Crown of Dragonfire (17 page)

Meliora walked closer
to her. "Elory, it's all right. You can sheathe your sword."

"I'll keep it drawn."
Elory nodded. "Just in case."

Meliora raised her
eyebrows. "Isn't your arm tired?"

"I'm used to hauling
baskets of bitumen that weigh many times more." She smiled thinly. "I can carry
a sword."

Meliora looked at her,
eyes soft in concern. Her hair was slowly growing back; golden stubble covered
her head, almost long enough for fingers to grasp. Her wounds were healing too,
the scrapes and cuts on her body closed and scabbed. Even the wounds on her
shoulder blades looked less swollen and inflamed; Elory had helped clean them
just an hour ago in the river.

My wounds too are
healing,
Elory thought.
The whip's cuts on my back are scabbed over, the
pain in my arm is fading, and my bruises are fading, but the wounds inside me
remain.

"Are you sure you're
all right?" Meliora whispered.

"You have to
understand." Elory stared steadily into her sister's eyes. "All my life, I was
beaten. Brutalized. Unable to resist as they cut me, kicked me, tortured me.
For the first time in my life, I hold a weapon. A real weapon. An ancient sword
of Requiem—Lemuria, blade of Queen Kaelyn herself. For the first time, I fight
back against our enemies."

Meliora lowered her
head. "And all my life, I was pampered, spoiled, fed sweets, perfumed,
sheltered, and lied to. Unable to resist as they fed me the fairy tales. I
never held anything more dangerous than a dessert spoon. Yet now I too hold a
sword of ancient Requiem. And I too will fight our enemies." She drew Amerath,
touched the blade to Lemuria, and smiled thinly. "I will always fight by your
side, sister. Whenever you rest, whenever you sleep, whenever you're afraid or
hurt, I'm here for you. I will never leave you. I will always walk the winding
path with you, watching over you, and I will always love you."

Elory rolled her eyes. "You're
going to make me sheathe my sword so I can hug you, aren't you?"

Meliora yawned. "Forget
hugs. I want some sleep. I don't like walking in daylight, and I'm exhausted."
She pointed. "I see a cave there on the hilltop, and I see some olive and fig
trees too. Let's go eat and then sleep. We'll walk more at night."

They walked uphill
together, moving between bushes along a natural path strewn with goat
droppings. As they approached the cave, Elory's fear did not ease; if anything
it grew. What if Ishtafel was hiding inside this cave? Ridiculous, she told
herself. Ridiculous! Ishtafel was probably back in Shayeen, only his underlings
still scanning the wilderness.

I must learn to put
aside my fear,
she told herself, walking onward, and inhaled deeply.
Tofet
is far away. Ishtafel is far away. It's been a full day since we saw chariots
of fire. We're safe here, many miles from danger. We're safe.

Yet her heart would not
slow down, and her hand sweated around her hilt.

"I'll go check those
trees for fruit." Meliora pointed. "Will you check the cave, Elory? Make sure
there are no warthogs living in this one like the last one."

Elory's breath shook in
her lungs. Her head spun, and cold sweat trickled down her back. Why could she
not stop this fear? It grew more than ever, and she could feel those whips
again. Once more, she was stepping through the agony of Tofet, trying to work
fast enough, cowering from the overseers. Meliora was gone. She had vanished
between the trees, and Elory was all alone here. Alone in the open. Exposed. In
danger.

Don't hurt me,
she thought, eyes stinging.
Please. I'll be a good slave. I'll work hard.
Don't hurt me, Master.

She forced in air.

Breathe.

She exhaled.

Calm yourself. Be
strong.

She looked at her
blade.

This is a sword of
Requiem. Be as brave as those who bore it before you, for you too are a
daughter of dragons.

She took another step
uphill toward the cave, her heart rate finally slowing, when the beast emerged
from within, howling and charging toward her.

Elory screamed.

The creature leaping
toward her was ragged, wild, some kind of ape covered in yellow fur and rags. Inhuman
blue eyes stared with bloodlust. In one hand, the animal swung a heavy bone
like a mace.

Elory nearly cringed,
nearly begged.

I am a daughter of
dragons.

She charged forward and
swung her sword.

Her blade sliced
through the bone club, sending its top half flying.

The wild ape before her
hopped back, crouched, and hissed. It grabbed a heavy rock in its paw.

"Back!" the beast
cried. "Back, thief. Back! Who are you? Are you a seraph? Back!" The creature
tossed its stone.

Elory leaped aside, and
the stone sailed by and clattered down the hillside. She looked back up,
narrowing her eyes.

No, not an ape,
she thought.
A man.

"I'm not a seraph!" she
said. "I'm not an enemy."

The man above still
crouched, reaching out for another stone. He was a young man, she saw. Probably
in his early twenties, maybe even younger. But his blond hair and beard were so
long, dusty, and tangled, that he looked like an animal. His rags were
threadbare, falling apart, revealing tanned skin. His blue eyes regained some
humanity as they stared at her, and he tilted his head.

"Are you—" he began.

With a shout, Meliora
came racing across the hilltop, swinging her sword.

"Meliora, wait!" Elory
cried.

But it was too late.
Meliora leaped toward the disheveled man, blade arcing. The hermit cried out in
fear and tossed his stone toward Meliora. The rock sailed through the air and
slammed into Meliora's chest.

Meliora cried out,
slipped, and fell. The young man grabbed another stone and leaped forward,
raising it, prepared to slam the rock down onto Meliora's skull.

Elory ran. "Stop this!"
She bounded across the hilltop, kicked off a boulder, and jumped onto the young
man's back.

The hermit cursed, and
his stone thumped onto the ground. Meliora rose to her feet, wheezing and
clutching her wounded chest. Elory clung to the man's back as he struggled,
swinging his arms, trying to shake her off. He howled.

"A seraph!" He pointed
at Meliora. "Seraph! She has seraph eyes. Kill her, kill her!"

"She's not a seraph!"
Elory cried into his ear, still clinging to his back. "Do you see wings?"

"Seraph!" he cried,
kneeling for another stone, even as Elory still grabbed him. "A mistress! Kill
her! Kill her!"

Elory shouted louder
into his ear. "She has no wings! Look."

The young man grimaced
and covered his ears. "You shout. You shout too loudly. Too many voices. Too
many old voices! Too much memory. Too much pain! You speak like a slave. Like a
slave. Like a Vir Requis." He fell to his knees, shaking. "No wings, no wings."
His voice sank to mere mumbles. "See no wings. No wings. Only eyes."

His arms fell limply to
his sides, his head hung low, and his shoulders stooped. Elory released him and
hurried toward Meliora, keeping one eye on the bearded hermit.

"Are you all right?"

Meliora nodded weakly,
then winced. "It hurts. My ribs. But I'm all right."

The sisters stared at
the young man. He knelt before them, head still lowered, still mumbling to
himself. "No wings, no wings . . . slaves." He looked up at them, squinting,
and his cheeks—at least what was visible beyond the dirt and yellow
hair—paled. His voice was a mere whisper. "Slaves?"

Elory tugged at her
iron collar. "Slaves."

The young man rose to
his feet and pulled back his beard and hair. For the first time, Elory saw that
he wore an iron collar like her own.

"Oh gods," Meliora
whispered, eyes widening.

Elory stared and felt
tears fill her eyes. She had always imagined a noble hero, a wise kinglike
warrior, a tall and handsome leader of men. But here he stood. Not much older than
her. Not much braver. A shivering young man, covered in filth, clad in rags.

She stepped closer to
him, to the hero of Requiem, her tears falling.

"Lucem," she whispered.

 
 
MELIORA

"How?" Meliora whispered. "How
is this possible?"

They hunkered together
in the cave. The stony roof was so low they hunched over. A bed of dry leaves
covered the floor, and chalk drawings covered the walls—drawings of falling
dragons, of anguished faces, of a white column rising from a forest of fallen
trees. Upon the walls of the ziggurat, the seraphim had immortalized scenes of
fallen Requiem in towering frescos and engravings. Here in this cave, Lucem had
remembered the horror with crude scribbles, drawn with stone on stone.

Lucem now sat before
her, shoulders bunched inward. He was tall and barely fit in this cave, all
knobby limbs. Smaller, Elory sat beside him, working at cutting his hair and
trimming his beard with the spear's blade she had stolen from Tofet. With every
blond lock that fell, Lucem began looking more and more human, and younger and
younger. Soon he no longer looked like a wild hermit but like a lanky young
man, eyes blue and peering.

"How is this possible?"
Lucem repeated. He laughed mirthlessly. "I've asked myself that question many
times. How is it possible—that I am here while so many others remained behind.
That Requiem lies fallen. That cruel gods have conquered the world. None of
these things should have happened, and yet here we are."

Meliora squinted,
scrutinizing him. As Elory kept shearing him, Meliora realized that Lucem wasn't
much older than the young woman; he couldn't have been much older than twenty.

"You must have been
just a child when you escaped," Meliora said in wonder. "In Shayeen, the
seraphim told of a vicious killer who slew many guards, a beast who stood nine
feet tall, the deadliest Vir Requis to have lived since the days of old."

"And in Tofet," Elory
added, "slaves told of a noble, kingly hero, a warrior both wise and brave, a
crown upon his head, descended from the old kings."

As Elory worked at
shearing the back of his head, Lucem snorted. "A vicious killer? A noble
warrior? I was eleven years old and I looked six. I was hungry. I was small and
quick and desperate. The cruel overseers murdered my parents—they died in the
refineries, choking on the fumes." He clenched his teeth, balled up his fists,
and lowered his head. "And so I escaped. I scaled the wall, hiding in its blind
spot at night, too small to be seen. The seraphim starved me, made me no larger
than a bundle of twigs. Their cruelty made me small enough to flee. But I never
stopped feeling their whips, their fists, their . . ."

Lucem hunched over,
overcome with emotion, unable to speak anymore. Elory placed down her blade,
wrapped her arms around him, and stroked his hair.

"It's all right, Lucem,"
she whispered. "You're safe now. It's all right."

"It's not!" He raised
his head so suddenly Elory fell back. "None of this is all right. That we're
here and the others are still there. Still in chains. I . . . I wanted to go
back so many times. To lead others up the wall, to bring them here. But
whenever I tried to get close, so many seraphim flew in the sky, and twice as
many patrolled the walls, and . . . I couldn't. I couldn't go back. I couldn't."

Elory embraced him
again, whispering into his ear until Lucem calmed.

Meliora stared at them,
and her fingers coiled around Amerath's hilt. The amber sword felt comforting
in her grip, a relic of old Requiem. Holding the leather grip, she felt
connected to those ancient kings and queens.

I am the daughter of
Jaren, descended from Relesar Aeternum who held this sword, descended of
Benedictus the Black, of King Aeternum who raised a marble column in a northern
forest and founded a nation for Vir Requis.

She took a deep breath.

"Lucem," she said, "you've
been free for ten years. Have you been hiding here the whole time? Or did you .
. ." Meliora gulped, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "Did you try to find
it? To find Requiem?"

He raised his eyes,
staring at her. Haunted eyes. Eyes that, despite their youth, had seen too
much.

"I tried," he
whispered.

Elory inhaled sharply,
and Meliora leaned forward.

Requiem. The kingdom of
countless myths. The kingdom whispered of in Tofet, the kingdom whose
destruction was portrayed in a thousand statues and murals, the kingdom some
said was just a myth, as lost as Edinnu.

"What did you find?"
Meliora's words were so soft they were almost silent.

"For a year or more, I
walked north. I walked through storms that nearly drowned me. I walked through
heat that nearly burned me. I walked across deserts and forests until I reached
the coast, and I beheld a great blue sea—the northern border of the Terran
continent. I walked along the coast for months, almost starving, moving from
port to port, but I dared not enter any city I passed. I found no more cities of
men. The Terran people who had once lived upon the coast—the remnants of
Eteer, Goshar, and other ancient civilizations—all were gone. The seraphim did
not enslave those people but slaughtered them all, down to the last child."
Lucem stared at the cave wall, eyes dead. "Every port contained seraphim, and I
dared not approach to seek passage on their ships. And so I could not cross the
sea. I could not see the land of Requiem."

Meliora reached out and
touched Lucem's iron collar, then her own collar. "But without this cursed iron
around our necks, we wouldn't need a ship. We could fly. Fly across the sea to
Requiem as dragons."

Lucem barked out a
bitter laugh. "Look at my collar. Do you see any scratches? Dents? Any marring
at all?"