The tunnel twisted and narrowed. At times they had to walk slouched over, or even crawl. After an hour, Agnus Dei was sure they must be close to the southern mountainside. Where was the cave? She should see it by now. Her lamp guttered, and the shadows darkened.
"We're running out of oil," she said. "Father, do you have any oil in your lamp?"
He shook his head, and Agnus Dei cursed. She quickened her step, her boots clacking. Within moments, her lamp gave a final flicker and died.
Darkness enveloped them.
"We continue," Father said. His voice was a low growl. "Walk carefully. Crossbows raised."
Agnus Dei nodded and kept walking. She kept one hand on the clammy wall. She gripped her crossbow with the other. The south cave couldn't be far now. The sound of water dripping echoed, and wind moaned.
A screech shook the tunnels.
Agnus Dei screamed and shot her crossbow. She heard Father do the same.
The screech rose, so high pitched, Agnus Dei's hackles rose. The tunnel trembled. Two eyes opened ahead, burning like stars. Their light illuminated a swirling, inky head and white teeth.
"A nightshade!" Agnus Dei cried. "Run, Father!"
They spun around to flee, but another nightshade shrieked there too. Its eyes blazed, and it flowed toward them like smoke. Its maw opened, and it screamed so loudly, Agnus Dei had to cover her ears.
She moved her head from side to side. Surrounded! She could see more nightshades behind those closest to her. They filled the tunnels.
"Light, we need light," she said, but they had no oil, no torches, and the tunnel was too narrow to become dragons and blow fire.
Father slipped his hand into hers. "Agnus Dei," he said, "I'm sorry. I love you."
She felt the nightshades begin to tug her soul. Wisps of it tore free from her, like feathers plucked from a chicken. She closed her eyes, tears stinging.
"Goodbye, Dada. I love you too."
The nightshades shrieked, and Agnus Dei saw the darkness beyond them. She saw the endless worlds, the dimensions that spun her head, the space, eternal, the caverns. She prayed with trembling lips. Goodbye, Mother, Father, sister. Goodbye, Kyrie.
She fell to her knees, and her eyes rolled back.
Then a voice spoke.
"Enough."
The nightshades howled. Agnus Dei's soul slammed back into her body. She opened her eyes, trembling. She squeezed Father's hand. She could see now, she realized. Firelight blazed.
"Who spoke?" she demanded and rose to her feet.
Her heart thrashed.
Agnus Dei snarled and drew her sword.
"You."
Carrying a torch, Dies Irae stood before them in the tunnel.
Agnus Dei charged at him, screaming, sword raised.
Dies Irae waved his hand, and nightshades swarmed. They slammed into Agnus Dei, knocking her down. She fell, cursing. She leaped up and charged again, sword swinging. Dies Irae waved his hand again, and again nightshades knocked Agnus Dei to the ground.
"We can keep doing this all day, sweetness," Dies Irae said, voice soft. He spoke from within his helmet, the steel monstrosity that looked like a griffin's head. "You would tire of it sooner than I would, I promise you."
Agnus Dei pushed herself up, sword in hand, snarling. Father stood beside her, eyes dark, silent. Agnus Dei made to charge again, but Dies Irae clucked his tongue, wagged his finger at her, and she paused.
"I'm going to kill you," she said, snarling.
He laughed and lifted his visor. Agnus Dei couldn't help but gasp. Dies Irae had changed. His face had once been tanned gold. It was now white streaked with black lines, as if oil coursed through his wrinkles. His left eye was gone. An empty socket gaped there, blazing. Starlight and darkness filled the wound, as if nightshade maggots nested there. His good eye blazed, milky white and swivelling. He looked, Agnus Dei thought, like a man possessed by demons. Which, she decided, he was.
"I think not, my daughter," Dies Irae said.
"Silence," Father said and took a step forward, raising his sword.
Dies Irae laughed. "But I am her father, Benedictus. When I raped Lacrimosa, that little whore of yours, I created two smaller whores—Gloriae and Agnus Dei."
While he spoke, Agnus Dei loaded her crossbow. She fired.
Dies Irae had only to stare in her direction. Sparks and black smoke flowed from his empty eye socket, and the quarrel shattered. Steel shards flew, hit the walls, and fell to the floor.
"My my, daughter," Dies Irae said. "You are almost as feisty as your sister, are you not? I spared Gloriae's life. Yes. I let her flee into exile. Do you know why I let her live, Agnus Dei? I let her live because she killed many Vir Requis in my service. She killed children, did you know? Maybe some had been your friends." He raised his left arm, the prosthetic arm made of steel, ending with a mace head like a fist. "But you were never in my service, second daughter. I will kill you... and that pathetic brother of mine who claims to be your true father."
Dies Irae ran forward, mace swinging.
Agnus Dei dropped down and slid forward. The floor was wet, and she flew past the charging Dies Irae. She swung her sword. The blade clanged against Dies Irae's armor, doing him no harm. Jewels flew from it, and its gilt peeled, but the steel beneath stood.
Dies Irae spun, swinging his mace. Agnus Dei ducked, and the mace whooshed over her head.
Father slammed his sword, hitting Dies Irae's helmet. The helmet dented. Dies Irae's head tilted, and Agnus Dei dared to hope that his neck was broken... but he only laughed and punched Father with his good fist, a fist covered in a steel gauntlet. The blow hit Father's chest, knocking him back.
Agnus Dei screamed. She swung her sword and hit Dies Irae's neck. The sword rebounded, sending pain up her arms. It didn't even dent Dies Irae's armor.
The mace swung again. Agnus Dei leaped back, and the tip of the mace grazed her arm. She grunted. The mace had not hit her bone, but it would leave an ugly bruise. The pain burned. She thrust her sword, aiming for Dies Irae's face, but he had managed to lower his visor. The blade hit the metal and bounced back.
The mace swung. Agnus Dei raised her sword and parried with its pommel. The mace hit with incredible force. The blow knocked back her arm, and the sword flew from her hand. It clanked behind her.
Dies Irae swung the mace again.
Father barrelled into Dies Irae, shoving him forward. Agnus Dei scurried back and retrieved her sword. She swung at Dies Irae and hit his breastplate. More jewels flew from the armor, scattering across the floor. The steel, however, remained strong.
Father swung his sword, but Dies Irae parried, almost lazily. He swung his mace toward Father's head.
Agnus Dei lunged and grabbed Dies Irae's legs. She tugged and he fell.
Father slammed his sword against Dies Irae's helmet. Agnus Dei slammed against his back. Their blows could not dent the armor, but they were dazing him, hurting him. Agnus Dei drove her sword down hard behind Dies Irae's knee, where the armor was weak. Blood spurted, and Dies Irae screamed.
"Nightshades!" he cried. "Kill them."
The nightshades, who until then had merely watched the fight, screeched. They rushed at Father and Agnus Dei, swirled around them, and howled.
"No!" Agnus Dei screamed. Once more they were tugging her soul, and her sword fell from her hand.
Red light filled the tunnel.
Heat blazed.
Fire burned.
"Leave this place!" came a dragon's roar. The fire died, and Agnus Dei saw a dragon's head in the darkness ahead, where the tunnel was wide.
"Mother!" she cried.
Lacrimosa, lying in the tunnel in dragon form, blew fire again. Agnus Dei and Father ducked and covered their heads. The firelight blackened the ceiling, and the nightshades screamed. The creatures began to flee.
Mother shifted into human form and ran toward them.
"Up, run!" she cried. "The firelight won't frighten them for long. Out of the tunnel!"
Agnus Dei looked for Dies Irae, but he was gone. She grabbed Mother.
"You're running to the south cave, Mother! Irae's got men covering that side of the mountain."
The nightshades were recovering, collecting their wisps of smoke and howling.
"It's our only way out!" Mother shouted and began to run. "Come on!"
They raced through the tunnels, nightshades howling around them, tugging at them, and snapping their teeth. Soon sunlight washed the tunnels, and they burst into the old cave, the same cave Agnus Dei had once spent a year in. Archers stood there, firing arrows.
Agnus Dei howled, shifted, and blew fire. Arrows flew around her, and once pierced her wing. She screamed, and her fire roared, and the archers fell burning.
She flew into the sunlight. The nightshades shrieked in the caves and cowered. Below her, Agnus Dei saw dozens of swordsmen and archers. She swooped at them, took another arrow to the wing, and blew fire. Her talons tore into swordsmen. Her flames burned the archers. Blood splashed the snow. Thousands of soldiers were leaving the camp below and racing up the mountain. Hundreds of crossbowmen ran with them.
"Let's get out of here," Father said, shifting into a dragon. He roared and blew fire at ten soldiers who charged at him. Mother shifted too, and the three flew. Arrows zoomed around them. One scratched Agnus Dei's side, and another cut Father's leg.
"Fly!" he roared.
They flew west, arrows zooming around them. More arrows flew, but soon the dragons were out of range.
"I thought you said we're not allowed to shift!" Agnus Dei cried over the roaring wind. Her wounds ached and blood seeped down her wing.
"Case by case basis," he called back. The forests streamed below them, and clouds gathered above.
"Why, by the stars, would you two enter that mountain?" Mother demanded. She glared at her husband and daughter. An arrow had grazed her flank, drawing blood. "Irae has thousands of men there. He was waiting for us. And you two go marching right in, like sheep into a butcher shop."
Father glanced at his wife, indeed seeming almost sheepish. "We were seeking Kyrie and Gloriae."
"We all agreed we'd meet there," Agnus Dei added, flames dancing between her teeth. "Remember, Mother?"
Mother rolled her eyes. Smoke left her nostrils. "Kyrie and Gloriae are not knuckleheads like you two. Of course they wouldn't march into a cave full of nightshades, with Dies Irae's army camped outside. They'll have returned to Requiem. I wager that if we fly there now, we'll find them."
Agnus Dei blew fire in rage. The flames lit the clouds. "If Father and I are such knuckleheads, then so are you, Mother. You also entered the cave."
Mother gave her a stare so withering, that Agnus Dei growled and bared her fangs.
"I entered the cave to save you, Agnus Dei," Mother said. "I had just arrived, saw Irae dash into the cave, and heard you scream."
Agnus Dei growled. "I don't need you to save me. I'm a grown woman now."
Mother glared. "You're a grown woman like I'm a griffin."
"You're one ugly griffin then."
Father roared. "Silence! The griffins are free now, Agnus Dei, and you will show them respect. You are a princess of Requiem."
"I am a warrior of Requiem," she said. "I'm no spoiled princess."
"You are my daughter, and I am the king, therefore you are a princess. And now kindly shut your maw. We fly to find Kyrie and Gloriae."
He roared fire, and his wings churned the clouds. He rose higher into the air, until they burst over the clouds, and flew under a shimmering sun. Mountain peaks rose below them, gold and indigo. Benedictus gave a roar that seemed to shake the skies.
"We fly to Requiem."
DIES IRAE
He pushed himself to his feet.
He stared at the blood seeping down his leg.
Jaws clenched, he walked out of the cave, stood upon the mountainside, and saw the weredragons disappear into the distance.
Bodies lay around him, blood painting the snow. Some of the men were burned, their skin peeling, their flesh red and black. Thousands of living soldiers stood there too. They froze when they saw Dies Irae, stood at attention, and slammed their fists against their chests.
He surveyed the scene for a long time, silent. Then Dies Irae left the cave, and walked through the snow to the body of a wounded soldier. The man was missing a leg. The wound looked like a dragon bite. Clutching the stump, the man stared up at Dies Irae.
"My lord," he whispered.
"Give me your sword," Dies Irae said.
The man raised his sword with a bloody, trembling hand. Dies Irae took the weapon, then drove the blade into the man's chest.
He raised his eyes and stared around him. The men still stood at attention, stiff, pale.
Dies Irae approached another wounded soldier. This man lay curled up in red snow, weeping and whispering for his mother. He clutched his spilling entrails, as if he could force them back into his belly. Dragon claws, Dies Irae knew.
"A weredragon attacked you," Dies Irae said.
The soldier wept and nodded.
"And you failed to kill it," Dies Irae said.
The soldier looked up with teary eyes, and Dies Irae drove his sword into the man's chest, pushing him into the snow.
The mountain was silent now. The weeping stopped. The only sound was the wind and swirling snow. Dies Irae looked over his men, the dozens of wounded, the dozens of dead, and the thousands that still stood.
"Has anyone else failed to kill a weredragon today?" he asked.
They stared, silent.
"All who killed a weredragon, raise your hands."
The men stood stiffly, pale, a few trembling.
Dies Irae called forward his captains, the commanders of the ten companies he'd brought to Fidelium. The captains stepped toward him, clad in plate armor, and slammed gauntleted fists against their chests.
"Hail Irae!" they said.
Dies Irae barely acknowledged them. He moved his eyes over the rows of soldiers in the snow. "My men disappointed me today. Decimate them."
The captains breathed in sharply.
"Decimation, my lord?" whispered one, a burly man with a battle axe. "That punishment has not been handed out since the Gray Age."
Dies Irae slowly turned his head, his armor creaking, and examined the man. "You are displeased with my command?"
The captain shook his head and saluted again, fist on breastplate. "Decimation, my lord. As in the days of old."
As Dies Irae watched, the captains arranged their companies into formation. The men stood in rows, ten men deep, fists against their chests. The captains raised their eyes to Dies Irae.
He frowned, thought a moment, and said, "The seventh row."
The soldiers in the seventh rows shifted uneasily. Sweat appeared on their brows. The captains pulled the first men from each seventh row, placed them in the snow, and swung their axes.
Blood splashed, and heads rolled.
The captains pulled the next men from formation.
Dies Irae stood, silent and still, watching as it continued. Some men of the seventh rows tried to flee. The captains shot them with crossbows. It took two hours of blood, grunts, but no screams. Not one man screamed. Dies Irae had taught them well.
When it was over, three-hundred heads were collected into a pile. Three-hundred bodies were stacked by them.
"Leave them here for the snowbeasts," Dies Irae said. "They will provide fresh meat for a while." He began walking down the mountainside, heading to the camp below. "We go to the ruins of Requiem, and we march hard. The weredragons will be heading there. I can feel it."
Soon his army snaked across the land, silent and bloody, leaving the bodies behind. Dies Irae rode at their lead on his courser. They bore the nightshades in shadowed wagons; the beasts screeched and fluttered inside them, rattling the wagon walls. When they were a half a league down the road, Dies Irae looked over his shoulder, back to the mountains.
Snowb
easts were feasting.
Dies Irae smiled thinly.
KYRIE ELEISON
As they collected firewood, Kyrie couldn't stop glancing at Gloriae. She would notice his glances, raise her eyes, and give him a stare so deep, so meaningful, that he had to look away. He knew what her eyes were saying. Today. Again.
He muttered and leaned down to collect twigs and branches. There wasn't much kindling here in the ruins of Requiem. Most of the trees had burned to ash. What branches they found were old, blackened, and would probably only burn for seconds.
"What we need are logs, an axe, and some rabbits to roast," Kyrie said. He tried to imagine the heat of a roaring fire, and the smell of dripping meat. It wasn't because he missed those things—though he did—so much as it beat thinking about Gloriae. And he was thinking a lot about her. About her naked body in the sun, her lips against him, her—
"Kyrie, you've dropped your sticks," she said. She was standing only a step away. He hadn't even noticed her approach, and he started, muttered under his breath, and leaned down to collect the wood.
"I think we have enough firewood now," he said, not bothering to mask the gruffness in his voice. "At least, all the firewood we'll find in this place. The whole kingdom is a wasteland."
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Kyrie—" she began.
He walked away, ignoring her. He pointed at three fallen columns, a smashed statue of a dragon, and bits of a wall. Ash, bones, and mud littered the place. If there had been a floor, the dirt now covered it.
"This is the place," Kyrie said. "The hall of Requiem's kings. At least, I think it is. To be honest, all of Requiem looks more or less the same to me now."
She walked up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. When he turned to face her, she cupped his cheek and kissed him. "It's time," she said. "Now."
Roughly, he removed her hand and held her wrist. "Gloriae, no."
Her eyes flashed with sudden anger, and her jaw tightened. But then she calmed, leaned close, and kissed his lips again. "You know we must."
Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy Page 42
