DIES IRAE
Dies Irae flew, the wind biting his cheeks, his griffin clutching Lacrimosa.
"Fly, damn you," he hissed. "Faster, Volucris!"
Volucris was large and heavy, twice Lacrimosa's size, but the chase had wearied him, and he flew slowly. Dies Irae dug his spurs into his flanks.
"Fly!"
Already the sounds of the other Vir Requis, roused from sleep, sounded behind him. "Lacrimosa!" one howled, and soon the others joined the howling. "What happened? Lacrimosa!" and "Mother! Mother, where are you?"
Dies Irae cursed under his breath. This night was not going as planned. He had hoped to catch the Vir Requis with a hundred griffins at his back. After finding the cave deserted, he had broken up his herd, then sent individual griffins to scan the fields and forests. Now he flew alone.
"Lacrimosa!" came a deep cry in the distance. It had to be Benedictus.
I should have killed him in his sleep, Dies Irae thought. I should have killed them all as they slept. But of course, that had been impossible. He'd arrived alone, and in the second he had before Lacrimosa could raise the alarm, he'd done what he must.
She squirmed in Volucris's talons, voice weak. "Ben... Benedi..." Her voice faded and she fell limp.
"Lacrimosa!" came the howls behind, and Dies Irae heard flapping dragon wings. "Lacrimosa, where are you?"
Dies Irae laughed. He turned in his saddle and gazed into the darkness. He could see nothing under the dark, raining clouds, but he could hear them, smell them.
"Do you want her back, Benedictus?" he shouted. "Do you want your Lacrimosa? I have her, Benedictus! I have the creature. If you want her, you'll follow."
Howls of pain and rage filled the night, widening Dies Irae's grin. So he was alone. So he could not kill them all. So Benedictus still lived. But this night was still proving useful. They would follow, Dies Irae knew; their pathetic weredragon "code of honor" demanded it. They would follow Lacrimosa, try to rescue her, and fly into his camp.
"Where are you, Benedictus?" he cried over his shoulder, the wind whipping him. They were blowing fire behind him, still distant, trying to see him. "Is that the fastest you can fly?"
He turned back forward and spurred his griffin. "Fly, Volucris. Faster."
The griffin grunted. His talons tightened around Lacrimosa's slender body. She was still mumbling, but Dies Irae could not make out the words. He had coated his quarrels with potent ilbane; the stuff would keep her dazed for hours. Despite the howling behind him, the thud of wings, and the roaring flames, Dies Irae felt his blood boil at the thought of Lacrimosa. True, she was in dragon form now, a hideous beast of scales, but he would force her to take human form later. He had ways to force her. In the night, the memories resurfaced, the sweet memories of that night in the woods, the night he caught her alone, the night he pulled off her dress and—
"I see him!" came a cry behind. It was the young blue weredragon from Fort Sanctus, Dies Irae realized; the Eleison kid. "I see him—there, follow me!"
Dies Irae turned in his saddle, aimed his crossbow, and fired at Kyrie. The weredragon was easy to spot; he was blowing fire and burning in the darkness. The crossbow shot true, and Kyrie cried and fell back. Dies Irae loaded another quarrel and shot again. Again he hit Kyrie, and again the weredragon yelped. He tumbled from the sky.
Dies Irae smirked. One gone, two to go. Benedictus and Agnus Dei still followed him, blowing flames. Pathetic, he thought. They reveal themselves with fire, while I fly hidden in darkness. He was tempted to turn and charge them head on, but dared not with his griffin's talons clutching Lacrimosa, unavailable for battle. He kept flying.
"Faster, Volucris, faster."
Benedictus was falling behind. When Dies Irae glanced over his shoulder, he could not see the great black beast. But Agnus Dei still flew there, moving closer and closer, gaining on him. Her red scales glinted in her firelight.
"Hello, my daughter," Dies Irae whispered and shot his crossbow.
Agnus Dei cried. The quarrel hit her neck, coated in ilbane. Her wings wobbled and she fell, crashing from the sky like a comet, flaming and howling.
"Join me in Confutatis, Benedictus!" Dies Irae shouted back into the night. "Join me in my palace, if you wish to see Lacrimosa again. You know where I live." His voice was hoarse, and he laughed. "I will see you there, weredragon, or I will torture this silver beast until she breaks. Goodbye for now, Benedictus! I will see you soon."
They howled in the distance, and Dies Irae spurred his griffin onward. They shot through the night, the howls of the weredragons fading behind.