peeling from
bones, and I saw the proud palaces and temples of Tiranor fall. I
saw women and children swimming after my ships, begging for room I
did not have. I will speak to these shapeshifters now. I will ask
them why they did this to us. I won't hurt them, but I will demand
answers. Stay here, Miya. Stay in this valley in sunlight, grass
and trees and water around you. I will step back into the fire."
Tears gleamed in her eyes, and
she nodded. He left her there and turned toward the hill.
He began to climb. A natural
path led up the hillside, carved by eighteen years of footsteps.
Alongside the pebbly trail, mint bushes, olive trees, and brambles
bustled with birds and mice. Ant hives and groundhog holes rose from
wild grass. Boulders of chalk and granite speckled the hillside like
white clouds upon a green sky.
A twisting carob tree crowned
the hill, the tallest tree upon Maiden Island. Its branches spread
out like a crown, thick with dark leaves. Its roots rose from a
carpet of fallen fruit. Wooden strands wove together into its bole,
forming a grandfatherly face, complete with two burrows for eyes.
Sila often thought of the tree as the island's grandfather, an
ancient sentinel watching over him. Sila was not a religious
man—back in Tiranor, he had spent little time worshiping the Sun
God, the lord of the desert—yet he often thought this tree holy.
You've
watched over us for eighteen years, Old
Carob, he thought, climbing the trail toward the tree. Today
you watch our greatest enemy.
Climbing the hill, he could see
the island spread all around. The hills rolled down, thick with
brush, to golden shores. The sea spread into every horizon, azure
under the clear sky.
Maiden
Island, he thought and clenched his jaw. A
new haven. I will not let it burn too.
He took the last few steps
toward the hilltop, approached Old Carob, and stared at the two
prisoners tied to the trunk.
"Vir Requis," he said,
hand on the pommel on his saber.
They stood in human forms now.
The ropes binding them to the tree would keep them humans. It had
taken a hundred men to cudgel the dragons, knocking their magic out
of them. Bruised and bound, the two hardly looked threatening now,
but Sila had seen their dragon forms: one dragon large and silver,
missing a horn, the other slim and green.
Demons.
The
silver dragon now stood as a man, his dark hair streaked with white,
his leathery face thick with stubble. He stood tall and wide; his
shoulders bulged under his tattered tunic. Sila was among the
tallest, strongest men on this island, and this man seemed his match.
He seemed on the wrong side of forty—about the same age as
Sila—but his eyes seemed older, haunted with ghosts. Those eyes
glared now, steaming with rage, but Sila had stared into the eyes of
enough enemies to recognize old pain.
Two
men of an age, Sila thought. Two
warriors with dark eyes. What secrets do your eyes keep?
He turned to look at the second
Vir Requis. This one was as different from the man as fire from ice.
She was a young woman, perhaps twenty years old. Her hair cascaded
in waves the color of dark honey, and her hazel eyes blazed with
fury. She hadn't the skin for the southern sun, and her nose and
cheeks had begun to peel, and her lips were dry and cracked, but she
still exuded a northern beauty. Her sharp features and golden mane
gave her feline look, a tied lioness who couldn't wait to rip out his
throat.
"Two Vir Requis sweep onto
our shore," Sila said, flexing his fingers around his hilt.
"Two dragons are captured. What should we do with them?"
He turned back toward the beefy, haggard man. "You. You have
the bearings of a soldier. How did you find us?"
The man's eyes simmered like
smelters. When he spoke, his voice was raspy like a man being
strangled, a mere death gasp.
"I
thought all Tirans were dead. How did you get here?"
Sila raised his eyebrows and
thrust out his bottom lip. "Asking questions, are we? My
friend, where I come from, the
bones, and I saw the proud palaces and temples of Tiranor fall. I
saw women and children swimming after my ships, begging for room I
did not have. I will speak to these shapeshifters now. I will ask
them why they did this to us. I won't hurt them, but I will demand
answers. Stay here, Miya. Stay in this valley in sunlight, grass
and trees and water around you. I will step back into the fire."
Tears gleamed in her eyes, and
she nodded. He left her there and turned toward the hill.
He began to climb. A natural
path led up the hillside, carved by eighteen years of footsteps.
Alongside the pebbly trail, mint bushes, olive trees, and brambles
bustled with birds and mice. Ant hives and groundhog holes rose from
wild grass. Boulders of chalk and granite speckled the hillside like
white clouds upon a green sky.
A twisting carob tree crowned
the hill, the tallest tree upon Maiden Island. Its branches spread
out like a crown, thick with dark leaves. Its roots rose from a
carpet of fallen fruit. Wooden strands wove together into its bole,
forming a grandfatherly face, complete with two burrows for eyes.
Sila often thought of the tree as the island's grandfather, an
ancient sentinel watching over him. Sila was not a religious
man—back in Tiranor, he had spent little time worshiping the Sun
God, the lord of the desert—yet he often thought this tree holy.
You've
watched over us for eighteen years, Old
Carob, he thought, climbing the trail toward the tree. Today
you watch our greatest enemy.
Climbing the hill, he could see
the island spread all around. The hills rolled down, thick with
brush, to golden shores. The sea spread into every horizon, azure
under the clear sky.
Maiden
Island, he thought and clenched his jaw. A
new haven. I will not let it burn too.
He took the last few steps
toward the hilltop, approached Old Carob, and stared at the two
prisoners tied to the trunk.
"Vir Requis," he said,
hand on the pommel on his saber.
They stood in human forms now.
The ropes binding them to the tree would keep them humans. It had
taken a hundred men to cudgel the dragons, knocking their magic out
of them. Bruised and bound, the two hardly looked threatening now,
but Sila had seen their dragon forms: one dragon large and silver,
missing a horn, the other slim and green.
Demons.
The
silver dragon now stood as a man, his dark hair streaked with white,
his leathery face thick with stubble. He stood tall and wide; his
shoulders bulged under his tattered tunic. Sila was among the
tallest, strongest men on this island, and this man seemed his match.
He seemed on the wrong side of forty—about the same age as
Sila—but his eyes seemed older, haunted with ghosts. Those eyes
glared now, steaming with rage, but Sila had stared into the eyes of
enough enemies to recognize old pain.
Two
men of an age, Sila thought. Two
warriors with dark eyes. What secrets do your eyes keep?
He turned to look at the second
Vir Requis. This one was as different from the man as fire from ice.
She was a young woman, perhaps twenty years old. Her hair cascaded
in waves the color of dark honey, and her hazel eyes blazed with
fury. She hadn't the skin for the southern sun, and her nose and
cheeks had begun to peel, and her lips were dry and cracked, but she
still exuded a northern beauty. Her sharp features and golden mane
gave her feline look, a tied lioness who couldn't wait to rip out his
throat.
"Two Vir Requis sweep onto
our shore," Sila said, flexing his fingers around his hilt.
"Two dragons are captured. What should we do with them?"
He turned back toward the beefy, haggard man. "You. You have
the bearings of a soldier. How did you find us?"
The man's eyes simmered like
smelters. When he spoke, his voice was raspy like a man being
strangled, a mere death gasp.
"I
thought all Tirans were dead. How did you get here?"
Sila raised his eyebrows and
thrust out his bottom lip. "Asking questions, are we? My
friend, where I come from, the
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