Requiem's Song (Book 1) (32 page)

The foul vulture, dripping oil
and shedding charred feathers, raised his talons over Laira.

She tried to shift back into a
dragon, but she was too hurt, too weak. She swung the bronze sword
Jeid had given her—a wide blade the length of her forearm—but the
roc knocked it aside. The blade sparked against the wall.

As the talons descended, Laira
scurried away. Clutching her sword, she stumbled into one of the
tunnels.

She plunged through shadows,
fell, and banged her hip. Her muscles felt stiff, her eyes puffy, her
bones cold and throbbing. Grimacing, she began to crawl backward,
leaving the cave and entering the network of underground passages.
The burrow would take her under the canyon—to Jeid.

Light blazed as Zerra thrust a
torch into the tunnel. She heard him laugh as he crawled in after
her.

"So you will be caught like
the maggot that you are." His voice echoed. "Maybe you
would like another bedding here in the darkness before I drag you
home. Yes, I do think that back in our tribe, I will take you every
night."

Laira tightened her grip around
her sword's hilt.

She kept crawling. Soon she
would reach Jeid. He would help her. They would battle Zerra
together. As the torch grew nearer, as he crawled after her, Laira
kept scurrying. Her blood trickled and her head spun. The tunnel grew
larger; soon she was able to run upright, though her legs would not
stop shaking. Blood covered her cloak.

Stay
alive. Keep moving. Soon you'll reach Jeid. Soon—

She slammed into stone.

"No. Stars, no."

The tunnel had collapsed;
boulders blocked her way. She was trapped.

She spun around to see Zerra
walking toward her, a torch in one hand, his sword in the other.

No
fear. For Requiem.

Laira screamed and lunged toward
him, swinging her blade.

 
 
JEID

The cavern collapsed around him.

Rocs clawed and bit, tearing at
the opening. Stones crashed down. The ceiling cracked. The beasts,
mightier than any animal that roamed the earth or flew in the skies,
were tearing the canyon apart. Boulders slammed down behind Jeid,
blocking his way deeper into the network of tunnels. He roared, down
to mere sputters of flame, as the cave collapsed around him.

And
so I fight in the open,
he thought.

Stones pelted him. One slammed
down onto his spine. More buffeted his neck, knocking him down. Jeid
growled.

And
so I fly out to death in fire.

He stretched his wings wide. He
bellowed—a cry that shook the canyon.

"For Requiem."

He crashed forward, driving
through the raining boulders, barreling past rocs. Clawing the air
and lashing his tail, a copper dragon blowing fire, Jeid emerged into
the canyon and sounded his cry.

"For Requiem!" His
voice was hoarse, and blood coated his scales. All around the enemy
flew, wings covering the sky, arrows filling the air. But beyond them
a light shone; the sun was rising. "For a dawn of dragons!"

He soared, blowing fire, into a
sky of talons and arrows.

A roc swooped toward him. Jeid
clubbed it aside with his tail. A second rancid bird landed upon his
back, and a beak crashed through Jeid's scales. Blood showered and he
howled, flew backward, and slammed the roc into the canyon wall. The
creature crashed down, but three more swooped at Jeid. He roared his
flames and bit into rank flesh. Arrows pelted him. Jeid flew higher,
grabbed a rider between his jaws, and bit down hard. The man tumbled
down in two halves, entrails spilling like streamers.

Flame and blood lit the sky.

"Eranor!" he cried.
"Laira!"

He could not see them. When he
stared down, he saw that their caves had collapsed. They were
trapped. Perhaps dead.

I
killed them. I led them here. I called this a new home; it became a
tomb.

Rocs slammed against him,
shoving him down. He growled. His claws hit the canyon floor, and he
shoved upward, wings beating, tearing through the beasts.

So
I die with them.

He crashed through the sea of
fetid birds, rose out of the canyon, and entered the sky. The trees
burned across the escarpment. Red smoke hid the sky. Everywhere they
flew—the rocs of the Goldtusk tribe. The arrows of riders fell like
rain, slamming into him. One sliced through his wing.

I
fly to you now, my wife,
he thought, eyes rolling back.
I
fly to you, Requiem.

When he closed his eyes, he saw
it above—the Draco constellation, stars of Requiem, wells of magic.
He flew through blood toward the lights.

Heat bathed him.

Roars rolled like thunder.

Jeid opened his eyes and saw
them there. They rose from the dawn, three dragons, blowing their
fire.

"A dawn of dragons,"
he whispered, tears in his eyes.

With slicing claws and streams
of flame, they flew into the battle, red and green and blue. Tanin.
Maev. The Prince of Eteer.

Jeid joined his roar to theirs,
and their flames wreathed together.

 
 
MAEV

She had wrestled in grungy town
squares. She had fought in pits of mud surrounded by cheering
tribesmen. She had swapped punches and kicks in rundown huts and
cellars, and she had flown over a southern kingdom, battling demons.
She was Maev, a lost woman, a fighter, a dragon of Requiem. And here
above her home, above this new tribe, she fought the battle of her
life.

This was also the battle of her
death. The battle she could not win.

The rocs swarmed toward her,
many times the size of demons, dwarfing even her dragon form. They
clawed through her scales. Their beaks drove into her flesh. She
kicked, bit, lashed her tail. She blew her flames, and her comrades
fought with as much vigor.

But the enemy was too strong.

The arrows of their riders were
too many. The bolts slammed into Maev, and she dipped in the sky.

"Requiem!" she
shouted, hoarse. A roc swooped toward her, and she torched it. It
slammed into her, burning, and she knocked it off. "Fight them,
dragons of Requiem! We die in blood! We die in fire!"

Yes. She would die here. Maev
knew that, and she was ready. She would die in glory, slaying them,
so that for eras tribes and villages and distant kingdoms would speak
of Requiem, would speak of the last stand of dragons.

I
do not go gently into death,
she thought, grinning as blood dripped from her mouth.
If
I die here, I die taking down dozens of you.

She whipped her tail, slamming
its spikes into a rider. The man's armor caved in. She yanked back
her tail, tugging the man off his roc, and tossed him against a
second bird. The beast shrieked, and more flew from above, and more
claws slammed into Maev.

She dipped in the sky, and her
flank hit the side of the canyon. Boulders tumbled down, and her tail
hit a tree. The oak crashed into the canyon, burying a man beneath
it.

She heard Tanin cry in pain
above, and his blood splattered her. He crashed down, three rocs upon
him, plunging into the shadowy gorge. A boulder shattered beneath
him. Ahead of her, Maev saw more of the vultures mob her father. They
knocked Jeid into the forest above the canyon. Trees ignited and
fell, and fire hid the world. She no longer saw Sena, but blue scales
fell from the sky, pattering around her like small discarded shields.

And
so here I fall,
Maev thought.
Not
in a distant kingdom. Not in a strange town. But here. At home.

It was not a bad place to die.

She pushed herself up.

She emitted a roar and torched a
swooping roc.

Claws lashing, wings beating,
she soared. The sky was hidden behind feathers, blood, and smoke.

Let
me die in the sky.

"Requiem!" she cried.
"My wings will forever find your sky."

She soared into the cloud of
rocs, crashing into them, smiling as she killed.

 
 
LAIRA

Their blades clashed together in
the tunnel, bronze against bronze, showering sparks.

"I will kill you now,"
Laira said.

Zerra laughed. "I will show
you no such mercy."

His sword swung down. She raised
her own sword, and the blades clanged together. She thrust and he
parried, and when his blade swung again, it cut her wrist. Her blood
showered but she gripped her hilt tightly.

"Yes, bleed for me,
harlot." Zerra spat. "Bleed like you bled into the crone's
leeches. Bleed like you bled under my fists. Bleed like you'll bleed
tonight as I bed you, as I toss you to my men. They will each take
you in turn until you're too hurt to scream."

Laira sneered and swung her
blade. "No. No more." She advanced, forcing him back. He
was twice her size, his head nearly grazing the ceiling. She was
small and weak, and ilbane ached in her muscles, but a fire burned
inside her, and she attacked in a fury. She drove him another step
back. "No more. Never again." Her voice rose in strength,
and she barely heard the slur of her crooked jaw. "You will
nevermore hurt me, Zerra. I am no longer the little girl you beat,
enslaved, tortured, starved." She thrust her blade at him, and
her voice rose to a great cry. "I am Vir Requis! For Requiem I
slay you. For my people. For a dawn of dragons."

Her sword slammed into his,
again and again, until she found an opening. Her blade sparked
against his breastplate, denting the metal.

He only laughed. "Vir
Requis? Is that what you call your wretched kind? This is nothing but
a colony for the diseased. I will cleanse the world of my brother and
his children, and I will shatter your soul. You have grown impudent,
and I will enjoy breaking your spark of defiance." He thrust the
blade. "When I'm done with you, you will eat dung and drink piss
and thank me for it."

She tried to parry but he was
too fast. His blade drove into her shoulder.

Laira screamed.

"Yes . . . scream for me."

He swung his sword again. She
leaped sideways, hitting the wall. His blade nipped her thigh, and
her blood flowed. She parried the next blow but wasn't ready for his
fist. His blade in his right hand, he slammed a left hook into her
cheek.

White light and stars exploded.

She swung her blade blindly

He grabbed her throat. She
gasped, struggling to breathe. When she could see again, she found
his face near hers, a smile twisting his halved lips. She tried to
swing her blade, but he caught her wrist, pinning her arm to the
wall. She struggled, kicking, but couldn't free herself.

"So deformed . . ." He
thrust out his tongue and licked her crooked jaw—a long, languorous
movement that left her dripping with his saliva. "So sweet. But
not hurt enough. Not yet. Look at my wound, darling." He turned
the burnt side of his face toward her, forcing her to stare at the
grooves and rivulets. "Soon your whole body will look like
this."

Still clutching her throat, he
sheathed his sword and lifted his torch, which had fallen during the
duel. He brought the flame near her cheek. She winced and tried to
turn her head away but could not. She sputtered and blackness spread
across her. All she could see was the fire. All she could feel was
the pain. She closed her eyes for fear of them melting.

"We will begin with burning
your face," he said.

She couldn't move her right arm;
he held it pinned to the wall. She kicked hard, hitting his knee. His
leg crumpled. They fell together and she grabbed a fallen stone. She
sprang up, slamming the rock into his temple.

He grunted.

His fingers released her, and
Laira gasped for breath.

She
wanted to collapse. She wanted to simply breathe. Instead she lunged
forward, swinging the rock again. A shard of granite the size of her
fist, it drove into Zerra's jaw. She heard the
crack
as the bone shattered. Two teeth flew. His chin drove sideways with a
sickening
crunch
.

He fell to his knees, clutching
his face with one hand, and managed to lift and thrust his blade. She
parried and swung her sword down. The bronze drove deep into his arm
and thumped against bone. He screamed and dropped his sword. Laira
kicked it aside.

She placed the tip of her sword
against his neck.

"Beg me for your life,"
she whispered.

Suddenly she trembled. Her voice
was hoarse. Her knees shook.

"Beg me!" she shouted.

He stared up at her, eyes
baleful. He said nothing.

"You will die here,"
she said. "Beg for life."

He stared, silent, his jaw
shattered. His arm hung loosely, slashed open; she saw the bone and
tendons. He managed to slur, blood and saliva dripping down his chin.

"What . . . do . . . you
want?" He coughed out blood and teeth. "To be a huntress?
Tell me. Tell me what you want."

She shuddered. In the darkness
of the tunnel, she saw her again. Her mother smiled at her, stroked
her hair, and told her bedtime stories. Laira ran with her through
the forests, collecting berries, laughing and speaking in Eteerian.
She remembered joy. She remembered warm embraces, safety, love.

"You killed my mother,"
she whispered, tears in her eyes. "You shattered my life. What
do I want?" Her breath shook and she bared her teeth. "I
want you to die, you bastard."

She screamed as she leaned
forward, driving her blade into his neck.

His blood dripped, and he gave
her a last stare, then tilted over and lay still.

Laira stared down at his body,
and she no longer trembled. A peace descended upon her.

"For my mother," she
whispered. "For Requiem. For me. It's over."

She knelt, grabbed his hair, and
lashed her blade again.