Agnus Dei fell to her knees, scratching at the hand that still clutched her throat. Lacrimosa helped pry the fingers loose. Agnus Dei sucked in breath and coughed. Her face was deep red.
"Behind you!" she managed to say.
Lacrimosa spun around and hurled her torch. She hit the advancing mimic in the face. It howled, dropped its second mace, and brushed the sparks off its face.
"Pup, pup, get up!" Agnus Dei was crying, shaking Kyrie. The boy was coughing and struggling to rise. Hurt but alive, Lacrimosa thought in relief. What of Gloriae?
The mimic lashed its remaining arm at her. Lacrimosa ducked and swung her sword. She sliced the creature's elbow. It snarled and reached its claws toward her.
A flaming arrow slammed into its head.
Gloriae came walking downhill, already nocking a second arrow. Her eyes were ice, her face emotionless. The wind streamed her hair. She drew the bowstring.
My daughter. She's alive. Such relief swept over Lacrimosa, that her eyes blurred.
The mimic screeched.
Gloriae shot her second arrow. It pierced the mimic's neck, and it fell to its knees.
Lacrimosa stepped toward it. It snarled, oozing pus and rot.
"Fire," she told it. "Stone. And steel."
Lacrimosa swung her blade and severed its head.
The other Vir Requis burned its body with their torches, until it did not move. But Lacrimosa held onto the head, keeping it at arm's length. It shouted and snapped its teeth. An arrow still thrust out of it.
"We will keep this piece alive," she said. "Now back to the fort."
Holding the head, she raced up the mountainside. The other Vir Requis followed. Around them, as if disheartened by the loss of their leader, the mimics were falling fast. The statues were tearing into them, killing them left and right. Only twenty statues remained standing; the rest were smashed and lay still on the ground. Many lay in pieces no longer than a foot.
The Vir Requis stepped back into the ruins, looked down the mountainside, and watched the statues kill the last mimics. Lacrimosa tossed the severed mimic head onto the cobblestones, then turned to face the youths.
"You three are the stupidest Vir Requis who ever lived. If Ben were here, he'd clobber you harder than the mimics."
Lacrimosa had promised herself she would stop weeping; she could no longer cry, not now, Benedictus having left her to lead. Tonight she could not help it. The tears filled her eyes, and she embraced Kyrie and her daughters.
"Never do anything so foolishly brave again," she said as she embraced them. "I love you too much to see it."
Agnus Dei squirmed in the embrace. "Mother, really."
They broke apart and breathed deeply. Lacrimosa's body ached. The fire crackled in the night, raising sparks like fireflies.
Laughter sounded in the shadows.
Lacrimosa turned and saw the severed mimic head. It lay on the cobblestones, glaring at her. Its sharp teeth reflected the firelight as it cackled.
"You have won this battle," the mimic said and spat out blood. "You killed a thousand of us. Fifty thousand are gathering as we speak. With each he builds, our master makes us larger, stronger, smarter. You cannot win, weredragons."
Lacrimosa walked toward the head. She pointed her sword at it.
"Where do the others gather?" she asked. "Where does Dies Irae find the Animating Stones?"
It cackled and spat at her. Its gob of spit landed on her boot.
Lacrimosa placed the tip of her sword against its face, but did not break the skin.
"Talk to me," she said, "or you will die."
It cackled. "Kill me, weredragon. It will not save you."
Lacrimosa felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Gloriae. The young woman was covered in blood, ash, and mimic gore. She stared down at the head, her eyes emotionless, her face as cold as one of the statues.
"I will make it talk," she said, her voice strangely soft. "Mother, take Agnus Dei and Kyrie into the cellars. Leave me with it. I promise you; it will tell me all it knows."
Lacrimosa shivered. What would Gloriae do? Had she tortured prisoners before? Lacrimosa did not want to think about it, did not want to imagine what skills Dies Irae had taught her daughter.
"Gloriae, are you sure?" she whispered.
The young woman nodded, eyes icy.
Lacrimosa looked away. Her eyes stung. I must be strong. For you, Ben. For our home. She took a deep breath.
"Agnus Dei," she said. "Kyrie. Come with me underground. We'll bandage your wounds. Gloriae will join us soon."
As they walked downstairs into shadows, Lacrimosa looked back one more time at Gloriae. The wind billowed her daughter's hair, swirling snow around her. Then Lacrimosa stepped into the cellars and saw nothing but darkness.
GLORIAE
She stood among the ruins, staring down the mountainside at the battlefield. A thousand mimics lay burned and torn apart. Nearly a hundred statues lay smashed. The last few statues, including the stone dragon, were searching for mimic body parts and crushing them.
It smells wrong, Gloriae thought. I was raised to savor the smell of fresh blood. To dream of it, crave it. Yet here I fight, in a field of rot and stone.
She raised her eyes from the carnage and stared into the eastern horizon. Dawn was rising, sending pink tendrils across a cloudy sky. Beyond that horizon lay home. What used to be my home, at least. The empire of Osanna lay many leagues from here, across crumbled cities, burned fields, and wilted forests. The nightshades had ravaged it, but Dies Irae still ruled over the ruins.
"He's still out there somewhere," Gloriae whispered into the wind. "The man I called Father. The man who banished me. The man I will kill."
Hoarse laughter sounded behind her. Gloriae turned. The severed mimic head lay on the cobblestones, oozing its juices. It cackled, eyes mocking her.
"You will not kill Dies Irae," it said, coughed, and spat. "He has a new body waiting for you, Gloriae the Gilded. Yes, I know your name. And I know your fate. He will cut off your head, and sew it onto a new body, and turn you into a mimic. Then he will let a thousand other mimics thrust inside you, until you bleed and beg for a death that will never come."
Gloriae stared at it silently, waiting for it to finish speaking.
"You like talking," she said. "That is good. You will talk more. You will tell me everything you know."
It spat a glob of maggoty saliva. "I know that you will be a slave to mimics."
"How lovely," Gloriae said. "But enough about me. Let's talk about you, my toothy friend. Tell me about that Animating Stone that gave you life. Where did Irae find it?"
She knelt before the head, torch crackling.
"Will you torture me now?" it asked. "Burn me? Cut me? Pull out my teeth? Do it. I fear no pain."
A centipede emerged from its mouth and scurried along the cobblestones. Gloriae watched it flee into shadows, then stared into the mimic's eyes.
"Pain won't make you talk. Memories might." She narrowed her eyes, examining it. "Who were you?"
It cackled. "I am mimic. I am death and despair. I am rot and worm. I am your future."
Gloriae shook her head. "That is what you are now. Who were you once?"
It glared at her. "Weak."
"Life," she said. "You were life once. Real life."
It coughed blood onto her boots. "What would you know of life? I know you. All beings do. You killed children when you yourself were a child. You killed countless in your chase of weredragons. You unleashed the nightshades. You destroyed the world."
Gloriae stared at it with dry eyes. Stay strong. No feelings. No pain.
"Yes," she said. "I am a giver of death. I deal in blood and steel. I have killed many, and I will kill many more before they burn my body in a great pyre." She touched the mimic's head, leaned down, and whispered to it. "But I was not always a killer. Once I too was life. I too was a child."
The head hissed and tried to bite her fingers. "You will beg for dea
th, mortal. You will be one of us. You—"
"You were a child too once," she said. "You were a boy."
"I am mimic! I am stronger than life. You will join us. You—"
She clutched its cheeks, lifted the head, and stared at it levelly. "Who were you? You have rotted less than the others. You were killed fresh. Who were you in life?"
"Teeth!" it screeched. "I— No. I am only death, I..."
She brought its face close to hers. "Teeth? What does that mean?"
"They... Teeth! Legs. Rot Gang, and Arms. He betrayed us. He had to die. I had to kill him. Teeth! It hurts, Teeth. It hurts. He hit our head with his mace. He lied to us. Silver! I brought you death, I brought you rot, we are Rot Gang. We are three. Pay me my silver."
She shook the head. "Who was to pay you? Who hurt you? Was it Dies Irae?"
Blood filled the mimic's eyes and flowed down its cheeks like tears. "Do not speak of him! He will hurt us again. He wields a fist of steel. He hit our head. He killed our Legs. He.... He...." The head trembled in her hands.
"What did he do?" Gloriae demanded. "Did he kill you?"
The creature wept its tears of blood. More blood poured between its sharp teeth. "I have teeth. Sharp teeth. Teeth, they call me. I had to kill Arms. Long arms, he had, arms for silver, silver coins, that's what I asked of him. But... his fist of steel. He took my head. He hurt Legs. It burns! He burns us."
Gloriae held the head steady, though its blood covered her hands. "He killed you," she whispered. "And he made you into a mimic."
The head shook. "No, master! Not the needles. Not the strings. It burns in our chest, the stone. Not his legs! Give him back his legs. I don't want them. Not his arms, please. I don't want his arms. I killed him for silver, not arms. Where are my legs? Where are my arms? The needle burns!"
Gloriae stared at the weeping, trembling, bloody creature. Was this what Dies Irae planned for her too? To kill her and sew others' parts onto her?
"How many were you?" she said.
"Three. Rot Gang. Rot. We deal in death and silver. Not needles. No, please not needles, and not stones that burn."
She shook the head. "Animating Stones. Where are they from? Where is he finding them?"
"I must serve him. I must kill for him. I must never betray him. He will hurt us, Arms. He will cut us. He will burn us, Legs. We must not tell her. We must never speak of the stones."
"You will speak," Gloriae said. "You will tell me everything."
It cackled, spraying saliva. "You cannot hurt us like he did."
Gloriae shook her head. "No. I cannot. But I can end your pain, Teeth. I can free you. I can separate you from Legs and Arms."
It froze.
Its breath died.
For a long moment, it stared at her with narrowed eyes.
"We... we were Teeth once. We do not want his legs. We do not want his arms. They scream inside me. They still burn! I hear their voices in my skull. Free them from me. Cut them off me! Cut them off. I will speak to you then."
Gloriae glared. "First you will speak to me. Then I will end your pain. Then you will be a boy again, only Teeth. No more mimic."
It wept like a child. "Only Teeth. No Legs. No Arms. No silver. No rot. Just Teeth. Only Teeth, Rot Gang, yes."
"Will you speak?"
It nodded, seeming to wilt in her hands. "We will speak of stones, yes. Animating Stones. Things that burn. Stones of fire; they bind us, they move us. They serve him. Oh, they serve him, Arms. They do not stop. We cannot stop it inside us, clawing us, moving us."
Gloriae narrowed her eyes. "Where did Dies Irae find them?"
The bloody tears kept flowing; Gloriae could not believe it had so much blood. "I have seen them, Arms. Yes, I have. A wagon driving through the city. A wagon that glowed red. Animating Stones were there! They took them into his dungeon, Legs. He took one. He put it inside us. He took my legs. He took my arms. He used yours, he sewed us together, Rot Gang, no silver, only mimic. Only mimic."
"Where did the wagon come from?"
"A mine! A mine in a burned forest. A mine where Animating Stones glow. A mine of mimics, yes. A mine of stones. A mine of pain, and death, and rot. Rot Gang. Free them! Cut them off me. Cut off his legs. Cut off his arms."
Gloriae dug her fingers into the head. "Not yet. Where is the mine?"
It bared its bloody teeth. "Master would laugh of it. The same forest, he said, where the weredragon king once hid. He mined for Animating Stones in a crater, a crater where no trees could grow, and where the earth sank. And he laughed, Arms. Yes, how he laughed."
"The weredragon king? Do you mean Benedictus? Is the mine in Hostias Forest, where Benedictus once hid?"
The head coughed and trembled. "We don't know, Legs, do we? We don't know, Arms. Hostias Forest, he called it, yes, right under the crater where King Weredragon hid. And he laughed. But we only screamed. Our stone burns. It burns us. He hurt us. He laughed and sewed us. Free us!"
Gloriae tossed the head aside. She turned to leave.
Hostias Forest. The crater. Gloriae clenched her jaw. The place she had burned when hunting Benedictus and Kyrie. She would have to return there.
"You promised!" the head screamed behind her. "She promised to free us, Legs. She promised to make us Teeth again, to make us Rot Gang."
Gloriae drew an arrow and lit it with her tinderbox. She nocked the arrow in her bow.
"You lied!" the head shrieked, eyes blazing. "You swore to free them, to cut them off!"
Gloriae shut one eye, drew, and aimed.
"Yes," she whispered. "I lied."
She loosed her arrow. It shot like a comet and hit the severed head. It burst into flame.
"You will burn with us!" it screamed from the fire. "You will burn too, Gloriae. You will burn forever. You will burn in the Sun God's fire."
The flames overcame its words. Gloriae watched it burn, until it was nothing but a skull. Still its jaw moved, and its teeth clacked. Gloriae walked toward it and kicked with her steel-tipped boot. She kept kicking until the skull shattered.
"I did not make you a boy again," she said. "But I freed you. I ended your pain. That is more than what Dies Irae will do to me, if he catches me." She clenched her fists. "But he will not catch me. He will burn too."
She turned around and stepped underground into the cellars.
TERRA
His wing and leg blazed in pain, but Terra kept flying. The city of giants spread beneath him.
"Stars," Memoria whispered.
She flew beside him, blood staining her green scales. Terra clenched his jaw. The sight of her blood hurt him more than his wounds. I will not let her die too. I will fight and burn and die if I must, but I will protect her.
He returned his eyes to the city. It spread like a labyrinth. Leagues of grey brick walls wound across the mountaintop. Giants ran between them, shouting and howling and pounding their chests. There were thousands, maybe tens of thousands.
"Look," Terra said. He pointed a claw and grunted with the pain; his knee felt swollen and burned. "The fort."
"I see it," Memoria said, eyes narrowed. "The king must live there."
The fortress loomed taller than an Ice Palace, taller than the old courts of Requiem; Terra guessed that it stood a thousand feet tall. Built of grey, frosty bricks, it was a simple structure; it had no bridges, towers, or courtyards like the forts of men. It was but a great cube of stone. It rose from the city, a sentinel over the mountain.
Hundreds of spikes lined the fort's parapets, holding the decapitated heads of icelings. The heads gazed with eyeless sockets, their mouths open, their skin frozen blue. Giants stood there too, boulders in hands. They howled, and soon those boulders flew toward the two dragons.
Terra cursed, flew sideways, and dodged a boulder that grazed his leg. More boulders flew.
"Fly above the fort!" he shouted. "We'll be harder to hit."
Memoria nodded. They flapped their wings hard, shooting between the boulders. They fle
w higher and higher. The cold, thin air spun Terra's head. He righted himself, flew north, and circled above the stone fortress.
One giant tossed a boulder. Terra and Memoria scattered. The boulder flew between them, reached its zenith, and tumbled down. The giants below howled, and the boulder crashed between them, punching a hole into the fort.
The boulders ceased flying.
"Good," Terra said, flapping his wings. "We're safe if we hover right above them. I..." A closer look at the fortress made his breath die.
"Stars above," Memoria said, flying beside him. "Look at the size of him."
Terra clenched his jaw. Ice seemed to form along his spine. Fire filled his mouth, flicking between his teeth.
"I see him," he said, voice low. "He's a big boy, that one is."
A massive, deformed creature stood atop the fort, howling and pounding his chest. He towered over the giants who manned the parapets around him, twice their size. Tufts of hair grew from his squat, misshapen head. His body was all muscles overgrown with boils and scars. Claws grew from his fingers, each the size of a man. He wore a loin cloth, a belt decorated with iceling heads, and a crown of icicles.
"He must be a hundred feet tall," Memoria whispered.
Terra nodded. "Twice our size. He's their king."
The Giant King howled and reached his claws toward them. His cry shook the air; Terra could feel it pound against his chest. In his mind, he heard the howls of dragons, and the shrieks of griffins, and Memoria's voice. Terra... I found him.
"Look at his neck," Memoria said.
Terra frowned and stared. A golden chain hung around the giant's neck. Two small, white objects hung from it. When Terra squinted, they came into focus. Hands. A woman's hands, pale and dainty, folded into fists.
"Adoria's Hands," he said. "Those are the toys we want. Let's burn him, then grab them."
The smaller giants leered and waved their arms. The king pounded his feet, snapped his teeth, and cried out to them in a guttural language.
Memoria shook her head. "No fire, Terra! What if flames burn Adoria's Hands?"
The Giant King spat and shouted. His eyes blazed. Terra imagined that he was insulting them, calling them weak, inviting them to fight. Terra's head spun. He grinded his teeth.
Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy Page 60
