In the House of Five Dragons
4. Under the Sky
“There has never been an enemy like the barbarians of Fiore. Emperor Tychon’s emissaries returned with little more than ghost stories, when they returned at all. When the emperor sent VEIL into the mountains to conquer the Fiori, they had no idea what awaited them in the snow and ice.”
— From Accounts of Njorn Pass, by Alexander Ferro
Voices. He heard voices in the darkness.
“Is he dead?”
“Don’t think so. Just sleeping.”
Sleep. Hae, I remember sleep. Death took his twin, Life, as his bride. Their children were Sleep and Dream.
I was sleeping. Did I dream?
“He’s injured,” said one of the voices. A foot prodded roughly at his shoulder.
“Passed out, then.”
“But look at the armor! That’s the VEIL crest. Star Court.”
“Look at the blood, you jackass!” said the second voice. “Come on, let’s get out of here!”
“Wait. If he’s a knight, he’s got to have money.”
“Are you out of your mind? He’ll kill you! Or feed you to the soul-eaters!”
“Just give me one minute.”
Rough hands worked their way under his shoulders and rolled him onto his back. His eyes flew open. A man with a sun-creased brow stared down at him. Not at his face, but at the empty scabbard on his belt.
“This armor is thrashed pretty bad and he doesn’t even have a sword! It must have been one hell of a fight… Juniper, hand me your knife.”
A gauntleted fist smashed up into the man’s face, cutting off the words. His would-be thief fell, spitting curses and broken teeth. With a ragged howl of fury, the nameless knight lurched to his feet and grabbed the second man’s throat and squeezed as hard as he could. Bones popped and then the man was no longer a man — just an empty sack of flesh.
He dropped the body and whirled on Juniper. The man had pulled a knife from his belt, but now clutched it in nerveless fingers and groveled in the worn road.
“No! Stop! Didn’t mean anything by it, I swear! Please, please don’t kill me!”
Juniper’s voice went shrill and sorrow-sharp as the man in the old VEIL armor slammed his heavy boot down on his head. Once, twice and then a third time. There was a terrible crunch and bright blood pooled on the cracked paving stones. It glimmered with otherworldly light, a burning ember ruby radiance, but nothing more. Juniper had no pact with the Alterra.
The man in the broken black armor wiped the blood from his skin with a handful of grass.
So he wasn’t dead just yet. But how much time had passed since he… fell asleep? He couldn’t remember how to tell.
He spurred his limp muscles into movement once more. It was time to move on, time to go home.
Dormaen.
Home.
A raven landed on the sprawled corpses littering the road and squawked happily at the unexpected feast.
He killed those men, didn’t he? Stumble asked.
In his astonishment, the curiosity opened his beak too wide and his stone head cracked with a small, sharp retort. Green dust sifted down through the great boughs of the Uprising.
All he did was touch them! He didn’t even hate them.
Hae. Terrans die strangely, easily, when their body breaks. But ours is a strong one, even for a Terran, Flickerdim said. He will fight. War is his craft, in his world and ours.
Dormaen. Jewel of the empire. The heart of Carce.
Home.
So beautiful.
The sun was falling out of the sky again. Lights kindled across the distant city, glowing like low golden stars. He was weeping again, blurring his vision with sea-salty water that stung his raw skin, but he didn’t need to see the city to know it.
Home.
But curiosity pried his eyes open again and his hands dropped to his sides again. They closed into fists like the curling legs of a dead spider.
The city was so much bigger than he remembered! Even in the dying daylight, he could make out the silver-edged green of gated hunting parks to the east… Where were all of the farms that had surrounded Dormaen like the fertile bridal veil of Surma herself? The mill-houses on the shores of the Mazren River? Where was the white-walled fortress and training grounds of the Verita et Illumina Lansinos?
Where were they? Were they hiding from… from the stars?
Everything had changed, but he knew it all the same — the sharp tang of the distant sea in the air, the scents of smoke and cooking food, the muted roar of humanity audible even from this distance. This was still Dormaen. He was almost home.
Dormaen.
Home.
He is a warrior.
The idea was dark with misery and bright with blood. Stumble guessed there was no worse curse or higher calling in the worlds. Of course, a battle or bitter might not share the sentiment…
He made sacrifices to win his war, said Flickerdim. He’ll make even more to win ours. That was our pact.
Would you make the same deal? Stumble asked.
Never.
