Requiem's Song (Book 1) (27 page)

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.

"My
name is Jeid." His voice was soft, lacking the cruelty of his
brother. It was the voice of a healer, of a friend. "You're
hurt."

She smiled shakily am him. "I
. . . I . . ."

She wanted to say more, but she
was too weak, too hurt; she had suffered too much. Her eyes rolled
back and she tilted. He caught her before she could hit the ground.

Barely clinging to
consciousness, she felt him lift her. His arms seemed nearly the size
of her entire body, and his chest was warm. He carried her down a
rocky path, heading into a canyon that cracked the escarpment. Though
wide and burly, he was sure-footed, easily hopping from one mossy
stone to another. Finally they reached the canyon floor. The walls
rose at their sides, green with vines and moss. Trees grew upon the
canyon ledges above, barely clinging on. Caves gaped open in the
walls, leading to shadows.