A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2) (30 page)

Rune looked up at Valien, looked
at this broken man with hard eyes, with old pain, with creases of
endless nightmares across his face.

This
is what I would become,
Rune realized. A broken man. He would grow old in hiding. He would
grow old in pain, the past always clutching, always pulling him
deeper into darkness.

No. He could not do this.

Valien held his arm, guiding him
forward, and for the first time since Rune had met him—for the first
time in a year of blood, fire, and death—Valien's eyes dampened, and
his voice tore with pain.

"We will not forget them,
Rune," he said. "We will enter this tunnel. We will crawl
through darkness to the sea. We will swim. We will flee this
battle." His voice shook and his jaw twisted. "We will
fight another day."

They walked toward the tunnel.

Valien looked around the hall at
the resistors who gathered, several hundred in all.

"We've been fighting for
seven nights and seven days," he said, looking at his men.
"We've killed thousands of the enemy. We've shown that we could
bleed them." He raised his hand, two fingers pressed together.
"The Resistance will live on! Relesar Aeternum will reign.
Today we flee into the sea. Today we lose a battle. Tomorrow we
will rally, and we will grow in strength, and we will give the Regime
no rest. Into the sea! Into darkness and water. Requiem! May our
wings forever find your sky."

The men returned the salute.
They chanted the prayer together. They began to enter the darkness.

Into
the sea,
Rune thought, watching them leave.
Into
hiding. Into war and pain and endless memory.

More men stepped down the
staircase, one by one, their eyes hard and their faces ashy, warriors
of Requiem. Rune watched them leave.

Valien released his grip on Rune
and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It's time," the gruff
man said.

Kaelyn held his hand. "We
will still fight together, Rune," she whispered. "I
promise you. Always. I will always fly by your side."

Rune stared at the men stepping
into the darkness. He could imagine them crawling underground,
emerging into the sea, swimming through darkness, leaving this ruin
behind, and rallying in some distant land for another battle in
another town.

"They will fight on,"
Rune whispered. "And they will still have courage in their
hearts." He looked at Valien and Kaelyn, his guiding stars, two
people he had followed through fire and blood, two people he loved.
"But my heart will not mend after this day. My heart is forever
in Lynport. This is my home, and here I must fall." His voice
tore and his eyes swam. "Goodbye."

He broke free.

Before they could grab him
again, Rune ran.

"Rune!" Kaelyn shouted
behind him, voice torn.

He did not turn back. He raced
across the hall. He leaped onto the tower staircase.

"Rune, do not do this!"
Valien roared behind. "Rune, listen to me!"

But he would not listen.

I
can't,
he thought, eyes burning.
I
can't let them die. If torture and death await me, so be it. I
cannot let the last of my townsfolk perish here.

He ran up the tower stairs.

"Rune!" Kaelyn cried;
he heard her running upstairs a few steps behind. "Rune,
please!"

"Go to the sea, Kaelyn!"
he said. "Go with Valien. Fight on. Fight for my memory.
Go!"

He ran.

He reached the tower top.

He raced between guards, crashed
through a trapdoor, and emerged onto the battlements. He shifted
into a dragon.

The sky writhed, a canopy of
scales and flames and claws. The Legions stormed above him in a
whirlpool, wings roiling smoke and fire and drool. Rune soared
toward them, a single black dragon entering the storm. The emperor
himself cackled above, the epicenter of terror, a shard of gold like
a cruel sun, death and blood in his claws.

"I fly to you, Frey!"
Rune cried. "I fly to you. Release them. Let them live."

Below him upon the tower,
Kaelyn's voice rose, torn and pleading.

"Rune!"

He looked back at her. Kaelyn
stood upon the tower, still in human form, reaching up to him,
pleading, tears on her cheeks. The wind from countless wings
billowed her hair. Tears filled her eyes. Ash and soot coated her
cheeks.

"Rune," she said, lips
trembling. "Please. I love you. Please."

The Legions cackled and roared
above. Claws reached down to lash Rune. Pain drove through him.
The swarm engulfed him.

"Goodbye, Kaelyn," he
whispered as the beasts tightened around him, a great serpent of the
skies, hiding all from view.

Scales and flame rolled across
him.

He saw nothing else.

Goodbye.

Flapping his wings within the
storm, caught in the whirlpool of fangs and steel and fire, he looked
above him, seeking the emperor, seeking the man who'd destroyed his
town, his soul, his life.

Yet when he looked above, the
golden dragon was gone.

A white dragon hovered there,
her scales glimmering, her eyes soft with tears.

Rune breathed shakily.

"Tilla," he whispered.

Her tears fell. She glided down
toward him, a moonlit angel of celestial halls, and her claws shook.

"Rune," she said.
"Rune."

And he was flying with her
again, side by side over the sea at night. They danced around the
moon. They stood upon the beach, held each other, and shared a kiss
of farewell.

"Rune," she had said
to him that day, a barefooted youth with seashells around her neck.
"Fly with me. One last flight.

They had flown together then,
two youths entering a war too big for them, leaving their home and
flying into a battle they could not win.

They flew together now too,
gliding in darkness and fire.

Tilla.
Pillar of my memory. Anchor of my soul.

She
reached out toward him, the Legions at her back, a hundred thousand
demons cackling and howling for his death.

"Tilla," he whispered
again, too tired to fight, too torn to shout.

Her claws wrapped around his
shoulders, and her tears fell upon him.

"It's over now," she
whispered. "We're together again."

The emperor laughed in the
distance, and the Legions tightened around Rune. Claws cut him.
Tails lashed him. His blood spilled. His breath died.

His magic left him.

He floated among the Legions in
human form, cut and bleeding, Tilla's claws wrapped around him. The
last things he saw was her eyes, dark and whispering of home.

 
 
KAELYN

She stood among the ruins,
staring north across the sea.

The wind caressed her hair like
his fingers had that night long ago, hiding in different ruins so far
away. That had been in the cold north, in Requiem, in the land they
had fought and killed and bled and cried for. That had been home.

That land had fallen.

"Relesar Aeternum,"
she whispered into the waves that rolled below the hill, and her
voice shook. "Rune."

This southern island was small,
smaller than the town she had fled. Standing here upon the hilltop,
she could see the shore encircling her, forming a sanctuary in the
Tiran Sea. The hillsides rolled below her, thick with boulders and
cedars and pines. Where hills ended, wild grass and mint bushes
faded into golden sand and azure, glimmering waves.

Where Kaelyn stood, high upon
the island's peak, old ruins rose. An orphaned archway stretched
above her, green with creeping ivy. The wall that had once held it
lay fallen; grass and weeds overgrew its bricks. An ancient stairway
plunged down the hillside, most of its steps now buried under dirt
and grass. Three columns stood below upon the beach, the remnants of
some old port or temple. A dozen more columns lay fallen among palm
trees and brambles. Gulls, cranes, and small birds she could not
name flew above.

"You would have liked it
here, Rune," she whispered to the trees, the wind, and the sea
that spread deep blue into the horizon. "You would have stood
here with me, hand in hand, and told me about the old ships that
would sail here, and you would name the birds that fly."

It was an island too small for
maps. An island too small for the Legions to find.

An
island you will never know.
Tears filled her eyes and her throat tightened.
I
miss you Rune.

"Kaelyn."

The voice rose behind her, raspy
like wind over gravel. She turned to see Valien.

He wore his old furs and wool,
but his armor was gone. His hair hung around his face, streaked with
more white than she'd ever seen in it. His face had always seemed so
hard to Kaelyn, a face like tough leather, like a craggy cliff, a
face with the strength of ancient stone. His eyes had always seemed
so wise, eyes that hid all the secrets in the world, eyes she would
follow into the Abyss itself.

Yet now… now she saw the
sadness in him. Now the sunlight fell upon that face she loved. Now
those eyes gazed north across the sea, and she saw the pain of her
heart reflected in them.

He
misses him too. And he misses her. His Marilion.

Kaelyn stepped toward him. She
took his hands—great, calloused paws twice the size of her small,
white palms. He towered over her, and she looked up at him, a deer
before a bear.

He
lost her, but he has me. He has me always.

Valien embraced her, and she
laid her head upon his scarred chest, and she felt warm, and though
fear trickled through her, there was still some safety here in his
arms. He stroked her hair.

"Will we ever see him
again?" she whispered.

Valien held her close. He was
silent for a long time.

"I don't know," he
finally said, voice soft. "But we will not abandon him to
torture and death. And we will not abandon Requiem." He held
her cheek and looked into her eyes. "I don't know what strength
I still have, Kaelyn. I don't know what battles I can still win.
But so long as breath rattles through me, and so long as my sword can
swing, I will fight. I will fight for our home… and for him. For
Relesar Aeternum."

She shook her head. "Don't
fight for a king. Fight for Rune."

They turned back toward the
north. They stood under the stone archway. Ivy dangled around them
and mottles of sunlight danced like fairies. The wind from the sea
played with their hair and filled their nostrils, scented of water,
salt, and cedar. The waves whispered below across the sand and
ruins.

"Lynport too now lies in
ruins upon a beach," Kaelyn whispered. "I will not forget
you, Requiem. I will not forget you, Rune."

They stood for a long time,
silent, watching the sea.

 
 
LERESY

They lay on the beach at night,
watching the moon and stars. The waves whispered, the trees rustled,
and the sea glistened in the moonlight, but Leresy could not see this
beauty.

He saw men torn apart with
gunpowder, screaming in the dirt, their severed limbs littering the
street.

He saw Beras clutching his
throat and raising his dagger.

He saw his father flying above,
tearing bodies apart, cackling like he would years ago when beating
Leresy and his twin.

He closed his eyes.

How
can you forget?
he thought.
How
can you forget old pain?
When
night falls and all sound and light of the day fade, how do you stop
the memories from rising?

Food had lost its flavor. The
world had lost its beauty. This was all the remained to him now.
Memories. Visions of blood. A chill in his belly he could not
shake.

"Ler?"

She lay beside him in the sand,
her dog curled up and sleeping on her feet. Leresy turned his head
and looked at her.

"Erry," he whispered,
and his eyes watered.

Erry Docker.

She lay naked in the sand, her
slim body caked with the stuff. He had once mocked her skinny limbs
and boyish frame, her short hair that always lay tangled across her
brow, and her lowborn blood. Today Leresy could not see the light of
stars, nor hear the music of the waves, yet Erry was beautiful to
him. She was a precious doll. She was his to protect, to cherish.
She was the only thing good he had left.

No,
he thought.
The
only thing good I ever had.

He placed a hand on her waist
and stroked her. He leaned forward in the sand and kissed her lips.

"I'm sorry, Erry," he
whispered.

He expected her to snort, to
laugh, or to launch into some creative string of cusses. This was
Erry Docker, after all; she was a snort and a curse wrapped in skin.
Yet her eyes only softened, and she touched his cheek.

"For what?" she said.

It was he who ended up snorting,
though it sounded almost like a sob.

"Do you need to ask?"
he said. "Do I really need to list everything?"

This made her grin, her huge
grin that showed so many teeth. She stuck her tongue out and poked
him in the ribs.

"Not forgiven," she
said. "Damn it, Leresy, you are a bloody piece of work, you
are." She sighed. "I don't know why I lie here with you."

"Because I'm devilishly
handsome?" he suggested and blinked to clear his eyes. "Because
I saved your life? Because I'm your knight in shining armor?"

She sighed. She rolled onto her
back and looked up at the night sky. Her dog stirred and fell back
into sleep.

"You're not," she said
softly, and her eyes grew somber. "You're not, Leresy. You're
not heroic. You're not noble. You're not a knight." She
looked at him. "You're a damn bastard, but… so am I. And we
have each other. And we're learning. And we're getting a little
better. That counts for something, doesn't it?"