Their eyes. I know their eyes. Brown eyes like his own, the woman's kind and round, the man's weary and haunted. Both pairs stared at him, piercing him.
The two walked toward him. Kyrie stood frozen, half of him wanting to disappear, the other half burning for answers. He held Agnus Dei's hand tight.
When the strangers reached him, their eyes turned soft and damp.
"Kyrie?" the woman whispered. Her voice shook, and a tear streamed down her cheek. "Kyrie, is that you?"
Kyrie! she called. Kyrie, the geese are flying outside, come see them. Kyrie, I wrote you a story, come hear. Kyrie, I love you.
He breathed heavily, staring at her through narrowed eyes. He turned to stare at the man, the tall man with the walrus moustache and the plate armor, a man who looked so weary, so haunted... and Kyrie saw him younger, happier.
Go on, Kyrie! Pull the line, you've got him. It's a trout, and a big one. You caught him, Kyrie. He saw the sunlight on the water, smelled frying fish, heard his brother laugh as they wrestled.
My... brother?
"Kyrie?" the man said. He stepped forward and held Kyrie's shoulder, examining him, his mouth opening, his eyes widening.
Yes, I had a brother once. And I had a sister. But they died. They died years ago, along with my parents, with my friends, with everyone I've ever known.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
The woman smiled—a warm, teary, loving smile. "It's Memoria, Kyrie. I've come to you again. Do you remember me?"
He shook his head, mouth hanging open, eyes still narrowed. "I... no. I'm sorry, but I don't."
"She's your sister," said the tall man. "And I'm Terra, your brother."
And suddenly they were embracing him, and crying over him, and saying so many words he did not understand. They spoke of a tunnel trapping them, and of seeking him in Lanburg Fields, and fleeing into an Ice City, and something about a sorceress and a giant, and a palace built all of ice, and mimic dragons.... Kyrie understood none of it.
"Don't you remember us, Kyrie?" Memoria asked, tears spiking her lashes. "Do you remember our home?" She touched his cheek. "You were so young. You were only six years old when we lost you. Do you remember?"
"I... I remember having a family. I remember my parents. I remember having many cousins, and friends, and older siblings. But... I've always only remembered blurry images, sounds, smells. I...."
Suddenly his knees felt weak, and he had to sit down on a column. Everything spun around him. Memoria and Terra kept holding him, and laughing, and crying over him. Lacrimosa laughed and cried with them, and Agnus Dei still held his hand, and Gloriae moved silently around them. They all blurred around him, becoming smudges of color and sound like his memories.
"I have a sister?" he whispered. "I have a brother?"
It was impossible! I'm the last Eleison. I've always been the last. Dies Irae murdered my family. He....
Terra.
Memoria.
He remembered those names. He remembered! They pounded through him. He remembered the mosaic floor, the balcony, the vineyard, the stream where Terra would take him fishing.
"I have a sister. I have a brother."
He shook and his eyes dampened. Terra patted him on the back and laughed again, that old laughter Kyrie still remembered, and Memoria hugged him, and he was confused, so confused, and he could barely tell memory from reality.
Memoria kissed his cheek, trembling, sobbing now. "I'm so sorry, Kyrie. I'm so sorry we left you. I'm so sorry you had to survive without us for so long. But we're back for you now. You'll never be alone again."
I have a sister. I have a brother.
He looked toward Agnus Dei. She looked into his eyes, her smile trembling.
"Is this real?" he whispered. "Am I dreaming?"
She laughed and mussed his hair. Her eyes sparkled. "It's real, pup. They look just like you."
Kyrie looked at them. Terra. Memoria. With the same sandy hair, the same brown eyes, survivors, fighters, siblings. He lowered his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I want to remember more. I... I didn't know your names until you told me. I didn't even remember your names. I thought you had died so long ago. I'm sorry that I never found you, that I never.... You know who I am. You have all these memories of me. I wish I could say the same." He lowered his head, ashamed.
But they only laughed, and hugged him again, and they cried together.
"We found him, Memoria," Terra whispered. "We found him."
Kyrie held them. The dragonflies hummed in his mind, and the vineyard rustled, and the stream splashed with fish.
It's real, pup. They look just like you.
"It's real," he whispered. I have a sister. I have a brother.
The griffins cawed around them, and the salvanae bugled, a song of reunion and joy, of light and hope and love... before the fall of night.
DIES IRAE
His black horse grunted beneath him, rot seeping through its stitches, foam dripping from its mouth. Dies Irae dug his spurs deep.
"Weredragons were here," he said. He tossed back his head, and his nostrils flared. "I smell them."
Umbra rode beside him, scanning the ruins with narrowed eyes. Night had fallen, and only a glimmer of red light remained in the west. She sniffed too.
"I smell nothing but rot," she said.
Dies Irae pointed up the mountainside that loomed before them. An orphaned, crumbling archway crowned the mountain, the remnants of a weredragon fort. Draco Murus, they called it, he remembered and snickered. The greatest of Requiem's fortresses—smashed upon the mountain.
"This is where my pets found them. Let us seek them there."
He kneed his horse, leading it up the mountainside. Umbra rode at his side. Behind them, his army marched, crawled, and flew, a hundred thousand creatures all howling and drooling. Stones tumbled, but the undead horses plowed on, stronger in death, faster and needing no food or rest.
"The place is an utter ruin," Umbra said, disgust and glee mixing in her voice. "It's worse than Confutatis."
Dies Irae nodded. "Confutatis will rise again, stronger and more glorious than before. This place, this Requiem, will sink further into ruin and pain."
Soon his forces covered the mountainside, like worms covering a body. The snowbeasts smashed down the archway, squealing. Its stones cascaded, hitting several mimics, incurring laughter from their comrades. Dies Irae dismounted on the mountaintop, his boots scattering snow from the cobblestones of an old courtyard. Umbra dismounted beside him, drew her daggers, and hissed.
"The air is rank with the stench of reptile," Dies Irae said. He spat. Mimics howled around him, waving their blades.
"A hole," Umbra said, pointing her dagger.
Dies Irae nodded. "A rat hole. Light a torch and follow me."
He climbed into the darkness, Umbra behind him, torch crackling in her hand. A stairway led him into a network of cellars. Do you hide here, weredragons? Do you cower from me? He couldn't wait to find Lacrimosa, to tear off her clothes, hurt her, take her, crush her, to pull her hair and see her tears. He licked his lips.
"Where are you, my lovely?" he whispered. "Where do you cower, my lizard whore?"
Tree bark, broken branches, and sap filled some chambers; wood had been stored here. A second chamber held a bear rug, a table, and four clay bowls.
"Where are they?" Umbra demanded.
A tattered dress hung on a peg in the wall. Dies Irae lifted it, held it to his face, and inhaled deeply. Lacrimosa's dress. Yes. She had worn this the night he caught her in the field. He savored the scent of it.
He turned and began walking back upstairs, the dress in his hand.
"They went to King's Column," he said. "They retreated to the only place their light still shines." He clenched his fist around the dress, gritted his teeth, and smiled. "That's where we'll find them."
Umbra snarled. "They will be our mimics soon. Slaves for our warriors to torment. I will hurt them too."
&nbs
p; Dies Irae nodded. He stepped out into the courtyard and stood on the mountaintop. His army spread around him, line after line of mimics, snowbeasts, the Poisoned, swamp lizards, skeletons, rotting dragons, and coiling nightshades. Their cries shook the earth.
"We will smash King's Column!" he shouted. "We will destroy the weredragon curse forever. Their bodies will be yours!"
They howled. The clouds roiled. Dies Irae mounted his horse, spurred it, and galloped down the mountain.
LACRIMOSA
Lacrimosa flapped her wings, circling above the burned trees and shattered halls of King's Forest.
It felt good to fly. She had barely flown all winter, and she needed to feel the clouds around her wings, the wind in her nostrils, the fire in her belly.
"Requiem!" she said. "May our wings forever find your sky."
The words of her fathers, of her priests, of her life. She still flew for her fathers, for her priests, and for life—her life, the life of her children, the life that still flickered in Requiem.
"I still find your sky. And I will fight for you. Give me strength, stars of Requiem. Give me strength, Ben. The great battle of our time comes to us. I pray that I can withstand its tide."
She circled above King's Column, the last pillar of their halls. She remembered a hundred griffins slamming against it, trying to topple it, but the Draco light still blessed it; so long as Vir Requis lived, it would stand. I will not let it fall.
The griffins now flew around her, her allies. The salvanae flew here too, coiling and uncoiling, their eyes spinning, their scales glimmering. Volucris flew at her right, shrieking, wings churning the clouds—King of Griffins. Nehushtan flew to her left, a hundred feet long, his moustache fluttering and his scales like molten gold—King of Salvandos.
"Thank you, my friends," she said to them. "Thank you for flying with me, with Requiem."
Nehushtan bowed his head to her. "The evil of the tyrant spreads across earth and heaven. The stench of it has carried to our land. It poisons the glow of stars. We have come to fight. For Requiem. For Salvandos our home. For Leonis, realm griffins. We fight for all lands of civilization."
Lacrimosa remembered travelling across the ruins of Osanna, the empire of men. She had crossed it by foot, and taken ship from Altus Mare on the sea. She had seen ruin, death, desolation. Cities lay crumbled, farms burned, forests wilted, bodies rotting. And who will fight for Osanna? she wondered. Who will fight for the realm Dies Irae rules, enslaves, and burns?
The griffins shrieked, and the salvanae bugled.
Drums and trumpets sounded in the north, answering her.
Lacrimosa stared and gasped. She blew fire, and her eyes stung.
They marched from the burned forest, thousands of them, bearing banners of green and brown. They flowed forward like a snake emerging from a basket. A hundred horsemen rode at their lead, clad in armor, bearing lances and standards. Behind them walked thousands of women, children, and old men, all wrapped in cloaks, huddling together for warmth. Thousands of men surrounded their grandparents, mothers, wives, and children. Some wore armor and bore swords. Others wore peasant tunics and carried pitchforks and torches.
"The Earthen," Lacrimosa whispered. Children of Osanna. Followers of the Earth God. Friends.
She flew down and landed on a snowy, fallen column. She stood, wings folded against her back, and watched the Earthen approach.
An old man led them, she saw. He rode a brown horse and wore a green cloak over chain mail. His hair and beard were long, and more white than brown, but his back was still straight, his eyes still bright, his hand still steady on the hilt of his sword. He rode up to her, two armored riders flanking him.
Lacrimosa bowed her head to him. "Silva the Elder," she said. "Welcome to Requiem. May our stars, and your Earth God, bless you."
The priest nodded to her. His face was deeply lined, his voice hoarse. "Queen Lacrimosa of Requiem. A great host approaches. Our scouts have seen them. They cover a league, and they march fast. It's an army of beasts and demons, abominations to the Earth God and to your stars. They'll be here soon."
"Our own scouts have seen them," she replied, remembering what Terra and Memoria had reported. She swallowed. "An army of mimics, snowbeasts, nightshades, and all other creatures of darkness. We stand ready to fight them."
Silva gestured to the riders beside him. "These are my sons. At my right is Silva the Younger. And here is Silas, my second son, a great priest like his brother."
The two men drew their swords.
"We stand ready to fight with Requiem," said Silva the Young.
"We fight for the Earth God," said Silas, snow in his hair.
Lacrimosa looked over their heads at the people they led. Horsemen. Footmen. Peasants. Women and children. Dies Irae has hunted them for years. Here is their final stand. Will this be their Lanburg Fields? Will this be death to us all? A few of the children began to cry, and Lacrimosa looked back to Silva.
"Lead the mothers and children into the trees west of King's Column. They are burned and many have fallen, but they will give some shelter. Place armed men around them. Take the fallen logs, and build what palisades you can. Then take what men you can spare, and what women can wield a weapon, and rejoin me here at the pillar. We will hold council."
She took flight, soaring as high as she could, until the air thinned, her lungs hurt, and her head spun. In the east, she saw them approach, a league away, a shadow falling over Requiem. Fear coiled in her belly. There were so many, a vast host like she had never seen. Countless nightshades and mimic dragons flew there. Fifty thousand mimics marched below, howling and banging war drums. Behind them moved endless skeletons, reptiles the size of dragons, herds of snowbeasts on gangly legs, and mobs of oozing Poisoned.
And one man I must kill. One man who has haunted my life. The man who raped me, murdered my husband, murdered my parents, murdered my people. One man I must face today. Lacrimosa tightened her jaw. Be strong, daughter of Requiem, she told herself. Now is your hour.
She looked below her, surveying her forces. Five thousand salvanae, the true dragons, creatures of fang and lightning. Five thousand griffins, their talons bright, their beaks sharp. Ten thousand soldiers, followers of the Earth god, protecting ten thousand women and children.
"And us," she whispered. "Six Vir Requis."
She saw the others below, huddling together by King's Column. Her daughters, the lights of her life. Kyrie Eleison, who was like a son to her. Terra and Memoria, new hope for their race.
That was all. A small force, she thought. A sparrow against the swooping vulture of Dies Irae's wrath. But we will meet them still.
She dived toward King's Column.
"Nehushtan!" she called. "Volucris!"
They flew to her, and landed with her in the shattered hall of Requiem's kings. Silva joined them, tall upon his horse, his sword in hand. King's Column rose above them into the rays of setting sun. Darkness was spreading fast, the stars emerging.
Lacrimosa shifted into human form. She placed a hand upon Stella Lumen, her father's sword.
"Daughters," she said, turning toward the twins. "Kyrie. Do you have the Beams?"
They nodded. Gloriae opened a sack and spilled out three golden skulls, each twice the size of a man's skull. Their orbits glowed and their jaws grinned.
"You have wielded Beams before," she told them. "Today you will wield them on griffinback. Choose your griffins and ride them against the nightshades. Burn them with the Beams and scatter them."
Gloriae nodded and lifted one skull. Snow filled her hair, scratches ran down her arms and cheek, and most of the gold had peeled from her breastplate. And yet her eyes were still strong, ice and fire. Once she had worn samite and jewels, Lacrimosa remembered. Once Gloriae the Gilded had hunted for Osanna, had killed and maimed for the glory of the Sun God. Today Lacrimosa saw a woman of justice, of honor, and of starlight.
"We will kill them," Gloriae said
Agnus Dei lifted the se
cond skull. At first she held it awkwardly with one hand. Then she steadied it with her left arm, tightened her lips, and stared solemnly at Lacrimosa. Her leggings were tattered, her bodice was torn, and her cloak was shaggy. She wore only rusty pieces of armor: a pauldron on her left shoulder, vambraces on her forearms, dented greaves, no breastplate or helmet. Her sword hung on her hip. Lacrimosa remembered Agnus Dei not a year ago, full of rage and sadness, a beast trapped in a cage. Today she saw not an angry youth, but a strong woman.
"We will kill them all," Agnus Dei said, standing by her sister.
Kyrie lifted the third Beam. He too wore rags and dented armor, but his eyes were solemn, his face hard. Lacrimosa remembered meeting a boy in the summer, a boy who ran and hid from those who would kill him. Here in the winter snow, a man stood before her, a man who had fought and killed for those he loved.
"We will wield them for you, and for Requiem," he said.
Lacrimosa turned to face Nehushtan, ruler of the salvanae. The true dragon hovered several feet in the air, his serpentine body undulating. He blinked, his eyelashes fanning the snow. His moustache swayed in the breeze, and his crystal eyes glowed.
"Nehushtan," she said and placed a hand against his cheek. His scales were cold and smooth like mother-of-pearl. "I ask you to lead your salvanae against the flying mimic dragons. They are fast demons and do not die easily. Burn them with your bolts of lightning, and tear them apart with your fangs."
He nodded, his beard dipping into the snow. "They have woken the wrath of Salvandos. The Draco stars call us to war. We will fight them, Queen of Requiem. We will fell them from the sky, or die defending our stars."
She turned to Volucris next. The great griffin knelt in the snow before her, head lowered. Lacrimosa walked toward him, placed her hand against his beak, and rested her head against his.
"Volucris, my old friend," she whispered. "I'm proud to fight by you again. I ask of you this. Lead your griffins against the crawling beasts of Dies Irae. Fall upon his skeletons, his reptiles, his Poisoned, his snowbeasts, and all his horrors. Tear into them with your beaks and your talons, and kill them all."
Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy Page 69
