Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy

by Daniel Arenson

  A hole gaped open in the courtyard, and smoke rose from it. Kyrie smelled sausages and baking bread. He licked his lips. If the fortress had collapsed in the war, its dungeons were still sturdy, a network of cellars and tunnels. Lacrimosa and Agnus Dei huddled there now, Kyrie knew. They'd be warm and cozy by the fire, while he shivered here.

  "Where are you, Gloriae?" he muttered. She had flown seeking firewood hours ago. Once she returned, she would guard, and Lacrimosa would fly for firewood. Then he, Kyrie, could enjoy a precious few hours in the cellars, alone with Agnus Dei.

  For the first time all morning, Kyrie felt warm. He lived for those moments with Agnus Dei. He could already imagine it. While Lacrimosa and Gloriae were away, he'd hold her by the fire, warm under blankets. They'd whisper of losing Benedictus, and rebuilding Requiem, and of their love. They'd comfort each other with kisses and caresses, then undress with trembling fingers. He'd smell her hair, embrace her, and kiss her lips. She'd kiss him back eagerly, seeking healing from pain, fire to melt the world's ice. Her fingers would dig into his back, and her breasts would press against his chest, and—

  With a roar, a golden dragon emerged from the clouds, flying toward him.

  His dream shattered, and Kyrie started.

  Gloriae panted. She all but crashed into the courtyard.

  "Gloriae!" Kyrie said. "No firewood? No game? What happened?"

  She looked at him, eyes fearful. Blood stained her scales.

  "Gloriae, are you—?"

  "Mimics," she panted. "I killed three. More are on the way."

  Kyrie froze. Terror stabbed his gut, colder than the snow and wind. He remembered.

  "Stars," he whispered. His heart pounded.

  He leaped off the archway, landed by Gloriae, and shifted into human form. Gloriae shifted too and stood before him as a human girl. Snow filled her blond curls, her leggings were torn, and her breastplate was dented. Blood dripped from her calf and shoulder, and scratches covered her arms. Her cheeks were pink.

  "They're not ten leagues away," she said. "A hundred of them, maybe more. They'll be here by nightfall."

  Kyrie swallowed. His chest felt tight. He had seen mimics only once, the day Benedictus had died. They still haunted his nightmares.

  He grabbed Gloriae's wrist. "Come. Underground."

  They crossed the courtyard and reached a makeshift trapdoor they'd built of branches and rope. Kyrie pulled the door open, revealing a staircase leading underground. He raced downstairs, nearly slipping on the damp stone, and emerged into a cellar full of firewood, jugs of ale, and sacks of flour and lentils. He hurried into a tunnel, ran past more cellars, and entered a chamber with a crackling fireplace.

  Lacrimosa, Queen of Requiem, sat there upon a fleece. The firelight danced against her pale cheeks and turned her fair hair red. Agnus Dei was stirring the fireplace with a poker. She turned toward them, her mane of black curls bouncing, her eyes wide.

  "Gloriae!" Agnus Dei said. "You're hurt."

  Lacrimosa rose to her feet. "What happened?"

  Still panting, Gloriae sat by the fireplace. Lacrimosa sat beside her, removed the girl's armor, and began tending to her wounds. Agnus Dei sat at Gloriae's other side, smoothed her hair, and looked at her with worried eyes.

  "What happened, Gloriae?" she asked.

  They all listened as Gloriae spoke of meeting three mimics outside Requiem, of losing the ability to shift, of seeing many more mimics travelling west. Kyrie and Agnus Dei cursed and muttered throughout the story, but Lacrimosa only listened silently, face blank.

  Once Gloriae had finished her tale and her wounds were bandaged, Lacrimosa stood up. Kyrie approached her and stared into her lavender eyes.

  "Lacrimosa," he said, "we must flee. Requiem is no longer safe. I've fought griffins and nightshades a hundred times, and mimics only once, but it's that last battle that haunts me most. Let's run. Now."

  Lacrimosa took a deep breath and tightened her lips. She stared into the fireplace. The twins sat by the hearth, holding each other, looking at their mother. For a long time, Lacrimosa said nothing. They all waited.

  Finally Lacrimosa spoke. "What would he have done?" she said, gazing at the crackling flames. "That's what I always ask myself. I miss him so much. He'd know what to do." She took a shuddering breath. "But we must continue without him." She turned to stare at Kyrie, her eyes large and haunted. "He died for Requiem. He would want to stay and fight."

  At that moment, Kyrie felt such love and pain for Lacrimosa, that he wanted to embrace her. But no; she was Queen of Requiem, and she needed no embraces from him, but strength and courage.

  "I'd fight for you anywhere," he said. "But... we've always fought as dragons. We can't shift around mimics. Are you sure, Lacrimosa? There are other places to hide, places safer than Requiem's ruins."

  Agnus Dei chewed her lip. She opened her mouth, shut it, clenched her fists, and finally spoke. "I want to fight! I do. I've never run from a fight. Ever! But... Mother, I'm scared." Her eyes dampened. "I was never afraid of a fight before, not against all the griffins and nightshades in the world. But I'm scared now. I... if something happened to you too, Mother, I...."

  Suddenly Agnus Dei was crying. Gloriae embraced her and patted her hair, and Kyrie held her hands.

  Lacrimosa squared her shoulders. The firelight danced against her face. "I might die in this fight, Agnus Dei. I might join Father in our starlit halls. I can't promise you that we'll all live. But no place is safe anymore. We've been running and hiding for over a decade, and Dies Irae sends his creatures to all corners of the world. Where more can we run? We promised Father that we'll rebuild Requiem. We promised it to him when we buried him. We cannot run forever." She gestured to a doorway, beyond which lay their armory. "We knew Irae would attack. We've stored bows and arrows, blades, and armor. We don't have much, but we've prepared."

  Kyrie shook his head. "Lacrimosa, I want to fight too, but... we have only four bows, only a hundred arrows. We have only a few pieces of armor, and only Gloriae has a breastplate. We're not armed well enough. To beat two or three mimics, yes. But a hundred? We never expected that many."

  Lacrimosa took a deep breath. Her eyes stared at nothing, reflective, as though staring at a memory of her husband. "We'll build more weapons." She gestured at piles of firewood that filled the chamber. "We'll build javelins and arrows and torches. We can't shift around mimics, but we can still fight them. Dies Irae is weakened now. It's time to make a stand. We will tell him: You cannot keep hunting us. Requiem is reborn, and we will defend her."

  Gloriae rose to her feet and drew her sword. "Yes," she said. Ice filled her green eyes, and her cheeks flushed. "Yes. We fight. We kill. We bring fire to our enemies. I'm ready."

  Agnus Dei stood up too, looked at Kyrie with uncertain eyes, then at her mother. She bit her lip, gazed to the fire, and whispered something so quietly, Kyrie could not hear. He thought he heard her say "Father". Then she clenched her fists and nodded.

  "Yes," she said. Her dark eyes burned. "Yes, I'll fight too. I'm a fighter. It will be a day of flame."

  Kyrie looked at the others, one by one. He loved them all, Kyrie thought; even Gloriae. He loved them so much that his chest ached. The last Vir Requis. I will defend them. I will fight for them, and if I must, I will die for them.

  "A day of flame," he repeated. "Let us make torches, and let us make arrows of fire."

  AGNUS DEI

  As she worked, she couldn't stop her fingers from shaking. Piles of firewood, kindling, and jars of oil filled the underground cellars. They had been collecting it for weeks from beyond Requiem's borders, enough to last all winter, to warm their bones and cook their food. As Agnus Dei carried log after log outside, she couldn't help but shiver. She had never imagined they'd use this wood for war... to kill mimics.

  Mimics. Even in the chill of winter, sweat washed her. She hated mimics. She had seen them only once, but still woke most nights, out of breath and sweaty, memories of their rot and w
orms filling her mind.

  "I miss you, Dada," she whispered as she carried four logs upstairs, out of the cellar, and into the snowy courtyard. A pile of branches, twigs, and logs rose there, ten feet tall.

  Mother stood by the wood, frowning toward the east. The wind filled her hair and fluttered her old, tattered dress. Her eyes seemed dead; no fear, pain, or mourning filled them. Agnus Dei wanted to hug her, but something held her back. She was not only her mother now, but Queen Lacrimosa of Requiem. Ruler of these ruins. Widow.

  A lump filled Agnus Dei's throat.

  "Here, Mother," she said and added her logs to the pile. Her sister Gloriae stepped out from the cellars behind her, also carrying wood. Finally Kyrie emerged and added more wood to the pile.

  Mother seemed not to notice. She kept staring into the snowy horizons, as if imagining the mimics that approached.

  "Mother," Agnus Dei whispered. Gingerly, she touched her shoulder. "We've brought the last wood from the cellars. What now?"

  Mother turned to face her, and Agnus Dei realized she'd been wrong. Mother's eyes were not dead. Pain saturated them, but steel lived there too, a strength that held the mourning at bay like a breakwater holding back the waves. The passing clouds reflected in those lavender eyes. For a long moment Lacrimosa was silent, and when she spoke, her voice was soft and cold as the snow.

  "You will build spears, Agnus Dei. Spears with tips of kindling, to burn mimics."

  Agnus Dei nodded. She lifted a long, narrow branch from the pile. Her knuckles turned white around it. "This one will do. I will kill mimics with it."

  Mother turned to Gloriae. "And you, daughter. Take our hundred arrows, and wrap their tips with kindling, and soak them with oil. Then make more arrows from straight, strong sticks; they won't have blades or fletching, but they'll still fly and burn."

  Gloriae nodded. Her lips were tight, her fists clenched at her sides. The wind fluttered her golden locks and pinched her cheeks pink.

  "Yes," she said. "I'm ready for fire. I'm ready to kill."

  Mother then turned to Kyrie. "And you, Kyrie, will help me. We'll build a ring of fire around the fort. When the mimics arrive, it'll shield us."

  Kyrie nodded. "I'm good at building fires. We'll soak the wood in oil, and crack it, and stuff kindling into it. When the mimics arrive, it'll catch fire quickly and burn high." He touched Mother's shoulder. "We'll be safe, Lacrimosa. I promise you. I... I'm no great warrior like Benedictus, but...." He swallowed and squared his shoulders. "I'll do all I can to protect you and your daughters."

  Agnus Dei smiled sadly. She was better than the pup in a fight, and Gloriae was too, but she knew what he was doing, and she loved him for it. She approached Kyrie, embraced him, and kissed his cheek. He held her, his gloves sticky with sap.

  "I love you, pup," she whispered, her head against his shoulder.

  Another pair of arms held her, and Agnus Dei saw that Gloriae joined the embrace. For a moment the three stood, warm in their embrace as the wind blew. Then they broke apart.

  "We prepare for fire and for war," Agnus Dei said.

  She began collecting the long, straight branches from the pile. She placed them in a corner of the courtyard, in the shadow of the archway. They'll make good spears, she thought. Not strong spears like those of soldiers, carved from the heart of boles and tipped with steel, but they'll do. Gloriae was collecting the smaller sticks and placing them at the courtyard's other end. Kyrie and Lacrimosa were collecting logs, crooked branches, and any pieces the twins could not use; they began arranging them in a ring around the courtyard.

  As she worked, Agnus Dei kept scanning the horizon for the mimics. From here upon the mountaintop, she could see leagues of ruins. The land was dead.

  When will the mimics arrive? The wind howled, and Agnus Dei shivered. The sun was setting, and it was getting colder. The clouds thickened.

  When evening fell, a ring of wood and kindling surrounded the fort's courtyard, soaked in oil. Torches stood in the ground in an inner ring, two feet apart; wherever mimics attacked, the Vir Requis could grab one to swing. Piles of javelins tipped with oiled brushwood lay around the courtyard for easy access. Each Vir Requis wore a steel helmet, greaves, and vambraces. Gloriae wore her breastplate too. They each held a bow, and their quivers held arrows tipped with oiled straw.

  "We're ready for battle," Agnus Dei said, surveying the scene. Splinters, sap, and oil covered her gloves.

  Kyrie raised an eyebrow. "Ready? No. This is not what I'd call ready. If we had a hundred men, I wouldn't call us ready. But it's as ready as we'll be this night."

  Snow began to fall again, and Agnus Dei cursed.

  "Will the wood light when wet?" she asked.

  Kyrie frowned. "We soaked it with oil. I hope so." But his eyes didn't look hopeful, and his fists tightened.

  The sun sent a last flicker of red light, then sank behind the horizon. The wind screamed, and Agnus Dei shivered. She clutched Kyrie's hand.

  "I'm scared," she whispered. "Where are they?"

  Gloriae and Lacrimosa came to stand by them. They held their bows.

  "Do not light fires yet," Lacrimosa whispered. "We don't want a beacon for mimics to see."

  Agnus Dei held Kyrie's hand so tightly, he grunted, but she would not let go. She kept scanning the valleys around them, but saw nothing in the darkness. The wind pierced her cloak. She wanted to shift into a dragon, to blow fire, to rush into battle, but dared not. Her magic would fail once those creatures arrived. Agnus Dei gritted her teeth.

  "I wish they'd show up already," she said, struggling not to scream out challenges to them. "I hate the waiting. I hate the dark. I want a fight. I want—"

  A howl rose in the distance.

  Agnus Dei squeezed Kyrie's hand.

  For a moment nobody spoke.

  "A jackal?" Agnus Dei finally whispered.

  A second howl answered the first, distant but loud, gurgling and rising to a squeal.

  "That's no jackal," Gloriae said. She hefted her tinderbox. "It's them."

  Agnus Dei scanned the night, but saw only shadows. "I can't see them!"

  "Quiet," Gloriae said, voice like silk. "Do not speak."

  The wind moaned, and another howl sounded. Agnus Dei snarled. Her fingers trembled, and her heart thrashed. Suddenly she wanted to flee, to shift into a dragon and fly for leagues, to disappear into the west.

  Stay strong, she told herself. For my family, and for Kyrie.

  "Come on," she whispered and growled. "Come on, you bastards. Show yourselves."

  Grunts sounded in the distance, and squeals, and thumping feet. A creature screamed, a chilling sound like a slaughtered animal. A rumble answered it, and a shrill cry like a dying cat.

  "Weredragons!" rose a cry, high-pitched and inhuman. "We smell them. Yes, brothers. We smell them ahead. We will suck the marrow from their bones."

  Agnus Dei released Kyrie's hand and reached into her pack. She clutched the tinderbox she kept there. Strangely, her fingers no longer trembled, and her heart steadied. Now was not the time for terror. Now was the time for battle, for fire, for blood.

  "Be brave, Kyrie," she whispered, speaking to herself more than to him. "Be brave for the memory of Father."

  The howls grew closer, and a stench hit Agnus Dei's nostrils, a stench of bodies. Countless feet thumped up the mountainsides. Screams curdled her blood.

  "Weredragons! We smell them, brothers. We smell sweet blood and marrow. Ahead! On the mountaintop!"

  Agnus Dei opened her tinderbox. She placed its flint against firesteel, prepared to strike a spark.

  A night of fire. I will be brave, Father. For your memory. I will fight well.

  A light flickered—Gloriae lighting her own tinderbox, and soon an arrow blazed in her bow.

  Agnus Dei sparked flint against steel, drew an arrow from her quiver, and lit it. She nocked, drew her bowstring, and aimed.

  "They have fire, brothers! Fire ahead. They seek to burn us! Feed upon them
. Make them as we are!" The squeals and screams filled the darkness.

  A third light flickered; Kyrie igniting the ring of fire. It burst into flame around them, a towering wall of light and smoke and heat. Lacrimosa was hurrying from torch to torch, lighting them too—hand-to-hand weapons, should the creatures breach their defenses.

  Agnus Dei could see the mimics now, and she couldn't help it. She screamed.

  A hundred scurried up the mountainside like cockroaches. They were creatures of rot, worms, maggots, bones and stitches. Blood covered their teeth. Their eyes blazed, and their claws reached toward them. Their leader bore two swords. When it held them out, Agnus Dei saw that its arms were seven feet long; each was sewn together from three normal arms, like a string of sausages.

  "Weredragons!" this mimic cried, voice guttural and thundering. It brandished its swords. "I will feast upon your entrails."

  Another voice rose, commanding and deep, and Agnus Dei realized it was Mother.

  "Burn them!" she cried and fired a flaming arrow. "Burn them dead."

  Her arrow pierced the night, a comet of fire, and slammed into a mimic's chest. The creature screamed and fell.

  First blood spilled. The mimics screamed and charged.

  MEMORIA

  Memoria had never gotten used to living in an ice palace.

  Even after all these years, she remembered and missed her house in Requiem. She remembered walking upon mosaic floors, stepping over dolphins and elks and dragons, and how the colorful stones tickled her bare feet. She remembered the rafters of her attic, where she'd hide and read books. In her mind, she still saw the balcony over the vineyard, where she'd paint the sunsets. Most of all, she remembered the southern warmth, how she'd lie in the garden and soak up the sun, hear the birds, and watch the dragonflies.