Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy

by Daniel Arenson

  Where were the twins? He could see nothing, nothing but smoke, darkness, and the ground rushing up toward him.

  "Oh stars," he said, tightened his jaw, and winced.

  His griffin crashed into the field, landing atop mimics and skeletons. Bones snapped beneath it. The griffin slid over bodies, snow, and blood, and finally crashed into a fallen log, dead.

  Arrows flew.

  Kyrie cursed, leaped off the griffin, and crouched behind it. He clutched his sword and gritted his teeth.

  "Oh bloody stars, this is bad."

  The ground shook. Mimics galloped toward him, centaurs sewn from dead horses and dead women. Their hair was woven of snakes. Their arms ended with bloody blades. They swung those blades at Kyrie.

  He crouched, slid through the snow, and hacked at one's legs. He rose and ran, shoving his way between skeletons, bashing them with his blade.

  "Lacrimosa!" he cried. "Where are you?"

  He saw King's Column rising ahead from smoke and flames. He ran toward it. Hooves galloped behind him, and he turned to see the mimic centaurs chasing him. He cursed, grabbed a spear from a dead man, and tossed it. The spear pierced one centaur's chest. Kyrie ran at the other and clanged swords with it. He ducked, sliced at its legs, and ran.

  "Lacrimosa!"

  Was she alive? Mimics surrounded him—starfish, centaurs, giants, dogs, bats. He saw no end to them. Dead salvanae, griffins, and Earthen covered the ground. The mimics were feasting upon them, or leaping over them to kill more.

  Ten mimic centaurs came galloping toward him from the smoke, bearing lances. Kyrie cursed. He gritted his teeth and raised his blade.

  A horn blared. A hundred Earthen leaped from the flames and swung swords.

  "For the Earth God!" cried Silva, their High Priest. "Kill the abominations."

  Kyrie swung swords with them. Blood spilled and mimic limbs burned. Lightning fell from the sky, hitting more mimics. The salvanae swooped, biting, clawing, killing. Mimic dragons flew around them, tearing them apart with their claws. Blood splattered.

  Kyrie glimpsed Lacrimosa ahead, only a hundred yards away. She seemed to glow in the battlefield, her blade bright, her hair sparkling, her face like glimmering marble. King's Column rose above her.

  "Lacrimosa!" Kyrie cried again and ran toward her, hacking his way through skeletons. He had to step over the bodies of men, his boot even stepping on one's head. He winced but kept running. Enemies surrounded his queen; he had to protect her.

  The skeletons parted before him.

  A woman emerged from the shadows.

  Kyrie growled. "Umbra."

  She gave him a mocking smile and placed her hands on her hips. "Weredragon."

  Kyrie knew this one. He had seen her capture the twins in the mine. He had seen her battle Gloriae at the camp. He knew about her chaining down Agnus Dei's hand so that Dies Irae could sever it.

  "You might have escaped Gloriae's sword," he told her, "but you won't escape mine."

  He raised his dripping blade. Umbra drew her daggers. The skeletons and mimics formed a ring around them, like spectators eager to watch the fight.

  Umbra tossed a dagger.

  Kyrie parried with his blade, knocking it aside.

  Snarling, Umbra tossed two daggers.

  Kyrie knelt and raised his blade. He knocked one dagger aside, and the other glanced off his helmet. He ran forward, swinging his sword.

  The mimics howled. Umbra slid through the snow, drew two daggers, and crossed them. Kyrie's sword slammed into them, and Umbra twisted her daggers, yanking the sword from his hand. The mimics cheered and Kyrie's heart leaped with horror.

  He jumped back, defenseless, as Umbra lashed her daggers. One bit under his arm, grazing him, drawing a line along his ribs. The second dagger hit his raised arm, glancing off the vambrace.

  "Are you ready, boy?" Umbra said, smirking.

  Kyrie leaped back, dodging her daggers. "I'm not dying yet."

  Umbra laughed and winked. "I didn't ask if you're ready to die. I asked if you're ready to become my mimic." She lashed her dagger, nicking his shoulder, and Kyrie cursed. "I will carve you like a pig, and sew you back together into my slave."

  Kyrie fell to one knee, grabbed snow, and tossed it at her face. Umbra shook her head, snow in her eyes, and Kyrie jumped forward. He barrelled into her, knocking his shoulder hard into her chest. She grunted, and Kyrie grabbed her wrists and twisted them.

  Umbra snarled and clenched her fists around her daggers, pointing their blades toward him. Kyrie grunted, struggling to push her arms away, shocked at her strength. She was as strong as he was—maybe stronger—moving the daggers closer and closer.

  Kyrie kicked her shin. She grunted and he headbutted her.

  Umbra screamed and fell back. She thrust a dagger. Kyrie ducked and the dagger hit his helmet. He grabbed his sword and swung it, but Umbra parried. The blade hit the snow. A dagger lashed. Kyrie blocked it with his vambrace and pulled his sword up. It sliced Umbra's thigh; she screamed and stabbed her blade.

  The dagger scratched Kyrie's neck, and ice flooded him. For an instant, he was sure he was dead. Umbra's eyes widened, and a smile found her lips.

  No. It only cut skin, Kyrie thought. He could still breathe, still shout, and he swung his blade.

  Umbra parried with both daggers. She tried twisting the sword between them again, but Kyrie pulled his blade back. Umbra lunged at him, leaping through the air, howling, daggers gleaming.

  Kyrie thrust his sword forward.

  Umbra twisted, parried with one dagger, and brought the other down hard.

  Turning sideways, Kyrie dodged it and punched Umbra's shoulder. He knocked her down and stepped on her wrist. She screamed and tossed her second dagger. Kyrie ducked. It flew over his head.

  The skeletons and mimics howled. Kyrie placed his sword against Umbra's neck.

  "You will be the mimic, Umbra," he said. "Once I cut you, Dies Irae will have no other use for you."

  She kicked hard, hitting his knee. The pain suffused him. He fell, cursing, and Umbra leaped up. She drew another dagger, and the blade flashed down.

  Kyrie raised his sword.

  The blade pierced Umbra's stomach.

  The mimics and skeletons roared. Kyrie sucked in his breath, stars floating before him, his blood dripping. Pain spun his head. He pushed himself up, Umbra impaled on the sword, and shoved her down.

  She fell and curled up, clutching her stomach. She glared up at him, snarling, a wild animal.

  "Weredragon!" she screamed and spat at him. "I curse you. I curse your kind. I curse you all to the abyss, and to pain, and to eternal slavery. You are monsters. You killed my family." Blood filled her mouth and her eyes blazed. "I curse you, weredragon! My lord will destroy you!"

  Her clothes soaked with blood, she leaped to her feet and jumped at him. Her daggers lashed. Kyrie parried, thrust his blade, and pierced her chest.

  She fell to her knees.

  Blood poured down her clothes.

  She stared up at him. Kyrie stared back, panting. He expected her to rage, to curse, to spit... but tears filled her eyes. She whimpered.

  "Why?" she whispered. "Why do you do this? I miss my husband. I miss my brothers. I'm sorry I couldn't avenge you. I'm sorry."

  She fell to her knees, then fell forward, and her face hit the snow. She lay still.

  Kyrie knelt by her, surprised to find pity fill him. He placed a hand on her head.

  "You fought well," he said softly. "Whatever your pain was, I'm sorry if we caused it. May you find some peace in the world beyond... with your husband and brothers."

  He rose to his feet and looked around him. The mimics and skeletons were screeching and fighting the Earthen. Blood and fire filled the night. He looked above him. The nightshades had scattered, but many mimic dragons and bats still flew. Salvanae kept falling; they covered the battlefield, sliced and battered and burned.

  "Pup!"

  He turned, and his heart leaped
to see Agnus Dei running toward him. Snow, blood, and ash covered her. She hacked at a skeleton, jumped over a dead salvanae, and came to fight beside him. They swung their blades, holding back attacking mimics.

  "Agnus Dei, what do you know?" he shouted over the din.

  "It's bad, pup. Silva's troops are falling fast. Most are dead already. Half of the salvanae have fallen, and most of the griffins."

  Kyrie cursed. "Lovely. How's our friend Irae?"

  Agnus Dei pierced one of the Poisoned with her blade. "I can't find the bastard. But his troops keep coming at us. There's no end to them. Pup... what do we do?"

  A snowbeast leaped at them. They hacked at it, chopping off its legs, and stabbed its mouth until it died.

  "I don't know," Kyrie said and cursed again. The monsters kept slamming against them, endless in the night. He looked at Agnus Dei. Blood filled her hair and smeared her face. Her armor was dented and her clothes were mere tatters.

  "I love you, Agnus Dei," he said.

  She looked at him, fear in her eyes. "I love you too, Kyrie. In this life and in our starlit halls."

  They fought back to back as the shadows and horrors of the night surged toward them.

  DIES IRAE

  He swung his mace, crushing an Earthen's head. The man's helmet was weak. The spikes in Dies Irae's mace punched through it. When he yanked his mace back, it came free with a spurt of blood.

  A swordsman attacked at his right—a mere peasant garbed in Earth God green. The man's chipped blade slammed against Dies Irae's plate armor, glancing off with sparks. Dies Irae swung his mace. The man tried to parry, and the mace shattered the blade. Dies Irae smiled and clubbed his head. When the man fell, he swung his mace down, finishing the job.

  Pathetic, he thought. These were no warriors. This Silva had brought farmers to fight, their armor weak, their weapons chipped, their bodies fragile. He swung his mace side to side, shattering bones. Their blades could not pierce his armor. Their bodies piled up at his feet.

  "Where are you, Lacrimosa?" he said softly. "Where are you, my lizard harlot? You will be mine, Lacrimosa. I will burn your body, and sew your head onto one of my women, and you will warm my bed every night."

  He scanned the battlefield, seeking her. She will try to defend King's Column. He turned northward and saw the column rising from smoke and flame and lightning. Yes, she would be there.

  Smirking, Dies Irae began cleaving a path through the enemy, clubbing them, tossing them left and right. His mimics fought by him, burly beasts, each with four human heads sewn together at the napes, so they could see in every direction. They swung bloody war hammers, shattering their foes' bones.

  They drove through the lines of Earthen, and Dies Irae saw a sight that made him grin. A ring of Earthen surrounded a hill, guarding a makeshift palisade. Behind the palisade, thousands of women and children huddled atop the hill.

  "Look at them," Dies Irae said to his mimics, laughing. "Once more, the weredragons bring women and children to fight their wars."

  His mimics laughed, spraying blood and drool from their maws.

  Dies Irae clenched his fist. "We smashed their women and children at Lanburg Fields. We will crush these Earth God peasants too."

  I will join you soon, Lacrimosa. First I will whet my appetite.

  He began driving a path toward the hill, grinning savagely. The Earthen seemed desperate. They crashed against him, shouting, thrusting their spears like madmen. They fell fast. For every mimic they slew, they lost three men. Dies Irae grinned as he clubbed at them, breaking knees, ribs, arms, heads.

  He reached the palisade, a frail wall of thin logs, and clubbed it with his mace.

  "Tear it down!" he shouted. "Tear down the wall."

  His mimics attacked the logs with their war hammers. Within moments, they had breached the palisade. Earthen soldiers crashed against them, howling, torching and cutting them. Mimics fell blazing. The women and children on the hilltop screamed, sobbed, and held one another.

  Mimic bodies piled up at the breach in the palisade, smoking. Weaklings, Dies Irae thought in disgust. He stepped over their bodies, the smoke rising around him, stinging his eye and filling his lungs. Laughing, he swung his mace at the Earthen who attacked him. Their blades sparked against his armor. He drove forward, mace swinging, and crossed the palisade.

  "Mimics, after me!" he bellowed and pointed his mace at the hilltop. "Kill them all."

  The women and children screamed.

  Roaring, his mimics stormed through the palisade behind him, clashing against the Earthen soldiers. Dies Irae drove forward. The women and children were trying to flee, but the hill was too crowded, and the palisade locked them in. They fell and cried and shouted. Dies Irae laughed. They doomed themselves.

  He tore through the last line of soldiers, and saw the women and children fleeing. He ran forward, grabbed a child by the hair, and pulled it around. The young girl stared at him with huge, teary eyes. Dies Irae clubbed her head and kicked her body aside.

  Her mother knelt and wept over her, and Dies Irae slammed his mace into her skull. The others fled, trampling over one another, a mad rout. Dies Irae grinned and moved between them, swinging his mace. They didn't even fight back. They died around him; it was like slaughtering lambs.

  Dies Irae laughed. He had not enjoyed himself so much in many days. He grabbed a baby from its mother, and was about to club it, when a shout rose behind him.

  "Let the child go, Irae. Face me instead."

  Dies Irae's smile widened.

  He turned around slowly.

  "Lacrimosa!" he said in delight and tossed the baby aside.

  She stood before him, covered in blood and ash. Her armor was dented and nearly falling off. Her clothes were mere tatters. Her hair was singed. She stared with blazing eyes from a blackened face. When she raised her sword, it caught the light and glowed like the stars of Requiem.

  "Dies Irae," she said. "Your crusade of death ends here."

  He licked his lips. "It's only beginning."

  She leaped toward him, swinging her sword.

  LACRIMOSA

  Stella Lumen hit his breastplate. It sparked and glanced off the steel, shooting pain up Lacrimosa's arm. Dies Irae swung his mace. She leaped back, and the steel arm of Dies Irae swung before her.

  Do not parry, she told herself. He will shatter your blade. Jump. Dance. Attack where his armor is weak.

  His mace swung again. She leaped back, hitting a fleeing child, and bounded forward. She swung her blade toward his helmet, its visor shaped as a monstrous beak. He parried with his arm, and her sword scratched along the steel, showering sparks. He thrust his mace again, and she ducked, dodging it.

  Do not parry. Jump. Dance. He is slow and you are fast.

  She sprang up, swinging her sword. She aimed for the chain mail under his arm; it was weaker than his plates of steel. But he twisted, and her blade hit his breastplate, not even chipping it.

  "You are feisty, lizard whore," he said, eyes blazing behind the slits in his visor. "Will you be feisty in my bed too?"

  She growled and thrust her blade. Do not waste words on him. Jump. Dance. Kill him. She aimed again for his armpit, but he moved, and the blade slammed against his pauldron. He swung the mace again, and this time Lacrimosa did have to parry. The mace glanced off the base of Stella Lumen, and she caught her breath, sure it would shatter. But her father's blade was strong, stronger than most blades of steel; it glowed and rang. She swung it and hit Dies Irae's helmet. He grunted but did not fall.

  "Did you hear the sound your husband made when I butchered him?" Dies Irae said, swinging his mace. "He sounded like a pig in heat. You will make the same sound every night when I thrust into you."

  Lacrimosa's eyes stung with smoke. Her limbs shook with weakness. The mimics had cut her, and blood stained her left leg and trickled under her ribs. She did not know how bad the wounds were, but she could still stand, still breathe, still kill.

  Leap. Jump. Danc
e.

  And they danced. It was the dance of her life—against death, against evil, against blood and darkness. She danced for life, for the light of her stars, for the love of her family—because she could not stop dancing, she could not give up, not when her children needed her, not when her people cried to her from the earth. She was Queen of Requiem. She was a widow. She was a mother. So she swung her sword, and cried to her stars, and lashed her blade at the man who'd raped her, who'd killed her family, who'd shattered the halls of her home. She danced and cried and pierced his armor below the arm, so that he screamed and his blood spilled.

  "It's over, Irae," she said, face drenched in sweat. He clutched his wound, glaring at her. "It's over. I end your reign this night."

  She swung her sword.

  Snarling, he raised his mace and slammed it against her wrist.

  Lacrimosa screamed. She felt the bones in her wrist snap. The blade fell from her hand. Dies Irae swung the mace again, and she could not breathe. Pain filled her, white and blinding. Her shoulder shattered. She fell to her knees, gasping for breath. She tried to leap, to run, but he kicked her, and she fell.

  Stars of Requiem... give me strength. Help me rise.

  He stepped onto her neck, his boot bloody, made from the golden scales of a Vir Requis child. She could not breathe or speak. He lifted her sword with bloody fingers.

  "My my," he said. "You still struggle beneath me?"

  She tried to speak, but his foot constricted her, nearly snapping her neck. I'm sorry, Ben. I'm sorry, Gloriae, Agnus Dei, Kyrie. I love you all so much. I love you.

  Blackness was spreading before her eyes. Through blurry tears, she could see that the women and children had fled the hill. She smiled softly. I saved them. He will kill me now, but I saved them.

  He lifted Stella Lumen above her. The Draco Stars shone above between the smoke and flames, glittering across the sword.

  "I'll kill you like I killed your husband, whore," he said. "I'll butcher you with your own sword."

  Stars floated around her. Stars glowed on the hilt of her sword, and in the sky beyond the fire and shadow—the stars of her life. The light of Requiem fell upon her, waiting for her. I will join you soon, Ben. I will join you soon, Mother and Father.