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
"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
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