Free Dragons Lost by Daniel Arenson Page A

killed.
    "I'm just a baker," he
whispered. "Spirit, I'm just a baker. And now my family is gone. My village is
gone. And the blood of men stains my hands."
    But no. He was not just
a baker. Not anymore.
    "Requiem," he
whispered. The word he did not understand. The word that gave him strength,
courage. The memory of Domi's eyes. The prayer of his heart.
    Requiem.
    He kept walking. He
kept moving eastward, to the city of Sanctus, to the library, to find help, to
find the meaning of the word he whispered over and over.

 
 
MERCY

    Mercy had to pause outside the
gates of the Temple, take a deep breath, and steel herself.
    Be calm, Mercy. You
can do this. Her breath shuddered, her fingertips tingled, and the baby
whimpered in her arms. You are twenty-four years old, no longer a child.
    And yet, around her
mother, Mercy always felt like a child. Even now, a grown woman and paladin,
she felt like a foolish toddler whenever Beatrix turned those icy shards she
called eyes upon her.
    But she must know .
. . know about the boy. Know that I failed.
    Mercy's eyes burned,
and she clenched her jaw. She raised her chin, sucked in air, and climbed the
last few steps toward the Temple gates. A marble archway rose here, inlaid with
pearls. Guards stood alongside, clad in white steel and gold, holding spears
and shields. They bent the knee as Mercy walked between them. She stepped under
the pearly archway, entering the heart of the Commonwealth.
    The Cured Temple
preached austerity, humility, and the nobility of poverty. Across the
Commonwealth, the Temple's flock wore burlap, lived in clay huts, and owned no
jewelry or fineries. They served the Spirit by living a life of modesty,
feeding on simple bread and gruel, sleeping on hard cots, and devoting their
souls to humble living.
    Here, inside the
Temple, Mercy beheld a world of endless splendor.
    A polished mosaic
covered the floor, a masterwork inlaid with gold, depicting stars and intricate
designs. Marble columns rose in rows, engraved with figures of legendary
paladins, and their capitals were gilded. Above the columns spread arches in
blue, gold, and silver, painted with scenes from the Cured Book, depicting the
miracles of the first druids to have healed the disease. The ceiling was
perhaps more glorious than all; murals of clouds, stars, and firedrakes
sprawled above in pastels, and between them stretched lines of platinum and sapphires.
The precious metals and gemstones gleamed in the sunlight falling through tall,
narrow windows.
    All the treasures of
the Commonwealth—its gold, its gems, its splendor—filled this single, holy
heart of the empire. Some said that the Spirit himself dwelled not in the sky
but within these very walls.
    Mercy took another deep
breath.
    The Spirit and my
mother.
    When she spotted a
servant walking by, Mercy snapped her fingers. The girl rushed toward her and
knelt, head bowed.
    "Take this baby to my
chambers," Mercy said to the servant, handing Eliana over. "Find her a
nursemaid and have her cleaned up and fed."
    The servant nodded,
took the baby, and rushed off. Mercy watched them leave, and a strange
emptiness filled her. She had grown accustomed to the warmth of Eliana against
her. Without the baby, Mercy felt naked, barren, too cold. She had felt like
this before, she remembered. She had felt such loss once, such coldness, such—
    No.
    Mercy clenched her jaw.
    No, that pain had
happened in another lifetime, to another woman. Not to a strong, noble paladin.
    She snorted. I stole
the babe as a hostage, not to become some surrogate mother. As soon as she
captured Cade, the babe would be useless; she would kill both at that time.
    She walked on down the
grand hall. Many priests and priestesses were walking back and forth here, and
when they saw her—their future High Priestess—they turned toward her, knelt,
and lowered their heads. Mercy walked between them. While those around her wore
costly robes of white cotton and gold, her armor was still