Requiem's Hope (Dawn of Dragons) (8 page)

Riding on her roc, she drew her sword and caressed the bronze blade.

"I slew Zerra with this sword." She spoke softly for only
her roc to hear. "But now I must face a greater enemy. Now this
blade must pierce the heart of the man who hunts me, who unleashed
these creatures, who drove my brother to death. Now I must kill my
father."

She could not remember King Raem. She had fled him too many years
ago. In her nightmares, he was only a shadow, faceless, reaching out
arms thrice the usual length, trying to grab her, to tug her into
darkness. She took a shuddering breath and clutched her sword. She
would not let that figure haunt her. She was done hiding and here,
among her people, she made her stand, no longer a frightened girl but
a leader of men and beasts.

A mountaintop appeared upon the horizon, a mere bulge from here. Was
there the end of their journey? Laira was squinting, struggling to
bring the distant crest into focus, when the shriek rose behind her.

Rocs cawed and dragons growled. Laira tugged the reins, spinning her
roc around, and her heart sank. It was flying from the south, a
single creature.

She cursed. "A demon scout."

The creature buzzed closer, wings moving as fast as a bumblebee's. It
looked like a severed human hand the size of an oak. Upon each finger
blinked an eye, and a mouth gaped open upon the palm. The creature
flew higher, faster than any roc or dragon, then spun to dart away.

"After it!" Laira shouted. "It'll bring news back to
Raem!"

She kneed Neiva and the roc beat her wings madly, flying in pursuit.
Other rocs flew around her, and the dragons flew at her side. Yet the
creature flew twice as fast, shrinking into the distance.

"Shoot it!" Laira shouted. She grabbed her bow and fired.
Other hunters fired from their own rocs, and the dragons blew fire.
One arrow seemed to pierce the creature. It yowled, dipped in the
sky, but kept flying. Within moments, it had disappeared over the
southern horizon.

"Stars damn it!" Jeid flew up beside Laira. "We won't
catch the bastard."

Laira stared at the horizon. "Perhaps we don't have to."
She took a deep breath. "Let Raem know. Let him come here. Two
Skull Mountain is near; it will be our battlefield." She
caressed her sword again, then tugged Neiva back toward the north.
"Fly north, Goldtusk! Keep flying to the mountain."

Leaving the demon scout, they turned. They flew back north, crossing
hills and valleys as distant demon shrieks rolled behind them.

Finally, the sun dipping into evening, they saw the mountain ahead.

"Two Skull Mountain," Laira said softly, spine tingling.

She had seen the place once, years ago, from a distance; Zerra had
dared not fly closer, for here was the territory of Leatherwing. Two
Skull Mountain had chilled her then and it chilled her now. The
origin of its name was clear to all who saw it. Caves yawned open
upon its crest, forming the rough shapes of eye sockets, nostrils,
and mouths like two skulls fused together, melted into each other
like conjoined twins joined at the face. The skulls seemed anguished
to Laira, screaming silently, begging for a respite from pain. Laira
leaned forward in her saddle, narrowed her eyes, and scrutinized the
mountain, but she could see no sign of the Leatherwing tribe or its
fabled beasts, the pteros. Laira clenched her jaw, remembering the
old tales she had heard of this place—tales of flying reptiles
tearing into flesh, of hunters who drank blood from human skulls, and
of slaves who languished in chains, their limbs food for the tribe.

She tightened her lips.
Zerra feared the escarpment too, but I
found my dearest friends there.
She looked at the dragons who
flew to her left.
I found Requiem, the anchor of my soul, the
light of my heart, the land I will sacrifice everything for.

She looked behind her at the tribe. Seventy rocs flew there, larger
than dragons, dripping the oil they secreted. They stank of old meat,
and their yellow eyes always seemed so baleful, and for many years
Laira had feared these beasts. For many years they had hunted
dragons, slaying many. Yet now this tribe—once her prison, then her
enemy, and finally her army—might save the world.

They flew closer, Goldtusk and Requiem, rocs and dragons, until they
glided above the foothills. Two Skull Mountain loomed ahead, dwarfing
them. Each of the eye sockets, great caverns in the stone, was large
enough to house them all. And still Laira did not see Leatherwing.
The place seemed too silent; she heard only the squawks of rocs and
the thuds of dragon wings. No enemy tribe. No leathery beasts. Had
Leatherwing abandoned this place?

Worry gnawed at her, and she was about to call for her rocs to land,
to camp upon the mountainside.

Before she could speak, they emerged.

Screams shattered the air. The mountain shook. With battle cries,
firing arrows, and the shadows of great wings, Leatherwing Tribe
appeared.

They flew from within the skulls—from the eye sockets, the nostrils,
the mouths—like bats from a cave. Yet unlike bats, these creatures
were as large as rocs, and bloodlust burned in their white eyes.
Their wings spread out, formed of translucent skin that stretched
from their ankles to the tips of their elongated, clawed fingers.
Their long jaws opened to shriek. A single horn grew from each
beast's head, crimson like old blood. Upon their backs rode the
warriors of Leatherwing. Men and women rode bare-chested, their skin
painted white and red. Many rings pierced their lips, noses, and
ears. Copper disks filled their earlobes, stretching them to thrice
the usual size. Each warrior bore axes, spears, and bows and arrows.
They stood in their stirrups, shouting out lilting battle cries.

"Halt!" Laira shouted. "Hear me, Leatherwing. I am
Laira, Chieftain of Goldtusk! I fly in peace."

The pteros swooped and arrows flew from their hunters.

Laira cursed. Around her, warriors of Goldtusk nocked their own
arrows. Projectiles flew both ways. Laira spun her roc toward her
warriors.

"Goldtusk, back! Fly to the foothills. Go!" She turned
toward the dragons. "Requiem! To the foothills! Fly now. Fly
before blood spills."

The warriors of Goldtusk sneered, tugging back bowstrings. For a few
heartbeats, the battle froze, each side watching the other.

"Go!" Laira shouted to her warriors. "This is not a
retreat. Wait for me in the valley. Dragons of Requiem! Go with them.
I've come here to parley, not shed blood."

Some of her Goldtusk hunters grumbled. A few spat and cursed. They
were a proud folk, and they loved bloodshed like they loved drinking
ale, bedding women, and feasting on mammoth flesh. But their wives
and children flew upon their rocs today, and perhaps the hunters
still loved their families more than any glory in war. They obeyed
Laira, leaving the mountaintop and heading down to the foothills. The
pteros' riders watched their old enemy leave, jeering and waving
their spears. They cried out in prayer to Two Skulls, their god of
stone.

The dragons of Requiem followed the rocs—all but Jeid. The copper
dragon hovered beside Laira and her roc, smoke rising from between
his teeth.

"I stay with you," he said.

She nodded, relieved. "Stay."

Laira turned back toward the pteros. The flying reptiles were
circling in the sky, cawing and snapping their long mouths. Their
wings beat the air, churning clouds. Upon their backs, their riders
glared at Laira and Jeid, their arrows still nocked.

What must we look like to them!
Laira thought.
A scrawny
girl upon a roc and a clanking dragon. I doubt an odder pair ever
flew here.

"Where is Chieftain Oritan!" she shouted. "Let two
chieftains meet in parley."

She had seen Oritan once from a distance. Three years ago, the
chieftain had visited the Goldtusk tribe after a bitter war that had
left many dead on both sides. Clad in bones, he had demanded an
alliance, offering to wed his daughter to Chieftain Zerra, to merge
both tribes with bonds of family. Laira had been like a shadow that
day, darting in and out of the tent where the two leaders spoke; she
had served ale and meat, washed sore feet, and mostly listened. Even
today, she remembered the moment Chieftain Oritan had looked at her,
had met her eyes when taking a mug from her. He had nodded subtly. He
had acknowledged her. Whenever Laira would accidentally make eye
contact with a warrior of Goldtusk, she would earn a beating. But
here a great chieftain, clad in bones and leather, jewelery around
his neck, had met her gaze, had nodded to her! Laira had shed tears
that night after Zerra had refused the union; he had railed that
Goldtusk was strong, that he would not dilute his tribe's worth with
scum from the mountain, and Laira had mourned never seeing Oritan
again.

Back then I saw a reasonable man,
Laira thought. She prayed
that reason still filled Oritan.

With a shrill cry and wings that blasted back her hair, a massive
ptero emerged from behind the mountain, a beast to dwarf the others.
Gold and red paint covered its wings with circles and coiling lines,
copper rings encircled its neck, and gilt covered its horn. Upon this
lurid beast sat a long-limbed man, his bare chest painted white and
red. An ape's skull hid his head—a helmet of bone. Spears hung
across his back, and he held a golden bow.

"Chieftain Oritan!" Laira called to him. She lifted her
spear; strings of beads dangled from its tip. "I am Laira, new
Chieftain of Goldtusk."

His ptero hovered before her, the wind from its wings blowing back
her hair and cloak. Through the sockets of his ape-skull helmet, his
eyes met hers again—those eyes she remembered from years ago, the
eyes that had met hers when no others would.

He spoke in a deep voice like rolling thunder. "Last our tribes
met, it was Zerra, son of Thagar, the Burnt Man, who ruled the rocs."

Laira raised her chieftain's old sword. "Now it is Laira,
daughter of Raem. I slew Zerra the Burnt and I wield his sword. Three
years ago, you came to our tribe to forge an alliance. Zerra turned
you down. Now he is dead; now our discussion will resume."

Oritan's eyes flicked toward the copper dragon who flew at Laira's
side. "So the tales are true; dragons fly in our skies. Has
Goldtusk tamed these scaly beasts?"

When Jeid spoke, the chieftain's eyes narrowed and his mount hissed
and bucked.

"No man or woman can tame a dragon, chieftain," said Jeid.
"I am Aeternum, King of Requiem—a nation of dragons. Requiem
and Goldtusk fly together. We would have you fly with us, for a
threat covers this land, drawing nearer, and all who seek to fight
darkness must now bind together."

The chieftain's ptero snapped its head from side to side, its mouth
clattering open and closed. Its small eyes spun, but Oritan's eyes
remained steady, staring at Laira. Finally the chieftain nodded,
whirled in the sky, and gestured for Laira and Jeid to follow. He
flew toward the mountain, diving to enter one of the eye sockets.

Laira and Jeid glanced at each other, then followed. The two stony
skulls upon the mountainside stared back at Laira, craggy and
anguished, bitter faces forever fused together. The eye socket gaped
open, so large Laira felt like a mere bird flying through a window.
Jeid close behind, she flew into the mountain, entering a realm of
shadows and light.

A cavern filled the mountain, a hundred times larger than Requiem's
old canyon in the escarpment. Dozens of pteros perched upon the
walls, clinging to the stone like bats. Torches crackled between
them, and fires burned upon the cave floor. Murals of bison, elks,
lions, and many other animals covered the ceiling; in the flickering
firelight, they seemed almost to race across the stone. Riders of
Leatherwing filled the cave, drinking from clay bowls, praying to
stone idols carved as obese women, and sharpening spears. All turned
to stare and hiss at the roc and dragon entering their domain.

A massive stalagmite, a hundred feet tall, rose like a tower in the
cave's center. Upon its flattened crest perched a seat carved of
granite inlaid with golden runes. Oritan led his ptero there. The
lanky reptile clutched the stone pillar, allowing Oritan to dismount
and claim his seat; then the ptero flew off to cling to the ceiling
high above. Jeid too flew to the pillar, released his magic, and
landed before the throne in human form. Laira led her own mount to
this seat of power. Neiva clutched the stalagmite, and Laira
dismounted and stood upon the stone tower before Oritan and his
throne.

"Wait for me outside, Neiva," Laira said softly, stroking
the roc, who still clung to the pillar. "Join the others. I'll
return to you soon."

Neiva tilted her head and nuzzled Laira with her massive beak, a beak
the size of Laira's entire body. Then the roc turned and left, wings
scattering droplets of oil, and exited the mountain.

"Speak, Laira, daughter of Raem." Oritan leaned back in his
throne of stone and gold. "Speak of this alliance which your
tribe once spurned. And speak too of this enemy you claim draws near.
And finally, speak to me of these dragons, of this so-called king who
comes into my hall."

Laira tried to quell her dizziness. This pillar of stone was narrow,
barely large enough to support the throne, her, and Jeid. The cave
walls seemed to spin around her, alight with torches and clattering
with pteros. The animal murals seemed to race above her in a great
hunt, and the murmur of many tribesmen rose from the cave floor far
below. She took a deep breath, steeling herself.

"Demons!" she said. "A host of a thousand demons flies
across the world. They fly from Eteer across the sea. My own father,
king of that southern realm, leads them in conquest." She pulled
from her pack the coiled, severed arm of one of the octopus spawn.
She held it forth. "Here is a single arm from a single demon; a
great swarm of the creatures flies north. All free tribes and
kingdoms of the north must band together now. We must defeat them."