Requiem's Hope (Dawn of Dragons)

by Daniel Arenson

  A grunt sounded to her left. She turned to see Jeid leave the other dragons and fly toward the rocs. Largest among the dragons, he flew with a clatter of scales, and smoke streamed from his nostrils and mouth. With his wide wings and bulky frame, he was as large as Neiva, Laira's roc. He glided at her side, the wind fluttering his wings with little thuds.

  "How sure are you this will work?" he said, staring at her with one eye. "How well do you know this Chieftain Oritan?"

  Riding upon her roc, Laira had to cry out to be heard over the wind. "Better than I knew you when I flew to you for aid!" She gave him a wink and a mirthless smile. "Oritan has been craving an alliance with Goldtusk for years. He practically shoved his daughter at Zerra, demanding a marriage, a joining of the clans. Zerra always refused, but now this is my tribe." She inhaled deeply. "We will forge an alliance. We will fight my father together."

  Jeid grumbled something under his breath, and Laira saw the doubt in his eyes.

  But I haven't told you all, Jeid, she thought, eyes stinging. For if you knew, you would try to stop me. But I will do this deed. For Requiem. For our column of marble and our stars above. And for you, Jeid. Her eyes stung. For the man I love more than life.

  They had been flying for three days now, barely stopping even for sleep, crossing plains of grass, misty forests, and hills that rolled for many marks. They fed upon herds of deer, flocks of geese, and fish that filled the rivers that snaked below. And always the hint of stench wafted on the breeze, and once a distant shriek—perhaps just the wind—sounded in the distance. Sometimes Laira heard or smelled nothing, but she always felt the presence of pursuit. It was a chill along her spine, an iciness in her belly, a prickling on her nape. Whenever she shut her eyes, she saw it again—the demonic octopus constricting her, speaking her name, and its spawn devouring the body of her brother.

  Riding on her roc, she drew her sword and caressed the bronze blade.

  "I slew Zerra with this sword." She spoke softly for only her roc to hear. "But now I must face a greater enemy. Now this blade must pierce the heart of the man who hunts me, who unleashed these creatures, who drove my brother to death. Now I must kill my father."

  She could not remember King Raem. She had fled him too many years ago. In her nightmares, he was only a shadow, faceless, reaching out arms thrice the usual length, trying to grab her, to tug her into darkness. She took a shuddering breath and clutched her sword. She would not let that figure haunt her. She was done hiding and here, among her people, she made her stand, no longer a frightened girl but a leader of men and beasts.

  A mountaintop appeared upon the horizon, a mere bulge from here. Was there the end of their journey? Laira was squinting, struggling to bring the distant crest into focus, when the shriek rose behind her.

  Rocs cawed and dragons growled. Laira tugged the reins, spinning her roc around, and her heart sank. It was flying from the south, a single creature.

  She cursed. "A demon scout."

  The creature buzzed closer, wings moving as fast as a bumblebee's. It looked like a severed human hand the size of an oak. Upon each finger blinked an eye, and a mouth gaped open upon the palm. The creature flew higher, faster than any roc or dragon, then spun to dart away.

  "After it!" Laira shouted. "It'll bring news back to Raem!"

  She kneed Neiva and the roc beat her wings madly, flying in pursuit. Other rocs flew around her, and the dragons flew at her side. Yet the creature flew twice as fast, shrinking into the distance.

  "Shoot it!" Laira shouted. She grabbed her bow and fired. Other hunters fired from their own rocs, and the dragons blew fire. One arrow seemed to pierce the creature. It yowled, dipped in the sky, but kept flying. Within moments, it had disappeared over the southern horizon.

  "Stars damn it!" Jeid flew up beside Laira. "We won't catch the bastard."

  Laira stared at the horizon. "Perhaps we don't have to." She took a deep breath. "Let Raem know. Let him come here. Two Skull Mountain is near; it will be our battlefield." She caressed her sword again, then tugged Neiva back toward the north. "Fly north, Goldtusk! Keep flying to the mountain."

  Leaving the demon scout, they turned. They flew back north, crossing hills and valleys as distant demon shrieks rolled behind them.

  Finally, the sun dipping into evening, they saw the mountain ahead.

  "Two Skull Mountain," Laira said softly, spine tingling.

  She had seen the place once, years ago, from a distance; Zerra had dared not fly closer, for here was the territory of Leatherwing. Two Skull Mountain had chilled her then and it chilled her now. The origin of its name was clear to all who saw it. Caves yawned open upon its crest, forming the rough shapes of eye sockets, nostrils, and mouths like two skulls fused together, melted into each other like conjoined twins joined at the face. The skulls seemed anguished to Laira, screaming silently, begging for a respite from pain. Laira leaned forward in her saddle, narrowed her eyes, and scrutinized the mountain, but she could see no sign of the Leatherwing tribe or its fabled beasts, the pteros. Laira clenched her jaw, remembering the old tales she had heard of this place—tales of flying reptiles tearing into flesh, of hunters who drank blood from human skulls, and of slaves who languished in chains, their limbs food for the tribe.

  She tightened her lips. Zerra feared the escarpment too, but I found my dearest friends there. She looked at the dragons who flew to her left. I found Requiem, the anchor of my soul, the light of my heart, the land I will sacrifice everything for.

  She looked behind her at the tribe. Seventy rocs flew there, larger than dragons, dripping the oil they secreted. They stank of old meat, and their yellow eyes always seemed so baleful, and for many years Laira had feared these beasts. For many years they had hunted dragons, slaying many. Yet now this tribe—once her prison, then her enemy, and finally her army—might save the world.

  They flew closer, Goldtusk and Requiem, rocs and dragons, until they glided above the foothills. Two Skull Mountain loomed ahead, dwarfing them. Each of the eye sockets, great caverns in the stone, was large enough to house them all. And still Laira did not see Leatherwing. The place seemed too silent; she heard only the squawks of rocs and the thuds of dragon wings. No enemy tribe. No leathery beasts. Had Leatherwing abandoned this place?

  Worry gnawed at her, and she was about to call for her rocs to land, to camp upon the mountainside.

  Before she could speak, they emerged.

  Screams shattered the air. The mountain shook. With battle cries, firing arrows, and the shadows of great wings, Leatherwing Tribe appeared.

  They flew from within the skulls—from the eye sockets, the nostrils, the mouths—like bats from a cave. Yet unlike bats, these creatures were as large as rocs, and bloodlust burned in their white eyes. Their wings spread out, formed of translucent skin that stretched from their ankles to the tips of their elongated, clawed fingers. Their long jaws opened to shriek. A single horn grew from each beast's head, crimson like old blood. Upon their backs rode the warriors of Leatherwing. Men and women rode bare-chested, their skin painted white and red. Many rings pierced their lips, noses, and ears. Copper disks filled their earlobes, stretching them to thrice the usual size. Each warrior bore axes, spears, and bows and arrows. They stood in their stirrups, shouting out lilting battle cries.

  "Halt!" Laira shouted. "Hear me, Leatherwing. I am Laira, Chieftain of Goldtusk! I fly in peace."

  The pteros swooped and arrows flew from their hunters.

  Laira cursed. Around her, warriors of Goldtusk nocked their own arrows. Projectiles flew both ways. Laira spun her roc toward her warriors.

  "Goldtusk, back! Fly to the foothills. Go!" She turned toward the dragons. "Requiem! To the foothills! Fly now. Fly before blood spills."

  The warriors of Goldtusk sneered, tugging back bowstrings. For a few heartbeats, the battle froze, each side watching the other.

  "Go!" Laira shouted to her warriors. "This is not a retreat. Wait for me in the valley. Dragons of Requiem! Go with the
m. I've come here to parley, not shed blood."

  Some of her Goldtusk hunters grumbled. A few spat and cursed. They were a proud folk, and they loved bloodshed like they loved drinking ale, bedding women, and feasting on mammoth flesh. But their wives and children flew upon their rocs today, and perhaps the hunters still loved their families more than any glory in war. They obeyed Laira, leaving the mountaintop and heading down to the foothills. The pteros' riders watched their old enemy leave, jeering and waving their spears. They cried out in prayer to Two Skulls, their god of stone.

  The dragons of Requiem followed the rocs—all but Jeid. The copper dragon hovered beside Laira and her roc, smoke rising from between his teeth.

  "I stay with you," he said.

  She nodded, relieved. "Stay."

  Laira turned back toward the pteros. The flying reptiles were circling in the sky, cawing and snapping their long mouths. Their wings beat the air, churning clouds. Upon their backs, their riders glared at Laira and Jeid, their arrows still nocked.

  What must we look like to them! Laira thought. A scrawny girl upon a roc and a clanking dragon. I doubt an odder pair ever flew here.

  "Where is Chieftain Oritan!" she shouted. "Let two chieftains meet in parley."

  She had seen Oritan once from a distance. Three years ago, the chieftain had visited the Goldtusk tribe after a bitter war that had left many dead on both sides. Clad in bones, he had demanded an alliance, offering to wed his daughter to Chieftain Zerra, to merge both tribes with bonds of family. Laira had been like a shadow that day, darting in and out of the tent where the two leaders spoke; she had served ale and meat, washed sore feet, and mostly listened. Even today, she remembered the moment Chieftain Oritan had looked at her, had met her eyes when taking a mug from her. He had nodded subtly. He had acknowledged her. Whenever Laira would accidentally make eye contact with a warrior of Goldtusk, she would earn a beating. But here a great chieftain, clad in bones and leather, jewelery around his neck, had met her gaze, had nodded to her! Laira had shed tears that night after Zerra had refused the union; he had railed that Goldtusk was strong, that he would not dilute his tribe's worth with scum from the mountain, and Laira had mourned never seeing Oritan again.

  Back then I saw a reasonable man, Laira thought. She prayed that reason still filled Oritan.

  With a shrill cry and wings that blasted back her hair, a massive ptero emerged from behind the mountain, a beast to dwarf the others. Gold and red paint covered its wings with circles and coiling lines, copper rings encircled its neck, and gilt covered its horn. Upon this lurid beast sat a long-limbed man, his bare chest painted white and red. An ape's skull hid his head—a helmet of bone. Spears hung across his back, and he held a golden bow.

  "Chieftain Oritan!" Laira called to him. She lifted her spear; strings of beads dangled from its tip. "I am Laira, new Chieftain of Goldtusk."

  His ptero hovered before her, the wind from its wings blowing back her hair and cloak. Through the sockets of his ape-skull helmet, his eyes met hers again—those eyes she remembered from years ago, the eyes that had met hers when no others would.

  He spoke in a deep voice like rolling thunder. "Last our tribes met, it was Zerra, son of Thagar, the Burnt Man, who ruled the rocs."

  Laira raised her chieftain's old sword. "Now it is Laira, daughter of Raem. I slew Zerra the Burnt and I wield his sword. Three years ago, you came to our tribe to forge an alliance. Zerra turned you down. Now he is dead; now our discussion will resume."

  Oritan's eyes flicked toward the copper dragon who flew at Laira's side. "So the tales are true; dragons fly in our skies. Has Goldtusk tamed these scaly beasts?"

  When Jeid spoke, the chieftain's eyes narrowed and his mount hissed and bucked.

  "No man or woman can tame a dragon, chieftain," said Jeid. "I am Aeternum, King of Requiem—a nation of dragons. Requiem and Goldtusk fly together. We would have you fly with us, for a threat covers this land, drawing nearer, and all who seek to fight darkness must now bind together."

  The chieftain's ptero snapped its head from side to side, its mouth clattering open and closed. Its small eyes spun, but Oritan's eyes remained steady, staring at Laira. Finally the chieftain nodded, whirled in the sky, and gestured for Laira and Jeid to follow. He flew toward the mountain, diving to enter one of the eye sockets.

  Laira and Jeid glanced at each other, then followed. The two stony skulls upon the mountainside stared back at Laira, craggy and anguished, bitter faces forever fused together. The eye socket gaped open, so large Laira felt like a mere bird flying through a window. Jeid close behind, she flew into the mountain, entering a realm of shadows and light.

  A cavern filled the mountain, a hundred times larger than Requiem's old canyon in the escarpment. Dozens of pteros perched upon the walls, clinging to the stone like bats. Torches crackled between them, and fires burned upon the cave floor. Murals of bison, elks, lions, and many other animals covered the ceiling; in the flickering firelight, they seemed almost to race across the stone. Riders of Leatherwing filled the cave, drinking from clay bowls, praying to stone idols carved as obese women, and sharpening spears. All turned to stare and hiss at the roc and dragon entering their domain.

  A massive stalagmite, a hundred feet tall, rose like a tower in the cave's center. Upon its flattened crest perched a seat carved of granite inlaid with golden runes. Oritan led his ptero there. The lanky reptile clutched the stone pillar, allowing Oritan to dismount and claim his seat; then the ptero flew off to cling to the ceiling high above. Jeid too flew to the pillar, released his magic, and landed before the throne in human form. Laira led her own mount to this seat of power. Neiva clutched the stalagmite, and Laira dismounted and stood upon the stone tower before Oritan and his throne.

  "Wait for me outside, Neiva," Laira said softly, stroking the roc, who still clung to the pillar. "Join the others. I'll return to you soon."

  Neiva tilted her head and nuzzled Laira with her massive beak, a beak the size of Laira's entire body. Then the roc turned and left, wings scattering droplets of oil, and exited the mountain.

  "Speak, Laira, daughter of Raem." Oritan leaned back in his throne of stone and gold. "Speak of this alliance which your tribe once spurned. And speak too of this enemy you claim draws near. And finally, speak to me of these dragons, of this so-called king who comes into my hall."

  Laira tried to quell her dizziness. This pillar of stone was narrow, barely large enough to support the throne, her, and Jeid. The cave walls seemed to spin around her, alight with torches and clattering with pteros. The animal murals seemed to race above her in a great hunt, and the murmur of many tribesmen rose from the cave floor far below. She took a deep breath, steeling herself.

  "Demons!" she said. "A host of a thousand demons flies across the world. They fly from Eteer across the sea. My own father, king of that southern realm, leads them in conquest." She pulled from her pack the coiled, severed arm of one of the octopus spawn. She held it forth. "Here is a single arm from a single demon; a great swarm of the creatures flies north. All free tribes and kingdoms of the north must band together now. We must defeat them."

  Within the sockets of his helm, Oritan's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward in his throne, took the severed demon arm, and examined it. The arm still twitched, the mouths upon it opening and closing, snapping their teeth. Disgust mingled with fascination filled Oritan's eyes as he held the wriggling tentacle.

  "That arm came from a demon babe." Laira's heart twinged to remember these creatures feasting upon her brother's body; this very arm had fed upon Sena. "The adults are as large as rocs. And they're spreading across the land."

  Oritan draped the tentacle across the arm of his seat. He returned his eyes to her. "Your father leads these demons, you say? A king of Eteer?" He leaned closer. "Who are you, Laira of Goldtusk? A chieftain? A princess? A friend to dragons?"

  "I am all those things," she said. "And you know me. Three years ago, Chieftain Oritan, you came to Goldtusk, and you spoke t
o me, though you do not remember me. As you spoke to Chieftain Zerra, I served you wine and I washed your feet. Zerra offered me to you, telling you I could warm your bed, but you refused the gift of my body. You met my eyes once." Her heart beat faster to remember that moment. "You saw only a servant."

  Oritan inhaled sharply, stared in silence for a moment, then removed his ape-skull helmet. His face was hard but not unpleasant. His nose was straight, his lips thin, his jaw square. Dark hair fell across his brow. He seemed no older than forty winters, and a small scar marred his left cheek.

  "Yes." His voice was soft, contemplative. "I remember you, child. I pitied you then. I felt rage at your chieftain for mistreating you. Your hair was shorter then, your frame more frail, but I remember your eyes, the large green eyes of those who dwell across the sea. I indeed looked into them. I thought about them for long after returning home."

  My mother's eyes, Laira thought. They've always been my only beauty. His words filled her with a hint of warmth, like a fire just beginning to rise on a winter day.

  Standing at her side, Jeid cleared his throat and spoke for the first time since entering the cavern. "Will you fight with us, Oritan? Will you send your beasts to battle alongside ours?"

  Oritan turned his eyes toward the grizzled king, and now those eyes hardened, losing what warmth they had given Laira. "Why should Leatherwing fight the wars of others? These demons do not hunt us." He gestured at the severed tentacle. "Laira's father leads them, she said. This is a war between father and daughter, between demons and rocs. It does not concern my tribe." He sighed and shook his head. "Perhaps you are both honorable leaders and strong. But I will not help you. Leatherwing Tribe is safe within our mountain; what dangers lurk outside are not our concern. Leave this place. That is my decision."

  Jeid grumbled and clenched his fists. "So you will hide here in your mountain, chieftain, as the world burns? Where is your pride, a warrior's honor?"