Requiem's Hope (Dawn of Dragons) (24 page)

"And you will suffer much more, Laira," he whispered as he
flew toward her. "You will grow to miss your exile. Stitchmark
will make you more wretched by far."

He grinned to remember Stitchmark, the demon of needles and scalpels
and spools, stitching a new face onto Ciana. The young woman was
fighting nearby upon her own demon, her new face flushed with her
lust for battle. But Laira—she would not become beautiful like
Ciana. She would turn into a creature like the bat he rode. Perhaps
he would ride Laira too, fly upon her to hunt dragons and ruin this
world she fought for.

"Warriors of darkness!" he shouted. "Gather around me.
To the golden dragon! Take her alive!"

His soldiers mustered at his sides, a horde of demons of all shapes
and sizes, leering, drooling, staring at the golden dragon. They flew
through the darkness, passing through smoke and flame.

Laira flew toward him, howling, her fire blowing. Raem raised his
shield, and her flames crashed around it like waves around a tor.
Golden dragon and demonic bat slammed together.

Suddenly Laira did not seem a weak, hunted creature but an enraged
beast. The dragon's mouth snapped open and shut again and again,
ripping at Raem's bat, tearing into the animal's skin. Laira's claws
lashed, and more flames blasted from her. Raem's mount screeched,
skin lacerated and charred. Raem rose in his saddle, grabbed a spear
that hung at his side, and tossed the weapon. The bronze head drove
into Laira's back and wobbled like a fork thrust into meat.

Laira roared and Raem grinned.

"Look around you, Laira!" he said. "Look at the
battle. You've already lost."

As the dragon howled in pain, Raem gestured around him. The rocs were
falling fast; barely any still flew. The pteros, across the fields,
were not faring much better. Every moment, demons swarmed upon
another one of the beasts, ripping into their leathery flesh.
Tribesmen fell from the sky, blood spraying in a mist. The dragons of
Requiem fought clustered together, blowing fire in a ring, but even
they could not hold back the demon horde for long; only twenty of the
reptiles flew here, powerless to stop the hundreds of demons around
them.

"It's over, Laira!" Raem said. He grabbed another spear.
"You've lost. Return home with me, my daughter. Return home and
I will make you a demon in my service."

He tossed his second spear.

The weapon dug into Laira's shoulder, shedding blood. The dragon
dipped in the sky.

"Grab her, Anai," Raem said calmly to his mount.

Bleeding and burnt, her eyes shedding tears, the broken
woman—stretched and sewn into this creature—reached out her claws
and grabbed the golden dragon. All around, Raem's other demons flew
in, reaching out claws, talons, tongues, and tentacles, encircling
Laira in a demonic cage. Laira wailed and lashed her tail, but she
could not break free, and her flames died down to sputtering sparks.

"My sweet daughter," Raem said. "It's time to go
home."

Roars answered him.

Raem frowned.

Firelight bathed the sky.

He hissed.

The beat of wings thudded like drums, and cries pierced the night:
"For Requiem! For a dawn of dragons!"

He turned toward the west, and he saw them there, rising in a dawn of
dragonfire. Dragons. Dozens of them. They rose from darkness, blowing
their flames, their scales bright. These were not the dragons that
had emerged from the mountain; here were new beasts, and a terrible
green reptile flew at their lead.

"Maev!" Laira shouted, tears in her eyes.

The new dragons crashed into the battle like chariots into lines of
infantry.

Fire washed over demons. Dragon horns drove into maggoty flesh.
Demons fell from the sky, howling, torn apart.

"Slay the king!" Maev shouted, the green dragon who had
destroyed Raem's city last winter. "To the bronze man!"

Raem's mount shrieked and released Laira in fright. All around Raem,
his fellow demons hissed, flew back, and raised their claws. Some
turned to flee.

"Hold your ranks!" Raem shouted, tugging Anai to face the
advancing horde. "Stand before them. Fight, warriors of
darkness!"

Squealing, half his demons fled from the onslaught of fire. Others,
farther ahead, burned and crumbled. The new force of dragons drove
like a glimmering spear into the rotted, black flesh of his host,
digging toward him. For the first time in many battles, perhaps the
first time in his life, Raem felt something cold, overwhelming,
all-consuming flood him: fear.

Laira tore free from her captors, and the golden dragon soared to
join her brethren. With smoke, fire, and song, the dragons of Requiem
crashed into Raem.

 
 
MAEV

She
had never seen such darkness, such terror in the world.

Maev had fought many demons in Eteer, small creatures no larger than
men. She had battled a host of rocs in the shadows of the escarpment.
She had faced living nightmares and overcome them. But not in all her
years of exile and war had Maev, Princess of Requiem, seen a force of
evil like this—a thousand demons, each as large as a dragon, hiding
the sky. They were all different—some scaled like her, others
flayed, others dry, some rancid, some mummified—but all stared at
her, and all flew toward her, and all craved her blood.

"This is more like it!" Dorvin laughed at her side. He
roasted a flying worm, slashed a naked bird with two heads, and
slammed his tail into a quivering ball of flying fat. "Let's
play, Maev. I'm at three already!"

She soared higher, roared her flames, and ignited a cloud of furry
creatures with many eyeballs and tails. "Forget counting and
just kill them all!" She roared to the dragons behind her. "Kill
them all! For Requiem!"

They flew with her: Dorvin, a silver dragon who laughed as he killed;
Alina, a lavender dragon, praying as she fought; and forty dragons of
Bar Luan, scared but strong, blowing their fire. Ahead, Maev saw
them—the others of Requiem. Laira, a golden dragon alone in a cloud
of devilry. Jeid, roaring out his clarion call, leading only a dozen
surviving dragons against the horde of the Abyss. Rocs and pteros
fought here too, but they were falling fast.

For Requiem. For starlight.
Maev blew her flames and lashed
her claws.
For King and Column.

"Maev!" Dorvin shouted, dipping toward her. He grinned,
blood on his teeth. "Fifteen now! Stop shouting out battle cries
and get to killing de—"

A flying python crashed into him. The beast wrapped around the silver
dragon and began to constrict him. Dorvin thrashed but couldn't free
himself. With a growl, Maev tore into the demonic snake, ripping
through its scales, tugging out segments of its spine, and finally
freeing Dorvin. She spat out a chunk of flesh.

"And you stop playing games!" She turned to fly eastward,
seeking Raem; where had the king gone? "Find their leader. King
Raem, a man in bronze armor upon a pale bat. Chop off the true
snake's head."

She thought she glimpsed him again, a blaze of dragonfire against
metal. She bared her teeth. She had lost sight of the tyrant, but she
flew toward that glint, barreling through demons. Dorvin fought at
her left, laughing as he bathed the world with fire. Laira joined her
and fought to her right, a golden dragon, bleeding, two spears
thrusting out of her but fighting still, roaring as she killed. Smoke
and flame and rot covered the world; Maev could no longer see the
stars.

Perhaps Requiem fell today. Perhaps this dream of dragons, this new
kingdom for her kind, would perish so soon after its birth.

If that is so, I will die with it.

A demon landed upon a dragon at her side and tore off his wing. The
dragon lost his magic, returning to human form—a young boy, his
shoulder blade bloodied. Demons tore the child apart, tearing off
limbs and ripping out organs. Ahead of Maev, another dragon wailed as
naked, demonic cats landed upon her, biting deep. The dragon became
human again and fell as a woman, screaming, silenced when she hit the
ground.

Maev roared, refusing to let the horror overwhelm her. There—she saw
it again ahead! A glint on bronze. King Raem.

She pointed ahead. "Laira! Dorvin! I see him there."

The golden dragon and the silver one flew up to her, blood on their
fangs. They saw it too. Dorvin grinned savagely, and Laira stared
with cold hatred. Between them and the tyrant flew a hundred demons
of all shapes, each as large as them.

"For Requiem!" Maev shouted.

"For starlight!" cried Laira.

"I bet I reach the king before you, Mammoth Arse!" shouted
Dorvin.

The three dragons flew together, wreathing their flames into a great,
spinning torrent of heat and light and sound. The blaze crashed into
the demons ahead, carving a path, splitting the sea of them. Beating
their wings, roaring their fire in a shrieking inferno, the three
dragons flew toward the king.

 
 
ISSARI

She
walked through Goshar, the City of Bones, the ancient rival of her
homeland.

Before falling to darkness, Eteer had been an oasis of water and
greenery. The canal drove into the city, bristling with sails.
Fountains sprouted in courtyards. Gardens nestled outside houses and
upon balconies and roofs. Birds had sung and cypress, fig, and palm
trees had lined the streets. That city had fallen, but the memories
would forever fill Issari, visions of lush beauty and growing things.

Goshar, meanwhile, was a place of stone, sand, and silence.

No birds sang here. No trees rustled in the breeze. Stern, tan walls
rose alongside a boulevard, topped with battlements. Archers stood
within turrets, staring through arrowslits; Issari wondered if they
were watching for invaders or policing their own people. Towering,
triangular buildings rose everywhere, shaped like spearheads, their
sandstone bricks craggy. Cobblestones covered the streets, set close
enough to allow no weed or flower to grow between them. Issari saw
wells, silos, and fortresses topped with merlons. Ahead, perhaps a
mark away, rose a massive building shaped like the erect, coiling
shell of a mollusk; it soared even taller than the Palace of Eteer,
maybe even taller than King's Column in Requiem. Even from this
distance, Issari felt very small to see it.

She glanced at Tanin, who walked beside her. He looked back, eyes
dark. They dared not speak. This city was too silent. The only sound
Issari heard was the footfalls and creaks of armor of the soldiers
who walked ahead, leading her deeper into the city.

The boulevard reached a round expanse, and in its center rose a
bronze statue, fifty feet tall, of a nude woman with the head of a
snake. Here was Mahazar, a goddess of fertility and war. Gosharians
crowded the square, praying to the statue, and Issari gazed upon them
with interest; despite this city's proximity to Eteer, she had rarely
seen Gosharians. Both men and women wore white tunics with a single
shoulder strap; the garment left half their chests bare, and Issari
felt her cheeks redden to see the women's breasts. Most of the men
were bearded, and those beards were long, thick, and curled into many
tight rings. Their hair too was long, oiled, and curled. Some men
were shorter and smooth-cheeked, and they wore metal collars—eunuch
slaves. The smell of spicy perfumes wafted toward Issari, mixed with
the tinge of oiled metal; everyone ahead carried the same small,
curved dagger on their belts.

Past the square and statue, Issari and Tanin followed the soldiers
along narrow streets lined with homes, a market where men hawked
grains and dried fruit, and a towering limestone temple lined with
columns. Ever they moved closer to the Palace of Goshar, that spiral
that coiled up into the clouds. A path wrapped around the tower,
lined with turrets, like a trail around a mountain. Archways rose
along the walkway, leading into the structure. The soldiers led
Issari and Tanin onto that coiling path, and as they climbed, she
smiled wryly. Tanin and she could have easily flown to the tower's
crest, but she thought that one display of her dragon magic had
unnerved these men enough for one day.

As they climbed the path around the tower, Issari got a better look
at both the city below and the land beyond. Goshar spread for marks
around her, just as large as Eteer, a great labyrinth of stone and
dust, a painting all in bronze and copper tones. A few scattered palm
trees were all the greenery here, and in the north spread the
cracked, rocky desert that had nearly killed her people, a desolate
land that separated the mountains from the sea.

South of Goshar, however—past the mountain range where the city
nestled—spread a land of plenty. The mountains split the world into
separate landscapes as clearly as a coast separates land from sea. As
barren as the north was, the south was lush. Three rivers crossed the
landscape, flowing down from mountain springs. Farmlands and
grasslands spread between these blue threads, undulating in the wind.
Birds flew in clouds and herds of deer dotted the land. Issari saw
many marks of rye, wheat, barley, and other crops spreading into the
distance. Several farms spread outside of Eteer, but much of that
city's food had come from the sea; meanwhile, Goshar guarded the road
to a cradle of fecundity.

The path kept coiling around the tower, lined with many soldiers and
turrets, rising into haze. Finally, when Issari was so winded she
could barely breathe, they reached a golden archway between two
statues of Mahazar. Several soldiers stood here, clad in ring mail,
their beards long and curled into rings that mimicked their armor.
Here the gatekeepers entered the tower, leading Issari and Tanin into
a wide hall. A mosaic spread across the floor, depicting many
serpents coiling together. The columns lining the room were shaped as
snakes too, their eyes jeweled, their tongues holding burning
incense. Many women lounged here, their faces painted, their bodies
nude except for many golden bracelets and necklaces. A few women
splashed in a pool of steaming water, while others lay upon cushions,
smoking from glass hookahs. A cloud of the green smoke hid the back
of the chamber.