A Memory of Fire (The Dragon War, Book 3) (25 page)

You
will finally see my worth, Father. You will finally name me your
heir.

Below
him, the Resistance had crossed the city center. They were attacking
the palace of Tarath Imperium, the great axle of the wheel. Cannons
were blazing from its walls, ripping into resistors. Imperial
dragons were leaping from its tower, only to crash into the Genesis
Beams and tumble a thousand feet to the ground. Dragonfire bathed
the tower, smoke unfurled, and the walls shook.

Leresy laughed. "Now,
Father... now as you huddle in the darkness, waiting to die, it is
I—Leresy, the son you outcast and shamed—who will save you."

He cackled, almost tempted to
let the Resistance swarm the palace and kill the bastard. But no.
Valien would only seize the throne for himself, one despot replacing
another. Leresy did not crave to see this rabble rule his empire.

"So I will save you,
Father, though you disgust me," he said. "In return, I
will watch you age and wither until the throne is mine."

He blasted fire, narrowed his
eyes, and dived.

Smoke raced around him. Flames
exploded like fireworks. A stray cannonball whistled by his side.
Still he swooped, snarling, his captives clutched in his claws. Rune
and Tilla screamed—human bodies were so frail, the skulls so small,
squeezing under a fast descent. Yet Leresy would not slow his
flight, and he sprayed fire, crashing down like a comet.

A Genesis Beam blazed his way,
red and humming.

Leresy banked sharply, skirted
around the beam, and kept diving. The beam shone upon a battalion of
imperial dragons to his north, scattering a rain of armored men.

The steeple of Tarath Imperium
reached up from a sea of smoke and fire. Black spikes crowned the
tower like the claws of a giant. In the inferno of war, the tower
seemed like the charred hand of a corpse. Cannons fired from its
battlements, and a hundred men in black robes stood upon its roof,
warriors of the Axehand Order, awaiting the resistors.

Valien and his mob swarmed from
the east. The Legions surrounded the tower and covered the city.
Here above the tower's crest, Leresy flew alone. Laughing, he dived
toward the outreached claw of battlements. Several feet above the
tower roof, he stretched his wings wide. They caught the smoky air,
billowing like sails, slowing his descent. He reared in the air and
shot a blazing inferno skyward.

"I am Leresy Cadigus!"
he howled, beating his wings, a beast of wrath and glory. "I
bear Relesar Aeternum and his whore in my claws. Open the tower
doors, axehands!"

Shrieks sounded behind him.

Leresy spun to see a dozen
resistors shooting toward him, rabid dragons bearing riders. Guns
blazed from their saddles. Their fire crackled. An iron round
slammed into Leresy's shoulder, digging through scales into flesh,
and he howled.

He landed upon the tower,
pinning Rune and Tilla down under his feet. He twisted his neck,
grabbed his Genesis Scope between his teeth, and popped off the lid
with his tongue. More guns fired, and another round slammed into his
flesh. Grimacing, holding the scope in his mouth, Leresy aimed the
beam.

Red light blasted forward,
lighting the resistors.

A dozen dragons, only feet away
and howling for his death, lost their magic.

They resumed human forms—wild,
long-haired men and women clad in leather and rags. They tumbled.
Most crashed down beyond the tower and into the night. Three, the
closest to Leresy, crashed against the tower roof. The Axehand Order
swept forward, black robes swaying, and swung the blades strapped to
their stumps. Resistors screamed and died.

Leresy panted and mewled. Two
iron rounds dug into his flesh. Each was small, only the size of a
marble, but crackled with agony.

He limped across the tower roof.
With every step, he pressed his captives down against the floor, all
but crushing them. He had to beat his wings to keep moving. The
battlements towered around him, fifty feet tall, their obsidian
reflecting the firelight. Across the roof, axehands chanted prayers,
blades swung, and dragons roared. Fire crackled and cannons blasted,
their booms deafening. Leresy's ears rang. His blood dripped. Yet
he gritted his teeth and kept moving, his claws wrapped around his
prisoners.

The tower trapdoor lay ahead.
Fifty axehands surrounded it, blades raised. The firelight pierced
their hoods, painting their iron masks a demonic red.

"Let me through,"
Leresy demanded, limping forward, slamming Rune and Tilla down with
each step. "I've caught the escaped heir. Let me pass!"

As the battle raged beyond the
battlements, the axehands stood in the firelight and smoke, hissing.
One spoke, his voice ghostly, a sound like steam fleeing a kettle.

"You are Leresy the
Outcast. Our lord, the God of Dragons, has banished you. Leave this
place, or we will feast upon your organs for the glory of the red
spiral."

Leresy hissed and blasted smoke
their way. "The city is burning. I have the heir of Aeternum
in my claws. I have the traitor Tilla Siren, the killer of Shari
Cadigus. I have a Genesis Scope, the only weapon that can stop the
Resistance now." He spat flames at their feet. "Let me
pass or watch this tower fall."

The axehands stared, silent.
Jets of dragonfire crisscrossed overhead. Arquebus rounds blazed;
one slammed into an axehand, knocking the man down. Dragons screamed
and flew above and corpses showered down. The tower shook. But
Leresy only stared at the axehands, smoke rising from his nostrils,
his claws gripping his prizes.

Finally, after what seemed an
eternity, the axehands parted, clearing the way to the trapdoor.

Leresy barked a laugh and
stepped between them, still in dragon form.

"Now grab these prisoners!"
he said. "Chain them up. Drag them behind me, and we will
present them to the emperor."

He tossed Rune and Tilla down,
then shone his scope upon them. They were bloodied, bruised, and
weak; he wondered if he'd snapped their bones. The wretches tried to
escape. They could not shift under the light, but they crawled
across the tower, coughing and struggling to rise.

Pathetic,
Leresy thought. And yet... he found his blood heating. The boy Rune
was a maggot, but Tilla... even as she crawled and gasped for breath,
her skin bloody and ashy, Tilla was more intoxicating than wine. Her
clothes were tattered, revealing her shapely flesh. Her eyes blazed
with fury, shining like two black gems. Leresy watched her struggle
and licked his lips.

I've
craved you since I first saw you at Luna,
he thought, and his drool dripped between his teeth.
I
will bed you yet. You will be my prisoner and my concubine.

The two struggled to their feet,
pitiful lovers. Before they could take a step, the axehands swarmed
around them. The robed warrior-priests grabbed them, shoved them
down, and pulled chains from their cloaks. The two traitors screamed
and kicked and punched. Rune managed to knock an axehand down. But
they were too weak, and the axehands were too many. Within moments,
the prisoners were chained, and the axehands were dragging them into
the tower.

"Wait!" Leresy said.
"I will lead the way. Drag the prisoners behind me."

He shifted into human form. His
wounds blazed with new agony, and blood soaked his clothes, but he
ignored the pain; soon all his pain would end. As the sky burned and
bled, he stepped toward the prisoners. Rune and Tilla stood before
him, struggling in their chains, screaming for his blood.

"My sweetness," Leresy
said, approaching Tilla. Her wrists were bound, and four axehands
held her still.

Leresy caressed her cheek, then
pulled his hand back as she tried to bite. She spat at him but
missed his face, and her spit landed at his feet. Iron rounds and
fire crashed all around them, and dragons fought overhead. Blood
pattered down. Chipped scales clattered around them like hail.

"I will kill you, Leresy
Cadigus, you gutter worm," Tilla said, her cheeks red with fury.

He licked his lips. "Good.
You're still feisty. I like that. I want you to struggle tonight
as I make you mine." He snapped his fingers. "Axehands!
Follow."

Grinning, he stepped through the
trapdoor and into the tower.

He walked down a coiling
staircase. Torches lined the walls, and the axehands walked behind
him, dragging the kicking prisoners. Guards stood every few steps,
armed with halberds and swords and shields, clad in black steel.

Soon
they will serve me,
Leresy thought.
Soon
these soldiers will hail Leresy as their god.

He
laughed as he descended the steps. Finally, after all this blood and
fire and pain, glory was his. Finally Shari was dead. Finally
finally
after all the agony, he—Leresy Cadigus—had emerged triumphant.

"Tonight you will see,
Father," he said to the shadows as he descended. "You will
see that Shari was weak, that she died like a dog. You will see that
Kaelyn is a mere worm. You will see that I, your outcast son, am the
strong one, the glorious one, the heir to your crown." Tears
burned in his eyes, but Leresy forced himself to grin. "And
you, Erry... you betrayed me. You will watch me rise to glory, and I
will hunt you down, and I will force you to kneel. And I will force
you to kneel too, Tilla. I will force this whole damn world to kneel
and worship my glory."

He reached a corridor and
marched across its black tiles. Guards stood alongside, swords
drawn, waiting for battle. Within moments, Leresy knew, the
Resistance could swarm down these halls like poison through the
arteries of a giant. By then it would be too late for them; Leresy
would have claimed his domain.

"Leresy, fight us like a
man!" Tilla screamed behind, but hands muffled her cry.

Leresy's grin widened and he
kept marching. When he reached a tall, bronze door, he paused and
inhaled deeply.

Father's
door.

The tower of Tarath Imperium
rose from a sprawling palace, a complex of halls and courtyards. The
throne room, far below this place, loomed so large a hundred dragons
could fly within it. Intricate mosaics covered its floors, gold
shone upon its columns, and paintings of dragons bedecked its
ceiling. The Ivory Throne rose there, resplendent... and usually
empty.

Lowborn Frey Cadigus was a
soldier at heart, disdainful of pomp. Once or twice a year, he
entertained guests in his throne room, putting on a show of majesty.
The rest of the time, he lurked here in this tower, in the austere
chamber of a soldier, a place where he could butcher his animals,
torture his prisoners, and—so many times—beat his children.

Standing before this door,
Leresy's knees shook, and he clenched his fists. He closed his eyes.

No,
Father!
cried a small voice within him.
Don't
hit her. You're killing her, Father! It's I who stole the fruit.
Beat me instead.

He
had stood shaking outside this door so often as a child. Beyond this
door, he had screamed, bled, and hurt so much. The throne room was a
place of glory, but here... here beyond this door lurked blackness,
pain, and terror.

He sucked in breath.

I
must not fear the shadows today,
he told himself.
I
suffered here as a child. But now, as a man, my glory will blaze
within this darkness.

He opened his eyes, grabbed the
doorknob, and pushed the door open.

Shadows greeted him. He entered
the wolf's lair.

The place looked less like the
chamber of an emperor and more like a butcher shop. The bricks were
rough and gray. Meat hooks hung from the ceiling, holding animal
carcasses. One poor lamb was still kicking as it bled out. Some
slabs of meat, those in the shadowy back, looked oddly human, skinned
and red. The stench of blood and offal filled the place. Leresy
swallowed, feeling ready to gag.

Emperor Frey Cadigus stood
before a table laden with cleavers. Despite the battle raging
outside, he hadn't donned his armor, perhaps too proud to admit any
danger. Instead, he wore his bloodstained butcher's apron. In
recent years, Frey spent less time governing and more time with his
passion, cutting and dissecting beasts and men. The meat was never
eaten. Frey Cadigus never ate meat; he only craved to cut it.

"Father!" Leresy said,
marching toward him over the bloodstained floor. "I've
returned."

Frey stared at him across his
table. His eyes were cold chips of obsidian.

"My son," he said,
lips curling in disgust. "Have I not banished you? You return
now as battle rages?"

"I return now to win your
battle!" he said and tossed the Genesis Scope forward. It
thumped against the table. "Have you wondered how the
Resistance has been felling your dragons from the sky? They're using
these weapons. Here is yours—a gift worthy of an emperor. And I
bring further gifts, my lord." Leresy snapped his fingers and
raised his voice. "Axehand! Bring forth my prisoners."

The robed priests entered the
chamber, dragging the bound Rune and Tilla. Leresy pointed at the
floor, and the axehands shoved the prisoners down. Smirking, Leresy
placed a boot against Tilla's neck, shoving her face against the
tiles. He drew his sword and held the blade against Rune's neck,
keeping the boy too pinned down.

"Behold!" Leresy said.
"I've brought you imperial gifts: Lanse Tilla Siren, the
traitor who slew your daughter, and Relesar, the heir of Aeternum.
It is I, your son, who captured them. They are yours, Father.
Accept my gifts. All I ask is that you return me to your good
graces. Name me your heir, and these prizes are yours."