"Good, lovelies, good," he said. "Now grab the weredragons. Our camp lies just ahead. Soon the weredragons will taste needle and stitch."
They began to march again. Dawn rose around them, spilling red stains across the sky. The burned trees creaked in the wind, their icicles glimmering red. A dawn of blood, Gloriae thought and closed her eyes. Perhaps the last dawn of my life.
The mimics crested a hill and began to descend. They grunted and howled around her, and Agnus Dei screamed into her gag. Gloriae opened her eyes to see a camp sprawled across a valley below. Stench rose from it like steam. A palisade of sharpened logs surrounded the camp, protecting dozens of huts. Chained humans shuffled between those huts, mimics howling and whipping them.
Dies Irae led them into the valley, and soon they marched through the camp. Gloriae looked around, nausea twisting her gut. Blood soaked the snow and the huts' walls. When a mimic cracked a whip and entered one hut, Gloriae glimpsed prisoners inside, thin and shivering, their backs lashed. Many prisoners were missing limbs, their stumps wrapped with bloody bandages.
Between the huts rose piles of body parts, sorted into arms, legs, torsos, and heads. The piles rose thirty feet tall. Mimics walked atop them, rummaging through them, like ants scurrying over hives. Gloriae saw one mimic lift a woman's arm, lick it, and toss it aside. She gagged and coughed, her head spinning.
What has he turned into? she thought. How could Dies Irae, an emperor once devoted to gold and light and beauty, sink to such evil? This was not the man she had known. True, the Dies Irae who'd raised her had hunted, killed, and brutalized his enemies. But he had done it for order, light, and justice. This... there was no light here. There was no glory or justice. You became worse than any enemy you've imagined.
Past the piles of bodies, Gloriae saw ditches where fires burned. The mimics were tossing body parts into the flames: limbs that were frail, torsos that were thin, heads with no teeth. They crackled in the fires. Gloriae understood. He collects what he needs. He burns the rest.
Finally Dies Irae stopped by a group of chained, whipped prisoners who stood barefoot in the snow. He raised his hand, and the mimics carrying Gloriae and Agnus Dei stopped too.
"Put them down," Dies Irae said.
The mimics tossed Gloriae and her sister onto the bloodied snow. They rolled, grunted, and shivered in the cold.
"What have we here?" Dies Irae asked, examining the prisoners. He caressed the hair of a chained toddler. "Why, this one is too small. He is useless to me. Burn him." He moved on to a woman with a bruised face. He squeezed her arms. "This one is strong. Take her limbs. Her teeth are crooked; burn her head." Next he frowned at an old man. "Burn this one, all of him."
He went from prisoner to prisoner, choosing parts to keep and parts to burn. Gloriae watched, her head spinning, the taste of vomit in her mouth. She struggled against the ropes binding her, but only chaffed her skin bloody. Beside her, Agnus Dei also struggled. She screamed into her gag, and her eyes were so wide, Gloriae could see white all around her irises.
I will kill you, Dies Irae, Gloriae swore again. This is not the empire I fought for. This is not the vision you taught me. I will break free and I will kill you.
When he had finished reviewing the prisoners, Dies Irae walked toward Gloriae and Agnus Dei. His boots, made from the golden scales of a young dragon, stood a finger's length from Gloriae's face.
"And now... these two."
His voice was soft, almost loving. He knelt and caressed Gloriae's cheek. She glared at him. His face was so different now. She remembered his face being strong, cold, and tanned gold. Now his face was gaunt, deeply lined, and ghostly white. A patch covered his left eye, and his right eye seemed paler too, a watery blue. He smiled at her, his lips like squirming worms, and touched her hair.
"This one... this one is strong. This one is steel. But she is treacherous, yes. A betrayer. Use what parts of her that you will, but leave me her head."
Next he knelt by Agnus Dei. She floundered in her bounds and her eyes shot daggers. Dies Irae leaned down and kissed her cheek, leaving a line of saliva on her skin.
"And this one... this one too is strong. Stupid, yes. Beastly and cursed, certainly. But strong. Use her body for your warriors, Warts and Bladehand. Leave me her head too. I will take their heads back with me to Confutatis."
Bladehand, the mimic who had carried Gloriae, nodded. "Yes, master. We will be building a new batch today, master. Their bodies will make good warriors." He knelt on all fours, leaned in, and licked Gloriae's cheek with a bloated tongue.
"Excellent," Dies Irae said. "Toss them in with the others for now." He smacked his lips. "Right now, it's time for breakfast."
Bladehand lifted Gloriae, and Warts lifted Agnus Dei. Grunting and licking their chops, the mimics carried the twins to a hut, opened the door, and tossed them in. The lock snapped shut behind them.
Gloriae rolled across the floor, and her head hit somebody's leg. Agnus Dei rolled too, cursing behind her gag, and came to a stop beside her. At once, hands covered the two, feeling and grabbing. One hand held a rusty shiv near her head. Gloriae began to struggle, but these hands did not hurt her, and the knife did not cut her.
"Hush, girls, we'll remove your gags."
The shiv worked at the rope around her face, and her gag came free. Gloriae coughed, sucked in breath, and coughed again. Prisoners crowded over her, wearing rags. They shivered in the cold, gaunt and sickly. Their skin draped over their bones, and their faces were skeletal. Their eyes were sallow, their hair wispy.
"Thank you," Gloriae whispered hoarsely, finding that she could speak no louder.
The prisoner with the shiv began cutting the ropes around her ankles and wrists. Gloriae moved her limbs only an inch, and pain blazed. She gritted her teeth. Every movement shot bolts through her. She massaged her wrists; they were chaffed and bleeding.
"Drink," said a prisoner, a young woman with large grey eyes. She held melted snow in her palms, and Gloriae drank. Another prisoner was busy freeing Agnus Dei.
"Gloriae!" her twin said once her gag was removed.
Gloriae crawled toward her—she felt too weak to walk—and the two embraced. Agnus Dei had tears in her eyes, and Gloriae felt her own eyes sting.
"Oh, sister," she whispered. "It's horrible, isn't it?"
Agnus Dei trembled. "Do you think Mother and the pup are here? I... I tried to look for them as they carried us through the camp, but I couldn't see them. I'm worried."
Gloriae looked around her, and for the first time, she got a close look at the hut. Its walls were frosty, splashed with blood, and lined with bunks like shelves. A single slop bucket stood in one corner, a pile of frozen bread in another. It was a small hut, smaller than her old bedroom at Flammis Palace. And yet hundreds of prisoners filled it. They covered the floor, shoulder to shoulder, or lay in the bunks. Many were missing limbs. Their eyes were glassy, their skin sweaty, and bloody bandages covered their stumps. Some lay mumbling, feverish, their wounds green with infection. A few were dead already. Their limbs are now attached to mimics, Gloriae knew.
The prisoner with the grey eyes, who had given Gloriae water, gestured around her. She smiled a sad, crooked smile.
"Welcome," she said, "to Dies Irae's imagination."
KYRIE ELEISON
It began to snow, and Kyrie cursed.
The trail had been easy to follow until now. A hundred mimics had marched from the mine, cutting a path through the snow. Kyrie and Lacrimosa had been following their trail for several hours now. It led them through lands of dead trees, frozen streams, and rocky hills. Kyrie remembered walking here last summer, fleeing griffins and seeking King Benedictus. Trees had rustled here then, and hope still filled the world. Dies Irae had burned these trees, and little hope filled Kyrie now.
"Damn it," he muttered. The snow swirled around him. He could barely see through it. Worse, the snow was covering the mimics' footprints.
Lacrimosa shivered and tightened her
cloak around her. "Let's move faster. We can still see the trail. Hurry, Kyrie."
They ran through the snow, their torches crackling. Around them among the burned trees, creatures howled. Mimics, Kyrie thought. This time, if they attacked, he didn't know if he'd survive. They had no statues left; they lay smashed and buried in the mines. They had no Gloriae and Agnus Dei with their swords and arrows.
Gloriae. Agnus Dei. Kyrie's heart twisted, and ice seemed to fill his belly. He had never felt such anguish. It churned inside him, spun his head, and tightened his throat. They had been alive in the mines. He had seen them thrashing in their bonds as the mimics carried them off. But were they alive now? Kyrie shivered, cursed, and ran as fast as he could. Lacrimosa ran at his side, eyes narrowed.
Please, stars, Kyrie prayed silently. Please protect Agnus Dei. Please.
He loved her so much, that he felt his insides could crumble, his heart stop beating, and his lungs collapse. He wanted to hold her, protect her, kill anyone who harmed her. If she died, he thought he would die too.
"Be strong, kitten," he whispered into the snow. "I'll be there soon."
If the stars heard his prayers, they ignored them. The snow only fell harder, a blizzard that stung his face and buried the mimics' trail. Kyrie cursed and stumbled forward, but soon stopped, backtracked, and realized he was lost.
He cursed and looked from side to side. Screeches rose in the blizzard around him, moving closer. Kyrie raised his torch, eyes narrowing. Lacrimosa did the same.
"Kyrie," she said, "I don't like this."
"Me ne—"
A dozen shadows flew toward them from the trees.
Kyrie couldn't help it. He cried in fear. They were mimics, but more hideous than any he'd seen. They looked like oversized bats. They had human heads and outstretched human arms. But below the shoulders, their bodies tapered into nothing but a spine. Skin stretched from their wrists to their tailbones, forming wings. They flapped toward Kyrie, shrieking.
He screamed and swung his torch.
How can such terrors exist? The creatures' eyes blazed red. Their teeth snapped at him, and one bit his arm. Kyrie's head spun. He screamed again and lashed his blade and his fire. Lacrimosa screamed and fought beside him. The world was crackling fire, swirling snow, and everywhere those terrors, those bats, those things that had once been human.
No, he found himself praying feverishly. No, please, stars, it can't be. They can't have been human. No mind can be sick enough to create these things. Please, stars, let me wake up from this nightmare. Let this all be a dream. How can this be real?
"Kyrie, look!" Lacrimosa cried. She pointed, and Kyrie saw a tatter of green cloth hanging on a tree. Agnus Dei had worn a green cloak when captured.
"I see it!" he shouted and clubbed at the flying bats.
"The mimics carried the girls that way," Lacrimosa shouted back. "Let's go."
They ran through the snow, clubbing the mimic bats. One flew onto Kyrie's arm, flapping its wings against him. He tore it off and grimaced when he saw its face, the face of an old woman. He kept running, swinging his torch and sword. The bats were everywhere, screeching, swooping, crying.
"Broken ice, over there!" he shouted. A frozen stream lay ahead, its surface cracked and splintered in one place. Kyrie ran over it, and he saw a path of broken branches through the forest. "The mimics took the twins this way."
Lacrimosa swung her sword and cut a bat. Its blood sprayed the falling snow. "Keep going!"
They ran, the broken branches scratching them. Kyrie raced between two trees, and suddenly the ground sloped. He found himself tumbling down a ravine, snow cascading around him.
"Lacrimosa!"
She fell beside him, covered in snow. The bats screeched above, but did not follow. Kyrie tried to grab something, but found no purchase. He seemed to fall forever, before he finally hit a mound of snow, and was still. Lacrimosa rolled to a stop beside him, shivering, her torch extinguished.
Kyrie leaped to his feet and helped Lacrimosa up.
"Where's the path?" she demanded.
Kyrie looked up the slope they had crashed down. They had fallen a long way. The bats fluttered above between the trees, but dared not leave their cover.
"I don't know," he said, and suddenly his eyes stung, and his throat swelled. "I don't know, Lacrimosa. I'm... I'm scared. I don't know if... if...."
If Agnus Dei will become one of those bat things. Or if she is one already. If I will become one too. I don't know if this is real, or some nightmare. I don't know what to do.
But he could say none of these things. How could he? Benedictus had died, and he—Kyrie Eleison—was the last man of Requiem. It was his task to be strong, his duty to protect the others. Only... it seemed impossible. Even Benedictus, always strong and brave, had never dealt with humans twisted and cut and sewn into these horrors. How could Kyrie face them?
He lowered his head, and his body shook. "I'm not strong enough, Lacrimosa. I'm trying to be like him. Like Benedictus. But...."
She grabbed his shoulders. She stared into his eyes.
"Kyrie," she said. Her face was so stern, her eyes so angry. He was sure she'd yell at him. But then her face softened, and her eyes watered, and she embraced him. They stood in the snow, shivering together, holding each other.
"I'm sorry, Lacrimosa. I feel weak."
She touched his hair and kissed his cheek. "You were never weak, Kyrie. You are good, you are scared, you are in love with Agnus Dei. If you were cold and heartless, well, you wouldn't be a man I wanted fighting by my side. And you are a man now, Kyrie."
He took a deep, shaky breath and squared his shoulders. The snow fell around them. "Let's find them, Lacrimosa. Let's find the twins. The path was leading south. We'll move south along this ravine, at least until those flying creatures are gone, then pick up the trail."
Lacrimosa wiped away tears and took his hand. They ran together through the snow, the wind whipping their faces.
AGNUS DEI
She nibbled on her bread. It was stale and frozen, but she forced herself to chew it into mush, then swallow. I'll need my strength to kill Irae, she thought. And I will kill him today.
Her eye kept wandering to the prisoners around her, especially those missing limbs. One was a young woman, no older than her own nineteen years. She was missing an arm. The bandage around her stump was bloody, and her face was sweaty, even in the cold. She will die, Agnus Dei knew. And then the rest of her will become a mimic.
"There is a rebellion brewing," whispered a frail man, clutching Agnus Dei's arm. "The Earthen, they're called. Silva the Elder leads them, a great Earth God priest. They'll save us, child. They'll save us."
The man's eyes spun wildly. He was mad, she realized. Soon he retreated into a corner, where he hugged his knees and rocked.
It seemed forever that Agnus Dei huddled among the prisoners—some of them mad, most of them dying. Gloriae huddled by her, her eyes closed, her lips mumbling. Agnus Dei leaned against her, embraced her, and laid her head on her shoulder. She felt a little safer this way, but not much. There was no safe place here. The prisoners wept, moaned, and prayed around them. Agnus Dei did not know if prayers could be heard from a place like this.
Soon she had to make water. She was no pampered princess—she did not mind going in the bushes—but how could she truly go here, in a bucket, before everyone? And yet she lined up. And she did. And then she returned to Gloriae's side, and embraced her again, and closed her eyes lest her sister saw her tears.
"Sometimes... sometimes I think they're dead," she whispered to Gloriae. "Mother and Kyrie."
Gloriae opened her eyes and touched Agnus Dei's cheek. "Don't say that. This is no time to despair."
"When else is time for despair then? I'm so scared, Gloriae. I want to be strong. But I'm scared."
Gloriae smiled wanly. "That's why you're strong. Strength is conquering your fear. Dies Irae taught me that."
Agnus Dei shuddered. She huddled close
r to her sister. "I don't know how you could have lived with him. He's a monster."
Gloriae sighed. "He was not always like this. He was always cruel, yes. And violent. Not toward me, but toward his enemies. And he was always so strong, so stern, so sure of his ways. But this? No, he was never like this. He followed the Sun God. He fought for light. For order. For his own brand of justice. Most of all, he fought for glory. But that was before the nightshades infested his mind. Before a shard of metal drove into his eye. He's insane now, Agnus Dei, which he had never been when he raised me. If we can kill him, it will be a mercy to him. He's trapped in his own insanity, helpless to stop it. The mimics he creates are reflections of his madness and nightmares."
"We will kill him." Agnus Dei clenched her fists. "We have to. Not only for Requiem, but for the entire world."
The door swung open.
The prisoners whimpered and screamed.
Dies Irae stood at the doorway, armored in steel, gold, and jewels. Umbra stood beside him, clad in her black leggings and black bodice, her eyes blazing. Four burly mimics stood behind them, carrying chains.
Agnus Dei snarled and leaped to her feet. "You die now, Irae."
She leaped toward him.
Dies Irae didn't move. Umbra did, however. Fast as a falcon's shadow, she crouched, slid forward, and reached out her leg. Agnus Dei tripped over it. She pitched forward. Umbra grabbed her hair, pulled her head back, and knocked her onto her back. Agnus Dei screamed and punched. She hit Umbra's face, but the woman only snarled, and a dagger gleamed in her hand. The blade pressed against Agnus Dei's throat, and she froze.
"Good girl," Umbra whispered. She licked blood off her lips. "Stay nice and still or I'll gut you like a fish."
A shadow leaped, and Gloriae crashed against Umbra, shoving her off. Agnus Dei leaped up and kicked. Her leg hit Umbra's side. The dagger slashed the air. If I can only grab the blade.... She reached, caught Umbra's wrist, and twisted. Umbra screamed and punched. The blow slammed into Agnus Dei's cheek. White light flooded her. She kicked blindly. Gloriae screamed.
Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy Page 64
