Song of Dragons: The Complete Trilogy

by Daniel Arenson

  Kyrie drank too, remembering those breakfasts of porridge and bacon back at Fort Sanctus, and he thought of the Lady Mirum, his heart heavy. When he finished drinking, he licked his chops and said, "Where now, Agnus Dei? How much longer can we fly? Maybe there is no golden mountain. Maybe there are no salvanae."

  He looked around at the clear waters, the mountains covered in snow and pines, the valleys of grass and boulders. He wished he could stay here forever with Agnus Dei. No griffins filled these skies. They could rebuild the Vir Requis race here—him, her, their children. This land could promise a future for the Vir Requis, and... Kyrie felt his blood boil again. It could mean many more nights with Agnus Dei.

  He sighed. No. He could not just hide here, not when Lacrimosa and Benedictus needed him. He would not abandon his friends.

  Agnus Dei too looked around the valleys and mountains, lost in thought. She also sighed, then said, "Maybe you're right, pup, maybe—"

  A roar pierced the air, sending birds fluttering.

  Kyrie and Agnus Dei stared up and froze.

  Nothing.

  Nothing there.

  The roar had sounded above them, maybe a league away. Griffins? No, that was no birdlike shriek, it was—

  Again the roar shook the world. And there—a serpentine shadow above the clouds.

  Agnus Dei burst into flight. Kyrie followed, wind whipping him. They crashed through the clouds and looked around.

  "Where is it?" Agnus Dei demanded, looking from side to side. Kyrie looked. He saw nothing but leagues of clouds, mountain peaks, and the sun above.

  "Where did it go?" Agnus Dei roared and blew fire. "True dragons! Hear me. Answer my call."

  Kyrie heard nothing but the wind and, below him, the distant calls of birds. But he had seen the silhouette of that serpentine creature, had heard that roar. That had been no griffin nor divider; it had no wings, and yet it flew, a hundred feet long and coiling.

  Kyrie scanned the clouds. He saw a wisp in a field of white fluff; something had dived through those clouds.

  "There!" he said and flew. He reached the place where the clouds were disturbed, pulled his wings close to his body, and dived. Agnus Dei followed. Under the clouds, the mountains and rivers spread into the horizons, and again Kyrie saw no dragon. But....

  "Look!" he said. Birds were fleeing a distant mountaintop. Something had disturbed them. Kyrie flew toward that mountaintop, Agnus Dei by him. He was tired, but he had never flown faster. Could it be? Had they found the true dragons of old, the lords of Salvandos?

  They flew around the mountaintop, a tower of stone and snow. There! He saw a green, scaly tail disappear around a cliff. He narrowed his eyes and followed, Agnus Dei at his side.

  A flash of brilliant green. The dragon ahead soared into the clouds.

  "Wow," Kyrie said. He could think of nothing more to say. He glimpsed the dragon for only a second, but it was beautiful, the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. This was definitely no Vir Requis. The creature was half as slim and twice as long. It had no wings, but moved like a snake in the sky, coiling and uncoiling. Emerald scales covered its body, and its horns and claws glowed. It sported a flowing mustache and beard, snowy white and flapping in the wind.

  In a flash, it was gone into the clouds, leaving a wake of glittering blue.

  "Come on, Kyrie!" Agnus Dei shouted, and Kyrie realized he was hovering in place. He blinked, shook his head, and flew hard. He broke through the clouds and saw the salvana in the distance, already a league away, undulating as it flew. It dived under the clouds again, disappearing from view, like a snake diving under water.

  "Come back here," Kyrie cried, but doubted the salvana could hear him. It was such a strange creature, Kyrie wondered if he'd just gone mad with weariness. Flying green serpents with golden horns and white beards? What was next, pink elephants with swan wings?

  Kyrie and Agnus Dei kept racing, chasing the coiling green dragon. It was fast—faster than them, growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Kyrie knew that on a good day, well rested and well fed, he could catch up, but he was too tired now. He could barely keep his wings flapping, but he pushed himself as far as he could go.

  After an hour of flight, the salvana—now just a speck on the horizon—dived under the clouds again.

  Kyrie and Agnus Dei, both so weary they could barely fly, followed. They too dived under the clouds... and their breath died.

  Tears filled Kyrie's eyes.

  "It's real," Agnus Dei whispered, eyes moist.

  A mountain of gold rose before them. Kyrie had seen gold before—Dies Irae certainly wore enough of it—but here was an entire mountain of the stuff, a league high and blinding in the sun. Rings of mist surrounded the golden mountain. Snow capped its peaks. It dwarfed the smaller, jagged mountains that surrounded it. Most beautiful of all, however, was not the gold and mist and sunbeams, but the thousands of salvanae who flew here. Some were blue and silver, others green and gold, and some were white. Their eyes were like crystal balls, large and spinning. They bugled songs like trumpets, and flowed in and out of round caves in the mountainsides.

  "Har Zahav," Kyrie whispered in awe. "The Golden Mountain of Salvandos." He looked at Agnus Dei and saw that she was weeping.

  Three salvanae flew toward them. Two had green scales, golden horns, and long fangs. The third was golden and seemed elderly; his beard was white and flowing, his eyes pale blue with long white lashes. He flew first, leading the others, like a stream of gold.

  The salvanae flew up to hover before them. Their eyes glittered, large as watermelons. They blinked, lashes sweeping, and said nothing.

  "Hello," Kyrie said, then paused and cleared his throat. What did one say when meeting legendary creatures? He doubted they would understand Osanna's High Speech, but would they speak Requiem's older Dragontongue? Kyrie decided to speak the latter. "My name is Kyrie Eleison of Requiem," he said in that ancient, rolling language. "This is my companion, Agnus Dei, daughter of Benedictus and Lacrimosa. We flee danger and suffering. We come seeking your aid."

  The old dragon listened, the wind in his beard. Sparks like lightning rose between his teeth. He looked at Kyrie and Agnus Dei with crystal ball eyes. He spoke then with an old, crinkly voice, heavily accented but definitely speaking Dragontongue. "Greeting, travelers and strange things. I am Nehushtan, High Priest of Draco's stars. May they bless you. I welcome you to Har Zahav. You are fellow things of flight and fang. The light of Draco shines upon you, though it glimmers oddly. You may spend the darkness, and pray to the Draco constellation, and return to your lands when the sun wakes."

  Kyrie opened his mouth, then closed it again, dumbfounded. Agnus Dei's eyes flared, and smoke rose from her nostrils.

  "No!" Agnus Dei said to Nehushtan. "We do not come to rest. We need help! Our people are hunted. We're nearly extinct. The griffins have killed all but four of us. They captured my mother. Please help us." Tears filled her eyes.

  The salvana guards growled. Nehushtan only nodded slowly. He blinked, his great eyelashes like fans. He puffed out several rings of smoke. Finally he spoke again, turning his eyes from Agnus Dei, to Kyrie, and back again.

  "We of Har Zahav convey our grief. We weep to hear your tragedy, and we pray that the spirits of your dead find peace in the afterlife. You may stay three darknesses and recover your strength. Then you may fly to your home, and we will pray that the Draco constellation glows upon you there, and protects you in the afterlife should you perish."

  Kyrie shook his head and grunted. Were these salvanae daft? He blurted out his words, anger boiling his blood. "Is that all you can offer us? Three nights' stay? Then you'll send us back to die? Won't you help us? Don't you care that griffins are slaughtering fellow dragons?"

  Nehushtan puffed out more smoke, seeming lost in thought. The smoke formed tiny, dancing salvanae.

  "You are not fellow dragons," he finally said, "though you speak our tongue. You are the Vir Requis, creatures of old stories in our land. Y
et our light shines with you, for many years ago we were allies, and fought together against the griffins, when the griffins were still wild, and no amulet could tame them. This was many seasons ago. Today we dragons of Salvandos no longer fight the wars of Requiem. Like the snow upon the mountains, we live through sunshine and rain, and thrive both in light and shadows. Ours is a peaceful life, a life of prayer and meditation, of stargazing. We cannot fight the wars of griffins and Vir Requis. You may stay here for seven darknesses, but then you must leave, and I can offer no more."

  Agnus Dei roared so loudly, the salvana soldiers growled and blew smoke, and their eyes flared. "If you don't help us, we'll die," Agnus Dei cried. "Our race will vanish."

  Nehushtan blinked and nodded. He puffed more smoke, which now looked like a Vir Requis dragon, wings spread, mouth blowing fire. "As fire may rise in smoke, so may the life of a dragon rise as a spirit; it does not vanish, but joins the winds and the rain that falls. Fear not, Vir Requis, for your spirit is strong. When its time to rise comes, it will find its way to the temples of your forefathers." He turned around. "Follow me, and I will lead you to rest, food, and meditation."

  Agnus Dei panted with anger, eyes flaring, flames dancing between her teeth. The salvana soldiers eyed her, fangs bared. Kyrie trembled with rage, but forced himself to take deep breaths. He wasn't ready to give up yet. So long as they remained here at Har Zahav, there was hope.

  "Come, Agnus Dei," he said to her. "Let's go with them. We might convince them yet."

  The salvanae began flying toward the golden mountain. Kyrie and Agnus Dei followed. Watching how the salvanae coiled through the air with no wings, Kyrie felt clumsy as he flew. He marveled at how long, thin, and glittering these air serpents were, with their glowing horns, fluttering mustaches, and eyes like orbs of colored glass.

  As they flew closer to the mountain, Kyrie saw many other salvanae flying around him. They flew in every color, from the deepest black flecked in silver, to bright reds and greens. Some tossed bolts of lighting from their maws. The light blinded Kyrie.

  Nehushtan led them higher, moving toward the crest of Har Zahav. Flying so high, the mountains surrounding Har Zahav seemed small as hills, their pines mere specks. When they flew above Har Zahav's crest, Kyrie gasped. The golden mountain ended not with a peak, but with a gaping hole.

  "It's a volcano," he whispered.

  He saw darkness and stars inside the volcano, as if gazing into night sky. The salvanae coiled down toward the volcano's mouth, straightened their bodies, and entered the hole. They disappeared into the darkness.

  Kyrie and Agnus Dei hovered over the volcano's mouth. The opening was five feet wide, suited for the slim body of a salvana. How would Vir Requis—with their bulky frame and wings—enter?

  Kyrie and Agnus Dei landed on the mountain beside the opening. Winds lashed them, and snow flurried around their feet. Nehushtan and his soldiers were gone, and the only other salvanae flew far below.

  "Well," Kyrie said, struggling to speak as snow flew into his mouth. "I guess it's time to reveal our human forms, if we're to fit through this hole."

  The two shifted into humans. Though wind lashed him and he shivered, being human again felt good. Kyrie had flown for so long, he'd missed the feeling of ground beneath human feet. In his smaller form, the mountaintop seemed even more colossal, the winds wilder, the height more dizzying. He could barely breathe the thin air.

  Kyrie looked at Agnus Dei. Again he realized how much he loved her human form. As beautiful as Har Zahav was, with its golden slopes, coiling salvanae, and snowy peaks, Kyrie thought that Agnus Dei was the most beautiful thing around. She was a mess, her clothes tattered and muddy, her skin bruised and battered, her hair a great tangle of knots. But she couldn't have been more beautiful to Kyrie, not if she wore gowns and perfumes and jewels.

  "Kyrie," she said, "they're... not happy."

  Kyrie tore his eyes away from her. Salvanae were flying up toward them from the mountainsides. They roared and blew lightning from their maws. "Demons!" they called. "Shape shifters invade Har Zahav."

  Before Kyrie and Agnus Dei could react, the High Priest Nehushtan reemerged from the volcano, body flowing out from the narrow opening. He faced the charging salvanae, blew lightning, and called out, "Starlight be upon you! They are my wards."

  The charging salvanae paused, tongues lolling, sparks rising from their nostrils. Kyrie released his breath slowly, fingers trembling.

  "These are Vir Requis," the priest said, "our allies of old. They are strange things, but bring no evil into Har Zahav." He turned to Kyrie and Agnus Dei. "I offer sorrow; they do not remember the ancient songs. The Inner Realm is wide and warm. You may enter in your small forms, and regain your dragon beings inside."

  Nehushtan reentered the hole, once more disappeared into darkness.

  Kyrie peered into the volcano. He saw only inky darkness strewn with floating orbs of light. He turned his head back to Agnus Dei.

  "Should we just jump in?" he asked.

  Agnus Dei rolled her eyes. "Oh, pup, don't tell me you're afraid of the dark."

  Before he could respond, she shoved him into the volcano.

  Kyrie bit down on a yelp. He fell through darkness, the lights streaming around him. He glimpsed countless salvanae around him. With a groan, he shifted back into dragon form, flapped his wings, and steadied himself.

  "Hey pup!" Agnus Dei said. She was falling in her human form. She shifted, then hovered beside him. "That wasn't too bad, was it?"

  They gazed around. Thousands of orbs floated around them, glowing white and yellow and gold. Salvanae flowed between them, moving so fast, they appeared as glimmering streaks. This Inner Realm seemed endless, a universe. Kyrie had expected to see golden walls—the inner mountainsides—but the darkness and light seemed to spread forever.

  "Where is Nehushtan?" Kyrie asked. "Do you see him?"

  Agnus Dei pointed. "Down there."

  Kyrie looked below. The orbs clustered there, glowing more brightly, a nexus of light. The Inner Realm seemed to Kyrie like some great flower, its glowing center casting pollen into the darkness. Many salvanae coiled among the cluster of orbs below, and Kyrie glimpsed Nehushtan's tail.

  He flew down, Agnus Dei beside him. Salvanae stared from all directions, eyes spinning. Soon the Vir Requis crashed through hundreds of orbs, scattering them, and emerged into a bubble of light the size of a cathedral. The orbs resettled behind them, sealing them in this glowing chamber. Hundreds of salvanae flew here. Great rings of lightning spun upon the floor like an electrical storm. Every second, another salvana dipped toward the rings of lightning and blew upon it, feeding it sparks. As they coiled, the salvanae sang wordless songs like the sound of flutes and harps.

  Nehushtan saw them and flew toward them. "Here is the Light of Har Zahav, which we guard with our spirits. Here is the heart of our land. Welcome, Kyrie Eleison and Agnus Dei, to our Inner Realm. Warm yourself by the Draco Light, pray, and rest."

  He gestured toward a hollowed bowl in the stone floor, like a small crater. It lay a hundred feet from the electrical rings. A thousand other holes covered the floor, Kyrie noticed, and salvanae slept inside them.

  Kyrie and Agnus Dei landed in the depression. It was a tight squeeze for their dragons forms, so they shifted into humans again, and sat side by side. The electrical rings rose to their right, warming them.

  Salvanae flew down, bearing glowing bubbles, which they lay by Kyrie and Agnus Dei. Some bubbles held water, some held nuts, and others held pomegranates.

  "Eat, drink, and meditate," said Nehushtan, floating above them. With a nod and blink, he turned and disappeared into the lights above.

  "What a place," Kyrie said, watching the electrical rings and the coiling salvanae above. "Have you ever imagined such a thing? Agnus Dei?"

  He looked at her, and saw that she wasn't listening. She was popping the bubbles and devouring the food inside. Kyrie joined her, wolfing down the nuts and fruits.

>   The bubbles were the size of pots, meant to feed dragons. Even in their human forms, however, Kyrie and Agnus Dei put serious dents into the meal. When they could eat no more, they lay on their backs, the hollowed stone smooth and warm. They patted their bellies and sighed. Bowl-shaped, the depression forced them to lay pressed together. Agnus Dei's body was warm against his.

  "You were right, Agnus Dei," he said. "The salvanae are real. You were right all along."

  But Agnus Dei was already snoring, her head against his chest, her tangle of curls tickling his face. She tossed an arm over him.

  "Good night," he whispered and kissed her head. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, marveling at how her hair smelled like flowers and trees even after all the fire, pain, and blood they'd flown through. He wanted to wake her. He wanted to find Nehushtan again, to demand aid at once, to demand they flew now to save Benedictus and Lacrimosa. But sleep grabbed him too powerfully to resist. Before he knew it, he was asleep, his arms around Agnus Dei.

  LACRIMOSA

  Dreams whispered in the darkness.

  "Lacrimosa!" her mother called, voice a whisper, a flutter. "Come hear the harpists, daughter, come hear the song."

  She ran, bare feet upon fallen petals, laughter like ice drops on glass, frozen in time, frozen in memory. Her mother stood before her all in white, smiling, arms open, skin like alabaster and blond hair streaked with white, drowned in light, forever out of reach.

  "Mother!" she called, but her voice floated in the air, more ice drops that hung, floated, whispered and echoed.

  The harpists walked between the columns of Requiem, bleached, white robes fluttering and silent, eyes a startling blue, peering through her. The birch leaves glided among them, silver, and only their harps seemed real. She could see every leaf of gold upon them, every line and knot in the wood, and the strings cut through her vision, sharper than claw or fang. They played among the columns in their courts, but she could not hear them. Not anymore. Not here, not now.