Requiem's Hope (Dawn of Dragons)

by Daniel Arenson

  "It's over, Laira!" Raem said. He grabbed another spear. "You've lost. Return home with me, my daughter. Return home and I will make you a demon in my service."

  He tossed his second spear.

  The weapon dug into Laira's shoulder, shedding blood. The dragon dipped in the sky.

  "Grab her, Anai," Raem said calmly to his mount.

  Bleeding and burnt, her eyes shedding tears, the broken woman—stretched and sewn into this creature—reached out her claws and grabbed the golden dragon. All around, Raem's other demons flew in, reaching out claws, talons, tongues, and tentacles, encircling Laira in a demonic cage. Laira wailed and lashed her tail, but she could not break free, and her flames died down to sputtering sparks.

  "My sweet daughter," Raem said. "It's time to go home."

  Roars answered him.

  Raem frowned.

  Firelight bathed the sky.

  He hissed.

  The beat of wings thudded like drums, and cries pierced the night: "For Requiem! For a dawn of dragons!"

  He turned toward the west, and he saw them there, rising in a dawn of dragonfire. Dragons. Dozens of them. They rose from darkness, blowing their flames, their scales bright. These were not the dragons that had emerged from the mountain; here were new beasts, and a terrible green reptile flew at their lead.

  "Maev!" Laira shouted, tears in her eyes.

  The new dragons crashed into the battle like chariots into lines of infantry.

  Fire washed over demons. Dragon horns drove into maggoty flesh. Demons fell from the sky, howling, torn apart.

  "Slay the king!" Maev shouted, the green dragon who had destroyed Raem's city last winter. "To the bronze man!"

  Raem's mount shrieked and released Laira in fright. All around Raem, his fellow demons hissed, flew back, and raised their claws. Some turned to flee.

  "Hold your ranks!" Raem shouted, tugging Anai to face the advancing horde. "Stand before them. Fight, warriors of darkness!"

  Squealing, half his demons fled from the onslaught of fire. Others, farther ahead, burned and crumbled. The new force of dragons drove like a glimmering spear into the rotted, black flesh of his host, digging toward him. For the first time in many battles, perhaps the first time in his life, Raem felt something cold, overwhelming, all-consuming flood him: fear.

  Laira tore free from her captors, and the golden dragon soared to join her brethren. With smoke, fire, and song, the dragons of Requiem crashed into Raem.

  MAEV

  She had never seen such darkness, such terror in the world.

  Maev had fought many demons in Eteer, small creatures no larger than men. She had battled a host of rocs in the shadows of the escarpment. She had faced living nightmares and overcome them. But not in all her years of exile and war had Maev, Princess of Requiem, seen a force of evil like this—a thousand demons, each as large as a dragon, hiding the sky. They were all different—some scaled like her, others flayed, others dry, some rancid, some mummified—but all stared at her, and all flew toward her, and all craved her blood.

  "This is more like it!" Dorvin laughed at her side. He roasted a flying worm, slashed a naked bird with two heads, and slammed his tail into a quivering ball of flying fat. "Let's play, Maev. I'm at three already!"

  She soared higher, roared her flames, and ignited a cloud of furry creatures with many eyeballs and tails. "Forget counting and just kill them all!" She roared to the dragons behind her. "Kill them all! For Requiem!"

  They flew with her: Dorvin, a silver dragon who laughed as he killed; Alina, a lavender dragon, praying as she fought; and forty dragons of Bar Luan, scared but strong, blowing their fire. Ahead, Maev saw them—the others of Requiem. Laira, a golden dragon alone in a cloud of devilry. Jeid, roaring out his clarion call, leading only a dozen surviving dragons against the horde of the Abyss. Rocs and pteros fought here too, but they were falling fast.

  For Requiem. For starlight. Maev blew her flames and lashed her claws. For King and Column.

  "Maev!" Dorvin shouted, dipping toward her. He grinned, blood on his teeth. "Fifteen now! Stop shouting out battle cries and get to killing de—"

  A flying python crashed into him. The beast wrapped around the silver dragon and began to constrict him. Dorvin thrashed but couldn't free himself. With a growl, Maev tore into the demonic snake, ripping through its scales, tugging out segments of its spine, and finally freeing Dorvin. She spat out a chunk of flesh.

  "And you stop playing games!" She turned to fly eastward, seeking Raem; where had the king gone? "Find their leader. King Raem, a man in bronze armor upon a pale bat. Chop off the true snake's head."

  She thought she glimpsed him again, a blaze of dragonfire against metal. She bared her teeth. She had lost sight of the tyrant, but she flew toward that glint, barreling through demons. Dorvin fought at her left, laughing as he bathed the world with fire. Laira joined her and fought to her right, a golden dragon, bleeding, two spears thrusting out of her but fighting still, roaring as she killed. Smoke and flame and rot covered the world; Maev could no longer see the stars.

  Perhaps Requiem fell today. Perhaps this dream of dragons, this new kingdom for her kind, would perish so soon after its birth.

  If that is so, I will die with it.

  A demon landed upon a dragon at her side and tore off his wing. The dragon lost his magic, returning to human form—a young boy, his shoulder blade bloodied. Demons tore the child apart, tearing off limbs and ripping out organs. Ahead of Maev, another dragon wailed as naked, demonic cats landed upon her, biting deep. The dragon became human again and fell as a woman, screaming, silenced when she hit the ground.

  Maev roared, refusing to let the horror overwhelm her. There—she saw it again ahead! A glint on bronze. King Raem.

  She pointed ahead. "Laira! Dorvin! I see him there."

  The golden dragon and the silver one flew up to her, blood on their fangs. They saw it too. Dorvin grinned savagely, and Laira stared with cold hatred. Between them and the tyrant flew a hundred demons of all shapes, each as large as them.

  "For Requiem!" Maev shouted.

  "For starlight!" cried Laira.

  "I bet I reach the king before you, Mammoth Arse!" shouted Dorvin.

  The three dragons flew together, wreathing their flames into a great, spinning torrent of heat and light and sound. The blaze crashed into the demons ahead, carving a path, splitting the sea of them. Beating their wings, roaring their fire in a shrieking inferno, the three dragons flew toward the king.

  ISSARI

  She walked through Goshar, the City of Bones, the ancient rival of her homeland.

  Before falling to darkness, Eteer had been an oasis of water and greenery. The canal drove into the city, bristling with sails. Fountains sprouted in courtyards. Gardens nestled outside houses and upon balconies and roofs. Birds had sung and cypress, fig, and palm trees had lined the streets. That city had fallen, but the memories would forever fill Issari, visions of lush beauty and growing things.

  Goshar, meanwhile, was a place of stone, sand, and silence.

  No birds sang here. No trees rustled in the breeze. Stern, tan walls rose alongside a boulevard, topped with battlements. Archers stood within turrets, staring through arrowslits; Issari wondered if they were watching for invaders or policing their own people. Towering, triangular buildings rose everywhere, shaped like spearheads, their sandstone bricks craggy. Cobblestones covered the streets, set close enough to allow no weed or flower to grow between them. Issari saw wells, silos, and fortresses topped with merlons. Ahead, perhaps a mark away, rose a massive building shaped like the erect, coiling shell of a mollusk; it soared even taller than the Palace of Eteer, maybe even taller than King's Column in Requiem. Even from this distance, Issari felt very small to see it.

  She glanced at Tanin, who walked beside her. He looked back, eyes dark. They dared not speak. This city was too silent. The only sound Issari heard was the footfalls and creaks of armor of the soldiers who walked ahead, leading h
er deeper into the city.

  The boulevard reached a round expanse, and in its center rose a bronze statue, fifty feet tall, of a nude woman with the head of a snake. Here was Mahazar, a goddess of fertility and war. Gosharians crowded the square, praying to the statue, and Issari gazed upon them with interest; despite this city's proximity to Eteer, she had rarely seen Gosharians. Both men and women wore white tunics with a single shoulder strap; the garment left half their chests bare, and Issari felt her cheeks redden to see the women's breasts. Most of the men were bearded, and those beards were long, thick, and curled into many tight rings. Their hair too was long, oiled, and curled. Some men were shorter and smooth-cheeked, and they wore metal collars—eunuch slaves. The smell of spicy perfumes wafted toward Issari, mixed with the tinge of oiled metal; everyone ahead carried the same small, curved dagger on their belts.

  Past the square and statue, Issari and Tanin followed the soldiers along narrow streets lined with homes, a market where men hawked grains and dried fruit, and a towering limestone temple lined with columns. Ever they moved closer to the Palace of Goshar, that spiral that coiled up into the clouds. A path wrapped around the tower, lined with turrets, like a trail around a mountain. Archways rose along the walkway, leading into the structure. The soldiers led Issari and Tanin onto that coiling path, and as they climbed, she smiled wryly. Tanin and she could have easily flown to the tower's crest, but she thought that one display of her dragon magic had unnerved these men enough for one day.

  As they climbed the path around the tower, Issari got a better look at both the city below and the land beyond. Goshar spread for marks around her, just as large as Eteer, a great labyrinth of stone and dust, a painting all in bronze and copper tones. A few scattered palm trees were all the greenery here, and in the north spread the cracked, rocky desert that had nearly killed her people, a desolate land that separated the mountains from the sea.

  South of Goshar, however—past the mountain range where the city nestled—spread a land of plenty. The mountains split the world into separate landscapes as clearly as a coast separates land from sea. As barren as the north was, the south was lush. Three rivers crossed the landscape, flowing down from mountain springs. Farmlands and grasslands spread between these blue threads, undulating in the wind. Birds flew in clouds and herds of deer dotted the land. Issari saw many marks of rye, wheat, barley, and other crops spreading into the distance. Several farms spread outside of Eteer, but much of that city's food had come from the sea; meanwhile, Goshar guarded the road to a cradle of fecundity.

  The path kept coiling around the tower, lined with many soldiers and turrets, rising into haze. Finally, when Issari was so winded she could barely breathe, they reached a golden archway between two statues of Mahazar. Several soldiers stood here, clad in ring mail, their beards long and curled into rings that mimicked their armor. Here the gatekeepers entered the tower, leading Issari and Tanin into a wide hall. A mosaic spread across the floor, depicting many serpents coiling together. The columns lining the room were shaped as snakes too, their eyes jeweled, their tongues holding burning incense. Many women lounged here, their faces painted, their bodies nude except for many golden bracelets and necklaces. A few women splashed in a pool of steaming water, while others lay upon cushions, smoking from glass hookahs. A cloud of the green smoke hid the back of the chamber.

  The gatekeepers—those soldiers who had led Issari and Tanin here—stood at attention. Their captain knelt and cried out, "Blessed Abina Sin-Naharosh, Prophet of Mahazar! Before you, come to beg your legendary mercy, stands Issari Seran, Princess of Eteer!"

  "Queen of Eteer," Issari said, staring forward with narrowed eyes, struggling to see the abina through the smoke.

  A voice rose from ahead, high-pitched and slightly slurred. "Issari Seran! Of course. Tales of her beauty have reached even this tower. Let—" Coughs interrupted the words, following by a hawking sound. "Let her step forth. Let us gaze upon the legendary beauty of our enemy's daughter."

  Issari stepped forward, waving the smoke aside, and beheld the strangest man she had ever seen. At first, she almost thought him one of her father's demons. The abina—or king—of Goshar was obese, pink, and bald. He was so large she doubted he could walk or even stand. He lounged upon many tasseled cushions, smoking from a hookah, wearing nothing but a golden blanket upon his lap. What he lacked in clothes he made up for in jewels; golden chains and strings of gemstones hung around his neck, bracelets shaped as snakes with jeweled eyes circled his wrists, and a headdress of topaz and amethysts perched atop his glistening head. His eyebrows thrust out, seemingly the only hair on his body, long as fingers and dyed green. Many golden bowls spread around him, containing sweets, skewered scorpions, and even an entire roast peacock with its bright tail reattached.

  Issari walked up toward the abina, head held high. "Merciful Abina of Goshar! My father has abandoned the great kingdom of Eteer, Guardian of the Coast. For many years, Eteer of the Sea and Goshar of the Mountains have fought bitter wars. Let us unite water and rock. I've come to forge an alliance between our kingdoms."

  The obese man stared at her. Issari could not decide if his eyes were narrowed shrewdly or simply engulfed by folds of fat. Those small, blue eyes moved up and down her body, and finally the king sucked on his hookah and barked a laugh. "It is told in Goshar, child, that Eteer is overrun. That your father meddled in affairs no mortal should, that the terror he unleashed has toppled his towers. It is said that ragged, starving refugees of Eteer now camp outside my walls, begging for mercy." He snorted, spraying spittle. "You come to forge an alliance? You come as a beggar queen in exile, pleading for a few drops of water and scraps of dry bread."

  She bared her teeth and stepped closer. "The walls of Eteer are overrun; it is true. My people have wandered the desert, and they seek aid; that too is truth. My armies are shattered, and I cannot even return to my palace. Yes, I am exiled. But I still have my title. And Eteer still guards the sea. Whether its walls and towers stand does not change that fact. Whether soldiers or demons sprawl along the coast, that coast still leads to an empire of trade." She took a deep breath, her fingers tingling. "I will give you access to that sea. I will free you from your landlocked existence, ever your bane, ever the reason Goshar languished in the shadow of Eteer."

  The abina's tongue emerged like a snake from its lair to lick his lips. His small eyes glittered, and his fingers—each one heavy with rings—clutched as his blanket. "Why do I need your title? Your kingdom lies in ruin. I could muster my army, march across the desert, and claim Eteer without your aid."

  "And my people, those who survived the demon wars, would never accept you as ruler. At every turn they would resist a tyrant; ever would the blades of my surviving soldiers find the flesh of Goshar. Many of those soldiers wait outside your walls, and they are still armed, still ready to fight. Even should you claim and hold Eteer, defeating both the nephilim who infest its streets and those Eteerians who still survive behind its walls, you would find only a gateway to darkness. Only the rightful ruler of Eteer can seal the doors of the Abyss. My father has forfeited that claim; it is now mine. Let us join our forces! The remnants of my army and the might of yours. My claim to Eteer and your leadership. Together we will recapture the coast, slay the children of demons, seal the Abyss . . . and rule together."

  Saliva dripped down the king's chin to land on his chest. He leaned forward in his cushions with a sticky sound. "So you suggest a marriage. I've offered King Raem to wed you before; he replied by laying siege to my walls."

  Issari closed her eyes for a heartbeat and took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I offer myself to you."

  She heard Tanin give a strangled sound behind her, and Issari lowered her head. She knew that she must do this. She knew she must sacrifice herself to save Eteer, to save her people. She would not love her husband, but she loved Eteer, and she loved Tanin, and she loved her people; this was how she would save them.

  She caressed the amulet embe
dded into her hand—her mother's amulet. I do this for our home, Mother. For our people. We are daughters of Requiem, both of us, but so are we daughters of Eteer. And I do this for you, Sena, for your memory, for the love I have for you, for the love you had for our fallen home.

  The obese abina slapped his hands together, jiggling his rolls of fat. He mouth opened in a grin, and sweat dripped down his red cheeks.

  "Excellent! We shall be wed at once. Tir-Kahan! Step forth, Tir-Kahan! I add another jewel to my treasure. This one will be the crown of my collection."

  A man stepped forward from the smoke. As large as Sin-Naharosh was, this man was thin; he was almost skeletal, his skin stretched over his bones. Like most Gosharians, he wore a white tunic that left half his chest bare, and Issari could see his ribs. A thin white beard dangled from his gaunt face, and a crown of gilded bones—they looked like human finger bones—nested upon his head. The amulet of the goddess Mahazar hung from his neck. The talisman was so large and heavy, the man walked with a stoop. In his gaunt hands, Tir-Kahan held a clay tablet engraved with cuneiform writing.

  Armor clanked behind her, and Tanin approached. He leaned close and whispered to Issari, voice urgent. "Issari, don't do this. There are others ways. The women here . . . look at them." He held her arm. "Let us return to the desert if we must."

  The skeletal priest stepped forth, reached into a pouch, and pulled out a writhing snake. The animal hissed, tongue darting, and Tir-Kahan held it forth. Before Issari would react, the snake struck, biting her neck. She let out a cry and reached to the wound; her fingers came away bloody.

  "The great goddess Mahazar has tasted the blood of Issari Seran!" the old priest announced. He turned back toward his abina, the lounging Sin-Naharosh, and brought the snake close to the man's sweaty chest. The serpent struck again, biting into the flesh. The old priest spoke louder. "Blood is mixed with blood, blessed with the bite of the serpent. Mahazar, Queen of Snakes, Goddess of Goshar, blesses this union. Blessed be Issari, wife of Sin-Naharosh!"