A LEGACY OF LIGHT

SHARI

SHARI

She stood in her chambers, hand against the fireplace mantel, and stared down into the embers. The fire crackled and danced, a small battle whose light fell upon her. In the flames and shadows, she saw dragons aflight. She saw the Aeternum heir land upon her, claw at her flesh, and tear off her wing. She saw the deaths of thousands.

Shari Cadigus clenched her fists.

"You crippled me, Relesar," she whispered. "You stole my wing. You will suffer. You will scream like none have screamed before."

Her eyes burned. Her fists shook. The flames danced in the hearth, an endless war, their light red like blood, and in their crackle, she thought she heard screams again: the screams of men dying, of her own body tearing, the rip of leather, and--

A knock sounded on her door.

Shari turned from the flame.

She loosened her fists, took a shuddering breath, and raised her chin.

"I will not succumb to the night," she whispered. "I will not allow those flames to claim me."

She walked across her chamber, boots clacking against the tiled floor. Tapestries hung around her, depicting dragons aflight in war. Golden vases engraved with the red spiral stood upon her tables, and swords hung upon the walls. When Shari reached the door, she froze and took a deep breath.

Do not show her your pain, she thought. No one must know. Here in the capital, weakness is death. Weakness is a stab in the back.

She opened the door.

Guards lined the hall, faces hidden behind their visors. Tilla Roper stood between them, dressed in a steel breastplate, her new insignia upon her arms. Her sheathed sword hung at her belt. Her black, chin-length hair peeked from under her helmet.

"Commander," the girl said and saluted, slamming her gloved fist against her chest. "You summoned me."

Shari nodded. "Come inside, Roper," she said softly. "Close the door behind you."

She young periva entered. Shari led her across the chamber toward her table, poured two glasses of wine, and handed one to Tilla.

"Drink," Shari said. "Southern wine from your hometown."

Tilla opened her mouth as if about to speak, then closed it and nodded. She sipped.

"Thank you, Commander," she said.

Shari looked upon this young woman.

She's only eighteen, Shari thought. A decade younger than I am, and frightened, and confused. But there is strength in this one. There is so much cruelty here for the red spiral.

"I have a gift for you, Tilla Roper," she said.

She stepped into the corner and pulled back a silken veil, revealing a shield. Carved of oak and banded in iron, its surface was painted crimson. It sported a new sigil: a black cannon overlooking the sea.

"Is this... mine?" Tilla asked, narrowing her eyes.

Shari nodded. "Cadport has the oldest cannon in the empire, did you know? I visited it once; it stands upon the boardwalk, overlooking the sea. It no longer works. It rusted years ago. But it's a great symbol of Requiem." She looked at Tilla. "It will be a great symbol for you."

"For me?" Tilla asked and placed her glass down. "Commander, I'm but a commoner. I cannot have a coat of arms. I was not noble born."

"That is true," Shari said. "But neither was my father."

Tilla's eyes widened. "Frey Cadigus, the emperor... a commoner?"

Shari laughed. "The poor son of a logger. He excelled in the Legions. He began as a humble periva--like you. He rose to power." Shari lifted the shield and handed it to Tilla. "You will rise to power too. I vowed to you in Cadport, Tilla, that I will watch you closely. I have watched you, and I am pleased. Take this shield, Tilla of Cadport, and bear your sigil proudly. Hail the red spiral."

Tilla took the shield, lifted her chin, and blinked. She held the shield tight against her.

"Hail the red spiral," she whispered.

Shari smiled softly. She touched the young woman's cheek where a tear trailed.

"You are overcome with joy," she said. "That is good. You are a noble warrior and strong, but you must remember: Never shed tears. Never show weakness. If you shed a tear again, I cannot protect you."

Tilla nodded and blinked. "Yes, Commander. I vow to you: I will be strong. I will serve the Legions well."

Shari sipped her wine and looked back into the flames. They danced there, the old battle of light and darkness, of heat and endless winter.

"You will command," Shari said and looked back at the young soldier. "Tilla, you were meant for more than servitude. You are noble now. You were meant to lead dragons in battle, not serve. Would you like to train in Castra Academia here in the capital, to become an officer someday like Nairi was? The training is grueling. You will have to train there for long moons, and they will break you. But if you survive, Tilla--and I believe you will--you will wear red spirals upon your shoulders. You will become a lanse like Nairi, a young officer. You will lead your own phalanx in war."

Tilla's jaw shook, but she tightened it.

"Castra Academia," she whispered. "Commander! It is a fortress of legend. I would be honored. I vow to you: I will succeed. I will fight for Requiem."

They will break her there, Shari thought, looking upon this young girl. She will miss the southern Castra Luna. In the academy, they train no cannon fodder like they do in the south. They train killers.

"Good," Shari said and smiled. She lifted a scroll from her table and handed it to Tilla. "Only a Cadigus can appoint a cadet to Castra Academia. Take this scroll; it bears my seal. Fly there tonight. This scroll assigns you a chamber and commander. Your training begins tomorrow."

Tilla saluted, chin raised and lips tightened. She spun on her heels and marched away.

"Goodbye, Tilla Roper," Shari whispered, then winced.

Pain flared across her shoulder where Rune had torn off her wing. Even when she stood in human form, the wound ached, and Shari rubbed it.

"I will capture you, Rune," she whispered through the pain. "And you, Tilla, will kill him. I heard you speak with him. I will have the boy die at the sword of his beloved."

Shari snarled, gulped down her wine, then tossed the cup into the fireplace. It shattered, and the wine burned like dragons ablaze.