A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2) by Daniel Arenson Read Free Book Online Page B

phalanx. Erry took a deep breath. I
might still be a lowly periva and Tilla a lofty lanse. And I might
have to serve under her command, rather than fight at her side. But
I can be near her again. I can be with my friend.
    She knuckled her eyes, kept
walking down the road, and soon reached the ruins of Castra Luna.
    The Legions had built a palisade
of sharpened logs around the debris, and Erry approached an opening
where two guards stood. When she reached them, they frowned down at
her, two beefy men in black steel. They moved to block the palisade
gateway.
    "Move it!" Erry said,
craning her head up to glare at them. She stood five feet tall only
on tiptoes, and these brutes towered above her, but she had fought
men this size before on the docks. "I'm reassigned to this
fort. Let me in, mules."
    The guards wore a single red
star upon their armbands. They were perivas, the same lowly rank as
her. They snorted.
    "You got to be eighteen to
join the Legions, shrimp," one said and snorted. "You look
about three years old. Get lost."
    Erry
rolled her eyes. "And you got to have a brain to join too, and
I've seen logs with bigger brains than yours." She brandished
her scroll at them. "Can you even read? This is my new fort. Move! "
    With a great shove, she pushed
between them and entered the camp.
    Chaos awaited her.
    Dragons trundled about, snorting
smoke and dragging wagons of bricks and wood. Masons cursed and
yelled at one another, jabbing fingers at building plans. Workers
swung hammers, erecting scaffolding. Other dragons grunted as they
dug ditches. Between these workers, hundreds of troops marched in
clanking armor, trained with swords, and flew overhead as dragons. A
thousand legionaries must have bustled here, engineers and fighters
alike.
    "I'm looking for Lanse
Tilla Siren," Erry said to one mason, speaking Tilla's new,
noble surname. "She commands the Sea Cannons phalanx. Where do
I go?"
    The mason ignored her, rushed
toward a worker, and began admonishing the man for using the wrong
chisel.
    Erry grumbled, spat, and moved
on. She had to ask a dragon tugging a cart, three soldiers sorting
through rubble, and another guard.
    Finally the last man scratched
his chin, sucked his cheek, and said, "Lanse Tilla Siren? Tall
woman, sort of looks like a statue?"
    Erry nodded. "That's her
all right."
    The legionary snorted. "You
asked to serve under Lanse Siren? The Cadport Cannon?" He
whistled. "You crazy or what?"
    She growled at him. "You
stupid or just an idiot?" She waved the scroll at him. "Yes,
Tilla Bloody Siren, says so right here. Where is she?"
    The soldier raised his hands in
defense, and his eyebrows rose just as high.
    "All right, little one,
don't have a fit. It's just that, well…" He snickered.
"Siren's got a bit of a reputation around here. Say she not
only looks like a statue, but got a heart of stone too. Loves her
punisher, that one does. But well… if you're a glutton for pain,
you might like her." He gestured his chin to a gateway behind
him. "Step out the palisade, down the road for two hundred
yards, and look for a tent with a cannon banner. You'll find her
there."
    "Yeah, well, you're a
glutton for… dumbness!" Erry said and marched away, fuming.
    So what if people badmouthed
Tilla? Erry had heard others say the same about her friend, even
back in Cadport, calling her cold and haughty. But Erry had seen a
different side to her. Erry had seen a kind, sensitive woman beneath
the icy exterior. She had seen a friend.
    I
myself was always an outcast, Erry thought. I
myself was always called names. They called me a dock rat, a harlot,
and a diseased stray. She knuckled her eyes. But
I'm not. And Tilla isn't cruel. We're two outcasts, two lost souls
from Cadport… and we'll get through these damn Legions together.
    She stepped through the palisade
gates, walked down a dirt road, and saw a clearing between the trees.
A hundred tents rose here, their black cloth emblazoned with red
spirals. Troops marched