Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy

by Daniel Arenson

  Nobody answered. The candle kept burning. They watched silently, until the candle began to gutter, its last drops of wax dripping. Benedictus lowered his head. He wasn't sure what he'd expected. A flash of light? The roar of griffins?

  The flame gave a last flicker, then died.

  The wick hissed, and the blue smoke rose. It curled, dispersed, then regrouped into the shape of a tiny griffin. The griffin of blue smoke opened its beak, flapped its wings, and flew away.

  "It works," Benedictus whispered. "Aid has been summoned."

  He stood up, collected his belongings, and led the others deeper into the wilted woods. He walked until they found a rocky slope that led to a stream. They climbed down, and washed their clothes, and bathed. Dead trees reached over them, their branches like knobby fingers. Three cloven shields, several copper coins, and the bladeless hilt of a sword lay on the stream's bank. A battle had been fought here.

  "We wait here," Benedictus said. "Stay under cover of the trees. Stay with your camouflaged cloaks over you. Do not speak loudly, do not light fires, and do not shift."

  They nodded, and for once the youths didn't argue.

  "Good," Benedictus said. "Kyrie, I have a task for you. I saw an abandoned, smashed farmhouse a distance back. Go see if they have any food. No hunting. I dare not risk a fire. Get us bread, fruit, vegetables, dry meats."

  Kyrie nodded, drew his sword, and headed off between the trees.

  Benedictus turned to the twins. "Gloriae and Agnus Dei, I have a task for you too." He pointed between the trees. "See that toppled fort?"

  Gloriae nodded. "It still stood last year. The nightshades toppled it. It looks abandoned now."

  Benedictus nodded. "See if you can find new quarrels for our crossbows. If soldiers chance upon our camp, I'd rather we kill them with quarrel than roaring fire."

  The twins drew their blades, nodded, and soon disappeared between the trees.

  Once the youths were beyond earshot, Lacrimosa laughed softly, and touched Benedictus's arm. The sunlight danced in her eyes and smile.

  "You're good at finding us quiet time."

  He couldn't help but smile. "I do what I can." He embraced and kissed his wife. "Lacrimosa, you're as beautiful as the day I met you. I don't tell you that enough."

  She touched his cheek. "I remember that day. I was fifteen. It was my debut. We danced in the hall of your father—I, the daughter of nobility, and you, my prince. All knew that we would marry."

  He held her, and they swayed as if dancing again in those marble halls.

  "I was too old for you," he said. "And I'm too old for you now. You're still young and beautiful, Lacrimosa. And I'm aging. And I'm tired. You've deserved a better life."

  She kissed his lips. "You've given me the life I wanted. A life by your side. A mother to your children. I could ask for no more. We will rebuild that hall, Ben. We will dance there again, as we did twenty years ago."

  He cupped her chin in his hand, and kissed her again. She looked into his eyes, and her beauty pierced him. Her skin was fair, smooth, white as snow. Her eyes were lavender pools. He streamed her hair between his fingers. Those fingers were so coarse, calloused, and her hair was like silk, a blond so pale it was almost white. They kissed again, her arms around him.

  "I would make love to you," he said, "a final time."

  She ran her fingers down his cheek. "We will make love many more times, my lord."

  He held her. "I don't know if we return from this flight. But let us live for this moment. Let us fly for this memory."

  They lay on their cloaks by the water, and Benedictus undressed his wife slowly, marvelling at her pale skin, her slim body that was bruised and scarred from all her battles. He kissed her, and held her, and lay with her by the water.

  "I love you forever," he whispered to her. "I will be with you forever, if not in this life, then in the halls of our forefathers beyond the stars."

  When the youths returned, supplies in their hands, Benedictus and Lacrimosa were sitting by the water, holding each other.

  "Here—quarrels," Gloriae said, and spilled them onto the dirt.

  "A string of sausages, apples, and two cabbages that aren't too moldy," Kyrie said, and placed the food on a boulder.

  "You're getting it dirty, pup," Agnus Dei said and shoved him. He glared at her, and dumped dirt down her shirt, and she growled and leaped at him. Soon Gloriae joined the fray, laughing as she tried to separate the two.

  Benedictus watched the youths, and he smiled. It was so rare to hear Gloriae laugh.

  "Her laughter is beautiful," he said to Lacrimosa. "Our daughters are beautiful."

  He held his wife close. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and they sat watching the young ones, waiting for the griffins.

  DIES IRAE

  He hovered over his throne, wreathed in nightshades. They flowed around him, through him, inside him. He could see through their eyes, the multitudes of them that covered the land. He saw the weredragons cowering outside the city, covered in leaf and filth. He saw them peeking, whispering, fearing him.

  "Let us fly to him, master." The nightshades hissed, flowing into his ears.

  Dies Irae shook his head. He patted the nightshade that flowed by his right arm. "No, my pets, my lovelies. Let them fly here. Let them crash upon my walls and towers."

  The nightshades screeched, and he patted them, soothed them, cooed to them.

  "Let us fly to them, master," they begged. "Let us suck their bodies dry."

  Dies Irae shook his head. "They are like rats, my pets. They run. They flee. They hide. If you chase them, they will scurry into holes. Wait, my lovelies. They will come to me. They will try to kill me; they've been trying for years. When they fly to our city, we will be ready."

  A knock came at the doors of his hall, and Dies Irae raised his eyes.

  "Ah," he said, "your dinner has arrived." He raised his voice. "Enter my hall!"

  The doors creaked open, and soldiers stepped in, clad in mail and bearing axes. They dragged peasants on chains. Dies Irae saw old women, young mothers holding babies, and a few scrawny men. When they saw the nightshades, the peasants' eyes widened, and a few whimpered. The nightshades screamed, writhed, and licked their lips with tongues of smoke.

  "The nightshades have destroyed your farms," Dies Irae said to the peasants.

  One of them, a young woman holding a boy's hand, nodded. "Yes, my lord. They toppled our barn and their screams wilted our crops. We have nothing now, my lord. We're starving."

  Dies Irae nodded sympathetically. "If you have no more farms, you are useless to me. You cannot grow my crops. You cannot pay my taxes."

  Another peasant, a tall man with black stubble, stepped forward. "Please, my lord, we'll do any work. We'll serve you however we can."

  Dies Irae smiled. "Exactly! You will serve me the way I demand. You will feed my nightshades. They shall feast upon your useless souls."

  They cried. They screamed. They tried to flee. They fell, the nightshades upon them. The creatures of inky darkness swirled over their bodies, tossed them against the walls, bit into their flesh. The peasants thrashed, weeping. The nightshades sucked out their souls, and spat out their empty bodies onto the floor. Dies Irae sat on his throne, watching, a smile on his lips.

  The nightshades crawled back to him, bloated, and coiled at his feet. Dies Irae patted them.

  "Full, my lovelies? Good. Good. And soon you will enjoy your main course. Soon you will feed upon weredragons."

  KYRIE ELEISON

  He walked with Agnus Dei between the bricks of a fallen fort. They walked alone, seeking supplies; the others had remained at camp.

  It was, Kyrie realized, the first time he'd been alone with Agnus Dei since their fight in Requiem. He looked at her and his heart skipped a beat. She was scanning the ruins, eyes narrowed, lips scrunched. Her mane of curls bounced.

  She's beautiful, Kyrie thought. More beautiful than anything I've ever seen.

 
She noticed him staring, frowned, and punched his shoulder. "What, pup?"

  He put an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her cheek.

  "Not now, pup!" she said, wriggling in his grasp. "We're on an important mission to find supplies."

  "I know," he said, refusing to release her. "We really shouldn't."

  He kissed her ear, then her cheek, then her lips. She struggled a moment longer, then placed her hands in his hair, and kissed him deeply. He held the small of her back, and whispered, "Do you know what else we're not allowed to do?"

  She was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed. "What?"

  "Shift into dragons."

  She raised an eyebrow. "You can't be thinking...."

  "Think it's possible?"

  She gasped, but her eyes lit up. "You are one disturbed pup."

  He nodded. "It would be horribly wrong, wouldn't it? In so many ways."

  She clutched a fistful of his hair and stared at him, eyes fiery. Then she placed both hands against his chest, pushed him back, and shifted. She stood before him as a red dragon.

  Kyrie shifted too. Blue dragon stared at red as they circled each other. She blew wisps of fire. Her scales clinked. Kyrie roared fire, and grabbed her, and she growled. Her scales were hot against him, and her claws dug into the earth. He clutched her shoulders, and pushed her down, and blew smoke. Bursts of flame fled her lips. Her wings flapped. His wings wrapped around her. Her tail pounded the dirt, and their necks pressed together. Smoke and fire enveloped them.

  He pushed against her, again and again, and she moaned. Their scales rubbed together, chinking. Her wings flapped, but he held her down. Their smoke rose. Their tails lashed, knocking down trees. She tossed her head back, and a jet of flame left her maw. He dug his claws into her shoulders, and roared fire too. The ruins of the fort shook, and bricks rolled loose. Flames covered his world.

  When he came to, they were lying on the ground, cuddling together as humans. Their clothes were singed and their faces ashy. Kyrie kissed her head.

  "That was new," he said.

  She nodded. "I like being a dragon."

  He brushed a lock of hair off her face. "I love you, Agnus Dei. I'm so glad you forgave me. I'll always love you, and only you."

  She punched his shoulder. "Oh, quiet, pup. I know you're madly in love with me. I always knew." She kissed his cheek. "Now let's get back to camp. Let's get this war over with, so we can do this again and again."

  BENEDICTUS

  Benedictus was teaching Kyrie to duel with swords when shrieks sounded above.

  He and Kyrie, both panting, raised their eyes to the sky. They saw only the dead, snowy branches of trees. The sun was setting, burning red above the naked canopy.

  "Those were griffin shrieks," Kyrie said, clutching his sword.

  Lacrimosa and the twins were sitting by the stream, drawing maps of Confutatis in the dirt. They stood up and joined the men.

  "They're here," Lacrimosa whispered, watching the skies.

  Benedictus narrowed his eyes in the sunlight and saw them. He clutched the hilt of his sword. A thousand at least flew there, maybe two thousand. They darkened the eastern sky like a cloud.

  Screeches sounded to the north.

  "And those are nightshades," Benedictus said. "They've seen the griffins too."

  He looked at the others, one by one. Lacrimosa stood with tightened lips, eyes staring back at him. Kyrie held his sword, eyes dark. Agnus Dei bared her teeth, and Gloriae stood expressionlessly, her hand on the hilt of her sword. Benedictus wanted to tell them that he loved them—all of them, even Kyrie. But today he would not be their father and husband. Today he would be their leader.

  "Shift!" he said. "We fly. The battle begins."

  The twins shifted first, becoming the red and golden dragons. Kyrie shifted only a second later, turning into a blue dragon. Lacrimosa gave Benedictus a last, deep look, then shifted into a silver dragon.

  Benedictus nodded and shifted too, becoming the black dragon, and flew. He crashed between the branches and emerged into the sky. The others followed.

  He saw the griffins clearly now. They flew from the east, shrieking, the thud of their wings like thunder. The sunset painted them red. When Benedictus looked north, he saw a thousand nightshades flying to meet them.

  "We fight among griffins today!" Benedictus called over his shoulder.

  The dragons flew toward the griffins, and Benedictus saw Volucris there, the King of Leonis, who had served as Dies Irae's mount. They met in the air, and stared into each other's eyes. The other dragons also took position among the griffins.

  They turned to face the nightshades.

  The creatures flew not a league away, moving fast. Their hissing rustled the dead grass and trees below. Their arms of inky smoke reached out, talons like shards of lightning.

  Benedictus spoke to Volucris, not tearing his eyes away from the nightshades.

  "These beasts work for Dies Irae. In the dungeons of his palace, he guards a weapon to defeat them. We must find that weapon."

  Volucris nodded, screeched, and clawed the air. His eyes said to Benedictus, "We will find it."

  Benedictus snarled. Only moons ago, he had fought Volucris above this city. Now they would fight here side by side.

  The nightshades howled and lighting flashed between them. They were five hundred yards away now, eyes blazing.

  "Dada, I love you," Agnus Dei said at his side. "I fight by you."

  Kyrie nodded, roared, and blew fire. "Requiem flies again!" he called. "Hear the Black Fang's roar. King Benedictus has returned."

  Benedictus roared too, and blew flames into the skies, and then the nightshades were upon them.

  Benedictus swiped his claws, ripping through two nightshades. Another wrapped around him, and Benedictus felt it tugging, sucking his soul. He shook himself wildly, freed himself, and blew fire into its eyes. It screeched and fell back.

  "To the city!" Benedictus shouted to the others. "We fly to Flammis Palace. We need those Beams."

  Several griffins fell soulless to the ground. The others were ripping into nightshades with claws and talons. A few nightshades screamed in pain, and fell back, but did not die. Their inky bodies reformed, and they attacked again.

  "To the city!"

  They flew, the nightshades coiling around them, tugging at them, biting and clawing. The dragons blew fire, burning a path through their darkness. The nightshades were thicker than storm clouds, their eyes like stars, their claws and teeth everywhere. Darkness covered the sky.

  From the corner of his eye, Benedictus saw three nightshades wrap around Lacrimosa. He flew at them, clawed their smoky bodies, and grabbed his wife. He pulled her free, and blew flame at the nightshades. They screeched, fell back, and Benedictus shook Lacrimosa. Her eyes opened. Her soul refilled her. She breathed fire.

  "Come, Lacrimosa, to the city."

  Kyrie and the twins were shooting fire in all directions. They were young and strong, their flames bright. The nightshades closed their eyes and screeched, blinded. The griffins did less damage, biting and clawing and tearing into nightshade smoke, but they were great in number, and clove a path forward. Many griffins kept falling, wrapped in nightshades, empty shells.

  "Over the walls, into the city!"

  They were approaching the city walls. Benedictus blew more fire—he was running low, but still had some in him—and cleared a passage between the mobbing nightshades. Soon the walls of Confutatis were beneath him.

  But they flew too low. The nightshades would not let them fly higher; they covered the sky above. On the walls, the archers drew their bows.

  "Kill the archers!" Benedictus shouted, but was too late. Hundreds of arrows flew. Benedictus swerved aside, but an arrow pierced his leg. Another cut through his wing, and he howled.

  There's no ilbane on these arrows, he realized, but somehow that only chilled him. Does ilbane ruin our taste for feesting nightshades?

  Those nightshades g
rinned; the arrows passed through them, doing them no harm. They attacked him, wrapping around him. Benedictus beat them off, flapping his wings to break their bodies. He felt them tug his soul, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to release it.

  More arrows flew. Griffins screeched; a few fell dead. An arrow hit Kyrie's tail, and he roared.

  "Stop those archers!" Benedictus cried. He blew flame at the walls. The archers caught fire. The other dragons blew fire too, clearing the wall of them. Griffins swarmed the city battlements, biting and clawing. The surviving archers drew swords and hacked at them.

  Benedictus quickly surveyed the battle. Half the griffins had died. Cuts covered the Vir Requis. Lacrimosa flew with a wobble, and Kyrie's tail bled. The nightshades were unharmed; not one had died.

  "To the palace!" Benedictus cried. "Hurry, we're being slaughtered. We need those Beams."

  He hadn't much fire left. He blew weak flames, scattering the nightshades, and shot over the walls. The ruins of Confutatis spread below—toppled buildings, nightshades flowing through the streets, and soldiers at every corner. Crossbows fired, and quarrels hit Benedictus, knocking off scales. Griffins screeched and fell, thudding dead against streets and rooftops. Their blood splashed.

  Benedictus saw the palace ahead, rising from a pile of rubble. Nightshades swarmed around it, forming a cocoon. One of its towers had collapsed. The rest of the palace seemed held with the inky smoke of nightshades. Their lightning crackled across the towers and walls, and their eyes streamed like comets.

  Benedictus blew fire and swooped toward the palace. Arrows flew around him. They hit his chest, leg, and wing. Roaring, he ignored the pain, barrelling between nightshades, wreathed in fire, howling and biting.

  Shouting, Kyrie flew at his side. His flames blazed, and his claws and fangs ripped through nightshades. Arrows clanged against him, shattering against his scales, nicking him, and he blew more fire. He swooped, scooped up archers as they reloaded, and tossed them against the parapets. The twins and Lacrimosa still flew above, wrapped in nightshades, biting and burning them.