Dragons Lost by Daniel Arenson

thinnest of smiles
touched Beatrix's lips. "If there were no weredragons, daughter, King's Column
would not be standing before us, and the Spirit would be flowing among us,
cleansing the world of all pain. Yes, I know there are living weredragons. But
unless you bring me their corpses, what use are your words?"
    Mercy found that her
jaw was shaking. She forced in air. "I saw one. A real one! A boy. A baker's
boy. I . . . I chased him. He slew one of my men. I—"
    "And you bring me his
corpse?" Beatrix asked calmly.
    Mercy lowered her head,
eyes stinging. "I need more men. I left nine to seek him in the mountains, but
I must fly out with a hundred more." She dared to raise her eyes and meet her
mother's gaze. "I will uproot every tree, upturn every boulder, raze every hut
to the ground, and I will find him."
    Beatrix turned back
toward the column. For a long time she did not speak. Finally a whisper left
her throat, trembling with rage. "You saw a living weredragon . . . and you let
him get away."
    "He was flying too
quickly, Mother! He was a vicious beast, a—"
    "And what are firedrakes?"
Beatrix shouted, spinning around. The calmness was gone from her face, and her
eyes blazed with mad rage. "What are they if not vicious beasts? What are you
if not a vicious beast?" Beatrix struck her, driving all her strength into the
blow, nearly knocking Mercy down. "I thought you were a paladin, a trained
warrior of the Spirit. And a baker's boy escapes you?" Beatrix barked a
mirthless laugh. "And you dare return to me, stinking of the flight, begging me
to aid you?"
    Mercy wanted to shout
back, to argue, to explain, but she only lowered her head. She stared at the
floor. "Forgive me, Mother."
    "No." Beatrix's voice
shook. "You will not do this. You will not beg for forgiveness. It is not me
you must beg forgiveness from but the Spirit himself. You will chastise
yourself now, daughter. You will purify yourself in my presence."
    Mercy sucked in breath.
"I am no child!"
    "You are nothing but a
child!" Beatrix reached into her robes and pulled out a white lightning lash. "You
have sinned before the Spirit. You must purify yourself now here, in this
chamber, as he and I watch."
    Mercy ground her
teeth. She had not undergone this ritual for years, not since she'd been a
rebellious youth. But she had no choice; Mother was High Priestess, her word as
commanding as the Spirit's voice itself.
    With stiff fingers, Mercy
unstrapped her breastplate and let it clang to the floor. When she took the
lash from her mother, its tip blazed into crackling life, sizzling, lightning
blue.
    Mercy slung it across
her back, then grimaced and nearly screamed as the tip cracked against her
back, hotter than fire, cutting through her tunic and burning her flesh.
    "Again," Beatrix said. "Twenty
times for the Spirit. And hail his name with every blow."
    As Mercy slung the lash
again and again, chastising and purifying herself, she prayed to the Spirit,
but she thought of Cade. He had caused this. When she found him, he would be
the one who hurt, who screamed. And she would find him. And she would break
him. She swore this with every lash—to the Spirit and to herself.

 
 
CADE

    He flew through the night, a golden
dragon lost in clouds and shadows, lost in grief and memories.
    The night was dark.
Rainclouds hid the moon and stars, and rain pelted Cade's scales. He had not
shifted into a dragon since battling the paladins, but he dared fly now, hidden
in the storm. The raindrops ran down his scaly cheeks, and the pain clutched
his chest. In the clouds around him, he kept seeing it again and again: the
village burning, the smoke rising, the ashes of the dead falling like snow. And
always they seemed to stare from within his memory: the blackened skulls of his
adoptive parents, their jaws open in silent screams.
    "You killed them,
Mercy," Cade said into the rain. "You murdered them for no reason." His voice
shook. "I'm going to find you someday. And I'll make