The chieftain grinned horribly, displaying his rotting teeth. “Twin brother. I will kill him last . . . and slowest.”
Raem turned to leave again. This time Zerra’s words stopped him.
“And is what I hear true as well?” the chieftain called out. “That your own son, your heir and prince, is one of the diseased creatures?”
Raem’s throat tightened. He clenched his jaw. He looked back at the chieftain and found the man smirking.
“Concern yourself with my daughter, not my son, barbarian. He is mine to deal with; she will be yours.”
With that, Raem stepped outside the tent, stood in the wind and mist, and felt the old rage, fear, and sickness rise inside him. He craved. He needed the release.
He needed to become the reptile.
The urge nearly blinding him, he approached his demon. He mounted the creature, spurred her flanks, and soared into the sky. As he left the tribe far below, he realized he was digging his fingernails into his palms. The blood dripped down his arms and Raem narrowed his eyes and prayed to his god.
TANIN
TANIN WALKED THROUGH THE CITY of stone, seeing demons everywhere.
“By the stars, Tanin,” Maev whispered, walking beside him. His gruff, golden-haired sister clutched her bronze sword under her fur cloak. “This place is as haunted as your undergarments.” She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Smells as bad too.”
Tanin scowled. “This is no time for your jokes. Keep both eyes wide open. We’re looking for Vir Requis.”
She thrust out her bottom lip, looking around her. “So are about a thousand demons.”
The creatures flew above, cackling and beating insect wings. They laughed upon palm trees and domed roofs. They ran through the streets, chasing women, pawing and groping and tearing off garments. Some creatures were small, no larger than cats, scuttling little things on crab legs. Others were as large as horses—some scaled, some bloated, some creatures of bones and horns, others balls of slime.
“Dragons, we seek dragons!” they chanted.
The city must have once been beautiful, Tanin thought—a place of marvel such as he’d never seen. Cobbled roads stretched between houses—real houses of stone, several stories tall and topped with domes, not simple clay huts like men built across the sea. Palm trees, fig trees, and flowers grew along the streets, and bronze statues stood in city squares, shaped as winged bulls. Far ahead, past a hundred streets and countless homes, rose a palace, a building that Tanin knew nobody in the north would believe could exist. Columns lined its walls, blue and gold, and lush gardens grew on its roof.
Whoever had built this city had created a wonder, but today this was a place of rot. Demon drool covered the cobblestones and blood stained the walls. Several corpses lay strewn across the street, torn apart. Demons were feasting upon the entrails.
“Dragons, we seek dragons!” they chanted, sniffing, moving from street to street. They spoke in many tongues; Tanin could understand his own language and make out several others.
“I guess flying is out of the question,” Tanin muttered.
Maev grabbed his arm and pointed. “Look, past that dome! A tower. The stories say the prince is kept in a tower. Let’s grab the boy and get out of this place.” She walked by a dead monkey—demon teeth marks could be seen upon it—and shivered. “I want to go home.”
Tanin grinned bitterly. “What happened to Maev the Brave, the girl who spent years boasting of being an explorer, an adventurer, a heroine?”
She gave him a withering glare. “Say another word and that girl will plant her foot so deep up your backside, you’ll be able to bite her toes.” She tugged him along. “Now come on, you stupid lump of a brother.”
They kept walking, moving down a cobbled road lined with wineshops. Soon they reached a palisade of columns, each rising taller than oaks. Their capitals were shaped as silver men, their heads lowered, their arms hanging at their sides, the palms facing outward. Beyond the columns spread a wide boulevard, its flagstones smooth and polished. A procession was moving down the road. Priests walked at its lead, clad in white, swinging pots of incense. One priest held a clay tablet engraved with cuneiform writing; he sang out the words. Behind them moved seven bulls, tugging a great chariot of wood and metal. Upon the chariot rose a great statue of the same slender, silver man, his palms open, his head lowered.
“Taal!” chanted city folk, kneeling on the roadside as the procession passed by. “Taal!”
The demons swarmed above, hissing with hatred, sneering, spitting. Yet they dared not approach the procession, and when the smoke of the incense wafted near them, they fled with shrieks.
“This city’s in the middle of a bloody war,” Maev said, peering from behind a column. “Taal must be their god, the slender silver man.”
“And the demons aren’t too fond of him.” Tanin winced to see one of the creatures scuttle by, dripping rot. The procession was moving directly ahead now; the demons fled like water from the prow of an advancing ship.
Maev seemed unusually subdued. She spoke softly. “These demons are hunting dragons. You heard them. There might be many more Vir Requis in this city, not just the prince. I think these demons are Eteer’s bloodhounds; hunters.” She shook her head. “By the stars, Tanin. What have we found here?”
He squared his jaw, watching the last priest move by, his cloud of incense lingering like a wake. “A place I want to leave. Now let’s race to that tower, free your paramour, and go home.”
Gripping his sword, he was about to step out onto the boulevard when several voices rose in the alley behind him.
“Weredragons . . .”
Tanin spun around and felt himself pale.
“Bloody stars,” Maev muttered and drew her sword. The doubled-edged blade—as wide and long as her forearm—gleamed in the sunlight.
A demon lurked in the alleyway, a creature of many human heads strung together like a string of beads. The unholy strand rose like a cobra about to strike, taller than Tanin. Each of the heads leered, full of sharp teeth. They all spoke together.
“We smell weredragons. Comrades! Comrades, come to feast!”
A dozen demons appeared upon the surrounding roofs—great winged insects, hooks and blades growing from their bodies. When Tanin heard a wet slush behind him, he turned to see a towering blob, dripping and sprouting hair, crawl forward to block the alley’s exit. Tanin could see mice, two cats, and a dog trapped within the translucent jelly, still alive and writhing.
“Weredragons!” the creatures cried.
Tanin sliced the air with his dagger. “Don’t shift,” he told his sister. “We’ll fight them off with blades. If we blow fire, the entire city will see.”
She snarled and raised her own blade. “I don’t need to shift to kill these buggers.” She spat toward the string of heads. “Come to me, darling, and taste my blade.”
The ring of demons tightened around them. They leaped from the roofs, landing before them. Trapped in a circle of rot, the siblings swung their blades, prepared to kill or die.
A high voice rose, piercing the alleyway, pure and strong.
Light flowed.
The demons hissed and cowered.
The voice rose higher. Tanin could not see its source, nor could he understand the words. The voice spoke in the tongue of Eteer; Tanin understood only the word “Taal” repeated twice.
The demons wailed. The creature with many heads retreated, coiling into a doorway. The winged beasts fluttered off, vanishing over the roofs. The blob slithered away, leaving a trail of slime. The pure, white light filled the alleyway, blinding them. Tanin and Maev shielded their eyes with their palms, blinking and trying to see.
Through the glare, Tanin could discern a figure walking forth, clad in white. It looked like a ghost or goddess of starlight.
The light slowly faded, revealing the figure. She was a young woman, a few years younger than him, clad in a white tunic hemmed in gold. Her eyes were large and green, and a
black braid hung across her shoulder, tied with a golden ribbon. A headdress of golden olive leaves and topaz gemstones crowned her head. The light seemed to come from an amulet that hung around her neck. When she tucked the talisman under her tunic, the last rays faded, leaving only sunlight to fall into the alleyway. The noon sun blazed overhead, yet its light seemed dull after the splendor Tanin had seen.
The young woman stared at them, eyes widening. When she spoke again, she spoke in their tongue, her accent thick.
“You are northerners?” She looked down at their fur cloaks, then back up at their faces. “From across the sea?”
Maev growled. “How dare you banish those demons? I was going to slice them all. I was going to pummel them into mush. I was—“
“Maev, for pity’s sake!” Tanin interjected. He shoved down his sister’s blade and turned back toward the young woman.
By the stars, he thought. She’s . . . She’s . . . well, she’s beautiful.
A strange tingling filled his blood. For many years of hiding in the canyon, dreaming of Ciana’s face over and over, Tanin rarely talked to women—aside from his sister, whom he often wished to bury under a boulder. At the sight of this stranger, he suddenly felt awkward, too tall and gangly. His eyes strayed down to her body, which was slim and pressed against her tunic, and he quickly looked away, feeling even more self-conscious.
“I . . . I mean we . . .” He cleared his throat. “Yes, we’re from the northerners. I mean—the north. We are. From there.”
Maev rolled her eyes. “Oh in the name of sanity. Does your brain have to turn to mush every time a pretty girl is around?” She shoved him back. “Yes, we’re northerners. Who are you?”
The young woman gazed at the two, eyes wide, as if she wasn’t sure whether they were warriors or jesters.
“You’re not traders, are you?” Her voice dropped. “You . . . you came for him. For Prince Sena.”
Tanin puffed out his chest, seeing a chance to reclaim some dignity. “All’s in a day’s work, really. We’re used to saving people. I—“
His breath left him and his cheeks burned when the young woman leaped forward and embraced him. His heart thumped, and he patted her head, more joy and fear than ever coursing through him.
“Thank you,” the young woman whispered. She pulled away, leaving Tanin feeling incredibly cold and tingly, and embraced Maev next. “Thank you for coming.”
Maev’s eyebrows rose so high Tanin thought they might fall off. The gruff wrestler squirmed, trying to free herself from the embrace. When the young woman stepped back, tears filled her eyes. “I am Princess Issari Seran. The prince is my brother.”
Not long after, the three sat in a winehouse, a little place with a domed ceiling, pale brick walls, and several tables crowded with patrons. Figurines of gods, animals, and even phalli stood in alcoves; Tanin and Maev raised their eyebrows at the latter statuettes until Issari explained that they were fertility symbols. The three companions sat at the back, in shadows, beneath a bronze engraving of a winged bull. Issari had pulled a hood over her head and hid her mouth and nose behind a shawl.
“I am not to be seen,” she whispered, leaning across the table toward Tanin and Maev. “Many here would recognize the face of Issari Seran, Princess of Eteer.” She glanced around, but the remaining patrons were busy imbibing wine, squabbling over games of mancala, and admiring a scantily clad dancer who swayed upon a stage. “In the underbelly of this city, I am merely the Priestess in White, a savior of weredragons.”
Maev thrust out her bottom lip, raised her chin, and clenched her fists. “We are Vir Requis.”
Issari blinked. “What does it mean? I thought ‘weredragons’ was your name.”
With a growl, Maev leaped to her feet, knocking back her chair, and looked ready to brawl. A few patrons glanced over. Tanin pulled his sister back down, shoved a mug of wine toward her, and told her, “You drink. I’ll talk.”
Maev snorted. “Fine with me.” She brought the mug to her lips and began to gulp it down.
Tanin turned back toward Issari. “It means ‘people of Requiem.’ We’re building a tribe of our own in the north. There aren’t many of us now—just me, the warthog here, and my father and grandfather. We’ve come seeking others to join us. We weren’t sure others even existed.”
“Many did live here.” Issari lowered her eyes. “Many died. My father, King Raem, summoned the demons to hunt them. His wife was a were— I mean, a Vir Requis. So is my sister Laira, but she fled our kingdom many years ago. Many others lived here, but he killed most. Some I saved and sent north in ships, though I fear for them too; my father has flown north to hunt Vir Requis in the wilderness as well. I don’t know if others still live in this city—aside from my brother.” She clutched her mug of wine but did not drink. She looked up Tanin with those huge green eyes, and her lips quivered. “Can you save him?”
At that moment, looking into those endless green eyes, Tanin would have promised her to save the sun from the sky, rescue sunken cities from the depths of the sea, and free every last chained man and animal across the world.
Maev had to ruin the moment, slamming down her mug of wine. “My brother can barely free his manhood from his pants fast enough to piss.” She slammed her fist against the tabletop and shouted, “More wine!” She returned her eyes to Issari. “But I’ll free the boy. I’ll fly right into that tower. I’ll burn every last demon around it, and I’ll burn every last guard. Sounds like fun.”
Their conversation halted as a serving girl poured more wine. When they were alone again, Issari shook her head.
“You cannot burn the guards,” the princess said. “They are innocents.”
Maev raised her eyebrows again. She spat right on the floor. “Bloody stars! They’re guarding your jailed brother!” She scrunched her lips and looked at Tanin. “Then again . . . in some cases, that might not be a bad thing.”
Issari shook her head wildly, her braid swaying. “They are following my father’s orders. I know those guards. I grew up with them. They guarded my chambers in my childhood. They guard the tower entrance, and they guard the cell’s door. But they do not guard the window.” She raised her chin, and deep fire filled her eyes. “You can fly. You can reach that window. You can tear open the bars.”
Tanin sighed, his earlier feelings of heroism fading. He spoke wearily. “I saw the tower. A hundred demons fly around it. Demons are smaller than dragons, but they outnumber us greatly. If we fly up there, they’d take us down like wolves taking down a buffalo.”
Issari pulled out her amulet from under her tunic. With no demons nearby, it no longer emitted light. “That is why I will ride you.” She reached across the table and touched Tanin’s hand. “The light of my god will clear your path.”
Her hand was soft and warm, her eyes earnest. Tanin would have agreed to fly into the Abyss itself.
LAIRA
LAIRA STOOD UPON THE ESCARPMENT, staring at the dragon.
For so long—so many years of exile, pain, and tears—she had dreamed of others like her, of people with the dragon disease. Hiding in tents, shivering in the cold among the dogs, crawling through the forest, bruised and bleeding, she had yearned for this, prayed for this, never knew if others even did exist. Now she stood—a frail girl clad in rags, her hair sheared, her body lacerated, her jaw shoved to the side, a wreck of a thing barely alive—no longer alone.
When dreaming of this moment, she had imagined crying in joy, running toward the others, hugging them, laughing with them, feeling safe, feeling whole.
Instead she felt fear.
The dragon regarded her, a large copper beast, larger than her mother had been, larger than she was; the dragon was almost as large as a roc. His scales triggered an ancient memory; they looked like scales of burnished armor from her old forbidden home across the sea. His horns were long, his fangs like swords, his flicking tail bristly with spikes.
And Laira was afraid.
She had thought her father,
King Raem, had loved her, but he had tried to kill her and her mother, forcing them into exile. She had thought Goldtusk could be a home to her, but its chieftain had brutalized her. Laira’s eyes burned. Was here another enemy, another one to hurt her?
“Hello there,” the dragon said, his voice a deep rumble, and wisps of smoke seeped between his teeth. “And who might you be?”
Facing him, she shifted into a dragon.
She was a smaller dragon, barely half his size. Her golden scales were softer, supple, more like fish scales than plates of armor. Her horns were only two little buds, and her claws were more like daggers than swords. And yet she filled her mouth with crackling flames, and she stretched her wings wide.
“I am one of you,” she said, and now she could not curb her tears. “I am sick like you. Please help me.”
Suddenly all those old emotions flooded her—shame of her curse, fear of being different, relief and shock and confusion at finding another. The feelings were so powerful that her magic fizzled away, and she found herself on her knees, a human again, trembling, her cheeks wet.
I am not alone.
The copper dragon released his magic too. He stepped closer and knelt before her.
When Laira gazed upon him, she gasped and scampered back.
“Zerra!” She grabbed a stone, pushed herself away from him, and prepared to fight. “Zerra, you . . . How . . . ?”
He had found her! Somehow the cruel chieftain had—
She narrowed her eyes.
She tilted her head.
“You’re his twin,” she whispered.
The man before her was tall, broad, and shaggy like Zerra, but he was not burnt. No dragonfire scars marred his face and hand. His hair was wild and brown, his beard thick, his arms wide. His eyes, which stared from under bushy brows, were his most distinguishing feature. Whereas Zerra’s eyes were cruel and hard, digging into her like blades, this man had large, compassionate eyes—eyes that had seen much pain, that had watched the skies for years, and Laira knew: He has been seeking me for as long as I’ve been seeking him.
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 138
