GLORIAE
They were gone.
Once more they had escaped her. Once more she had failed.
Gloriae stood over the smoldering hut, staring at its embers, and her eyes burned. Whether they burned from smoke or tears, she did not know.
She kicked the embers with her boot, searching for something, some clue, some answer... to what? Gloriae didn't know. There was a riddle here, a secret, but she knew neither the answer nor question.
A wind blew, streaming her hair, a hot wind smelling of smoke and blood. She stood alone; she had sent her griffins to scour the beaches, islands, and forests, to burn and destroy whatever they could not search. Her father had joined them, trembling with rage.
"What did she say, Aquila?" Gloriae asked her griffin. The beast stood beside her, lion body singed, feathered breast cut with Kyrie's claws. Aquila cawed and scratched the burned earth.
"The silver one, the female," Gloriae said. "She spoke words."
Suddenly Gloriae was trembling, and she clutched her lance and gazed at its bloodied tip. She had wounded that silvery beast, driven her lance into its flesh, and it had opened its evil maw and spoken in a voice too soft, too delicate, too... familiar. Those words still echoed in Gloriae's mind.
"Gloriae, I—" it had called, and here griffin shrieks and fire had drowned its words. "—your mother!"
Gloriae closed her eyes, the wind stinging her face, the smoke stinging her nostrils. A tremble took her, and she had to lean against Aquila. A dream came unbidden to her mind, but not a dream as those which invaded her sleep; it filled her like a spell. She was a child. She walked between pillars in a birch forest, and the leaves were golden like her hair, gliding around her, scuttling against marble tiles. She held her mother's hand and wore no armor, only silk.
"Mother!" she spoke in her dream, and she saw her mother's eyes gaze down upon her, lavender eyes, loving, and Gloriae played with her mother's hair and laughed.
Gloriae opened her eyes and stared back at the burned forest. She trembled and clutched Per Ignem's hilt.
"A memory," she mumbled. "A memory, no more."
She knew not its place, nor its time. Her mother had died when Gloriae was only three. Gloriae had thought that no memories of the woman remained, but here this vision had come to her, and Gloriae knew it to be from those first three, joyous years of her life.
She looked at her bloodied lance and tossed it down in disgust.
"Gloriae!" the weredragon had spoken. How dared it speak her name? What kind of devil spoke with such a soft, beautiful voice? Only the greatest evil would mask its true nature with such a voice, Gloriae knew. And what did it mean?
"I—" Shrieks and fire. "—your mother!"
"The weredragons killed my mother," Gloriae whispered, jaw clenched, staring at the hut's embers. "I know the story. My father told me. They kidnapped her, tortured her, and ate her." She screamed, drew Per Ignem, and stabbed the ashes. "How dared one speak of my mother?"
Then Gloriae knew. With trembling fury, fury more white and burning than the embers, she knew the answer. That silvery dragon, that Lacrimosa as the others called it, had been the one. It had killed Gloriae's mother. It had taunted her mother with that soft voice, had ripped into her with claws.
"'I killed your mother,' it tried to say." Gloriae spoke in icy hatred, and Aquila cawed and retreated several steps, wincing as if expecting a blow. "Come, Aquila. We fly."
Aquila was wounded, but Gloriae drove her hard that day. If the griffin whimpered or slowed, Gloriae whipped her with her riding crop, and dug her spurs into her sides, and drove her onward. Today was important. Today she would fly faster than ever. They flew over the burning forest, and over lakes, and over more trees and farmlands. They flew until night, and slept in a field, and flew again with dawn.
For three days Gloriae flew upon her griffin, eyes narrowed, clutching her lance, the wind streaming her hair.
On the fourth morning, Gloriae saw the place she had sought. It lay ahead in the distance, a great stretch of ash and rubble, a patch of death upon the land. Once this land had been called Requiem, she knew—the evil land of the Vir Requis. Today it was a mere stain upon her beautiful empire of Osanna.
Lashing her crop, Gloriae directed her griffin to fly over the desolation. Aquila whimpered, but Gloriae drove her on with crop and spur. This was a strange land, a silent land. No birds chirped here, nor did any leaf sprout. Ash, rubble, smashed columns, and skeletons littered the ground.
"We will build a palace here, a great temple to your glory, and to the glory of the Sun God," the gaunt Lord Molok had once told Dies Irae.
But Gloriae's father had only shaken his head. "No. Forever shall the lands of the weredragons lay barren and ugly; that will be their legacy."
That legacy now stretched below Gloriae, and she imagined that she could still smell the blood and fire from Requiem's destruction ten years ago. A force seemed to guide her, like those whispers of her dream. She had never been to these lands, but somehow she knew what she sought. Somehow she knew where to fly. Gloriae flew north over the burned lands, scanning the ruins below, until she found the place she knew would be there.
She landed by toppled, shattered columns.
They were carved of marble, and must have risen a hundred feet tall in the days when Requiem still stood. The columns lay smashed now, each segment no longer than several feet. Their capitals had once been shaped as dragons; hammers, maces, and time had taken to them, beaten them down into shapes Gloriae could barely recognize. But Gloriae knew these columns; she could still see them standing among the birches.
"How... how could this be?" she whispered, clutching her sword. Cold wind blew, invading her armor, and she shivered. Bones, cloven shields, and shattered blades littered the ground. A mosaic lay cracked at Gloriae's feet, half buried in mud. The place was a ruin, but... she had been here before, seen this hall when it had still stood. She had walked here with her mother, had—
"You should not have come here," spoke a voice behind.
Gloriae spun, drew Per Ignem with a hiss, and snarled. Her heart burst into a gallop, and she tightened her lips.
Upon toppled bricks, stood a red dragon.
Sucking in her breath, Gloriae pointed her sword to the beast. Aquila stood cawing at Gloriae's side, and Gloriae mounted the griffin, never removing her eyes from the dragon's.
"These are the lands of my father's empire," she spoke, eyes narrowed, and placed her helmet on her head. She sheathed her sword and grabbed her lance. "It is you who should not have come. The weredragons' age has passed. You will join their bones here upon their toppled columns."
The red dragon sneered, smoke rising between her teeth. It was female, Gloriae knew; the dragon was too slim to be male, too graceful. Her scales were red like the fire leaving her nostrils. She looked young, only a youth.
"The only fresh bones here will be yours, Gloriae the Gilded," the dragon said. Her voice was that of a young woman. "Yes, Gloriae, slayer of Vir Requis children, I know your name. I am Agnus Dei, daughter of King Benedictus, heir to Requiem. I am the one who will kill you today."
The dragon leaped toward her.
Gloriae drove her griffin forward, steadying her lance.
Agnus Dei growled and blew fire, and Gloriae raised her shield. The flames burned around her, lapping at Gloriae's breastplate and helmet. Her lance scratched Agnus Dei's side, and the dragon grunted. Gloriae tugged the reins, spun around, and saw Agnus Dei leaping toward her again.
Narrowing her eyes, Gloriae pointed her lance. She gritted her teeth, and Agnus Dei blew fire again. The fire enveloped her shield, and Gloriae cried in pain; a tongue of flame found its way around her shield to burn her gloved hand. The leather protected her skin, but turned hot enough to blaze with pain.
"You will die, lizard!" she screamed and drove Aquila forward. The two had risen and now flew high over the ruins. Aquila too wore gilded armor. The fire had not kindled her fur or feathers, but that steel now burned hot, and the griffin screeched.
Agnus Dei was laughing. Blood seeped down her side, but still she laughed, smoke pluming from her maw. She charged, swooped, and before Gloriae could right her spear's thrust, Agnus Dei bit Aquila's leg.
The griffin shrieked and tried to bite, but Agnus Dei pulled back. Gloriae wished she could reach for her crossbow—its quarrels were coated with ilbane—but dared not drop her lance. She could not lose a second. As her griffin cried, Gloriae dug her spurs deep.
"Fly, Aquila! Fly at her."
Agnus Dei flew toward the sun, then dived down, the sunrays blinding Gloriae. Cursing, Gloriae raised her lance and shield, and felt a great weight land upon her. She saw nothing but scales, fire, and light. Her lance clanged. Agnus Dei was clawing, pushing her down. A claw scratched Gloriae's breastplate. She dropped her lance, drew her sword, and swung it. The steel cut scaled flesh, and Agnus Dei howled.
"Weredragon!" Gloriae cried. "I spit on your forefathers' graves. I will kill you upon their bones."
Agnus Dei drove her down, pushing Gloriae onto the ground. The claws lashed again, and Gloriae leaped off her saddle and rolled across the earth. Agnus Dei's claws slammed down, missing Gloriae by an inch, and she lashed her sword. The steel hit Agnus Dei's leg, spouting fresh blood. The red dragon roared.
"I will kill you even without my griffin," Gloriae said and snarled. She charged at the dragon, screaming, sword raised.
Agnus Dei flew up, and Gloriae screamed. "Coward! Come back here, girl, and face your death."
Gloriae ran toward the fallen griffin, not caring if Aquila lived or died; she cared only for the crossbow on the saddle. She grabbed it, aimed, and fired.
She caught Agnus Dei as the dragon swooped. The bolt hit the dragon's neck, and the scream of pain thudded against Gloriae, knocking her down. Agnus Dei kicked, and her leg hit Gloriae's breastplate. Gloriae saw nothing but white light. She flew, breath knocked out of her, and crashed against a smashed column. Armor covered her, but this blow still ached. For a moment, Gloriae could not breathe, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she struggled to her feet. Shakily, she raised her crossbow.
Agnus Dei was lumbering toward her, snarling, limping, unable to fly. She blew fire.
Gloriae ducked, rolled, and raised her shield. The flames burned around her shield, and Gloriae squinted. When the fire died, she aimed her crossbow and fired again.
The bolt hit Agnus Dei's shoulder, and the dragon screamed. She fell upon the ruins, cracking a fallen statue of an old king.
"Yes," Gloriae said, smiling through her snarl. "The ilbane on my quarrels is strong and thick. It burns, doesn't it? I finish you now." She stepped toward the dragon, the wind blasting her, Per Ignem raised.
Agnus Dei struggled to rise, but could not. She glared at Gloriae, and her eyes seemed so human—brown, pained eyes—that Gloriae faltered.
"Gloriae...," Agnus Dei spoke, blood seeping down her sides, squinting in pain. There was something about that voice, those eyes.... Gloriae shook her head. Finish her! cried a voice inside her. Bring down your sword, chop off her head, kill the beast!
"Requiem," Agnus Dei whispered at Gloriae's feet. "May our wings forever find your sky."
Those words! Gloriae knew them! But how could she? Tears filled her eyes, and her arm trembled. Her sword wavered. Gloriae could not breathe. Standing over the wounded Agnus Dei, she tore off her helmet, shook her hair loose, and took deep, desperate breaths.
Agnus Dei, staring up from the ground, gasped. Those eyes—those brown, almost human eyes—widened. "I... I know you, Gloriae. I've seen you before, I...."
Gloriae trembled. She walked between columns, the birches rustling, holding her mother's hand. She heard old songs on harps, and played with a girl her age, a girl with brown eyes, and—
"No!" Gloriae screamed, a scream so loud, that Agnus Dei started. "I do not know you, lizard! I— I know only your evil. You cast spells upon me. You cast evil magic. I will not let you invade my mind. I will not!" Her eyes swam with tears.
She could no longer bear to look into those brown eyes. She saw lies and dreams within them, trees that still rustled, and songs that still played, and smiles from... what? A different life? A different world?
No! Spells. Lies! Black magic of beasts.
Gloriae fled, boots kicking up ash, leaving the creature there. The weredragons were more dangerous and evil than she had imagined.
"Aquila!" she cried. The griffin still lived, through she was wounded, maybe badly. Gloriae climbed onto the saddle and urged the beast up. "Fly, Aquila. Fly far from here. This land is cursed."
The wind streamed her hair, stung her eyes, and blew the tears off her cheeks. Clutching her wounds, Gloriae flew, trembling, vowing to never more return to the ruins of Requiem.