Scruff and Cobweb held hands as the priest, an old white-haired man, blessed them. Jamie stood to one side. She refused to wear a dress, and instead wore her armor, Moonclaw slung over her back. She smiled—a rare event—teeth glittering. Neev and Romy stood to the other side, holding hands, exchanging secret glances. Scruff smiled when he saw them, for he knew their secret. They might not be getting married today, but I think they're going to be together forever, too.
"You may now exchange rings," the priest said, smiling a toothless smile.
Scruff handed Cobweb her ring, which he had bought secretly yesterday. It was made of white gold and shaped like a garland of cyclamens. It suited a spiderling of the forest, he thought. He placed it onto her finger. Wiping away tears, Cobweb handed him a ring of polished wood engraved with a pattern of ivy.
"I c-cawved it fow you mysewf," she said.
"It's beautiful," he said, admiring it, and kissed her cheek.
The priest raised his eyebrow. "What's this?" he demanded. "This will not do!"
Scruff looked at him, suddenly worried. Did the priest not allow wooden rings? "What's wrong?" he asked.
The priest shook his head. "A kiss on the cheek? What kind of kiss is that? Go on, kiss her properly!"
Scruff smiled. "Yes, sir."
And he did.
Romy let out a huge sob and blew her nose loudly, her handkerchief fluttering.
* * * * *
The night after the wedding, Neev lay in bed at the local inn, staring at the ceiling. Crickets chirped outside the window, and moonlight fell onto Neev's eyes, glinting. Hyacinth flowers hung on the wall, filling the room with sweet scent.
The innkeeper had given the Bullies three rooms for free—one for Jamie, the other for the newlyweds, and a third room for Neev and Romy.
The demon girl sat by the window now, staring outside, the moonlight glowing upon her. Neev lay in bed, silently admiring her. She looked beautiful, her hair of flame flowing, a blanket draped over her nude body. Neev thought that he had never seen a woman so beautiful.
He rose from bed and walked up to her, then stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He leaned down to kiss her neck. "Are you coming to bed?" he asked.
She turned to look at him, and Neev was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "Neev," she said, "do you love me?"
"Very much," he said.
"I know I'm childish."
Neev kissed her. "That's okay."
Romy shook her head, hair of fire crackling. "No. It's not." She rose to her feet and stood before him. "You think I'm cute now. Maybe you love me because Scruff found Cobweb, and you feel lonely. But in a few years, you'll grow tired of my childish ways, you'll get bored with me, and you'll break my heart."
He touched her hair, marveling at how the fire felt soft and did not burn him. "I won't do that, Romy."
She took his hands, a tear streaming down her cheek. "I love you so much, Neev. With all my heart. I never had a boyfriend before, not in two hundred years, because you're the only boy I fell in love with." She brought his fingers to her lips and kissed them. "I know I'm like a little girl. Everyone says so. But I'm not like a child in every way. I can be a woman, too. Let me show you."
She kissed him deeply, her hands in his hair, her body pressed against him. When I summoned you, I thought you ruined my life, he thought, kissing her. I was banished from the Coven that day. But Romy... summoning you was the best thing I ever did.
As the moon moved across the sky, they made love with fire, the first time either one of them had made love. Then they were so exhausted, that they slept until morning, holding each other.
* * * * *
As the Bullies left Greenford, the townsfolk cheering behind them, Jamie took a deep breath. She looked over the landscape, the rolling farmlands already regrowing, the blue mountains that rose from mist ahead, the green forests in the distance. The air smelled fresh and the only birds in the sky were sparrows, no rocs.
And no Dry Bones. It was over.
Jamie patted Moonclaw's pommel. Five years of pain ended when Dry Bones died, five years since the warlock burned Burrfield and killed their parents. I swore to become a knight, I swore to avenge Mom and Dad, Jamie thought. I didn't become a knight, but I hope Mom and Dad are still proud of me.
She looked at Scruff and Cobweb, who walked hand in hand along the dirt road. Then she looked at Neev and Romy, who also held hands, laughing softly at some private joke. Hey, wait a minute, Jamie thought. All the other Bullies found love. What about me? What about poor little Jamie?
For a moment Jamie felt jealous, but then she shrugged. So what? The others were older. She was only fifteen. There was time before she'd need a boyfriend. She had something just as good: her siblings with her, and two new girlfriends, Romy and Cobweb. Jamie had never had female friends before, and wasn't sure how to deal with it. But I'll give it a try. Maybe I'll even kick people less often.
Walking through the farmlands, the sun on her head, Jamie opened her pockets and glanced inside. Diamonds and emeralds filled her pockets, treasures grabbed from Vanderbeak's lair. The other Bullies, she knew, also carried treasure in their pockets. Scruff even carried a sack over his back, full of more Vanderbeak jewels. The rest of the treasure remained buried in the mountain, where Dry Bones lay dead inside of Vanderbeak, but not for long. We'll be back with a wagon soon enough. Jamie smiled. We didn't take the reward from Greenford, but I don't think we'll be worried about money for a while.
Romy walked up to her, smiling, dimples in her cheeks. "Hey, Jamie, want to play with glass lions?" Romy opened her palms, beaming, revealing two new glass lions. "Old Julian gave them to me! I named one Jamie and the other Romy. We can make them fight." Romy moved them around, making them roar.
Normally Jamie would kick Romy for being such a baby, but today she only smiled. "I don't want them to fight. Maybe they can be friends."
Romy bit her lip, tapped her cheek, then nodded with a smile. "Okay!"
The Bullies kept walking through the farmlands, and for several days, they traveled across farms, forests, and grassy hills. After ten days of walking and sleeping under the stars, they finally saw Burrfield ahead, chimney smoke rising behind its walls. The town lay nestled by Teasel Forest, and Jamie felt a lump in her throat. Home.
Since leaving Greenford, the Bullies had been talking about returning to Burrfield and building a house there, a house large enough for the Bullies to live in together, a house where they could retire early. They would have horses, a garden, a vineyard, and a few extra rooms for future generations of Bullies. At first Jamie thought the plan wonderful, but now she worried.
Would Lord Bramblebridge let us back in? He banished Scruff and me, after all, told us never to return. She had tried voicing her concern to her brothers, but they seemed less worried. "I'll talk to the old man," Neev had assured her. "He'll let you and Scruff back in."
Jamie wasn't as optimistic. She remembered how mad the portly, bald lord had been. He had insisted Scruff and Jamie stay away forever, and she wasn't sure what to expect. When she entered Burrfield again, she glanced around nervously.
It had been a few months since she'd seen Burrfield, and the sight of her home brought tears to her eyes. There was the old well where she would spend time reading scrolls of epic adventures. There was the Porcupine's Quills, the tavern where she, Scruff, and other squires would drink and sometimes fight. And there... behind some trees... was the home where she was born, where she grew up. Jamie felt a lump in her throat.
A few kids saw the Bullies enter, whispered to each other, and ran away.
"Oh no," Jamie said. "They're going to call Bramblebridge to kick us out."
Even Neev looked worried, pursing his lips. Scruff and Cobweb held each other, looking around nervously. Only Romy didn't seem to notice; she was busy making her toy lions dance.
Soon enough, Lord Bramblebridge indeed came marching toward them, arms pumping, gut sucked in and chest thrust out. His musta
che bristled and sweat glistened on his bald head. Jamie winced, and even Scruff—who stood a foot or two taller than Bramblebridge—took a step back.
"Well, well, if it isn't Bullies for Bucks," said Lord Bramblebridge, voice disgusted.
"You... you know of Bullies for Bucks?" Jamie asked, raising her eyebrows.
Bramblebridge marched up toward her, frowning, cheeks red. "Who doesn't? The whole kingdom is talking about you rascals. Now tell me—how dare you come back into Burrfield?" His eyes blazed.
Jamie bit her lip. "I'm sorry, my lord. I know you banished us. We'll be on our way now, and—"
Suddenly Lord Bramblebridge bellowed a laugh, clutching his gut. "Jamie!" he said, grabbed her, and hugged her. Then he pulled Scruff, who looked very confused indeed, into the embrace. "Scruff! Listen, you two, I'm sorry I lost my temper that day. I realized my mistake the next morning, and sent out men to find you, but you were already gone. But hey. It seems the adventure did you well." He released the two and took a step back, nodding in approval.
Jamie opened and closed her mouth a few times before finding her voice. "You shouldn't have kicked us out."
Lord Bramblebridge nodded, wiping sweat off his brow. "Aye. I'm a grumpy old man, Jamie, and I'm set in my ways. But tell you what. Come back to the fort. I'm going to knight both you and Scruff on the spot. You two have earned it."
Jamie's eyes widened and she gasped. "Knighted," she breathed. She turned to Scruff. "Did you hear that, Scruff? We're going to be knighted!"
But Scruff only looked at her solemnly, no joy in his eyes. Cobweb stood by him, one hand on Scruff's shoulder, giving Jamie the same solemn look.
Jamie understood. She nodded slowly.
With a sigh, she turned back to Bramblebridge. "I'm sorry, my lord. But I don't think we want to be knights anymore." She looked back at her brother, and the two exchanged a smile. "We're Bullies."
Bramblebridge stared at her, blinking, then turned to walk away, muttering to himself. "Damn Thistle kids... always have been crazy. I'll be darned if I ever understood them." Soon he vanished around a corner, muttering under his breath.
The Bullies looked at each other, waiting until Lord Bramblebridge was out of earshot, then burst out laughing.
Romy was the only one who seemed to miss the joke. She looked at the others in confusion, then shrugged. She looked up to Friar Hill, that hill where Dry Bones had commanded his grobblers years ago, the hill where Father died.
"Can we build our house there?" the demon asked, pointing at the hilltop.
Our house on Friar Hill? Jamie thought, sucking in her breath. She looked at her brothers. They looked back, raising their eyebrows, and Jamie knew what they were thinking. The place Dad died?
Jamie shrugged. "It would be a great tribute," she whispered. "I think Dad would like to look down upon this place, see you raise your kids there. What do you think?"
Scruff blew out his breath slowly, then nodded. He put his arm around Cobweb's waist, pulling her close. "Let's do it."
Neev smiled and patted Romy's hand. "Romy," he said, "that is a perfect place."
The Bullies walked down the street, then climbed the hill together, hand in hand. Only Jamie remained below, standing at the foothill, staring at some dry leaves that fluttered around her boots. She took a deep breath. For a long time, anger lived inside me, she thought. Anger about my parents dying. Anger that I'm a girl, that I couldn't become a knight. She remembered meeting Lenore, her heroine, a woman who spent decades hiding in her armor, still fighting alone at fairs for fleeting glory or gold. Lenore had once been a great dragonslayer and knight of legend; she died obscure, lonely, nobody but Jamie at her side.
Jamie looked at her shield, the shield Lenore had given her. Before Lenore had died, she had tried to teach Jamie something, something she had learned, a lesson for Jamie. The warrior woman had died before passing on that knowledge, but Jamie finally thought she understood what Lenore wanted her to learn.
I'm not going to fight forever, Lenore, she thought. I won't try to forever hide inside armor, behind this shield, lying about who I am. I'll build a house here, and maybe sometimes I can hang up this sword and this shield.
"Hey, Jamie," Romy called from the hilltop, waving. "Hurry up."
Jamie shook her head, clearing it of thoughts, and smiled. "Wait up!" she called and ran up the hill, laughing.
NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON
Standalones:
Firefly Island (2007)
The Gods of Dream (2010)
Flaming Dove (2010)
Eye of the Wizard (2011)
Song of Dragons:
Blood of Requiem (2011)
Tears of Requiem (forthcoming)
Light of Requiem (forthcoming)
BLOOD OF REQUIEM
SONG OF DRAGONS, BOOK ONE
by
Daniel Arenson
Song of Dragons, a new fantasy series by Daniel Arenson, tells a story of blood, steel, and dragonfire.
BOOK ONE: BLOOD OF REQUIEM
Long ago stood the kingdom of Requiem, a land of men who could grow wings and scales, breathe fire, and take flight as dragons. Requiem ruled the sky.
But Dies Irae, a tyrant leading an army of griffins, hunted Requiem's people, burned their forests, and shattered their temples. Requiem fell. This ancient land now lies in ruin, its halls crumbled, its cries silenced, its skeletons littering the burned earth.
In the wilderness, a scattering of survivors lives in hiding. The griffins still hunt them, and every day promises death. Will Requiem's last children perish in exile... or once more become dragons and fly to war?
Here's an excerpt from Blood of Requiem:
War.
War rolled over the world with fire and wings.
The Vir Requis marched. Men. Women. Children. Their clothes were tattered, their faces ashy, their bellies tight. As their cities burned behind them, they marched with cold eyes. All had come to fight this day: the young and the old, the strong and the wounded, the brave and the frightened. They were five thousand. They had no more places to hide.
The dying sun blazed red against them. The wind keened. Five thousand. The last of their race.
We will stand, we will fly, we will perish with fire and tooth, Benedictus thought, jaw clenched. Men will say: Requiem did not fade with a whimper, but fell with a thunder that shook the mountains.
And so he marched, and behind him his people followed, banners red and gold, thudding in the wind. Last stand of Requiem.
It was strange, he thought, that five thousand should move together so silently. Benedictus heard only thumping boots. No whispers. No sobs. No whimpers even from the children who marched, their eyes too large in their gaunt faces. The Vir Requis were silent today, silent for the million of their kin already dead, for this day when their race would perish, enter the realm of memory, then legend, then myth. Nothing but thudding boots, a keening wind, and a grumbling sky. Silence before the roar of fire.
Then Benedictus saw the enemy ahead.
The scourge of Requiem. Their end.
Benedictus let out his breath slowly. Here was his death. The death of these hunted, haunted remains of his kind, the Vir Requis who had once covered the world and now stood, still and silent, behind him.
A tear streamed down Benedictus's cheek. He tasted it on his lips—salty, ashy.
His brother's host dwarfed his own. Fifty thousand men stood ahead: swordsmen, horsemen, archers, all bedecked in the white and gold that Dies Irae took for his colors. They carried torches, thousands of fires that raised smoky pillars. Countless griffins flew over these soldiers, shrieking, their wings churning the clouds. The army shimmered like a foul tapestry woven with images of the Abyss.
Benedictus smiled grimly. They burned our forests. They toppled our cities. They chased us to every corner of the earth. If they force us to fight here, then we will die fighting well.
He clenched his fists.
War.
War
crashed with blood and screams and smoke.
Benedictus, King of Requiem, drew his magic with a howl. Black wings sprouted from his back, unfurling and creaking. Black scales rippled across him, glinting red in the firelight. Fangs sprang from his mouth, dripping drool, and talons grew from his fingers. Soon he was fifty feet long, a black dragon breathing fire. Requiem's magic filled him, the magic of wings and scales and flame, the magic that Dies Irae lacked and loathed. Benedictus took flight, claws tearing the earth. His roar shook the battlefield.
Let them see me. Let them see Benedictus the Black, for one final time under the sky, spreading wings and roaring flame.
Behind him, the Vir Requis he led changed form too. The solemn men, women, and children drew the ancient magic of their race, grew wings, scales, and claws. They too became dragons, as cruel and beautiful as the true dragons of old. Some became elder beasts missing scales, their fangs long fallen. Others were young, supple, their scales still soft, barely old enough to fly. A few were green, others blue, and some blazed red. A handful, like Benedictus, bore the rare black scales of old noble blood. Once the different colors, the different families and noble lines, would fight one another, would mistrust and kill and hate. Today they banded here, joined to fight Dies Irae—the young, the old, the noble and the common.
This night they fought with one roar.
The last Vir Requis, Benedictus thought. Not humans. Not dragons. Weredragons, the humans call us. Shunned. Today is our last flight.
War. With steel and flame.
Arrows pelted Benedictus, jabs of agony. Most shattered against his scales, but some sank into his flesh. Their tips were serrated, coated with poison that burned through his veins. He roared and blew fire at the men below, the soldiers his brother tricked or forced into battle today. They screamed, cursed him, feared him; the Vir Requis were monsters to them. Benedictus swooped, lifted several soldiers in his claws, and tossed them onto their comrades. Spears flew. Flaming arrows whistled. Everywhere was blood, fire, and screaming.
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