"Auberon!" Laira cried. "Free us!"
The old druid stood among the carnage, staring at the dead, lips twitching. Around him, druids raced forward with spears and bows—weapons used for hunting. They thrust the flint-tipped spears at the sphinxes. They fired their arrows of pointed wood. The beasts laughed as they swatted at the druids, knocking them down, tearing them open.
"Auberon, damn your hide, release us and we'll fight!" Maev shouted.
The old druid stared at them, then back at the sphinxes, seeming torn. The seven creatures were now racing between the burrows, tearing them down and biting the women and children they found within. Blood stained the beasts' jaws.
"I . . . I prayed to them," Auberon whispered.
"Free us!" Laira cried, knowing that as soon as the sphinxes were done slaying the druids, they'd turn toward her and Maev.
Auberon trembled, cheeks pale. A sphinx landed before him, opened its jaw wide, and shrieked, blowing back Auberon's hair.
The druid thrust his staff, hitting the creature's eye. Wood shoved through the eyeball, and the sphinx yowled. Several other druids leaped forth, spears jabbing at the sphinx. The beast screeched and turned toward them, snapping its teeth.
"Auberon," Laira said softly. "Auberon, you know what to do."
As blood spilled across the valley, Auberon met her gaze, raised his chin, and ran toward her. He drew a curved dagger from his belt and sliced at her bonds.
Laira stumbled to the grass, free from the boulder for the first time in days. She was so weak and dizzy she fell to her knees. The battle raged before her. More druids fell. Laira ground her teeth, clenched her fists, and shifted.
Wings thudded out of her back, and she rose with a roar, a golden dragon. She blew her fire.
The flames washed over the sphinxes like waves over seaside boulders.
Maev rose at her side, a green dragon, blasting out her dragonfire.
The inferno filled the valley like flames in a forge. The sphinxes shrieked as they burned. They fell and writhed in the grass. In their agony, their magic left them. They returned to human form—tattooed Widejaw warriors, their cheeks cut open.
Growling, Maev walked between the fallen warriors, driving down her claws, tearing through them. One man tried to flee; the green dragon pounced upon him, grabbed him between her jaws, and ripped him apart. The blood filled her mouth and leaked between her teeth.
Still in dragon form, Laira walked across the grass, beating her wings to part the smoke. One Widejaw was still alive. He lay on the ground in human form, coughing weakly. Burns covered his body. He struggled to his feet and began to shift.
Laira leaped, shoved him down, and knocked the magic out of him. She pressed her claws against the man's chest, pinning him against the grass.
"Try to shift," Laira hissed, "and I'll tear your throat out. That's it. Lie there. Nice and still and you'll live."
Maev came walking forward, still a dragon. Bits of flesh dangled between her teeth, and smoke wafted from her nostrils.
"Gut him," the green dragon said. "Let him die slowly."
Laira shook her head. Her scales chinked. "This one will live." Still pinning the man down, she looked over her shoulder. "Auberon, bring your goblet! Bring the elixir."
The druid was staring at her, face smeared with ash, robes covered in blood. Around him stood several other druids in the mist, and at their feet lay their dead.
"Bring me the drink," Laira repeated, blasting smoke from her mouth. "Auberon, I am not your enemy. Dragons saved your life today. Bring me the elixir, and let this man drink." She smiled wryly. "We'll see if it cures sphinxes."
Auberon stepped forward, silent and hesitant. His face remained blank but his eyes were a storm; in them, Laira saw herself reflected, a golden dragon, a creature the druid had always thought a monster. But he obeyed her. He held the elixir over the Widejaw's mouth. At first the man resisted, trying to spit it out, but his split cheeks—a deformity meant to frighten his enemies—were now his bane. Auberon was able to tug the split cheek open and spill in the green liquid.
The Widejaw sputtered, convulsed, and then screamed. He howled and kicked the air.
No strands of starlight rose from him but rather a foul, murky smoke thick with insects. Laira grimaced and stepped away. Even freed from her claws, the Widejaw could not rise. He thrashed in the grass, screaming as the smoke rose from him, as the insects bustled out of his nostrils, his ears, his mouth, fleeing into the sky . . . and vanishing.
The Widejaw lay panting, thinned, ashen.
"Shift!" Laira said. "Shift into a sphinx. Shift and I will let you fly away."
The man struggled to his feet. He stared at her blankly. He closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and twisted his face . . . then fell to his knees.
"He is cured," Auberon whispered.
Maintaining her dragon form, Laira stepped closer to the Widejaw. She stared into his eyes. "You may leave. You may live."
The man stared at her, eyes wide with fear . . . and with gratitude. He nodded. He turned to walk away.
Green scales flashed.
Maev roared, leaped on the man, and drove her fangs through his armor and into his torso. The dragon swung her head, tossed the man high into the air, and torched him with dragonfire.
"Maev!" Laira shouted. "The battle was over! His back was turned."
The green dragon clawed the air, beat her wings, and howled. The inuksuks upon the hill shook. Wreathed in smoke, Maev spun toward Laira. Her eyes blazed, rimmed with red.
"The battle is never over." The green dragon sneered. "Not for us. Not for Requiem. Don't you understand, Laira? Don't you see?" Her voice sounded torn, close to tears. "They will always hunt us. Rocs. Sphinxes. Druids. A thousand other enemies. Ours will forever be a life of war. And I will fight this war. I will slay all my enemies." She howled to the sky, claws digging up grass, then beat her wings and soared. "Requiem! I find your sky! I fight for you. I kill for you, Requiem!"
Her wings blasted air, rippling the grass, as Maev soared higher and flew off into the wind. She vanished into the clouds.
Laira turned to look at the Cured Druids. Most lay dead. The survivors stared at her, some solemn, others trembling.
"You could have fought them," Laira whispered. "You were Vir Requis once. If you had kept your magic, you could have flown as dragons. You could have defended your wives, your children. Now they're dead, more victims in this world of cruelty, of bloodshed, of hatred. They didn't have to die." She tossed back her head and roared. "They didn't have to die!" She stared at Auberon, and rage flared in her, bursting out from her nostrils as hot smoke. "We are not cursed. We are not diseased or impure. We are dragons." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "We are beings of starlight."
Auberon approached her slowly. Tears drew lines down his ashy face. The old man embraced her scaly head.
"We are sorry," he whispered. "We are sorry. We are not cured. We are broken. We are bleeding, hurt, torn asunder." The druid stared into her eyes. "And we will have our revenge."
JEID
"Shove it left!" Jeid shouted. "To the left, damn you."
Dorvin grunted at his side. "I'm trying! The damn thing's got a mind of its own."
"Of course it does." Jeid growled. "And probably a brighter mind than yours."
The two men walked abreast, each holding a wooden staff ending with a leather harness. Golgoloth shrieked and struggled before them, trapped in the harnesses, scuttling madly. As the demon thrashed, its claws and teeth tore through granite and limestone as easily as a shovel through loose soil.
"I will slay dragons," hissed the burrowing demon. "I will snap your bones, suck out the marrow, and pop your organs in my mouth. I will—"
Jeid shoved the shaft forward, slamming the demon against the far wall and smothering its words. "You will keep digging."
The creature squealed, legs thrashing like a mad spider. Chips of stone flew, buffeting Jeid and Dorvin.
They'd
been digging for a long time now—perhaps a full day—shoving Golgoloth forward through the stony innards of the mountain. The tunnel was narrow, just large enough for him and Dorvin to walk abreast, its walls jagged and chipped.
When Jeid gazed behind him, he saw the others walking there—dozens of Vir Requis stretching down the sloping tunnel. They were wounded. They were grieving. They were hungry and thirsty and afraid, but hope shone in their eyes.
We will find a way out, Jeid swore. We will find our sky.
He turned back forward. He shoved against the shaft, driving the demon against the stone. He clenched his jaw as he worked, and Dorvin leaned forward at his side. Sweat drenched them, and the flying chips of rock cut their skin, but they kept shoving the demon forward. With squeals, with showering dust and rock, they kept advancing—foot by foot—tunneling ever upward.
After so long in the caves, Jeid was desperate to find his way out, to fly again, to breathe the open air. But part of him never wanted to emerge. Part of him hoped they'd keep burrowing forever, never finding the edge of the mountain.
When we emerge, I might find a world without you, my family.
The thought was almost too much to bear. He loved the Vir Requis behind him—they were his people, and each soul was dear to him. Yet if he didn't find his wife and children, how could he go on? The pain of losing little Requiem, his daughter, still clawed at him; how would he survive if he lost Maev and Tanin too? Many nights, Jeid still dreamed of his first wife, of fair Keyla whom his own brother had slain. If Laira too was lost to him, the only woman he had loved since, how would he find reason to keep flying?
I will find you, Laira, he thought. I will fly to the ends of the world. I will crumble empires to the ground, and I will boil lakes, and I will uproot forests, and I will watch this world burn to find you. Wherever you are, know that I'm coming for you.
They kept tunneling. Foot by foot. Mark by mark. The demon dug through soil and granite alike, tearing boulders apart as easily as sickles cutting stalks of grain. Dorvin soon panted and had to step back, letting another man replaced him at the right-hand harness; soon that man too tired and allowed a third Vir Requis to hold the shaft. But Jeid kept to his post, his palms raw around the wood, always shoving the creature, grinding his jaw, thinking of his family. Tunneling up and up through the darkness, seeking the sky.
"Requiem," he said through the flying dust, through his dripping sweat. "May our wings forever find your sky."
After what felt like days, like marks and marks of tunneling, he smelled it ahead, and he closed his eyes and savored it.
Cold, fresh air.
He growled and leaned against the shaft, shoving the thrashing demon forward. Its claws lashed. Its teeth bit through stone. Rocks collapsed and dirt rained, and there Jeid saw it, and tears filled his eyes.
The sky.
The stars.
Freedom.
Golgoloth twitched and squealed. Bound to the edge of the harness like a chunk of meat on a skewer, the demon burst out into the open air.
Jeid looked at Dorvin; the young man was back holding the other shaft. The two shared a glance, then tightened their lips and stepped out of the tunnel and onto the mountaintop.
The wind blew across them, cold and wonderfully scented. The moon shone above, snow flurried around their feet, and distant pines spread below upon the mountainsides, sliding down into shadows.
Jeid turned to look south. Far in the distance, a mark away or more, he could see fire streaming out of the mountainside. Bryn, the last defender of the mountain, was blowing her dragonfire from the cave, keeping the sphinxes out. In the night, the distant sphinxes looked like fireflies, orange in the dragonfire; hundreds buzzed there.
The Vir Requis began to emerge from the tunnel, pale and weak, many of them wounded.
"Gather here. Come, make room." Jeid guided them across the mountaintop. "Keep silent and do not shift. The sphinxes can't see us."
They kept emerging from the burrow: an elder who leaned on his son; a mother who held her babe to her breast; a pair of sisters, only six years old; dour young men; pale young women. They gathered upon the rocky crest. Some glanced nervously down toward the distant sphinxes, and others looked longingly at the sky.
"Wait and don't fly yet," Jeid whispered. "Wait until we're all out. We'll fly together. We'll—"
The demon on the harness bucked and twitched. It began to dig another burrow, trying to reenter the mountain. Jeid ground his teeth and raised the shaft, holding the creature aboveground. Dorvin grunted at his side, clutching the creature's second harness.
"That's it, you dung-guzzling pile of maggot shite," Dorvin whispered. "Be a nice good demon."
Jeid looked back south. Dragonfire was still spurting out of the mountains, but it was growing smaller.
"Go on, Bryn," Jeid whispered. "Into the cave. We're ready."
Below, the firelight flickered . . . and was gone.
BRYN
She blasted out the last sparks of fire in her. The flames sputtered and died.
Bryn was so tired she could barely breathe. She had never blown fire for so long; she felt emptied of all her innards. Gasping for air, she stared outside the cave with narrowed eyes. The sphinxes—stars, hundreds of them were swarming in the night—stared back, their eyes blazing white and cruel in their bloated human faces. The creatures hissed and raised their claws. With her fire gone, the beasts swooped toward the cave.
Bryn, an orange dragon, retreated from the cave opening and spun around in the cavern. She sucked in a raspy breath and released her magic, returning to human form. Locks of her hair clung to her face, damp with sweat. More sweat covered her body, and her fur tunic clung to her skin.
Not waiting for another breath, she ran.
For you, Requiem, she thought, racing across the cavern and toward the tunnel. For you, Aeternum, my king.
She glanced behind her and grimaced. The sphinxes were landing inside the cave, turning back into humans and drawing their swords. They wore rusted bits of ring mail, and tattoos covered their faces and bald heads.
"Find the weredragons!" one shouted, jaw opening from ear to ear. "Slay the scum!"
Bryn turned back forward, tightened her lips, and raced into the narrow tunnel—the natural cave the exiles of Requiem had been hiding in for so many days. Those exiles were gone now, fled through the exit the demon had dug.
"Fly away, Jeid," she whispered as she ran. "Fly with the others. Fly to safety." She raced around a corner just as Widejaw arrows flew; they slammed into the wall behind her. "Fly and find the sky."
Of all the Vir Requis, only she remained in these caves now, a last defender—she, Bryn of Stonemill, a daughter of Requiem. Her eyes dampened.
"Requiem," she whispered. She needed to say no more; in one word, she could speak of her dreams, of her hope, of her kind, of the magic inside her. It was a word itself imbued with magic, itself a prayer, itself the anchor of her soul and the beacon of her heart.
The Widejaws roared behind her. Their voices echoed. When Bryn looked behind her again, she saw them racing forward, carrying torches. Each man was twice her size, clad in metal, brawny arms covered in coiling lines. Rings of bronze pierced their brows, noses, and lips—those horrible lips cut and stretched across their entire jaws. Old blood encrusted their leaf-shaped swords. One man raised a bow and shot an arrow. Bryn raced around a corner, and the arrow missed her again, snapping against the cave wall.
She looked back forward. She raced as fast as she could. She was famished, weak from blowing so much fire, weak from days with barely any food or drink or sleep. But Bryn ran.
For Requiem. For my king.
Her eyes stung. Her fists clenched at her sides.
I will always run for you.
She found tears stinging her eyes, for she was no longer the simple girl from the village, a gatherer of berries. She was no longer a frightened child with a secret, so afraid of her curse, of the reptilian disease. For many
years she had lingered in the shadows of her hut, the shadows of the forest outside their village, the shadows of her fear and shame.
But she had found a light.
She had found Requiem.
"And I found you, Jeid." She touched her lips, remembering the times she had kissed his cheek, wanting to kiss his mouth but daring not. "And I will always fight for you."
Jeid Blacksmith. King Aeternum. The lord of Requiem. A gruff man, perhaps a man she might have once been frightened of—a man tall, powerful, bearded, his hair shaggy and grizzled, his face so hard and his eyes full of shadows. A man she had come to see kindness in, the greatest kindness she had ever known. Eyes she had seem wisdom in. Hands—large, callused, rough hands—she had seen strength in and yet softness too.
"Grab the whore!" rose a shout behind.
Laughed echoed. Men cursed and jeered.
"Bring her here!"
"Strip off her clothes!"
"She will be ours."
A man roared out, "Come here, weredragon! I'm going to make you mine. We all are. And once you've borne our children, we're going to cook your babes on the fire."
The narrow cave sloped upward. Bryn clenched her jaw and ran as fast as she could. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the men following, their torches casting long shadows.
The archer licked his chops and fired.
An arrow whistled and slammed into Bryn's leg.
She howled with pain. She fell. She slammed against the floor.
The men roared with laughter.
"Drag her over!"
"We're going to bed her here in the caves!"
"Chop off her hands first. She won't need those and I'm famished."
Bryn screamed. Her eyes watered. Her blood gushed.
Get up.
She screamed again. Her hands balled into fists.
Get up!
She leaped to her feet. She ran again, the arrow still embedded in her. Every step blazed with agony. The archer fired again, and she winced and jumped, and the arrow clattered between her legs. The Widejaws laughed and she kept running, rounded a corner, and gritted her teeth. Tears of pain flowed down to her lips.
Requiem's Prayer (Book 3) Page 13
