A LEGACY OF LIGHT

RUNE

RUNE

Dawn rose over death.

A light snow fell upon Castra Luna, a lingering whisper of winter. A shroud of white clung to the bodies as if preparing them for burial. Hands rose frozen, fingers reaching toward the snowflakes. Dead eyes stared. Mouths screamed silently. Everywhere the ice and frost glittered in the morning, a blanket of stars.

Rune walked among the dead. The battle had ended.

"We claimed this fort," he whispered. "But we lost this battle."

He looked up at Kaelyn. She stood solemn at his side, snow in her long golden hair. The flakes covered her blue cloak and frost coated her armor, yet when she reached out and held Rune's hand, her grip was warm.

She whispered to him, "Battles are always lost. Where youths fall dead, the wise do not rejoice."

Rune lowered his head. "Castra Luna is ours. We claimed this fort. And yet... the emperor fled." His eyes stung. "I killed so many. For nothing."

He walked across the courtyard. Dragons of the Resistance stood upon the walls around him, watching silently. The bodies of legionaries lay upon the cobblestones, some torn apart, others still whole and peaceful like children playing in snow. Rune walked among them, holding Kaelyn's hand.

"I know so many of these faces, Kaelyn," he said. "This boy here--he was a weaver. I knew this girl--she used to sell eggs at the summer fairs."

"I'm sorry, Rune," she whispered.

He walked toward a fallen cannon and knelt by a body. It was a young woman, her strawberry hair braided. Her face was soft, doll-like, and her blue eyes stared.

"I know this one," Rune whispered. "Her name was Mae. She was the daughter of bakers. I used to buy bread from her." His breath frosted and shook, and Rune lowered his head. His tears fell into the snow. "I'm sorry, Mae Baker. I'm sorry."

He closed Mae's blue eyes, the eyes of a friend.

"It wasn't your fault, Rune," Kaelyn said, kneeling beside him. "We couldn't have known."

He looked up at her. "I killed them, Kaelyn. I killed my friends. I killed... oh stars. Tilla was right."

Kaelyn's lips quivered, and she pulled Rune into an embrace so tight he could barely breathe.

"You didn't kill them," she whispered. "My father armed them. My father sent them to battle. We could not have known. Please, Rune. Please."

He held her for long moments, then rose to his feet. He looked around him at the dead, hundreds of them youths from his home.

"We will bury them," he said. "We will bury them with honor--every one."

He shifted into a dragon, filled his wings with air, and flew toward the clock tower.

Valien waited upon the roof, a silver dragon coated in snow, his left horn chipped away. The leader of the Resistance was staring north, his breath frosting. Rune landed beside him, and the two dragons--one burly and silver, the other slim and black--stared north together, silent.

Finally Valien spoke.

"Rune," he said in his deep, raspy voice. "Rune, listen to me."

Rune wanted to speak, but did not trust his voice to remain steady. He nodded silently.

"Rune," said Valien, "what we've begun cannot end here. We cannot let these deaths be in vain. You hurt. You rage. You know loss." He turned to stare at Rune, his eyes burning. "Do not let this be for nothing."

Fire filled Rune's mouth. He wanted to burn the old dragon, to rage, to break down the tower, to fly into the forests and hide forever in their depths.

"They're all dead," he said. "All the youths of my home. My best friend lived, but she serves the red spiral. What do I fight for now, Valien?"

The silver dragon snarled. Fire flared between his teeth.

"You fight for Requiem!" he hissed. "You fight for your father. You fight for your friends who lie dead below--yes, even if they fought for the enemy. We failed here in this fort, but we will fight on." That raspy voice shook now, and the dragon's claws gripped the tower so tightly they chipped the stone. "We will send word to every corner of the empire. We will drop scrolls upon every town and village. We will let them know: Relesar Aeternum has returned, and he rules the south, and he is king. Requiem will be freed."

Rune shook his head. "A king? Valien, my hands are stained in blood. How can I ever hope to rule Requiem?"

The silver dragon's rage seeped away. The smoke from his nostrils died. He sighed, scales clanking, and moved closer to Rune.

"Have you ever seen the capital?" he asked, voice soft.

Rune shook his head.

Valien took a deep breath that rippled his scales. He closed his eyes and a smile revealed his fangs.

"It's not much to look at now," the silver dragon said. "Now it's all banners of the red spiral, and marching soldiers, and towers of obsidian, and statues of Frey." Valien snorted. "Ha! But back then, Rune... back in the days of your father... you should have seen it! Whenever we'd fly toward the city, the guards would greet us from the walls, blowing silver trumpets. When we'd march through the streets, children would throw flowers at us, and people would smile. So many flowers, wine, pretty women..." Valien opened his eyes and winked. "You'd have liked that part, I think."

Rune lowered his head. "I've never seen a city like that."

"You will," Valien said. "You will, Rune. That is why we fight. Not for strength, glory, or any of that rubbish Frey spews. We fight for flowers, for wine, and for silver trumpets upon white walls."

"And for pretty women?" Rune asked.

Valien snorted a laugh; Rune did not think he'd ever heard him laugh before.

"Especially for pretty women," he answered. He nudged Rune with his wing. "Come on, Rune. Let's fly back to Kaelyn. The dead wait below, and we will bury them. And we won't forget the living. You are king of the south now. You have returned." Valien's eyes gleamed. "You will see the capital. I vow this to you. We will fly toward the walls of Nova Vita. Silver trumpets will call you home."

They took flight and Kaelyn joined them. They soared high above the fortress, three dragons in the snow, and roared their song.

Rune looked north. Beyond forest and mountain lay the capital, too distant to see. The throne of Requiem awaited him there; so did the emperor.

"And you wait there too, Tilla," he whispered.

The snow fell and Rune blew his fire. The flaming pillar rose, a pyre for the dead, a beacon for the living... and a light for a lost friend.

_______

The story continues in...

A BIRTHRIGHT OF BLOOD

THE DRAGON WAR, BOOK TWO

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