Requiem's Prayer (Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  Jeid clenched his fists and lowered his head, feeling lost in the shadows.

  ISSARI

  The white dragon flew over the mountain, staring down at the ruin of her people.

  The children of Eteer, exiled from their home upon the coast, wailed under the whips of their Gosharian masters. Clad in rags, their backs striped, the slaves climbed the mountainside, some moving across scaffolding, others clinging to the bare rock. Their picks and chisels worked at the stone, forming the shape of a great statue five hundred feet tall—the goddess Shahazar, her breasts bare, her navel shining with jewels, her head that of a serpent.

  At the feet of the statue, more Eteerian slaves toiled. They were digging a tunnel between the statue's feet, raising columns to flank it, and carving a great staircase that led from the desert to the entrance. This was more than a statue, Issari realized; the granite Shahazar was guarding a temple being dug into the mountain.

  All across the work site, the Gosharian masters patrolled. They whipped Eteerians, laughing as they bloodied the slaves. One old woman collapsed, spilling the basket of rocks she carried. The masters kicked her and snickered as she wailed. A child pleaded for mercy; the masters beat him, lashing his chest, his arms, his face. The cries of Eteer rolled across the mountainside, cries of agony and of hope.

  "Issari! Issari! The white dragon rises!"

  "You cry to me," Issari whispered, gliding above. "And I hear your cry, Eteer."

  Tanin flew up to glide at her side. "What's the plan?"

  She gave him a wry smile. "To show Goshar the might of dragons."

  And then fly home, she thought. To Requiem. To Laira. Her eyes stung, for she missed her family, and she missed her home in the north, but she would not abandon the children of Eteer, not while blood still pumped in her veins and her wings still found her sky.

  Across the mountainside, the Gosharian masters shouted and pointed at the approaching dragons. Some fired arrows. Others fled. Issari and Tanin glided closer.

  "The overseer is there." Issari pointed a claw. "He stands upon the head of the statue."

  Tanin nodded. "Right. We burn him, then get everyone out."

  Issari shook her head, scales clattering. "We speak to him. We will speak reason. We might not need to burn anyone; enough have died today."

  She cringed inwardly to remember those guards she had burned in the palace. She felt no guilt for slaying the obese abina, but what of his men? Had the palace guards truly held her any animosity? And yet she had shifted into a dragon, and she had burned them dead, as Tanin had burned soldiers upon the walls outside his prison. Issari liked to think of herself as a creature of starlight, pure and good, yet perhaps she was more a creature of fire and blood. Perhaps dragons were creatures both noble and terrible, and for the first time, Issari thought she understood why so many feared the children of Requiem.

  The two dragons, white and red, flew over the work site as masters wailed and slaves chanted. The head of Shahazar stared from the mountain, carved of granite, larger than a dragon—the head of a great cobra, the eyes fitted with copper plates that caught the sun. Issari landed upon the head with a clatter of claws, and her tail whipped, sending scaffolds crashing down the mountainside. An instant later, Tanin landed at her side. The red dragon sneered, raised his tail like a scorpion, and blasted out smoke.

  Upon the great stone head, the Gosharian overseer took several steps backward until his back slammed against the mountainside. He was a portly man, clad in bronze ring mail. His beard was black and long, his eyebrows thick, his head bald. He drew a curved blade and held it before him.

  "Stand back, reptiles!" Spittle flew from his mouth. "I am but a mortal, but the goddess Shahazar protects me. Leave this place, foul creatures. Leave or the goddess's curse will wilt your wings."

  Issari sneered and raised her paw. The light of Taal burst out from the amulet in a beam. The Gosharian wailed and covered his eyes.

  Issari released her magic. A human again, she stood upon the statue's head, facing the overseer. Without her magic, she was only a slim young woman, still clad in the silks of the harem. But she spoke with the gravity of a queen.

  "You will order your men to lower their whips and blades." She took a step closer to the man. "You will secure Eteer's passage through the city of Goshar and into the fertile lands of the south. But before the children of Eteer depart, you will pay every man, woman, and child a coin of gold." She clenched her fists. "And you will beg each one for forgiveness, and all shall know that Shahazar is powerless to resist the might of Queen Issari."

  The overseer howled, cheeks red, and swung his blade toward her.

  Tanin sucked in his breath.

  Issari ducked and the blade whistled over her head. She opened her palm and slammed her amulet into the overseer's chest.

  Light blazed out and the overseer screamed. His sword clattered to the ground. He fell back against the mountainside.

  "I forgot to add one thing," Issari whispered, her amulet blazing. "If you disobey me, I will show you no mercy."

  The overseer roared, drew a dagger, and raced back toward her. Issari sidestepped, dodging the blade, and let the man keep running. He tried to halt upon the edge of the statue. A shove from Issari kept him on his way. The overseer teetered for a moment on the ledge, then tumbled. He fell, screaming, hundreds of feet down the mountainside. Slaves below scattered as their master slammed into the earth.

  "You were right," Tanin said. The red dragon whistled appreciatively. "Didn't need to burn anyone."

  Issari walked to the edge of the serpent's head. She gazed down upon the land—the mountainside where the slaves labored, the city of Goshar beyond, the scorching northern desert of her exile, and far in the south the fertile grasslands to which she would lead her people. She raised her arms high.

  "Hear me, children of Eteer!" she called out. "I am Issari Seran, the Priestess in White, the Queen of Eteer, a dragon of Requiem. I've heard your cry and I will lead you to freedom, to safety, to a new home!"

  The children of Eteer chanted her name. The Gosharian masters fled.

  Issari smiled and leaped off the statue. Wings burst out from her back. White scales rose across her. She dived down the mountainside.

  "Follow, children of Eteer! Follow me to freedom."

  She landed at the base of the statue and resumed human form. The slaves crowded around her, reaching out to to touch her, to seek a blessing. She walked among them, smiling softly, and she held her hand high. The light rose from her amulet, a pillar reaching into the sky.

  "Issari! Issari!" they chanted. "The Priestess in White!"

  Tanin soared overhead, a red dragon roaring fire. Issari walked upon the earth, her light shining. A pillar of fire and a pillar of light led the children of Eteer from slavery and into the city of Goshar.

  Between stone houses and columned temples, soldiers of the city raced forth to stop the children of Eteer. They wore armor and carried curved blades and round shields, and their faces twisted with fear and rage. Chariots rolled between them along the cobbled streets, their wheels scythed.

  "Turn back, slaves!" their captain shouted. "You cannot pass. Goshar is forbidden to you."

  Issari, walking at the lead of a great flock, smiled thinly. She wore a white cloak across her shoulders, a gift from a young slave boy, a raiment to hide the silks of the harem.

  "We shall pass," she said. "And we will not dwell in Goshar but in the fertile lands beyond her walls. I have promised those lands to my people, to a people exiled and hurt, a people I have freed from the tyranny of Raem, from the devilry of the Demon Queen, and from the whips of Goshar. If you seek to stop us, I will free my people from your yoke too, soldiers of the city. Step aside and let us pass, or the light of Eteer and the fire of Requiem will flow across you. I've slain your lord, the Abina Sin-Naharosh. Step aside and I will show you mercy, for I am merciful."

  She raised her hand high, and the pillar of light crackled.

  And t
he soldiers of Goshar turned and fled before her.

  "Issari! Issari!" her people chanted, tears in their eyes. Their voices rose in song. She walked at the head of the column, leading them through the city, as above the red dragon flew and roared.

  They walked by many homes and halls, through many courtyards and squares, until they reached the southern walls of Goshar. A gateway rose here, flanked with granite statues, and through it Issari saw the green lands she sought. A place of freedom, of plenty, of peace.

  "A new home for Eteer," she whispered. "From fire and blood into green lands and blue skies."

  She had taken one step through the archway, had placed one foot into the lands beyond, when she heard the shrieks behind her and smelled the stench of rot.

  She turned around.

  She felt the blood drain from her face.

  They flew above the city like a cloud of locust, hundreds strong, their wings buzzing, their eyes blazing, their maws dripping, their shrieks echoing.

  Issari trembled, her eyes dampened, and her heart thrashed against her ribs.

  "Nephilim," she whispered.

  JEID

  The scream echoed through the tunnels.

  Jeid cursed and ran.

  "Again!" Dorvin shouted, running behind him. "Stars damn it! What in the Abyss?"

  All along the tunnel walls, the exiled Vir Requis huddled in human form, faces dour. Some whimpered and others wept. Some simply stared sternly, clenching their fists. A few lay on the cave floor, clutching wounds from the battle at Requiem: the stumps of limbs, gaping gashes, and flesh wilted by the sphinx smoke.

  But right now we face a new enemy, Jeid thought, racing by them. An unknown shadow in the dark.

  The scream rose once more, then faded. Jeid took several wrong turns through the labyrinth in the mountain, backtracked, and finally smelled the stench of death. He followed his nose and there, in a narrow tunnel far from the cave entrance, he saw it—another corpse.

  The woman lay on the ground, glassy eyes staring, mouth frozen in anguish. Like all the others, her chest had been cracked, the ribs tugged open like swinging doors, and the innards scooped out.

  "Gutted like a fish," Dorvin said. He came to stand at Jeid's side, chest heaving, and wiped sweat off his brow. "Fifth damn one. Grizzly, what's doing this?" The young, dark-haired man spun around and shouted, "Show yourself! Whoever you are, come here and fight me like a man."

  Jeid stared down at the corpse, feeling just as hollow. The slain woman was named Serra, a pale gatherer of berries with short black hair and dark eyes. She had been so young, not yet twenty, all her life still awaiting her.

  She should have lived to see Requiem flourish, Jeid thought. She should have married, raised a family, lived in peace and died in old age in the light of our halls . . . not here. Not like this.

  "Come on!" Dorvin was screaming, spinning his arms around. Spittle flew from his mouth. "Come on and face us, damn it! Come and—"

  "Dorvin." Jeid pointed at the ceiling. "Look."

  One of the survivors, a lamp-maker, had fled Requiem with three clay lamps in her pack. Jeid now raised one of those small lamps. The oil was low, and the wick flickered; they had enough oil for only another day or two of light. The orange glow revealed a hole—perhaps a foot wide—in the granite ceiling. Blood stained its rim.

  "What in the Abyss?" Dorvin frowned. "That hole's barely wide enough to piss through. You think whatever killed Serra came through there?"

  Jeid wove his fingers together. "Go take a look. I'll give you a boost."

  The young man's eyes widened. "I'd sooner bugger a dead bloated whale."

  "Shut your mouth and look."

  Dorvin grimaced. "And if whatever's in there chews my face off?"

  "Then at least I won't have to look at your ugly mug anymore."

  Grumbling under his breath, Dorvin placed a foot in Jeid's hands. Jeid shoved, boosting Dorvin up toward the ceiling. The young hunter winced, cursed, but dutifully peered into the hole.

  "Emptier than Maev's skull," Dorvin said. "And stinkier than your backside, Grizzly. Whatever got Serra was here all right. There's damn blood and mucus all over." He hopped down onto the floor and shuddered. "By the Sky Goddess's teats, if there were room to shift in here, I'd claw that hole open and tear apart whatever's living in there."

  Jeid grunted. "Even if we had room to shift in here, the walls are mostly granite. Harder than marble. We'd be chipping away an inch at a time; could take years. But something dug this hole, something with sharper claws than dragons. Stay here, Dorvin. You're guarding this hole from now on."

  Dorvin's eyes grew so wide his eyeballs looked ready to pop out. "Warthog's shite I am!" He gestured down at the hollowed-out body. "You saw what that creature did to Serra."

  "I did. And I don't want it doing that to anyone else. So draw your sword, boy, and guard this hole." Jeid smiled wryly. "Whatever's in there, it's no deadlier than the army of sphinxes outside."

  As if to answer his thoughts, screams rose from far above in the caves. Jeid tensed.

  The sphinxes.

  He cursed and ran.

  He whipped around bends in the labyrinth, racing past the other survivors until he burst into the wide chamber near the mountainside.

  Jeid had positioned Verin, an old man with a long white beard, to guard the entrance in dragon form. When Jeid had left this place, Verin had been blowing fire out the exit, a gray dragon with cracked horns. Verin now lay dead upon the cave floor, a human again. Two sphinxes stood above him, ripping into his flesh and guzzling it down. Three Widejaws were walking across the cave in human form, approaching the tunnel, bronze-tipped spears in their hands.

  Jeid roared, drew his sword, and ran to meet them.

  The Widejaws grinned, their cheeks split to the ears, revealing shark-like maws. One man thrust his spear. Jeid knocked the weapon aside, ducked under another spear, and kicked. He hit one man in the shin, swung his sword, and cut into another man's arm. A spear thrust and scratched along Jeid's shoulder, and he roared. Silhouetted by the sunlight at the entrance, several sphinxes hissed and took human form; they too entered the cave and advanced toward him.

  "Jeid!" rose a voice behind him.

  An instant later, Koren raced forward and thrust his spear. The gaunt man—once a fisherman of the River Ranin—screamed in rage, and his flint-tipped weapon drove into a Widejaw's neck. Jeid stabbed another Widejaw in the chest; his bronze sword crashed through the man's mail, scattering metal rings across the floor.

  Jeid sneered and drove forward, sword waving madly, relying on his size to shove the enemy back. Another spear drove into his thigh, and he howled but kept shoving the enemy back.

  "Stand back, Koren!" Jeid cried and shifted.

  He ballooned into a dragon. An instant before he could be crushed, Koren leaped backwards. A copper dragon, Jeid slammed against the walls, filling the cave like a lemon stuck in a man's throat.

  He blasted out his flames.

  The Widejaws burned and fell.

  Jeid shoved himself forward, clawing at the fallen bodies. Sphinxes still flew outside; one reached the entrance and blasted in a cloud of demon smoke. Jeid roared his fire, roasting the small demons floating in the cloud and the sphinx behind them. With a few more steps, Jeid reached the entrance and roared out dragonfire in a great fountain. Hundreds of sphinxes still flew outside, shrieking and fluttering away from the inferno.

  We can't keep doing this much longer. The flames roared and the fear twisted inside him. Danger lurks outside and within. Too many lost.

  Fewer than a hundred Vir Requis now hid in the tunnels, and more were falling every day—to the sphinxes outside and the creature within. As Jeid blasted his fire, he knew that the fallen had been the lucky ones. Their deaths had been quick.

  When his flames ran low, he pulled back into the cave, and Koren replaced him at the entrance, taking the form of a blue dragon.

  Leaving Koren to guard the cave, Jeid walked ba
ck toward the tunnels, bleeding, dizzy. His wounds left a red trail behind him. He wanted to collapse. Pain flared and he fell to his knees, lowered his head, and breathed raggedly

  I can't do this anymore.

  He wanted to join the dead, to see them again: little Requiem, his parents, his fallen wife—

  Laira is my wife now.

  He clenched his fists, and his chest heaved.

  "Laira," he whispered.

  So many years after losing Keyla, his first wife, he had met a new woman to love—a woman who brought him new light, new hope, new joy.

  I have to live. I have to find you again, Laira.

  He summoned Laira in his memory: her large green eyes, her mouth trembling with a hesitant smile, her warm body wrapped in his arms, the courage and strength of her soul, the love and pride in her wings and golden scales.

  For you I will keep fighting. Always. If you are alive, Laira, I will find you. If you are fallen, I will burn down the world in revenge.

  "Jeid!"

  He raised his head. Bryn came running toward him from the depths. The red-haired woman stared at him with wide eyes.

  "I'm all right, Bryn," he managed to rasp.

  She reached him, knelt, and examined his wounds. "You are not! By the stars." She looked over her shoulder. "We need a druid! The king is hu—"

  "Bryn!" Jeid grabbed her arm. "They cannot know I'm hurt. They must think their king is strong. Do you understand?"

  Her brown eyes dampened, but she tightened her lips and nodded. She drew a granite dagger from her boot and sliced off strips from her cloak. Her fingers steady and her lips pursed, she bound his wounds as best she could.

  When her work was done, Jeid sat down and leaned against the wall. He knew he should be walking along the tunnels, comforting the others, showing them his strength, assuring them of survival. But he felt too weak to rise, too hopeless to fight. Byrn, silently understanding, sat at his side and leaned her head against his shoulder. She stroked his chest, passing her hand up and down his fur tunic.