She looked at Kyrie, who walked beside her. He was staring at the wilted trees, eyes dark. Gloriae slipped her hand into his. He tried to pull his hand back, but she held him tight.
"Don't let me go," she said to him. He sighed and let her hold his hand.
"I have a memory of Requiem," she said. "From when I was three. I remember our home. I think it was our house. I remember marble tiles, and birches, and harps. Kyrie, what do you remember?"
He looked at the wilted trees, lost in thought. Finally he said, "I remember the temple with the fruit trees outside. I remember the harps too. And... I remember seeing many dragons in the skies. Thousands of them, entire herds."
Gloriae tried to imagine it—thousands of dragons, the sun on their scales, the sky in their nostrils. She imagined herself among them, a golden dragon, gliding through the clouds, her true people around her.
She looked at the ruins around her, and thought of the ruins of Requiem, and Gloriae made a decision. She squeezed Kyrie's hand, and smiled to herself, but said nothing.
In the afternoon, the forest recovered. The trees were not wilted, but alive with golden, red, and yellow leaves. Birds flew and deer grazed. A sign on the road pointed to a town, and promised a tavern and bathhouse.
Kyrie sighed. "I supposed this is another town you want to avoid. Too dangerous, huh."
"Actually, I'd like to visit that tavern," Gloriae said. "I've had enough of sleeping in logs and burrows, haven't you?"
Kyrie raised his eyebrows. "Didn't you say just the other day, how nightshades are smart enough to search inns now, and how Dies Irae has informants in them, and how you're a maiden of steel or something like that, and don't mind sleeping outside?"
Gloriae wanted to glare and hurt him, but not today. Today she'd have to be nice, if her plan was to work. She forced herself to smile. She knew that she had a beautiful smile, a smile to melt men's hearts. "I think we've earned a rest."
He nodded and whistled. "All right! Tavern it is. Beer, stew, bread, and a soft bed."
He walked with new vigor, and Gloriae smiled. Soon they approached the town. A score of cottages with thatch roofs nestled in the hills. A temple and tower rose above them, and farms rolled around them. The tavern stood closer to the road, its sign showing a turtledove sitting upon a firkin. Gloriae saw no movement in the windows, and two peasants lay slumped in the yard, drooling. The nightshades had been here too. She and Kyrie entered the tavern, and found the usual scene of soulless travellers.
"Not only nightshades have been here," she said. "Outlaws too."
The soulless were missing shoes and jackets. When she stepped into the pantry, Gloriae saw that most of the food had been taken. Only a handful of turnips, onions, apples, and sausages remained.
"I was hoping for some bread," Kyrie said, "but I'll make do with what we have. We'll cook a stew of it."
Gloriae left the pantry and searched the bar. Luckily, the caskets of ale were attached to the walls; the outlaws had left them. Most of the other drinks had been taken.
"And I was hoping for some wine or spirits," she said, scrunching her lips. "Something stronger than ale."
She could see marks on the floor where barrels of wine must have stood. She rummaged behind the bar and found a small, hidden door. When she swung it open, she smiled.
"Ah, good rye," she said. She lifted a bottle. "In a glass bottle too. These things cost a fortune, you know. Must be good stuff."
"I didn't know you're a drinker," Kyrie said, already eating an apple.
"There are many things you don't know about me. But you'll find them out."
They cooked a stew of turnips, onions, and sausages. Gloriae kept pouring ale into Kyrie's mug, though she drank little herself. They ate well, and then Gloriae opened the bottle of rye. She stood up, solemn, and raised the bottle.
"To Requiem," she said. "May our wings forever find her sky."
Kyrie too stood up. He nodded and repeated the Old Words.
Gloriae feigned a deep draft from the bottle, but only allowed several drops into her mouth. The spirits were strong, so strong they burned. She handed Kyrie the bottle.
"Drink deep," she said. "Drink well. For our home and forefathers."
He nodded and drank deeply. His cheeks flushed, he coughed, and he slammed down the bottle. "Good stuff."
Gloriae realized that she still wore her white cloak, and her armor beneath it. She removed the cloak and placed it on her chair. Her helmet followed. Gloriae shook her hair free, and the golden locks danced. She saw Kyrie staring, and she smiled crookedly.
"Drink, Kyrie," she said. "Drink for Requiem."
"For Requiem," he said and drank again. He passed Gloriae the bottle, and she feigned another draft.
When Kyrie had drunk a third time, Gloriae removed her breastplate. She placed it on a table, and stood before Kyrie in her undershirt. The cloth was thin, white cotton, damp with the sweat of their journey. Gloriae knew it clung to her, that it showed the curve of her breasts. She undid the laces at its top, opening her shirt halfway down her chest, and shook her hair again.
"It feels good to finally take off my armor," she said. She moved near Kyrie, took the bottle from him, and this time she truly did drink. The spirits burned down her throat. She shoved the bottle at Kyrie, placed her hand on his thigh, and told him, "Drink."
He drank, and she played with his hair and whispered into his ear. "It tastes good, doesn't it?"
Kyrie looked at her. His eyes were watery, his cheeks flushed. "Gloriae. What are you doing?"
She trailed her fingers along his thigh, and saw his flush deepen. Smiling crookedly, she brought the bottle to his lips. "Drink, Kyrie. For Requiem."
When the bottle was half empty, Kyrie was wobbling in his chair. "I'm tired," he said.
She nodded. "Me too. Let's find a bed and get some sleep."
She led him upstairs, helping him climb. They found a room, and Gloriae laid him in a bed. It was not yet evening; she still had time.
"Gloriae," he said groggily. "What are you doing?"
"I'm taking my clothes off," she said. "They're sweaty and dirty, and I want them off me."
"You shouldn't," he said from the bed.
But Gloriae was already naked. She stretched by the window, the sun on her skin. It felt good to be free of her clothes; she felt like a nymph. She ran her hands through her golden locks, smiled at Kyrie, and stepped toward him.
"Gloriae," he said, frowning.
He tried to rise from the bed, but she pushed him back down. With deft movements, she unlaced his pants and straddled him.
"Don't move, Kyrie," she said. "Just lie still. I'll do everything."
He tried to push her off, but he was too drunk. She held his hands, leaned forward, and kissed his forehead.
"It's all right, Kyrie," she said. "I know what I'm doing. It's for the best."
"I can't," he said, though she could feel his eyes on her breasts, feel his desire beneath her. Gloriae had never done this before, but she knew how to. She had grown up among soldiers; she was no innocent. She did the deed quickly, gasping and digging her fingernails into Kyrie, her head back. It didn't take long. He was done. She left him. She pulled on her clothes, leaned over him, and kissed his lips.
"Thank you, Kyrie," she said. "Now sleep. I'll take the first watch."
He confronted her in the morning. Gloriae was in the common room, setting bowls of porridge on the table. Kyrie came stumbling downstairs. He had sacks beneath his eyes, and a sallow look, and winced in the sunlight.
"Good morning, Kyrie," she said. "I found some oatmeal in the pantry and made breakfast."
He trudged to the table, sat down, and lifted a spoon. His eyes never left hers. He began to eat, frowning at her suspiciously. She sat down beside him and began to eat too. For a moment they were silent.
Then Kyrie slammed down his spoon. "Gloriae," he began, "you—"
"Hush, Kyrie," she said and took a spoonful of porridge. She swallowed
. "I don't want to hear it."
He rose to his feet so suddenly, his chair crashed to the floor. He winced and rubbed his temples. "Last night, you—"
Gloriae stood up too and slapped his face, hard enough to knock him back two steps.
"Kyrie," she said, glaring at him, "I have killed Vir Requis. Many of them."
He stared at her silently, his cheek red with the print of her hand. He said nothing.
"I killed my first Vir Requis when I was six years old," she said. "I've killed more since, many more. Now there are only five left. Maybe fewer now; we don't know if the others survived."
"They sur—"
"Quiet, Kyrie!" She grabbed his cheeks and stared into his eyes. "I am Vir Requis too. I know that now. And I need a child. We all need one, a new life for our race. So yes. I will have your child. You might not like it. I don't care. I will have it. Remember what we drank for last night? For Requiem. For her will I bear new life."
He tore free from her. "I promised my love to Agnus Dei," he said.
She snorted. "Promised your love? Are you a poet now? Well, good for you and Agnus Dei. I'm happy for you two. And I know that once we all reunite, you'll marry her. When we rebuild Requiem, you'll build a house with her, and have children with her, and then my chance will be gone. I need your child before then. So I made one with you last night."
Kyrie glared at her, eyes red. For a moment it seemed he would yell, but then he simply righted his chair and sat down with a sigh. He placed his elbows on the tabletop and leaned his head down. "You don't know that you're pregnant. It can take more than one try."
She nodded and placed her hand on his head. "That's why we're going to repeat last night. Again and again, until we reach Requiem and you're reunited with my sister."
He looked up at her. "Gloriae, you're her twin sister. It's wrong."
"The whole world is wrong. We do what we can to right it. Don't we?"
He took her hands. "Gloriae, look. You're beautiful. Achingly beautiful; a goddess. You're strong, and intelligent, and... everything a man could want. But I love Agnus Dei."
"I'm not asking you to love me, Kyrie. I'm not asking you anything. I'm telling you. We need more Vir Requis. I did my part hunting the race to near extinction. I'll do what I must to rebuild it, to redeem myself. Even if it hurts you and Agnus Dei. The future of our race is more important than your pain." She shoved the porridge close to him and patted his cheek. "Now eat, darling. You're going to need your strength."
After breakfast, they left the tavern with fresh supplies, and walked down dirt roads. In the distance, they saw mountains of burned trees.
The ruins of Requiem were near.
AGNUS DEI
She climbed through the snow, fingers stinging, the wind whipping her face. Snow filled her clothes, hair, and mouth. She spat it out.
"Have I mentioned already that I hate snow?" she said.
Father grunted. He was climbing beside her, snow covering him. It clung to his stubble like a white beard.
"Once or twice," he said. "Or a million times."
Agnus Dei looked behind her. They'd been climbing all morning, and the mausoleum of skeletons lay a league below, piny hills surrounding it. When she turned her head and looked above her, she saw Fidelium soaring, all black boulders and swirling snow. The wind howled.
"We're close," she said. "We'll reach the cave within an hour."
Father nodded and they kept climbing, shivering in the cold and wind.
Agnus Dei thought of Kyrie as she climbed. The thought of him made her feel warmer. What was the pup up to now? Was he tolerating Gloriae? Agnus Dei knew the two held no love for each other. I hope they made it to the caves, Agnus Dei thought. I hope they're huddling inside, waiting for us. Maybe I'll see them again soon, in only an hour or two. She promised herself that she'd give her sister a hug, and the pup a kiss that would knock his boots off.
And what of Mother? Had she found the griffins? Would she be waiting here too? Suddenly Agnus Dei felt fear, colder than the snow. What if they weren't here? What if the nightshades had caught them, or Dies Irae's crossbow, or the griffins had attacked, or—
Agnus Dei shook her head to clear it. There was no use worrying now. Soon enough, she would know.
The wind howled, and a strange sound—a twang—sounded above.
Agnus Dei froze and frowned.
"Did you hear that?" she said to Father.
He nodded and drew his sword. "Yeah, and I don't like it."
The twang sounded again, closer now. It sounded like a wobbling saw, metallic. Agnus Dei narrowed her eyes, staring up the mountain. Snow cascaded.
"What—" she began.
Something leaped above, emitted that wobbling twang of a cry, and disappeared behind snow.
"Griffin balls," Agnus Dei swore, narrowed her eyes, and aimed her crossbow. "What the abyss was that?"
"Don't curse!" Father said.
The creature had seemed large, the size of a horse. Agnus Dei had only glimpsed long limbs, white skin draped over long bones, and three eyes. Where was it now?
The creature burst from behind a mound of snow, flying toward them. Its mouth opened, revealing teeth like swords, and its eyes blazed.
Agnus Dei shot her crossbow into its head.
It crashed a hundred yards away, squealed, and came sliding down the snow toward her. Agnus Dei snarled. It's hideous. It had a knobby spine and six legs, bony, with large joints. White, wrinkly skin draped over it. Agnus Dei had once seen a hairless cat; this creature looked like a cross between that poor critter and a giant spider.
It squealed at her feet, black blood squirting from its wound. It snapped claws and teeth at her. Father shot his own crossbow, sending the quarrel into the creature's brain. It made a mewling, high-pitched sound that sent snow cascading down the mountainside, then lay still.
Agnus Dei looked down at it. She shivered. "Ugly bastard. And new to this mountain. These things weren't here in the summer."
"Dies Irae must have new pets," Father said grimly. "This is a snowbeast, a creature from the far north."
"Let's shift and fly the rest of the way up," Agnus Dei said. "I don't want to meet any more of these creatures."
Father shook his head. "No shifting, Agnus Dei. Your scales are red. Irae's men would see you from the forests leagues away. Let's keep climbing." He pointed his sword. "I see the back cave. We're almost there."
They stepped around the dead snowbeast and began climbing again.
With a chorus of twangs, a dozen snowbeasts appeared and leaped toward them.
Agnus Dei and Father shot their crossbows. Two snowbeasts crashed and slid down the snow, screaming. The others screeched, scurried on six legs, and jumped at them.
Agnus Dei swung her sword. The blade sliced through a bony, wrinkly limb. The limb flew, the snowbeast screeched, and its blood spurted. It snapped its teeth at her, and Agnus Dei fell onto her back. Snarling, she drove her sword up. It hit the snowbeast's teeth, knocked one out, and drove into its head.
The snowbeast fell onto her, drool and blood dripping. One of its remaining teeth scratched her cheek. Agnus Dei grunted and shoved it aside. She rose to her feet to see two more snowbeasts leaping at her.
She swung her sword left and right. Bony limbs flew. Black blood covered the snow, smelling like oil. All around, from behind boulders and snow, more snowbeasts were appearing.
"We can't kill them all," Father cried over their screams. Black blood covered his blade and arms. "Run to the cave!"
They began running uphill, swords swinging. The snowbeasts' limbs littered the mountainside, but new ones kept swarming. Even the wounded came crawling at them, screeching. One scratched Father's calf, tearing through his pants and skin. Agnus Dei ran screaming, sword and arms sticky with blood. A snowbeast jumped off a boulder, swooping toward her. She tossed her dagger at it, burying it in its head, and kept running.
When she reached the cave, she dashed in. Father was a few pace
s behind. Hurriedly, Agnus Dei loaded her crossbow. She shot over Father's head, hitting the snowbeast behind him.
"Hurry up, old man!" she said.
He dashed into the cave, breath ragged, the snowbeasts in hot pursuit. Father and daughter stood at the cave entrance, swinging swords. Creatures' limbs and heads piled at their feet.
"Get lost!" Agnus Dei shouted at them. "Away, find food elsewhere!"
Finally, her shouts and their blades convinced the snowbeasts to leave. They scurried away on their bony limbs, their white skin flapping in the wind.
Agnus Dei and Father leaned against the cave walls, breathing heavily. Her heart thrashed, and even in the cold, sweat drenched her.
"Nothing's ever easy," Father muttered, and she nodded.
When they had caught their breath, Agnus Dei said, "The tunnel passes through the mountain. It's dark, and it's narrow, but I've travelled it before. It's safe. After an hour's walk, we'll reach the south cave."
She checked her tin lamp, which she'd pilfered from an abandoned inn three nights ago. She still had some oil left; maybe an hour's worth. She lit the wick, narrowed her eyes, and stepped into the darkness. Father walked beside her, his sword raised.
A hundred yards into the cave, Agnus Dei grimaced. Her lamplight flickered across hundreds of eggs. The eggs were the size of watermelons, translucent and gooey. She could see snowbeast maggots inside, their limbs twisting, their mouths opening and closing. Mewls left their throats, the sound muffled inside the eggs.
"They're even uglier as babies," she muttered. "I'd hate to be here when they hatch."
Benedictus nodded. "We won't be. Let's keep walking."
As they walked down the tunnel, Agnus Dei tightened her grip on her sword. She hated narrow places like these. It meant she couldn't shift. She had mostly resisted shifting outside the tunnel, but at least the option had existed. Here, if she shifted into a dragon, the narrow tunnel would crush her. Her lamp swung in her hand, swirling shadows, dancing against clammy walls. She imagined that she saw small nightshades in the shadows, and Agnus Dei shivered. Would she find Mother, Gloriae, and Kyrie here, or would she find their bodies?
Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy Page 41
