
faces, shaped as horned demons. Around their necks hung amulets shaped as hands
with four fingers, the index finger nearly twice the length of the others—sigil
of Adon, the Sky God. Each cleric had cut off a finger from his own hand, an
attempt to grow closer to his god.

As the Adonite clerics stepped onto the dais, Amity knelt before them.
For a moment, Korvin stood stiffly; he worshipped no god but the Draco
constellation, the stars of Requiem.

Amity turned her head and glared at him. She gestured with her eyes:
Kneel!

With a grumble, Korvin bent the knee, though he thought only of his
stars, bringing their light into his mind as the clerics approached.

One of the clerics stepped toward Amity. He wore a crimson mask shaped like
a lurid face, eyes large, jaw unhinged, tongue dangling. The mask's horns
curled, and the symbol of Adon, a four fingered hand, was painted onto the
brow. The cleric's own hands, their little fingers removed, held a crown molded
of finger bones worked together with golden wires. The cleric came to stand
behind Amity, holding the crown above her head.

"Hear me, Amity of Leonis!" he called out. "Five thousand
years ago, the wise Adon, Warrior of the Sky, rode his flaming chariot into a
desert, a land of rock and thirst and pain. When he pressed his holy hand
against the mountains, rivers gushed forth, and the grasslands grew, and trees
gave forth fruit. With his holy hand, he shaped the wet dirt, and he formed men
and women to toil in the fields. Adon himself blessed the first king and queen
with his holy hand. Now a new queen rises! Now a crown of cleric finger bones
will bless you as Adon blessed our forebears." He began to lower the
crown. "I bless you, Amity of Leonis, and by the glory of Adon, I name you
Queen of—"

"Queen of Filth!" rose a shout from the crowd. "Queen of
Whores! Queen of Reptiles!"

The cleric hissed and stepped back. Amity growled. Korvin stared into the
crowd, and his throat tightened, and he grabbed the hilt of his sword and drew
a foot of steel.

A man came walking through the crowd toward the stage. People stepped
back before him, forming a path, bowing their heads. He was easily the largest
man Korvin had ever seen. The brute towered over the rest of the crowd, over
seven feet tall. His muscles bulged and rippled. He wore nothing but a
loincloth, and he carried a mace and a round shield. A scar crawled up his
cheek, through one empty eye socket, and across his bald head, the groove a
deep canyon.

Korvin was a large man, but looking at this beast, he felt as small and
frail as a stooped elder. Still he forced himself to step forward, and he
shouted down from the stage, "Who are you to challenge your queen?"

The
brute below laughed. Several griffins walked behind the giant, wings folded
against their flanks, and on their backs rode warriors with shaved heads, bare
chests, and round shields. All the men's shields, Korvin noticed, sported a red
fist.

Amity
cursed under her breath. "Shafel," she muttered, then raised her
voice to a shout. "Shafel, leave this place! Your master is dead. Serve me
or die too."

Korvin
sneered. Shafel. He had heard that name before. Back in the war years ago,
legends had spoken of a giant among the troops, a beast who snapped spines in
his great hands, who cracked skulls and feasted on the innards, who stood twice
the height of most men, whose skin was thick as armor. They had said that
Shafel was only a boy yet stronger than any grown man in the Horde.

The
boy had grown even larger.

"I
will not serve the spawn of reptiles!" Shafel spat into the dirt. "As
you slew our old king, I slay you now. I will rule the Horde!"

With
a battle cry, Shafel leaped into the air. With what seemed like inhuman
strength, he soared onto the stage and swung his mace toward Amity.

Korvin
roared, leaped forth, and shifted in midair. His wings beat and his claws
swiped.

Pain
exploded as Korvin blocked the mace's blow. The iron head slammed into his paw,
shattering two scales. Korvin yowled and would have blasted Shafel with
dragonfire, had he not stood so close to Amity and the clerics.

"Careful,
little man." A charcoal dragon, Korvin snarled down at Shafel. "You're
big but not big enough."

With
shrieks, the dozen griffins flew toward the stage, Shafel's warriors on their
backs. Amity screamed, shifted, and soared as a red dragon. Korvin sneered and
blasted fire skyward, trying to hold off the griffins, but the beasts mobbed
him, flying in rings. Shafel leaped onto one griffin, brandished his studded
mace, and charged toward Amity.

"Stop
this madness!" shouted the head cleric. The man slammed his staff down,
and thunder boomed. A blast of lighting rose from the staff, piercing the sky,
sending griffins and dragons tumbling backward. "In the name of Adon, you
will not shed blood in the holy city of Gosh Ha'ar!"

Korvin
beat his wings, hovering in midair. Amity flew beside him. A dozen griffins
flew all around. The cleric stood below, staff held before him.

"I
will burn my enemies!" Amity sneered.

The
cleric stared up from below, eyes burning behind his demonic mask. "Even a
queen may not shed blood upon holy ground. Here in Gosh Ha'ar, Adon himself
touched the mountains and spilled forth water. If you shed the blood of the
Horde here, the crown will never be yours." The cleric stared up at Shafel
next. "Stand down, Shafel! If you shed blood here, Adon will curse you
too, and this crown will never sit upon your head."

The
dragons and griffins landed on the stage beneath the mountains.

Shafel
wheeled his griffin toward the crowd, and he raised his mace high.

"Hear
me, Horde!" the giant shouted. "I am Shafel, son of Sha'ar, slayer of
Ka'elor the Sand Asp. I slew thousands of Templers in the last war. I shatter
boulders with my fists, and even dragons fear and dare not strike me. I am your
new king! Kneel before me!"

Across
the crowd, thousands knelt.

Amity
stared in disbelief, then turned toward the cleric. "Crown me! Now!"

Yet
Shafel stepped forth, knocking her aside, and snatched the crown from the old
priest. When the giant tried to place it upon his head, Amity leaped out and
grabbed it. The two stood facing each other, holding the crown between them.

The
crowd stared.

Amity
glared up at Shafel. He loomed above her, thrice her size.

"Choose
a place," Amity hissed, eyes blazing. "Choose a place for me to slay
you."

The
giant snorted. "Wherever you walk, girl, I will hunt you. Wherever you
step off holy ground, I will be there to crush you under my heel."

He
yanked the crown backward. Amity tugged the other way. With a crack, the crown
shattered, scattering finger bones.

Korvin
stared, heart sinking.