Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy

by Daniel Arenson

  "We made you into this," he said quietly. "We created you. We scorned you. We turned you into this monster."

  Dies Irae mounted his griffin. "Shift, brother. Turn into the dragon. Show us who the true monster is. You will die in the lizard's form."

  Benedictus looked at Lacrimosa. She lay on the ground, still chained, blood trickling down her lip. The rain soaked her hair and tattered dress, and she gazed up at him with tragic, haunted eyes.

  Benedictus looked back to Dies Irae. "She fights with me."

  Dies Irae barked a laugh. "Are you trying to redeem yourself on this last night? Ten years ago, you would not let her fight. You hid her then, while letting the other females of your kind perish. Very well; she too will die here at my griffin's talons. Men, free the lizard whore."

  When they unchained her, Benedictus helped her to her feet, and held her, and kissed her brow, and told her of his love.

  "I love you, Ben," she whispered back, eyes teary, the rain streaming through her hair, hair like molten moonlight. Her eyes were the most beautiful he'd ever seen. He kissed her lips, and remembered kissing her in Requiem so long ago.

  Dies Irae scoffed from atop his griffin. "You love the whore, do you?" he said.

  Benedictus turned toward him, his rage finding him. He clenched his fists. "You will not call her that."

  Dies Irae laughed. "But it's true, brother. That's what she is. Do you know that I broke her in for you? Yes, Benedictus. Eighteen years ago, before she married you. I took her in the forests, I placed Agnus Dei and Gloriae within her womb, I—"

  "You will speak no such lies!" Benedictus shouted. He took a step toward Dies Irae, raising his fists.

  Dies Irae only laughed again. "I speak the truth, brother. I raped your wife. Though to be honest, I think the whore enjoyed it. Yes, Benedictus. Agnus Dei and Gloriae are my daughters, not yours. If you do not believe me, look in the whore's eyes, and you'll see the truth."

  Benedictus's head spun. His fingers trembled and his heart thrashed. He turned to look at Lacrimosa, and saw tears in her eyes. Her body trembled.

  It was true.

  He wanted to howl. To kill. To destroy.

  Instead, Benedictus embraced his wife.

  "You should have told me," he whispered, tears filling his own eyes.

  She shook her head and hugged him. "I could not."

  "I love you, Lacrimosa, now and forever. We go now to our courts in the sky. We will be together there. Goodbye, daughter of Requiem."

  He released her gently, then turned around, shifted into a dragon, and leaped at Dies Irae.

  LACRIMOSA

  Tears in her eyes, Lacrimosa shifted too. Dies Irae had beaten her, tortured her, unleashed unspeakable horrors against her. He made me strong.

  She had learned to fight in his arena, learned to kill. Tonight, upon this field of death, under this rain of fire, she would kill again before they took her down. She saw Benedictus roaring beside her, blowing flame. He slammed into Dies Irae's griffin, and more griffins mobbed him.

  Lacrimosa shouted and flew skyward.

  Hundreds of griffins attacked. She lashed her tail, blew fire, snapped her teeth, and clawed them. Blows rained upon her. Talons scratched her. Beaks stabbed her.

  "Requiem!" she cried, weeping, and blew fire. The griffins' fur blazed around her, lighting the night, lighting the thousands of Vir Requis skeletons.

  She could no longer see Benedictus. She could no longer see the skeletons below. She saw only griffins, and light that rolled over them, drowning them, not light of fire but the good light of death, the light of her courts in the heavens. Starlight.

  I am flying to them, she thought, to the Requiem beyond the stars. She whispered last words.

  "Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky. I love you, Benedictus. I love you, Gloriae. I love you, Agnus Dei and Kyrie. Goodbye."

  And from the west, they answered her voice.

  "Mother!" came the voice of Agnus Dei, choked with tears. "Mother, I'm here!"

  Lacrimosa smiled in the light of death, the pain that was numbing. Agnus Dei had died too; she was waiting for her in the stars.

  "Lacrimosa!" cried Kyrie, and Lacrimosa wept that they had died so young.

  Agnus Dei's howl filled her ears. A figure of red scales and flames shot before her, rending the mists of death, crashing into griffins. "Mother, fly!"

  Lacrimosa could not believe her eyes. Agnus Dei flew before her. Not a ghostly daughter of starlight, but a living, howling dragon, blowing flame, biting and clawing. Kyrie flew there too, and all around them flew serpents of lightning.

  "Agnus Dei!" Lacrimosa cried, weeping, and bit a griffin that was clawing her daughter. "Agnus Dei, you're alive!"

  Agnus Dei blew fire at three griffins and lashed her tail at a fourth. "No time for teary reunions now, Mother. Fight!"

  Lacrimosa fought, head spinning. She could barely believe her eyes. Thousands of wingless, limbless dragons flew around her. Salvanae! True dragons from Salvandos! Agnus Dei and Kyrie had found them. The creatures howled, swarming around the griffins, biting and setting them aflame.

  A griffin flew toward Lacrimosa. She blew fire at it, then clawed its neck. Its rider tumbled to the distant ground, screaming.

  "Ben!" Lacrimosa called. She saw him half a league away, battling Dies Irae in the sky, fires lighting them. The other griffins were battling the salvanae. Every second, a griffin or salvana fell dead from the sky to slam against Vir Requis skeletons.

  A shriek tore the air, and a large griffin flew toward her, ablaze. Its rider burned too, but still wielded a lance, driving it toward her.

  Lacrimosa recognized the man's armor at once, armor like an iron maiden, the helmet like a prisoner's mask.

  Lord Molok.

  Lacrimosa narrowed her eyes, snarled, and flew toward him.

  She screamed, ducked, and cried as his lance scratched her shoulder. She clawed his griffin, drawing blood. They flew in opposite directions, turned, and charged again.

  Lacrimosa snarled. She remembered that night ten years ago, when she had seen Molok murder a dozen Vir Requis children. She remembered him beating her in Confutatis, laughing at her pain.

  "For all those you tortured, murdered, and raped, I kill you now," she said, smoke rising from her nostrils.

  He drove his lance again. Lacrimosa dived low, but still his lance hit her shoulder. She cried, tumbled, and struggled to keep flapping her wings. Molok cackled above her, blazing.

  He pointed his lance and swooped. Lacrimosa blew fire, but nothing could stop him. She saw death driving toward her with steel and flame.

  A flash of red scales.

  Agnus Dei slammed into the fireball that was Molok and his griffin. They tumbled aside, Agnus Dei screaming and clawing. Molok swung his sword and sliced Agnus Dei's leg. She cried.

  Rage claimed Lacrimosa, rage as she'd never felt. No. You will not hurt her. She screamed hoarsely, so loud that men and griffins turned to stare. Lacrimosa flapped her wings, dazed and pained, burning with fury. She flew toward Molok and drove her claws into his griffin's belly. Guts spilled like bloody serpents.

  Molok's griffin tumbled, but Lacrimosa was not done. No. She would not let the ground kill Molok; he was hers. As the griffin fell, Lacrimosa bit, tearing Molok off the saddle. He struggled in her jaws, burning, and Lacrimosa bit into his armor, bending it, pushing it into his flesh. He screamed, and she tasted his blood, and she kept grinding her teeth until he struggled no more.

  She spat out his body. It tumbled to the ground and thudded against his dead griffin.

  Lacrimosa stared down at Molok's corpse, eyes dry and burning.

  "Nobody," she said, "hurts my daughter."

  Agnus Dei flew toward her, and the two shared a quick embrace. There was no time for words, no time for tears. The battle still raged around them. The salvanae were terrible to behold. They streamed like rivers, roaring, tearing into griffins with their teeth. They shot thunderbolts from their mout
hs, setting griffins afire. The griffins fought with equal vigor, biting serpents in half, clawing out their innards. Half the griffins now rose in flame, but still they fought; the fire only seemed to enrage them. Everywhere she looked, Lacrimosa saw griffins, roaring serpents, blood, swords, arrows, and lances. The clouds themselves seemed alight, grumbling and raining ash. Thunder boomed and lightning rent the sky. Bodies kept falling.

  "Where is Father?" Agnus Dei shouted over the din, and Lacrimosa winced. Father. It could mean Benedictus or Dies Irae. In either case, the answer was the same.

  "There," she shouted and pointed.

  They looked to the east. Over a hill, griffins and salvanae surrounding them, the brothers battled. Dies Irae fought atop Volucris, driving his lance forward. Benedictus howled, the firelight shimmering on his scales. His wings churned the smoke that rose all around.

  "The Great King fights again!" Kyrie said, voice awed, flying toward them. Wounds covered him, but still his eyes flashed. A tear flowed down his cheek. "King Benedictus is sounding his roar."

  Lacrimosa wanted to fly to her husband. Griffins and salvanae surrounded her, and when she tried to fly forward, beaks and talons attacked. They held her back, held her from Benedictus. As Lacrimosa fought, she watched the duel, anguish gnawing her.

  BENEDICTUS

  War.

  War rolled over the world with fire and wings.

  No Vir Requis marched today under his banners. No armies mustered to his call. They lay below him now, skeletons ten years dry, fresh blood raining upon them. As fires blazed, smoke billowed, and salvanae and griffins fought, Benedictus saw but one thing.

  Dies Irae.

  "You should have killed me ten years ago," Dies Irae shouted over the roar of battle. His voice was maniacal, emerging like an echo from his griffin-head helm. "Your serpents cannot save you now."

  Benedictus narrowed his eyes. His torn wing ached; he could barely flap it. Wounds covered him, and ilbane stiffened his joints. He didn't care. Tonight his pain ended, with death or with vengeance. Tonight all this pain—of wounds, of genocide, of haunting memory—would burn in fire. Tonight he came full circle, defeated his demons or died trying. Tonight was a blood night.

  Volucris flew toward him. Dies Irae leaned forward in the saddle, aiming his lance. Benedictus charged, blowing fire, refusing to back down. The lance drove toward him. Benedictus roared.

  The lance grazed his shoulder, and he shouted. His claws swung and hit Dies Irae in the chest.

  Benedictus kept shooting forward, howled, and turned to face Dies Irae again. His brother had been knocked back, but pulled himself back into the saddle. Scratches ran along his breastplate, peeling back the gold and jewels to show steel.

  War.

  With claws and metal.

  Dies Irae charged again, lance red in the firelight. Benedictus too charged, flapping that aching, torn wing. He blew fire, and Volucris caught flame, and the lance drove forward. Pain filled Benedictus's good wing. The lance pierced it, then pulled back, widening the wound. Blood fell and Benedictus roared.

  "Look at you!" Dies Irae screamed and cackled. "The great Benedictus. After all these years, to die like this!"

  Volucris swooped. The lance hit Benedictus's shoulder, tossing him into a spin. He tried to flap his wings, but barely could. He couldn't right himself. Talons scratched him, and a beak bit his wounded shoulder, and the lance struck again.

  Benedictus howled in rage and pain.

  Then, in the darkness rolling over him, he saw the Griffin Heart.

  In the battle, the amulet had emerged from Dies Irae's armor. It hung around his neck on a golden chain, glowing and humming, binding the griffins to its power.

  The amulet of their father.

  "You stole that from Requiem," Benedictus said, finally managing to steady his tumble. Though pain filled them, he flapped his wings, flying up toward Dies Irae. He felt weak, weaker than he'd ever been, but kept flying. "I take it back from you today."

  Dies Irae swooped on his griffin, lance glinting.

  Benedictus was slow and wounded, but he was fast enough. He swerved, and as Volucris flew by him, he swung his claw. He hit Volucris in the head.

  The griffin screamed, bloodied, and flapped his wings madly. The wings hit Benedictus, blinding him, but he no longer needed to see. He bit and clawed, digging into griffin flesh. Volucris thrashed above him, and Benedictus clutched the griffin, refusing to release him. He bit again, tearing into Volucris's chest. Blood covered him, and he drove his head up, goring the griffin with his horns.

  Dies Irae screamed.

  Benedictus tossed Volucris off him. The griffin and Dies Irae tumbled to the ground.

  Suddenly Benedictus could see the battle again. Thousands of griffins and salvanae howled around him, staring at him and the fallen Dies Irae. Thousands more lay dead or dying upon the ground. The skeletons of the war ten years ago were red with fresh blood and fire. Below, Dies Irae still lived. He pushed himself off Volucris.

  Benedictus landed before his brother and blew fire. Dies Irae ran through the flames, swinging his mace. The mace slammed into Benedictus's leg, so hard it nearly broke his bone. Benedictus kicked his brother, knocked him down, and placed a foot upon him. Dies Irae struggled, but could not free himself.

  The battle froze around them.

  Everyone watched silently: salvanae, griffins, men, Vir Requis. The only sounds now were the moans of the dying, the wind and rain, and the fire.

  "So we end up here," Benedictus said to his brother, "the same as we were. This is how you lay ten years ago. On your back in this field. Me with my claws against you."

  Dies Irae's visor had been knocked back, revealing his face. Blood trickled from his lip, and ash covered his skin. He spat out a tooth, then laughed with blood in his mouth. "You're a coward."

  Benedictus growled. "And you're a dead man."

  Dies Irae shook his head. "No, Benedictus. You will not crush me to death. I know you. I unchained you; I let you fight me to the death. You want to kill me? Do it as a man, not a lizard. Shift, Benedictus. Face me as a man, or forever be known as a coward."

  Growling, Benedictus kicked Dies Irae aside, then shifted into human form.

  "Swords!" Dies Irae cried. Two soldiers leaped off their griffins and ran forward. They gave one sword to Dies Irae, the other to Benedictus.

  Benedictus drew the blade. It was heavy, well balanced, with a grip wrapped in leather. A good sword.

  Dies Irae drew his own blade and swiped it, testing it. It whistled.

  "Father!" came an anguished cry above. Benedictus looked up, and his heart leaped. Agnus Dei! Agnus Dei flew there! And Kyrie flew by her.

  "Agn—" he began, but then she screamed. Benedictus looked back down to see Dies Irae lunging at him.

  Dies Irae's sword flew. Benedictus parried. The blades clanged and raised sparks.

  The blades drew apart, clanged again. Around them the fires burned, the armies watched, the winds howled, and the rain fell. Benedictus had not dueled with blades for years, not since Requiem had fallen. His shoulders ached, his wounds burned, and he felt sluggish as he swung his blade.

  Dies Irae thrust his sword, and Benedictus grunted as he parried. Dies Irae thrust again. Benedictus parried again, but barely. His boot slipped, and he fell to one knee.

  The armies gasped. Agnus Dei screamed.

  Dies Irae's blade came swinging down, reflecting the fires. Benedictus parried and punched, hitting Dies Irae's helmet. His knuckles ached; he might have broken them. Dies Irae fell into the mud. Benedictus leaped up and swung his sword.

  His blade hit Dies Irae's helmet.

  Dies Irae, grinning with blood in his mouth, pushed himself up and swung his sword.

  Benedictus blocked, thrust, and hit Dies Irae's breastplate. His blow sent jewels flying, but could not break the steel. Dies Irae thrust, and his blade sliced Benedictus's arm. Blood flew, and Agnus Dei screamed again.

  Benedictus howled an
d charged in fury, swinging his sword. Dies Irae blocked the blade with his mace, that left arm of steel.

  Benedictus's blade shattered. Shards flew, leaving only a hilt and jagged steel in Benedictus's hand.

  "It's over, Benedictus!" Dies Irae cackled and swung his blade. Benedictus parried with his broken sword. He managed to divert the bulk of the blow, but the sword still sliced his shoulder, and Benedictus fell to his knees.

  Dies Irae swung his sword again.

  Benedictus rolled aside, grabbed a shard of broken blade from the mud, and thrust it up.

  The metal drove deep into Dies Irae's left eye.

  Dies Irae screamed. It was a horrible scream, a shriek like a dying horse. He clawed at his face, but could not pull out the shard in his eye.

  "Damn you, Benedictus!" he screamed, a high pitched sound, inhuman. Blood spurted. He fell to his knees, hand covering his wound. Suddenly he was blubbering, blood and mucus and tears flowing down him.

  Benedictus rose slowly to his feet. Blood covered him, and he could barely feel his arm. He limped toward his brother. Dies Irae had dropped his sword, and Benedictus lifted it. He held the blade over his brother's head. Everyone watched around them, but dared not move or speak. The rain pattered.

  "It is over now, brother," Benedictus said and raised the sword. Dies Irae was weeping. "Goodbye."

  Dies Irae shook his head and held out his hands, one hand of flesh, the other a fist of steel. "Please, please, brother," he said. "Spare me, please. I beg you." He bowed, covering his samite and jeweled armor with mud and blood. He wept. "I beg you, Benedictus. Spare me. Show me mercy. I am your brother."

  Benedictus stared down. The rain kept falling, steaming against burning bodies. Benedictus looked at those bodies, thousands of them, and around them thousands of old skeletons from the war years ago. So many had died already. So many deaths because of these struggles between him and his brother.