Dragons Lost (27 page)

It's for Domi that I'll
save my feelings,
Cade thought.
I swear, Domi, we'll meet again.

"Cade! Stop moping
around over there and help me." Fidelity waved him over. "Help me print the
first page."

He shook his head free
of thoughts. For now, he would banish both sisters from his mind. He would
think only about his task. He approached, and they worked together, pressing
down their metallic letters onto the paper.

"Did it work?" Cade
whispered.

Fidelity bit her lip. "Let's check."

She removed the paper .
. . and they groaned.

It was a mess. An utter
mess. Just a few random letters printed among blobs of ink. With a clatter, a
dozen metal letters came loose from the machine, banged against its surface,
then thumped into the grass.

Cade sighed. "Are you
sure we shouldn't just use quill and inkpot?"

It took them
twenty-three more sheets of paper, a lot of cursing, and a few frustrated kicks
to finally print their first perfect page. By then, the sun had set again.

"Beautiful," Fidelity
whispered, gazing at it. Her eyes watered. "It's perfect." She grinned at Cade—a
huge, goofy grin. "
The Book of Requiem
is coming together!"

Cade wanted to remark
how it had taken a full day to prepare a single page, and how they'd have
better luck traveling the world and reading the book out loud to people, but
when Fidelity leaped onto him, embraced him, and kissed his cheek, suddenly things
didn't seem so bad.

Cade held her and
kissed her cheek. "Good job, Spectacles."

When she broke apart
from him, still grinning, he couldn't help but miss her touch, and he grieved
for the space now between them.

So much for not
thinking about girls, Cade.
He sighed.

They ate some of the
food they had brought with them—grainy bread, tangy cheese, smoked sausages,
and small bitter apples—then lay down to sleep. Fidelity had wanted to continue
working, but soon they were both yawning so much they simply lay down in the
grass, and they slept.

In the morning they
worked again.

By the end of this
second day, they had printed a full hundred pages.

On the third day, their
technique improved, and they printed a full two thousand pages. Their first
copy of
The Book of Requiem
was complete.

Fidelity stared at the
printed pages—over a thousand of them—tears in her eyes.

"It's beautiful," she
whispered.

They worked for a
while, binding the book in a leather cover. The final copy was not perfect—it
was not beautiful, well bound, or sturdy like the original. The binding was a
little crooked, and splotches of ink marred the pages here and there, and the
paper was not nearly as robust as the original's parchment pages. It was a
little like comparing a clay hut to a marble palace. But it was
The Book of
Requiem
, word for word, a copy of all their lore.

"It's a world of magic,
wonder, heroes, and dragons," Fidelity said. "A world of villains, monsters,
horrors, but hope too. Of bloodshed but love. Of pain but joy too. It's the
world of Requiem, of our people, all existing within a single book." She lifted
the heavy tome. "And somewhere, others will read this book. Maybe just one
person. But that person will read of dragons, and that person will spread the
word—whispering of Requiem to a friend, to family, to a neighbor. We will bring
Requiem back to life."

 
 
MERCY

She stood in her chamber in the
Cured Temple, holding her adopted daughter in her arms.

"Your brother has
escaped us, sweet Eliana," Mercy whispered to the child. "Cade has fled like a
coward. But we'll find him. And we'll kill him. I won't let him taint this
world you were born into."

The babe gurgled in her
arms, reaching out to her. Her eyes were huge, hazel, curious. Mercy kissed
those tiny fingertips.

"I will protect you,
Eliana," she said. "The world is full of darkness. The reptilian disease still
roams free, even in the blood of your very brother. The Horde musters on the
southern coast, a mob of barbarians who would swarm over the civilization we
have built in the Commonwealth, who would tear our society apart. King's Column
still stands, even as we pray for the Falling, and the Spirit does not yet descend."
She held the babe close. "You are so innocent, and the world is so cruel. I
will protect you, but I will also teach you strength, my daughter. You will
become a paladin, a warrior of the Spirit."

Mercy walked toward the
golden crib and placed Eliana inside. The baby cried, and Mercy stood over the
crib, watching her. She did not lift Eliana, did not comfort her, for the baby
would have to learn that the world is cruel, would have to learn to be strong.

Sudden pain swelled
inside Mercy, cold, filling her belly. She winced. Memories of that day
returned to her, that day more horrible than any other.

Mercy grimaced.

She hugged her belly
and doubled over. Cold sweat washed over her, and she couldn't breathe. Again
she felt his fists drive into her belly. Again she bled. Again she wailed,
mourned, a young priestess, hurt, her daughter—

No.

She clenched her fists.

No, she would not
summon that memory now. It had happened to another woman—to a married
priestess, not a widowed paladin devoted to her god. She had thrust her blade,
slaying him, slaying that memory. It had happened to another woman. Not to her.
Not to Lady Mercy, a warrior of the Spirit.

She turned away from
the crib, walked across her chamber of gold and jewels, and approached the
window. The city of Nova Vita spread outside the Cured Temple, rolling for
miles, only a few scattered lanterns lighting its streets. The stars shone
above. The Draco constellation glowed ahead of Mercy, ever taunting her, ever a
reminder of the cruelty in the world.

"I pray to you, Spirit,
for the Falling," Mercy said softly, and a cold breeze played with her hair. "I
pray for a night when the Draco constellation goes dark. When King's Column
cracks and falls. When all the evil of weredragons is gone. When the world is
safe for the babe I saved, for the daughter I adopted."

As Mercy thought of
Eliana, her memories strayed further back, reaching toward another lost child,
and fresh pain clutched her chest.

It had been years ago;
Mercy herself had been barely older than a babe herself. She had only vague
memories of that night. She remembered her father crying out, snatching his
son, fleeing into the night. She remembered her mother screaming, mounting a
firedrake, flying out to reclaim her stolen boy.

Mercy placed her hands
on the windowsill and lowered her head.

"I had a brother once,"
she said softly, perhaps speaking to Eliana, perhaps to herself. "Not a useless
brother like Gemini, but a precious babe. Father stole him away." Her jaw
clenched. "Mother burned him for that. She burned and buried him." Her eyes
dampened, and she turned back toward the crib. "But I'll never lose you, my
child."

Eliana's crying faded.
Perhaps the child was sleeping. Some said that her father had served the Horde;
others claimed that he had served the weredragons. Mercy swore that she would
ravage cities, would slay millions, all to save this new babe who had come into
her life. She had lost two babes already. For Eliana, she would burn the world.

A knock sounded on her
door. Mercy narrowed her eyes. Who dared knock at such a late hour?

She rubbed her eyes;
they were still damp. When she looked into her mirror, Mercy no longer saw the
proud paladin; she wore her cotton night tunic, not her white armor. Her hair,
normally flowing across her right shoulder, was bound in a ribbon. She looked
like a damn commoner.

"A moment!" she barked.

She spent that moment
unbinding and smoothing her hair, clasping a belt around her waist, and hanging
her sword there. If she had no time to don her armor, at least she would still
appear the warrior.

"Enter!"

The door opened to
reveal a young servant. Mercy recognized the little red-headed girl Gemini had
hired.

Domi, her name is,
Mercy remembered.

The girl knelt
and bowed her head. "My lady, the High Priestess requests your presence in the
Holy of Holies. She says the matter is urgent."

Mercy stared
down at the girl, eyes narrowed. "Look at me, girl."

Domi raised her
eyes—large, green eyes full of fear but also a hint of resistance. They
reminded Mercy of the eyes of her old firedrake, that beast called Pyre she had
ordered put down. The firedrake too would stare with such green eyes that
hinted at recalcitrance.

Mercy frowned. "I
thought my brother hired you to serve him alone."

Domi lowered
her eyes. "He has, though Her Holiness the High Priestess has begun to give me
work as well. She says I must prove myself more useful than just wiping Gemini's
arse. Pardon, my lady, but those were her words."

Mercy tilted
her head. She wondered. Beatrix rarely bothered giving commands to lowly
servants. There was something about this Domi—about how her brother had shown
up with her one day, about how Beatrix seemed to be keeping an eye on her, even
about the hint of amusement she saw in Domi's eyes as she repeated Beatrix's
words. Mercy stared into those green eyes, judging, scrutinizing.

Who are you,
Domi? You're no simple servant.

"Remain here
and watch over my daughter," Mercy said. "When I return, you and I will speak
more. I look forward to learning all about you, Domi. I like to learn where all
our servants come from."

Domi bowed her head. "Yes,
my lady."

With that, Mercy
brushed past the servant and entered the corridor. She walked through the
lavish halls and stairways. Lanterns hung on the walls, glowing softly, and
only a few servants scuttled about, pausing to kneel as Mercy walked by.

Finally Mercy entered
the Holy of Holies—the vast, white chamber, forbidden to all but her family,
where rose King's Column.

Her mother, High
Priestess Beatrix, knelt here in prayer. Mercy came to kneel beside her, facing
the column.

"I pray for the
Falling," Beatrix whispered.

Mercy nodded. "I pray
for the Falling."

The High Priestess
turned her head toward her daughter. Her shrewd eyes, pale blue and piercing,
shone with a strange light. "Mercy, you have failed me again."

Iciness spread through
Mercy, and her jaw tightened. "I told you, Mother. I will find the missing
weredragons. I will crush them, I will—"

"Do you know what
Requiem is, child?" the High Priestess asked.

Mercy sucked in breath.
Her eyes widened. "That is a forbidden word, Mother!"

Beatrix huffed. "Forbidden
to the masses, yes. We do not want the commoners to speak of such rubbish, to
remember the weakness of our fallen kingdom, a kingdom infested with disease.
But you and I, here, in the Holy of Holies . . . we have no secrets from each
other, nor from the Spirit who watches this place, waiting for the column to
fall." Beatrix rose to her feet. "Yet now commoners too speak of Requiem. Books
have appeared across the Commonwealth, the word 'Requiem' emblazoned on their
covers."

Mercy rose to her feet
too. She gripped the hilt of her sword. "What books?"

Beatrix stared at her,
eyes like blue pools of demon fire. "Books challenging the Commonwealth. Books
depicting Requiem as a noble kingdom, weredragons as blessed beings, not
monsters. The book urges commoners to hide their babes, to leave them with the
disease of weredragons. These books call for open rebellion."

"Weredragons printed
them!" Mercy drew her sword, and her chest heaved. "I will hunt down these
books. I will burn them all! I will burn those who printed them. I will burn
all those who read them. I will burn down the world if I must!"

"Sheathe your sword in
the Holy of Holies!" Beatrix demanded, eyes flashing. "You've become a wild,
errant beast, no more mindful than a firedrake. A brute can swing a sword. It
was your incompetence, Mercy, that allowed the weredragons to escape. It is
those very weredragons who likely printed these books, spreading their filth
across the Commonwealth."

"I slew weredragons!"
Mercy retorted. "Two above the islands."

"Two whose bodies you
never found," said Beatrix. "Reports speak of weredragons among the Horde now,
perhaps the same ones you let escape. Sometimes I think your brother more
competent than you."

"My brother?" Mercy
scoffed. "Gemini has been spending all his time with that little whore he
dragged into the palace."

"And you spend all your
time with that babe of yours." Beatrix shook her head in disgust. "Your brother
is pureborn; he can never marry. I found you one husband, Mercy, and you stuck
a sword in his gut. I tried to find you a new husband, to see you bear me an
heir, and instead you drag a common babe into my temple. I should have the little
wretch tossed into the fire."

Mercy hissed. These
were forbidden words! These were memories that should never rise again!

"Then you might as well
burn me too," Mercy said. "I would protect that child with my life. Husband? I
have no time for such foolishness. I am busy hunting weredragons."

"And failing at it."
Beatrix turned her back toward her. "Find these books, Mercy. Find them and
burn them, and find the weredragons who printed them. If you cannot, your babe
will be the one to burn. Now leave this place."

Mercy stormed out of
the chamber, chest shaking, eyes stinging. She shouted as she moved through the
hall, calling for soldiers, for paladins, for steel and fire.

In the darkness, twenty
firedrakes rose from the underground and soared into the night sky. It was time
to go hunting.