A Memory of Fire (The Dragon War, Book 3) (7 page)

A twisting carob tree crowned
the hill, the tallest tree upon Maiden Island. Its branches spread
out like a crown, thick with dark leaves. Its roots rose from a
carpet of fallen fruit. Wooden strands wove together into its bole,
forming a grandfatherly face, complete with two burrows for eyes.
Sila often thought of the tree as the island's grandfather, an
ancient sentinel watching over him. Sila was not a religious
man—back in Tiranor, he had spent little time worshiping the Sun
God, the lord of the desert—yet he often thought this tree holy.

You've
watched over us for eighteen years,
Old
Carob,
he thought, climbing the trail toward the tree.
Today
you watch our greatest enemy.

Climbing the hill, he could see
the island spread all around. The hills rolled down, thick with
brush, to golden shores. The sea spread into every horizon, azure
under the clear sky.

Maiden
Island,
he thought and clenched his jaw.
A
new haven. I will not let it burn too.

He took the last few steps
toward the hilltop, approached Old Carob, and stared at the two
prisoners tied to the trunk.

"Vir Requis," he said,
hand on the pommel on his saber.

They stood in human forms now.
The ropes binding them to the tree would keep them humans. It had
taken a hundred men to cudgel the dragons, knocking their magic out
of them. Bruised and bound, the two hardly looked threatening now,
but Sila had seen their dragon forms: one dragon large and silver,
missing a horn, the other slim and green.

Demons.

The
silver dragon now stood as a man, his dark hair streaked with white,
his leathery face thick with stubble. He stood tall and wide; his
shoulders bulged under his tattered tunic. Sila was among the
tallest, strongest men on this island, and this man seemed his match.
He seemed on the wrong side of forty—about the same age as
Sila—but his eyes seemed older, haunted with ghosts. Those eyes
glared now, steaming with rage, but Sila had stared into the eyes of
enough enemies to recognize old pain.

Two
men of an age,
Sila thought.
Two
warriors with dark eyes. What secrets do your eyes keep?

He turned to look at the second
Vir Requis. This one was as different from the man as fire from ice.
She was a young woman, perhaps twenty years old. Her hair cascaded
in waves the color of dark honey, and her hazel eyes blazed with
fury. She hadn't the skin for the southern sun, and her nose and
cheeks had begun to peel, and her lips were dry and cracked, but she
still exuded a northern beauty. Her sharp features and golden mane
gave her feline look, a tied lioness who couldn't wait to rip out his
throat.

"Two Vir Requis sweep onto
our shore," Sila said, flexing his fingers around his hilt.
"Two dragons are captured. What should we do with them?"
He turned back toward the beefy, haggard man. "You. You have
the bearings of a soldier. How did you find us?"

The man's eyes simmered like
smelters. When he spoke, his voice was raspy like a man being
strangled, a mere death gasp.

"I
thought all Tirans were dead. How did
you
get here?"

Sila raised his eyebrows and
thrust out his bottom lip. "Asking questions, are we? My
friend, where I come from, the man with the sword asks the questions.
The man beaten and tied answers. So tell me. We have hidden here
for years. How did you find us, and how many will follow you?"

The man spat, nearly hitting
Sila's boot. "You hide here from Frey Cadigus. So do we."

Sila blew out his breath and
shook his head. "Of course you would claim that. Yet how can I
believe you? You perhaps convinced my daughter, but she is young and
naive. I've seen too many of your kind. I know your evil,
weredragon."

For the first time, the young
woman spoke up, straining against her ropes.

"You
will not call him that word!" she said and bared her teeth.
"You will not use that... slur. He is
Vir
Requis
.
He is the son of a noble, proud race fallen into darkness, and he
fights to restore its light. You speak to Lord Valien Eleison,
leader of the Resistance. For twenty years, he's been fighting Frey
Cadigus, the man you fled. Show him respect."

Sila turned back toward her.
"So quick to change flags, are we? I know you lie. I know you
scout these islands for Frey Cadigus, your lord. Are Frey's soldiers
so cowardly that a few bruises and a rope make them turncoats?"

She fixed him with a steady,
haunted stare. "Yes, I am a turncoat. I turned against Frey
Cadigus. But not because of your bruises or your ropes. I rebelled
against him three years ago, and I've been fighting him since. I hid
from him in mud and ruin. I flew through fire and rain to charge
against his lines. I crawled through darkness, and I killed, and I
watched my comrades die. And I still fight him. Until my last
breath." Her eyes bored into him. "Frey destroyed Tiranor
and he destroyed Requiem too. He burned your land; he cloaked ours
in darkness. I hate him more than fire hates the rain."

For a moment Sila could say
nothing, only stare into the woman's eyes. He had commanded merchant
ships through storms. He had commanded ships in battle. He had led
men from fire into light. He could read eyes like other men read
books, and he could spot a lie like a hound spotting a hare. There
was no deception in this woman's eyes. She either spoke truth, or
Vir Requis could tell lies like the greatest actors.

He turned back toward the
haggard man, this Valien Eleison. "How many do you lead? My
father spoke of seeing hundreds of you upon your island. Why are you
there? Do you plan an attack against us?"

"We plan an attack against
Requiem," Valien growled, and again Sila was taken aback by the
sound. The man's voice was little more than a hiss like leather
dragged over stone. "We lost a battle upon Requiem's southern
coast. We fled to these isles to regroup. We will fight again. You
are not our enemy, Tiran. We share an enemy. I lead three thousand
fighters, all sworn to slay the emperor. Free me... and join us."

Sila barked a laugh. "Even
if I did believe you were a rebel Vir Requis, now you truly speak
madness. We are no army here, Valien Eleison. We fled war. We
built a new life here. We are people of peace now."

"Is that why I hear
gunfire?" Valien grumbled. "Is that why your men carry
hand cannons and grapples? Those are tools for slaying dragons."

"Aye." Sila nodded.
"For slaying dragons who would attack our shores."

"And yet you did not slay
me and Kaelyn. You hear me speak and doubt seeps through you. Deep
inside, you believe me, Sila of Tiranor. Because I am like you, and
you see it."

It was Sila's turn to growl.
His fist clenched around his hilt, and he drew a foot of steel.

"We are nothing alike,
weredragon," he said, and his voice shook. "I know your
kind. I saw thousands of you swoop and burn my home. I saw—"

"You saw the soldiers of
Frey Cadigus," Valien interrupted. "You saw dragons in
armor, their helms displaying the red spiral. You saw men march in
black steel, the sigil of Frey upon their breasts. You did not see
me. You did not see the Resistance. And yes, Sila of Tiranor, we
are alike. We both lead men. We both carry the scars of war; I see
them in your eyes." His mouth twisted into a mockery of a grin.
"And we both hate Frey Cadigus. The question is, Sila... will
you hate him in hiding, or will you fight with me?"

Sila
found that his fist trembled. Sweat trickled down his back.
Damn
it. Damn it!

He took a step closer, muscles
tense and heart pounding. He stood only a foot apart from Valien and
stared into his eyes, seeking deceit and finding none.

"Frey cannot be defeated,"
he said. "All of Tiranor fought him. Three million of my
people perished in his flame. You lead a few thousand warriors.
Among my people, only two thousand are strong enough to fight. We
cannot defeat him."

Valien's twisted grin—a wolf's
grin—only widened.

"A few thousand dragons...
bearing two thousand gunmen on their backs. The world has never seen
such an army. We cannot fight him? Oh... I think we can."

Sila stared at him a moment
longer, silent and still.

Then he drew his sword, thrust
it forward, and sliced Valien's ropes.

"Come with me to my camp,"
he said.

As they walked down the
hillside, Sila's throat tightened and he could not stop his heart
from thrashing. When he looked toward the sea, he saw the waters
turn red again, and he saw the refugees begging and scratching at his
hull.

I
fled war,
he thought, fists clenched.
Curse
the Sun God. Now it returns to me not with fire, but with a whisper
and a hope.

When they reached his daughter,
and she stared at him with earnest eyes, Sila decided that he
believed Valien's story... and that frightened him more than a
hundred enemy dragons.

 
 
LERESY

He spent all night in the hole,
digging with his shovel, collecting soil thick with gems, and sifting
with a canteen he'd punched full of holes. Erry had given up only an
hour after sundown, then gone to sleep upon the beach, but Leresy
would not sleep. This was too important.

"Here is my salvation,"
he whispered as dawn crept through the cave entrance. "Here is
my father's death."

He had fashioned his shirt into
a sack. Inside glowed thousands of red crystal shards. Each one was
no larger than his smallest fingernail, and inside them glowed
swirling red liquid like lava.

He straightened, and his back
creaked after so many hours hunched over. He lifted the sack of
shards, tossed it across his shoulder, and climbed outside the hole
into daylight.

Genesis Isle sloped down around
him, littered with the barrels, tools, and weapons Bantis had built.
Below upon the sand, Erry lay sleeping, her cheek on her hands.

"Wake you, you lazy dog's
bottom!" Leresy called out and began walking downhill. "I
damn well broke my back while you were dreaming of unicorns."

She sat up, moaned, and rubbed
her eyes. "Bloody bollocks, Ler. I wasn't dreaming of no damn
unicorns. I was dreaming that you actually had some muscles on you."
She stared at his bare torso and grinned. "A good night of
shoveling didn't help that dream come true."

He stomped down to the beach,
kicked sand onto her, and placed down the shards as she cursed.

"I dug them all up,"
he said. "What do you reckon they are?"

She spat out sand. "Ladybug
shite."

"Be serious." He
growled and lifted a shard; it was the size of an apple seed. "These
aren't natural gems. They're polished. It looks like... like pieces
from a smashed stained-glass window, but there's some liquid inside.
They almost look like drops of blood." He blew out his breath.
"Bantis said they're a great weapon. How do you kill with
them?"

Erry chewed her lip. "Well,
we can tell Frey they're candies and maybe he'll choke. Or we can
call him over, then spill the shards onto the floor, so he trips and
breaks his neck. Or wait—I know! We can wait until he's very frail
and old, and then pelt him to death with them—death by a thousand
tiny jabs." She nodded thoughtfully, lower lip thrust out.
"Quite a weapon. Definitely more powerful than dragonfire."

Leresy waited and sighed. "Are
you done?"

"Or maybe we can—"

"You're done!" he
said. "Be quiet. Burn me, I preferred you sleeping. Let's
take these shards and find Bantis. He'll know what to make of this."

He cracked his neck and summoned
his magic, preparing to shift.

He cleared his throat.

He twisted his toes.

"Or maybe we can make him a
necklace so pretty, he'll abandon his wars and become a bar singer
named Freyina," Erry said brightly, ignoring him.

Leresy grumbled.

What
the Abyss is wrong?

He strained again, tugging at
his magic, but no wings sprouted from his back. No scales grew
across his body. He remained standing in the sand, a human.

I'm
just tired,
he thought. He had been digging all night, and was just too weary to
fly.

"Or maybe we can—"

"Shut up, Erry!" he
said. "I'm trying to focus here."

He gritted his teeth, closed his
eyes, and searched deep inside him for the old magic of Requiem, the
magic that flowed from the old gods, that let his people become
dragons. He felt the flickers inside him, mere whispers. He tried
to grab them, but it was like trying to catch the memory of a fading
dream; it slipped from his consciousness like smoke between fingers.

He opened his eyes, kicked sand,
and shouted.

"Stars damn it! What the
Abyss?" He looked at Erry. "I can't do it. It won't
work."

She snickered, reached over, and
patted his privates. "So it's finally happened."

He
grabbed his wrist, tugged her hand away, and snarled. "Don't
you worry about that.
That
is fine. I can't... oh bloody stars, I can't shift into a dragon."

She frowned and tilted her head.
"What are you on about?"

"You heard me." He
spat into the sand. "I can't shift."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's
the damn shards."

He looked at the sack of them.
They were glowing behind the cloth. And Leresy understood. He
clutched his head, leaned over, and laughed.

"Oh maggoty dog vomit,"
he said, borrowing one of Erry's cusses, and laughed again. He
looked up at Erry and grinned. "Erry! He's a genius. Bloody
stars, the man is a genius."