Requiem's Hope (Dawn of Dragons) (9 page)

Within the sockets of his helm, Oritan's eyes narrowed. He leaned
forward in his throne, took the severed demon arm, and examined it.
The arm still twitched, the mouths upon it opening and closing,
snapping their teeth. Disgust mingled with fascination filled
Oritan's eyes as he held the wriggling tentacle.

"That arm came from a demon babe." Laira's heart twinged to
remember these creatures feasting upon her brother's body; this very
arm had fed upon Sena. "The adults are as large as rocs. And
they're spreading across the land."

Oritan draped the tentacle across the arm of his seat. He returned
his eyes to her. "Your father leads these demons, you say? A
king of Eteer?" He leaned closer. "Who are you, Laira of
Goldtusk? A chieftain? A princess? A friend to dragons?"

"I am all those things," she said. "And you know me.
Three years ago, Chieftain Oritan, you came to Goldtusk, and you
spoke to me, though you do not remember me. As you spoke to Chieftain
Zerra, I served you wine and I washed your feet. Zerra offered me to
you, telling you I could warm your bed, but you refused the gift of
my body. You met my eyes once." Her heart beat faster to
remember that moment. "You saw only a servant."

Oritan inhaled sharply, stared in silence for a moment, then removed
his ape-skull helmet. His face was hard but not unpleasant. His nose
was straight, his lips thin, his jaw square. Dark hair fell across
his brow. He seemed no older than forty winters, and a small scar
marred his left cheek.

"Yes." His voice was soft, contemplative. "I remember
you, child. I pitied you then. I felt rage at your chieftain for
mistreating you. Your hair was shorter then, your frame more frail,
but I remember your eyes, the large green eyes of those who dwell
across the sea. I indeed looked into them. I thought about them for
long after returning home."

My mother's eyes,
Laira thought.
They've always been my
only beauty.
His words filled her with a hint of warmth, like a
fire just beginning to rise on a winter day.

Standing at her side, Jeid cleared his throat and spoke for the first
time since entering the cavern. "Will you fight with us, Oritan?
Will you send your beasts to battle alongside ours?"

Oritan turned his eyes toward the grizzled king, and now those eyes
hardened, losing what warmth they had given Laira. "Why should
Leatherwing fight the wars of others? These demons do not hunt us."
He gestured at the severed tentacle. "Laira's father leads them,
she said. This is a war between father and daughter, between demons
and rocs. It does not concern my tribe." He sighed and shook his
head. "Perhaps you are both honorable leaders and strong. But I
will not help you. Leatherwing Tribe is safe within our mountain;
what dangers lurk outside are not our concern. Leave this place. That
is my decision."

Jeid grumbled and clenched his fists. "So you will hide here in
your mountain, chieftain, as the world burns? Where is your pride, a
warrior's honor?"

The chieftain snorted. "Goad me and you'll see, weredragon. I
would gladly slay you."

Jeid growled and raised his fists, and Oritan reached for a spear.
Laira stepped between the two before they could come to blows. She
pushed Jeid back and stared up at Oritan, her chin raised.

"You will fight because you want my rocs," she said. "You
remember my eyes, and I remember your words. You all but begged Zerra
to wed your daughter, a pretty thing with long black locks. You spoke
of a noble marriage, a merging of two tribes. No doubt you planned to
slay Zerra—perhaps a knife in the back, perhaps poison in the
cup—and become ruler of both pteros and rocs, a single chieftain
with a great horde. Zerra saw through your trickery." She took a
step closer to the throne and placed her hand on Oritan's knee. "I
offer you a better deal. You will have your marriage, and you will
become chieftain of two tribes." She took a deep breath,
steeling herself. "I will marry you."

Jeid gave a strangled sound halfway between choking and snarling.
Laira placed a hand against his chest, holding him back, and did not
remove her eyes from the chieftain upon his throne.

Oritan stared back at her, his eyes hard, betraying nothing. But she
knew what he was thinking. She could see it in the tension of his
body, the twitch of his lips.

He pities me but he craves me. And he craves my rocs even more.

"Laira, this isn't the way," Jeid began. "I—"

She hushed him with a finger to his lips, then turned back toward
Oritan. "Speak, chieftain! If I join my tribe to yours, will you
fight with us against the demon host?"

Slowly, Oritan leaned back in his seat. He spoke in a low voice. "In
Leatherwing Tribe, a chieftain must only marry the greatest female
warriors. After my first wife died in battle, I sought others to wed,
but they all failed the test." He stared at her, eyes narrowed
and blazing. "If you pass the test, Laira of Goldtusk, we will
wed. And we will fight together."

Cold sweat trickled down Laira's back, and she gulped down a lump. "A
test?"

The chieftain rose to his feet. He stepped to the edge of the pillar,
stared down into the cavern, and shouted. His voice echoed through
the chasm.

"A bride will be tested!" He raised his fist. "Open
the pit! Release the Beast of Bride's Blood."

Tribesmen cheered below, and the chamber swam around Laira. She
glanced at Jeid, winced, and clutched the hilt of her sword.

 
 
TANIN

Two
dragons flew over the sea, landed on the dark beach under the stars,
and beheld the ruined city of Eteer.

His claws in the sand, Tanin turned to look at Issari. She stood
before him, her alabaster scales gleaming in the moonlight, and
firelight glowed between her teeth. The white dragon's eyes shone
damply as they gazed upon the walls of her city. They had landed a
mark away, too far for any guards on the walls to see them.

"Home," Issari whispered and lowered her head. "A
place of ruin, of darkness, of evil."

Tanin folded his wings around him. Smoke wafted from his nostrils. "A
place we will rededicate."

She looked at him, eyes moist. He could see the sea reflected in
those orbs, the waves crested with moonlit foam. "But not
tonight. Not in the darkness, for fear of that city's new queen still
chills me. In the light I will feel brave again. Will you stay with
me here, Tanin, on the beach outside my home? For one last night—you
and me in the darkness, safe from the horrors of the world?"

He nodded and nuzzled her with his snout. "Of course."

They released their magic and sat in the sand, humans again, facing
the sea. A path of moonlight spread into the horizon, and the waves
whispered, their crests silver. The stars shone above and the city
festered to their east; tonight Tanin pushed that city out of his
mind, staring only at the waves.

Issari wriggled closer to him, place a hand on his thigh, and leaned
against him. He slung his arm around her.

"I used to come here sometimes as a child." She stared
ahead into the water. "With Sena. I miss him so badly. I miss
those days—before the war, before all this happened. I wish I could
go back, to be a girl again."

The breeze blew, warm and salty. Tanin placed his hand upon hers.
"You know what I wish for?"

She looked at him, the stars reflected in her eyes. "What?"

"A nice, big, roasted slab of ham." He smacked his lips.
"And some hot bread rolls and butter. I haven't had bread in
many days; damn hard to find in the north."

She smiled hesitantly. "Bread and ham? Not me. I miss roasted
pine nuts mixed with leeks and wild mushrooms. I miss the fine wines
of southern vineyards. I miss honey cakes thick with almonds and
pistachios." She placed a hand on her belly. "I miss that
feeling of being full, lounging by a fireplace, and dreaming."

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, look at the fancy princess. Your
tastes are far too fine. How could you tolerate a lowly barbarian
like me?"

Her smile widened, and she kissed his stubbly cheek. "Part of
the terrors of war, I suppose."

He rummaged in his pack and produced a wineskin—their last one. He
uncorked it, took a sip, and handed it to her. "It's not fine
wine like you're used to. Simple grapes from some riverside farmer,
but it'll soothe us tonight. One last night."

She drank and they passed the skin back and forth. Tomorrow they
would have nothing more to drink. Tomorrow they might die. Tomorrow
the fate of the world would be sealed. Tonight they simply sat,
drinking, watching the waves, scared in the dark. Tanin ran his
fingers slowly over hers, again and again, and looked at her in the
night. She was still facing the sea, and he admired her moonlit
cheek, the dark braid that hung across her shoulder, and the strength
he saw in her, a quiet strength like a slender oak sapling rising
from the ash of a burnt forest.

He found himself thinking back to Ciana, the woman he had loved in
his youth, so many years ago in the village of Oldforge. He had
kissed Ciana in the fields, vowed to forever love her. And once she
had learned his secret, learned that he was Vir Requis, she had
screamed. Called for her father to kill him. Became a huntress of
dragons herself. For so many years, the pain of that day had clawed
at Tanin—the day he'd been banished, the day Ciana had shattered his
soul, the day Zerra had murdered his mother.

But now I've found something new to live for,
he thought,
holding Issari's hand.
For Requiem . . . and for you, Issari.

She saw him staring, turned toward him, and looked at him. Her lips
parted slightly, and he caressed her cheek, marveling at how soft it
was, at how pure she seemed, a doll in a world of demons. He kissed
that cheek, and she smiled softly. Her lashes tickled his face. He
held her hand, and he kissed her ear, a little peck, and she placed
her arms around him. His lips brushed across her neck, moving upward,
hesitating, and though he had fought armies of demons and rocs, now
Tanin was afraid, nervous, awkward. She turned her head slightly
toward his, trembling in his arms, and his lips brushed the corner of
her mouth. She met his gaze, and her green eyes were so large, and he
leaned forward and kissed her lips. Fast as the waves washing over
the shore, she melted into his kiss, their mouths open, their tongues
moving together.

The waves whispered, and they kissed for a long time, and their hands
grasped at each other, desperate, exploring, and all the pain Tanin
had lived through these past few years—all the hopes and dreams and
nightmares—emerged now, needing relief, needing her, Issari, a woman
he loved. Her hands slid under his shirt, and he helped her, pulling
it over his head, and she pressed herself back up against him,
kissing him. He reached under her tunic, feeling the soft skin
beneath, and she helped him remove her garment and tossed it aside.
She gazed at him with those huge eyes, and he pulled her onto his
lap, and she buried her hands in his hair, her head tossed back. He
kissed the declivity below her neck, moving his lips downward,
kissing her chest, then back up again to her lips.

I love you, Issari,
he thought.
I've loved you since the
moment I saw you. I will love you forever.

They spread their cloaks upon the sand, then lay down upon them,
pulling off their last items of clothing. Her body was slim and
silver in the moonlight. Tanin had bedded women before, villagers he
had met on his wanderings—quick, cold encounters that had left him
feeling more lonely than ever. With Issari it felt warm, real, and so
pure he never wanted it to end. She moaned beneath him, eyes closed,
mouth open, and their naked bodies moved together. She cried out and
dug her fingers into his back, and he let himself flow into her until
he lay still. He kissed the tip of her nose, then lay beside her. She
nestled in his arms, nuzzling his cheek.

He looked up at the stars. They shone down, not just the Draco
constellation but millions of others. The music of the waves played,
and from where he lay, he couldn't see the city of demons. He could
see only beauty, feel only warmth.

I don't know if I'll die tomorrow or if I'll live another fifty
years.
But I know this: Whatever happens, this is the best
moment of my life. This is the best moment of life I can have. I'm
happier than I've ever been, perhaps more than I'll ever be. This is
magic—no less than becoming a dragon—and I will cling to this
memory forever, even if all the world burns and all our kingdoms fall
to ruin.

She fell asleep in his arms, her head on his chest. He lay awake for
a long time, stroking her hair and watching the stars.

 
 
DORVIN

"Bloody
bull bullocks!" Dorvin blasted out flame and whipped his tail.
"You two are duller than my grandmother's cold dead corpse. Why
aren't you singing with me?"

Flying across the sky with his sister and that mammoth's bottom Maev,
he tossed back his head, cleared his throat, and launched back into
his song. The lyrics—telling the tale of a hearty lass whose father
tossed her into the river, only for her ample bosom to keep her
afloat—did not seem to amuse his companions. His sister, a lavender
dragon, glared at him. Maev, a green beast, banked toward him and
thumped her tail against his cheek.

"Be silent!" said the flying mammoth posterior, eyes
flashing. "I'll cut out your tongue next time. Your song's
disgusting, and demons could hear you for marks."

He growled and blasted sparks of fire her way. "Good! I like
rude songs; keeps things interesting. And I like when demons can hear
me. I'd prefer a straight fight to this dull flight with two lumps of
airborne shite."

Maev flicked her tail again, slamming it against his flank. "Be
silent or the only thing you'll be fighting is worms in your grave."