DRAGONS RISING

REQUIEM FOR DRAGONS, BOOK THREE

by

Daniel Arenson

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE: GEMINI

CHAPTER TWO: CADE

CHAPTER THREE: BEATRIX

CHAPTER FOUR: KORVIN

CHAPTER FIVE: GEMINI

CHAPTER SIX: CADE

CHAPTER SEVEN: FIDELITY

CHAPTER EIGHT: DOMI

CHAPTER NINE: CADE

CHAPTER TEN: FIDELITY

CHAPTER ELEVEN: KORVIN

CHAPTER TWELVE: FIDELITY

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: MERCY

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: DOMI

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: KORVIN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: BEATRIX

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: DOMI

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: AMITY

CHAPTER NINETEEN: KORVIN

CHAPTER TWENTY: FIDELITY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: KORVIN

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: DOMI

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: GEMINI

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: FIDELITY

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: KORVIN

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: DOMI

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: FIDELITY

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: AMITY

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: CADE

AFTERWORD

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

KEEP IN TOUCH

GEMINI

He washed onto the beach at dawn, coughing, shivering, cut and burnt and barely alive. He lay on the sand and waited to die.

The sun wheeled above, a wanderer of blazing heat and light, a ball of dragonfire, mocking him, burning him, leaving him shuddering in darkness.

The stars winked at him. The moon glared down, bloated, obscene, a pale glob of pus. The Draco constellation flew over him, its eye staring, boring into him, digging through his soul and tugging out his innermost secrets like a hook tugging out entrails.

Gemini slept as the heavens wheeled.

The sun burned his chest again, and the sand burned his back. He blinked. Was he awake? His back--his back burned. The pain yanked him up from death.

Let me die. Let me die! I don't want to feel anymore. I don't want to hurt.

Yet the sand dug into his back, into the cuts the whip had left, digging through him. Insects were eating him, he thought. Beetles and crabs were digging through his flesh, reaching for his bones, reaching for his heart, ready to suck it dry. He gasped for breath.

I'm alive.

Where was he? What had happened? Gemini could only recall vague, fuzzy images. Flotsam burning across a dark sea. The screams of creatures above him. Men drowning--thousands of men, reaching for him, trying to grab the slat of wood he clung to. And his own hands--beating them back, gouging out their eyes, shoving them down to their watery graves. And above--the dragons flying, the last dragons of Requiem, and one among them gleaming with the colors of fire, a living spirit of flame.

"Domi," he whispered.

The word cracked Gemini's lips. He tasted sweet, coppery blood and sucked it greedily. He had not drunk anything else since before those hazy memories of fire and water. Looming above the pain, above those memories, rose Domi.

Domi--a dragon with scales of red, orange, yellow, and all other colors of flame.

Domi--a pale woman, slender, mysterious, green eyes peering between her wild strands of red hair.

Domi--the firedrake he had ridden, the servant he had taken into the Temple, the woman he loved, the only soul he had ever truly, fully loved.

"Where are you, Domi?" he whispered.

She needed him, he knew. He had vowed to protect her. He had vowed to defend her from Mercy, from Beatrix, from all the evils of the world. He could not die here alone, far from her.

The memory of her green eyes gave him strength he had not thought in him. He pushed himself onto his elbows, then rose to his feet.

He wobbled, nearly falling back into the sand. He looked around him, and his eyes dampened, and his belly knotted.

"Oh Spirit," he whispered.

He stood in a world of desolation.

Crimson smoke still covered the sky, a stinking shroud. Jetsam and driftwood covered the beach: emptied coffers, bits of shattered balustrades, half a mast, the burnt shreds of a sail, and millions of other charred, damp relics of the Horde's fleet. Among them lay the dead. Waterlogged bodies of warriors, burnt children, a rotting griffin, and thousands of dead fish washed ashore.

I was one of these corpses, Gemini realized, looking around him. For a day and night, I was one of them. He trembled. I've risen from the dead.

He raised his head, stared up at the sky, and whispered through bleeding lips, "Why did you choose me to live, Spirit?" Tears stung his eyes. "Why do I stand here while countless lie dead around me?" His hands balled up into fists, and his tears flowed down to his lips, tasting of salt and sand and ash. His voice rose to a hoarse cry. "What do you need me to do? Why am I still alive?"

He fell to his knees, trembling. The wounds on his back screamed with agony. His head swam. His tongue was so parched. He needed water. He needed food. He needed to find Domi.

"Domi," he whispered.

He thought of her eyes and took a step.

His knees wobbled. His chest ached. He gritted his teeth and took another step.

He walked over charred, wet wooden slats, perhaps once the hull of a ship. Dead fish rotted before him; Gemini was not yet famished enough to touch them. Past a shattered bulk of driftwood, perhaps a chunk of a mast, he came across the corpse of a soldier.

It was a woman, young by the looks of her, at least based on what remained. Crabs were feasting on the flesh, tugging at her exposed legs. One was clawing at an ear. Others were clattering over her leather armor.

Disgust rose in Gemini. He doubled over and gagged. He spat out nothing but bile and spit.

"Go away!" he cried out. He lifted a chunk of wood and swatted at the crabs. "Leave her alone, for pity's sake!"

The animals scattered, and Gemini knelt over the dead woman, for a moment sure it was Domi, sure that it was his love, her face waterlogged and chewed. But no. This woman had long, black hair, and she wore armor of the Horde. Gemini's eyes strayed to her belt.

Two precious, beautiful gifts hung there: a sword and a canteen.

Gemini leaped forward and tugged at the canteen first. He cursed, at first unable to remove it from the belt. His fingers shook madly. He was too weak. Come on . . . come on! He could not tear it free, and he finally gave up, lay down in the sand, and pressed his head against the dead woman's hip. He opened his mouth and unscrewed the canteen's lid above him.

A few drops of precious water--beautiful, lovely, healing, life-giving water--dripped out onto his parched tongue.

Oh Spirit . . . thank you.

Gemini jangled the canteen--it was still attached to the woman's hip--spilling out a few more drops. They gave him the strength to push himself back up and draw the woman's sword. It was a curved saber, short and wide. Gemini kept walking, blade in hand.

He stepped over more wreckage: slats of wood, shreds of canvas, a wooden crow's nest fallen from its mast, and a section of elaborately carved balustrade. Finally he found another corpse--this one a beefy, bearded warrior, his face bloated and white--with another canteen. Gemini worked his blade against the man's belt, tore the canteen free, and opened it above his mouth.

Oh Spirit.

More lovely, beautiful water spilled out, filling Gemini's mouth, dripping down his face, fresh, pure, heavenly. He emptied half the canteen and then closed the lid, sealing in the rest.

He kept walking.

He had walked for a long time, passing the wreckage of many ships and the corpses of many warriors, before he found the first other survivor.

The man crawled across the beach. He wore scraps of leather armor, and his hair was dark and curled and caked with sand and blood. His left leg was shattered, broken several times; Gemini nearly gagged to see its odd angles. The poor wretch groaned as he crawled across the sand, reaching shaky hands toward a leather pouch. Gemini squinted.

Oh dear Spirit.

His mouth watered.

His blade thumped into the sand. He was too weak to carry it.

Inside the leather pouch Gemini saw the greatest treasure he'd ever laid eyes on. He nearly fainted from desire, and his nostrils flared to inhale the sweet scent.

"Fresh lemons," he whispered.

Gemini could already taste them. He shivered at the aroma. Lemons--sweet nectar of life for sailors . . . and perhaps for survivors in the ruin of the world.

At the sound of Gemini's voice, the wounded man on the beach turned his head around, saw Gemini, and hissed. At once the wretch spun back toward the pouch and crawled with more fervor, dragging his shattered leg across the sand.

Gemini stumbled forward.

"My lemons," he hissed. "Mine!"

The wounded man crawled, broken leg trailing behind. Gemini limped forward, fell into the sand once, pushed himself up and kept lolloping onward, hands in the sand like some ape.

The wounded man grabbed the pouch.

Gemini roared, leaped forward, and clutched the pack too. Lemons rolled across the sand.

"Mine!" Gemini screamed. "I saw them first! My lemons!"

The wounded sailor cried out hoarsely, face red. His lips bled. He clung to the pack pathetically. One lemon inside was crushed, dripping juice.

"You're wasting them!" Gemini shouted. "Give me the pouch. Let go!"

"We can share them," the man whispered. "We--"

Gemini shouted and tugged the pack mightily, but the man refused to let go. More lemons spilled. With one hand, the man reached out and grabbed one of the rolling fruit.

"Thief!" Gemini shouted. "You're trying to steal them. You want to eat them all yourself! I won't let you. I won't let you."

Rage flowed over him, and Gemini released the pack and grabbed the man's throat.

The man screamed.

Gemini squeezed.

The man's scream died to a gurgle.

"You're a thief!" Gemini growled. "A dirty thief after my lemons. Mine. My lemons."

The man gasped, pawing at Gemini's chest. Gemini squeezed harder. The man's eyes bulged, and spittle rose on his lips.

"And thieves deserve to die," Gemini hissed.

He squeezed harder, and his enemy's face turned blue. The sailor's hands fell to the sand . . . and curled into fists.

One fist drove upward and slammed into Gemini's jaw.

White light exploded, and Gemini's grip loosened on the man's throat. He fell back into the sand, blood on his lips. He saw stars.

The wounded sailor rasped for air, shoved himself up, and grabbed the pack of lemons again.

Gemini struggled to his feet, still bleeding, and took two steps forward in the sand. He slammed his foot down hard, driving his boot into the man's broken leg.

Gemini had never heard a scream of more agony. It was a horrible sound, a shattering sound, a cry of pure pain fading to a whimper and silence.

The sailor slumped into the sand, perhaps dead, perhaps unconscious. Gemini would take no chances. He stepped off the shattered leg, grabbed the man's throat, and squeezed again, squeezed and squeezed with all his anger--for Domi, for his ruined fleet, for his ruined life--squeezed until the man breathed no more, until the precious lemons were his, his alone, his prize.

Gemini sat in the sand and he feasted upon them. Their juice blazed against his cut lips but he only laughed at the pain. Pain was good. Pain meant he was alive.

His mouth stinging, the lemon juice mingling with his blood, Gemini rose to his feet. He hefted the pack with the remaining lemons across his back. He walked on along the beach, leaving the dead man behind.

"I will live," he whispered. "The Spirit wants me alive. And I will kill anyone who comes between me and my task."

He knew his mission now. He knew why the Spirit had spared him while taking so many.

I stand on the continent of Terra, he thought. And my homeland awaits beyond the sea.

He looked across the water. North, beyond the great sea of sunken ships, the Commonwealth awaited him. Its people cried out under the yoke of Beatrix, desperate for him, for the blessed Lord Gemini Deus, to rule the Cured Temple.

"I will not forget you," Gemini whispered. "I will find my way home, a holy warrior, blessed by the Spirit." He clenched his fist. "The Temple will be mine!"

As if in answer, a moan rose from the beach.

Gemini frowned. Was the wounded sailor still alive? Did he still want to fight for his lemons?

The moan sounded again--soft, high.

Gemini spun toward the sound. He could see only piles of driftwood, scraps of sails, and another corpse, its legs missing. He walked forward, taking slow steps, the lemons and water giving him some strength. A ship's entire figurehead, detached from its hull, lay on the sand before him, carved as a nude woman. Seaweed entangled around her wooden hair. Gemini stepped around the figurehead and saw her there.

His eyes widened, then dampened.

He fell to his knees.

Thank you, Spirit.

Gemini knew then that he was truly blessed, that the Spirit had truly chosen him.

Lying before him in the sand, her clothes soaked with blood but her chest still rising and falling, was Domi.

CADE

They trudged along the gravelly road, two haggard travelers coated in dust, while paladins in priceless armor flew their firedrakes above and chanted for victory.

"Easy now, Amity," Cade said, using the same careful tone he would with a growling bulldog. He placed a hand on her arm. "Let them fly by. We're not looking for trouble."

Looking at Amity, Cade winced. A growling bulldog would appear downright docile next to the woman. Amity's fists clenched at her sides, trembling with rage. Her teeth ground, and tendons rose along her neck. Her cheeks flushed red beneath the layer of grime covering them.

"We attack," she whispered through her tight jaw. "We fly as dragons. We burn them." Her voice rose louder. "We--"

"Amity!" Cade placed a finger on her lips. "Hush! We must choose our battles. We--ow!"

She grabbed his wrist, yanked his hand away from her mouth, and twisted his arm. He bit down on another yelp, not wanting to alert the creatures above.

"Do not touch me." Amity glared at him, eyes wild, the mad eyes of a killer. "Or I will burn you too, kid."

Good, he thought. Good, focus on me. Just don't shout and don't fly.

He glanced back above. The procession kept flying overhead, thirty firedrakes or more, the great reptiles clad in gleaming white armor and spiked helmets. On their backs rode the paladins, each in white steel plates, and their banners streamed behind them, displaying tillvine blossoms on snowy fields. The firedrakes bore more than riders today. The treasures of the Horde rose upon their backs: chests of jewels, golden statues, and even chained slaves from the southern lands. As the paladins flew, they chanted out for victory, for glory.

"The Cured Temple triumphs!" one paladin cried out and blew into a silvery horn. "Hear, Commonwealth! We are victorious!"

The rhetoric perhaps impressed other travelers on the road and the farmers in their fields, but it only further enraged Amity. She growled. She wore rags--tattered leggings, a ripped vest, and dusty old boots--but seemed fiercer than a knight clad in steel. Once known as the Red Queen, ruler of the Horde, Amity seemed ready to challenge the Commonwealth to war again, with or without an army.

Another blast of the horns above, and Amity leaped into the air and began to shift. Red scales flowed across her, the nubs of wings grew from her back, and claws grew from her fingertips.

"Amity!" Cade whispered urgently. He leaped after her, grabbed her leg, and tugged her back down.

The force of his grip seemed to sever her concentration. Her magic vanished, and she landed on the road, fully human again. She spun toward Cade, grabbed his arms, and dug her fingernails into his skin. Her hair, normally blond and just long enough to fall over her brow, was now tangled and caked with mud. Her eyes stared from a face just as muddy, brown and flashing and horrible to behold.

"Why did you tug me down?"

She tightened her grip, and Cade winced. She felt strong enough to snap his bones. Amity was a dozen years older than him, taller, stronger, and far deadlier, but Cade forced himself to stare into those blazing furnaces of eyes.

"To save your life." He raised his chin. "Because you're stupid enough to believe you can defeat a hundred firedrakes on your own."

She growled and raised her fist. "You dare call me--"

"Stupid." He nodded. "Yes. You are stupid, Amity. And you're proud. And you're hurt. And you're grieving. And your whole world has fallen around you. And maybe you don't think you can defeat them. Maybe you know you'll die and you want to. Maybe you just want to die in battle. But I won't let you."

He was surprised to see her eyes dampen. Her fist trembled in the air. "Why not?" she whispered, still clutching him with one hand.

"Because I need you." Cade placed a hand on her arm and guided her fist down. "I can't survive in the wilderness on my own. Requiem can't survive without you. I need you to live. So we can find the others."

Amity looked away, blinking. Above them, the firedrakes flew on, heading toward the horizon. The road suddenly seemed so quiet. Cade heard nothing but the rustling fields at their sides, a few crickets, and Amity's heavy breathing.

"Requiem is dead," she whispered. "I can no longer help the others." She looked back at Cade, and her eyes were softer now, haunted and grieving. "You're right, Cade. I want to die in combat. That's all the honor that's left to me. Would you deny me that?"

"I would." He nodded. "There's no glory in a suicide mission. There's glory in survival. In fighting on rather than charging headstrong to certain death. Stay with me, Amity. If we can no longer fight for Requiem, we can fight for ourselves. To survive. To live. To find Korvin, Roen, Fidelity, and Domi."

His voice choked as he spoke their names. He lowered his head. He missed them so badly his belly seemed to freeze, his heart to crack.

Korvin--the noblest, strongest man Cade had ever known. Fidelity--his dearest, wisest friend. Domi--the woman Cade loved, the woman he had lain with in the field, the woman he missed with every beat of his heart. Cade even missed the tall, solemn Roen, a man he had not known long but had come to think of as a brother.

"I miss them," he whispered.

Amity lowered her head, leaned forward, and pressed her forehead against his. Rather than gripping him painfully, she placed her hands on Cade's shoulders, her touch now soft and comforting.

"I miss them too," she whispered. "I miss that big hunk of meat Korvin. I don't know the others well, but . . . they are fellow Vir Requis, so they are my brothers and sisters." Amity nodded. "If they're alive, we must find them. You're right, Cade." Surprising him, she kissed his forehead, then spun around and began walking down the road. "So come on! Don't lag behind, lazy."

He nodded, still feeling her kiss on his brow, and hurried to catch up.

* * * * *

The road stretched on through the fields of the southern Commonwealth, narrow and pebbly, many leagues long. They had been traveling along it for two days now, heading north toward the mountains.

"Fly to Draco Murus!" Fidelity had cried out in the battle, soon vanishing into the smoke and flame.

"Draco Murus," Cade repeated now, walking behind Amity on the road. He knew that name from The Book of Requiem. He had arranged the letters himself in his printing press to spell those words. Draco Murus--the Wall of Requiem. An ancient fortress. The bastion of the bellators, the knights of Requiem's golden age. The place where Queen Lacrimosa had reigned, fighting off the twisted mimics with her daughters, the princesses Gloriae and Agnus Dei. For thousands of years, dragons had guarded Requiem from the towers of Draco Murus. Now, perhaps, a sapling of hope would rise from those ancient ruins.

Very distant ruins, Cade thought with a sigh. Fidelity just had to choose a northern hideout all the way across the Commonwealth.

"Cade!" Amity looked over her shoulder and frowned. "Hurry up or I'm leaving you behind."

She spun back forward and kept walking. With the daylight blazing down, they dared not fly. Even flying at night felt risky without clouds to hide them. Mercy would be seeking them. Her paladins would be trained to inspect every flying beast in the sky. Even disguising themselves as firedrakes would not work, not without saddles or paladins to ride them.

Cade's feet ached. The soles of his boots were worn down and cracked, letting in mud and small stones that stabbed his feet. His clothes were in no better shape. He still wore the woolen trousers and cotton tunic the Horde had given him, but the battle had left them in tatters. Beneath his clothes, his skin was just as ravaged. Bruises, cuts, and welts covered him, still aching even now, several days after the battle.

"Maybe we should have stayed in the south," he mumbled. "Stayed with the others."

He thought back to those he had saved from the Horde, the women and children he had borne on his back across the sea. Survivors. Homeless. Scarred and burnt. He had carried them from fire and death, carried them across the sea to a new land . . . only to abandon them. To leave them in the wilderness by a stream, with nothing but a few makeshift fishing hooks and spears.

"We abandoned them," he whispered. "We saved their lives only to leave them in an enemy land, no food, no shelter, no--"

"What are you mumbling about?" Amity demanded. "Are you talking about the Terrans again? I told you, Cade, there's nothing we could have done. Would you have them following us through the wilderness, a group of foreigners for the firedrakes to hunt? They're safer in the south--safer than we are up here."

He nodded. "I know. It's just . . ." He sighed. "We need to stop Beatrix. We need to stop this Cured Temple from spreading across the land, burning, killing." He stared at the distant firedrakes; they were just specks on the horizon now. "Gemini's original plan was to sneak into the Temple, to kill Beatrix in her bed. Do you think there's still hope for that?"

Amity raised an eyebrow. "Only a moment ago, you were the one lecturing me about hope." She sighed. "No, Cade, I don't think there is much hope left at all. We can't sneak into the Temple without Gemini's help. I don't even know if Gemini is still alive, the only heir who would have given us a kingdom. Perhaps there's no hope left, and all we can do is die in combat, foolish though you think that might be. But let's go to Draco Murus first. Let us seek the others." Her eyes shone. "And if all hope is truly gone, then I will fight in those ancient ruins like Queen Lacrimosa a thousand years ago. That is where I will make my final stand."

The road stretched on and they walked for hours. Cade struggled to keep up. With his worn soles and shorter legs, he kept falling behind, and Amity kept glaring over her shoulder at him, sometimes walking so far ahead he barely saw her.

It was afternoon before they passed by their first tavern.

The building rose at a crossroads, two stories tall and built of clay. A tillvine blossom was carved above the rounded door, and two chimneys pumped out smoke. An herb garden grew outside, and Cade winced to see ilbane growing there. The fumes stung his nostrils, and his hand tingled in memory of the ilbane that had burned him on the day of Eliana's purification. But above the stench of that poison . . .

He sniffed.

"Ribs," he whispered. "Oh, stars, pork ribs in gravy." His mouth watered, but he shook his head wildly and kept walking. "Come on, Amity, let's walk by quickly before we can't resist it. We can reach the forest by nightfall, and . . . Amity?"

Ignoring him, the tall warrior was making a beeline toward the tavern, the aroma guiding her like a siren's song.

"Amity!" Cade whispered. "We can't go into taverns!" He rushed toward her. "People might see us."

She shrugged and kept walking. "So? Let them see us. I'm famished."

He glared at her. "Amity! Mercy must have spread our description across the land. What if somebody recognizes us?" He reached out to grab her.

"Then I'll invite them to share some ribs, or at least I'll get to fight them on a full belly." Shoving him aside, Amity crossed the last few steps toward the tavern, yanked the door open, and stepped inside.

The smell of the roasting meat--oh stars, it was being stewed in tomatoes--nearly knocked Cade off his feet.

Well, I can't just let Amity in there alone. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes with pleasure. I have to protect her.

Mouth watering, he stepped into the tavern too.

The common room was humble, its walls and floor made of clay, its windows round. This was not one of the ancient, wooden taverns like the Old Wheel, a building that had survived from the days of Requiem. Here was a newer, simpler structure built in Templer style. Perhaps this had once been a monastery, its priest having decided to pursue a life of cooking rather than praying. Several tables stood here, empty of patrons. Bottles of wine stood on shelves, and the smell of the cooking meat wafted from the kitchen.

The innkeeper stood at the bar, a little old man wrapped in burlap robes. At the sight of Amity and Cade--both bruised, muddy, and clad in rags--his eyes widened. He reached under the bar, perhaps for a weapon.

"We mean you no harm," Cade said, smiling thinly, trying to make himself look less like an outlaw and more like a paying customer. "We--"

"We want food." Amity pounded her fist on the bar. "Two plates piled high with whatever you have cooking at the back. Then another two plates ten minutes later. And ale. Two pints now and two more once they're empty."

Cade sidled over to Amity and whispered, "Can we afford all this?"

She dragged him toward a table. "My treat. Sit down."

He dutifully sat down at the scarred pinewood table, and she sat across from him. Not a moment later, the old innkeeper brought over two plates piled high with stewed ribs on a bed of roast potatoes.

A sudden pang of guilt stabbed Cade. What were the Terran survivors on the beach eating? Had they caught food in the river or were they starving while he dined here? And what of Fidelity, Domi, and the others? Were their bellies full or--

"Oh thank you, Spirit!" Amity said and tucked in.

Cade could no longer resist. He grabbed a rib in each hand and feasted. The meat was so soft it fell off the bone and melted in his mouth. It was delicious. It was heavenly. Cade had barely eaten in days, and this tasted like a meal for gods. The flavors filled his mouth: tomatoes, brown sugar, and fatty goodness.

He finished his second rib to see Amity devouring her tenth.

"Slow down!" he said. "Chew."

"No time." She stuffed another entire rib into her mouth, sucked off the meat, and tossed the bone over her shoulder. She kept attacking the meal like a wild animal.

"You eat like a damn wolf."

She grunted. "Good. I like wolves."

"A rabid wolf all covered with mud and fleas."

She swallowed more meat. "Quiet, kid. Eat more and talk less." She looked over her shoulder. "Innkeeper, more! Keep 'em coming. And where's the damn ale? Ah! There. Bring it over, good man."

She grabbed a tankard and drank deeply, a trickle of ale dribbling down her chin. She slammed the emptied stein down, wiped her mouth, and returned to her meal. As she kept devouring the meat, Cade sat and watched her.

She almost doesn't seem Vir Requis, he thought. With her tangled hair, mad eyes, and the table manners of a wolverine, Amity seemed to Cade more like a barbarian of the Horde than a daughter of Requiem. To Cade, a Vir Requis was somebody holy, mysterious, a proud and noble bearer of an ancient torch. Somebody like Fidelity, wise and solemn, or like Domi, mysterious and fair, or like Korvin and Roen, strong and noble and proud.

But Amity is different, he thought. Rougher. Darker. She didn't have the noble heart of a Vir Requis but a wild heart, eager for bloodshed and fire.

Cade thought that, deep down, he was a little afraid of Amity. Afraid and, well . . . He gulped. He had to admit that Amity stirred other feelings in him too, that she heated his blood in ways he didn't like and yet found intoxicating. He flushed to remember her kissing his forehead, and all those times she had grabbed his hand or arm. Looking at her now, Cade realized that, beneath the grime and gravy, Amity was a beautiful woman. Domi was beautiful too of course, in a soft and fragile way, the sort of beauty that Cade wanted to cherish, to protect, the beauty of a delicate rose struggling to bloom in snow. But Amity was no fragile flower. She was fire, wild and free and hot, a strong older woman who dripped sex, who could probably teach him things in her bed, who--

"What are you staring at?" Amity demanded.

Cade gulped and hurriedly reached for his ale. He drank quickly, hiding his flushing cheeks behind the raised stein.

I can't think of Amity this way, he told himself. Guilt filled him. Domi is the woman I love.

The memory of making love to Domi filled him, more intoxicating than the ale. He remembered fleeing the burning forest with her, lying with her in the grass, undressing together, making love, how her body had seemed so fragile, so pale, how Cade had vowed to always protect her, always love her.

Where are you, Domi? Are you still alive, flying north, thinking of me too?

The innkeeper returned with two more plates of food, and Amity and Cade were tucking into their second helpings when the firedrake screech rose outside.

Cade froze, a spiced potato wedge halfway up toward his mouth.

Oh stars.

* * * * *

The shriek rose just outside the tavern; this was not a beast flying high in the sky. Cade spun toward the window and saw the flash of brass scales outside, the puff of smoke, and the glaring eyes of a Templer firedrake. Cade glimpsed a glint of sunlight against scale armor.

He leaped to his feet. "Amity, out the back door!" He began to race across the common room, but Amity wouldn't budge. "Amity!"

She sat hunched over, elbows on the table, and swallowed another bite. "I'm eating."

Cade raced back toward her. "Amity," he whispered urgently, "there's a star-damned paladin outside!"

She reached for a roasted potato. "And there are potatoes inside. I'd rather focus on them. Sit down or I'm eating your leftovers."

Cade gulped, torn between fleeing for his life, grabbing Amity and trying to drag her away, or hiding behind the bar. Before he could decide, the tavern door slammed open, and a paladin marched in.

Cade cursed and sat back down.

I should have run.

The paladin who entered the room was tall and coated in white steel. His helmet's visor was raised, revealing a face as cold, hard, and pale as his armor. He held a chain in his hand; it trailed out the door. The man stared around the tavern in disgust.

"Wretched piss pot." The paladin spat onto the floor. "Innkeeper! Wine! Have you got any wine in this hovel?"

The innkeeper rushed forth, knelt, and bowed his head. "Yes, my lord! Fine wine from Lynport, my lord, would--"

The paladin kicked the kneeling man, knocking him down. "Go get some, scum! A bottle for me. And bring a dog bowl of water. Put it on the floor for my pet."

The innkeeper nodded and rushed off.

Cade reached across the table and placed his hand near his knife.

The paladin stared right at him and Amity, wrinkled his nose, and spat again. "Filthy urchins." He tugged his chain. "Come on! In!"

Cade expected to see a dog enter the tavern, but instead a chained woman followed the paladin inside.

Oh stars. Rage rose in Cade, and his fingers inched closer to the knife.

The woman had olive skin, large green eyes, and curly dark hair--a Terran woman of the Horde. The chain connected to her wrists, and bruises covered her face. She wore a tattered woolen dress; those tatters had been made with clutching hands, Cade guessed.
A slave, Cade realized, belly curdling. A slave he captured in the war.

Icy guilt filled Cade. His actions--fleeing Mercy, burning the tillvine, gathering the Vir Requis--had spurred this war. Now the world had burned. Fleets had sunken. Countless lay dead. And women were taken captive. How much more pain could the world endure for Cade's dream, a dream of Requiem?

The paladin marched toward a table and sat down with a grunt. His captive knelt on the floor beside him, head lowered, arms still chained. The innkeeper stepped forth, bringing a bottle of wine and a bowl of water.

The paladin grabbed the bottle, uncorked it with his teeth, and drank deeply. He swallowed and wiped his mouth. "Tastes like swill." He belched. "Bring some food!"

Soon a plate of ribs steamed before the paladin. After swallowing the meat off each bone, he tossed the bone to his captive on the floor. The woman nervously nibbled on whatever meat and fat remained. It was probably her first meal in a long time.

Cade found himself trembling with rage.

I cannot let this happen.

"Calm yourself, kid," Amity muttered under her breath, busying herself with the last few potatoes. "Not our battle."

Cade's eyes widened with rage. He leaned across the table and whispered, "Not our battle? Amity! That's a woman of the Horde! You're her queen!"

Amity drank her last drop of ale. "Was her queen." She stared up at him. "That dream is over, Cade. Now come on. We keep moving north."

Cade shook his head. "I'm not leaving."

"Suit yourself." Amity began to rise from the table.

"Wait." Cade reached out to grab Amity. "What about wanting to fight for glory, for triumph?"

She cracked her neck. "Ain't no glory in a tavern brawl."

He wouldn't release her. "We're not leaving without this woman, we--"

The paladin's voice rose from across the tavern, hoarse and already slurred with wine. "Silence, you maggots! A paladin's trying to drink here. You should be kneeling before me, not blabbering to yourselves. Look how this one kneels!" The paladin turned toward his captive. "Kneel lower! Lower!" He backhanded the woman, knocking her to the floor.

Cade couldn't help himself. He stormed forward, trembling with rage, and knelt by the woman. Blood speckled her lips. Lying on the floor, she gazed up at him with fear, eyes damp. Her lips wobbled.

"I'm sorry," Cade whispered. "Let me help you."

The paladin rose to his feet, placed his hands on Cade's chest, and shoved him back.

"Hands off my prize, you peasant!" The paladin drew his sword. "Kneel now or I'll slice off your head."

Cade gulped and glanced over his shoulder. "Amity, a little help?"

Amity leaned against the wall, and a smile touched her lips. "You don't need me, kid. I'll enjoy the show."

Cade spun back toward the paladin and cursed. There was no room in here to shift into a dragon, not without trapping himself between the walls, easy prey for the paladin's sword. He raised his chin, reached to the table, and grabbed a knife. He raised the little blade.

"I challenge you to a duel!" Cade had read that phrase in one of his old books, though in the stories, the heroes never had cold sweat bead on their brows. "For this woman's honor. Let's take it outside." He was pretty sure he'd read that phrase before too.

The paladin stared at him with wide eyes, then burst out laughing. The captive at his feet stared up, still shaking, her lip bleeding. Shaking his head with amusement, the paladin sat back down and returned to his meal.

"Funny creatures, you peasants are." He polished off another bone and tossed it at his captive.

The woman flinched, and Cade met her eyes again. They were large, scared eyes. The eyes of a woman far from her home, grieving for her fallen land, her lost family, her lost freedom. Cade could not let her remain in captivity.

Perhaps a hundred thousand died, he thought. Perhaps I lost the war and lost Requiem. But I can still save a life.

Cade grabbed the bottle of wine on the table. He tilted it over the paladin's head, letting the red liquid spill down.

For a moment, the paladin sat still, the wine dripping down his head and face. His captive gasped, and Cade heard Amity snort behind him. Then only silence.

Slowly the paladin rose to his feet.

Cade turned and ran.

"Good work, kid!" Amity said as Cade raced outdoors. "Just next time waste water, not good wine."

Cade burst out onto the road and beheld the paladin's firedrake there. The beast reared and screeched, wings spreading wide. Its scales were bronze, and a great steel breastplate like a boat coated its underside. A helmet topped the creature's head, bristly with blades. Its jaws opened, revealing swirling fire like molten iron in a smelter.

Cade sucked in his breath and froze. Cursing, the paladin burst out from the tavern behind him. Cade spun back to face the man, caught between firedrake and paladin.

"Let your captive go!" Cade shouted, trying to keep his voice stern. He balled his hands into fists. "Let her go and I'll let you live. You don't have to die today."

I've slain firedrakes and paladins before, Cade told himself, raising his chin. I can kill this one.

The firedrake screeched behind him, a cry so loud Cade had to struggle not to cover his ears. Hot air blasted his back, singing his clothes. Sparks of flame flew around him. Ahead, the paladin raised his sword.

"Bloody fool!" the man said. "Are you touched in the head? Death would be a mercy for you."

Grumbling and still sticky with wine, the paladin charged.

Cade shifted and soared into the sky.

I'm sorry, he thought, perhaps directing his thoughts to the paladin below, perhaps to the stars above, perhaps simply to his own soul. I'm sorry. I didn't want to kill again. I didn't want more blood on my hands.

He beat his wings, rising higher toward the sun, a golden dragon with wide wings, gleaming scales, and roaring fire. He blasted that fire downward.

The paladin rolled aside. Flames slammed into the ground beside him, showered up, and sprayed the man.

"Weredragon!" he called out.

Cade prepared to blow fire again when the firedrake soared toward him.

The bronze beast roared, clad in steel and wreathed in smoke, and blasted up its dragonfire.

Cade cursed.

"Amity, where the Abyss are you?" he shouted as he swerved.

He dodged most of the fire, but a stream still blazed across his tail, and he yowled. He felt his scales--they were softer and smaller on the tip of his tail--expand and crack in the heat. He swooped, claws stretched out, and slammed into the beast.

Dragon and firedrake crashed together with a crack like the antlers of rams. Cade roared, shoving the heavier beast downward, until they slammed onto the road.

Stones cracked beneath them. Their tails lashed, driving into an elm tree. The trunk shattered and the tree crashed down. Cade roared, clawing, biting. The firedrake writhed beneath him, and its shriek pounded against Cade's eardrums. The heat of its breath felt like it could melt Cade's eyeballs. The creature's jaws closed around Cade's shoulder, and he yowled as the fangs drove into his flesh.

To his left, Cade glimpsed the paladin approaching, sword drawn.

"Oh bloody Abyss!" Cade roared. Still clutched in the firedrake's jaws, Cade whipped his tail, slamming it against the paladin. The man flew through the air and crashed to the ground. Before Cade could slam his tail down again, finishing the job, the firedrake biting him thrust his claws, slashing Cade's leg.

"Amity!" he shouted. "Get your arse out here!"

He heard no reply. He howled, screwed his eyes shut, and blasted flame.

His dragonfire crashed into the firedrake biting him, then showered up against Cade. The inferno bathed them both. The heat was enough to loosen the firedrake's jaws, and Cade tugged himself free, woozy with loss of blood. Still blinded in the heat and flame, he snapped his jaws, biting at anything he could catch between his teeth. His fangs clattered against scales, unable to pierce them, and his claws thrust madly, scraping across the firedrake's armor.

The beast bucked below, shoving its wings against the road, and tossed Cade off. Firedrake and dragon rolled across the dirt, claws swinging, and slammed against the tavern. The clay wall cracked, raining dust.

"Keep it down out there!" rose Amity's voice from inside. "I'm trying to eat."

"Amity, stars damn it!" Cade howled as the firedrake shoved him against the wall. The paladin rose to his feet again and came walking forward, sword raised.

Cade sneered.

He would not die here. Not like this. Not outside some roadside tavern, fighting a rogue beast. He had not survived a war to die in a brawl.

He kept clawing at the firedrake before him, but could not break through the creature's armor. The firedrake raised his head and inhaled deeply, prepared to blow more fire.

Pinned against the wall, Cade cursed and released his magic.

He shrank into human form and fell to the ground, banging his knees.

The firedrake blasted his flames against the tavern wall. Cade ran between its legs, emerged from behind it, and shifted again. He soared, spun in the air, then plunged down onto the firedrake's back.

The creature squealed.

Clinging to the firedrake's back, Cade grabbed its spiked helmet in his claws and tugged it loose, then bit down hard, driving his fangs into the dragon's snout. He tasted its blood and fire.

The beast mewled.

Cade kept biting, shattering its face, snapping at its eyes, tearing out its upper jaw.

The firedrake slid down the cracked wall, leaving a trail of blood, and its head thumped against the dirt. It gurgled, spat out a few last sparks of fire, then lay still.

A scream rose behind Cade.

He spun around to see the paladin standing on the road, sword raised, throat spurting blood.

The captive Terran woman tugged back her knife. His neck slit, the paladin crashed down dead at Cade's feet.

The woman met Cade's gaze, and no more fear filled those green eyes, only cold, hard fierceness. She spoke slowly in the common tongue, her accent heavy.

"Thank you."

Amity emerged from the tavern, yawned, and patted her belly. "I'm full. Cade, I finished your potatoes. Hope you don't mind."

Cade reeled toward her, feeling his anger rise even hotter than during the battle. He released his magic, returning to human form, and stomped down the bloody road toward Amity.

"You!" Cade jabbed her chest. "Now you come outside! Where were you when a firedrake the size of a mountain was chomping on my shoulder?"

"Chomping on your potatoes." She wiped her lips and eyed his shoulder. "I'm not sure I got the better deal, actually. You look tasty, and I'm still a bit peckish. Mind if I nibble on your shoulder a bit too?"

He groaned. "Mind if I clobber your face like I did to that firedrake? Amity! For stars' sake. You were all on about fighting paladins and firedrakes, then you sit down to eat taters while I'm fighting alone."

She grinned and patted his cheek. "You're still alive." She looked over his shoulder at the freed Terran woman. "Looks like you found another girl to fight your battles."

Cade sputtered. "Another girl--to fight my--" He groaned and clutched his head. "Oh bloody griffin bollocks, pay for our meal and let's get out of here."

Amity's smile faded. Her eyes hardened. She shook her head.

"No, Cade. You shifted into a dragon. The innkeeper and the girl saw you." She knelt and lifted the paladin's fallen sword. "They must be silenced."

Cade's eyes widened. Horror clasped his heart as Amity began walking back toward the inn, sword in hand. "Amity, what are you doing?"

She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. "The dirty work. You should never have challenged that paladin, kid. Or at least you should've killed him in human form. We're traveling undercover. You blew that cover. Now they die. Kill the girl yourself if you prefer. I'll take care of the innkeeper."

She walked into the tavern, sword raised.

Cade rushed in after her. "Amity, stop this! For stars' sake, we're not killers."

She stared at him, eyes cold. "Oh, but we are, Cade. We are killers. I'm a killer. You're a killer. That's all this world is, all the Cured Temple made it, all we can be if we hope to survive." She walked toward the bar, sword raised.

The innkeeper saw her approach and gasped. He fled into the kitchen, and Amity followed. Cade rushed in after them. Strings of sausages hung here from the ceiling, and sacks of flour lay on shelves. A fireplace crackled in the back, and a cauldron of stew simmered. A dog lay on the floor, lazily flicking its tail, then leaped up and growled. The innkeeper walked backward, hands held before him.

"Please, my lady!" he said. "Please, I mean you no harm." The innkeeper reached into his pocket, fished out some coins, and tossed them at Amity. "Here, here! Take them. Take anything you want. Please."

But Amity kept approaching him. The innkeeper tripped over a stool and fell onto his back. He wailed, hands held before him. Amity raised her sword high, prepared to plunge it down.

Cade grabbed her wrist, holding back her blade.

"Amity, no." He stared at her. "No. I've put up with a lot from you. Your recklessness. Your gruffness. Even your inaction when I was attacked. But here I draw the line. You will not commit murder." He placed himself between her and the innkeeper. "You'll have to kill me before you kill him."

Amity laughed, though her eyes remained hard. "Do you think I won't, that I can't? I could kill you easily, boy. How old are you, fourteen?"

He glared at her. "Eighteen."

Amity snorted. "I was slaying men when you were still sucking at Beatrix's teat. I'm a survivor, Cade. Haven't you understood that yet?" Her face became a horrible thing, a mask of stone, the countenance of a demon of cold fire. "I survived for years as a child, fleeing the firedrakes. I survived when even my parents perished. I survived in the islands of Leonis, and I survived as a thousand ships sank around me, as nations burned. And I'm going to keep surviving, even if I'm the only Vir Requis left. Don't think I'd hesitate to cut you down if I must. I will live. Requiem will live. And I'll let no boy and no innkeeper stand in my way. That is how the world works, kid. You better learn to understand that, or you won't survive very long."

Cade raised his chin, refusing to look away, to stand back from the taller, stronger woman and her sword. "Maybe I don't want to live in a world like that. Maybe I don't want to become what you are, some hardened survivor. Is that all you are, Amity? A survivor? Is that all you do--survive rather than truly live? I don't want that. I'd rather die. If I am to live, I will live free, proud, honorable. I will live by my ethics, even as the world burns." He shook his head. "What you've become is sad to me. You survive, yes, but at what cost? The cost of your own humanity."

Something seemed to shatter in the hardness of her face. A new fire blazed in her eyes. "I will kill you, boy!"

He nodded. "Yes, you'll kill me. You'll kill the innkeeper. You'll kill anyone in your way, firedrakes and slaves and boys and anyone else. I've heard it all before. But you know what else I've heard from you, Amity? You know what else you've spoken of over and over on the road?" He clasped her arm. "You spoke of Queen Lacrimosa who led Requiem from the ruins of Draco Murus over a thousand years ago. You spoke of Princess Agnus Dei, the great heroine of Requiem, her scales as red as yours. You spoke of Queen Lyana who defeated the phoenixes, and of Erry Docker, the plucky heroine from Lynport who fought the tyrant Cadigus. For days on the road, I heard you speak of them, the ancient heroines of Requiem, now only tales in a book. And you have to ask yourself, Amity: What is the Requiem those women fought for? You have to ask yourself: What would they do? Would they slay this innkeeper for a chance to survive another day, or would they carry on the torch of Requiem, a light that symbolizes more than survival?" Cade's eyes stung. "It's a light of hope. Of honor. A light of truth and righteousness. That is what must survive. Not our lives but what our lives stand for. Grant this man mercy, Amity. You'll be serving Requiem far, far better with mercy than with steel."

Amity's lips still snarled, but her eyes dampened and her fist shook around the hilt of her sword. Cade guided her blade down, and she let it clang to the floor. She lowered her head.

"You stupid boy," she whispered, then grabbed his cheeks in her hand, squeezing them. "You stupid little boy with your stupid little stories."

She turned away, head lowered, and walked out of the kitchen.

* * * * *

The captive woman still stood outside, staring down at the corpse of the paladin she had killed. She still held the knife in her chained hands. Cade shifted into a dragon, grabbed the iron manacles between his claws, and snapped them open. The woman rubbed her chafed wrists.

"Thank you," she said in her thick accent. "I is being Asina of Gosh Ha'ar." She bowed her head. "I fight with you."

Cade sighed and looked around him. He saw burnt gardens. The cracked wall of the tavern. A mess of fallen tables and blood inside. He looked back at Asina.

"The war is over," he said softly. "And we've lost. All we can do now is hope to find a new life. Perhaps instead of fighting, all we can do is find hovels, ruins, little homes to mend. Amity and I are heading to Draco Murus, a ruined fortress far in the northern Dair Ranin mountains, and the road swarms with paladins, and the skies are full of firedrakes. I would not ask you to accompany us on that dangerous path."

Asina perhaps did not understand his words, but she seemed to understand enough. Her eyes hardened. "I have no home. I go with you." She raised her knife. "My home burn. I fight."

A throat cleared, footsteps shuffled, and the old innkeeper emerged from the ruined tavern.

"Pardon me, my lady." The innkeeper bowed his head toward Asina. "But you have a home. You have a home here, if you'd like it." He dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief. "My daughter used to help me run the place, but after she died in the war, well . . . the place has gone to ruin." His voice shook. "Her name was Tiana. She fell fighting your people, beg your pardon, in the war against Leonis Isles. She fell serving the Cured Temple, fell for the cruel games of Beatrix." He shook his head, lips trembling. "A senseless war. A senseless death. Perhaps we can find some peace together, a man of the Commonwealth and a woman of the Horde. Perhaps we can mend this little home." His tears streamed. "I lost a daughter to the Horde, but perhaps I can gain a daughter from it too."

Asina stepped closer to the old man, looked around at the tavern, and lowered her head. She nodded. "I help. I help you heal."

"You mean rebuild," said Cade.

Asina looked at him and shook her head. "Heal."

"Cade!" Amity waved at him from farther down the road. "Cade, get your little backside over here! I need some help."

The tall warrior woman stood by the corpse of the firedrake, struggling to tug off its saddle and armor. Leaving Asina and the innkeeper, Cade approached her.

"What are you doing, Amity? Leave that poor beast alone. We're going to bury it. Hide that it was ever here."

She growled as she tugged on a strap. "Bury it after we grab its saddle and armor." She managed to tug the saddle off into the dirt, grinned, and wiped her forehead. "We're going to need these."

Cade's heart sank. "Amity, what are you thinking?"

She tugged at the creature's breastplate. "Will you help me, or do I need to clobber you and make you my slave? Come on!"

He groaned and shifted back into a dragon. "Move over. This is work for a dragon."

Before long, both firedrake and paladin had been stripped of their armor and buried off the road. Amity and Cade stood before the saddle and plates of steel, back in human forms.

"Are you ready to fly, Cade?" Amity grinned.

He heaved a sigh. "Do you really think this'll work?"

She nodded. "Of course I do. Once we put on Templer armor, nobody will know we're Vir Requis." Her grin widened. "We just have to decide who flies as a dragon, and who rides as a paladin."

"I'm riding, you fly," Cade said. "That there's a man's armor. Go on, shift and I'll put the saddle on you."

Amity gasped. "Man's armor? Boy, I've slain more men than all the droplets you've ever pissed. I've got bigger bollocks in my pants than you." She glanced at the armor. "Besides, you're too short for that armor. That there's armor for a tall, strong adult like me, not a little boy." She lifted the paladin's breastplate and placed it across her chest for size. "Fits a bit awkwardly, and it'll squeeze my breasts a bit, but I think it'll work."

Cade gulped, really not wanting to think about Amity's breasts; he had been struggling not to think about them for days now. "It doesn't fit you. Give it here."

She shook her head. "Too late, I've claimed it. I'm riding you, Cade, so shift back into a nice dragon and I'll strap on your saddle. Besides, your scales are golden, almost like the dead firedrake's scales. If anyone searches for our buried friend, you'll look a bit like him from the air. My scales are red and would stand out for miles. Go on--shift, my noble steed!"

Cade knew it was pointless to argue with her. And besides, his feet were aching, and his boots weren't getting in any better shape from the long miles on the road.

It'll be nice to fly, he tried to convince himself. To spread my wings, glide openly in the daylight, a firedrake in disguise. It was risky, he knew, but then again, Domi had disguised herself as a firedrake for years. Surely he could survive a few days as a dragon, just until he reached Draco Murus. He swallowed a lump in his throat. Are you heading there too, Domi?

"All right, Amity." He stepped back, grumbled, and shifted. "But it's going to be damn hard carrying your backside with all those ribs and taters you ate."

The sun was low in the sky when Cade took flight, a golden dragon clad in Templer armor. He soared higher until the tavern looked like a toy, the road like a thread.

"Faster!" Amity cried on his back. Clad in white armor, she laughed and jabbed him with her spurs. "Faster, mighty mount, or I'll whip your hide!"

Cade twisted his head to look over his shoulder. She sat in his saddle, her visor raised. He puffed smoke from his nostrils onto her. "Silence or I'll roast you."

"Hush! Firedrakes don't talk." She hoisted her banner, displaying its tillvine sigil. "Now fly. Fly north! To the mountains!" She spurred him again. "Fly, my mount!"

He grumbled but he flew onward. The sun sank in the west, and darkness engulfed them. The stars emerged, and as Cade flew, he wondered if Domi, Fidelity, and the others were looking at those same stars now. He missed them. In the darkness, their faces floated in his memory, and he didn't know if he'd ever see them again.

BEATRIX

On a midnight of cold wind and no stars, Beatrix stepped into the graveyard of dragons.

A few scattered oaks creaked in the wind, their bare branches reaching out like the gnarled fingers of lecherous old men. Dry leaves rustled, scuttled along the ground, and crunched underfoot. The full moon peeked between the clouds, bloated and pale like the waterlogged face of a drowned corpse, then vanished again. Boulders rose in the darkness like tombstones. There were no true tombstones in this graveyard, no true graves, no names for the fallen--yet a graveyard this was. Here underground lay buried the greatest warriors of the Cured Temple, the firedrakes who had fallen for the Spirit.

"The firedrakes were human once, did you know?" Beatrix said. She turned toward her daughter. "They were born as human babes, cursed with the ancient disease of reptiles, able to shift into dragons."

Mercy walked alongside her, clad as always in the pale armor of a paladin. Her hand rested on the pommel of her sword. "And you killed them."

Beatrix raised her eyebrows. "Killed them? Yes, I suppose so. In a manner of speaking. I burned their human forms away, then collected dragon eggs from the ashes--eggs to hatch firedrakes. But firedrakes too can burn. Firedrakes do not live forever." She sucked in the cold night air. "The Vir Requis showed us that. They slew too many of our mighty reptiles. But tonight, Mercy . . . tonight we will create champions that no man or beast can kill."

Mercy frowned. "Mother, I sank a thousand ships. I slew a hundred thousand barbarians of the Horde. I slew two weredragons--the silver beast Julian and the green beast Roen. I--"

"You let five weredragons escape." Beatrix kept her voice calm. She kept walking over the fallen leaves, holding up the hem of her robes. "You were tasked with slaying them, and instead, you played little games of war and conquest. Sinking ships? Burning barbarians? Any brute can do these things. You wasted an army and still killed only two weredragons. The others survived. Amity, the Red Queen, the leader who almost rose to crush us. Domi, the traitor you once rode as a firedrake, too foolish to recognize the ploy. Fidelity and Cade, the sneaky worms who spread their books of Requiem across our empire. And Korvin." Beatrix tightened her fingers around her skirt, and her jaw locked. "And you let Korvin go."

Beatrix sucked in breath and had to close her eyes.

Korvin.

She scoffed at herself. Funny how that name still hurt her. Funny how after all these years, thinking of him still raised that sickening mixture in her breast, a rotting potion of hatred, rage, and love.

Korvin. A brute. A traitor. An enemy to kill. The man a young priestess had loved with all her heart. The man who perhaps, deep within this cold heart of hers, a heart hardened after years of bearing the burden of an empire, Beatrix still loved. Still loathed. Still swore to break.

You will suffer more than them all, Korvin, she thought.

As she walked here in darkness, Beatrix remembered herself as a young woman. By the Spirit, it had been thirty years ago! It was the curse of the old that years flew by so swiftly. In her childhood, Beatrix would measure the passage of time in days. As a young woman, a year seemed an era, two years the passage of ages, the rise and fall of empires. Now, a woman approaching fifty years of age, she marked the passage of time by decades. Often she would remember a moment--only a recent moment!--and realize it had occurred twenty, even thirty years ago, yet still felt so fresh in her mind. Thus were her memories of Korvin. Thus did he still remind her of her mortality, of the impossible speed of time, of her looming death, or her lost love, lost youth, lost innocence and joy.

I was only a child, Korvin. I was only a child when you broke my heart.

She no longer stood in the graveyard. In her mind, Beatrix was a young woman walking through the city of Nova Vita, idealistic and pure, dedicated to the faith of her mother. How she had prayed then! How she vowed to serve the Spirit always, to bring light to all corners of the world! If not for her faith, she would never have met Korvin, never have met the man who saved, changed, and later ruined her life.

She had been riding through the city that day, her horse a snowy mare of splendor, seeking to preach her faith to the poorest folk of Nova Vita. She had ridden up a hill, calling for others to gather, to hear her words, when the mob attacked. For many years afterward, they haunted her nightmares--crude men, wearing only rags, their faces twisted with rage. They pelted her with rocks, and they cried out against their hunger, against the wealth of the Temple. Beatrix had tried to stop them, tried to beg, but their rocks kept flying, cutting her, breaking her--until Korvin arrived.

The young soldier had stood tall and wild. With bloody fists he beat back the mob. He seemed to Beatrix less like a man then, more like a wild stallion, his dark mane flying in the wind, his fists like hooves pounding into the ruffians. When finally the mob retreated, he knelt above her, helped her to her feet, and she loved him, and she knew that she would always love him.

What a summer that had been! The hottest summer the elders could remember, a summer that wilted gardens, that beat down on crops, that made her sweat on those long, sweet nights when she made love to him, riding him as if he were a true stallion, crying out in her passion for him, for Korvin, for this soldier, lowborn, who had saved her life, who gave her life its light.

Until you took my heart in your hands and shattered it.

She had risen in power. He had not liked that. He could not accept her zeal, her might, her army of firedrakes that hunted down weredragons. He wanted her demure, weak, a petite little damsel to save. When she grew older, grew stronger, groomed for High Priesthood, Korvin shied away. He spoke of accepting weredragons--accepting them! He even spoke the forbidden word, saying "Requiem" to her. He saw her strength as cruelty. He saw her rising power as a threat. She was no longer that young, frightened priestess he could defend but a mighty leader, and he was lowly by her great light. And so he left. And so she hunted him. And so she learned that he too was one of the beasts, a treacherous weredragon, a filthy shapeshifter who had sneaked into her bed, claiming her with lies, stealing her virginity with his secrets.

"And so I slew your wife, Korvin," Beatrix whispered, walking through the graveyard. "I slew the woman you chose over me. And I will slay your daughters. You will know this pain before you die too."

Mercy pointed ahead. She raised her chin and spoke coldly like she did when afraid, a show of defiance to hide that fear. She had been doing it since her childhood. "We're here."

Beatrix smiled thinly and tightened her robes around her. "So we are."

The land sloped down here into a valley. The oaks crowded on the surrounding hills, creaking in the wind, as if too frightened to enter this vale of shadows. No moonlight reached this place. It could have been a hole leading to another night sky, a pit leading to the Abyss itself. But Beatrix carried the light of the Spirit within her, and it burned strong, illuminating her path. She walked into the valley of death, the Spirit her guide, even as Mercy's armor clanked with the paladin's fear.

As Beatrix paced over the soft earth, she could feel the slain life below. She could hear the voices of the buried. Mighty firedrakes screeched underground, a sound like wind. Softer, faded, almost indiscernible rose the cries of the drakes' lost human forms. The weeping of babes. The screaming of the burned.

"Yes, my precious beasts." Beatrix's smile grew. "You were children once before I burned you. You became dragons of flame. And now . . . now after your long years in the darkness, your third cycle arises. You will now become blessed warriors of light."

She felt them scurrying below, their dark presence, their cries, their need for her. They were her true children, more loyal and strong than those she bad birthed from her womb. These creatures beneath her would no longer know the weakness of flesh, the pain of the heart. They would be pure. They would be beings of light.

And they will hunt weredragons.

She came to stand in the center of the shadowy valley. All around her the darkness stretched. Even Mercy dared not approach nearer. The paladin stood at the rim of the shadows, staring down, young, frightened, weak. But Beatrix was old. She was strong. She raised her arms above her head, sucking up the life from below, feeling the dark tendrils rise up her legs to kiss her skin, her sex, her bones, her very soul.

"Hear me, Fallen Ones!" Beatrix cried out, fingers tingling, head tossed back. "Hear me, the fallen beings of fire and flesh! I am your mistress. I am a conduit to the Spirit's light. Rise! I am Beatrix Deus, your mistress, and I summon you! Rise and be fallen no more!"

The earth trembled beneath her feet. Shadows swirled. Moans rose from below, mourning, crying out to her, babes desperate for milk, the dead desperate for life. Grooves opened across the valley like wet, toothy mouths, pulling down soil and fallen leaves. The sky swirled above like a second valley of shadows. Upon the hills, trees shook and branches cracked to rain down. And everywhere Beatrix felt them, caressing her, whispering, screaming, enveloping her, sucking at her skin--the spirits of the dead.

"Rise!" she cried. "Come to me."

And they rose.

Ribs emerged from the soil like the columns of a cathedral. Claws, bone white and gleaming, thrust up from the ground. The earth shook madly now, dirt crumbling into pits, boulders thrusting up, and still they rose. A spine ridge slithered like a snake. The long, thin bones of wings beat against the ground, and the many segments of a tail flailed like a bony whip. With shattering stones and sinking earth, a skull emerged before Beatrix, eye sockets deep pits, fangs like swords. Another skull rose to her left, a third to her right, and the valley kept sinking, collapsing, churning. All around her they rose, the skeletons of the dead, the firedrakes of old reborn, and on their backs still rode the skeletons of paladins, buried with their mounts, linked to the beasts even in death. Behind her, Mercy gasped and fell to her knees, but Beatrix remained standing, a solid pillar in the center of the storm, as true and ancient as King's Column that rose in the center of her empire.

These creatures will make King's Column fall.

"I raise them for you, Spirit!" Beatrix cried out. The reptilian skeletons kept digging themselves up from the soil, raising a din of shrieks, moans, roars. Beatrix cried out above them all. "Bless them with your light, Spirit, so that I may lead them in your name!"

She felt the light glow within her--the light of holiness. The Spirit had heard her prayer. The Spirit answered. His light grew within Beatrix, mightier than starlight, than the light of dragonfire. She held out her arms and opened her palms, and the light gathered within them, balls of luminescence.

"I give you life!" Beatrix shouted, laughing, wreathed in the light. "I give you holiness!"

They kept rising around her, dozens of the great skeletons, their wings beating, their jaws opened wide in roars, no flesh left to them, no hearts to beat, no lungs to breathe, no gullets to blast fire, beings of nothing but bone, nothing but pain, but she would make them great. She would make them greater than any living being.

Beatrix stretched out her hands, and the holy light flowed through her fingertips, coiling toward them.

The skeletons of firedrakes turned toward her, and her strands of light crawled into them, slithering like glowing serpents seeking new burrows. The skeletons gave high, yelping sounds like drops of water falling into pools, echoing against metallic walls, the eerie bugling of another world. The light spread through them, running along their bones, limning their wings, coiling along their spines. Beads of light shone in their eye sockets, jewels of the heavens gazing through the darkness. Strands of light spun, coiling together into tightly woven balls within rib cages, thrumming, beating like hearts. On their backs, the skeletons of riders--fused to the spines of their mounts--cried out to the sky, bones shedding dust.

"Rise and live again!" Beatrix cried, the light flowing through her, thrumming in her chest, pulsing through her fingertips. "I grant you new life!"

Around her, they kept rising, dozens, hundreds of the fallen, the bones of great dragons, hearts of light beating within their ribs, eyes of heaven lighting the darkness. They flapped their wings. Shreds of leather swung between bones. Their jaws opened wide, dangling their last strips of skin, and all cried out to Beatrix, weeping for the touch of air again, the night upon them, the holiness of life again in their bones. Their cries were deafening, rising again and again, hundreds of voices calling out together. The land vanished beneath them, and all the world was bone, sound, light, darkness, and her dominion. Her power to raise the dead. To hunt the living.

"You will seek the life of weredragons!" Beatrix cried out, laughing now, her hair crackling, her robes storming. "You will sniff out their pulsing hearts like bloodhounds. Find the weredragons! Find them and kill them and bring their corpses to me. Fly! Fly!" She pointed to the midnight sky. "Fly and crush the flesh of dragons."

With echoing cries, the skeletons beat their creaky old wings. Old bones snapped. Joints shattered. Shreds of skin tore. Maggots and worms rained from them, shed from burrows in bones. But still they rose. Their wings beat, pounding the air, and their claws kicked off the earth, and their spines rattled like primordial snakes. Within their rib cages, their hearts of light thrummed madly, spinning, coiling, pulsing out light that blazed out of their eye sockets. They rose. They lived. They ascended.

"Fly!" she cried, laughing.

And they flew. A storm of bones. A maelstrom of rot, of wonder, of miracles. Life reborn, transfigured, holy. Blessed, beautiful children of the Spirit. The skeletal firedrakes rose, and on their backs, their old paladins raised rusty lances and chipped shields, their bones creaking within their crumbling armor. Their eyes too blazed with light, each rider fused to its mount, great centaurs of glory. They filled the sky. Their light beamed against the clouds, and they swirled above in a whirlpool, countless flying beasts.

"My bonedrakes," Beatrix whispered. "My children."

"What are they?" Mercy asked, voice shaky, finally coming to stand at Beatrix's side.

"Our champions," Beatrix said. "Our holy warriors. Those who will do what you could not." She raised her voice to the sky. "Fly out! Fly now! For the glory of the Spirit, for the death of weredragons, for the Falling! Fly!"

And they flew. Coiling out in great rivers of bone and dry shreds of skin, of streaming light, they soared out from the valley, spreading across all horizons, vanishing into the darkness. All that remained were the echoes of their cries and their lingering aroma of rot and divinity.

KORVIN

The first snows of winter fell as Korvin and his daughter walked across the wilderness. It was too cold to be traveling. Too cold to be without a home, lost in a world with but a flicker of hope.

"We must seek shelter for the night," he said. "A burrow or a cave if we can't find a village or farmhouse."

Fidelity looked up at the sky. She walked beside him, wrapped in a green cloak. It was an old cloak, tattered, its hems burnt, bought from a farmer for a copper coin. They had spent more money on food, and they both carried packs full of turnips, sausages, apples, and bread, perhaps enough for a few days--not enough to reach the mountains of Dair Ranin. Like Korvin, Fidelity wore the armor of the Horde under her cloak, and a curved saber hung at her side, its hilt shaped like a falcon's head.

"It's only noon." She squinted up at the veiled sun. "I think. We should find a place to hide and sleep until nightfall."

She was always squinting these days, struggling to see. Her spectacles were in even worse condition than her cloak. One lens was missing, the other cracked, and a string held the frame together.

We need to buy her new spectacles, Korvin thought, looking at her. But the only coins they had left were old Requiem gold, worth a fortune and a barrelful of questions. And Korvin dared not enter a city where new lenses might be found. Not with soldiers patrolling every street.

"We'll keep walking for a while longer," he said. "We'll find some shelter. We can't rest out here in the snow."

He looked around at the snowy landscape. It was strange to think that, only several days ago, they had been in the hot southern lands, delivering the survivors of the Horde to a new home on the Terran coast. Now they were traveling across the Commonwealth, a different world. Gone were the cypress trees, twisting pines, clear waters, and yellow sun of the south. Here was a land of rolling hills, a pale sun veiled behind gray clouds, and only a few scattered aspens and oaks. Crows circled under the clouds and the wind moaned. The snowfall was light--they were still too far south for the great gales that could bury villages--but it would get colder as they traveled farther north, the snows deeper, the food scarcer.

Fidelity sighed and lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Father. In the heat of battle, I didn't know what other meeting place to name. Lynport in the south burned. Altus Mare is a bastion of Templer might. So I shouted out Draco Murus, the ancient ruins I read about so often in my books, the ruins where the great old heroes fought." She looked at him, eyes full of guilt and fear. "I didn't pause to think that it's so far north, ruins across a landscape Beatrix controls, a landscape now falling to winter. I'm sorry. I don't know if I’ve doomed us all to death, if we'll ever see Domi and the others again."

Korvin patted her arm. "Domi is strong and swift, and she's been surviving on her own for many years. Last I saw them, Amity and Cade were flying together. The Red Queen is looking after the boy. We'll see them again."

Fidelity nodded and lowered her head, and a tear flowed down her cheek. "But not Roen."

Korvin felt a twinge to his heart, a blend of guilt and grief. For many years, he had mistrusted Roen, seen him as a man who tried to steal his daughter. Yet the green dragon had fought bravely. Had saved Fidelity's life.

I'm sorry that I was always so cold around you, Roen, Korvin thought, head lowered. I thank you for your sacrifice.

"I'm sorry, Fidelity." Korvin's voice was low and hoarse. "I know no words of sufficient comfort for this loss."

She raised her chin and the wind dried her eyes. "We will keep fighting as he fought. We will honor his memory by keeping Requiem alive, by reaching the mountains, by finding the others. Requiem will rise in the ruins, reborn. King's Column will stand."

As they kept walking across the wilderness, Korvin kept his fears to himself. He tried to be strong for Fidelity, tried to lift her spirits, to be the father she needed, dependable, calm as the world crumbled. But secretly his heart seemed to crumble too. He did not know if the others had survived. He did not know how he could survive losing them. To lose Domi, his youngest child, the girl he loved more than anything. To lose Amity, a new woman in his life, the first woman he had loved since Beatrix had murdered his wife.

I don't know if you survived the flight over the sea. I don't know if you'll reach the mountains. And I'm scared, but I have to be brave for Fidelity. I have to let her believe there is hope, that we can reach the mountains, that we can find new life there. Perhaps Requiem is but a dream, a memory we can never resurrect. But if that's so, at least let me see the others again. At least let me hold Domi and Amity one more time, let me grow old with them, if not in Requiem then in hiding.

He did not even know who he prayed to. The Spirit? That god, if real, held no love for him, a weredragon. The stars of Requiem? Korvin did not know if there was any consciousness to them anymore, any love for the last survivors of a dead realm. Perhaps he prayed to no one, perhaps his thoughts were hollow, as meaningless as their fight. But without that fight, without that hope, there was nothing left but death. And so Korvin nurtured that hope like a man fanning the last embers of a dying fire. It was all that could still keep him warm.

They kept traveling across the wastelands of the southeastern Commonwealth. Hundreds of years ago, these had been the lands of Osanna, a kingdom long fallen, its survivors having fled to the Horde. The land was still barren, though as they traveled, Korvin saw signs of the lost kingdom that had once risen here. Several columns lay fallen upon a hilltop, corroded and cracked, perhaps the remains of a temple. A great boulder rose ahead, the size of a hill. It took a moment for Korvin to realize that it was the head of a lion, half-buried in the soil, perhaps thousands of years old, pounded down with so much wind and rain it had lost nearly all its features.

The snow still fell when they reached the ruins of the town.

"A relic of Osanna," Fidelity whispered. "Ancient enemy of Requiem, fallen to ruin."

Most of the town lay buried under centuries of soil. Korvin could not see the old roads that perhaps had once run across this place. A portico of columns rose like the spine of a buried giant. Ridges of chipped walls twisted like a labyrinth. An orphaned archway, the walls around it long fallen, led to a courtyard lined with twisting oaks. A statue of a bearded king lay fallen, half-buried in the dirt, and the shell of a temple stood overrun with ivy, nests upon the remains of its roof.

"We'll find shelter here," Korvin said. "Maybe even build a fire inside that temple, if we can find some dry branches on those oaks. We'll rest until nightfall, then fly in the darkness."

Fidelity shivered. "This place looks haunted." She smiled wanly. "Do you remember how, when I was a child, you'd frighten me with your ghost stories?"

A small smile stretched his own lips. "You used to pretend to be brave. But Domi would squeal in fright, especially when I'd lean forward and moan like a ghost. I used to terrify the poor kid. You'd comfort her, the strong older sister, but when you held her tight, I knew you were scared too." He laughed. "Were my stories really so terrifying?"

"No." Fidelity's smile turned sad. "They were wonderful. And even after pretending to be a ghost, you'd always smile and laugh and scoop Domi and me into your arms. Then we'd sit by the fire and sing old songs. Those were good days."

"Those days will return." Korvin stared at the ruins ahead, the crows on their old walls, the scattered stones, the whispers of ghosts. "The whole world feels like this now, a place of ruin, of death, of lost life. No more songs rise around the hearths of this place, and no more fire burns here. Even the memories of this place are long forgotten, and perhaps only the stones still remember the joy and light that had filled this town. So does life seem in times of hardship. Joy always feels lost when tragedy befalls us. Memories of warmth and family always feel like sinking ships, soon to be swallowed in darkness, when one is swimming through a storming sea. But as fire can be rekindled, as ruins can be rebuilt, so can joy resurface. So can new memories be made. We'll find Domi. And we'll rebuild our home, rebuild our family, rebuild our lives. We'll light new hearths and tell new stories, create new memories to warm us in future winters."

Fidelity leaned against him as they walked. "We can start tonight. Here in these ruins. Let's light our first new fire here."

They approached the remains of an old temple--a portico of mossy columns, a chipped wall, a few little hideaways under the remains of a roof. They stepped into a shadowy hovel and laid down their packs.

"I'll go look for some firewood," Korvin said. "Maybe we can keep warm until night, even roast a few turnips. Those oaks on the hills might have dropped some branches, and--"

A distant shriek rose on the wind. Korvin frowned and Fidelity stiffened and grabbed the hilt of her sword. The shriek sounded again, and another cry joined it, still distant but growing closer.

"Vir Requis?" Fidelity whispered. "Firedrakes?"

Korvin cocked his head. "No. The cries are . . . hollow." He shivered. "Too high-pitched. They grate on my bones like claws on stone."

He stood up and peered through a crumbling, arched window in an old wall. Two specks of light were flying in the distance, growing larger--not the orange light of fire but a pale, eerie light the color of corpses. The cries rolled forth, unearthly, echoing like falling water in deep stone chambers.

"What are they?" Fidelity whispered, shivering. "Oh, stars, it's so cold."

Korvin nodded, shivering too. Icy tendrils creaked across the stone walls, sending icicles down from the window's arch. Frost floated in their breath and crawled across their cloaks like spreading leprosy. The cold invaded Korvin's bones, burrowing through the marrow, a deep cold that should not exist this far south, not exist anywhere in the world.

"I don't know." His teeth chattered. "But they're not something we've seen before."

The creatures kept flying closer, making a beeline toward the ruins. There were two of them, glowing with sickly light. Korvin could make out pale wings, ribcages, long claws, frost. Everywhere coldness. Winter. Death. They reeked of death, of rotted meat packed in ice. Of frozen corpses. Of worms. Of mold and soil under frost. Their cries rose again and again, ghostly, seeking him, calling to him, invading his ears like living beings of sound.

Fidelity grimaced and covered her ears. She knelt behind the wall, shivering, teeth chattering. "Stars, they stink."

Korvin knelt beside her. He pulled his cloak over them both, hoping the frosted cloth would make them look like nothing but a mound of snow.

"Keep quiet," he whispered. "Keep still. Let's let them fly by, whatever they are. Let them--" He grimaced, unable to say more. The ground beneath him froze, the ice gripping at him, invading his body, his lungs. The ghostly shrieks pounded his ears, and the stench of rot filled his nostrils and churned his stomach. Fidelity grimaced at his side.

"They're getting closer," she whispered.

The cries were louder now, and wings creaked above. Blasts of air pounded their cloak, nearly tearing it off. A screech rose, followed by the sound of crashing stones. The ruins shook. The wings thudded closer, and more air blasted their cloak, lifting its edge, revealing the sky.

Korvin stared above and lost his breath.

Claws streamed over him. Light glowed within a ribcage. The segments of a tail, all its flesh removed, snaked above like a string of bone beads. The creature dived past him, and a blanket of its smell wafted down. Maggots rained and pattered against the cloak. The cries rose louder, and the creature seemed to turn in the sky.

"They saw us!" Fidelity whispered.

The cloak billowed madly. Korvin glanced from beneath it, saw the two creatures wheeling in the sky, then come swooping toward them.

"Fly!" Korvin shouted. He tossed off the cloak and leaped onto the wall. "Shift, Fidelity, and fly!"

She ran forward, placing more distance between them, and shifted into a blue dragon. She soared, blasting fire. Korvin summoned his own magic, beat his wings, and rose into the sky as a gray dragon, flames gathering in his maw.

The creatures ahead screamed madly, the sound of butchered animals, and charged toward them.

Bonedrakes.

Korvin's belly roiled in disgust. He had read of such creatures in his old books. Before him flew not living beings but the animated bones of firedrakes. Their fangs and claws gleamed in the sunlight. Balls of sickly light pulsed within their ribcages like hearts, and shards of the same white light burned in their eye sockets. Shreds of flesh stretched between the bones of their wings, riddled with holes. Rotted saddles still rose on their backs, fused with the bones, and on them rode the skeletons of paladins, their armor rusty, their lances chipped.
Korvin had only a second to contemplate them. Before the bonedrakes could reach them, Fidelity blasted forth her dragonfire. An instant later, Korvin added his flames to hers. The flaming streams wove together, shrieking and spinning, and slammed into the flying dragon skeletons.

The bonedrakes roared, a torn sound, as the flames washed over them.

The skeletons emerged from the inferno and slammed against the two dragons, biting and clawing.

Korvin howled. Fangs pierced his scales as easily as a blade through hot butter. Those fangs were either blazing hot or impossibly cold. Korvin could not decide, but they stung with agony, tearing at him, shedding his blood. At his side, Fidelity screamed too, beating her wings madly as the second bonedrake clawed at her.

Korvin swiped his claws. They clattered against the skeletal firedrake, scraping the bones, finding no flesh to cut. He growled, smashing at the jaws that bit him, slamming into the bones again and again, but there was nothing to wound, nothing to cut. He fell from the sky and crashed against the ruins. Bricks tumbled and Korvin roared, and still the jaws clutched him, freezing him. Korvin's wings beat uselessly, scattering snow, and his claws reached out and grabbed a fallen brick.

He swung the brick, slamming it into the bonedrake's skull. The bone cracked, a tooth broke, and the jaws released him.

Korvin beat his wings and soared, lashing his tail against the creature, knocking it down.

"Fidelity!" he cried.

She fought above him, crying out, caught in a creature's claws. She beat her wings and whipped her tail, but she could not free herself, and her teeth and claws only clattered uselessly against bones. The skeleton rider on the bonedrake's back hefted its rusty lance, prepared to thrust the weapon.

Korvin growled. Hovering several feet above the ground, he reached down and grabbed a fallen chunk of a limestone column. He beat his wings mightily, rising higher in the air, roaring with the effort. He could barely keep hold of the heavy segment of column, barely rise, but fear for his daughter drove him onward. He ascended to hover by the skeletal firedrake attacking Fidelity, howled in rage, and swung the chunk of column.

The heavy, rounded limestone drove into the creature's ribs with the force of a god's war hammer. The bones snapped. Shattered ribs flew through the sky. The bonedrake yowled and crumbled, freeing Fidelity. She flew backward, then charged forth, screaming, slamming against it, shattering more ribs.

Korvin rose higher, still clutching the broken column, until he flew above the creature.

He slammed the column down.

The chunk of limestone, larger than a man, drove against the skeletal rider, shattering it into fragments, then crashed through the bony dragon's spine. The creature snapped in two, beat its wings pathetically, and then its glowing innards burst like an exploding sun. Light streamed out, searing hot, melting snow. The bonedrake slammed down in a rain of lifeless bones.

The second bonedrake, its skull cracked, still thrashed upon the ruins below. It beat its wings and began to soar.

Korvin and Fidelity spewed down their dragonfire together.

It was a blaze so hot it melted snow, ice, and the rocks beneath them. It bleached the skeleton's bones, seared off the last bits of flesh and clinging soil, melted the dead paladin's armor. The creature screamed and crashed back down onto the ruins.

Korvin and Fidelity kept blowing down their fire. The bonedrake screeched, unable to rise. Its bones thinned, withered, crumbled, but still it cried out, beating its wings, struggling to rise. Its jaws opened in the inferno, and it blasted out a jet of white, searing light.

The beam crashed against Korvin with the heat and rage of shattering stars.

He couldn't even scream.

His fire died. His chest blazed. His breath died. He tumbled backward in the sky, emerging from the roaring, rising column of light the creature below still blasted skyward.

Fidelity screamed and swooped. She landed on the ruins and swiped her tail, shattering the bonedrake's ribs. Korvin gasped for breath, head spinning, not sure if he was alive or dead. He crashed into the snow. The bonedrake's light still blazed, flowing from the bonedrake's glowing heart, along its spine, and finally blasting out of its jaws. It turned its head toward Fidelity, and the light hit her.

The blue dragon cried out, stumbled backward, and crashed into a column. The limestone pillar shattered and fell.

Korvin coughed, barely able to rise, to breathe.

His magic vanished.

He crawled forward in human form.

The bonedrake still lay on the ground, its bones weakened by the fire, several of its ribs snapped, but still it blasted its light against Fidelity, pinning her against the ruins, burning her. The creature's heart blazed like a forge fire as it spewed out its beam.

The ball of light keeps it alive.

Korvin rose to his feet, drew his sword, and plunged the blade between the bonedrake's ribs and into the glowing sphere in its chest.

The world seemed to drown in light, in sound, in pale searing fleeing life.

Korvin's blade withered and disintegrated.

The light bathed him.

He fell to the ground, not feeling the pain, and stared as strands of luminescence coiled upward, rising like smoke, then fading, leaving only a ringing in his ears, only echoes.

For a long time--silence. Snow fell. A crow cawed in the distance.

"Fidelity," Korvin groaned. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled forward, crunching shattered bones beneath his boots.

She lay against the stub of a shattered column, back in human form. She clutched her chest where the beam had torn through her cloak, tunic, and steel breastplate, finally burning her skin. She stared up at him, wincing.

"Bonedrakes," she whispered. "Father, they were bonedrakes. Like from the old books."

He knelt before her and examined her wound. He grimaced. Her skin was red and raw. If not for her armor absorbing most of the blow, that beam would have eaten right through her.

"Nothing but dead bones now," he said, rummaging through his pack. He had some ointment in there somewhere; he was sure of it.

"They were always only dead bones," Fidelity whispered. "But that light . . . that light let them fly, let them attack us. When it burned me, I saw . . ." She winced, and tears beaded in her eyes. "Oh Father, I saw King's Column falling. I saw dragons dying. I saw . . . I saw a cruel face, made of living light, mocking me, hurting me."

"It won't hurt you anymore." He pulled her into his arms. "You're safe now, daughter."

Fidelity shook her head. "We're not safe here. Maybe not anywhere." She looked at him with huge, haunted eyes. "I don't want to stay in this place. We have to keep moving. Now. We have to go."

She pushed herself to her feet and began to walk. He followed. They kept traveling through the snow, leaving the ruins behind, and did not look back once. Ahead spread leagues of shadows and storm.

GEMINI

He carried her through the killing field, ash raining and corpses spreading around him. The husks of ships, the remains of men, and the shattered pride of a nation lay strewn across the coast, but he kept staring ahead, kept walking, holding Domi in his arms.

"Gemini," she mumbled, eyelids fluttering, struggling to open her eyes.

"I'm here, Domi," he whispered. "You're safe now. I'm here. I vowed to always protect you, do you remember? I'm here."

He had bandaged the wound on her leg, and already the bandage was soaked red. She was so pale, so frail, a fragile lily trodden underfoot, barely clinging to life. Her armor had shattered. Her clothes had torn. The ashes of those burnt and fallen stained her skin, and sand and blood caked her hair. But her eyes were the same green. She was the same Domi he had first seen on the beach of a different nation, her true form revealed to him. The same Domi he had taken into his home, into his bed, into his heart. The same Domi who had betrayed him, locked him in the dungeon, used him to fight her war. The same Domi he loved, would always love.

"I'm going to look after you, Domi." His voice was choked. "Like I promised."

"Gemini, the . . . the children," she whispered, eyes damp. "I have to save them. Where are the children?"

"Hush now, Domi. Don't try to speak."

He carried her away from the sea and onto the hills. In the east spread a field of death, once the city of Hakan Teer. It was now a sprawling graveyard, a city of the fallen. Burnt scraps of tent flew in the wind. The charred skeletons of children raised little hands like twigs from the ash. The two great stallions, Eras and Elamar, still soared above the coast hundreds of feet tall, but the idols that had once guarded a great nation now stood vigil over the dead. Vultures flew above, dipping down to feast upon the charred flesh. And above the vultures . . .

"Firedrakes," Gemini muttered. "Paladins on their backs. Worse than carrion crows."

He turned away. The drakes had not seen him yet. He walked down a rocky slope, heading southeast, keeping the hilltops to his west to hide him from those he had once commanded. He would seize command of these firedrakes again someday, fly to war and conquest, slay his mother, and claim the Temple, but not yet. He was not ready for another battle, not with Domi hurt. For now she needed him, and his pets could wait.

I will reclaim you, my firedrakes, but not today.

He kept walking, heading away from the beach of ruin, from the city of the dead, from the paladins and their mounts, carrying Domi far from them all, far from all those who had hurt her. She slept in his arms.

Once you bore me on your back, Domi, he thought. Today I carry you.

Finally, a mile or two away from the devastation, he reached a landscape of quiet hills. Flat, shattered rocks formed natural paths and footholds like the skin of wrinkly, fossilized giants. Between them, pines grew from patches of earth, their bark rough, their branches twisting and their needles rustling. Mint bushes, anemones, and cyclamens grew between white boulders. Upon a hilltop ahead grew a coiling carob tree with a trunk like an old man's face, wrinkled and wise. When Gemini climbed the hill, he could see the distant sea. A little cave yawned open on the hillside, its entrance in the shade of the carob. It was little more than a crack, several feet deep, perhaps ten feet wide, no more than a burrow for one or two souls to lie down in shadow.

Soil and leaves had blown into the cave, forming natural bedding. He gently placed Domi down inside. Her eyes fluttered open, she gazed at him, and she tried to whisper something, but her voice was too raw. Blood stained the makeshift bandage around her leg, seeping out.

He brushed pine needles out of her hair. "Drink." He held his canteen open over her lips, letting its last few drops of water fall into her mouth. "It's all the water I have for now."

He pulled the lemons from his pack, cracked one in two, and helped her eat. She wrinkled her nose.

"Sour." She stuck out her tongue. "I want some cake instead."

He laughed, eyes stinging, and couldn't stop the tears. "All the cakes in the world," he whispered, stroking her hair. "I promise them to you too. Oh, Domi. I'm so sorry." His voice shook. "I'm so sorry for everything. Look at us here. Look at what's become of us. I'm going to heal you. I'm going to burn every last enemy, topple mountains, shatter armies, all to protect you."

She smiled wanly. "That won't be necessary. Maybe just . . . I saw some carobs. Maybe find me one to eat?"

He nodded. "I'm going to leave you now for a moment. Just a moment, I promise! I'll be back soon and--"

"Go!" She smiled weakly. "Go."

He nodded, left the cave, and climbed onto the hilltop. He could still see the ocean in the distance, and when he turned west, he saw the patch of darkness of the burnt city, the distant firedrakes still flying above. Far in the south, he thought he could make out a cloud of many other firedrakes flying deeper into Terra, seeking more lands to conquer. Hurriedly, he approached the carob tree and reached to the lower branches, gathering as much fruit as he could hold at once. He brought them back to Domi, and they shared the meal. The fruit was tough, stringy, hard to chew, but sweet and good, and it filled Gemini with new energy, calming the tremor in his limbs.

After their bellies were full, Domi slept again. The sun was setting, and Gemini crawled into the cave with her. It was a tight squeeze, but the shadows would hide them from any firedrakes that might fly above. He gazed at her soft cheek in the moonlight, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Do you remember how we slept like this, together, back in the Temple?" he whispered. "Let's pretend that we're back there. Let's pretend that all the world is comfort and safety again."

She mumbled in her sleep but did not wake. He held her until the dawn.

In the morning's soft light, he woke before her, and he watched her sleep. When he wiped the grime off her cheek, her skin seemed ashen to him. Her bandage was bright red with fresh blood. Iciness filled Gemini's belly.

She won't survive on carobs alone, he thought. She needed medicine. She needed new bandages, ointments for the wound on her leg, maybe stitches. She needed a healer. And proper food. And more water.

The first flickers of panic began to rise in Gemini, but he stifled them. Fear was his enemy now. He had to think calmly.

He needed to find medical supplies. But where? The nearest city had been reduced to ash, and Gemini had no idea what other settlements existed in this barbarous continent of savages. If he had a firedrake, he could have explored from above, but even if he found some Horde settlement that still stood, he was likely to find nothing but a witch doctor.

"I need a battlefield surgeon," he muttered. "Like the ones who always fly with the Temple to war. Like--"

Of course.

He stepped out of the cave and stood on the hill, staring west toward the ravaged town.

"They'll have a surgeon," he whispered. "The Temple always brings a few to war. He'll have needles and thread, ointments, bandages. He can heal Domi's leg."

He returned to the cave to find Domi awake. She lay on her back, gazing up at him weakly.

"I think I'll sleep in," she whispered. "Unless you have those cakes out there."

He knelt beside her and stroked her hair, pulling out more needles. "I'm going to leave for a while. Just a short while. To find supplies we need. I'll be back very soon, I promise. Will you wait for me here?"

She glanced down at her bloody leg. "I'm not walking anywhere, that's for sure, and if I'm too weak to walk, I'm certainly too weak to turn into a dragon anytime soon."

He gave her the last of his lemons and carobs, then left the cave and walked downhill. He had no plan. He had no weapons, no armor. But he had his surname, and he had his pride, and he had Domi to save. Those would carry him farther than any firedrake could.

When he crested the next hilltop, he gazed west again toward the burnt city. Firedrakes still flew above, but Gemini saw no life on the ground. The only movement came from the charred scraps of banners that still billowed in the wind. That wind carried the stench of death even up to these hills. South of the camp, however, sunlight gleamed on metal, and little figures bustled back and forth. A group of Templers seemed to garrison there, right on the rim of the devastation--a camp to guard the coast, perhaps to treat those wounded in the battle.

I'll find a healer there, Gemini thought. Or at least supplies.

He kept walking along the hills. Every step made his wounds blaze--worst of all were the whip lashes across his back--but Gemini ignored the pain, focusing instead on the landscape. Mint bushes rustled around him, hives rose from the crumbly soil, and birds flittered between the pines. Shattered flint rocks lay strewn around his feet, their innards smooth and gleaming like stone mirrors. Cyclamens rustled in the shade of chalk boulders, their leaves veined, their blossoms lavender and pale. The sea whispered in the south, its water blue splotched with green.

It's a beautiful place, Gemini thought. He looked back at the carob tree; it was now small in the distance. He missed Domi already. He didn't want to walk any farther away. He wanted to stay here with her, in this beautiful place, not head back into war, fire, death.

"Maybe we should stay here forever," he whispered to the land. He gazed at a hillside where anemones grew in a red carpet. "Maybe we can forget about Requiem, forget about the Temple, and just live here, Gemini and Domi, in our own world, a world of flowers, the song of birds, the call of the sea."

He sighed. Yet walk back into ruin he must--to find a healer, to find hope for Domi. And then he would keep walking through ruin, he knew, for despite the beauty of this place, this peace and gentleness, the call of power still overwhelmed all other voices. He could feel the beacon of the Cured Temple, drawing him even from across the sea, and he knew that he would not forget those crystal towers, not even in this place, not even in the embrace of the woman he loved. Forever the splendor of the Cured Temple shone in his dreams. An evil now lived within those halls--the evil of his mother, his sister, an evil he knew he must supplant. He walked on.

He was a mile away from the killing field when the firedrakes saw him. Three of the beasts tossed back their heads and cried out, then beat their wings and wheeled in the sky toward him. Like vultures departing from carrion, they left the burnt city and came flying toward the hills. Paladins sat on their backs, armor brilliant in the sunlight, and their banners streamed.

Gemini stood on the hill, waiting. He forced himself to breathe deeply, to remain calm. A memory of the dungeon shot back into him--the screams, the agony of torture, the stench . . . Fear flooded his belly, icy cold, and sweat trickled down his back, and he felt his pulse quicken.

Calm yourself. Breathe. He inhaled deeply and raised his chin. You are Lord Gemini Deus. You will show them your nobility.

The three drakes circled above, cawing, then spiraled down. They landed on the hill around Gemini, claws tearing up dirt and shattering rocks. Chunks of chalk spilled down the slopes, crushing cyclamens, and one firedrakes lashed its tail, shattering a pine. All three thrust forth their heads, fangs bared, their hot breath blasting Gemini. Their riders, bedecked in white steel, pointed their lances at him. Gemini was covered in grime, his hair caked with mud, and he wore only rags, but he forced himself to stand proudly, to raise his chin.

"Lower your lances!" he said. "Paladins, dismount and kneel. I am Gemini Deus, your lord. Kneel!"

The paladins glanced at one another, uncertain.

"You are--" one began.

"Silence!" Gemini shouted. "I did not tell you to talk back but to dismount and kneel before your lord." He stared at the talkative paladin's firedrake, a scarred yellow beast. "You ride upon Lore. That scar on his head is from battling the rebels in Salvandos." He turned toward the other two firedrakes. "These are Pelaron and Telesar, siblings from the same brood. Do not mistake me for some common wanderer. I lost my armor in the sea, and the grime and blood of battle covers me, as it would any true warrior." He stared pointedly at the men's gleaming, polished armor. "Yet I am still your lord. Now kneel!"

The paladins stared at one another again, then dismounted their drakes, but they did not kneel. One among them--the tall man who had first spoken--took a careful step forward.

"Yes, you are Gemini," he said. "I recognize your face. Last I heard you were tossed into the dungeon, a traitor to the Cured Temple."

Fear flooded Gemini. Again he could feel the cold stones beneath him, feel the chains clasping him, feel the torturer ripping off his fingernail. He forced himself to stare steadily at the man.

"Do not meddle in the affairs of those of higher station. The squabbles of the Deus family are none of your concern. Raise your visor! Let me see your face. Who are you that you should speak so impudently to your lord?"

The man hesitated. Gemini stomped toward him and reached toward the paladin's visor. The man stepped back, seemed almost ready to attack Gemini, but hesitated just long enough. Gemini managed to grab the visor and yank it up.

"Ah . . ." Gemini smiled thinly at the pale, hard face. "Sir Ker Albinor, is it not? Yes, I know your face. I know your family. Only two generations ago, your family was shoveling shite in the fields. You will kneel before your lord now, Albinor, or you will be shoveling shite again." He spun toward the other two paladins--a burly man and a tall woman. Both had raised their visors too. "I don't even recognize you two. Must be even lower than the Albinor family. Worms, you are. Worms I can easily crush."

"My lord, you . . ." Sir Albinor swallowed. "You were a prisoner. Lady Mercy told us you fight against us, that--"

"Mercy isn't here. My bitch sister flew back north, I imagine, leaving you lot in the south. She's dining on peacock and sipping wine from golden chalices. I'm here in the south, fighting in the mud, for the Cured Temple. For you. For our glory. I'm taking command of this garrison. Now kneel before me and swear your allegiance, or by the Spirit, you will know my vengeance."

The paladins glanced at one another again. The female stepped closer to Albinor and whispered to him. Gemini caught the words "Mercy gone" and "not our battle."

Gemini stepped closer toward them. "Kneel!" he shouted, his voice so loud it pealed across the hills. He was sure even Domi in her distant cave heard.

The paladins fell silent, then knelt.

Gemini approached Lore, the yellow firedrake, and climbed into the saddle. For a moment he just sat there, eyes narrowed to slits, and inhaled deeply. Spirit, it felt good to sit in the saddle again. He wore rags, and wounds and grime covered him, and he looked like what he was--a ragged prisoner washed up onto the coast with other ruined things. But here, sitting upon a firedrake, Gemini almost felt like himself again, the lord who had once ridden Pyre across the Commonwealth, the most powerful man in the world.

I will be the most powerful man in the world again, he silently vowed.

He wore no spurs, but he grabbed the reins and dug his heels into the drake's tenderspots. The beast tossed back its head, squealed, and kicked off the hill. Lore's amber wings beat madly, rustling the grass below and beating back the three paladins' cloaks.

"Fly with me!" Gemini called down to them. "You two scum--rise! Albinor, you walk back."

He laughed as he soared higher, the wind in his hair. His servants rose at his side, a new retinue for his power. He was a lord again, and he would exert his power to get what he wanted. All those who stood in his way would die--like the man on the beach had died.

That miserable wretch tried to steal my lemons, so I slew him. And I will slay all my enemies, all those who stand in my way. I will get what I want, if the world has to burn, if I have to kill every last man, woman, and child. He licked his lips. I want Domi, and I want my Temple, and I will have both. Even if the whole world crumbles around us, and all other souls die, the Cured Temple will rise from ruin, and I will stand upon its peak with Domi, and I will reign.

He curved his flight to pass over the devastation of the Horde's city. Several pits had been dug into the charred earth, and human remains smoked within. Many skeletons still littered the earth above these mass graves, bony hands reaching up in supplication. The burnt corpse of a griffin lay below, shreds of skin flapping in the wind, ribs exposed and black. Crows and vultures flew everywhere. These dead had once followed Gemini; the wrath of Mercy had burned them.

"You will pay for this, Mercy," he whispered. "When I'm done with you, you and Mother will be nothing but two more burnt skeletons in a pit. And I'm going to piss onto your bones."

The three firedrakes kept flying, leaving the ruins behind. A mile south, Gemini beheld a garrison of troops--perhaps several hundred strong. Five other firedrakes stood here, hunched over the remains of a dead griffin like vultures over carrion. Lowborn soldiers in chain mail moved back and forth across a dirt field, while archers stood in makeshift, wooden towers. White military tents rose in neat rows, topped with banners of tillvine blossoms. Gemini directed Lore to glide directly over the camp, flying so low the firedrake almost slammed into the wooden towers. The blast of the beast's wings ruffled the tents, nearly uprooting them.

"Hear me!" Gemini shouted. "Your new lord is here!" He laughed, the power coursing through him. "Kneel, warriors of the Spirit! Kneel before Lord Gemini Deus!"

He dug his heels into Lore, and the firedrake blasted forth a great stream of fire. The inferno stormed across the sky and rained down sparks. Soldiers below rushed aside. A few men, cowed by the display, knelt in the dirt.

Gemini landed in a dirt square between tents. The other two firedrakes landed behind him.

"Who rules this cesspool?" Gemini shouted. "Come forth, commander of this garrison!"

The door of the largest tent opened, and a burly lord emerged, wrapped in a samite gown and wearing a burnished breastplate large enough to drown a pig in. A bushy, red mustache curled across the brute's pink, pudgy face. He was busy tightening his belt and tugging up his pants, and Gemini glimpsed the tousled head of a Terran woman in his tent.

"What is the meaning of this?" the man blustered. "Who are you, scoundrel, that you ride a firedrake and--"

Gemini spoke calmly, stroking Lore. "Flame him."

The yellow firedrake puffed out his chest and blasted forth his fire. The stream crashed against the mustached lord, knocking him down, consuming him. Soldiers cried out and fell back. The tent caught fire and collapsed, and the captive woman screamed within. Lore kept blasting forth his dragonfire as the lord rolled, begged, tried to flee but finally fell and rose no more. When the flames died, they revealed nothing but a charred corpse in blackened armor.

Gemini nodded. "Good. Good!" He dismounted and faced the troops who gathered around. All were kneeling now. "You, go fetch me some armor, a sword, a shield." He turned toward another soldier. "You fetch me a pack full of battle rations, and you--yes, you, the scrawny one, go get the camp healer. Tell him to bring his supplies with him."

When Gemini's firedrake cackled and tossed his head, the troops blanched and all but fled toward their tasks.

The female paladin, the one who had flown here with him on her firedrake, moved her mount to stand closer to Gemini. She wasn't bad-looking, Gemini thought--young, pretty, her hair golden.

The priests should have sent her to my bed, Gemini thought, trying to imagine her without her armor on.

"My lord," she said, "the man you burned was dear to Lady Mercy. She will hear of this, my lord."

"Oh, I hope she does." Gemini licked his lips. "I hope she hears and screams. I hope she screams so loudly the entire city of Nova Vita hears. Do not worry, my darling. My sister is far, far in the north across the sea, and the southern continent, well . . . this is our domain." He stared into the paladin's blue eyes. "Serve me well, my dear, and you will rise high in my favor. What's your name?"

"Kaela, my lord."

He nodded. "I'll remember you, Kaela. Do not forget what you saw here today. Do not forget what happens to those who disobey me, who refuse to kneel before me. They burn, my sweet Kaela. But those who kneel will be blessed."

His eyes strayed down to her breastplate, but then Gemini clenched his jaw and looked away. No. He would not think of other women now. Those days were behind him. All he cared about was Domi--healing her, being with her again.

Finally the troops returned, bringing with them armor, weapons, food, and a bearded old healer. Soon Gemini was flying again. He was still filthy, unwashed, stinking, but he wore armor again. A sword hung from his thigh, food filled a pack across his back, and an old healer sat behind him in the saddle.

You cannot stop me, Mercy, he thought as he flew back toward the hill, leaving the other firedrakes behind. No one can. You hurt Domi. You hurt her badly, and you will pay.

He landed back on the hill, dismounted, and led the healer toward Domi in her cave.

"Heal her," Gemini demanded.

The healer knelt and gently undid the bandage on Domi's leg.

"Spirit," Gemini whispered, grimacing. The wound stank. He could smell it even standing outside the cave. Gangrene was spreading through the cut, and pus dripped down Domi's leg. The wound was raw, open, revealing rotten flesh within.

Oh Domi, Gemini thought.

The healer shook his head sadly. He looked back at Gemini. "It's a bad wound, my lord. It festered for too long. I'll have to amputate the leg."

Gemini growled. He grabbed the old man's collar. "You bloody butcher! Is that how you treat wounded soldiers? Chopping off wounds rather than healing them?" His eyes stung, and he barked a laugh. "Those days are over for you. You will not be lazy here. You will save her leg, or it will be your leg chopped off. Heal her!"

The healer gulped and opened his pack, revealing bottles of ointments, stitches, and scalpels. "I must at least cut out the rotted flesh. It will leave a bad scar, but . . ."

"Do it." Gemini ground his teeth so hard he thought they might snap. "Save her. I order you to save her."

As the healer chose his proper tools, Gemini knelt by Domi and stroked her hair. Her forehead was hot, sweaty, her eyes glazed.

"I'm here, Domi." His voice was soft, shaking. "I'm here with a healer. You're going to be fine now." He squeezed her hand. "I promise."

"Did you bring me cake?" she whispered.

His eyes stung. "I did."

Even as feverish sweat dampened her brow, her eyes widened. "You did?"

He opened his pack and pulled out a bun thick with nuts and fruits and glazed with honey. "I'm not sure what this is, but they eat it in the south. I think it counts as a cake."

He fed her a bite. She chewed slowly. "It's good," she whispered.

"Drink some water." He held a fresh canteen over her lips.

She drank, then smiled wanly. "What luxury. Almost beats the Temple."

The healer cleared his throat. He had arranged an assortment of scalpels, needles, thread, and ointments before him. "My lord, I'm ready to begin. It will . . . cause pain. You'll have to hold her down."

Gemini's eyes dampened, and a lump filled his throat. "Begin." Gently, he placed his hand on Domi's shoulder.

"My lord." The healer hesitated. "You'll have to hold her wrists. To pin them down."

Gemini growled, the rage rising in him again. "What are you going to do to her, butcher?"

"I will try to heal her, my lord. As you requested. Please, my lord. Hold her down."

He held her down.

The healer got to work.

And she screamed.

"You're killing her!" Gemini shouted.

"Hold her down!" was the only reply.

"I'm going to kill you, you butcher! I'm going to--"

"Hold her down, my lord! I must cut out the diseased flesh."

Gemini trembled with rage, and his tears fell, but he held Domi down as she screamed and thrashed, as the butcher cut at her, pulling out bits of her, widening the wound, letting the sandy pus flow out. She kept screaming, and below in the valley, Gemini's new firedrake screamed too as if feeling Domi's pain.

"He's almost done, Domi," he whispered and kissed her feverish brow. "Almost done."

The healer pulled out a needle and thread. And Domi screamed again, and Gemini nearly passed out but forced himself to look, forced himself to gaze at that gaping wound.

You did this, Mercy. You hurt her. How you will scream.

It seemed ages before the healer completed his work. The rot had been removed, the diseased flesh cut out, the wound stitched. It was not a clean stitch; it sank down, a valley in her leg. Part of that leg had been removed. It would never return, Gemini knew.

But you're still perfect, Domi. You're still beautiful.

She was sleeping again, sweat drying on her forehead.

"I will apply ointment to the cut, and I will change her bandage every day," said the healer. "I don't know if the rot will return. If we're lucky, her leg will heal."

Gemini nodded. "This ointment here? The white one?"

"Yes, my lord. I suggest returning her to our camp, where I can continue to treat her."

Something hard and cold filled Gemini's throat. "You want her . . . back at the camp. Why?" He clenched his fist. "Do you want to boast of your prowess? To speak of her to anyone? What are you after, old man?"

The healer glanced up from his work; he was busy applying the ointment. "My lord, I seek only to heal, to--"

"Only to heal? And yet you flew here with an army! You flew here under Mercy's banners, flew with the force that burned the town, that slew thousands, that sank ships, that hurt Domi. Do you serve my sister still? Do you send your secret words to her?"

Gemini trembled with rage. He couldn't trust this man. He couldn't trust anyone. Mercy was still scouring the world for Domi and the other weredragons. None must know of this cave. None must know that Domi had survived the assault. This man would speak. He--

"I'm done with my work, my lord," said the old healer, interrupting his thoughts. "Would you care to return to the camp now?"

"Oh no." Gemini rose to his feet and smiled thinly. "You will not be returning there, my friend. Your tongue is too loose, your words worse than the poison you drew from this wound." He drew his sword.

The healer gasped, rose to his feet, and scampered backward. "But . . . my lord! Please, my lord! You need me to heal, to--"

"I already have your ointments." He stepped closer, sword raised.

The healer fell to his knees and groveled. "Please, my lord. Please spare my life. I'm only an old healer. I only seek to serve you. I would never speak of the girl, I promise you, my lord, I--"

Gemini burst out laughing. "Calm down, old man! Don't worry. I still have some use for you."

The healer looked up with red-rimmed eyes. "You do, my lord?"

Gemini nodded as he thrust his sword into the old man's chest, leaning forward to drive the blade deep. "Of course. My new firedrake is hungry, and there's nothing like fresh meat to sate its appetite."

Gemini laughed and kicked the corpse downhill. It rolled down the slope, crushing anemones, breaking against the granite stones. As Domi slept, the firedrake feasted, and Gemini smiled. He turned to gaze at the sea.

"You tried to drown me in those waters, Mercy," he whispered. "You tried to burn Domi. But we're still here. We're still alive and fighting, sweet sister." As the firedrake guzzled down the old man's legs, Gemini's grin widened. "And we're coming for you."

CADE

The two dragons were gliding through the night when the shrieks rose behind them.

"Cade!" Amity said. "You're squeaking. Did you eat something bad? Are you gassy?"

The red dragon flew at his side, nearly invisible in the darkness. Her wings stretched wide, rippling in the wind.

"That wasn't me." He glanced behind him. "The sound came from back there." He shuddered, golden scales chinking. "Firedrakes?"

He tried to peer through the darkness but saw nothing. The moon was only a sliver, the stars shone, and the land below was nothing but blackness.

"I think it's your stomach." Amity puffed out a flicker of fire. The scales on her snout gleamed for an instant, then faded into shadow. "Must have been all those ribs you ate in the tavern."

"All those ribs I ate? If anyone's stomach would whine, it should be yours, and--" He shuddered. "There it is again."

The sound came from behind him again, but closer this time. It was a shrill cry like steam from a kettle, like shattering plates of steel. Cade shivered again. He was cold suddenly, colder than he should be in dragon form.

"Amity, ride me," he said.

She waggled her scaly brow. "Oh, Cade, my love."

He growled at her. "You know what I mean! Ride me as a human in your paladin armor. Dawn's rising, and I'd rather stick to our disguise."

She nodded. "Brace yourself."

She flapped her wings and rose to glide above him, then lowered herself down, all but slamming against him, still in dragon form. Her wings draped across him, and her weight nearly knocked him out of sky.

"Amity, as a human!" he groaned.

She craned her neck down, pressed her snout against his, and blasted smoke against him. "Oh, all right."

She released her magic, shrinking and shifting back into human form. When Cade looked over his shoulder, he saw Amity climbing into his saddle, the same saddle she had taken from the dead firedrake outside the tavern. She wore the dead paladin's armor. It was ill fitting, but when she lowered her visor and raised her lance, she looked like any other paladin, and he like any other firedrake. At least, Cade hoped so. Dawn was rising, and those shrieks sounded again behind him.

He turned around in the sky, facing south toward the sound, and couldn't suppress a shudder.

"Hey, stop shaking!" Amity said, slamming her spurs against his scales.

"Hush! Look." He pointed a claw. "I see something."

Four pale lights were gleaming in the distance. At first Cade thought them stars, but they were moving forward quickly, and screams rose from them again, wailing, echoing, unearthly, sounds like wobbling saws.

Cade turned back north. "I don't like those things, whatever they are. Hold on tight, Amity."

He beat his wings and flew faster, streaming across the sky. The sun emerged in the east, bathing the world in morning. He found himself flying over a cracked, forested landscape. Canyons plunged down in a coiling labyrinth, their walls green with moss, vines, and clinging trees. Natural pillars of sandstone, thousands of feet tall, soared up from gorges like the towers of men, flaring out toward crests lush with pines and ash trees. The forest spread across the bottom of canyons, the tops of pillars, and fragmented plateaus, forming several layers of greenery between walls of stone. On any other day, Cade would have marveled at the beauty of this landscape, but now he couldn't stop shivering.

When he looked over his shoulder, he saw frost spreading across his scales and Amity's armor. Winter had only begun, and they weren't that far north yet, but they might as well have been flying across the arctic. The cold seemed to be emanating from those distant lights. They were getting closer now, and Cade made out pale wings, riders in armor, and glowing eyes. Their screeches rose louder.

A hawk to Cade's right cawed and plunged toward the land. To his left, several blackbirds fell down dead. Frost coated trees upon the pillars of stone below. The trunks cracked, and the trees tumbled off the rocky pillars into the gorges.

"Cade, you really do have gas," Amity said. "Even the birds are dropping dead."

"I told you, it's not me!" He grimaced. "Whatever's following us is far worse than indigestion. And they're fast too." No matter how quickly he flew, the creatures behind were gaining on him. "We're landing and hiding until they fly by."

He glided lower in the sky and flew above a gorge that split the land. Pines grew alongside and below, and vines and moss covered the cliffs. A massive tower of stone rose from the pit, soaring thousands of feet high, a single island that had survived the gorge crumbling down around it. Upon its flaring crest grew a copse of pines, and Cade glided toward the trees. Mist floated below and more birds fell dead all around. Cade was so cold he could barely flap his wings, but he managed to reach the soaring steeple, grab its rim, and climb onto the top. There he released his magic, returning to human form.

"Oof!" Amity cried, falling down onto him. "You're all lumpy."

He lay, flattened beneath her. "Get off! Even your human form weighs as much as a dragon."

She dug her heels into his sides. "Keep carrying me."

He groaned. "Off!"

The creatures shrieked again, the sound louder now. Cade managed to shove Amity off, then rose to his feet and ran between the pines. She ran with him. The trees were thick, and lichen hung from their branches. They stood in the greenery, turned south, and stared across the gorge.

The creatures were flying over the gorge now, heading toward them. Cade shuddered, and this time it wasn't just from the cold. Even Amity grumbled and stamped her feet.

"What are they?" she asked, twisting her face in disgust.

Cade's teeth chattered. "Skeletons. Flying firedrake skeletons. Bonedrakes." He grimaced. "Fidelity told me about them once--old legends. The bones of dead firedrakes reanimated with the Spirit's light. I thought they were only legend."

He counted four of them. Even from this distance, their stench spun his head and roiled his stomach. Their wings were only shreds of skin stretched across bones. Pulsing balls of light thrummed within their ribcages like hearts, sending out tendrils of light that pooled in their skulls' eye sockets. The skeletons of paladins rode upon their backs, still wearing rusty armor and bearing chipped lances.

"Cade, you stink," Amity said, teeth knocking.

"It's not me, it's them!" He elbowed her. "And hush! Hide and wait for them to fly by."

They stood, hidden between the branches, watching, waiting. The creatures kept flying nearer and nearer. Soon they were so close Cade could count their bones.

They're too low. Cade grimaced. Fly higher, by the stars.

Yet the bonedrakes kept diving lower, heading toward the steeple of stone where Cade and Amity hid. Light blazed in their eye sockets. Those glowing orbs seemed to stare right at Cade, burning into him, searing him, searching inside him, scouring the innards of his skull. He grimaced. Amity doubled over beside him, blanching. Frost coated her hair, and icicles formed on her armor.

"They're . . . they're coming here," she whispered between chattering teeth.

Cade nodded, stepping farther back between the cover of the trees. "Come on."

He grabbed her, and they resumed running between the trees, heading toward the center of this jutting pillar of rock. Suddenly the pines shattered behind them. Cade looked over his shoulder to see the bonedrakes crashing into the copse, plowing through the trees like bulls charging through wild grass. Branches snapped and shattered. Trunks collapsed and roots jutted skyward, and the skeletons kept driving forth, the eye sockets blazing, their jaws opened and shrieking.

"They saw us!" Cade shouted, running forward.

"Sir Obvious to the rescue again!" Amity cried.

They kept running between the branches, then skidded to a stop. They had reached the edge of the stone pillar. The tower plunged down toward the distant gorge.

"Jump!" Amity cried and leaped into the air, dragging Cade with her.

Their legs kicked in midair, and they plunged downward toward the distant, forested floor of the gorge. The walls of cliffs blurred at their sides. As he fell, Cade looked up to see the bonedrakes crash between the last pines on the steeple and emerge into open sky again, shedding branches. The bonedrakes curved their flight, turning to swoop, heads facing downward. The light in their ribcages intensified, flowed along their spines, and blasted out of their jaws in beams.

Cade sucked in his magic, beat his wings, and rose as a golden dragon.

The beams of light shot under him, blazed across the gorge, and slammed into a wall of stone. Rocks tumbled down, and a hole gaped open in the cliff. Cade cursed and soared higher, dodging another beam. Amity flew at his side.

"Burn them with me!" the red dragon shouted, flew higher, then spun in the sky and charged.

Cade flew with her. The two dragons, gold and red, shot toward the bonedrakes and blasted dragonfire.

The flaming streams flowed through the bonedrakes, emerged from between the bones, and crashed into the rocky tower behind. The trees ignited. The bonedrakes flew on, unharmed, and blasted forth more light.

"Damn it!" Cade swerved to the right. Amity banked to the left. The beams shot between one, thrumming, icy cold, nearly blinding Cade.

He curbed the urge to flee. If these creatures were after Vir Requis, they could be hunting the others too. Cade growled and stormed forth, stretching out his claws. He dodged a blast of light, rose higher, and slammed into a bonedrake.

Bones cracked. The creature screamed. The paladin's skeleton on its back thrust its lance, and Cade pulled sideways. The rusty blade scraped across his scales, showering sparks. Cade growled and beat his wings, shoving the bonedrake across the sky until they slammed into the soaring stone steeple.

Bones snapped against the cliff. Rocks tumbled down. A pine cracked above and fell, crashed against the combatants, and then plunged down toward the gorge.

"Cade, stop hugging it and crush it!" Amity's voice rose somewhere above.

Cade growled and swung his claws, trying to snap more bones, but the creature fought in a fury, its back against the cliff--or at least its backbone. Its claws scraped at Cade's scales, and its fangs bit down, cracking scales and shedding blood.

Cade roared. His claws were unable to damage the bones, and his teeth found nothing to bite. He placed his feet against the cliff and pushed back, momentarily freeing the creature. The bonedrake beat its wings and flew toward him. Cade bellowed and charged forward again, driving into the creature and slamming it back against the wall.

Spine segments cracked. Ribs snapped and drove into the ball of light within them.

The pulsing heart exploded.

Light blasted out, bathing Cade.

He screamed and fell backward in the sky, tumbling, deaf, blind, wings beating uselessly. The shock drove the magic out of him, and Cade tumbled down as a human again. Through the haze, he saw the bonedrake collapse above and rain down in bone fragments.

"Cade!" Amity screamed above. She was battling three of the creatures.

Cade gritted his teeth, shifted back into a dragon, and soared.

"Go for their ribs, Amity!" he shouted.

She groaned above. "Enough with the ribs already! I get it! I ate too many ribs at the tavern! Now will you be quiet and help me fight?"

"The bonedrake ribs, Amity! Snap them! Drive them into their hearts!"

She nodded and drove downward, slamming herself into a creature's ribcage. The bones creaked but did not snap. Another bonedrake landed on her back and blasted down its light.

Amity screamed.

The light blazed against her scales, heating them, crackling.

Cade roared and soared. He lashed his tail, knocking one bonedrake aside, and rose higher until he flew above the bonedrake that was burning Amity.

"Get it off me!" Amity screamed. One of her scales cracked and fell in the light.

Flying above the bonedrake, Cade released his magic. He landed in human form upon the bonedrake, swung his sword, and severed the dead paladin's skull. Before the rider's body could tumble down, Cade grabbed its lance, raised the weapon high, then screamed and plunged it between the bonedrake's ribs and into its blazing heart.

The light exploded, blasting outward.

Cade tumbled through the air, dropping his lance. Spinning in the sky, he summoned his magic, returned to dragon form, and dived down to grab the falling lance in his claws. He saw Amity, a round burn on her back, swinging her tail against two more bonedrakes.

One of the beasts below shot forth its beam of light.

Cade blasted down dragonfire.

The light dispersed in the fire, reaching Cade as a glowing mist. It stung like acid, and he roared and kept plunging downward, roaring his fire. The bonedrake rose from the inferno, jaws snapping and claws lashing.

Cade howled, clutched the lance tightly with his claws, and thrust down the weapon.

The lance scraped across bone, found its way between the skeleton's ribs, and pierced its glowing heart. The light blasted out again, disintegrating the bones and tossing Cade into a spin, searing his underbelly. Before he could steady his flight, a second blast of light exploded as Amity slew the last bonedrake.

As the creature's bones tumbled down into the gorge, Amity beat her wings and grinned at Cade. He flew in rings around her. Both were bleeding and burnt.

"Bastards." Cade spat out blood. He twisted his neck around, looking at his body, and grimaced to see cuts and burns covering him. His head spun. Amity seemed in even worse shape, an ugly burn mark on her back. The bonedrake's beam had melted her scales and seared her flesh. But still the red dragon grinned.

"Not bad work, kid." She winked at him. "I might keep you around for a while longer. Bonedrakes? Fun to kill. Make a nice crunch when you crush 'em." She laughed. "Is that all Beatrix can toss at us?" She raised her voice to a roar. "Come on, you old hag! Beatrix, do you hear me? I know you sent those skeletons! I'm going to crush them all! And then I'm going to snap your own bones. You're worthless, you--"

Shrieks rose in the distance.

"Oh stars," Cade muttered. "Oh stars. Amity, you fool! Fly!"

He spun and began to fly north, heart thrashing. Amity fell silent and flew with him, eyes wide, smoke blasting out from her nostrils.

"You just had to shout!" Cade said. He looked over his shoulder and saw them there--fifty bonedrakes or more diving into the canyon, casting forth their beams of light.

"Shut up and fly!" Amity cried.

* * * * *

The beams of light blasted outward, blazing across the canyon. They slammed into cliffs, sending boulders tumbling down. Trees collapsed. Cade yowled as a beam nicked his tail. He flew higher, only for another beam to sear his horns. He darted from side to side, moving up and down between the rays of freezing light. Another pillar of stone rose ahead from the gorge, thousands of feet tall, topped with trees.

"Fly behind that stone!" Cade shouted. "Put it between us and the beams!"

Amity yowled as a beam grazed her side. She rose higher. The bonedrake cries rolled across the landscape. Cade looked over his shoulder to see the light blazing in the bonedrakes' eye sockets, coil madly in their rib cages, then blast out from their jaws. He turned back forward and flew from side to side, dodging the rays, and skirted around the massive stone monolith. Amity flew at his side. For a moment they were safe from the beams.

A great, shattering sound roared across the canyon, slamming against Cade's ears like fists. Dust flew. Rocks tumbled. Light blasted out. Cade looked over his shoulder to see the obelisk of stone, wide as a palace and tall as a mountain, snap in two. The light of bonedrakes blasted through the crack, sending boulders flying. With a hailstorm of shattering stones, the pillar tilted and came roaring down toward the gorge.

"Amity, fly!" Cade cried.

"Really?" she shouted back, beating her wings. "I thought I'd dance a little jig!"

They streamed across the gorge as the stone pillar collapsed behind them. Cade cried out as a boulder buffeted him, cracking scales on his shoulder. Dust and pebbles slammed against his wings. A pine flew through the air and snapped against his back. Leafy branches landed on him, then slid down to the gorge. When Cade looked behind him, he saw the pillar arcing down toward him, and he flew as fast as he could, knowing he wouldn’t make it, knowing the pillar would crush him. The tip of the tower roared downward, and Cade stormed forward, curling his tail close to his body.

The pillar fell past him, scraped across his folded tail, chipping scales . . . then tumbled down to the gorge below. It crashed against the trees in the pit, cracked, and shattered into many pieces.

A foot or two closer, Cade knew, and it would have tugged him down and snapped his bones.

"Good flying, kid!" Amity laughed, pebbles raining off her wings with every flap.

"We're not in the clear yet!" Cade shouted back. The fallen pillar had only revealed the horror behind it. The fifty bonedrakes were now heading over the devastation, blasting their light again.

The gorge curved ahead. Cade and Amity barely made the turn. The beams of light hit the cliff behind them, shattering more rocks. Boulders tumbled in a landslide. More pines rained into the depths.

Ahead across the gorge, Cade saw a dozen more bonedrakes flying their way. In the sky, twenty more came swooping down.

"We're trapped!" Amity shouted. "Ready to kill more bonedrakes?"

Cade shuddered. "We can't kill them all. Bloody Abyss!"

His breath shuddered. The bonedrakes shrieked from every direction. Their sickly light blasted out, filling the gorge in a great network like cobwebs--cobwebs that could burn him down. Cade was wincing, prepared to die, when he saw the cave ahead.

"Amity!" he shouted, a flicker of hope rising in him. "The cave on the cliff! Make for the cave!"

She growled. "I'm not going to hide in darkness!" She roared and blasted out dragonfire. "Fight with me, Cade! For glory! For Requiem!" She made to charge against the bonedrakes. "For--ow!"

He cuffed her hard on the snout, then slapped her with his tail. "To the cave! We'll fight them in darkness. Fly!"

She yowled but followed him. She flew up and down, skirting the beams of light. A bonedrake rose toward them, and the dragons' tails lashed, knocking it down. The two dragons, burnt and howling, shot toward the cliff wall. The cave entrance was just large enough to let a single dragon fly inside. Cade entered first, and Amity followed close behind.

The cave delved into the rock, wide as a temple nave. They flew deeper, leaving the sunlight behind, but found that light still shone here. Countless azure beads glowed upon the black ceiling and walls. Strands of light hung everywhere like lichen, illuminating black stalagmites and stalactites. There were more lights here than stars in the sky, Cade thought. The blue beads reflected in a stream that coiled below into the depths.

"Glowworms," he whispered in awe. "Glowworm homes. Millions of them."

"And about a million bonedrakes on our tail!" Amity cried, beating her wings and flying deeper into the cave.

Flying with her, Cade looked behind him and winced. The bonedrakes were flying into the caves, jaws snapping. The lights in their ribcages blazed out, overpowering the gentle blue glowworms.

"You led us to our grave, kid!" Amity shouted.

"Keep flying!"

They rounded a corner, skimming across the wall. Cade's scales brushed against the cave, knocking down a stalactite. Glowworms rained from the ceiling, little beads of gliding light. Amity growled, slammed against the wall, and kept flying. Just as they made the turn, two bonedrakes slammed into the curving wall, their bones shattering. Stalactites plunged down, and one drove between the ribs of a bonedrake and shattered its luminous heart. But several other bonedrakes made the turn and kept flying in pursuit of the dragons. Beams of light shot from their jaws.

Cade and Amity dived. The beams shot over their heads, slammed into the cave walls, and knocked down more limestone pillars. The dragons rose higher, scraping against the ceiling. More glowworms fell.

"Turn ahead!" Cade cried.

They barely made this turn too, cracking the wall. More bonedrakes slammed into the rock and shattered, but others kept flying in pursuit.

Dodging the beams of light, Cade and Amity flew into a wide cavern, nearly as wide and deep as the gorge outside. Hundreds of stalactites hung from the ceiling, covered in blue glowworms.

Bonedrakes burst into the chamber behind them.

"You wanted to kill bonedrakes?" Cade shouted to Amity. "Fly with me! And whip your tail!"

He rose to fly just under the stalactites, raised his tail like a scorpion, and began whipping it around.

Stalactites cracked and fell.

Bonedrakes screeched.

Cade looked over his shoulder to see the falling stalactites slam into the pursuing beasts, snapping their spines, shattering the glowing essence within them. Amity laughed and flew with Cade, whipping her tail around, shattering more stalactites. The stone daggers showered down, wreathed in glowworms, to slam into the bonedrakes. More of the undead creatures fell to the floor, impaling themselves on jutting stalagmites.

"Come on, bonies!" Amity shouted, laughing as she flew, as more bonedrakes kept emerging into this great, glowing cathedral in the mountains. "Come on and chase me, you boney-arsed bastards!"

More of the creatures kept emerging, screeching, the skeletal riders on their backs crying out. The two dragons kept racing forward, tails flailing, sending stalactites crashing down onto the undead. More and more explosions rocked the cave as the bonedrakes collapsed, spilling out their blazing light. With every blast, more stalactites crashed down, only to kill more bonedrakes who in turn burst apart, creating a chain reaction. The caves shook. Cracks raced along the walls. Soon not only stalactites were falling but chunks of the ceiling. The water churned below.

"The whole damn cave's collapsing!" said Amity.

Cade pointed his claws ahead. "Keep flying! I see daylight."

The sunlight was distant, almost invisible in the glare of the bonedrakes, but Cade kept pumping his wings, shooting forward. He whipped his tail a few more times, knocking down more stalactites. The whole ceiling began crumbling behind him. When he glanced back, he saw the cave imploding, raining down onto the bonedrakes. Every second, another rock crushed another skeleton, shoving the creature down toward the floor.

Cade looked forward. He saw it there--an exit into another gorge. He smelled the fresh air and saw the pines. He beat his wings. He was almost there.

The exit began to crumble, the walls cracking around it.

Cade and Amity roared and shot forward.

The cave gave a last groan, and then the walls crashed down.

Two dragons plowed through a hailstorm of boulders and burst out into the gorge.

Their wings beat, and they shot skyward, leaving the gorge into open sky. When they stared down, they saw the cliff crumble. A landslide of boulders and pines drove down into the chasm. The forest sank, sinkholes greedily swallowing trees and hills, burying the bonedrakes within. Dust flew in a cloud, then settled back upon a silent land.

The two dragons glided above, covered in scrapes and bruises, bleeding from many cuts.

"I killed more than you, kid," Amity said. "I counted."

Cade ignored her, flew past the gorge, and landed on a hill between pines. There he released his magic, fell to his knees, and stared down at the gorge. A new visitor to this land would not have noticed any destruction. Within moments, the landscape had rearranged itself into a new formation, and the birds sang again.

Cade lowered his head.

Amity flew down, a red dragon wreathed in smoke, and released her magic too. She landed on her feet beside Cade and mussed his hair.

"What's wrong, kid?"

He kept staring at the landscape. His wounds ached but worse was the pain inside him. "The cave. All those beautiful formations of stone. All those glowworms--millions of them. An ancient cathedral full of light, a kingdom as glorious as Requiem . . . gone."

Amity raised an eyebrow. "Cade! Did you get hit too hard on the head? It was a cave full of worms. Worms, kid."

He nodded. "I know. But they were beautiful. And we killed them. We killed them all."

She nodded. "And all the bonedrakes too. I'd say the tradeoff was worth it." She tugged him. "Stand up! Stand up and look at me."

Cade rose to his feet and turned toward her. Amity stared at him, covered in dust and specks of blood.

"I'm looking," he said.

"What do you see?"

"A crazy woman who almost died with me."

Amity nodded. "I would have died. Without you, I'd have died in some roadside battle, killing one or two bonedrakes before they took me down. But I'm alive now. Thanks to . . well, thanks to you. I'm only going to admit this once, so soak it up now. You're all right, kid. You killed some worms, yes, but you also saved my arse. Maybe that'll comfort you." She growled. "Unless you like the worms better."

He sighed. "All right, Amity. Your arse is worth more than worms."

"Gosh, but don't you know how to make a girl feel special!" She rolled her eyes, then sighed and grabbed him. She squeezed him in a crushing embrace, then pinched his cheek. "Now will you stop moping?"

His legs crumbled as surely as the cave. He landed on the ground and lay on his back. "I'm going to lie down for a bit. Everything hurts."

Amity lay down at his side, pressing against him. The pine branches swayed above, and birds sang. Only a lingering chill filled the air, then faded as the sun rose higher. Amity was soon snoring softly, but exhausted as he was, Cade could not fall asleep.

Those things were hunting Vir Requis, he thought and shivered. Did they find the others? Korvin and Fidelity and Domi?

He closed his eyes, shivered, and prayed to the stars to look after his friends.

FIDELITY

At dawn, Fidelity and Korvin beheld the glimmering city in the distance.

"New Confutatis," Fidelity whispered in awe. She turned toward her father. "This was once the capital of Osanna, a nation destroyed and scattered. They say the ghosts of Osannans still dwell here, millions of them crying out from the ground, tormenting the priests of the Cured Temple who now live here." She sighed wistfully. "I've read so many books about this place."

Korvin began descending toward the fields. "I hope you enjoyed the little view, because we're landing and walking from here. Daylight is coming. We'll skirt around the city and keep making north to the mountains."

Fidelity looked at her father--a gruff charcoal dragon puffing out smoke like a chimney--and back at the distant white city. New Confutatis was famous not only for its sordid history and ghosts, but for the most wonderful place Fidelity had ever heard of: the White Library. She sighed again, trying to catch a glimpse of that silvery dome and pale towers, the building that housed the world's largest collection of books. But she could see only smudges from here, not even individual buildings. As a dragon, she wore no spectacles, and even as a human, her spectacles were now broken.

I suppose I'll never see this city of wonder, she thought, never visit the fabled library, never read those books. I'll probably never see much of anything again, what with one lens of my spectacles smashed, the other cracked. I--

"Fidelity!" Korvin rumbled from below. "Land with me!"

She nodded briskly and dived down with her father. As the sun rose above the horizon, the gray dragon and the blue dragon landed in a field of wild grass and released their magic.

Fidelity stared at her father. He looked more haggard than she'd ever seen him. His stubble was still white as snow, thickening into a beard, and now his hair--a wild mane that flowed down to his waist--was turning white too, at least half its black hairs gone pale. Only his thick, bushy eyebrows remained jet black, but they shaded weary eyes set into a gaunt face. He wore one of the green cloaks they had bought on the southern coast, and beneath he wore his armor, but even so he seemed thin to Fidelity, no longer the bluff, gruff soldier she had known but a haggard refugee. She embraced him.

"We're halfway to the mountains," she said. "We'll be there before long, and we'll find the others. I know we will."

He nodded and they began walking through the field. They had been flying most of the night, but Fidelity wasn't weary yet, not enough to sleep. She needed to keep going, to cross the land, to reach the mountains of Dair Ranin; she would find no rest until she did. It was a cold day, and patches of snow covered the land. She shivered and tightened her cloak around herself. A coyote stared from between distant blades of grass, then fled. Crows circled and cawed above. Soon they reached a dirt road and walked between swaying fields of rye, wheat, and barley.

They walked, moving closer to the city. The road would take them by its walls before leading them farther north. Fidelity stared at New Confutatis with longing. Her left eye saw only smudges, and while her right spectacle lens still filled its frame, the crack in its center split the world. Still, she was able to make out pale walls topped with soldiers, perched firedrakes, and tillvine blossom banners. Behind the walls, she saw soaring towers and domes. She wondered if one of them was the library.

"We should go into the city," she said suddenly.

Korvin frowned. "Fidelity, you know we can't do that. It's too dangerous in there. Cities are swarming with priests, soldiers, paladins, and firedrakes."

She nodded. "And the wilderness is swarming with bonedrakes." She shuddered. "We've seen . . . ten bonedrakes since the two we killed? Eleven? More? More of the creatures fill the sky every day. We can't keep hiding in burrows and storm clouds. Sooner or later we'll have to fight the bonedrakes again, maybe many of them." She took a deep breath. "In this city rises the White Library. It's renowned for its bestiaries, books that detail every creature to crawl, swim, walk, and fly in the world. Maybe we'll find information about bonedrakes."

"Or maybe we'll find a thousand paladins on a thousand firedrakes."

"Maybe," Fidelity confessed. "But I think we should risk it. The undead fill the sky, and . . . what if they're hunting Domi and the others?" A lump filled her throat. "We know what firedrakes are. We know how to kill them. But a bonedrake is stronger than several firedrakes, and we need to learn everything we can about these creatures. That, and . . ." She lowered her head. "There's another reason I want to visit New Confutatis."

Korvin stood on the road and stared toward the city. Snow began to fall, dusting his hair and cloak. "It had better not be to admire the architecture."

She smiled wanly. "I wouldn't even be able to see the architecture well. That's the other reason. I need to buy new spectacles. My broken spectacles came from here originally. Old Master Ferin Lensmaker made them. He's made all the spectacles in the world, and many other lenses too--lenses to see tiny creatures living in water and stars in the night sky. To fight the bonedrakes, I don't only need to research them; I need to see them!"

Korvin groaned. "Fidelity, you know what I think, I--"

"We'll be safe, Father! Maybe even safer in there than out here. We'll hide in our cloaks and hoods, and nobody will know who we are. And I doubt any bonedrakes are flying above that city. The bastards freeze everything they fly over, colder than the worst ice storm. If they do serve Beatrix, the High Priestess won't send them to harm her towns." She tugged Korvin's sleeve. "Just for a few hours."

Korvin grumbled, but then he looked at her shattered spectacles and sighed. "One hour. That's all."

She hugged him. The old soldier cared more, she thought, about her eyes than about all the bonedrakes in the world. As she embraced him, his chest jostled the rim of her spectacles, and the cracked lens shattered and fell.

"It seems now we really have no choice," Fidelity said with a wry smile.

They walked toward the city. Now Fidelity could see only smudges from both eyes, but she could make out the pale walls, and she could see the glint of sunlight against the firedrakes and soldiers who stood above. When she squinted, she could even see the blurred, pale towers, though they soon faded into the snowy sky.

The road to the city was busy, and guards stood at the gates, testing everyone with ilbane. Korvin and Fidelity paid a peddler to smuggle them through the gates in his wagon, hidden beneath sacks of produce. Fidelity thanked the stars that humble city guards were, at least, easier to fool than determined paladins.

Inside the city, they emerged from the cart, and they walked down a cobbled boulevard lined with homes. Fidelity squinted to see many clay buildings, some two stories tall, with round windows and domed roofs--the homes of priests and commoners. Many of those people walked along the boulevard with her. To Fidelity, the priests in their woolen robes were mere white smudges, while commoners in burlap tunics were tan smudges. In the distance, she could make out several towers, mere faded lines, rising up into the clouds.

While her eyesight was blurred, her other senses were nearly overwhelmed. The music of the city played in her ears: the chiming bells of the temples calling to prayer, the chant of priests in marble halls, the song of caged finches in a window, the shuffling of feet and the thumping of donkey hooves, and the laughter of children, all combining into a symphony. The smells filled her nostrils: baking breads and simmering stews, incense burning in monasteries, and perfumes the priestesses wore. Even Fidelity's sense of touch came alive here: the brush of soft robes and coarse burlap against her, a stray cat rubbing against her leg, and the craggy feel of clay walls when she ran her fingers against them.

Anyone here, she knew, could potentially recognize her, even with her hood tugged low. Anyone here might be a priest or paladin searching for weredragons, armed with ilbane. She should be terrified, yet for the first time in many months, Fidelity actually felt some of her fear ease. She was no longer a lost soul wandering the wilderness. She stood in civilization again, close to beloved books, even if this civilization was ruled by the Temple, even if no copies of Requiem's books could be found here. She had survived war. She would survive this city.

"We should head to the library first," she said. "I can see well enough up close, and finding a book about bonedrakes is our top priority." She stared around her. "Which way to the library? Do you see any signs, Father?"

"No signs, and I'm not asking for directions." He stared around. "What does this library of yours look like? Describe it to me."

"A dome," she said. "A beautiful, wonderful dome all in silver, and four pale towers like beams of moonlight rise around it, each topped with a golden roof. It's a building said to make even gruff soldiers weep, and poets lay down their quills before it, knowing they could never write words as fair."

Korvin grunted. "Well, I see a silver dome and white towers and I'm not weeping. Got to be the wrong place."

Fidelity leaned forward and squinted, struggling to bring the world into focus. There--she saw it ahead! The dome shone like fallen moon, and she could even make out the towers around it, capped with gold. She straightened and blinked, and the library faded into smudges again, but she knew where it lay.

"It's beautiful," she whispered and grabbed her father's hand. "Let's go."

They kept walking down the streets, moving from boulevards to narrow roads and back to wide avenues. Monasteries rose at their sides, steeples soaring, and priests stood at their gates, blowing horns. Barracks loomed over clay homes like lions among mice, and soldiers stood on their battlements.

On a cobbled street, Fidelity leaped aside from the sound of many drumming hooves. Trumpets blared, armor chinked, and men cried out. Townsfolk moved to the roadsides and stared as a cavalcade, a hundred horses strong, came riding down the road. Paladins in burnished, white armor sat astride horses just as white and fair. Each man held a lance and shield emblazoned with tillvine blossoms. Behind these holy warriors of the Spirit marched hundreds of soldiers in chain mail and white robes. Above, screeching, flew three firedrakes. The beasts shot fire across the sky, then dived down to fly above the street, bellies almost skimming the horse riders. Townsfolk cried out in awe and knelt.

"The war is won!" cried the lead paladin, a beefy lord who shone with splendor. Fidelity didn't need sharp eyesight to make out his wide array of golden jewels and gemstones. Some of them looked like Horde jewels. "The Horde is vanquished, and the Temple is victorious!"

The crowd on the roadsides roared. Fidelity's heart sank, and memories of that Templer victory rose in her: the burnt children on the beach, people running aflame, the thousand ships sinking, the thousands of men and women drowning in the water, and Roen . . . her sweet, strong, wise Roen burning in the fire, giving his life to fight the paladins. She missed him so badly, and the horror of her memories made her head spin. At her side, Korvin placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"The Horde is destroyed!" cried the lord as the procession rode by. "And soon the weredragons will follow! Soon all the beastly reptiles will burn in our light, the cursed column will fall, and the Spirit will descend into the world."

As the crowd cheered, Fidelity balled her hands into fists.

No, she vowed. No, King's Column will never fall. It cannot fall while a Vir Requis still lives. And I will not die so easily.

When finally the procession passed them by, Fidelity tugged her father's arm. "We keep going. To the library."

As she walked, a new determination filled her.

She was not only fighting to survive. She was not only fighting to see Domi, Cade, and Amity again. She was fighting to defeat the Cured Temple and rebuild Requiem from ruin. She mustn't forget that, mustn't forget that hope, that dream.

"Remember Requiem," she whispered to herself. "Never forget."

* * * * *

They kept following the sight of the library's towers in the distance. Finally, after a few wrong turns, Fidelity and Korvin reached the library gates.

Fidelity tilted her head back, gaze up at the building, and sighed deeply.

"This," she whispered, "is a library."

With her bad eyes, she couldn't see the gargoyles said to perch upon the eaves. She wouldn't see the statues of ancient druids who stood along the walls and above the doors. She wouldn't see the horses, birds, and stars engraved into the marble columns. All these things Korvin had to describe to her. But she could see the silver dome gleaming, the pale towers soaring, and she could feel the magnitude of this place, the wonder of it . . . and the sadness too.

Here was the world's greatest repository of books, and yet so many books would not be found here. Books of Requiem. Books of old adventure and poetry. Books of astrology and mathematics and foreign languages. All those would be forbidden so long as the Cured Temple reigned. This seemed to Fidelity both the most beautiful and most sad place in the world, like a marvelous statue with broken arms, a thing of splendor marred beyond repair. How many thousands of books had once filled these halls, burned by the priests? How much knowledge and magic and wonder were lost? Perhaps for the first time, Fidelity realized that she was not only fighting for Vir Requis. She was fighting for all living souls who craved freedom and knowledge. She was fighting for wisdom, for books, and they were as holy to her as Requiem.

Coated in the grime of their long journey, wrapped in their snowy cloaks, they stepped into the library of marble and gold.

"It's a bit bigger than our old library, isn't it?" she whispered to Korvin.

She squinted to bring the library into focus, and suddenly Fidelity wished she had visited the lens shop first for new spectacles. She thought the floor was a great mosaic, but it was hard to be sure; she saw only smudges of color. She could see that pastel paintings covered the ceiling, but not see what they depicted. Statues rose between columns, but whether they were statues of druids, seraphs, or warriors, she couldn't tell.

But she didn't care for fineries today. Books filled this library--thousands of them, millions of them, lining countless shelves that filled the hall.

And she couldn't even read their spines.

"I'm going to need a little help," she said.

Korvin nodded. "Let's find a librarian."

"No." She shook her head and watched a white smudge--a robed priest, she presumed--walking between the aisles of books. "I don't want anyone to know what we're looking for. They must think we're simple pilgrims come to read the holy words of the Cured Temple. We'll find a proper book ourselves. All libraries, even Templer libraries, are divided into sections. The priests burn all books that aren't related to the Spirit, but they do keep bestiaries, tomes listing all the creatures of the world. They see all creatures other than Vir Requis, even monsters and magical beasts, as being the Spirit's creations. It's a holy task for scribes to detail all living species. Even, I hope, bonedrakes." She looked around her. "Help me find a bestiary section."

They spent a while exploring the library. Many of these books seemed ancient. When Fidelity leaned close, she could smell the dusty old parchment, and she ran her fingers across the leather covers. She swallowed several sneezes and sprayed a few more across the floor, cursing her sensitivity to dust. Yet despite her stuffy nose and itching eyes, she found peace in this library, a soothing quiet of the soul. She was a librarian, and books meant the world to her. She wished she could have stayed here forever, and in her daydreams, she was the librarian here, a mistress of knowledge.

Finally they found a section in the back, cloaked in shadows, and Korvin stopped walking. "The bestiaries," he said.

Fidelity shivered. They had entered a quiet, distant room in the library. It was cold here, and no windows broke the walls. The only light came from a flickering, glass-paned lamp that hung on a brick wall. No priests walked here. It almost reminded Fidelity of her secret cellar back at her own library, the place where she had stored her books of Requiem. But while that cellar had been cozy and comforting, this place brought cold sweat to her skin. Books crowded around her, wrapped in black and blue and red leather, and a chill seemed to emanate from them.

She stepped closer to the bookshelves, leaned closer to the spines, and squinted until she could read the titles.

"Fish of the Sea." She narrowed her eyes to slits. "Life in a Drop of Water. Hmm, not our book either. Olsen's Standard Book of Commonwealth Birds. Interesting but not much help here." She climbed onto a wheeled ladder and pushed herself between the selves. "Hound Training and Falconry, no . . . The Color of Dragons, hmm, that's an interesting one." She pulled the heavy, leather-bound codex off the shelf, but it only contained illustrations of dragons in every color with descriptions--completely meaningless--of each color's temperament. She placed the book back on the shelf and kept searching. "Herbs and their Pests, no . . . Wildlife of Terra, no . . . Hmm, what's this?"

She approached a codex that seemed older than the others. It was large, over two feet long, and wrapped in leather so faded and crinkly she could barely determine its color. Something about the book made Fidelity shiver. This book was old. Older than the Commonwealth. Maybe even older than Requiem. Cracked, golden letters were worked into the spine: Mythic Creatures of the Gray Age.

She turned her head toward her father, who was searching a bookshelf behind her.

"I found something," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

When she touched the book, it felt like a lightning bolt shooting through her. She sucked in breath. Visions flashed before her eyes of countless readers opening this book, seeking its knowledge. She saw the most ancient scribes writing its pages, explorers from forgotten eras reading its words. Fidelity gasped.

Perhaps the old heroes of Requiem--Queen Gloriae Aeternum, Kyrie Eleison, even King Benedictus--had once held this book, seeking help in fighting the griffins, nightshades, and mimics of old.

Clinging to the ladder with one hand, she tugged the codex off its shelf. It was a massive book, large as a shield, and she nearly fell. Korvin had to step forward and help her lower the tome and place it on a table. Dust flew in the air, and Fidelity swallowed several sneezes, coming close to sneezing all over the book and tearing it apart.

"Mythic Creatures of the Gray Age," Korvin read. "Didn't we have a copy of this book at our library?"

Fidelity nodded. "We did. We--" She covered her nose, stifling her sneeze. "We had a copy of the abridged version. That's the most common book you find these days. Some of the truly interesting creatures were cut out, deemed offensive to the Spirit. Griffins, salvanae, dragons, phoenixes . . . they all worship other gods, so they're heretics. But this book . . ." She passed her hand across the leather binding. "This looks like one of the original editions, produced here in Osanna--back when this land was still called Osanna. It's not even written in the Common but in Osannan High Speech." Her eyes shone. "I'm surprised the priests never burned it. Could be whoever runs this library has a love for forbidden books like we do, hiding this one far in the back, knowing priests stick to the prayer sections. This book is priceless, Father. Look at the craftsmanship! Look at the old parchment pages and the filigree, and--"

Korvin cleared his throat. "We're here to find information about bonedrakes, not admire ancient bookbinding techniques. Let's hurry." He glanced around him. "This city is swarming with the enemy, and priests are walking around in this very library. Find what you need to know and let's leave."

She nodded and opened the book. It creaked open like a rusty door, and more dust showered. Fidelity had to turn her head around and sneeze three times onto the floor. Finally she looked back, eyes watering, and blinked a few times. She sat down at the table and leaned closer, bringing the book into focus. Thankfully, while she saw only smudges in the distance, her eyes still worked at close range.

The book had opened at random to a beautifully illustrated page. It featured a colorful phoenix woven of orange, red, and yellow flames. It reminded Fidelity of Domi's dragon form. Many words in a tiny, delicate script were written beneath the illustration, describing the wrath of the phoenixes, warriors of the Sun God. Delicately, Fidelity flipped the page, revealing an image of a great woman of stone, fire in her eyes, dark wings sprouting from her back--Angel, Queen of Demons. Fidelity shuddered and quickly flipped to another page, this one showing an illustration of a familiar creature--Behemoth of the Horde, a legendary monster, thousands of years old, now lost in the sea.

When she flipped the page again, a sad smile touched her lips.

"Look, Father," she said. "We too are ancient creatures."

This page featured a painted blue dragon--the same color as Fidelity's own scales. More words were written here, curving around the painted dragon like ripples, describing how Vir Requis--the book called them "children of the Draco stars"--could become dragons at will.

"Somebody friendly to us works in this library, or perhaps the priests never bothered reading this book." Fidelity smiled wryly. "It doesn't describe us as a disease to wipe out." She flipped to the next page, then gasped. "There! A bonedrake! Or at least something similar."

The page featured drawings of several skeletons--a human, a horse, a griffin, and a dragon. Each skeleton seemed animated, hands or claws raised as if in conversation, and white lights were painted within their rib cages and eye sockets.

"Those are our boys, all right," Korvin said.

Fidelity leaned closer, so close her nose touched the parchment. "The writing is all faded, and my Osannan is a little dusty, but . . ." She squinted. "It says that . . ." She gasped and read from the page. "And the greatest clerics, blessed in the eyes of their gods, raised the bones of dead men and beasts from the dirt, and prayed to the heavens, and the gods breathed life into the old bones, so that they might walk again upon the earth, swim in the sea, and fly in the sky, serving their masters even from beyond the grave."

"That's what we've already suspected," Korvin said, frowning at the page. He pointed at a small, shadowy figure drawn at the corner of the page, winged, mocking, staring with red eyes at the bonedrakes. "This little guy seems undaunted."

Fidelity nodded and stifled a shiver. "A demon." She read the little words drawn around the shadowy figure. "Only creatures of the Abyss, unholy and dark, could withstand the light of the Risen. Heras the Aged, though born a man, wore the hide of slain demons as armor, and with his lance he smote the Risen and their light could not burn him."

Cold sweat trickled down her back. When she squinted and stared closer, she realized that it wasn't a demon drawn in the background. It was a man wearing a demon hide. The red eyes seemed to stare at her, and a weight seemed to crush Fidelity. She slammed the book shut with a shower of dust.

"Only demon hide can stop their light," she whispered. She turned toward her father. "We must find a demon."

DOMI

"I'm ready to return home." Domi walked around on her wounded leg, limping but strong enough to walk almost as fast as before. "We must fly back to the Commonwealth. We must find the ruins of Draco Murus and the others."

Gemini stood on the hill, looking a little like his old self. He had finally washed off the blood and dirt of the battle, and he wore armor again. The metal plates were a little dented, a little dusty, but it was fine paladin's armor nonetheless. He had shaved his face and the left side of his head, and had even found someone in the camp to bleach his roots white again. Once more, he was the glorious Lord Gemini Deus, a paladin of the Spirit . . . and once more, he was with her.

Domi lowered her head. She had thought that, escaping the Cured Temple, she had escaped Gemini too. But like a corpse discarded at sea that washed ashore to haunt its killer, so had Gemini returned to her. Domi missed Cade and the others, but strangely, she found that perhaps . . . perhaps she had missed Gemini too. The man was cruel, imperious, cowardly, but he loved her truly. Domi did not doubt that now. Gemini had done unspeakable evil, but he had done it for her.

And he will keep doing things for me, Domi thought. I don't love him back, but I will use his love. For my family. For Requiem. Thus will I fight, not only with dragonfire but with his love for me.

"Will you return with me, Gemini?" she said. "To the north? Will you seek the others with me? Together we can still strike against your mother and sister."

Together we will give you the Cured Temple . . . so that you will give me Requiem.

He turned on the hill to gesture down at the distant camp. Past the devastation of Hakan Teer rose the tents, makeshift wooden towers, and firedrakes he had claimed and now ruled.

"We have the seeds of an army here, Domi." Gemini rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. "But it is only a seed. Let us travel south! We'll travel across Terra to find the bulk of my mother's forces, to bring them under my rule." His eyes shone. "We can rule the south together, Domi! You and I, King and Queen of Terra. We'll build such an army that the world will tremble before us."

Domi turned to look south, to stare at the vast, dry lands beyond the hills. Here on the coast, many pines, carob trees, and mint bushes grew on hills of rich brown soil. But there, miles south, the land sloped into a desert of rocks and cracked earth leading to distant, cruel mountains. It was a harsh land, and it would take her farther from the others.

"No," she said. "No." She turned back toward Gemini. "For too many years, I ran from my family. I sought to fly as the firedrake Pyre, free and proud and strong, but I found myself imprisoned in a dungeon, spurred and whipped and less free than ever. I sought to seek glory and comfort in the Cured Temple as your servant and mistress, but I found myself imprisoned in a cell. I cannot keep abandoning my family, abandoning Requiem. My path takes me to Draco Murus, to unite with Fidelity, with my father, with . . . with Cade."

Suddenly both her legs, the wounded and healthy one, felt rubbery. Her mind strayed back to that time she and Cade had fled the burning forests, lain in the grass at dawn, and made love. Domi had made love to over a dozen men before, Cade only the latest among them. To Cade the experience had been new, but he had moved with gentle confidence, and Domi had never enjoyed lovemaking more. Often since that night, she had dreamed of Cade, and even now she felt her cheeks flush.

Gemini seemed to notice. His brow furrowed, and he bared his teeth. "Cade? My little brother? What is he to you?"

Domi lowered her head. Yes. Cade was his brother, born to Beatrix herself, if the stories were to be believed. Yet how could the two men share blood? Cade was gentle and kind, and Gemini was cruel, craven, covetous.

"A fellow Vir Requis." She raised her eyes to meet his gaze. She forced Cade out of her mind for now. "We will continue the fight for Requiem--all Vir Requis united. We must never more drift apart. So you must decide, Gemini, if you will fly south to wage a battle in the distant outposts of the empire, on the wild front line of expansion . . . or whether you will join your cause to mine. To Requiem's. And fly with the Vir Requis."

He gripped her arms--painfully. His eyes were wild, his teeth bared. "The weredragons are scattered! That Red Bitch who called herself Queen of the Horde is probably dead--that or now spreading her legs in a brothel for copper coins." He snorted a laugh. "As for the others, they're probably drowned in the sea, and good riddance to them. We don't need them, Domi. We--"

She slapped him.

Not the delicate slap of an offended maiden, barely more painful than the touch of a silken scarf. Domi slapped him with ringing force, putting all her body into the blow, knocking his head aside. Gemini stumbled and fell, gasped, and clutched his red cheek.

"Never speak that way of my family." She stared down at him. "Apologize."

"Domi, I--"

"Apologize!" she shouted.

He smoldered and his hand strayed toward his sword. "For what? For--"

"Apologize now," Domi said, "or I will shift into a dragon and not hesitate to slay you. Just like you slew the healer who saved my life. Yes, Gemini. You thought I was sleeping then, but I know what you did. I know what you are. Apologize to me and vow to never more insult my family or who I am. You will never say the word 'weredragon' again, a cruel slur. I am no longer some meek, frightened girl for you to rescue, no servant for you to own. I am a woman of Requiem and you will respect me. Apologize."

Her legs trembled and her fingers stung, but she wouldn't look away from him, and this felt good. It felt a thousand times more liberating than letting him ride in her saddle or ride her in his bed. She was no longer his to torment. She was strong, and she would show him her strength.

He saw that strength, and he lowered his head.

"Domi, I'm sorry." Kneeling, he reached out for her hand. "Please forgive me."

She shoved his hand away and glared down at him. "Listen to me, Gemini Deus. The others are alive. I know it. I can feel it. And I'm going to find them. Do not get bogged down in a war in the south. Fly north with me and fight Beatrix there, with us. We will strike her at the heart of her realm, at the Temple itself, not here in the outposts. We need you, Gemini. I need you."

"You do?" he whispered.

Domi sighed. I cannot antagonize him. Perhaps striking him was foolish. Gemini, she knew, fought from his heart, not his mind. He fought against his mother and sister because they had wronged him. He fought for Domi to prove his manhood, to prove he could be a strong leader, protect her from a cruel world. She would have to play on those emotions now.

She knelt before him and touched his cheek. "Oh, my sweet Gemini. I'm also sorry. I'm sorry I hit you. I need you with me. I need you to fight with me, for me. Please." She clasped his hand and pressed it to her heart, letting it rest against her breast. "Will you fly north with me? To protect me?"

Like it or not, she thought, Gemini is the only man who can give me Requiem. His mother and sister would hunt us forever.

Gemini, ruling the Temple, would allow her to live. Domi would need to suffer his love for his gift of freedom.

"But . . . the army in the south." His eyes flicked toward the distant desert realms. "We need that army if we're to fight Mother."

"It's an army of firedrakes, of charging troops, of chariots, of noise and light and fire," Domi said. "Do you remember what happened to the last great army that dared sail against Beatrix? It now lies at the bottom of the sea. What we need is not brute force but stealth. We need you to lead us Vir Requis into the Cured Temple, a single paladin leading a handful of priests. We'll enter in disguise, hidden in robes and hoods. Take us as far as you can into the Temple, to the very doorstep of your mother and sister. There . . . there dragonfire will do the work." Domi leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "But first we must find the others. Fly with me."

He leaned back and stared at her, then kissed her. She gasped at first, then kissed him back.

"You need me," he growled into her ear, tugging at her clothes. "Don't you, Domi? You're not strong. You're not a warrior. You still need me to save you, don't you?"

He tore at her garments, exposing her breasts, then tugged off his armor and tossed the plates aside. He stared at her like a wild animal, hunger in his eyes, and licked his lips.

I will play this game, Domi thought. I will do whatever I must for Requiem.

"I . . . need you," she whispered.

He pounced onto her like a wolf onto its prey. He tugged up her skirt and thrust into her, rough with his passion, and his hands gripped her hair.

"You tried to fight me." His lips pressed against her ear. "But you could not. You're weak, Domi. You're scared. You still need me to lead you like I always did, don't you? I know it. You crave me to protect you."

She closed her eyes; they were stinging. She balled her hands into fists, but she let him take her. She let him have this conquest, for she knew that Gemini not only craved to conquer lands. He craved to conquer her. He would never be like Cade, a man who fought at her side. Gemini would forever be a conqueror, forever see her as just another prize, just another soul to subjugate.

"You are mine," he whispered into her ear.

"I am yours," she whispered back, hating herself, hating him, but knowing she must appease him for now. Gemini was her only hope, the only hope of Requiem, and she would suffer him for the light of her stars and the life of her family.

"I will take you home," he whispered, kissing her, thrusting into her almost violently. "I will carve out a kingdom for you. I will kill my family for you. I--" He cried out. "I love you, Domi. I love you. Always. I love you more than all the jewels and temples in the world, more than I love the Spirit himself."

They flew out that evening.

Both rode on Lore, the yellow firedrake Gemini had taken from the coastal garrison. The saddle was built for one, but Domi had grown stick-thin during the war, and she easily slipped between Gemini and the saddle's horn. As they flew, she gazed down at the sea, and she lowered her head in memory of the fallen. It had been long days since the battle, but Domi could still see driftwood floating here, the shards of sunken ships. It seemed to her that the cries of the fallen rose from the water.

Why didn't you save us, Domi? Why did you let us drown? Why did you let us burn?

"I tried to save you," she whispered into the wind. "I flew out with children on my back. I tried to fly across the battle." Tears budded in her eyes. "I fell. I fell into the water and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I let you die."

Yet the ghosts kept crying from the water, accusing her, screaming to her in agony and condemnation. You let us fall! You let us burn! They all reached out from below, those who had fallen from her back and thousands of others, thousands of dead for her war, the war of Requiem, forever buried here in the dark waters.

"I couldn't save you." She tasted her tears. "I'm sorry. I--"

"What are you on about?" Gemini demanded. "Why are you mumbling?"

She twisted in the saddle toward him, and she saw him frowning and grinding his teeth.

"The dead," she whispered. "All those who fell here."

Gemini's anger seemed to shift, to move from her toward a distant target. "Yes. These drowned warriors would have captured the Temple for me. My sister killed them. She murdered my soldiers. And she'll pay for her crime."

"Is that all you care about?" Domi raised her chin, daring to challenge him. "And what of the dead? What of all the lives lost--men, women, children, each with their own hopes and wishes, a kingdom of their own? Do you care about them, or do you only care about your throne?"

His eyes narrowed. "You've become a different woman, Domi. Not the docile woman I once knew. Perhaps in the south you discovered some sense of purpose, some cause to champion. You are innocent and idealistic, yet I've seen much war, and I know that all men can do in war is seek their own power. Only by supreme leadership can I stop the horrors of the world--not through mercy but through strength."

Domi had to bite down on her reply. What do you know of war? she wanted to say. You spent your life in a palace, bedding women and drinking wine, while I was fleeing your sister. At least Mercy knows something about how the world works, even if she seeks to crush that world.

Yet Domi would say none of those things. All year, she had hoped that perhaps, through her love and caring, she could change Gemini. When he had cared for her in the Temple, gentle and kind, she thought she had discovered the goodness in him, a goodness she could foster. She had thought that she could strip away the evil in his soul, mend the shattered pieces of his heart which his mother and sister had smashed. Yet now, more than ever, the task seemed too great to her. Did Gemini's corruption run too deep, and even should she heal his soul, would the rot deep within fester anew? She did not know. Perhaps all she could do now was stay with him, try to hold his evil at bay, and hope he kept true to his word--that he gave her the kingdom of Requiem, his gift to one he loved. She would have to keep him loving her--for Requiem and for his own tortured soul.

They flew until night fell and the stars emerged. They slept in the saddle, then flew through dawn. Still the sea spread ahead, no sign of land. As fast as their firedrake flew, they were not yet halfway across the sea. Soon Lore was panting and puffing out short bursts of smoke, and his eyes seemed glazed, his wings stiff.

"He cannot fly the rest of the way," Domi said. "Let Lore fly back to Terra. He has perhaps just enough strength for the journey home. I will carry you on my back, Gemini."

He shook his head. "No. Lore still has a day's flight in him. Let him keep flying north. He'll take us most of the way, leaving only a day's flight for you."

"But then he'll never make it back!" Domi raised her hands in indignation. "Do you expect Lore to fall into the sea and drown?"

Gemini yawned and stretched in the saddle. "As you yourself have said, Domi, thousands have already drowned. What's one more--and a mere mindless firedrake at that?"

"A life!" she said. "A life we can preserve!"

"I care for preserving our lives." A hint of anger touched his voice. "We're still two days from the southern coast of the Commonwealth. You cannot fly that distance alone."

She stood up in the saddle and, before Gemini could grab her, leaped off. She fell down a hundred feet, shifted into a dragon, and soared.

"Onto my back!" she said to Gemini. "Let Lore go."

He began to object, but when Domi reached out her claws, threatening to lift him from the saddle, Gemini grunted and climbed onto her back. Seeming grateful, Lore spun in the sky at once and began gliding back south, the weight off his back.

"Are you sure you can last this journey, Domi?" Gemini leaned across her neck. "It's a long flight. Damn! Why couldn't you have kept Lore around?"

"It's two days. I can fly for two days straight." Gliding on the wind, Domi managed a smile. "And if I can't, I'll float on the water for a while like a boat."

She narrowed her eyes and she flew.

She flew throughout the day until night fell again.

She flew as a third dawn rose, weary, aching, but flying onward--to her home, to her family, to her dream of Requiem.

She had never flown for so long before, but she flew until she saw the southern coast of the Commonwealth--once the coast of Requiem--and landed on the sand.

"We're home," she whispered, shifted back into human form, and slept.

At night she flew again, Gemini on her back, heading north--to the mountains, to the ruins of Draco Murus, and a dream of seeing her family again.

CADE

On a cold evening, Cade and Amity saw the Dair Ranin mountains in the distance.

"We're finally here," Cade said, gliding on the wind. "Oh stars, Amity. We're finally here."

Fear clanked his scales. He had been traveling for long days and nights to this place, a hinterland in the north of the Commonwealth. Fidelity and the others were to meet him here, but . . . so many leagues lay between these mountains and the southern coast of Terra where they had separated. So many bonedrakes and firedrakes filled the sky between here and there. What if the other Vir Requis had not survived?

"You reckon the others are here yet?" Amity asked, riding on his back, wearing her stolen paladin's armor. "I bet we're the first. We're fast. Faster than those flying turtles."

"You mean I'm fast," Cade said. "I'm the one doing all the flying."

"And I'm the one goading you on!" Amity had removed her spurs--blessedly--but still gave him hard jabs with her heels. "Go on, kid. Faster, faster!"

Cade did fly faster, though not because of her goading. He wanted to reach these mountains before dark, and he was desperate to see if the others were here. Korvin, his mentor. Fidelity, his dearest friend. Domi, the woman he loved. He would even be grateful to see Roen, the man Cade had once envied but had come to think of as a brother.

And will my real brother be here too? Gemini?

As he flew toward the mountains, Cade's belly soured. He felt sick whenever he thought about his true family. He didn't want to be a Deus. He didn't want to think of Mercy and Gemini, corrupt and cruel, sharing his blood. He didn't want to think of Beatrix, a mistress of evil, being his mother.

My only family is Requiem, he thought, tightening his lips. Requiem and Eliana.

Just as much as Cade missed his fellow Vir Requis, he missed Eliana. She still lived in the Cured Temple, and Cade knew that he had to capture that Temple, not just for Requiem but for Eliana too.

You are my true sister, Eliana, not Mercy, he thought. Even if you don't share my blood.

He flew as the sun began to set. The mountains spread below him in a jagged wilderness, their crests capped with snow. Cade saw no human settlements, no roads, no forts, no sign of civilization for miles. He could have been flying above a primordial world, one without life. All was rocky slopes, snowy crests, icy valleys, barren and cold.

"Where are the damn ruins?" Amity said. As the sun dipped below the horizon, she leaped off Cade's back and shifted into a red dragon. She glided at his side. "I don't see anything."

"That's because it's night," Cade said.

She growled and lit with sky with dragonfire. "It's day now."

He jabbed her with his tail. "Stop that! Your fire can be seen for miles."

Amity snorted. "So? Nothing here for miles. Nothing but damn mountains and damn snow and a damn kid who thinks he's a warrior." She slapped him right back with her own tail. "We're supposed to find Draco Murus, ancient ruins. They could be anywhere here."

"Not anywhere. I saw them on a map. They lie on a northwestern peak, just before the land slopes down to the plains that lead to Terius Sea." Cade stared down, squinting. The last glow of sunlight was fading in the west. "Hard to even tell mountain apart from valley in the darkness." He sighed. "We'll camp until dawn."

They flew down and found a valley in the shadows, and they slept in dragon forms, curled up into warm balls. They awoke at dawn covered in snow, and they flew again, searching the mountains for hours, for many leagues, finding nothing but the stone and ice.

Finally at noon, where the mountains sloped down toward the snowy plains of the north, they saw the ruins upon the mountaintop.

"It's just a pile of rocks!" said Amity. She was riding on his back again.

"What did you think 'ruins' means, Amity?"

"Don't get smart, kid. I expected something more . . . grand. Marble columns soaring skyward, gargoyles the size of dragons, snowy statues . . . maybe a few holes in the roof due to age. This is nothing but a hole."

Cade stared down at the snowy remains of Draco Murus. "There's . . . still an archway," he said, trying to sound hopeful.

"Half an archway. And nothing else."

"Maybe all the grand palaces are buried in the snow."

"And maybe," said Amity, "Fidelity chose this place because the last book she read had been written five thousand years ago. It's bad enough that girl chose a place halfway across the empire, she had to choose a dump."

Cade sighed and began gliding downward. "I don't care how ravaged it is. I just wanted to find the others here, but I don't see them anywhere. Let's land and take a closer look."

They landed on the snowy mountaintop. The broken archway rose above them--two old, chipped columns, the arch between them fallen. The keystone peeked from the snow; the rest was buried. Judging by the height of the columns, Draco Murus had once been a massive fortress, hundreds of feet tall, a place to rival even the Cured Temple in the capital of Nova Vita. When Cade dug through the snow with his claws, however, he found nothing but fallen bricks.

"Maybe we're just the first ones here," Cade said. "We're fast after all, as you said." He tried to keep his spirits up. "Maybe the others will arrive soon."

Amity grunted, blasting out smoke. The red dragon walked around the mountaintop, flicking away snow with her tail. "And maybe they're dead."

"They're not--"

"How do you know?" she demanded, and suddenly her eyes were damp. "You don't know anything, boy. You don't! You just . . . just cling to stupid hope, and--" She lowered her head. "Those damn bonedrakes, Cade. And those damn firedrakes, and damn paladins, and those damn ships, and all those damn dead people." She trembled, scales chinking. "And now we're here, and they're not here, and I'm scared, and I don't know what happened to Korvin." She beat her wings, soared into the sky, and cried out. "Korvin, you bastard! Where are you? Where are you?"

"Amity!" Cade cried from below. "Hush! It's not safe."

But the red dragon kept crying out, hovering above the ruins. The beating of her wings blasted snow into the air, and the sound of her voice sent drifts sliding down the slopes. "Korvin! Korvin, do you hear me?"

"Amity!" Cade said again, struggling to stay standing as the snow slid all around him. He was about to take flight when a great chunk of snow, loosened by Amity's uproar, crashed down the mountainside, revealing . . .

"A staircase!" Cade said. "Amity, look, there's a staircase going into the mountain!"

She landed back on the mountaintop, and the two dragons stared together. The stairs were rough, carved from stone. The snow covered all but the first three steps. Cade began to dig, his claws tossing back snow and revealing more steps that led down into shadows.

He returned to human form and began to climb downstairs. A moment later, Amity followed.

They found themselves in a dark, clammy cellar. Snow covered the floor and frost coated the rough brick walls. A few discarded glass bottles, the ash from pipes, and chicken bones lay in the corner, looking far newer than these ancient ruins.

Cade knelt by the trash. "Were the others here and left?"

Amity kicked a few chicken bones aside and lifted fallen dice she found in the corner. "Templer stuff. Soldiers were here, perhaps guarding the mountaintop in the summer before the snow drove them out." She lifted one of the bottles, dusted it off, and found it half full. She tugged out the cork with her teeth, sniffed, and grinned. "Brandy. Cheap brandy, but I'm not picky. You like brandy, kid?"

"I don't know. Never tried it."

Amity sat down with a groan, leaned against the wall, and splayed out her legs. "Sit down and try it. We might be waiting here for a while."

He sat down, wincing. He was still scraped and bruised from the battle in the gorge, every movement hurt, and the cold wasn't helping. He leaned against the wall beside Amity and stretched out his legs too, a little embarrassed that they didn't reach as far as hers.

Amity took a sip, sloshed the drink in her mouth, and swallowed. "I've had worse. I'm more of a rye drinker myself--brandy's for girls and fancy folk--but it beats drinking melted snow." She passed Cade the bottle. "Drink."

He took the bottle, sipped, and wrinkled his nose. "It's too sweet and . . . vinegary." He coughed and felt his cheeks flush.

Amity laughed and pinched one of those cheeks. "You're turning into a lobster already. This doesn't bode well. We've still got half a bottle to drink." She drank again. "I don't intend to leave any for the others when they get here."

Cade lowered his head. "If they get here. I'm scared, Amity. We faced so many of those bonedrakes and we barely escaped. If not for crushing them in the cave, they'd have slain us in open sky. Every minute without the other Vir Requis arriving, I worry. Sometimes I wonder if they even made it across the sea at all, or if Mercy slew them over the water."

Amity passed him the bottle, and he drank a second time. It seemed less sweet now, and he was grateful for the haze it was already bringing to his head.

"My parents died over the water, you know." Amity took the bottle back and drank deeply, then wiped her lips. "Firedrakes burned them down. It's always the stars-damn water where this shite happens."

Cade turned to look at her. Amity stared at the opposite wall, not turning toward him, and still held the bottle. Her blond hair was damp with the snow, falling across her ears and forehead, almost long enough now to reach her chin. Beneath the grime of their journey, her cheeks were flushed pink--whether from the cold, brandy, or memories, Cade did not know. She had let her cloak fall open, revealing the leather armor beneath. That armor was now shredded, its rents revealing scabbed skin.

"I'm sorry, Amity," Cade said softly.

She spat across the room, almost hitting the opposite wall, and passed him the bottle. "We all got these stories. You do too. So do all Vir Requis these days. I just hope we're not the last." She gave him a crooked smile and raised an eyebrow. "I'd hate to be stuck here with you forever, the last two of our race, forced to breed and continue the legacy of Requiem."

Cade's cheeks now heated up even before he drank again. He raised the bottle to his lips and gulped brandy. Amity burst out laughing.

"You're blushing!" she said and mussed his hair.

"It's the cold." He passed her the bottle. "And the drink."

She took it from him but did not drink. Instead she stared at him, head lowered, smile crooked. She reached out and caressed one of those blushing cheeks of his.

"You're cute when you blush."

"You're . . . cute when you're not . . . yelling. Which is rare."

Her hand strayed down to rest on his thigh, and she leaned against him. She drank again, then passed him the bottle, and he drank deeply.

"We might be the last," she whispered into his ear. "The last two Vir Requis, all the others gone, doomed to remain here forever, two survivors, alone in the cold."

He gulped. What cold? He felt hotter than dragonfire, especially his thigh where her hand still rested. With her other hand, she turned his head toward her.

"I'm not cold," he said. He could think of nothing better to say.

"Neither am I," she whispered, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek.

Heat exploded across Cade's body. What was Amity doing? What was he doing, sitting pressed against her, and why was he suddenly stroking her hair? Why was he suddenly kissing her, and why was the bottle rolling away from them, and why were her arms around his back, his arms around her, their mouths locked together?

"I want to make you forget all your pain," Amity said. "I want to have one last night of warmth with you, Cade. The world might freeze or burn tomorrow. If we're to end, let us end like this."

This was wrong. He knew it was wrong.

"But . . . Domi," he said. "Korvin. They--"

"They're not married to us." Amity spoke between kisses. "We are free souls, Cade! Two free adults, and you're an adult now too. Show me what you know how to do." She nibbled his bottom lip, grinning. "And let me teach you the rest."

Her hands tugged at his clothes, and he shut his eyes, and he forgot about everything but her.

Cade had made love before--to Domi out in the field, and it had been a gentle, beautiful, tender thing, a thing of grass and dawn and softness. There was nothing gentle, tender, or soft about Amity. They moved together like wild beasts. She growled, scratched her fingernails down his back, bruised his body as they rolled, tangled together, kissing, biting, scratching, forgetting, drowning their pain in the heat and passion. And soon he forgot about the war. And soon he forgot about Domi. All he knew was Amity's body against him, sweeter and more intoxicating than the brandy.

Finally--it felt like hours later--they lay side by side, naked under a cloak. Amity gulped down the last of the brandy.

"Wish I had a pipe," she said.

Cade began to pull his clothes back on, and suddenly guilt filled him--guilt greater than the cold, the lingering sweetness of Amity's lovemaking, or the brandy still floating in his head. He loved Domi! Didn't he? He had made love to her in the field last autumn, and now . . . how could he have done this?

Yet when he looked back at Amity, his blood heated again. His eyes strayed down to her nakedness, and already he wanted to make love to her again. Domi had been delicate, almost fragile, a pale little doll, but Amity was wild and fiery and Cade gulped. What if they were the last? What if he could do that again and again with Amity, and--

A distant shriek, coming from outside the cellar, interrupted his thoughts.

Cade froze.

"Bonedrakes," he whispered.

Amity leaped to her feet, snarling, and tugged on her armor and cloak. She made to leap toward the staircase and race outside.

"Wait!" Cade whispered, holding her back. "Wait and hide. It might not know we're here."

They drew their swords--curved blades they had carried all the way from Terra--and stood together in the cellar, facing the stairway. The screech rose again from outside, curdling Cade's blood. Both he and Amity grimaced. Tendrils of ice spread across the cellar's bricks. The bonedrake was drawing nearer, blasting out cold even worse than the winter.

It screeched again. The sound shook the cellar. Chunks of ice fell down the stairs. The walls creaked and a brick cracked. Cade covered his ears, almost dropping his sword, and the screech rose again and again, getting closer.

"It can smell us," Amity muttered. "We fight it outside. You with me Cade?"

He nodded. "We race out and I'll shift. You ride me and try to stab the glowing light in its chest."

They took deep breaths and began to race up the stairs.

They had only climbed five steps when the bonedrake thrust its skull down the staircase. Lights blazed in its eye sockets and gullet.

"Back!" Cade shouted, leaping downstairs and tugging Amity with him.

Light gathered and beamed out from the bonedrake's jaws.

Cade and Amity fell to the floor and rolled aside.

The beam drove across the chamber and slammed into the opposite wall, melting the bricks, digging a hole into the stone. Cade grimaced, nearly deafened, nearly blind. He realized he had dropped his sword. He pushed himself against the wall beside the staircase, unable to stifle a scream as the light kept crashing into the chamber.

"Amity!" he shouted over the shrieking light. "Amity, are you there?"

Her cry rose from the other side of the beam. She too was pressed against the wall. "I'm here! Wait till the light dies and charge at it!"

But that light kept blazing. The bricks across the cellar melted and fell, and cracks raced across the ceiling. Cade had no chance to escape up the staircase, not without the beam searing him. He had no room to shift, not without the cellar walls crushing his dragon form. He and Amity were trapped.

He leaned down, grabbed a fallen bottle, and lobbed it up the staircase. The light washed across the glass, melting it. Cade winced and pushed himself back against the wall.

We're trapped.

Even as the light blasted into the cellar, the bonedrake's claws thrust down the stairs, digging ruts into the stone. Cade leaped aside but was too slow. One of the claws slashed his arm. He cried out and the claws kept digging, widening the opening, thrusting into the cellar and shattering bricks.

We're going to die here.

Cade pressed himself into the corner, weaponless, hopeless, as the claws and light moved toward him.

FIDELITY

They flew above the mountains, a charcoal dragon and a blue dragon, when they saw the bonedrake burrowing among the ruins.

"Stars," Fidelity whispered. Her heart sank and icy fear spread through her like frost through a hollowed oak.

For the first time in her life, she could see clearly, even in dragon form. Giant spectacles, each lens the size of a human head, rested upon her scaly snout. Old Master Feris Lensmaker, a wizened old man scuttling through his shop in New Confutatis, had made them for her. Fidelity had claimed they were for her firedrake, a pet which just happened to have the same level of nearsightedness. Whether Ferin had believed her story or not, she could not say, but in any case, he had made her these massive spectacles of metal and glass. Fidelity had lingered in New Confutatis for a full three days, waiting for the work to be completed, and she had paid with her last gold coins, but stars--the wait and cost had been worth it. Finally, to fly and see clearly! To see the mountains, the streams, the birds flying around her, and . . .

And our enemy, she thought, staring at the bonedrake again.

"Father!" she whispered urgently. The bonedrake had not yet seen them.

Korvin nodded and flew closer toward her. Smoke plumed up from his nostrils. Fidelity glided above him, lowered herself, and released her magic. She slapped down onto the gray dragon's back, clad in her old armor of the Horde, and scuttled forward to sit across his shoulders. She wore her smaller spectacles now--another pair she had bought in the city--and she carried a spear she had made herself from a branch. Dragonfire wasn't much use against bonedrakes. To kill those beasts, you needed a lance.

"A little closer," Fidelity said.

Beneath her, Korvin nodded and glided onward, descending toward the mountain where the bonedrake was rummaging. The fear clutched Fidelity's heart and squeezed. The bonedrake was digging for something in the ruins, its back turned toward Fidelity and Korvin. She prayed that the skeleton wasn't busy ripping apart the corpses of her fellow Vir Requis.

Korvin kept gliding down, silent in the wind--or at least, as silent as a burly old dragon could be. Fidelity hefted her spear. With her sword, she had sharpened its tip into a deadly point. She would get only one shot to thrust it between the creature's ribs. If her aim was off, if she missed the pulsing heart of light within the bonedrake, it would burn her and her father before they had a chance to flee.

They were only three hundred yards away, maybe even closer, when the bonedrake noticed them.

The great dragon skeleton spun around on the mountain, opened its jaws, and screeched. The sound waves pounded against Fidelity. They were so loud she nearly dropped her spear to cover her ears. Upon the bonedrake's spine, its rider--a human skeleton in rusty patches of armor--unhooked its jaw to scream too. Bony wings creaked, the skin upon them rotted and tattered, and the creature rose to fly toward Fidelity and Korvin. Light gathered in its chest, grew brighter, and blasted forth in a beam.

"Father!" Fidelity shouted.

Korvin banked and the beam blazed above them, narrowly missing Fidelity's head. Wind roared as Korvin swooped, claws raised.

"Spear him!" Korvin cried.

Fidelity clung to the dragon's back with her knees and raised her spear. She narrowed her eyes, prepared to thrust it into that glowing ball of light.

"Fly across it!" Fidelity cried. "By its ribs--"

With a crack, the bonedrake and dragon slammed together.

Fidelity screamed and nearly fell from Korvin's back, nearly dropping her spear. The bonedrake clawed at Korvin, raising sparks against the gray scales. Korvin bucked and lashed his own claws, and Fidelity screamed and nearly fell again. She scuttled forward, grabbed Korvin's horn with one hand, and rose to her feet.

The bonedrake opened its jaws below her, prepared to blast her with light.

Fidelity leaped off the dragon, arched through the air, and thrust her spear.

The pointed stick flew toward the bonedrake's ribs and the heart within . . . and glanced off bone. The stick tangled up between two ribs, missing the heart of light, then fell down toward the mountain.

Fidelity cursed, falling too. She summoned her magic and beat her dragon wings.

"Fidelity!" rose a cry. "Korvin!"

Fidelity looked up and her eyes watered. "Cade!" she cried. "Amity!"

Both seemed to have emerged from a hidden burrow below. Cade was soaring in dragon form, and Amity rode on his back in a saddle, holding a drawn saber.

The bonedrake screeched, left Korvin, and turned toward the new threat.

With a howl, Cade blasted forth dragonfire, blinding the bonedrake. The skeletal beast reared in the air, blindly blasting its ray of light.

Cade soared higher.

Still in human form, Amity leaped off Cade's saddle and landed on the bonedrake's spine. With a battle cry, Amity drove down her sword, thrusting the blade between the creature's ribs and into its beaming heart.

Light exploded across the world, tossing Fidelity into a tailspin.

She beat her wings, struggling to steady herself. When she was flying straight again, she saw bones raining down to sink into the snowy mountaintop. They were all that remained of the bonedrake and its rider.

"Cade," Fidelity whispered, flying toward him. Tears filled her eyes. The gold dragon flew toward her, and Fidelity couldn't stop herself. She shifted into human form, vaulted across the sky, and clung to his neck, embracing him and kissing his scaly snout.

The four Vir Requis landed together on the mountain by the two remaining columns of Draco Murus. They all returned to human forms.

"You"--Amity jabbed Fidelity's shoulder--"should have chosen a closer meeting place."

Fidelity nodded and began to explain about this place being secret and safe, but Cade pulled her into a crushing embrace, stifling her words, and soon they were all hugging one another, laughing, shedding tears, and talking together.

At first they talked about Domi.

"You haven't seen her?"

"I remember her flying off the coast of Terra! She was definitely over the water and alive, but then firedrakes . . ."

"She'll make her way here. Domi is strong. She'll survive."

They all spoke together, words intermingling--words of fear and hope.

Then they talked about Roen.

When Fidelity spoke of Roen's falling, the others fell silent. Cade and Amity both lowered their heads, and their embraces became hesitant, comforting, no longer joyous. And again Fidelity wept and missed him.

"He gave his life to save me," Fidelity whispered, throat tight. "To save the children of the Horde and to save the hope of Requiem."

"Fidelity, I'm sorry," Cade said, holding her. "I'm so sorry." His voice choked. "A light of Requiem had gone out."

They entered the cellar then, and finally . . . finally Fidelity spoke of the new fear in her heart, of the secret she had carried from New Confutatis.

She pulled out the page she had ripped from the book, and she spoke of demons.

KORVIN

As Fidelity spoke of what she had learned in Mythic Creatures of the Gray Age, describing armor made of demon hide, Korvin kept glancing at Amity.

The tall, fiery warrior had seemed happy enough to see him at first. She had nearly crushed him between her arms, kissing his stubbly cheek and speaking of her love for him. Yet now Amity seemed strangely awkward around him, strangely distant. As they all crowded inside the cellar, she kept staring down at her lap, and sometimes her eyes flicked over to Cade--for just an instant--before returning to Fidelity. Cade seemed even more uncomfortable. The boy twisted his fingers in his lap, and his eyes kept darting between the others, lingering on Amity a little too long.

They're hiding something, Korvin thought. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear they've been in each other's trousers.

That made him snicker. Amity was a dozen years older than Cade, and she was a dozen times stronger and braver. To her, Cade was no man but a mere boy.

Amity's eyes flicked toward Korvin again, then back to Fidelity. The warrior leaned toward the librarian. "So are you telling me, Fidelity, that . . . we need to summon a demon? Then strip off its scales for armor?"

"I read about it in a book." Fidelity pulled out another parchment page and unfolded it. "I . . . borrowed this one from a different book, a book about . . ." Her voice dropped to a whisper. " . . . about the occult. It describes how to summon demons. In the old days, thousands of years ago, many demons walked the earth. Whole armies of demons fought against Requiem. They're creatures of darkness, of unholiness, the antithesis to the light of the Spirit. They'll cancel out that godly light and protect us."

Amity snorted and drew her sword. "This protects me. Didn't you see how this blade crushed the bonedrake outside the mountain?"

Fidelity nodded and pushed her new spectacles up her nose. "I saw four dragons barely defeat a single bonedrake. And this is here in the wilderness. If Domi returns, and if we're to attack the Cured Temple, there will be hundreds, maybe thousands of bonedrakes there."

Korvin's jaw tightened. His daughter's choice of word stabbed him: if Domi returned. Not when but if.

Cade rose to his feet and began to pace the chamber. He cast a nervous glance toward Korvin again, seemed sheepish, then looked away. "Fidelity, I've read that part of Requiem's history in our old books. Armies of demons nearly destroyed Requiem. They killed so many dragons. And now you want to open a portal to the Abyss and let them out?" He clutched his hair. "We'd be unleashing an evil just as bad as--if not worse than--bonedrakes."

"Ah!" Fidelity raised her finger. "See, we won't summon the truly scary demons. Not the warlike, violent, terrible ones. In my book, I found a description of a perfect candidate to summon from the Abyss. The book calls them fireslugs."

Cade groaned. "Fireslugs?"

She nodded. "Yes! Do you remember Behemoth? Fireslugs are related to it. Big, huge creatures. Huge! With lots of skin to make armor from. But very slow and harmless. Basically massive scaly slug-like creatures the size of whales. Stupid ones too. Barely any more sense than a plant, in case you feel bad about killing and skinning one. No worse than killing a regular slug." Fidelity's spectacles slipped down, and she pushed them back up and gave her braid an excited tug. "The book describes how to seek out a fireslug and summon it up from the soil, sort of how rain summons up worms."

Cade bit his lip. "This all sounds too dangerous."

Amity pounded her fist into her palm. "This all sounds too complicated. The best defense is offense. I say we attack! Now, as we are. We'll crush every bonedrake in our way and burn the Temple."

"Not burn it." Cade shook his head, suddenly sounding sad. "Not with Eliana inside."

Everyone turned toward Korvin as if waiting for him to speak. Korvin looked at them, one after another. Cade, the boy who had become like a son to him, eager for the fight, full of grand dreams of Requiem's return. Fidelity, his eldest daughter, wise beyond her years, braver than many of the greatest warriors. And Amity . . . Amity, the first woman Korvin had dared to love since his wife had died, the woman who seemed so distant now, so hesitant around him, her headstrong words hiding pain and secrets he knew lurked beneath.

And among these lights, the dearest people in Korvin's world, were empty spaces. Julian of Old Hollow . . . fallen in fire over the capital. Roen, wise and strong, a lover to Fidelity and a great warrior for Requiem . . . fallen in the south. And Domi--his youngest child, dearest Domi--missing, perhaps dead. If Domi did not return, Korvin knew there would be a hole inside him he could never fill, a pain that would never heal.

Finally Korvin spoke.

"For every firedrake we've seen this winter, we've seen several bonedrakes. And they're growing more plentiful all the time. The bones of many more firedrakes are buried across the Commonwealth, and Beatrix will be reanimating them all to hunt us. They can smell out a Vir Requis even when we're in human forms. We've all seen them do it. They're deadlier than firedrakes too; they have no flesh to cut or burn. The light they blast out is deadlier than dragonfire. We've survived so far, but as the bonedrakes keep rising, more and more every day, we won't survive much longer." Korvin looked at the parchment page Fidelity held, describing the world of demons. "I would do as Fidelity suggests. Let us summon a demon. Let us kill it. Let us skin it. And let us build armor."

They all exchanged glances. Finally Cade tightened his lips, clenched his fists, and nodded. Amity rolled her eyes but nodded too.

"We'll begin tonight," Fidelity whispered.

FIDELITY

As darkness fell, they emerged from the cellar and stood among the ruins of Draco Murus, this ancient fortress of Requiem reduced to rubble. As the sun set behind the mountains, Fidelity stared south, waiting, hoping to see her on the wind . . . but Domi never arrived.

Where are you, Domi? Come back to me, sister. Do not leave me again. For years, Domi had lived away from their family, masquerading as the firedrake Pyre. Her brief return had filled Fidelity with joy, the joy of having a sister once more. I cannot bear to lose you again.

Fidelity tightened her lips. All she could do now was wait and hope and pray. Until Domi arrived, she would continue her fight.

"All right, everyone," Fidelity said. "I'm going to try to repeat the words in the book. They're written in Ancient Eteerian, which I've studied a little. I'll summon the demon from that valley there." She pointed down to a snowy valley. "It should be easy enough."

Cade grumbled under his breath. "Famous last words. I hope you don't end up summoning the entire unholy host of the Abyss."

Fidelity shook her head wildly. "Of course not. I'm going to summon only a fireslug. They're big but harmless. They can't hurt you any more than a real slug could."

"I'm not too fond of real slugs," Cade said. "Massive, scaled ones the size of a whale? Not a nice thought."

"Harmless," Fidelity insisted. "They're a food source in the Abyss, according to my book. Now shift into dragons! And be ready to blow your fire and roast the demon dead when it emerges. Don't worry, it's far less sentient than the cows and chickens we eat. Just . . . aim for the head. Don't damage the hide. We'll need that part."

The others obeyed. Cade shifted into a golden dragon, Korvin into a gray one, and Amity into the wild red beast. Each dragon flew over to stand on a different boulder, facing the valley.

Fidelity took a deep breath. Clutching the parchment, she walked down into the dale.

"Now . . ." She cleared her throat and stared at the parchment, trying to remember what she knew of Ancient Eteerian. She had spent a year as a child studying this dead language, wanting to read the old Eteerian epic poems about Issari, an Eteerian princess and Vir Requis. Yet Fidelity had not read this dead language in years.

All I can do is try.

She began to read.

The words felt like gravel in her mouth. Such a harsh, guttural language! Fidelity imagined that when the old Eteerians had spoken it, it had sounded quite melodious, but from her mouth it emerged discordant. She felt as if she were spitting out rusty bits of metal instead of words.

"Rise, crawler of fire!" she said. Or at least, Fidelity thought that's what she was saying. "Rise, fiery slug of the underground! With my blood and soul, I summon you to the surface!"

The sun was almost gone now. That was good; the book said that demons were most active at sunset. As detailed on the page, Fidelity began to walk across the valley. Using a stick, she drew in the snow, forming the shape of an eye inside a circle, ten feet across--an ancient symbol of the Abyss.

She kept crying out to the demon, hands raised above her head.

Nothing happened.

On their perches, the three dragons moved about restlessly. Fidelity refused to give up. She tightened her lips, wiped her brow, and tried again, repeating the words over and over.

Still no creature emerged.

Cade yawned. "You almost done there, Fi?" he called down to her.

"It's supposed to work," she mumbled. "I don't understand why the demon's not here."

"Maybe because it's a damn fairy tale!" Amity cried down from the boulder she stood on.

Fidelity stared up at the red dragon. "Bonedrakes are meant to be fairy tales too. Yet Beatrix summoned them. And I'm going to summon this creature. Hang tight. Let me start over again. I might have mispronounced a word or two."

Fidelity kicked snow over her drawing. With the sun now gone, the dragons let low flames burn in their maws, lighting the valley with an eerie red glow. The light could attract more bonedrakes, Fidelity knew. She'd have to work fast.

She started over.

Again Fidelity read from the page. "Rise, crawler of fire!" Her voice rang across the valley. "With my blood and soul, I summon you!"

She kept reading, drawing the symbol anew.

Again nothing happened.

Fidelity sighed.

"Just a myth," said Amity from her perch. "I told you."

Fidelity clasped her head. Just a myth? But . . . the rest of the books she had read were true! They spoke of Behemoth, Vir Requis, and bonedrakes, all creatures she knew were real. Why would the books lie about demons?

"It should work," Fidelity mumbled, pacing across the snowy valley. "Bloody Abyss, it should work, I--"

She froze.

She gasped.

Of course.

Bloody Abyss.

Fidelity laughed. "Of course!" she said. "One more time. Keep your fire burning."

Korvin spoke for the first time since emerging from the cellar. "Fidelity, the light can attract enemies, and--"

"Just one more time!" Fidelity said. "Please."

Blood, she knew, smiling. That was the answer.

She began the ceremony again, drawing the symbol anew, calling out the words again.

"Rise, crawler of the Abyss! Rise, fiery slug of the underground! With my blood and soul, I summon you!"

As she spoke that last sentence, Fidelity ran her sword against her palm. She let her blood drip into the snow--right in the center of the eye she had drawn.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

The three dragons grumbled and began to leave their boulders.

"Waste of time," Amity muttered, walking back toward the cellar.

"I'm sorry, Fidelity," Korvin said, then turned to leave too.

"Wait," Fidelity whispered. "Wait . . ."

She remained standing in the valley, confused, helpless. It should have worked!

"Come on, Fidelity," Cade said. "Let's go back inside." He too turned to leave.

But Fidelity remained standing outside, head lowered. She had spent days practicing these words, sure it would work. She had failed. How--

She swayed.

She blinked and frowned.

"Fidelity, come on!" Cade called to her from the staircase that led into the cellar. He had returned to human form. The others had already entered the chamber.

Fidelity stared down at her feet. In the dim moonlight, she saw the snow trembling.

"Wait," she whispered, then raised her voice to a shout. "Cade, wait!"

She swayed again. The mountain was shaking. The snow cascaded, and with a great sound like shattering stone, a crack appeared in the valley.

Fidelity leaped back.

A sinkhole opened up, swallowing the eye she had drawn, growing larger.

A creature was stirring below.

Fidelity's eyes widened. She gulped and held the page closer, struggling to read in the darkness.

"Rise, great digger of soil and metal! Rise into the world and taste freedom!"

With a roar that split the air, with claws that tore up rock and soil, the creature began to emerge.

"Stars above!" Cade cried and shifted back into a dragon. He beat his wings and soared. "Fidelity, stand back!"

But she was frozen in place, staring up with wide eyes.

By the stars.

She had imagined a great, scaled slug, something large and frightening but essentially still just a slug. What Fidelity saw, however, made her knees tremble and head spin.

The creature kept emerging from the earth. It was massive. Larger than three dragons and still crawling out. It had four legs--no, six!--each plump and tipped with claws. A cylinder thrust out from its head, its tip rimmed with teeth--some sort of elongated mouth, Fidelity thought. She saw no eyes, no nostrils. But strangest of all was the creature's body. That body was sluggish and fat and covered with translucent scales. She could see through those scales and the skin into the creature's innards. She saw no bones, no muscles, no veins, only floating bulbs of pale blue and white liquid, organs like colorful soap bubbles. Deep in its belly floated clumps of soil, rock, and snow the creature must have eaten. A heart beat within its chest, white and veined.

"Fidelity, back!" Cade cried again. He dived down, swept her aside with his wing, and blasted forth his dragonfire.

The jet crashed into the fireslug's head.

The creature screamed.

Fidelity fell into the snow, staring up at the blaze, and that scream tore through her. It sounded hurt. It sounded almost human. A scream of surprise, of pain.

You betrayed me! the fireslug seemed to cry. Why do you hurt me?

"Wait," Fidelity whispered, sitting in the snow.

More wings flapped. Korvin and Amity flew above now, and they too blasted down their dragonfire, hitting the creature's head. The fireslug flailed, its tail still in the hole. Its six pudgy limbs lashed out, too short to hit the dragons. Its head burned, and still it screamed. Inside its translucent body, Fidelity saw the floating balls of liquid boil and burst.

"Stop!" Fidelity said. "Wait, stop! Don't hurt it. Let it go, I changed my mind!"

The dragonfire died around her, but the creature's head still blazed. It turned that head toward Fidelity, and though it had no eyes, Fidelity could feel it looking at her. Feel its pain at her betrayal. Feel its fear.

"It's afraid," she whispered, eyes damp.

She approached the fireslug slowly as the fires died across it. The creature slumped down and placed its charred head in the snow, perhaps seeking relief from the pain. Its elongated mouth had burnt and shriveled up.

"I'm sorry," Fidelity whispered. She stepped closer and placed a hand against the great burnt head; it was larger than her entire human body. "I'm sorry, my friend. I didn't know you could feel pain. I--"

A shadow darted.

Amity leaped down from the air, back in human form, and drove her sword into the creature's soft head.

"No!" Fidelity screamed. She leaped forward and slammed into Amity, knocking the woman down into the snow. But she was too late. The fireslug gave a last whimper, a sound of pain, of longing, and Fidelity realized that it was speaking--actually speaking--in the language of Ancient Eteer.

"Mother," the demon whimpered, looking at Fidelity. "Mother . . ."

Then its head slumped down, the sword still buried within it, and it rose no more.

Fidelity wept. She rose to her feet, enraged, and shook Amity. "Why? Why did you do this?"

Amity shoved her back. "You told us to kill it!"

"I told you to stop hurting it!" Fidelity shouted. "It wasn't a mindless creature. It was smart! It was scared. It . . . it wanted me to help it."

Fidelity fell to her knees in the snow, overcome with grief.

Amity rolled her eyes, but Cade approached slowly and knelt by Fidelity.

"Are you sure, Fi?" the boy said softly. "It just looks like a big worm to me. Maybe worms just grow really large underground. I don't think it knew what hit it."

But Fidelity knew they would not understand. They had not felt its gaze. They had not understood its whimper, did not realize it was a word.

She rose to her feet, eyes damp, and marched toward the cellar.

Let the others skin it, she thought bitterly, eyes burning. I cannot see it. I cannot bear it.

She moved to the back of the cellar and stood facing the wall, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She too was scared. For Domi. For this world. For what she had done. She heard Amity laugh outside, and Fidelity knelt on the cold floor, lowered her head, and prayed to the stars for forgiveness.

MERCY

The bones of the dead flew across the land, risen from their graves, and for the first time in years, Mercy visited the grave of her daughter.

It was a clear winter morning, and though Mercy could imagine no enemies attacking in the cemetery, still she wore her armor. Her armor had never been merely steel to ward off blades or claws but a shell, a metal skin to hide the softness within. Encased in her steel, she walked between the naked oaks and birch trees. Icicles hung from the branches, and snow crinkled under her boots. The sky was pale blue, and thousands of tombstones rose around her, frosted and topped with snow. Statues of druids rose among them. It was a beautiful place, a peaceful place, but forever a place of pain and fear to Mercy.

This is where I buried my daughter.

As she walked here, she held her new babe in her arms. Wrapped in swaddling clothes, Eliana gazed around in wonder at the trees. The baby had grown so much larger since Mercy had first found her, and thick brown hair grew on her head. Mercy remembered that her first daughter had had brown hair--brown like Mercy's was before she had bleached it white and shaved off half in servitude of the Spirit.

Finally she found the grave.

One of the priests had suggested raising a great monument, Mercy remembered, but Beatrix had refused. A stillborn daughter was seen as weakness, a shame to hide away, and so the tombstone was simple, unmarked, unnamed.

But she wasn't merely stillborn, Mercy thought. She was murdered.

She winced, feeling that pain again--the pain of her husband's fists driving into her swollen belly. And again she could feel her blade thrusting into his belly. He was her first kill, and Mercy remembered marveling at how little resistance there was to a sharp blade, how the skin had given way like paper, and how the blood had splashed her, hot, coppery. She would never forget that smell. Never forget how easy it was to kill.

And she remembered coming here to this place, wrapped in a cloak, staring with dry eyes as they had buried her child.

"That was the day I gave up the priesthood," she whispered to Eliana. "That was the day I became a paladin, dedicated to fighting evil, to hunting murderers and heretics and weredragons. That was the day I stepped onto a path that led me to you, my daughter."

The baby gurgled and reached out her small, pudgy fingers. Mercy held her close, rocking her gently.

"I love you, little Eliana," Mercy whispered. "You are mine now. You will always be mine. You will grow to become a paladin too, then a High Priestess someday. The Cured Temple, the city, the entire empire will be yours. And you will grow up in a world without weredragons. I swear this to you. I'm going to find them. I'm going to find Cade and all the rest of them, and I will kill them. I will kill them all for you, my sweetness, so that the column will finally fall, so that the Spirit can descend into the world and fill you with his light."

Suddenly Mercy froze.

She stared down at the grave.

Fill you with his light.

Her legs began to shake. Her mother had raised the bones of dead firedrakes and dead paladins, giving them a glowing heart of the god's light. Could . . . could Beatrix raise her too, raise Mercy's daughter, fill her bones with light and . . .

"No," Mercy whispered. "Spirit, no."

She could not request this. Or could she? Would she dare to see it, the bones of her child animated, screeching, hunting . . . alive again?

Mercy felt tears on her cheeks. She wanted this. She wanted a life for the babe again, no matter how perverse. She was her daughter! Her daughter! She had seen Beatrix raising the dead before. Mercy could do it too. She knew how, she--

She spun around, shaking wildly.

"She's dead," she whispered, jaw clenched. "She's dead and we must forget her, Eliana. We must. We must. We will never think of her again. You are my only daughter now."

Before temptation could strike her again, Mercy marched out of the cemetery.

She walked through the city of Nova Vita. It was a harsh winter, and ice coated the cobblestones, and snow piled high upon the domes of huts, and everywhere she saw the bonedrakes. The creatures perched upon steeples, domes, and walls. They circled above in the sky, bones creaking, the light of the Spirit pulsing within them. Hundreds flew around the Cured Temple ahead, crying out their strange, unearthly cries, the voices of the dead. The dead had risen. The dead had come to fight for life.

And soon other bones would replace those torn from the earth. Soon she, Mercy Deus, would slay the weredragons. Soon the light, this light that thrummed within the ribcages of dead dragons, would fill the world, searing all evil, all pain, and all memory.

Mercy entered the Temple, entered her chambers, and laid Eliana down in her bed. Then she stood at the window, staring outside at the city, the snow, the countless bonedrakes that flew upon the wind.

"You're coming here, weredragons," Mercy whispered. "And you're with them, Gemini. I know this. And I'm waiting for you. Come to me, heretics. Come to die like Roen died. Like my daughter died. This is a city of bones, and that is what you will become: dead bones, dry and bleached in the sun." She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. "Nothing but bones."

DOMI

She was flying toward the mountains, her journey almost over, when twenty bonedrakes rose from the snowy peaks and flew toward her.

"More of the damn creatures!" Gemini shouted on her back. "Spirit damn it. Turn to escape, Domi! Fly away!"

Domi stared ahead in horror. She had been fighting and fleeing these creatures all across the skies of the Commonwealth. She had slain a few, fled from most, and her body still bore the wounds of those battles. And twenty--a full twenty!--now flew toward her. She had barely defeated the last single bonedrake to attack. She could not defeat this many.

"Domi, turn and fly away!" Gemini screamed from the saddle, spurring her. "What are you waiting for?"

Yet how could Domi flee now? Ahead were the Dair Ranin mountains! The ruins of Draco Murus lay there, the place where she was meant to meet the others. She had to reach those mountains. She had to find her sister, her father, Cade, and Roen. She couldn't flee. She--

The bonedrakes ahead flew closer, opened their jaws, and blasted their beams of light.

Domi screamed and soared higher, dodging the rays.

"Domi, turn around and fly back south!" Gemini cried. "Oh Spirit, Domi!"

She soared higher, trying to gaze toward the distant mountains. The bonedrakes came soaring up after her. On their backs, the skeletal paladins raised their lances. More beams of light shot forth, and Domi banked and swerved in the sky. One beam hit her tail, and she screamed in pain. She nearly fell but she forced herself to keep flying, to rise higher, to gaze toward the mountains.

"Fidelity!" she shouted. "Cade! Father! Can you hear me?"

The bonedrakes flew toward her, gaining on her, and she was flying too high, too high for Gemini to survive the cold thin air. She growled and swooped, swerving between beams of light, dodging bonedrakes that flew from every side.

"Fidelity! It's Domi! Are you here?"

She heard no reply, and Domi wanted to flee now, but it was too late. The bonedrakes surrounded her, moving closer on every side, cackling, prepared to shoot forth their light and slay her.

Roars.

Roars rose from the north, tearing across the sky.

Fire blazed.

Domi stared north and her eyes watered. She laughed in joy.

Four dragons came flying toward the battle, blowing dragonfire.

"Cade!" Domi cried out. "Sister! Father! Amity!"

The four came charging forward, their flames blasting against the bonedrakes. The undead dragons screeched, turned in the sky, and blasted their beams of light against this new threat.

Domi winced, expecting to see the beams sear through her fellow dragons. But she gasped. The beams indeed hit the dragons, but they did not burn them. The rays or light glanced off translucent armor like panes of glass. No, not glass but scales! Many transparent scales! The dragons seemed coated with this clear shield, and the light bounced off the scales to scatter in every direction, breaking apart.

The dragons kept flying, and their dragonfire crashed into the bonedrakes.

Domi blew her own dragonfire.

The bonedrakes screeched in the inferno but did not burn. Their bones thinned in the heat but did not crumble. The undead beasts burst out from the flames and shone their light again. Again the beams crashed against the invisible scales the dragons wore.

"Fly back, Quilty!" Cade cried. "We'll take care of them."

"Don't call me that, Goldy!"

The golden dragon flew high, turned in the sky, and plunged down toward a firedrake. Before he could hit the skeletal creature, Cade became a human again and thrust down a sharpened stick. The spear glanced off the bonedrake's spine, slid between its ribs, and pierced its heart of light.

The light exploded, shattering bones and sending ribs flying out. The bone fragments crashed down toward the mountains.

Across the battle, the other dragons were doing the same. They all landed onto bonedrakes, returned to human forms, stabbed the luminous hearts with spears, then flew again. They darted from bonedrake to bonedrake, and the beams of light kept bouncing off their glassy armor.

"Gemini, your lance!" Domi shouted.

"Let the others take care of it!" Gemini shouted back.

"Your lance or I'm going to burn you!"

Domi growled and shot forward. She wore none of that magical armor--whatever it was made of--but she would not shy away from a fight. She roared as she shot toward a bonedrake, skirting its beam of light. A second before she could crash into the beast, Domi swerved to fly past it.

"Your lance!" she shouted.

From her saddle, Gemini thrust the weapon.

The lance drove between the bonedrake's ribs and into its glowing heart. Domi soared as the light exploded, scattering bones.

All across the sky, more hearts burst and more bones crashed down toward the mountains.

Finally the sky was cleared. All the bonedrakes lay below upon the snowy mountaintops as piles of bones.

The dragons spiraled downward, landed on a snowy peak, and returned to human forms, and Domi knew nothing but embraces, tears, laughter, joy, and family.

"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm finally here."

They took turns pulling her into their arms, nearly crushing her, laughing, weeping, speaking of their love. Domi lowered her head and wept to hear of Roen's passing, and she hugged her family again, and their warmth and love filled her. She knew that for the rest of her life she would remember this moment--a reunion, a gathering, all the Vir Requis in the world gathered in their ancient homeland for the first time.

"We stand on the old holy ground of Requiem," Domi whispered. "All of us. For this moment, here on this mountain, Requiem lives."

Then she laughed as Fidelity tugged her back into an embrace, and they all fell into the snow, gazed up at the sky, and for a brief morning they knew peace, and they knew joy.

"Thank the stars you're here, Domi," Cade whispered, lying at her side. He kissed her cheek. "I was so worried."

She held him, resting her head against his shoulder. "Sweet little Goldy." Tears stung her eyes, and she remembered making love to him so long ago--only months ago, yet it felt like the passage of eras. "You always worry too much." She squeezed his hand. "I was worried too. I love you, Goldy. You know that, right?"

Cade squeezed her hand back. "I love you too, Quilty. Always."

As she lay in the snow, her sister to one side and Cade to the other, Domi turned her head, and she saw that Gemini stood apart from the others. The young paladin, unable to become a dragon, was clenching his fists, and his eyes burned with rage, jealousy, hatred.

"Gemini?" Domi said. "Gemini, we found them! We're together now. We can fight together now. Gemini?"

The outcast paladin said nothing. He turned away and walked a few paces down the mountain. He stood staring south, and when he finally turned back, his eyes were red, and his lips trembled.

"Enough of this," Gemini said, and his voice cracked. "I didn't fly here to see this. We are together now, and we must fly. Fly to war. To crush the bonedrakes around the Temple." His fists shook. "I have no family waiting for me, no family to embrace me or cry for me." He smiled a cruel, twisted smile. "But I will see my family again . . . and I will kill them."

Domi approached him slowly. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let us be your family," she whispered.

Gemini snorted and shoved her hand away. "I don't need your pity. Remember this, Domi." He raised his voice to a shout. "Remember this all of you! I am your lord! I will rule the Temple, and only by my grace will you have a kingdom. Now shift, fly! I order you!" He laughed bitterly even as tears flowed down his cheeks. "The time for hiding has ended. It's time to fly to the capital and to blow our dragonfire."

KORVIN

As the others huddled in the cellar, drawing up their plans of attack on the Cured Temple, Korvin stood outside upon the snowy mountaintop and stared south.

They each had their own reasons to fight, Korvin knew. Fidelity fought for her dream of rebuilding Requiem, the legendary land she had spent her life reading about, dreaming about, and she fought for Roen, for the memory of her fallen beloved. Domi fought for her years of pain, a firedrake enslaved in the Temple, beaten and whipped and spurred. Cade fought for revenge, the death of his stepparents still burning inside him, and for a chance to save Eliana, the babe kidnapped and imprisoned in those marble halls. Amity too fought for revenge--for the death of her parents, for the death of her army, countless lives lost in the Horde.

And what do I fight for? Korvin thought as the snowy wind whipped his cloak.

He stared across the mountains. Between the two remaining columns of Draco Murus, he could see leagues of snowy peaks and valleys beneath a cloudy sky. Beyond that horizon, only a day and night's flight away, rose the Cured Temple. And within that crystal palace she waited.

"Beatrix," he whispered.

Staring into the flurries, Korvin remembered that summer. It had been almost thirty years ago, but it still seemed so recent to Korvin. He could recall every detail with a clarity so real he seemed to relive it. Once more, he was a young soldier, not much more than a boy, and she was a bright-eyed priestess. Once more, he was saving her from the mob, suffering their stones against his armor. Once more, he spent a dizzying summer with Beatrix--walking with her through the gardens, making love to her in the night, whispering of their dreams.

"I love you, Korvin," Beatrix whispered to him on a hot summer night decades ago. She lay naked in his arms, their bodies sweaty and sticking together. "My soldier. My brave warrior."

Korvin had kissed her, vowed to always love her. "I will always be your soldier. I will always fight for you. I will always love you."

Standing on the mountain, Korvin lowered his head and clenched his fists.

And I did love her . . . until I saw the madness within.

Perhaps Beatrix had always been mad, had always hidden a rotted core. Perhaps the life in the Temple, the cruelty of her parents, the searing light of the Spirit had driven her mad. When Korvin had seen that madness, seen her lust to slay weredragons, he had revealed his secret.

"I am one of them!" he cried to her, voice torn. "I am one of those you want to hunt!"

And she had screamed.

And she had drawn her sword.

And she had tried to kill him--the one she had vowed to forever love.

"I fled you then," Korvin whispered, jaw tight, the snow stinging his eyes. "I married another." Tears burned in his eyes. "And you murdered her. You could not kill me so you killed her--a way to hurt me, to kill my soul if you could not kill my body."

In his memories, he could see Mishal again--sad, wise Mishal, the potter's daughter, the bride he had chosen, the mother to his daughters. The memories rose before him in the flurries: Mishal, a veil hiding her dark hair, holding his hands and whispering her vows on their wedding day; Mishal, smiling yet always a little wistful, a little sad, tending to their home and garden; Mishal holding their daughters, the toddler Fidelity and the babe Domi, radiant and fully joyous for the first time in her life; Mishal crying out, bleeding, dying, Beatrix's sword in her chest.

"I'm sorry, Mishal," Korvin whispered. "I miss you. I love you always. And I will keep fighting for our daughters. I will avenge you, and I will rebuild the kingdom our daughters deserve."

As if summoned by his words, those daughters emerged from the cellar and came to stand beside him on the mountaintop. Both had removed their Terran armor, discarding the old leather and iron. Instead, over their tunics and leggings, they wore the fireslug's scales. The armor was translucent, revealing itself only when the sun caught it. Korvin wore his own suit of the demonic scales. With the sunrays bouncing off them, it left him even colder than before, but he knew it would protect him from bonedrake light.

"We're ready, Father," Domi said.

Fidelity shifted her weight from leg to leg. "Are you sure we should do this? We could keep printing our books. Keep fighting in shadows. Keep--"

"I'm sure," Domi said. "We must strike at the Temple's heart." She turned toward Korvin. "We're ready. Right, Father?"

No, we're not ready, he wanted to say. No, I'll never be ready to fly with you, my daughters, to war. I'll never be ready to risk your lives, to risk seeing Beatrix kill you like she killed your mother. He looked at his daughters--a bespectacled bookworm and a wild, red-haired sprite--and Korvin knew that neither could he let them languish here. Neither could he let them become like he was--jaded, aging in exile, a soul without a home.

"We're ready," he said.

The others emerged from the cellar to join them. Gemini lolloped as he walked, wearing two suits of armor--the paladin's white steel and above it, translucent and shimmering, the armor of fireslug hide. Amity and Cade had both doffed their old armor, and they wore their invisible scales over their tunics. They all carried swords and spears.

The others gathered around Korvin, staring silently as he spoke.

"A hundred years ago, the Cured Temple rose to wipe out the magic of Requiem, to tear out our magic with tillvine or slay those who resisted. For a hundred years, the last Vir Requis lived in hiding as the Temple hunted us, seeking to kill the last of us, to bring about the Falling. For all our lives, we here--the last Vir Requis--have been hunted, scared. We've seen friends and family murdered. We've seen our homes destroyed. We've seen evil rise from underground to crush the world in an attempt to slay us. And now, for the first time in a century, we have a chance to bring Requiem back to life." Korvin turned toward Gemini. "We have a scion of the Temple willing to grant us a kingdom--a small kingdom but a kingdom nonetheless, a safe haven. Requiem."

Gemini nodded. "Requiem will be yours once you kill Beatrix and Mercy."

Korvin turned toward the others. "In two days is winter solstice, and Beatrix--as she does every year--will speak from the balcony of the Temple to the crowd. We cannot walk into the city in disguise, not with bonedrakes sniffing for us; they can smell a Vir Requis from miles away. We'll fly as dragons, cutting through whatever drakes fly our way, be they of fire or bone. And we will burn Beatrix down."

Amity pounded her fist into her palm. "Burn her with fire!"

Gemini sneered. "Burn her slowly so she has time to scream."

Even Fidelity and Domi seemed eager for the fight, and their eyes shone.

Cade, however, wrung his hands and spun from side to side. "No," the boy said. "No, this plan won't work. We can't just . . . just show up roaring fire and burn the Temple. Not with Eliana inside."

Korvin laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "We won't burn down the whole Temple. We'll only be attacking Beatrix on the balcony. A pinpoint attack."

But Cade seemed more distraught than ever. "And if you kill Beatrix, they'll kill Eliana! She's their captive, Korvin. Their captive! If we attack and Eliana is still in their hands . . . oh stars, they'll kill her before we land. Just to hurt us. We have to save Eliana first. We have to get her to safety before we attack."

Everyone began talking at once. Amity kept trying to reassure Cade that the baby would be safe, while Fidelity and Domi acknowledged that Cade was right, and Korvin tried to get everyone to calm down and speak in turn. Only Gemini remained silent throughout the conversation, standing to the side.

Finally the young lord spoke, softly. "I know where she is."

Everyone was still talking. Only Korvin seemed to hear.

"I know where Eliana is!" Gemini repeated, louder now.

Cade spun toward him. Slowly the conversation died down, and all eyes turned to Gemini.

The paladin continued, voice low. "I've seen the babe. Mercy adores her. She calls Eliana her daughter now. She keeps the babe in a crib in her bedchamber by the window. I know which window it is. I could recognize it even from outside the Temple." He turned toward Cade. "Eliana is Mercy's dearest prize--a prize I would love to take from her. You and me, Cade. The two lost brothers of the Temple. We will fly to that window together. As the others blow their dragonfire and Beatrix screams, we will snatch Eliana away from Mercy's grip." He drew his sword. "And if Mercy is there and puts up a fight, I will gladly shove this steel into her heart."

Korvin nodded. "We begin our journey this morning. Let us shift into dragons."

"Wait," Fidelity said. "Before we fly, let us pray." She looked up toward the sky. "I can't see the stars through daylight and cloud, but they're up there. Let us pray for their light." She took a deep breath and began to sing softly, the song from The Book of Requiem, the most ancient prayer of their people. "As the leaves fall upon our marble tiles, as the breeze rustles the birches beyond our columns, as the sun gilds the mountains above our halls--know, young child of the woods, you are home, you are home." Tears streamed down Fidelity's cheeks, and their voices all rose together. "Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."

Fidelity shifted into a dragon first. She wore her oversized spectacles, the lenses the size of dinner plates. Above her blue scales lay armor of transparent fireslug scales like more lenses. Domi shifted next, her scales all the shades of autumn leaves, and she too wore the glassy armor. New scales were growing over her old tenderspots, still thin but hardening into orange plates, and Gemini wore no spurs when he climbed onto her saddle. Amity then shifted, becoming a wild red dragon, her scales chipped, her belly covered with scars, her wings long and tipped with cruel claws, and she tossed back her head and blasted fire skyward with a roar. Cade followed, becoming a golden dragon, his eyes--once eager and full of light--now somber.

The four dragons stared at Korvin--the last dragons in the world. And finally Korvin shifted too, became a burly dragon, the largest among them, his scales heavy and dark gray like plates of iron. Like the others, he wore transparent armor over his scales. He stared at them, and he spoke in a low, rumbling voice.

"We are the last dragons of Requiem. We fly to our final stand--to death or to rebirth. For Requiem."

"For Requiem!" the others cried out.

They took flight together. Requiem's five last dragons rose into the sky and flew across the mountains, fire in their mouths, the prayer of Requiem in their hearts. They flew south--to the Cured Temple and to the column that rose within, the pillar of their kingdom, the beacon guiding them home.

BEATRIX

She stood outside the city before the charred weredragon skeletons: Julian and Roen, diseased traitors, now nothing but bones.

"You flew against me," Beatrix whispered to the skeletons. They were human skeletons, but she knew them to be the bones of weredragons. "Death is too kind a fate for weredragons."

She raised her eyes and stared toward the distant city of Nova Vita, capital of her empire, center of her power. She stood several miles away, but even from here, Beatrix saw the Cured Temple shining like a beacon, hiding within it a rotted bone--the column that locked the Spirit out of the world. But already the column's power was waning. With every weredragon death, the column weakened, rotting from within, and already tendrils of the Spirit were working their way into the world, letting the bones of firedrakes fly again.

"Please raise these bones too, my lord." Beatrix raised her eyes to the heavens. "They too will fight for you. Only five weredragons remain, my lord. Only five more to kill, and King's Column will shatter, and then your true glory will bathe me, my lord. Then your beautiful light will shine across the world, and all will kneel before you." She raised her hands. "Grant me the power to fight them, my lord! Grant me your light so that I may raise warriors for your army!"

She felt the light fill her, shine in her eyes, coil within her breast, cold and cutting and beautiful, making her scream in pain and ecstasy. The light gathered in her palms, sending out tendrils. Beatrix held out her hands toward the two blackened weredragon skeletons.

"I summon your souls, weredragons!" she cried. "I will not let you rest. Return to your bones! Return and rise before me!"

At first they fought her. The souls resisted as Beatrix tugged them. She felt them struggling, pulling back, trying to hide from her. Yet she would not let go.

"You will rise, weredragons!" she shouted, the light pulsing out from her. "You cannot resist the light of my lord. Rise, bones! Rise, souls! Shine!"

They screamed, a torn sound that rose from charred jaws. Beatrix tugged with all her might, screaming too, laughing, loving the pain. And slowly, creaking, shedding scraps of burnt skin, the two human skeletons rose.

Beatrix raised her arms, and the skeletons levitated from the ground, shreds of burnt flesh dangling off them. One skeleton was short, the other tall. Julian. Roen. Two outlaws. Two weredragons, father and son. They thrashed in the air, jaws opened, crying out with hatred and pain. Beatrix thrust forth her light, and the strands invaded their ribcages and coiled within, thrumming, weaving tightly knit hearts.

Their screams rose louder as she claimed them, as the Spirit's light made them her own.

"You will fight for the Spirit!" Beatrix shouted, laughing. "You will fight against your own kin, and you will slay them, and they too will become bonedrakes. They too will serve the Spirit even in death. Shift, weredrakes! Shift into your dragon forms and fly!"

With the Spirit's light within them, they were powerless to resist her. The two human skeletons cried out in anguish . . . and shifted.

Long bones sprouted from their shoulder blades, tipped with claws, becoming wings. Their tailbones lengthened into whipping, spiked tails. Their skulls sprouted horns, and their torsos morphed, grew, curved. They beat their rotted wings and rose into the sky--two dragon skeletons, the light of the Spirit shining in their eye sockets. Bonedrakes. Weredrakes.

"My servants," Beatrix whispered.

The firedrake Beatrix had ridden here, a graceful female named Keera, yelped behind her. Beatrix approached the beast, stroked her lavender scales, and climbed into the saddle.

"Do not fear them, Keera," Beatrix said. "They will be our greatest warriors." She smiled thinly. "The weredragons will come to me. I do not doubt it. I know Korvin. He will seek to fly against me this winter solstice. He will seek to kill me like I killed that whore he married. And his friends will await him."

She drove her spurs so deep into Keera's tenderspots that the firedrake yowled in pain. Keera beat her wings and took flight, heading back toward the city.

"Fly with me, weredrakes!" Beatrix cried.

The dragon skeletons cried out in hatred. Their jaws opened, and they blasted out white jets--a blend of dragonfire and the Spirit's holy light. The pale flames roared across the sky, beautiful to behold. The weredrakes hated her, Beatrix knew, but they could not resist. The Spirit would not release them. They flew at her sides, a guard of honor.

"You will fly with them, Korvin, my love," Beatrix whispered into the wind. "And you will fly with us too, Cade, my precious son. All weredragons will die, burn to bones, then rise again with the light of the Spirit."

They flew over the fields where the forest of Requiem had once spread. Those birches were gone now, their legends long forgotten. They flew over the city walls and the many clay domes of Nova Vita, the city where the weredragons had once festered. Their marble halls were long gone. They flew toward the Cured Temple, a palace of crystal and glass, its round base sprouting up many curving shards, hundreds of feet tall, like a comet fallen to the world. King's Column rose within that temple, a last memory of Requiem, a memory soon to shatter.

And everywhere around the Temple flew the bonedrakes.

Hundreds of the beasts circled the temple like buzzards, dug up from their graves, filled with holiness, crying out to the sky, warriors of the Spirit waiting to greet their god as he descended into the world. It was a graveyard in the sky, a graveyard the weredragons would join.

Beatrix flew above the temple. The curving shards flared below like sabers, glass and crystal and metal, gleaming in the sun.

"Perch upon this crown, weredrakes!" she said. "This will be your aerie, and here you will wait . . . wait for your friends to arrive."

Julian and Roen screeched and obeyed, landing upon the thrusting shards of crystal like birds upon blades. They clutched their perches with naked claws, tossed back their heads, and blasted out their fire--twin beacons of white, holy light, calling the weredragons home.

DOMI

So many times, Domi had flown this route among firedrakes, bearing Lady Mercy on her back. So many times, she had seen Nova Vita and the Temple rising from the distance and seen a home, a place where she could live as a dragon, wild and strong. So many times, she had flown here with pain in her heart, knowing that the spurs, the whips, the cellar underground meant she was forever a prisoner, even as a dragon, even as the great Pyre who bore tyrants on her back.

Now again Domi flew across the fields toward that distant city that lay beyond the horizon. But this time, she did not fly with firedrakes, those mindless dragons whose human forms had been removed.

Now she flew with the dragons of Requiem.

She looked to her right. Fidelity flew there, her dear sister, a blue dragon Domi loved deeply. Throughout her childhood and youth, Domi had always felt scared, confused, angry, a lost child in a world that wanted to slay her. Fidelity had always been an anchor of stability, of wisdom, as pure and tall and strong as King's Column itself. Fidelity had always understood all those things Domi could not: the meaning of Requiem, the legends and histories, the songs and prayers, the hope that had always filled the librarian's heart but eluded Domi.

I ran from you, my sister, and I hid for many years as Pyre, but I love you. I love you more than the stars above and the fallen forests of our kingdom.

Domi turned to her left, and she saw her father flying there, a charcoal dragon twice her size. If there was anyone stronger and wiser than Fidelity, she thought, it was their father. And Domi knew that throughout even her wild days Korvin had loved her, sought to protect her. She knew that he would love and protect her for as long as they lived. She could not think of a better dragon to lead them to this battle.

Finally Domi looked below her. Amity and Cade both flew a hundred feet down, her long and red, him lithe and gold. Domi did not know the red dragon well, but she saw Amity as a heroine, as a strong warrior like Domi wanted to become, proud and fearless, a true heroine. As for Cade . . . Domi's heart softened a little to see him, and some of her fear faded. Cade was so earnest, so eager to prove his worth and fight against evil, that he perhaps gave Domi more comfort than all the rest of them. Throughout the past year of hardship, Domi had often found comfort in thinking of Cade. She had found an angry, frightened boy in a village, and she had seen him grow into a man--a man she loved.

I'm glad to be flying with you, Cade, she thought, gazing at him.

She stared ahead at the sky and land. The Dair Ranin mountains rolled below, sloping down toward the plains. The sun set over western forests, the wilderness where the ancient Vir Requis had first risen thousands of years ago. The stars emerged above. The winter night was clear, and the Draco constellation shone upon her. Domi stared up at that celestial dragon, and for the second time in her life, the second time in only a day, Domi prayed to those stars.

Please, stars of Requiem, if you can hear my prayers, help us in this battle. The hope of Requiem rests on a knife's edge. If we fall, so will King's Column. If we perish, so will all memory of Requiem. Please, stars, light our path this battle. Give us strength.

It seemed to her like the dragon constellation was watching her. The eye of the dragon, Issari's Star, shone brighter than the others, silvery and comforting, though Domi did not know if she imagined that comfort or if the stars could truly hear.

Perhaps they're nothing but lights, she thought. Perhaps they're simply distant lanterns with no consciousness or pity.

The stars dipped above, then grew brighter.

Domi narrowed her eyes and gasped.

Had the stars heard her prayer? Were they giving her a sign?

She stared ahead, gasping. Many stars were moving now, streaming across the sky, growing brighter and brighter, and she could hear a shrill whistling, and--

Her heart seemed to freeze.

She sucked in breath and cried out, "Bonedrakes!"

Twenty or more flew from the distance. These were not stars but the bright, pale hearts of the beasts. Their screeches rose louder, tearing across the sky. Beams of their light shot across the sky. Though the creatures were still miles away, the beams blazed past Domi and the others. One shot so close above Domi, she was almost blinded, could feel the searing heat against her back.

"We have to hide!" Gemini cried on her back, digging his heels into Domi's flanks.

She ignored the paladin. She reared in the sky, clawed the air, and roared. "Requiem, to war!"

The cries rose around her as four other dragons roared. "Remember Requiem!"

Five dragons streamed across the sky, crying out. "Requiem, Requiem!"

The bonedrakes streamed forth toward them.

The dragons charged.

Blasts of light shot out, and the dragons scattered, dodging the beams. One ray shot right beneath Domi, and she leaped upward, then dived down, avoiding a second beam. Light shone to her left, and she banked right hard. Gemini clung to her back, crying out wordlessly. And still beams kept shooting out, and still Domi and the others flew.

She was only a few hundred yards away when three beams all blasted together toward her.

Domi dipped, dodging one, and swerved left, avoiding another.

The third beam slammed into her chest.

She cried out, expecting pain, but the beam shattered against her glassy armor, blasting out in smaller rays in all the colors of the rainbow. Across the sky, the other dragons flew closer, no longer able to dodge every ray of light. The beams hit their translucent armor too, breaking apart. Lines of red, blue, green, yellow, and purple shot across the sky as the light scattered.

The dragons kept charging, roaring.

They blasted forth their fire.

The flames slammed against the bonedrakes, and the creatures screeched horribly, knocked back in the sky.

But without flesh to burn, the bonedrakes kept flying. They emerged from the flames, charred but still flapping their wings, and the riders on their backs--paladin skeletons in rusty armor--aimed their lances.

"Requiem, arrows!" Korvin roared.

Together, the five dragons soared higher, then released their dragon magic.

They fell through the sky. With Domi's saddle shifted into her human form, Gemini fell with her.

Beams of light hit them, glancing off their armor.

They fell below the bonedrakes and raised bows. They nocked arrows. They fired.

Several arrows missed their targets. Another glanced off a bonedrake's rib. But one arrow--Domi's own--hit true. It slid between a bonedrake's ribs and into its heart.

The light exploded.

The bonedrake shattered.

"Into dragons!" Korvin shouted.

They shifted back into dragon forms and soared. Domi grabbed Gemini before he could fall and tossed him back into the saddle. She kept rising higher. Above, the bonedrakes swooped, light blasting out, scattering off the dragons' armor.

"Fire!" Korvin cried.

Dragonfire blasted skyward in five pillars, crashing into the beams of light, exploding, washing over the bonedrakes, blinding the creatures.

Dragons and bonedrakes slammed together.

Scales and bones cracked. Jaws bit. Claws lashed. Blasting fire and whipping their tails, the five dragons burst through the crowd of bonedrakes and rose toward the stars.

"Arrows!" Domi cried out, releasing her magic.

She tumbled down as a human, growling as the wind whipped her cloak and hair. The bonedrakes flew up toward them, and the five Vir Requis--all falling in human forms--fired down their arrows.

Two more bonedrake hearts shattered and blasted out their light.

An instant later, the Vir Requis shifted back into dragon forms and slammed onto the surviving bonedrakes. Domi roared, clinging to the back of one creature. From the saddle, Gemini thrust down his lance, piercing another heart. To their right, Korvin lashed his tail, shattering a bonedrake's ribs and driving bone shards into its heart. Farther back, the others were shifting back and forth between human and dragon forms, firing arrows, piercing more hearts.

Light exploded across the sky like collapsing stars as, one after the other, the bonedrakes shattered and fell in a hailstorm of bones.

Domi roared as she fought, laughed as she slew the creatures, bathing them with fire, slamming against them and letting Gemini spear their hearts from the saddle. The beams of light glanced off her, and even as their claws wounded her, Domi laughed, for she was a warrior of Requiem, triumphant and proud, no longer fighting for the Cured Temple but for her true homeland.

Tonight, she knew, Pyre truly died. Tonight, even in dragon form, she was purely Domi of Requiem.

She slew the last bonedrake with a great swipe of her tail, shattering its ribs and heart. It scattered down as bone fragments, and Domi bucked in the sky, roaring and clawing the air.

"Requiem!" she cried.

The other dragons gathered around her, some wounded, but their eyes all shone for victory.

"We fly on," Domi said. "To the south. To dawn. To the city of Nova Vita and its Temple. To Requiem."

They flew on through the sky, leaving only clouds of smoke behind. The stars shone above.

AMITY

At dawn they saw Nova Vita ahead.

Amity snarled and summoned fire into her maw.

You're there, Beatrix, she thought. And I'm coming for you.

Amity had never seen Nova Vita before with her eyes, but she had seen it countless times in her dreams. Every night for years, she flew toward this city with the Horde, flew here with griffins and salvanae, flew here leading a great army that spread across the landscape below, an army of chariots and horses and many marching troops.

Now she flew here with only four other dragons. Now she flew here with the army of Requiem. She bared her teeth. And now I would have it no other way.

Nova Vita was a vast city. Even in her dreams, Amity had never imagined a city could be this large. It sprawled even wider than the great tent settlement of Hakan Teer. Hundreds of thousands of people must have lived here, so many souls it spun Amity's head.

Once they were all children of Requiem, she thought. Once they all had the magic--the magic the Temple tore from them.

Countless huts rose across the city, simple clay dwellings with domed roofs. Streets snaked between them, cobbled and quiet in the morning light. As humble as these buildings were, the palace that rose in the city's center was grand. The Cured Temple. Amity had never seen this building before, but she recognized it at once from the tales. The center of the faith's power. Here did Beatrix dwell. From this place, the High Priestess had stretched out her long arm to strike at the Horde. And in this place, Amity swore, the High Priestess would die.

She glanced up at the sky.

"Clouds are thin," she muttered to Korvin.

The dark gray dragon glided at her side. He stared up with her. "They'll have to do. We're not turning back now. Every day, Beatrix musters more bonedrakes. We kill her today, clouds or no clouds."

Korvin rose higher, gesturing for the others. They all ascended until they flew above the thin layer of clouds. They kept darting back and forth, avoiding openings in the cloud cover, trying to keep themselves hidden for as long as possible, to get as close as they could before the bonedrakes sensed them.

Amity looked at Korvin again. "You sure Beatrix will be on her balcony this dawn?"

He nodded. "It's the morning of winter solstice. The High Priestess always speaks to the crowds this day. She will deliver a great speech of victory, boasting of defeating the Horde . . . and then we will descend upon her with dragonfire."

His jaw clenched with rage, and his eyes narrowed. Amity looked at him.

He loved her once, she thought. He loved Beatrix. How must it feel to fly against one you love? How must it feel--that the woman he loved betrayed him, that she rules an army that hunts him?

A pang twisted Amity's heart, and she winced.

I too betrayed him.

Her secret weighed heavily on her heart. The shame flooded Amity, even here and now, only moments from battle. She had drunk too much brandy. She had been so scared, thinking Korvin dead. She had lain with Cade, seeking some comfort before a death she had thought unavoidable. Yet now, looking at Korvin, Amity realized how much she loved this charcoal dragon, this gruff man, how big a mistake she had made. No, she was not married to Korvin. No, she had never sworn any vows to him. Yet she loved him--truly, fully, eternally. And she had betrayed him.

I'm sorry, Korvin. I'm so sorry. Tears burned in her eyes, tears of shame, of disgust at herself.

She turned aside and looked at Cade. The golden dragon flew at her side. Gemini now rode on his back instead of Domi's; the brothers would fight together this day. Cade met Amity's eyes, and she saw the pain in him too, the shame he too felt. The gold dragon looked away quickly. Amity knew that they would never speak of that night.

If we survive today, she vowed, I will become a different woman. No longer wild and reckless but strong, loyal. If we survive, I will marry you, Korvin. She growled. So we better survive.

Through a patch of clouds, she saw herself approaching the walls of the city.

"Higher!" Korvin whispered and soared, gesturing for the others to follow. They obeyed, ascending so high the city houses looked like mere toys. From down there, the five dragons would look like distant specks, perhaps eagles far above, perhaps firedrakes. They kept flying. The clouds thinned and Amity saw the walls directly below now. Firedrakes, small beads of color from up here, sat upon the ramparts. The five dragons flew above those walls and glided over the city, heading toward the Temple.

And still no bonedrakes rose.

"Where are they?" Amity whispered.

Were all the bonedrakes scouring the wilderness, none left to guard the city? Did Beatrix not even bother protecting the sky above her own home?

The dragons kept gliding above, peering at the city through holes in the cloud cover. Soon Amity found herself flying over what had to be the fabled Square of the Spirit. It was a massive place, and countless people filled it, mere specks from up here. Amity thought that more people filled that square than all the fallen warriors of the Horde. The vast crowd stood facing the Cured Temple, that great palace of light and crystal.

They're waiting for Beatrix to emerge, Amity thought, her chest tightening.

Horns blared below.

The crowds cheered.

Amity sucked in her breath and let fire fill her maw.

"Beatrix emerges," she whispered.

She glanced at the other dragons. They stared back. Fire kindled between their teeth. Upon Cade's back, Gemini hefted his spear.

The five dragons tilted together and began to dive.

KORVIN

They swooped from the sky, five comets of fury and fire, roaring down toward the Temple.

Amity dived at Korvin's right-hand side, snarling--the woman he loved. Fidelity and Domi flew to his left, sisters of fire--his daughters. Cade veered in the sky, Gemini on his back, heading toward the back of the Temple, the place where Eliana would be kept.

But now, Korvin put all thoughts of others aside. He no longer thought of his lover, his daughters, of the babe to rescue. He no longer thought of the souls of the fallen Vir Requis, of the ghosts of Requiem crying out from the earth. He thought of but one soul now, of one task.

He thought of Beatrix.

And he thought of how he'd burn her.

The four dragons plunged downward, the wind shrieking around them, and readied their fire. The crowd below saw them, pointed up, and screamed. Still no bonedrakes flew. Upon the Temple balcony, a figure stared up, wrapped in white.

Beatrix.

Korvin gathered his fire.

On the balcony, Beatrix raised a small bundle.

Korvin's heart felt like it could shatter.

"Wait!" he shouted just as the other dragons began roaring down their flame. He shoved them aside, diverting their jets of fire away from the balcony. The streams washed harmlessly across the Temple walls.

On the balcony, Beatrix smiled, holding up a baby.

Eliana, Korvin knew.

"Die, Beatrix!" Amity screamed. Dodging Korvin's desperate attack to stop her, the red dragon swooped farther down, stretching out her claws.

A hundred beams of light blasted skyward, scattering the flames and washing over the dragons.

Korvin howled in pain.

He still wore his demon armor, but this light was so intense, overflowing every part of him, blazing against his eyes, searing his horns, his wings. He cried out in pain, and he heard Amity and his daughters scream too. He stared down through narrowed eyelids, struggling to stay in the air, and saw a hundred bonedrakes rising from between the Temple's steeples and flying toward him.

She knew, Korvin realized. Beatrix knew we're coming.

The bonedrakes screeched, blasting out their beams and lashing their claws.

The world exploded in a shower of blood, light, fire, and snapping bones.

Amity screamed somewhere in the distance, but she was no longer screaming for war. She was screaming in agony. Domi cried out somewhere above. Fidelity fell silent. The light blazed everywhere, and the jaws of bonedrakes tore at Korvin, ripping at his wings, ripping at his armor, and he cried out in agony, in loss, in terror.

FIDELITY

The city, the sky, the Temple, her life--all drowned in white light, in pain, in blazing fire.

Fidelity knew then that their battle was hopeless, that the Temple had known they were coming, that she would die here, that all the last dragons of Requiem would perish.

Today, she knew, was the day of the Falling.

Countless beams of light blasted from the bonedrake jaws, shattering against her armor, blazing out in parti-colored rays. Everywhere blazed the light of the Spirit, filling the world, preparing for the descent of its lord.

Fidelity screamed and summoned her fire.

I cannot let the Spirit emerge into the world. I cannot let Requiem fall.

She blasted forth her dragonfire.

The flames washed across the sky, crashing into bonedrakes, knocking back the light. For an instant, as the fire pushed back the beams, Fidelity glimpsed part of the battle. The Cured Temple rose below her, bonedrakes still emerging from its nest of steeples. More skeletons flew all around her. The crowd was fleeing the square below, and archers were firing from rooftops. Red scales flashed by her--Amity!

"Amity!" Fidelity cried out. "Amity, fight with me!"

The red dragon barreled through bonedrakes toward her. Amity laughed as she fought, swinging her tail in every direction, crushing bonedrakes.

"Die with me, Fidelity!" the red dragon cried, laughing, eyes shining. "We die in glory!"

"Focus on killing, not dying!" Fidelity shouted.

Amity laughed and lashed her tail, shattering the ribs of a bonedrake, then snapped her jaws, tearing off a skeletal rider from another beast. Fidelity flew at her side, and the two dragons--red and blue--fought back to back. Their dragonfire blasted out in a ring. Their claws tore at enemies. Their tails whipped. Their armor reflected the light.

Together they fought. Together they killed.

Bonedrakes fell before them. But Fidelity knew she could not fly forever. They were too many, too strong. A bonedrake claw tore at her armor, ripping a rent through the translucent scales. A skeletal paladin thrust its lance, piercing her armor, cutting her flesh. An arrow from the city below found her wing, tearing a hole. More light blasted out, blazing against her other wing, searing the skin.

"Keep fighting!" Amity cried out. She too was covered with wounds. Her blood dripped, spreading within her transparent armor like veins. "We must reach the Temple! We must kill Beatrix! Korvin, where are you, you bastard?"

More bonedrakes flew toward them. The two dragons breathed their fire and lashed their claws, knocking the beasts aside.

We have to reach the Temple! Fidelity knew. We have to burn Beatrix. We have to--

Deafening shrieks rose from below, nearly shattering her eardrums. Fidelity screamed.

The light from below parted.

From the Temple's steeples soared two bonedrakes, different from the others. Their bones were blackened with fire, and shreds of flesh still clung to them. They appeared fresher, no more than a month or two dead. When they opened their jaws, no beams of light left them but roaring white fire.

The flames hit Fidelity, and she screamed in agony.

The fire was hotter than what any dragon could blow. It blasted against Fidelity's armor, melting the demon's scales, then burning her own scales beneath. It was dragonfire mixed with Spirit light, tearing apart the air. Fidelity cried out, barely able to beat her wings. She dipped in the sky. Amity fell with her, crying out in pain.

The two bonedrakes below screeched again, cries that sounded almost human, almost forming a word.

"Fiiiiii!" they seemed to cry. "Fiiityyy!"

Fidelity screamed and lashed her claws against them. They scraped against bone, and the creatures snapped at her, biting, clawing. Her blood spilled.

"Fiiii!" the dragon skeletons cried. "Fiii . . . de . . . tyyy!"

Tears filled her eyes.

They know my name.

She roared in rage.

How do they know my name?

The anger flared through her. She raged against the light of the Spirit. She raged against the perversion that raised bones from the earth. She raged against the fall of Requiem, the cruelty of the Temple, the death of Roen and Julian that still filled her heart with mourning. Fidelity raged and blasted her fire and lashed her claws, fighting in a fury, tearing at these dragon skeletons, smashing their bones, burning them, cutting them.

"Die!" she screamed, tears in her eyes, fire roaring. "Die and fall as bones!"

She lashed her tail mightily, driving the spikes into a bonedrake's skull.

The bonedrake lost its magic.

It became a human skeleton and fell.

Fidelity stared and gasped.

"It . . . it became human."

The human skeleton, tumbling down, still had a long bushy beard, still wore the garb of the forest. It reached out to Fidelity as it fell, crying out in pain.

"Fiiiility!"

The skeleton slammed against the Temple's steeples and shattered.

And Fidelity knew who it was.

"Julian," she whispered.

The second blackened bonedrake flew toward her, still in dragon form, still calling out her name. Fidelity's tears streamed. She saw a few last remnants of scales on the dragon's skeleton. Green scales.

Roen.

Fidelity wept.

"Roen!"

With a roar, Amity charged forth, blasting fire, and slammed into Roen's skeleton. The red dragon lashed her claws and snapped her jaws, gripping bones and tearing them out.

"Amity, no!" Fidelity cried, weeping and trembling in the sky. She wanted Roen to die. She wanted this perversion of life to fall and shatter. But she could not bear it. She could not bear to see her beloved cry out in pain.

I have to bury him. I have to . . .

Weeping, Fidelity charged forth and grabbed Amity.

"Stop, don't!" she cried, tugging Amity back. "It's not a bonedrake! It's--"

As bonedrakes and dragons fought all around them, the creature that had been Roen roared. Several of his bones were shattered, but the pulsing heart of Spirit's light still thrummed within his rib cage.

"Fiiilety!" he screeched in an astral voice. "Fiiiileeeti, ffffly!"

The dragon skeleton seemed torn, not sure where to fly. Bloody tears poured from the skull's empty eye sockets. And then he charged toward her, blasting out white fire.

Fidelity screamed as Roen's flames washed over her.

Bony claws grabbed her. Fleshless jaws bit her. Roen's skeleton was tearing into her, ripping her apart, feeding upon her.

Fidelity wept and bled.

She fell from the sky.

KORVIN

Dragons fell around him. Bonedrakes swarmed. Light flared. And Korvin flew through the inferno toward his old lover, toward the tyrant who crushed the world under her heel, toward the woman he must kill, toward Beatrix.

He slammed into a bonedrake, shattering its bones. He kept diving. Arrows flew toward him, clattering against his armor. He roared and blasted fire, roasting the archers on the Temple steeples, and kept descending toward the balcony. He saw Beatrix standing there, a small smile on her face. She still held the babe in her arms. Mercy stood behind the High Priestess, clad as always in her pale paladin armor.

Korvin roared and reached out his claws. He couldn't blow his fire here. He couldn't hurt Eliana. But if he could reach Beatrix, if he could grab her . . .

Light blasted him. Claws tore at him. Bonedrake jaws closed around his wings, tugging him back. Korvin stretched out his claws, only yards away from the balcony, reaching out to her . . .

Beatrix stood below, smiling up at him. She handed the baby to Mercy. The paladin took the child and stepped back into the Temple.

"Hello again, my lover!" Beatrix shouted and raised her hands toward him.

Two beams of light blasted out from Beatrix's palms.

Korvin roared.

The light crashed against him like war hammers, stronger than beams from bonedrake jaws. His armor shattered and fell like shards of glass. The beams wrapped around him, tugging him down, yanking his magic from him.

Korvin fell in human form.

He crashed against the balcony, cracking his steel armor. His blood spilled.

The world was nothing but light, blood in his eyes, matted hair, screams. Everywhere screams. Everywhere the light of the Spirit, the light of Requiem's fall.

The Falling begins.

Beatrix came to stand above him. She wore the white robes of the priesthood, not bothering to clad herself in armor. She needed no armor today. With the Column close to cracking, with the Spirit so close to entering the world, power and light thrummed across the High Priestess. For the first time in over twenty years, Korvin stared into her eyes.

He saw hatred.

He saw madness.

And he saw glee.

In his memory, he still saw the idealistic, bright-eyed young priestess he had known, a woman devoted to her faith and devoted to him. Overlaying that memory he saw the Beatrix she had become: a tyrant consumed with light she could no longer control, a righteousness so all-consuming it seared away all empathy, leaving only rigid evil.

"Beatrix," he said hoarsely, barely able to push the words past his lips. "Beatrix, you cannot control this light. It's consuming you."

She laughed. The light flared across her, flowing through her, until he could see her bones as if she too were a skeleton. Her skull laughed within her pale skin, and her heart thrummed, pure white and blasting out heat.

"Beatrix," Korvin whispered, struggling to rise to his feet. Bleeding, he reached out to her. "Beatrix, I saved you once from a crowd that tried to stone you. Let me save you now. Let me save you from the Spirit's light." That light burned his eyes, burned his skin. "The Spirit is no friend of yours, Beatrix. He does not love you but seeks to burn you, to flow through you into the world. You must stop. You must--"

She kicked him. He fell to his knees before her on the balcony, his blood dripping around him.

"Yes, kneel before me, Korvin!" she said. "Kneel, weredragon! I am a conduit to the Spirit's light. I would gladly give my life for the Spirit to enter the world through my body. And you too will give your life to the Spirit, Korvin. You too will die in this light--die here on this balcony as the crowd roars. Guards, grab him!"

Soldiers rushed forth with clubs. They beat him. He fell, crying out. They chained him. They dragged him to the edge of the balcony. Korvin kicked wildly, unable to free himself. He bellowed out his rage. He tried to shift back into a dragon but could not; the chains bound him in his human form.

"Let the crowd see him!" Beatrix cried.

Above in the sky, bonedrakes and firedrakes and dragons still flew. Fire and light swirled, hiding the sky. Screeches tore through the air. As the battle raged, the soldiers of the Spirit dragged Korvin to the balcony's ledge. They tossed him down, letting the chains yank taut, holding him dangling above the square below.

Many in the crowd had fled the square, but many remained, and more kept returning. They pointed at Korvin and the battle above.

"Behold Korvin, King of Reptiles!" Beatrix cried, and her voice rose inhumanly high, a sound like shattering glass, like a bonedrake scream. "Behold the weredragon! Watch him die!"

Korvin dangled in his chains, kicking the air. One chain tightened around his neck, nearly constricting him. He gasped, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. The world spun all around him: the crowd below, the Temple behind him, the battle above. He could no longer see the other dragons. Where were his daughters? Where was Amity?

I'm the last, he thought. I'm the last living dragon. And now I die in the light.

Beatrix leaned over the balcony toward him, a thin smile on her lips.

"Yes, you will die now," she said. "But you won't remain dead for long, my lover. You will live again." Her smile tightened, becoming a terrible thing, stretching her cheeks--a demonic grin. "Your bones will burn . . . then rise."

His eyes rolled back. He gasped for breath. The world went dark.

DOMI

As the battle raged around her, a handful of dragons fighting an army of bonedrakes, Domi darted between the enemies, flying away from the fray.

"Domi!" Amity cried behind her. "Domi, get your scaly arse back here! Help us fight!"

But Domi kept flying away. She narrowed her eyes. She gritted her teeth.

I'm sorry, Amity. I'm sorry, my family. She kept flying, knocking bonedrakes aside, diving from the battle toward the courtyard. I must do this.

The Square of the Spirit spread below, full of Nova Vita's citizens and soldiers. Many had fled when Requiem had first attacked, but people were now returning to watch the spectacle, to behold the Falling they believed was coming. Domi roared as she dived and blasted down dragonfire. The inferno crashed against cobblestones next to the Temple staircase, sending city folk scurrying back.

Domi landed in the square, claws clattering, tail lashing. People gasped and fled. Here was the very place Domi would land so often as Pyre, a firedrake returning home. The Cured Temple loomed above her, beams of light blasting out from it, smoke churning, fire blazing. Soldiers came racing down the staircase toward Domi, firing arrows. The missiles peppered Domi's armor. She roared her fire across the stairs, and the soldiers screamed and fell, burning.

A bonedrake flew down toward her, jaws opening. Domi swung her tail and shattered its skull. Its teeth clattered against the courtyard. More bonedrakes came flying down toward her.

Domi blasted fire upward, holding them back, and ran. Her claws scratched the cobblestones. Her tail lashed behind her. She blew dragonfire forward, knocking down more soldiers, and raced over their burning corpses. There, past smoke and flame, she saw it: the tunnel.

She lashed her claws, knocking a bonedrake aside. She yowled as an arrow sank into her tail. She kept running, clinging with all her might to her dragon form, and entered the tunnel.

She raced through the darkness, claws clattering against the stone floor. Her fire lit the darkness. More arrows flew from behind her. Some sank through her armor to nick her scales. She turned her head over her shoulder and blasted fire behind her, burning soldiers. She turned back ahead and kept running.

She burst into the vast chamber hidden beneath the Cured Temple like stony bowels--the place where Domi had lived for years. Cells lined the walls, each the size of a house. Inside each cell, secured behind bars, they were roaring.

Her old comrades. The firedrakes.

The banged against the bars, crying out to her, to the old alpha of their pack--to Pyre. They did not know her as Domi. They did not know her to be Vir Requis. To these mindless dragons, Vir Requis with their human forms burnt out, she was still one of them--still Pyre, the firedrake who had borne Mercy Deus upon her back, leading them in battle.

"Firedrakes!" Domi cried, speaking the word through her dragon jaws. They had never heard her speak before, but today she would have to make them obey. "Firedrakes, we fly!"

They screeched, banging against the bars of their cells, hearing the battle outside, desperate to join.

"Fly with me, firedrakes!" Domi said. "With me, with Pyre, to fire, to war!"

She shifted into human form, raced toward the wall where the keys hung from a peg, and ran through the chamber, unlocking the cellar doors. The firedrakes roared, the sound echoing, as they emerged from their cells.

"Down!" she cried to them. "Down, drakes!"

They were confused. They did not understand where Pyre had gone, why a human now stood before them. Yet they heard the authority in her voice. They knelt before her, filling the chamber with smoke.

When the last cell was opened, Domi shifted back into a dragon--back into Pyre.

"Fly with me, firedrakes!" she said. "I led you once as Pyre. I will lead you again. With me! To war!"

They beat their wings and roared. Fire filled their gullets. Domi led them, Pyre again, racing up the tunnel. She blazed out her dragonfire; it raged through the tunnel. Behind her, the firedrakes ran, their wings scraping against the walls, their claws scratching along the floor, their smoke blasting out.

Domi burst out of the tunnel and back into the courtyard, roared her fire, and soared.

"With me, firedrakes!" She flew up in a straight line, blowing her dragonfire. "Slay the bonedrakes! Slay them dead!"

Beams of light flared across the sky. Bonedrakes came plunging from above, claws extended, light blasting down. Domi kept soaring and her dragonfire streamed. Behind her, the firedrakes of the Cured Temple flew, following their old leader, and their dragonfire rose like the columns of a burning cathedral.

Light and fire, bonedrakes and firedrakes, death and life crashed together.

GEMINI

As blood rained, Gemini flew on his brother through a sky of holy light and fire.

"There!" Gemini pointed his lance. "Higher! That window there!"

Below him, Cade flew through the battle. The golden dragon was quick and agile, almost as quick as Domi. A bonedrake flew toward them, and Cade soared and bathed it with fire. Gemini leaped up in the saddle, thrust his lance, and pierced the creature's heart. He tugged the lance free an instant before the drake shattered. They soared higher, then dipped to dodge a hailstorm of arrows from one of the Temple's steeples. They kept flying.

"Which window?" Cade shouted over the roar of battle. "I see a hundred windows!"

"That one!" Gemini shouted. "Spirit damn it, the . . . the one under the crystal steeple! No, three windows down. I--damn it!"

Another bonedrake flew toward them. When Gemini tried to stab it, his lance caught between its ribs and shattered in a shower of sparks. The bonedrake lashed out its claws, and Gemini screamed. The claws tore through his armor and bit the flesh. He drew his sword and stabbed blindly. It took a swipe of Cade's tail to crush the creature's spine and send it falling down.

"Gemini, are you all right?" Cade said, glancing over his shoulder at the blood.

Gemini clutched his wound. "Keep flying! That window there. That's Mercy chamber."

The golden dragon nodded and flew onward. He grabbed the rim of a window--the wrong one!--and Gemini cursed and directed him one story up.

"You got it!" Gemini said. "Now climb in after me."

He leaped off the saddle, climbed along Cade's neck, and stumbled into the room.

Gemini froze, sword raised.

A shaking sneer found his lips.

"Mercy," he whispered.

His sister stood at the back of the chamber. While Gemini was covered in blood and soot, Mercy looked resplendent. Her white armor was polished, and golden filigree shone upon it. The left side of her head was neatly shaven. The remaining hair was swept across her right shoulder, freshly bleached. In her left arm, Mercy held Eliana. In her right hand, she held a drawn sword.

Cade climbed into the chamber too, back in his human form. He still wore his transparent, demon-scale armor over his burlap tunic, and he held a sword. He stared ahead at Mercy and Eliana and froze, face pale.

"And so . . . the three Deus siblings," Mercy said softly, a small smile on her lips. "Together at the same place for the first time. At least, the first time since you were about this size, Cade." She raised Eliana higher, bringing the babe dangerously close to her drawn blade.

Cade had taken half a step closer but froze. "Let her go, Mercy," he said, his own sword raised. "Don't you dare harm her."

"Step back, both of you!" Mercy brought the blade down to rest against Eliana. "Step back or I'll cut her before I cut you too."

Gemini's head spun. His knees wobbled. Blood kept dripping down his leg. He was hurt, maybe badly. Yet he fixed Mercy with a stare, and he barked a laugh.

"You won't harm her!" Gemini said. "You treat the babe as your daughter. A new babe to replace your own dead daughter."

"And I would gladly sacrifice my daughter to the Spirit!" Mercy spat back. "You know this, brother." She spun toward Cade. "And you know this too, my other brother. I've sacrificed many babes to the Spirit's light. I would give even my own daughter to his glory. Stand back! Leave this city or Eliana dies."

Cade wouldn't budge. He stood frozen between Mercy and the window. "Your own daughter?" he said. "Mercy, she's not yours! Eliana is the daughter of Derin and Tisha, two humble bakers whom you murdered. And do not call me brother. You're no sister of mine. But Eliana is. Hand her to me and I'll spare your life. I will allow you to leave this city and fly into exile."

Rage flared in Gemini to hear his brother's words. To let Mercy escape? To let her fly into exile? She would fly to Terra! She would summon her army there and fly back here to reclaim the Temple--to kill him!

"No," Gemini said, voice shaking. "No, Mercy. No! This ends here. This ends now." His eyes burned and his fist trembled around the hilt of his sword.

"Gemini, stand back!" Mercy screamed.

"No!" Gemini took a step closer toward her. "You think I care about this babe? Cade might, but I'm not him. I don't mind sacrificing babes either. I saw ten thousand babes die in the Horde, and I laughed, Mercy. I laughed as they burned, because each burning corpse was a step closer to you. To here. To this day. To this chamber. To your death." He took another step closer. "And you die now, Mercy."

"Gemini, stop!" Cade cried, reaching out to grab him.

Gemini shoved his younger brother aside. "Stand back, Cade!" He reeled back toward Mercy, and tears now streamed down his cheeks. "This is between me and her. Me and my sister. It ends now, Mercy! All this. All the pain you caused. All the people you killed. All the things you did to me." Gemini's voice was shaking wildly now. His body trembled. "I'm going to stop it all."

Mercy stared at him, eyes wild with rage. "The things I did to you?"

"Do you think I forgot?" Gemini screamed, voice tearing. "Do you think I forgot how you would beat me as a child? How you would mock me, scorn me? How you killed her?" His voice tore with pain. He tasted blood. "How you killed the first woman I loved?"

She stared at him, eyes wide, cheeks pale. "She was a whore," Mercy whispered.

"She was my bride!" Gemini screamed, weeping, shaking. His tears fell. "I loved her! I loved her and you killed her! You killed Shayla! You . . . you stabbed her and burned her and fed her to the drakes, just like you wanted to kill Domi." Mucus and tears streamed across his face. "But I won't let you. I won't let you kill Domi too. I won't let you kill anyone else."

Sobs racked Gemini's body. It had been so many years. So many years of hiding that secret, refusing to think of it, refusing to think of her. Of Shayla. Of sweet Shayla, the woman he had loved, the scribe's daughter he had brought into the Temple. The memories now pounded through him, too real, too painful, and Spirit, stars, please, make them stop. Make it stop. Gemini's sword wavered and his chest shook as he remembered.

"A pureblood stud is never to marry," Beatrix had said that day.

Gemini had screamed. He had begged. He had clung to Shayla, his sweet bride, holding her close.

"Mercy, kill the whore," Beatrix had commanded, voice cold.

How Gemini had screamed! How he screamed now! He saw it all again--Mercy tearing Shayla from his arms, stabbing her, tossing her to the firedrakes, and the beasts had ripped into her--she had still been alive!--but still the reptiles fed, guzzling her down until Shayla no longer screamed, no longer existed, only in a memory.

Until I burned that memory too.

Too much pain. Too much terror. Gemini had forgotten. He had forced himself to forget. Yet now he remembered. Now he would have his revenge.

"For you, Shayla," he whispered.

He screamed. He raised his sword. Howling, weeping, Gemini charged toward his sister and thrust his blade.

Mercy screamed and raised her sword to parry.

Cade leaped forth, reaching out to grab Eliana.

For Shayla. For Domi. For my revenge.

Gemini swung his sword down again and again. Mercy's blade bit him. He screamed and thrust his blade, hacking at her. Her sword thrust through his breastplate and into his belly. He swung his sword again, denting her armor, howling, laughing as his blood spilled.

For you, Shayla. For you, Domi.

Cade had grabbed the babe, and Gemini laughed. Perhaps after all those corpses, he had saved one child. Mercy's sword drove into Gemini's chest, crackling through the steel, cutting into his lung. Blood filled his mouth. Blood covered the floor. Gemini cried out and gave his blade one last swing, but Mercy parried and thrust again.

Her blade once more slipped into his belly.

Gemini fell to his knees before her, his armor broken, his lifeblood seeping away.

No. No, I failed you Shayla. I failed you, Domi.

He tried to raise his sword again. He could not.

"Good," Mercy said, savoring the word. "Good, kneel before me, brother. Kneel like you should before your ruler. You will join Shayla now. You will die like she did--like meat. A meal for drakes. That's all you are, Gemini. A pathetic hunk of mea--"

She screamed as the dragonfire washed over her.

Gemini whipped his spinning head around. Cade was flying outside the window, snout thrust into the chamber, blasting a thin jet of flame over Gemini's head onto Mercy.

Mercy howled. The dragonfire washed over her armor, heating and melting the steel. Her face melted with it, the skin dripping off, the muscles below burning, her eyeballs seeping down her cheeks in rivulets. She fell to her knees before Gemini.

"Now you too kneel," Gemini whispered.

As his lifeblood drained, he lifted his sword.

He thrust it through his sister's melting armor and into her heart.

Mercy gave a last gasp, then fell and rose no more.

Gemini followed her to the floor. He hit his side and managed to roll onto his back. He lay in his own blood, and more kept draining from him.

"Gemini!" Cade said. He rushed forward in human form, holding Eliana in his arms. He knelt above Gemini and clasped his hand. "I'll help you. I'm here, brother. You'll be fine. You--"

"Yes, I'll be fine," Gemini whispered. He could not speak any louder. "I . . . I did all right, didn't I?" His eyes stung. "I did what I had to do."

"You did," Cade whispered. Tears filled the boy's eyes, and he clasped Gemini's hand more tightly.

"We saved her, Cade. We saved Eliana." Gemini looked up at his younger brother. "Cade, you are my true brother. You are the only true family I've ever had. Mercy is dead now. There is no more heir to the Cured Temple." His voice shook. "You're the heir now. This Temple is yours now to rule. Tear it down. Tear it all down. And build Requiem again. And . . . in the songs of Requiem, sing kindly of me. Tell my story, but don't sing of a tyrant. Sing of one who gave his life so that Requiem's columns could rise again." Suddenly Gemini gasped. "I can see them, brother! I can see them again."

"See what?" Cade whispered, tears on his cheeks.

Gemini too wept. It was so beautiful. "Silvery halls of starlight. Columns in the sky. Requiem. I see Requiem, Cade." He squeezed his brother's hand. "Cade, tell Domi that I love her. Tell her that I love her and that I'm sorry. Tell her that. That I'm sorry."

Cade tightened his jaw. "You'll tell her that. You're going to get through this. You'll see Domi again."

Gemini smiled wanly. "I already see her in my mind. I will always see her." He closed his eyes, and indeed he saw her there--his Domi. The new love she had brought to his life. The first woman he had loved since Shayla. A woman who had taught him again what it meant to love.

I gave my life for you too, Domi. So you can have your kingdom. Be happy, Domi. Be happy in Requiem. I love you always.

He squeezed Cade's hand, and he thought of Domi's eyes, and he gazed upon the celestial columns, and then he slept--the long sleep of the weary--and for the first time in his life, Gemini Deus was at peace.

FIDELITY

She lay on her back in the courtyard, a human again, as the dragon skeleton pinned her down with his claws.

Roen's skeleton.

"Roen . . . oh, Roen, please," Fidelity whispered. She was too weak, too wounded, to become a dragon again. All she could do was lie on the cobblestones, her lover's claws pressed against her chest. The skeleton sneered down at her, light gathering in his jaws and swirling within his ribcage.

"Roen!" she cried out.

The dragon skeleton snapped his teeth. He roared. He seemed ready to release her, then leaned forward again, sneering, jaws opening and closing. It seemed that he struggled between memory of life and the undead thing he had become, torn between the Roen he had been and the bonedrake he now was, torn between love for Fidelity and his servitude to the Spirit, his new master.

"Roen, it's me!" Fidelity cried, his claws nearly crushing her. "Don't you remember me? Don't you remember your Fidelity? I know it's you, Roen." She wept. "I can see your last green scales like the last leaves on a tree. I can see your love for me. Don't you remember?"

The undead dragon snapped at her, then tossed back his head and roared, the cry of a monster, a cry of pain.

"Roen, please . . . they're going to kill my father. They're going to kill Korvin. You have to let me go. You have to let me save him."

Tears in her eyes, Fidelity stared up toward the Cured Temple. Many bonedrakes flew there, battling Domi and her firedrakes. Below this aerial battle, Beatrix stood on the balcony, laughing, her glowing hands raised. Korvin hung off the balcony upon chains that wrapped around his torso, limbs, and neck. He was grabbing at the chain around his throat, struggling to breathe, able only to gasp.

"Behold, children of the Spirit!" Beatrix cried down to the crowd that filled the courtyard. "Behold as Korvin, King of Weredragons, dies in the Spirit's light!"

Light flowed down Beatrix's arms and formed balls in her palms. She leaned off the balcony and pointed down toward the hanging man. The light flowed out of her fingers and slammed into Korvin.

Even chained and barely able to breathe, Korvin screamed.

The light raced across him like lightning. The chains flared as if woven of light. Korvin thrashed, jerking on the chains, howling in agony. Beatrix laughed, casting down more and more light.

"You will die slowly, Korvin!" the High Priestess cried. "You will endure all my pain before I let you fall."

Korvin screamed and Fidelity cried out too.

"Roen!" Her tears burned. "Roen, please! Let me go!"

The bonedrake's claws drove against her, denting her armor. Roen raised his heavy dragon skull and gazed up toward the balcony, then down at Fidelity again. He cried out, confused, torn.

"Roen," Fidelity whispered. She caressed his claws. "It's me. It's your Fidelity."

Bloody tears flowed down his skull.

"Fiiiility," he whispered, the voice emerging from his jaws but sounding miles away, a voice from another life.

The foot lifted off her. His bony wings beat. And the bonedrake that had been Roen took flight.

Fidelity pushed herself onto her feet, dizzy, too weak to even summon her magic and fly too. She stared up.

Roen cried out again, and now it was a cry of rage, of pure fury like Fidelity had never heard. The bonedrake soared, wings churning smoke, until he hovered by the balcony. Standing before the bonedrake, still blasting her light down onto Korvin, Beatrix gasped.

"Fly back, my slave!" the High Priestess shouted. "Stand back, or I'll grind your bones to dust."

Roen reared in the sky, roared out his fury, and flew toward Beatrix, jaws snapping and claws outstretched.

The High Priestess screamed and thrust out her arms. The beams of light left Korvin and slammed into Roen.

The light blazed across the bonedrake, doubling in strength, cascading like exploding suns.

Roen's jaws opened, and he blasted out his own beam of light.

The beam struck Beatrix.

The High Priestess screamed and fell back, and her light flared out in an inferno, crashing into Roen with the heat and light of a god.

With a sound like shattering glass, like shattering souls, like nations falling, Roen's bones blasted out in a fountain. Ribs, claws, femurs, chips of skull, shreds of wings--all flew outward, then clattered down into the courtyard.

Fidelity watched and wept, for she had lost her lover again.

"Rest now, Roen," she whispered, trembling. "Be at peace."

The crowd fell silent. Even the bonedrakes and firedrakes that flew above stared, ceasing their battle. Fidelity gazed up at the balcony, and her heart leaped.

Korvin was still alive . . . and he was climbing the chains toward the balcony.

KORVIN

Dragons, firedrakes, and bonedrakes battled above him. The crowd roared below. And she waited above--Beatrix. The woman Korvin had fled, had fought a war for, had fought a war against, the woman he had flown to this city for, the woman he would now kill.

He trembled with pain. He rasped for air. He climbed the chain.

A bonedrake swooped toward him, screeching.

Korvin grimaced, struggling to summon magic, unable to shift with the chains still wrapped around his torso.

The bonedrake opened its jaws, only yards away, prepared to tear into him.

With a flash of red scales, Amity streamed across the sky and slammed into the skeleton, knocking it aside into a crowd of other bonedrakes. The red dragon roared and laughed as she fought, the bonedrakes mobbing her. Her tail and claws lashed, and her fire exploded across the sky.

Korvin kept climbing the chain, link by link.

Covered in blood and burns, he gripped the rim of the balcony, gritted his teeth, and hefted himself up.

Knees shaking, the chains still wrapped around him, he stumbled across the balcony.

The place lay in ruin. The renegade bonedrake's beam had shattered the windows, doorway, and tiles. Soldiers lay dead, their armor cracked, their flesh charred. In the middle of the devastation, Beatrix lay on her back. The marble tiles were charred around her, and black lines spread out from her in a star. Blood dripped down her chest.

But the High Priestess was still alive. Light still coiled around her fingertips, and she moaned and struggled to rise.

Korvin's breath sawed at his throat. Burns spread across him. His skull felt ready to crack. His sword had fallen in the battle. He wanted to lie down and die, but he forced himself to begin unslinging the chains off his torso. He would need his body free to become a dragon. Loop after loop, he tugged the chains off.

Beatrix pushed herself onto her elbows, then her knees. Bonedrakes kept swooping down, only for the dragons and firedrakes to crash against them, knocking them aside.

I have only a few breaths left . . . only a few heartbeats to kill her before she rises.

He tugged off another loop of chain.

Beatrix rose to her feet.

Korvin sneered. With three loops still wrapped around him, he couldn't shift. He lifted a free length of chain.

"You've lost, Beatrix," he said. "The war is over, and your light is fading."

She laughed, eyes alight, grin insane. The light of her god pulsed through her, showing and hiding her skull. "You are mistaken, my old lover. The Spirit's light will never leave me. I tortured you with that light. I made you scream. But now . . . now I give you the full wrath of my god. Now, Korvin, you die."

That light pooled in her hands. She thrust it toward him.

Korvin swung the chain.

The light slammed into him.

A loop of chain wrapped around Beatrix and tightened.

Light blazed across Korvin, then raced along the chain, flaring out. Red, green, purple, blue, all colors flared across the sky, searing the balcony, searing their flesh. Beatrix screamed. Korvin roared as the light covered him. The skin blackened on his fingers, but he gripped the chain. He tugged. He pressed his boots against the balcony floor, pulling Beatrix toward him even as her light pulsed into him, even as he burned.

His feet hit the edge of the balcony.

He gave a mighty tug.

And he was falling.

Though still in human form, he felt almost like he were gliding, a dragon again. He knew the pain would end soon. He knew the war was over.

I do this for you, my daughters, he thought as the sky streamed around him. For you, Fidelity. For you, Domi. For you, Cade. And I do this for you, Amity. I love you all.

The chain yanked taut, tugging Beatrix to the edge of the balcony above him. The High Priestess shrieked, a horrible sound, desperately trying to cling onto the balcony. She teetered over the edge, burnt and casting out her light. Her skin peeled off. Her scream tore across the city. Above her, the glass steeples of the Temple shattered. Crystal shards flew in a great fountain, gleaming like drops of rain. Ghostly tendrils coiled out from Beatrix, taking the form of screaming mouths, of grasping fingers--the soul of the Spirit fleeing a dying vessel.

The Spirit himself was trying to enter the world.

And then Beatrix fell.

She tumbled down above Korvin, and then they were both falling together, the chain flailing between them. Their hands reached out in midair, still trying to grasp at each other.

Korvin hit the ground first.

Pain flared in a great, all-consuming instant and then died just as quickly. He felt nothing. Only numbness. Only warmth. In that instant, he knew that his spine had shattered.

With a scream, Beatrix crashed onto the courtyard beside him. Her head slammed against a flagstone, only a foot away from Korvin, and shattered. Her skull split open, but instead of soft innards, it was liquid light that spilled out, seeping, screaming with many mouths, reaching with many tendrils, then rising into the sky and vanishing.

The light faded.

The sound died.

Beatrix lay still.

Korvin lay on his broken back, feeling nothing. The pain was gone now. A haze was spreading over him, warm and comforting as a blanket. A rain was falling, a rain of light and bones. Above him, the bonedrakes were shattering. With their mistress dead, with the Spirit fled back into its realm, their light too vanished. They clattered down around Korvin, nothing but bones again, crumbling to dust.

All was dust.

All was ending.

"It's over," Korvin whispered. "The Cured Temple. This war. Our lives, Beatrix. Over."

A cry of anguish sounded above.

Red wings flapped and Amity came diving down. She landed on the cobblestones, kicked Beatrix's corpse aside, and shifted into a human. She knelt by Korvin, eyes wet.

"Korvin!" Amity placed her hands on his shoulders. "Oh, Korvin. You're hurt. I'm going to heal you. I'm going to save you." Her tears splashed against him.

He reached up and caressed her cheek. "Amity. My Amity." Her tears wet his fingers. "How beautiful you are. How strong and brave and wise. I'm proud to have known you, Amity, proud to have fought with you, to have loved you." The haze grew thicker around him. "Watch over the young ones, Amity. Watch over Cade and my daughters. Keep them safe. Help them rebuild Requiem."

She growled at him. "You will help them! You will keep them safe."

Korvin's smiled thinly. "I've lived long, Amity. I've had a good life. I saw two daughters grow into women. I met you. I saw the Temple fallen. And I can see it now. I can see it above."

Amity was sobbing. "What, Korvin? What can you see?"

He gazed up at them, and his smile widened. "The halls of starlight. The columns of Requiem rising beyond the Draco constellation. They are waiting there, Amity. Our fallen. Our ancient heroes. Our parents. They are calling me home. I go to them now, to drink wine and sing in their company."

"Don't leave," Amity whispered, pulling him into her arms. Her tears dampened his cheek. "Please don't leave me. I love you."

Scales flashed above. Golden scales. Blue scales. Scales in all the colors of autumn. Three dragons landed by him and became human. Cade. Fidelity. Domi.

My children.

"Father!" Fidelity cried, leaping toward him.

"Father," Domi whispered, eyes tearing up.

His daughters clasped his hands. Cade placed his hand over Fidelity's, joining the grip. The young man's eyes were huge and haunted, and he held a baby in his arms.

"Korvin," Cade whispered.

Korvin smiled at them. He could no longer speak, but he spoke to them with his eyes, and he knew they understood.

I love you all. I will always look after you. I will always watch you from the stars.

They wept, holding him.

I have fought for many years, he thought, gazing at the people he loved. I go now to my well-earned rest. I go knowing that Requiem will rise again.

The light washed over him, but it was no longer the cruel, searing light of evil. It was a soft light, comforting. Starlight. The light of Requiem. The souls of his ancestors gazed down from above, singing to him, calling him home.

Goodbye, my family. Goodbye.

He let the starlight flow over him, and after his many wars, Korvin rested.

DOMI

They stood on a hilltop outside the city, gazing down at three graves.

It's a beautiful place, Domi thought. The snow glittered in the sunlight like a field of stars. Icicles hung from the branches of maples, birches, and oaks, gleaming like jewels. The sky was clear blue, the sun offering a little warmth, a little comfort, a little hope of coming spring. And when spring came, Domi knew, many leaves would sprout here, and the grass would rustle, and flowers would grow, and the song of birds would fill the air.

They will forever rest in peace and beauty, Domi thought, gazing down at the gravestones. She read the names engraved into them.

"Julian," she whispered. "Roen." Tears filled her eyes. "Korvin."

Domi had not wanted to cry. She had shed too many tears during this war, and the war was over now, and her father was at peace. Yet she could not stop the tears from falling. Fidelity saw and stepped toward her, and her older sister held her close and kissed her cheek.

"I miss him," Domi whispered. "I never told him how much I love him. I ran away from him--to be Pyre. To be something I was not. Did he know, Fidelity?" She looked into her sister's eyes. "Did he know that I love him?"

Fidelity nodded, holding her close. "He knew every day. Every day, Domi. And he always loved you and missed you too." She looked up at the clear sky. "He's there now. In the stars. He's at peace, and he knows we love him."

Cade and Amity stepped closer and joined the embrace. The four stood together, the four last Vir Requis. Sisters. A wild woman of the Horde. A son of the Temple.

"We are the last survivors of Requiem," Domi whispered. "The last four who lived. The four who will rebuild. The Column stands." Now her tears were tears of joy. "Requiem rises."

Gently, she stepped away from the embrace and stood in the snow. She summoned the ancient magic of her stars, a magic no longer forbidden, and became a dragon--no longer Pyre the firedrake but Domi, a proud daughter of Requiem. She spread her wings and rose into the sky.

The others took flight around her. Amity, a red dragon wreathed in smoke, long and scarred. Fidelity, a slender blue dragon, spectacles perched upon her scaly snout. Cade, a golden dragon, a dragon Domi had come to love deeply, a love she would foster and see grow stronger every day. The four rose together into the sky, and Domi blew her dragonfire, raising a pillar of flame. The others joined their fire to hers, and the four jets rose together like new columns for their hall, four lights of heat, memory, and the dreams of dragons.

With their loved ones at peace, the dragons returned to the city of Nova Vita, flying freely over the walls. Fidelity, Cade, and Amity stepped into the Temple where priests and paladins were shedding their robes and armor, knowing they could not fight the dragons and the firedrakes who now served Domi; where Eliana slept in the arms of her nurse; where the column rose within a shell that would soon be torn down. But Domi did not join her fellow Vir Requis. She did not wish to wander those jeweled halls, the place where she had been captive for so long.

Instead, she walked through the city and visited a second place of memory. In the ancient graveyard of the priesthood, Domi stepped toward two other graves.

She stood above them, staring down at the twin tombstones.

Mercy and Gemini.

Domi's eyes were dry now, but her chest felt tight. Fidelity had wanted to burn the bodies, to scatter the ashes into the wind, but Domi had insisted on burying them. They too were a part of Requiem's history, worth remembering. While Domi was no librarian like Fidelity, she knew that Requiem could only survive by remembering not only its ancient glory but also its sins.

Mercy. The woman who rode my back for years. The woman I served as Pyre. Gemini. The man who beat me, then loved me. The man I hated. The man I pitied. The man I almost loved.

Domi lowered her head. A chill breeze blew, and she stepped closer and placed her hand on Gemini's grave.

"You poor fool," she said softly. "You sad, cruel, broken boy." She closed her eyes and remembered all those times she had lain in his arms, feeling safe in his embrace, their naked bodies huddling together for warmth, for comfort from the fear, for solace in pain. "Goodbye, Gemini Deus. Wherever you are, I hope you finally found some peace."

Light snow began to fall. Domi turned and walked away.

FIDELITY

The snow fell, and the world turned, and the ice of winter melted. Spring came to the land, this realm no longer called the Commonwealth. Leaves sprouted and shaded the graves of the fallen, and for the first time in a hundred years, flowers filled the city of Nova Vita--peonies, lilacs, lilies, all the flowers the Cured Temple had forbidden during its reign. And for the first time in a hundred years, babes were born without paladins to burn their skin, to tear away their magic.

Throughout this spring, dragons and firedrakes and men worked together.

Wings beat as claws tugged at shards of crystal and glass, ripping them free and carrying them off to the plains. Within marble halls, men worked with chisels, chipping gold, platinum, and gemstones off the walls, filling wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow with the treasures, ready to distribute them to the people of the city. Tails lashed against walls, letting brick by brick fall. Day by day, month by month, the Temple was peeled away.

On a warm night, the four last Vir Requis--the four first of a new Requiem--stood in their city and stared up at King's Column.

The marble pillar soared above them, finally standing in the open, no palace hiding its marble. It rose hundreds of feet tall, dwarfing every other structure in the city. The Draco constellation shone above it, casting its silver light against the white stone.

Fidelity stood in a blue dress--an actual dress made of cotton, no longer a tunic of burlap. Her new spectacles still rested on her nose, and flowers were woven into her golden braid. She stared up at the column, this most holy of relics, and her eyes stung.

I wish you were here to see this, Father, Fidelity thought. I wish you were here with me, Roen and Julian.

She turned around to face the others. Amity, a tall woman clad in cobbled patches of armor, a sword at her side--a warrior of Requiem. Cade, his hazel eyes wide with awe as he gazed upon the column, Eliana in his arms. Domi--broken, lost Domi finally returned home--her red hair no longer hiding her face, her eyes bright and proud for the first time in her life.

And another soul is with us, Fidelity thought. She placed her hand on her rounded belly, and she felt the baby kick within.

Your son or daughter, Roen. She smiled through her tears. A future child of Requiem.

As the stars shone, Fidelity spoke softly to her family.

"Thousands of years ago, a few scattered outcasts gathered together. They had been hunted, exiled, hurt--all because of their magic . . . the magic to grow wings, breathe fire, and take to the sky as dragons. King Aeternum and Queen Laira themselves raised this column in the forest, founding a kingdom for those with the magic of starlight. A kingdom called Requiem. For thousands of years, through war, through destruction, through fear and hope and dreams, this column was a beacon to our people. A pillar of hope. A hope that someday Requiem will stand tall, strong, and free. That we, the Vir Requis, will have a safe home. A sky to fly in." Fidelity raised her eyes to that starlit sky, then looked back down at the others. "For a hundred years, Requiem was a forbidden word, a forbidden dream. For a hundred years, they called this land the Commonwealth, and they tore our magic away. Tonight we say: Our magic will rise again. Tonight we say: The Commonwealth is no more." She raised her chin, and her voice grew stronger. "Tonight we say: Requiem rises."

The others called out the words together. "Requiem rises!"

"In the old days," Fidelity said, "birches grew around this column, a holy tree to Requiem. Tonight let us plant new saplings. Tonight hope will spring from this sacred earth."

She knelt, dug a hole in the soil, and planted her birch sapling. New life grew within her belly, and new life would rise here around their column. The others knelt too, planting their own saplings.

Fidelity straightened and closed her eyes, and she imagined that a great forest grew here again.

"We will not live to see the new forest," she said, opening her eyes. "But our grandchildren will play in its shade." She placed a hand on her belly again, and she smiled.

Cade stepped forward and seemed about to speak. He looked back, exchanging looks with Domi and Amity, then back at Fidelity. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Cade?" Fidelity said softly.

He cleared his throat. "I was thinking, Fidelity. We all were. We . . ." He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "See, in the old Book of Requiem, there were always kings and queens. But . . . we have no ruler now. The Cured Temple is fallen. The old dynasties--Aeternum and Eleison--are lost." He gulped. "We were all thinking, Fidelity, that . . . well . . . we thought that . . ."

Amity groaned, stepped forward, and pushed Cade aside. "Quit your yammering, kid." The warrior looked at Fidelity. "You're going to be our queen, Fidelity. We've all decided it, so you have no choice in the matter."

Fidelity's eyes widened and she laughed. "Your queen? I'm a librarian!" She looked from one to the other. "Why should I lead this kingdom? Amity, you're a great warrior! Domi, you fought in many battles! I . . . all I know is books."

Domi stepped forward too and nodded. "Most of Requiem's kings and queens were warriors, generals, great fighters, strong and brave. But a new era begins. An era of peace, of memory. An era to tell old stories. To write new books." She clasped Fidelity's hands. "Perhaps the queen we need now is a librarian."

Fidelity laughed again. "But . . . we're only four people! We don't need a queen, and . . ."

"We are many more than four already," Domi said quietly. "Babies are being born across Requiem, and for the first time in a century, they're keeping their magic. In a few years, when they're old enough, they'll learn how to shift, to become dragons of Requiem. And they'll look to Queen Fidelity to tell them the stories of Old Requiem, to keep our history, our songs, our prayers alive." Domi knelt and bowed her head. "My sister. My queen."

Cade too knelt before Fidelity, still holding Eliana. "My queen."

Amity looked down at them, eyes wide, and grumbled. "I kneel before no one!" the warrior said. "I . . . oh, to the Abyss." She spat, drew her sword, and knelt with the blade held before her. "I vow to defend Requiem and to defend her queen. You have my sword."

Fidelity looked at them kneeling before her, and her eyes stung. She turned to stare up at King's Column. The marble pillar soared toward the Draco constellation, and Fidelity imagined that she could see them there watching her: the heroes from her books, her lover, her father, and all the others who had fallen.

Guide me on this path, she prayed silently. Guide me for I'm afraid.

The light shone, warm and comforting, and some of Fidelity's pain eased. She looked at her friends and family. They stood up and she pulled them into her arms.

"I vow to you," Fidelity whispered, "that I will lead Requiem well, and I will not stray from her path of starlight to the left or to the right." She raised her eyes to the stars. "Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."

The others repeated the words, tears shining in their eyes. "May our wings forever find your sky."

AMITY

"No! Form rank! Form rank, damn it!" Amity spat in disgust. "You call yourselves soldiers?"

The men and women stood before her, clad in steel plates, holding shields and swords. They were hopeless. Utterly hopeless. Men and women? They were barely more than boys and girls still in their swaddling clothes.

"I don't know what you learned under your last commander," Amity said, pacing the courtyard, "but I'm going to teach you proper discipline. You're going to become true soldiers, or I'll have you sent to the iron mines."

She sighed as the soldiers struggled to form rank again. Some of them had served the Cured Temple, the paladins' foot soldiers. They were still used to those ridiculous, ceremonial drills their noble lords had taught. But most of the men here were the sons of farmers, tradesmen, even priests. Free of the Temple's yoke, they had flocked to serve in Requiem's new military.

Within twenty years, these boys and girls will be obsolete, Amity thought, staring at them. Once the new crop of babies grew into adults, once they could shift into dragons, they would become great warriors of the skies. For now, these poor souls--their magic torn away with tillvine--would defend the city, would defend this new and very old kingdom named Requiem.

"No, damn it!" Amity howled. "Triple formation! You in the back, move--no, to the left!" She groaned. "Oh bloody bollocks. All of you, drill's over. Go back to your barracks."

With a sad shake of her head, she shifted into a dragon and took flight, blasting smoke down onto her soldiers. She soared high above the city of Nova Vita, capital of Requiem.

Flowers bloomed across the city, the birch saplings rustled, and in the distance Amity saw them rising, soaring even higher than her flight: the columns of Requiem.

Several new columns now rose alongside King's Column, twins to the ancient monument. They were carved of purest marble from the mountains, and their capitals were shaped as rearing dragons. As Amity watched, trained firedrakes were flying over the new columns, carrying sacks of bricks. Workers bustled about scaffoldings, raising the first hints of a roof.

The ancient palace of Requiem, the fabled marble halls which had stood here for thousands of years, was rising again.

It would be years until the building was completed, Amity knew. It would be years before the newborns of Requiem learned to use their magic, to fly again, to fill the sky that was their birthright.

But I'm patient, Amity thought as she hovered before the rising hall. And I will be here to defend Requiem as she rises again.

She flew down to land on a rounded silo, and she kept gazing at the columns as the sun set, as the stars emerged, as silence fell upon the city.

As the last glow of sunlight faded, chinking scales broke the silence, and a golden dragon flew toward Amity. Cade landed on the roof with her, and he gazed with her at the columns that rose ahead toward the stars.

"They're beautiful," Cade said, voice soft.

Amity turned her head toward the golden dragon and puffed smoke onto him. "Aren't you normally with Domi during the nights?"

Dragons could not blush, but Cade got as close as possible. His tail flicked nervously. "I saw you here. I . . . I often see you sit here alone at night. I wanted to come say hello, to see if you're . . . if you're all right."

She glared at him. "Me? I'm always all right. What are you on about, kid?"

His scales chinked as he moved closer to her. He tapped her gently with his tail. "I . . ." He lowered his head. "Can we talk in human forms? It's easier."

She groaned and rolled her eyes, but she released her magic and sat on the roof as a human, legs splayed out. Cade shifted back into human form too and sat beside her.

"Well, talk, kid," Amity said.

He gulped. "Do you ever think about . . . about that night when . . ." Now he was definitely blushing. "When we . . . I mean, when . . ."

"When you got drunk, tore off my clothes, and ravaged me?" Amity said, raising an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't put it exactly like that. You did quite a bit of tearing yourself. And ravaging." He bit his lip. "It's just that . . . well, I wanted to clear the air. To see how things are between us. With you. With . . . with everything."

Amity wriggled a little closer to Cade, smiling mischievously. She raised an eyebrow, bit her lip, and placed a hand on his thigh. She leaned close to him, playfully nibbled his earlobe . . . and then shouted into his ear.

"You wool-brain!"

Cade yowled and scuttled away from her. "Amity! Stars damn it. What are you doing?" He touched his ear and winced. "Bloody Abyss! That's dangerous."

She glowered at him, arms crossed. "So is talking shite. Cade, you bollocks-for-brains, you listen to me. You forget about that night right away, you fly down to the city, you find Domi, and you ask her to marry you. Do you understand?"

"I--"

"Tonight!" Amity said. "Cade, I'm not for you. I was never for you. I'm too old for you, too strong for you, and far too wise to fall for a foolish boy when I'm sober. Go find Domi. And . . . have a good life, kid. Have a good life with her."

Before he could reply, Amity shifted back into a dragon and took flight.

She flew away from the columns of Requiem.

She flew above the city roofs, the snaking streets, the thousands of people below.

She flew over the fields, the forests, flew until she reached the mountains.

Often Amity flew like this in the darkness. As King's Column was different from the other pillars, so was Amity different from the other dragons. She knew this.

Cade. Domi. Fidelity. They had one another, bound by family and love and friendship. The people in the city--they shared bonds such as Amity would never again know.

Because I'm alone.

Amity glided under the stars in silence. Many times she flew for days and nights until she reached the sea, and then she flew over the dark waters, and she thought of her parents who had fallen there. She thought of the thousands of warriors of the Horde who had drowned under her rule.

And often she thought of Korvin, the only man she had ever truly, fully loved. The man she had betrayed. The man who had died in her arms. The man she would give anything to see again, anything to hold one more time, to beg forgiveness from. And when she thought of him, Amity roared out in pain, and she blasted her fire across the sky, and her tears fell, and her chest shook.

Though sometimes, on some clear nights with no clouds or storm, she would gaze up at the stars, and Amity would imagine that Korvin was up there, watching her, waiting for her to join him.

"But I can't join you yet, Korvin," she would whisper. "I have to keep my promise to you. A promise I made as you lay dying in my arms. I have to protect the young ones, to protect Requiem. To see her halls rise again."

And she tightened her jaw at these times, and she knew that she was not alone, not truly. Amity knew then that she carried an ancient torch of starlight, that future books--books like those Fidelity tended too--would remember her.

She had lost her family, lost all those she loved, but Amity had new people to love now. People in generations ahead. The people of Requiem. She would build this kingdom for them. She would keep it safe.

In the mornings after her flights in darkness, she would return to the city, to her soldiers, to the sight of those columns rising anew. No matter how far she flew, how deep the pain ran, she would always return to Requiem. It was always her home.

CADE

On a chilly autumn morning, dragons from the capital arrived at the village of Favilla.

Cade was inside his humble clay bakery, busy braiding loaves of sweet sesame bread, when he heard the dragons' cries outside. The oven was already heating up, ready to bake the loaves, filling the bakery with warmth in the cold dawn. Soft sunlight fell through the round windows, falling upon rolling pins, bags of flour, and the two people Cade loved most in the world.

His wife looked up from the loaf she was braiding. She wore an apron, and flour whitened her hands and hid the freckles on her cheeks. A kerchief covered her hair--hair as fiery and beautiful as autumn foliage. Her green eyes stared over the loaves of bread at Cade--the same green eyes that first stared at him five years ago, piercing his soul. Eyes he had never forgotten. Eyes he loved more than ever.

"They're here," Domi whispered, reaching across the table to clasp Cade's hand.

Beside Domi stood little Eliana, also wearing an apron and kerchief. The girl was five years old now, her eyes large and hazel and full of wonder.

"Dwagons!" the girl whispered. "Weal dwagons fwom the nowth!"

The dragons' cries rose again outside alongside the sound of beating wings. Air fluttered the curtains, and Cade winced in sudden pain. He could not stop the fear from springing into him--even now, five years later. Perhaps that fear would never leave him.

Five years ago, he thought, Mercy Deus arrived here from the capital, leading her firedrakes. Five years ago, Derin and Tisha died in the fire.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment Cade could not breathe. He stood in a new bakery now, but this was the same place, and this was the same pain.

How do I forget? he thought, his hands balling into fists. How do I stop those memories? The ashes of this place. The bones. The pain. The terror. The war of thousands drowning. His eyes stung. So much blood and death, so much, I cannot--

Domi saw his turmoil. Her eyes softened, and she walked around the table toward him. She laid her hands against his chest and looked up at him, and he stared into those soft green eyes, and all anxiety, all fear, all memory faded from him, her kindness washing them away.

Only one thought remained.

Domi.

He embraced his wife and kissed her forehead.

"I love you," he whispered.

She kissed his lips. "And I you. Always. Come. Let's go see her."

The flapping wings were louder now, and Cade heard the laughter of children from outside. Eliana was already bouncing, eager to run out and see the "dwagons."

Cade nodded to his wife and kissed her again. He walked toward the back of the bakery, stepped through a doorway, and entered the nursery. He approached the crib that lay there, reached inside, and lifted his son. The little boy, only a year old, was still asleep, even with the noise from outside. Cade kissed the babe's hair, held him against his chest, and stepped outside the bakery with his family.

The new village of Favilla spread around him. All the ashes of the war had been cleaned. All the dead rested under the grass. New huts rose here now, built in the same style as before--humble clay dwellings with round windows and domed roofs. But now, unlike in the days of the Cured Temple, flowers grew in gardens and upon windowsills. Grass carpeted the ground. Young birches and maples, already as tall as Cade, rustled between the homes, their leaves turning gold and orange and red.

In the center of the village rose a dragon sculpture, life-sized, built of steel and glass. The dragon was gazing up at the sky, perhaps watching the stars. Upon its wings were engraved the names of all those who had fallen in this village, all those the paladins had murdered. Derin. Tisha. Many others. Souls lost but not forgotten.

"Look, look!" Eliana pointed. "Dwagons! Weal Dwagons!"

Indeed, real dragons flew above, gliding down toward Favilla--twenty or more. Most were children, no larger than ponies, their scales soft and their wings beating madly. They dipped in the sky, wobbled, and laughed. Eliana stood in the dirt, staring up with wide, envious eyes. She was a year older than these dragons but could not shift herself. Her magic had been stolen--stolen on that horrible day that still tore at Cade's heart. He placed a hand on her head and stroked her hair.

She looked up at him. "Cade, when I'm gwown up, will I leawn to be a dwagon too?"

Cade passed his son to Domi, then knelt and looked into Eliana's eyes. "When you're older, you're going to be a beautiful, wise, strong woman, and you're going to ride dragons like the great Queen Laira of Requiem. She could not become a dragon, but she was very brave and very loved across Requiem." He kissed the little girl's cheek.

She nodded and looked down at her feet, seeming disappointed, then smiled when he tickled her. "Okay."

Cade looked back at the sky. Among the child-dragons flew one adult, a slender dragon with beautiful ocean-blue scales. Spectacles, each lens as large as a man's head, perched upon the dragon's snout.

"Children, children!" the blue dragon said, laughing. "Fly around me! You're wobbling like turkeys' waddles. Now fly straight!"

"Yes, Queen Fidelity!" the little dragons chanted together, struggling to form a line in the sky but only bumping into one another.

Giving up all attempts to herd them, Fidelity glided down the last few feet and landed on the grass. She shifted back into human form. Though Queen of Requiem now, Fidelity wore no gown, no fine armor, not even a crown or tiara. She wore the same outfit Cade had first seen her in: tan leggings, brown boots, and a blue vest with brass buttons. Her round spectacles slid down her nose, and her golden braid hung across her shoulder, tied with a blue ribbon.

She reached out her arms. "Cade! Domi! Eliana!"

They all approached and took turns embracing. Slowly some of Cade's memories eased.

The pain of that day five years ago will always be here, he thought as he watched the sisters laughing together. But this is a good day. This is a day for joy.

The little dragons were landing all around and turning back into human children. Every month now, new children across Requiem, four or five years old--born after the fall of the Cured Temple--were discovering their magic. Somebody needed to teach them how to fly, and Fidelity spent much of her time giving them lessons.

Most of the children were laughing, running around the village, and squealing. Eliana raced off to join them; now that they were in human forms, she could finally play and be one of them.

One of the children, however, stood apart. He was a somber child, his hair brown, his eyes dark and sad. He stepped up quietly and held Fidelity's hand.

Cade knelt by the boy and smiled. "Hello, Tam."

The boy pressed his face against his mother's hip, still shy.

"He's a lot like his father," Fidelity said softly, stroking the boy's hair.

Cade nodded. Roen too had shied away from others, preferring the solitude of the forest.

"He will grow to be strong and noble like Roen," Cade said.

Domi hefted her own son and kissed his head. "And this little one will grow up to be as strong and noble as you, Cade."

Cade bristled. "Are you mocking me?"

Domi grinned, stepped closer to him, and kissed his lips. She leaned in and whispered into his ear, "Always, Goldy."

That evening everyone from the village left their homes, stepped out onto the hills beyond the farms, and lit campfires. The stars shone above, and many smaller lights shone below upon the hills, a second sky of stars. The people laughed, sang, and roasted sausages on sticks. Children were allowed to stay up past midnight and play between the fires and under the moon. Even Tam, perhaps emboldened by the shadows, played with Eliana, racing with her around a campfire and dueling her with wooden swords.

It was New Night, a holiday they'd been observing every autumn for the past few years.

"In the days of the Commonwealth," Fidelity said to villagers who gathered around her, "in autumn all people from across the land would donate most of their crops, animals, and coins to the Cured Temple. Now we live in Requiem. Now your life is yours, not belonging to any priestess or paladin. And tonight we celebrate a great harvest of plenty."

And indeed they feasted upon that harvest, roasting apples and nuts, drinking sweet wine and cider, eating the fresh breads Cade and Domi baked. And laughing. Always laughing.

The stars wheeled across the sky, and the dawn rose, and the snows of winter fell, and the years turned, and the pain and joy lingered.

Cade baked his breads, and his children grew, and Requiem grew, and every year more dragons flew in the sky, and the pain and joy lingered.

The first strands of white filled Domi's red hair, and Cade's son stood taller than him, and Eliana gave birth to a son of her own, and the marble halls of Requiem rose again, resplendent and tall, and the pain and joy lingered, and Cade grew older.

Often at dawn, as he baked his breads, a sudden stab of pain would hit him, and he would think of that dawn long ago--the dawn his sister had arrived in his village, riding on Domi's back. Often at night, as he walked outside upon the hills under the stars, he would look up into the shadows, and he would remember that night long ago--the night the fleet of the Horde had sunk, as hundreds of thousands drowned and burned while he lingered on, gray in his hair, a single life when so many lights had gone dark.

And often--as Cade played with his child and then his grandchildren--he would think of those he had lost, those who should have been here with him. Of Korvin, the wisest man he had ever known. Of Julian and Roen.

And of my family.

Cade did not think of his family often, usually only before he drifted off to sleep or woke from dreams. He thought of them in the shadows of his chamber, as the walls seemed to close in and trap him. He thought then of the time Mercy, his sister, had dragged him into the Temple in chains. He thought of how Beatrix, his mother, had vowed to slay him upon the balcony. He thought of Gemini, his brother, dying in his arms. And those times, in those dark nights, Cade found that he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, that cold sweat washed him, that the pain seemed too great, and he thought that he would never find peace in his life. At those times, he thought that he might as well have fallen in the war like so many others, for the memories were too real. Even in Requiem reborn, even with the halls rising again, the pain seemed too great.

Some wounds do not heal, he knew then. Some memories do not fade. Some victories do not bring joy, only lingering shadows that no light can cast aside.

And when those times happened, those nights of short breath and long memories, he would turn in his bed to face his wife.

Always, like the column of his people, she guided his soul. Always Domi lay at his side, his anchor, his beacon of hope. On those nights, Cade would wrap his arms around her and hold her close, and he would whisper to her.

"Many years ago, Domi, you flew into my village, and you whispered 'Requiem' into my ear, and you made me love you. And I love you, Domi. Always."

She would mumble in her sleep, smile, and kiss him, and Cade would hold her for the rest of the night, and they would both feel safe. At dawn, as light fell into their bedchamber, as the laughter of their grandchildren rang through their humble home, Cade would wake to bake his bread, the weight lifted, and the memories faded into a pale shadow in the back of his mind.

Because dawn always rises, he knew. The morning always brings some hope. There is always light after darkness, always joy after pain, always life even after so many lives lost.

One autumn long after the fall of the Cured Temple, Eliana's daughter--a beautiful child named Elory--burned a tray of loaves in their oven. Black smoke filled the bakery, and they all fled outside and sat in the garden until the burnt smell would fade. Cade sat among the peonies that morning, watching the smoke drift out the windows, then turned to watch the red leaves of maples glide down into their garden. His family sat at his side, laughing at the misfortune, but Cade only sat quietly, gazing at the falling leaves.

Elory wrung her hands, and tears filled her eyes. The child approached Cade, looking fearful.

"Are you mad, Uncle Cade?" she said.

He smiled and pulled the girl close to him. She sat at his side--with him, with Domi, with their son and his sons, with Eliana, a family in a garden.

"Are you sad then?" Elory whispered, seeing the tears on his cheeks.

Cade shook his head. "No," he whispered and held his family close. "I'm happy."

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AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading the Requiem for Dragons trilogy. I hope you enjoyed these novels.

I've written several other trilogies set in Requiem, and I'm writing new ones all the time.

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Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.

Daniel

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

THE MOTH SAGA

Moth

Empires of Moth

Secrets of Moth

Daughter of Moth

Shadows of Moth

Legacy of Moth

REQUIEM

Dawn of Dragons

Requiem's Song

Requiem's Hope

Requiem's Prayer

The Complete Trilogy

Song of Dragons

Blood of Requiem

Tears of Requiem

Light of Requiem

The Complete Trilogy

Dragonlore

A Dawn of Dragonfire

A Day of Dragon Blood

A Night of Dragon Wings

The Complete Trilogy

The Dragon War

A Legacy of Light

A Birthright of Blood

A Memory of Fire

The Complete Trilogy

Requiem for Dragons

Dragons Lost

Dragons Reborn

Dragons Rising

The Complete Trilogy

ALIEN HUNTERS

Alien Hunters

Alien Sky

Alien Shadows

OTHER WORLDS

Eye of the Wizard

Wand of the Witch

Firefly Island

The Gods of Dream

Flaming Dove

KEEP IN TOUCH

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