Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy

by Daniel Arenson

  "We go to Requiem, you say?" Gloriae asked as they ran.

  Kyrie nodded. "To the old palace, where Benedictus and Lacrimosa lived. Where you were born."

  They ran, sap on their faces, until night fell, and the shrieks of nightshades shook the forest. They hid in darkness, huddled in an abandoned wolf's den, under a hill behind the dangling roots of an oak. As nightshades screeched, Kyrie and Gloriae held each other and shivered.

  BENEDICTUS

  "Well, here's a pretty sight," said the soldier. He reached for his sword. "A father and daughter weredragon out for a stroll."

  Ten other soldiers stepped out from the forest. They wore helmets and chain mail, and carried shields emblazoned with Dies Irae's coat of arms. They stepped onto the road, eyes narrowed.

  Benedictus grunted. "We're simple travellers," he said to the soldiers. He took Agnus Dei's hand. "Let us be."

  The soldiers surrounded them. They drew their swords as one, the blades hissing.

  Benedictus glanced at Agnus Dei and nodded.

  She nodded back; she knew the signal.

  Together, they shifted into dragons and swung their tails.

  Benedictus hit one soldier. He drove the spikes of his tail through the man's armor, and slammed him against another man. Agnus Dei took down two more men.

  The remaining soldiers charged, blades swinging. Benedictus blew fire. The flames hit three men. They screamed and fell. Agnus Dei shot flames too, hitting two more soldiers.

  Three soldiers remained. They were foolish enough to attack. Benedictus lashed his tail and knocked two down. Agnus Dei clawed another. With a few more swipes of their claws, the soldiers all lay dead.

  Panting, Benedictus and Agnus Dei shifted back into human forms. They stood staring at the bodies.

  "We made a bloody racket," Benedictus said. He panted and wiped sweat off his brow.

  Agnus Dei nodded. "And raised smoke and fire." She spat onto the roadside. "If there are more soldiers a league around, they'll know we're here."

  Benedictus glared at her. "Agnus Dei, you are a princess of Requiem. Do not spit."

  She rolled her eyes. "Father, spare me. Let's go. Off the road."

  They stepped into the forest just as the sound of boots came around the bend. Benedictus raced between the trees, Agnus Dei at his side. Grunts and curses sounded behind them, and soon the boots were thumping through the forest in pursuit.

  "This whole forest is swarming with Irae's men," Benedictus said. He pointed his sword ahead, where between the trees, they could see an army mustered beneath Fidelium Mountain.

  Agnus Dei uttered a curse that could make a sailor blush. "There were no soldiers when Mother and I hid here. Irae discovered our hideout."

  They rushed around a boulder and shoved their way between brambles. The sounds of pursuit came between the trees.

  "Wait," Benedictus said. "Let's load our crossbows. I want us to fight as humans—for as long as we can. We'd be tougher to find."

  They stopped, panting, and loaded quarrels into their crossbows. Benedictus's lungs burned, and his heart thrashed

  "Okay, go, quickly."

  He heard a stream ahead and headed toward it. Curses and shouts came behind.

  "I see prints," a soldier shouted. "That way."

  Benedictus and Agnus Dei splashed into the stream. They walked through the water until they reached a boulder on the bank. They left the water, climbed over the boulder, and kept moving.

  "You think they'll lose our trail?" Agnus Dei asked. "I—"

  Her voice died. Two soldiers stood ahead. They seemed surprised; Benedictus guessed they hadn't expected to find anyone during their patrol. The men barely had time to draw their swords before he and Agnus Dei shot quarrels into their chests.

  "Do you think Mother is here?" Agnus Dei said after they reloaded and kept trudging through the forest. "What about Kyrie and Gloriae?"

  Benedictus frowned. He stared between the trees at the mountain, at Dies Irae's banners upon it, at the army that camped below.

  "I don't know," he said. "We're supposed to meet them today in the cave, but... I don't know how they'd get there. There's an army guarding the place."

  They kept running. The sounds of pursuit gradually faded behind. But it wouldn't be long, Benedictus knew, before thousands of soldiers were combing the woods.

  Agnus Dei pointed at the mountainside, where archers surrounded the opening of a cave. "That's the cave Mother and I would hide in. Irae is guarding the entrance. But there's a back entrance too. If you go behind the mountain, a small cave leads into a tunnel. You can travel through the mountain, and reach the main cave from there."

  Benedictus grunted. "You think the others are inside the tunnels?"

  A soldier burst from between the trees, sword raised. Agnus Dei shot him with her crossbow. "I don't know," she said. "If they were waiting in the cave, and Irae arrived, they might have crawled deep into the tunnels, and hid there. We should look for them."

  Benedictus stepped toward the soldier Agnus Dei had shot. He was lying in the mud, clutching his chest, whimpering. Benedictus knelt and gave the man water from his canteen.

  "Your comrades will be here soon," he said to the soldier. He turned back to Agnus Dei. "More tunnels. I hate tunnels. But fine. Let's go."

  They raced between the trees, crossbows and swords in hand, and cut west. They travelled for several hours through the forest. The sounds of soldiers faded behind them.

  In late afternoon, the land became hilly, and pines replaced the elms and oaks. They found themselves climbing slopes, moving higher with every step. Old bricks, smoothed by centuries of rain, lay scattered around them. Once they saw the head of a statue, smoothed to bare features, emerging from the dirt. The remains of a wall and aqueduct nestled between a hill, overgrown with moss and vines.

  "What is this place?" Agnus Dei asked. "These ruins are older than the ones in Requiem."

  Benedictus nodded. "Fidelium Mountain is named after an old kingdom named Fidelium. Two thousand years ago, it fought a war against Osanna, and lost. These are its remains." He pointed at a column's capital rising from leaves and earth. "Most of Fidelium is now buried."

  It was evening when they emerged onto a rocky terrain, finding themselves on the north side of Fidelium Mountain. The mountainside soared above them, green with pines. Higher up, they saw snow and jagged black boulders.

  "We'll stay here for the night," Benedictus said.

  Agnus Dei surveyed their surroundings in the sunset. "Where will we hide?"

  Benedictus pointed at a mossy, rain-smoothed pile of stones. "This was a mausoleum once," he said. "The kings of Fidelium would rest in these tombs, in the shade of their mountain. We'll find rest there too, at least for tonight."

  Agnus Dei grunted. "You want us to sleep in a mausoleum?" she asked and spat again.

  "I told you, Agnus Dei, do not spit. Where did you pick up the habit? And yes, we're going to sleep there. Unless you prefer to sleep outdoors and face the nightshades?"

  Agnus Dei grumbled curses so foul, Benedictus thought the pines would wilt. She began tramping toward the mausoleum.

  "And where did you learn such language?" he said. "Do not speak that way."

  Agnus Dei made a sound like an enraged boar. "Father, really. Must you?"

  Benedictus grumbled, and the two knelt by the mausoleum. Most of it was buried. Only the top of its entrance was clear, and they spent some time digging. Finally the entrance was large enough, and they crawled inside. Dirt and dust filled the mausoleum, and they coughed and waved to clear the air. The sunset slanted through the narrow opening, lighting old bricks and shattered pottery. They pulled branches and bricks against the entrance, concealing it.

  A second doorway led underground to a dark, clammy chamber. They climbed down to find two old skeletons, perhaps an ancient king and queen, lying by coffins. The grave must have been robbed years ago; the coffins were smashed, the skeletons denuded of jewels.


  "Lovely place to spend the night," Agnus Dei said. She sat down with a groan. "If I get cold or lonely, I can cuddle with skeletons."

  Benedictus stood, sword raised. "Sleep, daughter. I'll take the first watch."

  He had barely finished his sentence, and Agnus Dei was snoring. The skeletons lay beside her, glaring with empty eye sockets at the intruders. Benedictus watched her sleep for a while, and he felt his face soften, the scowl that usually adorned it melting off. During waking hours, Agnus Dei was a firestorm—cursing, spitting, shouting, arguing, or crying. In sleep, she looked peaceful, even with the dirt and blood that still covered her.

  Benedictus knelt and kissed her forehead. "You're still my baby," he whispered. "Even if you were cuter as an actual baby."

  She stirred, her lips scrunched, but she did not wake.

  Benedictus turned to face the doorway they had crawled through. The last light faded, and soon Benedictus heard nightshades screeching outside. The air became icy, and he grunted and rubbed his joints. Lately they always ached in the cold. He held his sword drawn, as if that could harm a nightshade. As if his sword could win any of his battles.

  The vision of the Poisoned return to him, and he lowered his head and clenched his jaw.

  "It wasn't her," he whispered. "It couldn't have been."

  And yet the Poisoned that had scratched his shoulder, the creature he'd killed with claw and fire, had worn his sister's pendant. The golden turtle with emerald eyes.

  Benedictus clenched his fists. "No. It wasn't her. She died years ago."

  Still the memory floated before him in the darkness—her hissing, toothless mouth; her green claws; her left eyeball that dangled against her cheek, spraying blood....

  "No," he said, jaw tight. The nightshades screeched so loudly now, he couldn't hear his own words. "Don't think of her. It's over. It's over now."

  Agnus Dei was alive and pure. Protecting her was what mattered now, Benedictus told himself. He turned to look at her... and felt the blood leave his face.

  Agnus Dei was gone.

  Benedictus stared, frozen for a moment.

  He raised his sword.

  Gone!

  He peered into the corners and coffins, but could not see her. A chill ran through him; the skeletons were gone too.

  "Agnus Dei!" he called.

  A scream answered somewhere below, distant.

  Benedictus searched for a door, but found none. Where had she gone? Then he noticed that the dust had moved by one of the coffins, and he shoved it. It was heavy. Benedictus grunted, strained, and managed to shove it aside.

  A tunnel gaped open beneath it.

  "Let go!" came Agnus Dei's voice from below.

  Cursing, Benedictus leaped into the tunnel.

  He fell ten feet and crashed onto bones. He couldn't see them in the darkness, but Benedictus had heard enough snapping bones in his life to recognize the sound. He pushed himself up, fumbled for his oil lamp, and lit it. The light flickered to life, illuminating a pile of skeletons.

  "This isn't a mausoleum," he muttered. "It's a mass grave."

  A scream sounded down the tunnel, maybe two hundred yards away, followed by the sound of more snapping bones. Benedictus began to run over the bones, moving down dark tunnels. He held his sword in one hand, the lamp in the other. The bones crunched beneath his boots. Spirals and skulls were drawn onto the walls with what looked like blood.

  "Agnus Dei!" he called. He heard distant laughter, a chorus of it, cruel laughter. He kept running, the shadows dancing.

  He was nearing the echoing laughter when three skeletons rose from the bones on the floor. Dust and cobwebs covered them. They swung rusty blades.

  Benedictus parried. The blade he blocked disintegrated into a shower of rust. He swung his sword, decapitating the skeleton. The other two skeletons clawed at him, tugged his clothes, and snapped their teeth. Benedictus slammed the hilt of his sword against them, crushing their skulls. He kicked them when they fell, and slammed his sword down, until they were nothing but shattered bones. The bones moved at his feet, as if trying to regroup. Benedictus stepped over them and kept running.

  He raced down the tunnel until he reached an archway. Its stones glowed with golden runes, and Benedictus saw mist and darkness beyond. The laughter came from there. He ran through the gateway, sword and lamp raised.

  He found an ancient, dilapidated throne room. The chamber was wide but low, and columns filled it; there was no room here to shift into a dragon. Old candlesticks filled alcoves in the walls, burning with green fire. A hundred skeletons stood between the columns, wearing patches of rusty iron, holding chipped swords.

  "Agnus Dei!" Benedictus called.

  His daughter stood at the back of the chamber. Two armored skeletons held her arms. Another skeleton stood facing her. This one looked like the king; he wore a crown and still had wisps of a long, white beard. He shoved Agnus Dei into a dusty throne, and tried to force a necklace of jewels around her neck.

  "Leave me alone!" Agnus Dei said. She was struggling and kicking, but the skeletons held her down in the throne. "Find yourself a skeleton wife, not me."

  Benedictus ran toward them, but a dozen skeletons leaped at him. He hacked at them, but his sword did little damage; it kept entangling itself in their ribs. One of the skeletons wielded a mace. Benedictus grabbed it, wrenched it free, and began to swing. Bones shattered and flew in all directions. For every skeleton he bashed dead, new ones appeared. They surrounded him, scratching and biting. One sunk its teeth into his shoulder, and he shouted and clubbed it off.

  "Agnus Dei, I'm here!" he called.

  In the chaos, she had broken free from the skeletons holding her. She held an old iron candlestick, and was swinging it left and right, breaking skulls.

  Benedictus clubbed several more skeletons, drove his shoulder into two more, and barrelled his way toward his daughter. Finally he reached her. She was still battling skeletons. Scratches covered her shoulder and thigh.

  "I'm here, Agnus Dei, it's all right now," he said.

  Agnus Dei groaned and kicked a skeleton's face, snapping its neck. "I do not...." She clubbed a skeleton with her candlestick. "Need you...." She kicked another's ribs. "To save me!" She sliced a skeleton in half with her sword.

  The king skeleton leaped at them, snarling. His beard fluttered, and fires blazed in his eyes.

  "You looked like you needed some help," Benedictus said to his daughter, swung the club, and bashed the king's ribs.

  "I was fine," Agnus Dei said with a snarl. She swung her sword, shattering the king's shoulder.

  "You were fine like I'm a nightshade," Benedictus said, clubbed the king's face, and watched the skeleton fall.

  The king's bones collapsed into moldy heaps. As if signalled by some unseen banner, the other skeletons fell where they stood. They crashed to the floor, their bones disintegrating. Dust flew and the columns shook.

  Benedictus and Agnus Dei stood facing each other, panting. For a moment, Benedictus had to place his hands on his knees, lean forward, and breathe.

  "Are you all right?" he asked Agnus Dei, raising his head to stare at her. His hair was damp with sweat.

  "I'm fine, Father. You worry too much."

  "Worry too much? There was an army of skeletons after you."

  She snorted, blowing back a curl of her hair. "I was handling them. I've always handled myself fine, Father. Good thing you finally remembered to look after me."

  "What are you talking about?" He straightened and tried to examine her wounds, but she shoved him back.

  "You don't even know, do you?" she asked. She snarled, but her eyes were red, as if she were about to cry.

  "No!" he said. "I never know anything about you, Agnus Dei. I don't know why sometimes you're happy, and sometimes you're sad, and sometimes you're angry at me. I don't know why one moment, you're noble and proud, and the next moment, you spit and curse. And I don't know why you look like you want to kill me now."

  T
ears flowed down her cheeks, drawing lines through the dirt. "Of course you don't know!" she shouted. She clenched her fists. "You don't know me at all. You never bothered to get to know me. I grew up with Mother in caves, in tunnels, in hovels. You were off in your forest. I saw you maybe once a month, for only a few hours—"

  Benedictus growled. "You know why. I've told you many times."

  She rolled her eyes, sniffing. "Yes, yes. We were safer away from you. You know what? That's griffin dung. I think you just enjoyed being away from us. Being away from the memories. Not having to remember how you saved us, while everyone else died, and—"

  "Agnus Dei!" he roared, voice so loud the chamber trembled, and dust rained from the ceiling. She froze, fell silent, and glared at him. Her hair was damp, and she panted.

  "Agnus Dei," he said again, softly this time. "I love you. More than anything. More than life."

  She stared at him silently. Slowly her fists unclenched. "You never tell me that," she said. "You never told me growing up."

  He embraced her. She squirmed and struggled, but finally capitulated.

  "I'm telling you now," he said. "I love you, daughter. I love you and Gloriae more than anything. I've always only wanted to protect you."

  She sighed. "I hate you sometimes, Father."

  "I know. That's all right. I hate myself sometimes."

  She raised her eyes. "Really? You shouldn't." She sighed. "You snore, and you hum, and you make an annoying sound when you eat. You grumble way too much, and you don't shave nearly often enough. But you're not that bad, Dada. I'm sorry."

  He scratched his stubble. "I do need a shave, don't I?"

  She nodded. "Let's get out of here," she said. "We have a mountain to climb in the morning."

  GLORIAE

  The road was long, winding, and full of sadness.

  Gloriae saw the sadness of the land—the bodies in the gutters, the toppled temples, the burning towns. She saw hungry children peeking from logs, from trees, from holes in the ground. She saw the blood and mud that covered them, the hunger in their eyes. Wilted trees filled the forests; nightshades had flown by them. Forts lay as scattered bricks. The horror she had unleashed from the Well of Night covered the world.