And Slyn screamed.
"Ah . . ." said Raem. "A screamer after all."
Slyn fell to all fours. He tossed back his head and howled. His body twisted, bulged madly, growing larger, growing stronger. The claws tore through his fingertips. The wings burst out from his back. The fur sprouted across him, dank and stinking.
He rose into the air, cackling, roaring with pain, with fury. His fellow Widejaws knelt in awe before him.
"What am I?" Slyn shouted, his voice deeper than before, a rumble that rolled across the hills. Pain and horror pulsed through him. "What do you see? What have I become?"
His warriors only knelt, crying out, bowing, howling, pounding their swords against their armor.
Below him, the demon Raem turned toward the other Widejaws and shouted for them all to hear. "Drink from my elixir!" He held out the goblet. "Come forth, Widejaws, and drink! Let my blessing fill you."
They drank.
They screamed.
They changed.
They had traveled south as warriors of Widejaw, men of might. They returned north as gods.
JEID
Jeid Blacksmith, now known as King Aeternum, sat upon the Oak Throne of Requiem and gazed upon his realm.
He didn't have to gaze very far.
"A few hills," he said. "A few birch trees. A view of the mountains. Marble columns. That is our kingdom."
Laira stood at his side. The Queen of Requiem placed her small hand upon one of the twisting, polished branches that formed the Oak Throne.
"The mightiest oak grows from a humble sapling," she said. "The tree we planted here will last for eternity."
Jeid looked at his new wife. Whenever he looked at Laira, soothing warmth filled him, her light and goodness holding together the broken shards inside him. He thought back to that night Laira had first come to him. She had been a famished, wounded, dying youth fleeing captivity, bleeding from a dozen wounds, so thin she could barely walk. Today, in his marble hall, Jeid saw a proud queen. She had not grown taller—years of hunger had left her stature short, her bones small—but her skin now showed the rich hue of health, and light shone in her green eyes. Her black hair, once sheared close to her scalp, now hung down to her chin, strewn with wildflowers. Her jaw was still crooked, her mouth still slanted—that old injury would never heal—but those slanted lips were now wont to smile. She wore a rich garment of deerskin trimmed with fox fur, and a circlet of gold topped her head.
"Dorvin carved the throne too small." Jeid reached out and held Laira's arm. "He should have made enough room for the both of us."
She poked him. "The throne is large enough for two. It's you who are too large." She smiled—one of those new smiles, the beautiful smiles that always seemed so pure, so hesitant, a ray of sunlight shining through a storm. "I'll find some room."
She hopped onto his lap, so small and light, only half his size, and he kissed the top of her head.
"I think I like the throne this size after all." He wrapped his arms around her. "I want us to stay like this forever. Just like this. This is perfection."
She leaned against him. "Just like this," she whispered.
The columns of Requiem rose around them, a dozen in all, soaring taller than any structure in the known world. Their capitals were shaped as rearing dragons, and they held no roof. The palace of Requiem was not yet complete; it would be many moons, perhaps years, before it stood in full glory. Birches rustled beyond the columns, their leaves orange and gold. Many of those leaves glided down to carpet the hills and to scuttle along the marble tiles of Requiem's hall.
Shadows streamed across those tiles now, and when Jeid looked above him, he saw the dragons of Requiem. Dozens glided in every color, the sun gleaming upon their scales. Many other Vir Requis, these ones in human form, now rested in wooden huts among the trees. Two hundred and seventeen souls lived in Requiem—the genesis of a nation.
Jeid thought back to the days before these columns had stood. Days of death, of fear, of hiding in caves and forests. They had been outcasts, wandering the world, hunted, alone, many unaware that others even existed. So many had died. So much blood still filled his nightmares. This, now, here . . . a hint of peace, a light at last.
Perfection, he had called it. Yet he had lied.
"I wish they were here with us," he said in a low voice. "Tanin and Issari."
Laira's face darkened. She nodded. "I fear for them every day."
Fen, the Eteerian boy who had joined them in the summer, had spoken of an Eteerian exodus, of Issari and Tanin leading the people of that fallen realm into the desert. An urchin with a frail left arm barely larger than a finger, Fin had come to join Requiem, to fly with fellow dragons . . . and to bring news.
"Issari leads Eteer now," the boy had told Jeid. "She is the great Priestess in White. The savior of a lost nation."
The boy had spoken in awe, but those words still wounded Jeid.
And what of us in Requiem? Have you forgotten us, Issari? Tanin, my son—have you too abandoned us, choosing to stay with your beloved?
"If they don't return by winter, I will fly out," Jeid said. "I will seek them across the sea and desert. I will find them."
Laira shook her head. "Even a dragon, flying fast and high, could spend years aflight and explore only a small part of the wilderness south of Eteer." She squeezed Jeid's hand. "Issari sent Fin here with a message for us—a message that she and Tanin are safe, that we're not to worry. I have to trust that message." She sighed. "And yet I miss her deeply, and I worry too, so much that it hurts."
Laira closed her eyes, and Jeid held her close for a long time, silent, as she sat in his lap. The Oak Throne's roots and branches coiled around them, the columns soared, and the dragons flew above—a new kingdom, a new home, a new peace awaiting two missing souls.
"We built this kingdom for the fallen," he finally said. "For the memory of Requiem, my daughter. For the memory of my wife and my parents. For the memory of your mother and brother. For the memory of hundreds slain for their magic. And we built Requiem for those still seeking us, those Vir Requis still lost in the world. I pray to the stars that they all come home."
Laira nodded and whispered, "May they all come home. May—" She stiffened, leaped off his lap, and inhaled sharply.
Jeid growled and rose from his throne. His hands formed fists at his sides. "Who are you? What do you seek here?"
The man emerged from the forest and stepped onto the marble tiles of Requiem's hall—if a man he was. His cheeks were slashed open from mouth to ears, revealing a lurid grin that showed all his teeth right down to the molars. Many rings pierced his nose and brows, and he wore armor of similar rings. Blades hung from his belt, and tattoos coiled across his face and bald head. His smile—the smile of a shark—grew larger as he walked across the hall.
"Hello, King of Reptiles!" The man's voice boomed. "Hello, Queen of Lizards! I am Slyn of Widejaw. I've come to find a new home." He looked around. "I believe this hall will suffice."
Jeid growled and stomped across the hall, moving toward the invader. He let the first tendrils of magic rise inside him, ready to summon. He reached the stranger beneath King's Column, the first pillar of Requiem. Slyn stared at him, eyes cruel and mocking. Jeid recognized such cruelty; his own brother, the dragon-hunter Zerra, had carried the same cruelty in his eyes.
"Leave this place now," Jeid said slowly, "and I will allow you to live."
Jeid was a tall, stocky man—the largest in Requiem—but this stranger stood even taller, closer to seven feet than six. His armor bulged over a bulky chest, and muscles rippled across his bare arms. With his tattoos, many piercings, and split cheeks, Slyn seemed less a man and more a demon.
"You must be the fabled King Aeternum." Slyn smirked. "Men spoke of a great warrior. I see only a weak old man." He looked over Jeid's shoulder at Laira. "Is this your bride? She's uglier than a crone's warts, but she'll be mine, just like your hall. Oh yes, Aeternum. She will bear my sons."
"I would rip out your throat before you could touch me." She blasted smoke. "Leave now! Requiem's wars have ended. We crave no more killing. But linger here one breath longer, and I will tear you apart."
Slyn stared at the golden dragon. A thin smile stretched across his lips and split cheeks. "I think, dearest Queen of Reptiles, that you will not find us so easy to kill." He raised his voice to a shout. "Men!"
All across the forest, men emerged from behind the birches, walked between the columns, and entered the hall of Requiem.
Jeid shifted too. A copper dragon, he stood beside Laira, whipping his head from side to side. Hundreds of men were stepping out from the forest, all sporting the same split cheeks, tattooed heads, and pierced faces.
Jeid beat his wings and soared into the sky. An instant later, Laira joined him. The two dragons circled in the air above the invaders. When he looked toward the hills, Jeid saw many more Widejaws—hundreds of them—crawling across the land.
"Dorvin!" Jeid roared. "Maev! To the hall!"
Scales clattered. Fire blazed across the sky. A silver dragon rose from distant trees and flew toward Jeid—Dorvin, his brother in arms. An instant later, a green dragon emerged too—Maev, Jeid's daughter, a princess of Requiem.
Jeid circled above the men below. "Hear me, strangers!" His voice boomed. "We have fought and slain rocs and demons. We can easily slay men. We do not desire more bloodshed. Leave now! Your tribe has wandered into the realm of dragons. Leave now and we will spare your lives." He blasted fire down into the hall; it showered against the marble tiles and splashed against the men's feet. "Leave or burn!"
Dorvin growled, flames sparking between his teeth. "To the Abyss with all these warnings. I say we kill them now."
Slyn stared up at the dragons. His jaw unhinged, and his tongue emerged like a snake from its burrow to lick his lips.
"Warriors of Widejaw!" Slyn shouted, arms stretched out. "See how the dragons are weak! They should have killed our on sight. Their mercy will be their undoing. Show them our strength!"
In the hall and forests, the Widejaw clan shifted.
Their bodies ballooned and sprouted tan fur. Dank feathered wings unfurled from their backs. Their hands and feet sprouted claws. They rose into the air as great lions, as large as dragons, flapping vulture wings. Their faces remained the faces of men, bloated to hideous size as if pumped full of liquid. Those faces leered, the jaws opening wide, the tongues lolling, the eyes burning with hatred.
"Sphinxes," Laira whispered. "Eteerian tales speak of them. Creatures imbued with demon magic."
Jeid roared. "Dragons of Requiem! Rise! Rise! Blow your fire!"
Not waiting for an answer, he blasted flame toward the soaring sphinxes.
The fire crashed against one sphinx, burning the beast's fur. An instant later, a thousand of the creatures swarmed toward Jeid and his companions.
The sky exploded with blood, flame, and smoke.
A sphinx crashed into Jeid, snapping its jaws, tearing at copper scales. Another sphinx grabbed Jeid's tail and yanked. Jeid roared, clawed, bit, and blew his flames. Around him, his companions all but vanished into clouds of the creatures.
"Dragons of Requiem!" Jeid called. "Rally here! Slay them!"
Between the sphinxes, he glimpsed flashes of scales. Other dragons were joining the battle. Blood rained. Scales pattered down into the forest like hail. Jeid blew flame, torched a sphinx, and whipped his tail, clubbing another.
"Burn them all!" he cried. "Bur—"
A sphinx ahead of him—it was Slyn, his human head now bloated and perched upon his lion body like a boil—opened his mouth and spewed out black smoke that swarmed with flies. The foul miasma spread across Jeid.
Pain drove down Jeid's nostrils, ears, and jaw. His head spun. His eyes watered. He couldn't roar; he could barely breathe.
Poison.
The cloud floated around him, and Jeid coughed, struggling to beat his wings, to stay airborne. With watering, burning eyes, he saw that these weren't actually flies in the smoke. They were tiny demons with human faces.
His wings would no longer flap. He fell.
He crashed down against the marble tiles of his hall, cracking them. It took every last bit of strength to cling to his magic, to remain a dragon.
Fur and claws flashed. As the battle raged above, Slyn plunged down like a comet and slammed against Jeid. The sphinx drove his claws under Jeid's copper scales, and the bloated, wide-jawed face leaned down and hissed.
"So easy to kill . . ." the sphinx whispered. "No harder than stepping on a lizard. Die knowing that your wife will live. Die knowing that she'll bear my sons."
Slyn closed his jaws around Jeid's neck and bit down hard.
Blood spurted. Pain filled Jeid but rage too.
I did not defeat men, rocs, and demons to die in my own hall.
Ignoring the pain, he shoved against the cracked tiles and rose. He swung his tail, driving the spikes into the sphinx.
Slyn opened his jaws to howl, freeing Jeid.
The copper dragon took flight and rained down his fire.
Below, Slyn scuttled along the marble tiles, dodging the flames. Jeid beat his wings and reached out his claws, trying to grab Slyn, only for two more sphinxes to dive down and crash into him.
Golden scales flashed.
Laira swooped, rammed her horns into one sphinx, and knocked it down. Jeid burned the other. Gashes bleeding on his back, Slyn vanished behind smoke and fire.
"Jeid, they're all over Requiem!" Laira shouted. The golden dragon bled from a cut on her forehead. "A thousand or more. They're tearing down the trees and—"
Stones rained and dust flew.
Jeid glanced aside to see a marble column crack and come tumbling down. He grimaced and shoved Laira aside; the column slammed down behind them, missing them by a foot.
A dozen sphinxes roared and flew toward the two dragons, blasting out their foul smoke. The miasma approached, thick with the miniscule demons. Jeid and Laira soared, narrowly dodging the cloud of poison, only to crash into a sky of sphinxes.
"Jeid!" Dorvin cried somewhere above. The silver dragon was battling several of the enemy, blasting out fire and lashing his tail. "These goat-shagging piss-drinkers are everywhere. By the Sky Goddess's teats, there's more of them than boils on a witch's arse."
Jeid roasted one sphinx. Another landed on his back and bit, and Jeid bellowed and shook himself, knocking it off. Another charged toward him; he torched it. Three more advanced, and dragons crashed into them, blowing fire and snapping their teeth.
"Burn them all!" Jeid cried. "Dragons of Requiem, defend your home. Fight them. Burn them—"
He grimaced to see three sphinxes land on a young, white dragon and bite into her neck. Blood sprayed in a fountain. The dragon lost her magic and crashed down to the forest in human form—a thin woman, barely older than a youth. Behind Jeid a cry of pain pierced the air. He turned to see several sphinxes grab a black dragon's limbs and tug, ripping off both hind legs. The dragon yowled and lost his magic, becoming an old man. He fell, crashed against the capital of a column, then tumbled toward the forest floor. With a chill, Jeid saw that dozens of Vir Requis had already died; they covered the marble tiles of his hall, lay upon treetops, and one man even slumped across a column's capital, his head severed.
"Grizzly!" Maev cried. The green dragon flew toward him, bleeding from a dozen gashes. "They're tearing down the eastern huts! More keep swarming in." She blew fire, roasting two sphinxes who flew near. "Dead Vir Requis everywhere. Dead children. Stars . . ."
Jeid lashed his claws, cutting open a sphinx. Another sphinx bit into his flank, and Jeid howled and torched the beast. "Maev, soar with me! Higher!"
The green dragon narrowed her eyes and flew higher. Jeid flew with her. Father an
d daughter raised two pillars of flame that wove together, clearing a path through the sphinxes. Their claws and tails lashed, cutting into dank fur, knocking the enemy aside. A cloud of poison descended toward them, and the two dragons broke apart, skirted the miasma, and kept ascending. Soon they rose so high the air thinned and frost coated their scales.
Finally Jeid leveled off and stared down at his kingdom.
His heart seemed to freeze like his scales.
Requiem was crumbling.
A thousand sphinxes swarmed over the forest, uprooting trees, toppling homes, and slaying dragons. Corpses of Vir Requis covered the hills, and blood painted the hall.
"They're killing us all," Maev whispered at Jeid's side. "Stars, Grizzly. They're . . . they're killing us all."
Requiem falls. Jeid's throat constricted. But we won. We won our war. We defeated our demons. How . . .
"Grizzly!" Laira cried, flying up from below. "They're dragging the children out from the huts! They're slaying everyone!"
Jeid shook his head madly. He swooped.
"Laira, Maev, with me!" he shouted. "Gather whoever you can. We fly north!"
Maev swooped at his side. The wind roared around them. "We can't just flee!"
They crashed through more sphinxes, emerging into the thick of the battle. Blood, fire, and demon smoke swam around them. At Jeid's side, a yellow dragon screamed as sphinxes tore into her. Scales rained and the dragon fell, a woman again, her entrails dangling.
"Dragons of Requiem!" Jeid cried. "Rally here and fly north! Fly to the mountains! Flee!"
Three young dragons—barely larger than horses—tried to fly toward him. Sphinxes blasted them with demonic smoke, then tore the dragons apart. The Vir Requis fell in human form—butchered children, their limbs severed, their chests cracked open. Four more sphinxes slammed into another column. It cracked and crashed down, crushing another dragon.
"Dragons of Requiem, to me!" Jeid roared. "Laira and Maev! Dorvin! Clear us a path."
They blew their fire together. The flaming pillars joined into a blazing inferno. Sphinxes shrieked, burned, and fell. Trees burst into flame. The three dragons began to drive forward, shoving a path through the enemy. Jeid flew above them, roaring for all to hear.
Requiem's Prayer (Book 3) Page 2
