Requiem's Hope (Dawn of Dragons) (15 page)

She had never believed in prayer. Her grandfather had prayed to the
stars; he had fallen in the escarpment. Alina prayed every day and
Maev had yet to see a miracle. Yet today she prayed, for today she
was afraid, far from home, and caught in a waking nightmare. The tree
seemed to grow larger, towering over Bar Luan, consuming her life.
The crowd, the city, the world itself seemed as meaningless as
insects beneath this god of wood and leaf.

Please, Shenhavan. Let this just be a dream.

She reached into her mouth and found her teeth restored. She shook
with relief. The old Bar Luanite's voice echoed in her ears:
Shenhavan always listens.

She looked at her side. Dorvin and Alina were praying to the tree
too, eyes closed, palms pressed together. When they opened their
eyes, they breathed out in relief. Their prayers seemed to have been
answered. Dorvin patted his groin and whispered feverish thank-yous
to the tree, while Alina gratefully stroked her robes.

Maev took the two by the hands. "Come, friends. To the pyramid."

They stepped out from the swirling crowd, walked down a road, and
approached the towering structure. Statues shaped as men with
reptilian heads rose from grass, flanking the way to a staircase that
ran up the pyramid. The stairs led to a gilded archway hundreds of
feet above. Maev began to climb, leading the way. Dorvin and Alina
walked close behind. As they climbed, leaving the city below, the air
grew cooler, easier to breathe. After a hundred steps, Maev found the
fog in her mind lifting; clarity filled her as after a good, long
sleep. She indeed felt as if she were waking up from sleep, leaving
stifling blankets and the strange whispers of her mind. When she
looked back down at the city, she still found a place of wonder—of
many streets, towers, and walls—but it had become again a physical
place, untouched by the surreal edges she had seen while walking
through it. There was no labyrinth below, only simple streets. There
were no wolves, only birds that fluttered between the trees. The
great god Shenhavan no longer towered over the world but grew no
taller than any other tree; its leaves were still blue but no longer
invaded her like staring eyes.

She looked back up toward the archway upon the pyramid's crest. As
she drew closer, she saw two guards stand there. They wore
tortoise-shell breastplates, and tiger pelts hung across their
shoulders. They held long clubs, the round heads spiked. When the
three Vir Requis reached the archway, winded after the long climb,
the guards stepped closer together, blocking the entrance.

Maev did not speak their language, but she thumped her chest and
said, "Maev! Maev of Requiem." The guards remained
stone-faced, and she took a step closer. "Let me through. I've
come to see your leader. I've come seeking dragons."

At that last word, the guards' eyes widened. They spoke in urgent
tones. "Draco! Draco!"

Maev nodded. "Yes, dracos." She raised her chin. "I
myself am one among them. Let me through."

The guards sucked in breath and turned toward Alina. They stared at
the druid with wide eyes. One reached out, lifted her amulet, and
stared at the jewels shaped as the dragon constellation. The man
dropped the talisman as if it burned him. The guards raced around the
Vir Requis, blocking their descent, and unstrapped copper-tipped
spears from their backs. They goaded the Vir Requis toward the
archway.

"Hey, watch where you point that!" Dorvin said, shoving a
spear aside. The young Vir Requis reached for his own spear. "My
spear is longer than yours, and I'm going to stick it so far up your
arse, it'll clean the guck between your teeth."

"Dung Beetle!" Maev shoved his spear down. "Stop that.
Walk. Into the pyramid. Let's find who's in charge."

The guards prodded them with their spearheads, and the companions
stepped through the archway and into the pyramid. A vast triangular
chamber awaited them. It was easily the largest chamber Maev had ever
seen; which, she supposed, wasn't saying much, as she had spent most
of her life in a cave. Still, the place made her lose her breath.
Statues lined the walls, depicting robed priests, their eyes closed,
their palms pressed together. Murals of beasts covered the walls, and
live beasts stood chained to columns. Maev had never seen such
animals; they looked like dogs but were large as horses, and their
necks were longer than their bodies, coiling toward the ceiling. At
the back of the room rose a throne of granite, gold, and jewels, and
upon it sat a man as strange as the animals. Clad in robes of blue
and gold, he sported a white beard that flowed down to his feet. His
fingernails were as long as his arms, coiling inward, and his
eyebrows thrust out several inches, white as snow. Rings circled his
neck, stretching it to thrice the usual length.

The guards goaded the Vir Requis down the hall toward the old king.
They spoke harshly in their tongue; Maev only recognized the word
"draco."

When she stood before the king, Maev raised her chin defiantly,
crossed her arms, and spoke so loudly her voice echoed in the hall.
"I am Maev of Requiem! We seek dragons. Do you understand my
words?"

The old king leaned forward in his throne, staring down at her. His
eyes narrowed, and a mirthless smile split his face. He spoke with a
thick accent. "We have captured the Reptilian Ones. Their dark
magic brought nightmares to our waking life." His grin widened,
showing many sharp teeth. "The Reptilian Ones now languish in
our dungeon, clutched among the roots of wise Shenhavan. They have
cursed the glorious land of Bar Luan; they will never see daylight
again." He stared at Alina. "The druid wears the Draco
amulet. You three bear the black magic. You will join your brethren
in darkness."

Maev growled and Dorvin raised his spear. The king snapped his
fingers. Warriors emerged from shadows and unleashed the strange,
gray dogs with the coiling necks. With howls, the creatures stormed
forward.

 
 
JEID

He
sat on the mountainside, looking south toward the hills, swaying
grasslands, and misty mountains. The sun was setting, shadows and
light spread across the land, and distant sheets of rain fell like
curtains of gossamer. Somewhere over that southern horizon, the demon
army was advancing, sniffing them out. Raem's scout had seen them;
the full wrath of his host would soon swarm over Two Skull Mountain.
Yet despite the fear of that southern, shadowy wilderness, Jeid
preferred gazing at it than at the mountainside around him. Upon the
stony slopes, the tribes of Goldtusk and Leatherwing were preparing
for a wedding—a celebration that to Jeid felt more like a funeral.

He sighed and spared the wedding preparations one more glance. To his
left side, the Goldtusk tribe had raised a tent upon the
mountainside. Warriors guarded it, clad in the bronze breastplates
Raem had given them under Zerra's rule. Laira was inside that tent
now with the tribe's elder women; they would be painting her face,
combing her hair, cladding her in finery, and preparing her body for
her wedding night. Behind the tent rose the tribe totem pole, the
gilded ivory tusk gleaming upon its crest—the god Ka'altei forever
overlooking his people. The rocs of Goldtusk perched upon boulders
and aeries across the mountain, staring south, and upon them sat the
tribe hunters, weapons in their hands. It was a wedding, and it was a
preparation for war—Jeid didn't know which coming event he feared
the most.

He turned toward his right side. Here the Leatherwing tribe too
prepared for both wedding and war. Chieftain Oritan stood among his
people, dressed in a tiger pelt. One by one, his people approached to
draw a line in white paint across his chest—a show of respect and
servitude. A golden vessel lay at Oritan's feet, and every tribesman
placed a gift within it—a seashell from far in the south, a metal
bracelet, or simply a piece of fruit. Behind, high upon the mountain,
perched the great pteros of the tribe, beasts as large as rocs,
waiting for the demons to arrive.

A voice spoke behind him, high and soft. "Do not worry about
her. Laira is strong. She does what she thinks is right for Requiem."

Jeid turned around. Behind him upon the mountainside sat his own
people, the Vir Requis. All of Requiem, this so-called kingdom he had
forged, was smaller than either tribe. Only twenty people followed
him—a handful of elders, children, and young men and women. Barely a
tribe, yet they were his people, and looking upon them soothed Jeid's
heart and filled him with pride.

It was Bryn who had spoken, one of those Dorvin had led to Requiem. A
young woman of fiery orange hair, she gazed upon him with brown eyes.
Freckles covered her face, as plentiful as dandelions upon a spring
field. She wore deerskin breeches, a gray-blue tunic, and a leather
belt.

"Laira is the strongest woman I know," Jeid replied. "And
for that I worry. She deserves more than to be a chieftain's wife."

Bryn sat down beside him. They stared south together at the misty
landscape. Bryn pulled her knees to her chest and laid her chin upon
them. "I lived in a village somewhere beyond the horizon, I did.
Tended to sheep and all. Lived in a little hut with a leaky roof.
Sometimes I gathered berries in the forest, walking barefoot like a
beast. But Laira is a great leader of a great tribe; she will now
become a queen of two tribes." Bryn smiled softly. "A queen
of two tribes! What could be greater in the world?"

"To be a queen of
Requiem
," Jeid said firmly.

Bryn looked at him. She raised an eyebrow and smiled crookedly. "You
are Requiem's king; would you have her be your wife instead?"

"That's not what I meant," Jeid said. "I mean that
Laira is one of us—a Vir Requis. The first one to have joined my
family. She suffered, fought, and rose to power, and now . . . now
Requiem loses her."

The wind ruffled Bryn's curly red hair. "I had a boy I loved
once. Foolish thing, he was. Wandered aimlessly about the village
most days, charming girls when he should have been tending to crops.
I chased him for years until he married another." She sighed and
tsked her tongue. "Sometimes they get away."

"That's not what I meant!" Jeid repeated, feeling his
cheeks flush. Of course he didn't want Laira to be his own wife. It
was preposterous. First of all, Laira was far too young for him, only
half his age. Secondly, Jeid only loved one woman—his late wife, the
beautiful and wise Keyla, her hair golden, her eyes kind. He loved
Laira as a friend, as a great light of Requiem, and he wanted more
for her. He wanted her to fly at his side, a leader of dragons. Not
to surrender herself to Oritan, to sacrifice her joy for her kingdom.
That was all . . . wasn't it?

He closed his eyes. He thought back to the first night Laira had come
to him—starving, wounded, half-dead and half-naked, a waif covered
in cuts and burns. He had healed her. He had slept with her in his
arms. He had loved her from the first moment she had stumbled into
the escarpment. He had watched her grow from that broken, dying girl
into a strong woman, a leader, a great warrior for Requiem.

And now she will be his wife. Now she will belong to a stranger.

His throat constricted.

I love you, Laira,
he thought.
And I can't bear to lose you
to him.

Bryn was looking at him, her eyes soft, and Jeid had the strange
feeling that she could read every thought in his mind. She wiggled
closer and placed her hand on his knee.

"You are our king," she said, her brown eyes earnest, her
hair like a pyre of flame in the sunset. "And you will lead us
to victory. I do not know if Dorvin and the others will return. I do
not know if Issari will claim the throne of Eteer. I do not know if
Laira's heart will lie among the stars of Requiem or the might of her
tribes. But I know this: I will fight for you, King Aeternum. I will
forever fly by your side." She raised her chin. "Requiem!
May our wings forever find your sky."

Jeid repeated the prayer, but it felt hollow to him. Tonight he
wanted to be strong, proud, a great leader for Bryn and the others to
follow. But he felt afraid. When he looked into the southern horizon,
he wanted to think of King's Column rising there, of the glory and
light of Requiem. But he only thought of the demon menace, of the
host of many terrors flying here, of King Raem whom he would face in
battle. For all her proud words, would Bryn die in this battle? Would
he lose her and the others like he'd lost so many—his wife, his
daughter, his father? Jeid's heart sank and he could barely breathe,
and even the sight of Bryn's earnest eyes could not soothe him.

 
 
ISSARI

She
marched toward the palace, leading an army of a thousand men,
prepared to tame a demon.

The city of Eteer lay in ruin around her, eerily silent. Only a few
cypress trees still grew upon the once-lush hills; most lay charred.
Once hundreds of ships had sailed in the canal that flowed below the
western hills; now only a few military vessels patrolled the water,
all the merchants gone. Once many city folk had bustled on this very
boulevard where Issari walked; now the people hid in their brick
homes, the doors and windows barred. Even the great temple of
Taal—she could see its columns a mark away upon the Hill of
Vines—had lost its glory. The claws of demons had scarred its
columns, and soot darkened its walls.

Tanin walked at her side, his eyes dark. He held his dagger before
him. "Whatever happens, I will fight for you, Issari—with blade
and with fire."

She looked at the young northerner. The sight of him—tall, a little
awkward, clad in fur, his hair in disarray and his face so
earnest—soothed her. Evil darkened the world, but Tanin was good.
Tanin was loyal. Tanin was perhaps the brightest beacon of her heart.