by Colt, K. J.
Eranor nodded, tossed his beard across his shoulder, and raced into the left tunnel. He vanished in the darkness.
The shrieks rose outside, louder now; the rocs were descending into the canyon. Men shouted too, crying out to find the weredragons, to flay and bugger and disembowel the creatures until they begged for death.
Damn it, Jeid thought. Stars damn it! I need Tanin and Maev here for this. Just when we need to fight, the two little buggers are away.
“Where will you go, Grizzly?” Laira asked, voice quiet.
Jeid managed a wry smile. “To cook some birds.” He touched her cheek, leaned forward, and kissed her forehead. “Be strong, Laira. We will defeat them.”
With that he raced into the second tunnel at the back. The passage was narrow; he had to crawl. As he moved in the darkness, his heart thudded and the sneer would not leave his lips. He was not afraid for his life, he realized. His cared not whether he lived or died. He was scared for his father. For Laira. For Requiem. The tunnel walls shook as the rocs shrieked outside.
Finally the tunnel curved sharply. He climbed a slope, emerging into a chamber that held their tools and weapons—fishing gear, blades, pelts, arrows, and sundry other items. A small opening gaped in the cliff side, looking out into the dark canyon, barely larger than his head.
“I see no weredragons, my chieftain!” rose a deep, hoarse voice outside. A roc cawed.
A second voice answered, high-pitched and twisted with cruelty. “This is the place. The reptiles are hiding here. Down into the canyon! Find them.”
Jeid recognized that second voice, and a growl rose in his throat.
Zerra. My twin brother.
Wings beat, men cursed, and he heard talons clatter down against the stones outside. Jeid approached the small opening and peered outside. He could see them below, the great vultures—larger than dragons—barely fitting into the gorge. Their talons scattered stones, and their riders gazed around, hands on their bows. Last time Jeid had seen them, the tribesmen had worn fur and leather and fought with stone-tipped arrows. Tonight they wore bronze breastplates and helms, and metal tipped their arrows.
Somebody armed them, Jeid realized. That’s why they no longer fear us. Somebody gave them armor and weapons . . . and sent them here.
He pulled back from the opening. An eerie silence fell. Men began to dismount and spread out across the canyon, searching. Their torches crackled.
“I see a cave!” one man cried, pointing toward the chamber where Laira hid.
“There’s another cave here,” said another man, pointing toward the pantry where Eranor was awaiting the signal.
“It’s time,” Jeid whispered.
A rope dangled above him. Jeid gripped it with both hands, clenched his jaw, and gave it a mighty tug.
For a moment nothing happened.
Jeid held his breath.
A creak rose, almost inaudible at first, then growing louder. Dust rained across the cave exit.
Then, with the sound of crashing mountains, a hundred boulders crashed down.
The avalanche slammed into the canyon, shaking the cliffs. Cracks raced across the cave walls around Jeid. Dust and shards of stone blasted into the chamber, nearly blinding him. When he peered outside, he saw the boulders rolling—some larger than men, craggy and mossy, others sharp and small.
Blood splattered the canyon.
Boulders slammed into rocs, snapping their spines, burying the birds. Men screamed. Arms reached out from the rubble. More rocs flew above, helpless to rescue their brethren.
“They’re here—find them!” Zerra cried above. “Land on the boulders and into the caves.”
Jeid shifted. His dragon form, bulky and long, filled the chamber, pressing up against the walls. He shoved his snout out of the exit.
“Fire!” he shouted.
He roared his flames.
The jet blasted out into the canyon, crashed against the fallen boulders, and sprayed up like red waves. Through the blaze, Jeid saw Laira and Eranor breathing their own fire from their holes, adding their jets to his.
The canyon roared, a great oven.
Tribesmen screamed.
Rocs ignited and fell.
A man ran, a living torch, and collapsed.
When Jeid had to pause for breath and their flames lowered, he beheld a ruin. Melted flesh clung to stones. Arms twitched under the rubble. One man still lived, crawling across boulders; his legs were gone, ending with trailing stumps and jutting bones, and the skin on his face had peeled off. But more rocs and riders still lived. Dozens of wings beat above, and dozens of men cried out.
“Get down there!” Zerra was screaming. The voice came from the sky above the canyon; the chieftain had not yet dared enter the gauntlet. “I don’t care how much fire they blow. Get down there and dig them out!”
Jeid found himself trembling again, his scales chinking. He ground his teeth. He dug his claws into the stone beneath him. That day returned to him, the day he still dreamed of: fleeing Oldforge with fire and blood, leaving his dead wife behind.
“Turn back, Zerra!” he shouted into the gorge. “Turn back and I will spare your life. This place is forbidden to you. Enter this canyon and it will be your tomb.”
He heard his twin laughing outside. “It is you, my dear brother, who is buried now. It is you who lurks in your grave. Emerge to fight me or die like a coward. I care not.” Zerra emitted a horrible laugh that sounded like snapping bones. “Men! Dig into these walls, shatter these stones, and slay the maggots in their holes.”
More rocs screeched and descended. Jeid growled and blew his flames again.
LAIRA
LAIRA FILLED THE CAVE, A golden dragon. She sneered, beat her wings against the ceiling, and blew more fire out into the canyon. She heard the tribesmen scream, and a smile twisted her jaw. Even in dragon form, that jaw was crooked, shoved to the side, a reminder of Zerra’s cruelty.
You are out there, she thought, blasting her flame. The man who beat me, starved me, thrust into me in his bed. She roared as her flames crackled. Now I burn you. This ends here.
Across the canyon, she glimpsed Jeid blowing his flames too. The jet emerged from a hole no larger than his snout. Within the canyon, the enemies died. Fire blasted against the walls, showered up, and knocked rocs down. Screams echoed and ash rained.
But the rocs kept coming, and Laira’s flames were burning low. Soon her jet fizzled into mere sparks. Fear gripped her, and she growled and blasted out every last flame inside her. Across the canyon, she saw that Jeid and Eranor too were down to sparks. They would need time to rest and recharge.
But the rocs gave them no respite.
They kept diving into the canyon. Men leaped off and hid behind boulders where the fire could not reach. Archers rose from behind a dead roc, fired, and crouched down. One arrow slammed into the cliff side near Laira. A second entered the cave and grazed her cheek, and she hissed. She closed her jaw, waiting, sneering. Smoke plumed from her nostrils. When the archers rose again, she blasted what flames remained inside her. It was but a thin stream, but it caught one archer in the chest. He fell.
More arrows flew. Laira retreated from the exit and flexed her claws. Her foot stepped into the brazier, and she grunted and kicked the embers aside. Smoke rose around her. She had no fire within her—not until she could rest—but she could still fight.
“Enter and fight me!” she shouted. “Enter this cave, Zerra, and face me.”
She snarled and raised her claws. Arrows flew into the cave, slamming into the walls around her. When she stepped back, they could not hit her. The tribesmen would have to enter, leaving their rocs outside.
And I will kill them, Laira thought, refusing to tremble, refusing to let the horror overwhelm her. She had killed men with her flames. Now she would kill with tooth and claw.
“You came here to die.” She clawed the air. “Requiem is my new tribe. Requiem will be forged in fire and blood.”
As she waited for
them to enter, shrieks sounded above.
Laira whipped her head up and blasted smoke out of her nostrils. On the ceiling was a small hole, a vent for their brazier’s smoke. Talons reached into the opening, scratching, cracking stone, widening the gap. Soon a roc head appeared, and its shriek echoed in the cavern, nearly deafening Laira. She cried out with the pain of the sound.
More talons dug above and debris rained. With a shower of dust, a chunk of the ceiling collapsed. Stones pelted Laira, cracking her scales, and she blasted what fire she could muster.
Through the dust, flame, and smoke, a roc crashed down into the cave.
Zerra sat upon it.
The chieftain stared at her and his lips—halved by his scars—twisted into a horrible smirk. He wore a breastplate beneath his fur pelts, and he pointed a bronze-tipped arrow at her.
Still in dragon form, Laira lunged toward him.
The arrow flew and slammed into her neck.
She cried out, the pain driving through her. Her neck stiffened. She felt ilbane flow through her, bitter and burning—a leaf’s latex harmless to most but poisonous to dragons. She roared and tried to lash her claws. But the roc was quicker. Its talons drove into her chest, knocking her down.
She slammed onto the floor. The pain drove the magic away from her. She shrank, becoming a woman again. The arrow clattered to the floor, coated with her blood.
“Hello again, little Laira,” Zerra said, staring down from his roc. He spat upon her. “You I will not kill, no. The other weredragons will die tonight, but you will return home with me. Do you think you suffered before? You will soon miss those days. I will make you suffer like no one ever has. Ashoor, grab her.”
The foul vulture, dripping oil and shedding charred feathers, raised his talons over Laira.
She tried to shift back into a dragon, but she was too hurt, too weak. She swung the bronze sword Jeid had given her—a wide blade the length of her forearm—but the roc knocked it aside. The blade sparked against the wall.
As the talons descended, Laira scurried away. Clutching her sword, she stumbled into one of the tunnels.
She plunged through shadows, fell, and banged her hip. Her muscles felt stiff, her eyes puffy, her bones cold and throbbing. Grimacing, she began to crawl backward, leaving the cave and entering the network of underground passages. The burrow would take her under the canyon—to Jeid.
Light blazed as Zerra thrust a torch into the tunnel. She heard him laugh as he crawled in after her.
“So you will be caught like the maggot that you are.” His voice echoed. “Maybe you would like another bedding here in the darkness before I drag you home. Yes, I do think that back in our tribe, I will take you every night.”
Laira tightened her grip around her sword’s hilt.
She kept crawling. Soon she would reach Jeid. He would help her. They would battle Zerra together. As the torch grew nearer, as he crawled after her, Laira kept scurrying. Her blood trickled and her head spun. The tunnel grew larger; soon she was able to run upright, though her legs would not stop shaking. Blood covered her cloak.
Stay alive. Keep moving. Soon you’ll reach Jeid. Soon—
She slammed into stone.
“No. Stars, no.”
The tunnel had collapsed; boulders blocked her way. She was trapped.
She spun around to see Zerra walking toward her, a torch in one hand, his sword in the other.
No fear. For Requiem.
Laira screamed and lunged toward him, swinging her blade.
JEID
THE CAVERN COLLAPSED AROUND HIM.
Rocs clawed and bit, tearing at the opening. Stones crashed down. The ceiling cracked. The beasts, mightier than any animal that roamed the earth or flew in the skies, were tearing the canyon apart. Boulders slammed down behind Jeid, blocking his way deeper into the network of tunnels. He roared, down to mere sputters of flame, as the cave collapsed around him.
And so I fight in the open, he thought.
Stones pelted him. One slammed down onto his spine. More buffeted his neck, knocking him down. Jeid growled.
And so I fly out to death in fire.
He stretched his wings wide. He bellowed—a cry that shook the canyon.
“For Requiem.”
He crashed forward, driving through the raining boulders, barreling past rocs. Clawing the air and lashing his tail, a copper dragon blowing fire, Jeid emerged into the canyon and sounded his cry.
“For Requiem!” His voice was hoarse, and blood coated his scales. All around the enemy flew, wings covering the sky, arrows filling the air. But beyond them a light shone; the sun was rising. “For a dawn of dragons!”
He soared, blowing fire, into a sky of talons and arrows.
A roc swooped toward him. Jeid clubbed it aside with his tail. A second rancid bird landed upon his back, and a beak crashed through Jeid’s scales. Blood showered and he howled, flew backward, and slammed the roc into the canyon wall. The creature crashed down, but three more swooped at Jeid. He roared his flames and bit into rank flesh. Arrows pelted him. Jeid flew higher, grabbed a rider between his jaws, and bit down hard. The man tumbled down in two halves, entrails spilling like streamers.
Flame and blood lit the sky.
“Eranor!” he cried. “Laira!”
He could not see them. When he stared down, he saw that their caves had collapsed. They were trapped. Perhaps dead.
I killed them. I led them here. I called this a new home; it became a tomb.
Rocs slammed against him, shoving him down. He growled. His claws hit the canyon floor, and he shoved upward, wings beating, tearing through the beasts.
So I die with them.
He crashed through the sea of fetid birds, rose out of the canyon, and entered the sky. The trees burned across the escarpment. Red smoke hid the sky. Everywhere they flew—the rocs of the Goldtusk tribe. The arrows of riders fell like rain, slamming into him. One sliced through his wing.
I fly to you now, my wife, he thought, eyes rolling back. I fly to you, Requiem.
When he closed his eyes, he saw it above—the Draco constellation, stars of Requiem, wells of magic. He flew through blood toward the lights.
Heat bathed him.
Roars rolled like thunder.
Jeid opened his eyes and saw them there. They rose from the dawn, three dragons, blowing their fire.
“A dawn of dragons,” he whispered, tears in his eyes.
With slicing claws and streams of flame, they flew into the battle, red and green and blue. Tanin. Maev. The Prince of Eteer.
Jeid joined his roar to theirs, and their flames wreathed together.
MAEV
SHE HAD WRESTLED IN GRUNGY town squares. She had fought in pits of mud surrounded by cheering tribesmen. She had swapped punches and kicks in rundown huts and cellars, and she had flown over a southern kingdom, battling demons. She was Maev, a lost woman, a fighter, a dragon of Requiem. And here above her home, above this new tribe, she fought the battle of her life.
This was also the battle of her death. The battle she could not win.
The rocs swarmed toward her, many times the size of demons, dwarfing even her dragon form. They clawed through her scales. Their beaks drove into her flesh. She kicked, bit, lashed her tail. She blew her flames, and her comrades fought with as much vigor.
But the enemy was too strong.
The arrows of their riders were too many. The bolts slammed into Maev, and she dipped in the sky.
“Requiem!” she shouted, hoarse. A roc swooped toward her, and she torched it. It slammed into her, burning, and she knocked it off. “Fight them, dragons of Requiem! We die in blood! We die in fire!”
Yes. She would die here. Maev knew that, and she was ready. She would die in glory, slaying them, so that for eras tribes and villages and distant kingdoms would speak of Requiem, would speak of the last stand of dragons.
I do not go gently into death, she thought, grinning as blood dripped from her mouth. If I die he
re, I die taking down dozens of you.
She whipped her tail, slamming its spikes into a rider. The man’s armor caved in. She yanked back her tail, tugging the man off his roc, and tossed him against a second bird. The beast shrieked, and more flew from above, and more claws slammed into Maev.
She dipped in the sky, and her flank hit the side of the canyon. Boulders tumbled down, and her tail hit a tree. The oak crashed into the canyon, burying a man beneath it.
She heard Tanin cry in pain above, and his blood splattered her. He crashed down, three rocs upon him, plunging into the shadowy gorge. A boulder shattered beneath him. Ahead of her, Maev saw more of the vultures mob her father. They knocked Jeid into the forest above the canyon. Trees ignited and fell, and fire hid the world. She no longer saw Sena, but blue scales fell from the sky, pattering around her like small discarded shields.
And so here I fall, Maev thought. Not in a distant kingdom. Not in a strange town. But here. At home.
It was not a bad place to die.
She pushed herself up.
She emitted a roar and torched a swooping roc.
Claws lashing, wings beating, she soared. The sky was hidden behind feathers, blood, and smoke.
Let me die in the sky.
“Requiem!” she cried. “My wings will forever find your sky.”
She soared into the cloud of rocs, crashing into them, smiling as she killed.
LAIRA
THEIR BLADES CLASHED TOGETHER IN the tunnel, bronze against bronze, showering sparks.
“I will kill you now,” Laira said.
Zerra laughed. “I will show you no such mercy.”
His sword swung down. She raised her own sword, and the blades clanged together. She thrust and he parried, and when his blade swung again, it cut her wrist. Her blood showered but she gripped her hilt tightly.