Song of Dragons The Complete Trilogy

KYRIE ELEISON





It began to snow, and Kyrie cursed.

The trail had been easy to follow until now. A hundred mimics had marched from the mine, cutting a path through the snow. Kyrie and Lacrimosa had been following their trail for several hours now. It led them through lands of dead trees, frozen streams, and rocky hills. Kyrie remembered walking here last summer, fleeing griffins and seeking King Benedictus. Trees had rustled here then, and hope still filled the world. Dies Irae had burned these trees, and little hope filled Kyrie now.

"Damn it," he muttered. The snow swirled around him. He could barely see through it. Worse, the snow was covering the mimics' footprints.

Lacrimosa shivered and tightened her cloak around her. "Let's move faster. We can still see the trail. Hurry, Kyrie."

They ran through the snow, their torches crackling. Around them among the burned trees, creatures howled. Mimics, Kyrie thought. This time, if they attacked, he didn't know if he'd survive. They had no statues left; they lay smashed and buried in the mines. They had no Gloriae and Agnus Dei with their swords and arrows.

Gloriae. Agnus Dei. Kyrie's heart twisted, and ice seemed to fill his belly. He had never felt such anguish. It churned inside him, spun his head, and tightened his throat. They had been alive in the mines. He had seen them thrashing in their bonds as the mimics carried them off. But were they alive now? Kyrie shivered, cursed, and ran as fast as he could. Lacrimosa ran at his side, eyes narrowed.

Please, stars, Kyrie prayed silently. Please protect Agnus Dei. Please.

He loved her so much, that he felt his insides could crumble, his heart stop beating, and his lungs collapse. He wanted to hold her, protect her, kill anyone who harmed her. If she died, he thought he would die too.

"Be strong, kitten," he whispered into the snow. "I'll be there soon."

If the stars heard his prayers, they ignored them. The snow only fell harder, a blizzard that stung his face and buried the mimics' trail. Kyrie cursed and stumbled forward, but soon stopped, backtracked, and realized he was lost.

He cursed and looked from side to side. Screeches rose in the blizzard around him, moving closer. Kyrie raised his torch, eyes narrowing. Lacrimosa did the same.

"Kyrie," she said, "I don't like this."

"Me ne—"

A dozen shadows flew toward them from the trees.

Kyrie couldn't help it. He cried in fear. They were mimics, but more hideous than any he'd seen. They looked like oversized bats. They had human heads and outstretched human arms. But below the shoulders, their bodies tapered into nothing but a spine. Skin stretched from their wrists to their tailbones, forming wings. They flapped toward Kyrie, shrieking.

He screamed and swung his torch.

How can such terrors exist? The creatures' eyes blazed red. Their teeth snapped at him, and one bit his arm. Kyrie's head spun. He screamed again and lashed his blade and his fire. Lacrimosa screamed and fought beside him. The world was crackling fire, swirling snow, and everywhere those terrors, those bats, those things that had once been human.

No, he found himself praying feverishly. No, please, stars, it can't be. They can't have been human. No mind can be sick enough to create these things. Please, stars, let me wake up from this nightmare. Let this all be a dream. How can this be real?

"Kyrie, look!" Lacrimosa cried. She pointed, and Kyrie saw a tatter of green cloth hanging on a tree. Agnus Dei had worn a green cloak when captured.

"I see it!" he shouted and clubbed at the flying bats.

"The mimics carried the girls that way," Lacrimosa shouted back. "Let's go."

They ran through the snow, clubbing the mimic bats. One flew onto Kyrie's arm, flapping its wings against him. He tore it off and grimaced when he saw its face, the face of an old woman. He kept running, swinging his torch and sword. The bats were everywhere, screeching, swooping, crying.

"Broken ice, over there!" he shouted. A frozen stream lay ahead, its surface cracked and splintered in one place. Kyrie ran over it, and he saw a path of broken branches through the forest. "The mimics took the twins this way."

Lacrimosa swung her sword and cut a bat. Its blood sprayed the falling snow. "Keep going!"

They ran, the broken branches scratching them. Kyrie raced between two trees, and suddenly the ground sloped. He found himself tumbling down a ravine, snow cascading around him.

"Lacrimosa!"

She fell beside him, covered in snow. The bats screeched above, but did not follow. Kyrie tried to grab something, but found no purchase. He seemed to fall forever, before he finally hit a mound of snow, and was still. Lacrimosa rolled to a stop beside him, shivering, her torch extinguished.

Kyrie leaped to his feet and helped Lacrimosa up.

"Where's the path?" she demanded.

Kyrie looked up the slope they had crashed down. They had fallen a long way. The bats fluttered above between the trees, but dared not leave their cover.

"I don't know," he said, and suddenly his eyes stung, and his throat swelled. "I don't know, Lacrimosa. I'm... I'm scared. I don't know if... if...."

If Agnus Dei will become one of those bat things. Or if she is one already. If I will become one too. I don't know if this is real, or some nightmare. I don't know what to do.

But he could say none of these things. How could he? Benedictus had died, and he—Kyrie Eleison—was the last man of Requiem. It was his task to be strong, his duty to protect the others. Only... it seemed impossible. Even Benedictus, always strong and brave, had never dealt with humans twisted and cut and sewn into these horrors. How could Kyrie face them?

He lowered his head, and his body shook. "I'm not strong enough, Lacrimosa. I'm trying to be like him. Like Benedictus. But...."

She grabbed his shoulders. She stared into his eyes.

"Kyrie," she said. Her face was so stern, her eyes so angry. He was sure she'd yell at him. But then her face softened, and her eyes watered, and she embraced him. They stood in the snow, shivering together, holding each other.

"I'm sorry, Lacrimosa. I feel weak."

She touched his hair and kissed his cheek. "You were never weak, Kyrie. You are good, you are scared, you are in love with Agnus Dei. If you were cold and heartless, well, you wouldn't be a man I wanted fighting by my side. And you are a man now, Kyrie."

He took a deep, shaky breath and squared his shoulders. The snow fell around them. "Let's find them, Lacrimosa. Let's find the twins. The path was leading south. We'll move south along this ravine, at least until those flying creatures are gone, then pick up the trail."

Lacrimosa wiped away tears and took his hand. They ran together through the snow, the wind whipping their faces.





AGNUS DEI





She nibbled on her bread. It was stale and frozen, but she forced herself to chew it into mush, then swallow. I'll need my strength to kill Irae, she thought. And I will kill him today.

Her eye kept wandering to the prisoners around her, especially those missing limbs. One was a young woman, no older than her own nineteen years. She was missing an arm. The bandage around her stump was bloody, and her face was sweaty, even in the cold. She will die, Agnus Dei knew. And then the rest of her will become a mimic.

"There is a rebellion brewing," whispered a frail man, clutching Agnus Dei's arm. "The Earthen, they're called. Silva the Elder leads them, a great Earth God priest. They'll save us, child. They'll save us."

The man's eyes spun wildly. He was mad, she realized. Soon he retreated into a corner, where he hugged his knees and rocked.

It seemed forever that Agnus Dei huddled among the prisoners—some of them mad, most of them dying. Gloriae huddled by her, her eyes closed, her lips mumbling. Agnus Dei leaned against her, embraced her, and laid her head on her shoulder. She felt a little safer this way, but not much. There was no safe place here. The prisoners wept, moaned, and prayed around them. Agnus Dei did not know if prayers could be heard from a place like this.

Soon she had to make water. She was no pampered princess—she did not mind going in the bushes—but how could she truly go here, in a bucket, before everyone? And yet she lined up. And she did. And then she returned to Gloriae's side, and embraced her again, and closed her eyes lest her sister saw her tears.

"Sometimes... sometimes I think they're dead," she whispered to Gloriae. "Mother and Kyrie."

Gloriae opened her eyes and touched Agnus Dei's cheek. "Don't say that. This is no time to despair."

"When else is time for despair then? I'm so scared, Gloriae. I want to be strong. But I'm scared."

Gloriae smiled wanly. "That's why you're strong. Strength is conquering your fear. Dies Irae taught me that."

Agnus Dei shuddered. She huddled closer to her sister. "I don't know how you could have lived with him. He's a monster."

Gloriae sighed. "He was not always like this. He was always cruel, yes. And violent. Not toward me, but toward his enemies. And he was always so strong, so stern, so sure of his ways. But this? No, he was never like this. He followed the Sun God. He fought for light. For order. For his own brand of justice. Most of all, he fought for glory. But that was before the nightshades infested his mind. Before a shard of metal drove into his eye. He's insane now, Agnus Dei, which he had never been when he raised me. If we can kill him, it will be a mercy to him. He's trapped in his own insanity, helpless to stop it. The mimics he creates are reflections of his madness and nightmares."

"We will kill him." Agnus Dei clenched her fists. "We have to. Not only for Requiem, but for the entire world."

The door swung open.

The prisoners whimpered and screamed.

Dies Irae stood at the doorway, armored in steel, gold, and jewels. Umbra stood beside him, clad in her black leggings and black bodice, her eyes blazing. Four burly mimics stood behind them, carrying chains.

Agnus Dei snarled and leaped to her feet. "You die now, Irae."

She leaped toward him.

Dies Irae didn't move. Umbra did, however. Fast as a falcon's shadow, she crouched, slid forward, and reached out her leg. Agnus Dei tripped over it. She pitched forward. Umbra grabbed her hair, pulled her head back, and knocked her onto her back. Agnus Dei screamed and punched. She hit Umbra's face, but the woman only snarled, and a dagger gleamed in her hand. The blade pressed against Agnus Dei's throat, and she froze.

"Good girl," Umbra whispered. She licked blood off her lips. "Stay nice and still or I'll gut you like a fish."

A shadow leaped, and Gloriae crashed against Umbra, shoving her off. Agnus Dei leaped up and kicked. Her leg hit Umbra's side. The dagger slashed the air. If I can only grab the blade.... She reached, caught Umbra's wrist, and twisted. Umbra screamed and punched. The blow slammed into Agnus Dei's cheek. White light flooded her. She kicked blindly. Gloriae screamed.

"Stop this!"

Dies Irae's voice filled the hut. Agnus Dei blinked and saw him standing above the fray, glaring.

"Mimics," he said, "grab the twins."

Agnus Dei tried to fight them. She kicked and punched and even bit a mimic's maggoty flesh, but only fire could hurt them. Soon she kicked and squirmed in one's grasp. A second mimic held onto Gloriae, its hand covering her mouth.

"Face me like a man, Irae!" Agnus Dei screamed. "You and me. Or are you a coward?"

He laughed, though there was no joy to it; it was a cold laughter, a cruel laughter that made Agnus Dei shiver.

"Dear Agnus Dei," he said. "Feisty as ever. Beastly as ever. You will go first. Mimics, bring her to the block."

Gloriae screamed into the hand that gagged her. Agnus Dei growled and kicked, but could not free herself. The mimic holding her began carrying her to the doorway. She screamed, struggled, and kicked the air. The mimic's grip was iron.

"Gloriae!" she cried, eyes burning. "Gloriae!"

Her chin bloody, Umbra laughed. "Your sister can't save you now. She'll go next." She spat onto Agnus Dei. "Scream louder. I want to hear it."

Dies Irae left the hut, and the mimic carried Agnus Dei after him. Umbra followed, laughing, spinning her dagger in her hand.

Stay strong, Agnus Dei told herself. Stay strong. Stars, whatever happens, stay strong. For Kyrie. For Mother. For Gloriae.

She saw the block ahead.

She felt the blood leave her face. Ice seemed to wash her belly, and she trembled.

"Stars, no...."

It was made of wood. Oak, she thought. Blood stained it. The block rose from the snow between the huts, iron rings embedded into it.

"Chain her down."

Agnus Dei kicked. For an instant, she thought she could break free. But two more mimics grabbed her. They forced her to her knees before the block.

"Irae!" she screamed. "I'll kill you! Fight me! Fight me, I dare you."

Umbra laughed again, grabbed Agnus Dei's hair, and pulled her head down. The block was cold and smooth against her cheek.

"Oh yes, you are a loud one," Umbra whispered, her cold lips brushing against Agnus Dei's ear. "I'm going to enjoy watching this. I bet you'll squeal like a pig."

The mimics surrounded her. Manacles were placed around her wrists. More chains bound her legs.

"Gloriae!" Agnus Dei screamed, eyes burning, throat aching, belly roiling. Tears sprang into her eyes.

Umbra grabbed her wrist. She pulled Agnus Dei's arm across the block and chained it down. Stars, no, please, Agnus Dei prayed. Please. Stars, no....

She heard the hiss of a sword being drawn.

"Mother," Agnus Dei whispered. "Mother, please...."

Through burning eyes, she saw Dies Irae walk toward her, holding a drawn sword. His face was blank. His eye looked dead. His face was pale, a white mask. There is no humanity left.

He raised his sword.

"Mother!" Agnus Dei cried, tears in her eyes.

The blade swung down.

Pain.

Blood.

She screamed.

Stars. It's gone. It's gone. My hand is gone. How could it be gone? Mother, please....

Umbra laughed.

Agnus Dei wept.

Dies Irae turned and walked away. Blood stained the snow, and distant trees creaked under a mournful wind.





KYRIE ELEISON


He crawled up the snowy hill, teeth chattering, clothes icy. Snow filled his mouth and clung to his stubble. At the hilltop, he lay on his belly behind a fallen tree. He parted the tree's branches and gazed into the valley below. He felt the blood leave his face. He turned his head.

"Lacrimosa!" he whispered down the hillside. "Come quick."

She nodded and crawled up beside him. She stared into the valley too, and her lips trembled.

"Stars," she whispered.

The camp sprawled across the valley below. A ditch and a wall of sharpened logs defended it. Beyond the palisade, blood stained crude huts. Every few moments, mimics would drag a prisoner from a hut, chain him against a butcher's block, and swing a sword. The severed body parts were sorted into bloody hills. Kyrie saw one pile of legs, another of arms and hands, a third of heads. The hills rose twenty feet tall. Some body parts—those deemed too frail, it seemed—were burned in ditches.

Kyrie had seen enough.

"We have to save them," he said, voice strained. "We can't wait a moment longer."

What if Dies Irae dismembered Agnus Dei and Gloriae while he hid here, watching helplessly? Kyrie stood up and made to run downhill.

"Wait, Kyrie!" Lacrimosa said. She grabbed his tunic, pulling him back. "Hide."

He spun to glare at her. She stared up from the cover of burned branches, her face pale but her eyes determined. He shook himself free.

"Lacrimosa," he said, "they're building mimics down there. And not just from old bodies now. He's killing people and sewing mimics out of them." He drew his sword. "We have to save the twins before it's too late. Stars, we have to save all these people."

He couldn't help but imagine Agnus Dei turned into a mimic, stitched together with foreign body parts, drooling, rotting, hunting him. He shuddered.

Lacrimosa pulled him down behind the fallen logs. "Kyrie, if you run down there brandishing a sword and torch, they will kill you, and they will turn you into a mimic, along with my daughters." Her voice was strained but steady, her eyes red but dry. "If the girls are alive, we'll save them. But not by rushing to our own deaths."

Kyrie raised his chin. His heart thrashed. "I'm willing to die for Agnus Dei."

"And some good that would do her." Lacrimosa opened her pack, revealing a hundred Animating Stones. "I didn't grab these from the mine because I think they're pretty. We'll build new warriors."

"From what?" Kyrie gestured around him. "I see no statues here, Lacrimosa. I see nothing but snow, ice, and burned trees."

Lacrimosa gave him a small, mirthless smile. "Dies Irae burned these trees and killed the Earthen who worshipped them. I believe that today, these trees will fight for us."

Kyrie stared at her in silence. She stared back. Finally Kyrie sighed and nodded. If it can save the girls, it's worth a try.

They crawled back downhill and began to move among the trees: old oaks, twisted and blackened, but still strong; thin birches, their bark burned off; charred pines, their roots still deep. These trees are dead, but we will give them new life. Kyrie and Lacrimosa moved silently, placing Animating Stones into holes that had once held birds, squirrels, and insects. Trees creaked. Icicles snapped and fell. Branches rose. A mournful cry like wind passed through the charred forest, a rustling of twigs, a shifting of roots, a sadness and rage.

Kyrie thought of Fort Sanctus, where Lady Mirum had raised him on fish, bread, and tales of the ancient days. In several of those tales, the trees would rise to fight the wars of men. Those trees always rustled with green leaves, and could talk and sing. There was nothing as beautiful here, but Kyrie still felt like a hero from one of Mirum's old stories.

As the trees creaked and moved, he whispered, quoting from one of her tales. "We are the children of the earth; our hosts are the rocks of the field, the trees of the forest, and the song in the wind...."

Lacrimosa came to stand beside him. She drew her sword and raised her torch. The trees crowded around them, raining ash and snow, their icicles snapping, their boles creaking. Their roots spread around them like the legs of spiders, twisting and seeking purchase.

"Stay near me, Kyrie," Lacrimosa said softly. "We'll find the girls."

They began to march.

The trees' roots groaned, dug into the snow, and dragged the boles forward. Their branches kept snapping, falling black and broken. They were frail things, burned and mournful, moaning in pain. But they marched. A hundred charred, twisted trees raised their howl, and gained speed, and soon began to charge downhill. Hostias Forest rose in rage.

Kyrie snarled. He waved his sword and cried with them. He ran among the trees, boots kicking up snow. Lacrimosa ran beside him, Stella Lumen raised in her hands. Snow flurried. The hillside shook. At the camp below, mimics squealed and rushed to the walls.

Kyrie shouted. The trees roared. They crashed into the palisade under rain of blood, steel, and fire.





GLORIAE





When she heard Agnus Dei screaming outside, Gloriae snarled, clenched her fists, and trembled. Prisoners pushed against her on every side; she could barely move between them. Elbowing and shoving them, Gloriae managed to reach the hut's door.

"Agnus Dei!" she shouted, eyes stinging. She slammed her shoulder against the door. It wouldn't budge. She slammed again, and her shoulder throbbed with pain.

"Dies Irae, let her go!" Gloriae shouted. She slammed against the door again and again, and kicked it, but couldn't break it.

"Fight me, you coward!" she shouted.

She heard Umbra laughing outside. The mimics howled. Agnus Dei's screams faded. Is she dead? Stars, did he kill her?

"Dies Irae!" she screamed and slammed against the door again. Her shoulder ached, but she didn't care. She needed to get out, to save her sister, to kill Dies Irae. She spun toward the other prisoners.

"Help me," she demanded. She panted and her hair covered her face. "Come on, help me break down the door."

The prisoners only watched her sadly. They were all too frail. They shivered in their rags, feverish, nearly dead with disease. They cannot help me, Gloriae realized, her chest rising and falling.

The door's lock clinked behind her.

Gloriae spun back toward it, growling, ready to kill whoever stood there.

The door opened, and Gloriae was about to leap... then froze.

"Oh stars," she whispered, and her knees shook. "Oh stars, no, please no...."

Dies Irae stood at the doorway, holding Agnus Dei before him. His face was icy, his eye dead, his mouth like a slit in leather. Blood stained his armor. Agnus Dei was unconscious, her chin against her chest. Her left arm ended with a bloody, smoking stump.

"Stars, Agnus Dei...," Gloriae whispered.

Dies Irae stared at her. He smiled a small, thin smile.

"The weredragon king took my left hand," he said. "So I will take the left hands of his followers. Yours will be next, Gloriae. But first, make sure this one lives. I want her alive and screaming when I cut the rest of her."

He tossed Agnus Dei forward. Gloriae caught her, held her, and lowered her onto the floor.

"I'm here, Agnus Dei," she whispered and touched her sister's cheek. "I'm here with you, I'll look after you."

Agnus Dei did not wake. Her breath was shallow, her forehead hot.

Rage blazed inside Gloriae. Her teeth clenched, and she spun around to leap at Dies Irae... but he slammed the door shut. Gloriae crashed against the door, but it was locked again. She could not break it. Outside, she heard Umbra's voice.

"Let's build a nice new mimic with her hand," the woman said and laughed.

"Very well, come with me," Dies Irae answered. Gloriae heard their footfalls leave the hut, and their voices faded in the distance.

"Glor... Gloriae...."

Agnus Dei was whispering, voice hoarse. Gloriae rushed to her side, knelt by her, and touched her hair.

"I'm here, Agnus Dei."

Her sister's eyes fluttered. She struggled to raise her head. A tear streamed down her cheek. Her lips moved, struggling to speak, but then her head fell back, and her eyes closed.

Wincing, Gloriae examined her wound. Dies Irae had cauterized it, burning the stump to staunch the blood flow. Gloriae had seen this done in battle before. The fire could close the arteries and kill infection, but it left a messy wound of sizzling, raw flesh. Gloriae gritted her teeth.

"I need bandages!" she called out.

A prisoner hobbled toward her, holding a rag. Gloriae grabbed it and wrapped Agnus Dei's stump.

"This isn't enough," she whispered. "I've seen such wounds before. It will fester. Blood will keep trickling. It will not heal this way." She looked around the hut, panting. "We need to file down the bone, so it doesn't cut the wound. We need to remove the burned flesh, and sew the arteries shut, and seal the stump with a flap of skin. We... we need medicine, and tools, and healers." Gloriae's eyes stung, and she rubbed them. "Bring me some tools! She'll die if we don't treat her. Why don't you move?"

The prisoners only stared at her. Gloriae trembled. She looked at them; so many others suffered the same amputations. So many others were already infected, bleeding, dying. The same would happen to Agnus Dei, she realized. And the same will happen to me.

Gloriae lowered her head, jaw clenched. So this is how it ends, she thought. He'll cut us piece by piece, and turn us into a dozen mimics.

She cradled Agnus Dei's head in her arms and kissed her forehead.

"I'm so sorry, sister," she whispered. "I'm so sorry we only had this short time together. I love you, Agnus Dei. I'm with you now. I'll be with you always."

Her twin's lips moved, and her brow furrowed, but she wouldn't wake. Snow and sweat drenched her tunic. Blood stained her bandage. Gloriae wished she had a blanket for her, a roaring fire, and water for her to drink. Will she die today in my arms? If she does... that will be a kindness to her. If she lives, Irae will drag her out again, and cut off more. Gloriae shuddered. And soon he will cut me.

Roars sounded outside. Feet thumped through the snow. A mimic squealed.

"Man the palisade!" Dies Irae shouted. "Man your posts, mimics."

Gloriae crouched, cocked her head, and listened. Further away, she heard another sound. She couldn't recognize it. It sounded like moaning wind and creaking wood, but almost human, a cry of sadness and rage.

"Agnus Dei!" shouted a voice in the distance. "Gloriae!"

Gloriae jumped, shouting. Tears filled her eyes.

"Kyrie!" she cried, jumping up and down, jostling the prisoners around her. She laughed and wept. "Kyrie, Kyrie!"

Eyes blurry, Gloriae knelt by her sister. She wept over her and cupped her cheek.

"Kyrie is alive!" she said, her tears splashing Agnus Dei's face.

Agnus Dei's eyes fluttered opened. She smiled wanly. "I knew he would be," she whispered.

Gloriae leaped back onto her feet. She shoved her way between the prisoners toward a window. It was a small window, only several inches tall and wide. Gloriae stared outside and gasped. Charred trees were moving through the camp, swinging their branches against mimics. The mimics hacked at them, but the trees kept charging, breaking through them.

"They animated the bloody forest!" Gloriae shouted and jumped up and down. "Agnus Dei, they brought a hundred trees!"

Gloriae looked back at Agnus Dei, and saw her twin smiling weakly from the floor. She turned back toward the window, stuck her face against it, and shouted.

"Kyrie! Kyrie, we're in here! Break open the door."

Where was he? Gloriae couldn't see him. She saw only dozens of trees crash against the mimics. Blood flew. Branches snapped and fell. She glimpsed Umbra racing between the trees, torching them.

"Kyrie!" she shouted.

A voice answered her. "Gloriae! Gloriae, is that you?"

Mother! It was Mother's voice!

"I'm here, Mother!" Gloriae shouted. "In the hut by the ditch. Get the trees to break the door down."

Across the hut, Agnus Dei cried out: "Mother!"

The lock creaked. The door swung open.

Gloriae rushed toward it, prepared to see Kyrie or Mother. Instead, she found herself facing Dies Irae and a group of mimics.

"Kill the prisoners," Dies Irae told his mimics. "Kill them all."

The mimics rushed into the hut.

Gloriae growled and leaped toward them.

One mimic swung an axe down toward Agnus Dei, who lay at its feet. Gloriae growled and slammed into the mimic, knocking it back.

The mimic Warts swung a sword at her. Per Ignem! My own sword! Gloriae ducked, and the blade whistled over her head. She grabbed Warts's arm and pulled it down. Per Ignem's blade hit the ground. Three more mimics rushed toward her. Dies Irae stood behind them, watching with a hard face.

Warts bit Gloriae's shoulder. She screamed. A spear lashed toward her. She dodged it and twisted Warts's wrist. Per Ignem fell. Warts's teeth pushed deeper into her flesh. Gloriae knelt, grabbed Per Ignem, and slammed its crossguard against Warts's head.

The mimic opened its mouth, screamed, and Gloriae's cut off its head. She swung the blade, and mimic blood sprayed.

"Pull her back!" Gloriae shouted to the other prisoners. "Get my sister back against the wall."

A dozen mimics faced her at the doorway, drooling and hissing. She slashed at them, spinning her blade, eyes narrowed, lips tight. Gloriae lived for this. She was a decent archer. She knew how to fight as a dragon. But swordplay... she had been born for swordplay. Per Ignem moved like a part of her. She snarled as she hacked and maimed. Mimics piled up at her feet, their arms and legs crawling and grabbing at her. She kicked them aside, shouted, and barrelled between mimics and through the doorway.

"Irae!" she shouted. She glimpsed him marching away, disappearing into a crowd of mimics. "Irae, you coward! Come fight me."

A shadow flew, and Gloriae raised her sword. Her blade hit a flying dagger, knocking it aside. The blades sparked.

"Hello, sweetheart," said Umbra. She came walking toward Gloriae, a dagger in each hand. Her black, chin-length hair swayed in the wind, and a crooked smile played across her lips. A second dagger flew.

Gloriae leaped sideways. The dagger glanced off her helmet, then hit the hut behind her. She snarled and ran forward.

A third dagger flew. Gloriae leaped, waving her sword and growling. The dagger hit her breastplate and fell. She swung her sword down.

Impossibly fast, Umbra drew two new daggers from her belt, crossed and raised them, and blocked her sword. Gloriae pulled her blade back, and a dagger slashed. She leaped aside, but the dagger sliced her arm. She growled and lashed her blade. Umbra parried. The woman was smiling, her eyes flashing.

"Do you know who I am, girl?" she asked.

Gloriae swung her blade. Umbra parried again. Sparks flew.

"One of Irae's pets," Gloriae said. She bared her teeth and lunged with the blade.

Umbra parried, sliced, and drove Gloriae a step back.

"I was a sister. I was a wife. You burned my husband and my brothers."

The sword and two daggers slammed together, showering sparks.

"Good," Gloriae said. "I hope they screamed loudly when my fire rained upon them."

Umbra snarled. Her eyes blazed. She leaped forward, daggers flashing.

"My husband and brothers never harmed you," she said, teeth bared. "They were Blood Wolves, warriors of the alleys. You burned the city with your dragonfire. You killed innocent people, Gloriae the Gilded."

Gloriae snickered. "I don't care." She lashed her sword, slamming it against a dagger. The dagger fell from Umbra's hand.

Umbra snarled and leaped carelessly, driving down her remaining dagger. Gloriae raised her arm, blocking the blow on her vambrace. The two women fell into the snow, Umbra atop Gloriae.

"You will suffer now, Gloriae," she hissed. She raised her dagger and brought it down.

Gloriae swung the hilt of her sword, hitting Umbra's wrist. The dagger drove into the snow, an inch from Gloriae's face. Umbra screamed and tried to bite, but Gloriae kicked her stomach, knocking her off. She leaped to her feet and swung her sword down, but Umbra rolled. The sword hit the snow.

Umbra crouched, eyes blazing, snarling like a wild animal. She tossed her last dagger. Gloriae rolled aside, and the blade sliced her thigh. She screamed and ran toward Umbra, sword waving. Umbra snarled. Her daggers gone, she leaped back and disappeared into a crowd of mimics.

Gloriae tried to chase her, but the mimics blocked her way, howling and slamming their blades against Per Ignem.

"I will burn you like I burned your husband!" Gloriae shouted after her, voice hoarse. "Run, Umbra. Run from me and cower. I will find you, and I will burn you."

The mimics shouted and waved their blades. Gloriae narrowed her eyes and parried left and right. I will kill these mimics. And I will kill Umbra. And I will kill Dies Irae. Her blade spun, raining blood.

"Gloriae!" Lacrimosa cried, leaping into battle beside her.

"Mother!"

Mother and daughter fought side by side, hacking at mimics.

"Where's Agnus Dei?" Lacrimosa shouted.

"She's in the hut! She's hurt. Go to her, Mother. I'll hold back the mimics."

Lacrimosa nodded and ran to the hut, hacking her way between mimics. When Gloriae looked around, she saw animated trees crashing into the huts, freeing the prisoners, and knocking mimics aside. The prisoners were limping toward the breached palisade that surrounded the camp; some were already fleeing into the forest.

"Hullo, Gloriae," Kyrie said, leaping into the battle beside her. Snow, ash, and blood covered him. He swung a sword and torch at the mimics.

"Hullo, Kyrie," she answered. She stabbed a mimic and kicked it down. "About time you showed up."

Kyrie torched a mimic who leaped at him. "Thought I'd drop by and save your backside."

Gloriae sliced off a mimic's leg, then drove her sword into its neck. "You haven't saved it yet. There are hundreds of these damn mimics around."

Kyrie nodded. "It was fun, but I think it's time to leave this party."

"Agreed."

Swinging their weapons, they pulled back toward the hut. As she fought, Gloriae stared around, seeking Dies Irae. When she saw him, she growled. He stood across the camp upon a hilltop, Umbra at his side. They were watching the battle from safety. Gloriae snarled, wishing she had her bow or crossbow.

"Oh stars," Kyrie said beside her. His voice was choked. "Stars, Agnus Dei. Oh stars...."

Gloriae gritted her teeth and kept fighting, her back to the hut. Her eyes stung. She heard Lacrimosa cry in mourning. Gloriae snarled. Rage bloomed through her. She looked up at Dies Irae, the man who had maimed Agnus Dei, who had killed her father, who had brought her family this pain. More than anything, Gloriae wanted to rush through the army of mimics, reach Dies Irae, and kill him.

But no, she thought. My family needs me now. They need me to lead them to safety.

"Come on!" she shouted over her shoulder at them. Kyrie and Lacrimosa were huddling over Agnus Dei. "Help her up. Follow me. We're leaving."

More mimics kept pouring toward her. She saw no end to them. Their teeth snapped, their claws slashed, and Gloriae's arms ached. She couldn't hold them back much longer, and few trees remained standing to help her.

"Let's go!" Kyrie shouted. He and Lacrimosa held Agnus Dei between them. She was conscious, but sweat matted her hair, and pain filled her eyes.

Gloriae gestured with her chin. "The palisade is breached over there. Let's get her out of here."

Five trees crashed into the crowd of mimics, kicking their roots, lashing their branches. Mimics fell and rolled. Gloriae used the diversion to drive between them, clearing a path with her blade. Mimic limbs and blood flew. The other Vir Requis followed her.

She reached the breached palisade. Other prisoners were limping through it. Mimics were leaping onto them, killing those who were too slow.

"Come on, hurry!" Gloriae shouted. She stabbed and kicked a mimic. It crashed against a pile of amputated legs. The bloodied limbs rolled, tripping the other mimics.

"Put me down," Agnus Dei said. "I can run. I can fight!"

"Kitten, come on," Kyrie said. "We're leaving."

Agnus Dei growled. She managed to walk on her own, then run. She leaped out of the breach, holding the stump where her hand had been. Kyrie and Lacrimosa leaped after her, swinging their torches at mimics. Gloriae stayed a moment longer, fighting inside the camp. She saw no other prisoners; they had all fled or died.

She looked up and stared at Dies Irae. He stood atop the hill across the camp, arms crossed—the real arm, and the steel one. He stood three hundred yards away, but it seemed to Gloriae like their eyes met.

She growled. "We'll meet again, Irae. This isn't over."

Then she turned and leaped out of the camp. She ran with the other Vir Requis through the snow, mimics howling and chasing them.

They ran fast, even Agnus Dei. They ran until they lost the mimics between the trees and boulders. They ran until the curse of the Animating Stones faded in the distance.

Gloriae roared and shifted into a dragon. Her wings thudded. Her maw roared fire. She leaped up and flew. Her tail whipped and her fire bathed the world. It had been so long since she had flown. She sounded her roar.

Three more dragons flew up from the forest: Lacrimosa, silver and slim, blowing blue flames; Kyrie, blue and fast, roaring fire; Agnus Dei, a red dragon missing her front foot.

Gloriae dived toward her sister, held her, and helped her fly. The four dragons roared, blew fire, and flew into the clouds. They streamed over burned forests and fallow fields, heading west, heading to Requiem.

Gloriae shut her eyes. We should never have left, she thought. We should never have attacked the mines. Now Agnus Dei is hurt, and we've lost our Animating Stones. What will we do now?

She swallowed, opened her eyes, and looked at her sister. Agnus Dei stared back, wincing, jaw tight with pain. Her wings roiled the falling snow.

"I'm so glad you're alive," Gloriae said to her. That was what mattered, she knew.

Agnus Dei blinked back tears. "I never thought we'd make it out in one piece. I guess I was right."

Gloriae laughed and sobbed. The sun began to set. The dragons flew into its dying beams.





MEMORIA





She flew over plains of ice, bloodied and bruised. The giants had chipped her scales, pummelled her body, and nearly killed her... but she kept flying. For Requiem. For Kyrie.

"Terra, we're almost there," she said.

He flew beside her, grunting. He was hurt, but still he flew, eyes narrowed.

They each wore one of Adoria's Hands around their necks. They had split the Giant King's chain and hung the segments around their own necks. As Memoria flew, she looked at the hands. They were so small, pale, folded into fragile fists. They swayed on the chains like worms on a fishing line. Could such dainty things truly hold back the mimics' curse?

The Ice City was never where she left it. It forever floated on its iceberg, moving with the currents. Finally she saw it ahead, its hundred palaces glistening like crystal shards.

Home, she thought, and the thought surprised her. On the eve of her return to Requiem, did her place of exile become her home? She would miss the icelings, she realized. Old Amberus, with his long beard and wise eyes. Small and silly Gif, only five years old, who would carve ice sculptures with her. Her friends, Illa and Oona, who were shy around Terra and giggly around her. Yes, this too has become a home to me, she thought, and she smiled sadly. The Ice City was cold, lonely, and far from Requiem, but it had been a good home.

"Amberus will heal our wounds," she said to Terra. "And then we'll fly to Requiem. We'll fly to Kyrie. He's alive. I know it."

Terra only grunted, eyes wincing with pain. They dived toward the iceberg, snow gusting around them, and flew between its palaces. All but one were abandoned now, their towers still, silent, and glistening. The two dragons, one green and one bronze, flew between the steeples of ice, kissed with snow. They glided toward the tallest palace, the place Amberus ruled, the place where they'd hidden for eleven years.

They landed outside its gateway, and Memoria's breath died.

Blood stained the ice at her feet.

Memoria growled.

Grunts sounded inside the Ice Palace. A screech echoed. Wind blew, carrying the stench of bodies.

"Mimics," she said.

Terra grumbled and fire crackled between his teeth. "Looks like we're still in for some fighting today."

Memoria kindled flame in her maw and ran into the palace.

The front hall, a towering chamber that dwarfed even two dragons, was splashed with blood. Bodies of icelings lay strewn across its floor, torn apart. Mimics leaned over them, feasting.

Memoria screamed and ran forward.

"Get off them!" she cried.

They raised their bloody faces from their feast, glared, and hissed. Their curse hit her with a thud, like air from a bellows. Memoria gasped and faltered. She felt their magic crash into her own, wrestle it, shove it, try to claim it.

"No!" she cried and gritted her teeth. If she became human now, she could not defeat them all. Not with only her sword. Her scales began to melt off. Her wings began to fold into her body. Her fangs retracted into her gums.

Around her neck, Adoria's fist began to uncurl.

Memoria shook her head wildly, struggling to cling to her magic. The mimics began racing toward her, drooling and hissing, brandishing swords.

Adoria's Hand opened.

It felt like a wave crashing forward. The power shoved back the mimics' curse, and Memoria's magic refilled her. She was fully dragon. She was fang and claw and fire.

Her jet of flames blazed across the hall, spinning and crackling, and crashed into the mimics. They burned and squealed and fell. Terra shot flames beside her. A few mimics reached them. The dragons lashed their tails and claws, sending them flying. Adoria's Hands rose on the chains, holding back the mimics' curse. The flames filled the chamber, and the walls wept.

It only took moments, and the mimics across the hall lay burned. Memoria ran from iceling to iceling, but they were all dead, their innards eaten.

Screeches rose from other chambers across the palace. Memoria raced between the rooms, shooting flames, burning mimics, lashing them with her tail, clawing them open. Iceling bodies filled every chamber.

"They're all dead," she whispered. "All dead."

Kyrie! she had called. Kyrie, do you hear!

Lanburg Fields stretched around her, drenched in blood, piled with bodies. She was rummaging through them again, searching for her brother, weeping over his body.

Kyrie!

Terra ran up behind her, flames dancing between his teeth.

"A hundred mimics are streaming into Whale Hall. Come, Memoria."

They ran across the ice, flapping their wings to steady themselves, and burst into Whale Hall. Mimics ran toward them, bloated and rotten, hideous creations that were part men, part beasts. Terra and Memoria blew their fire. The hall blazed. Water streamed down the walls. Mimics screamed.

Finally the flames died. The mimics lay twitching and burned. And among them....

Memoria ran forward, tears on her cheeks.

No.... Stars, no.

But it was him. Amberus, kindly old Amberus with the long white beard, the elder iceling who had become a father to her. He lay in the corner, his belly split open, his entrails consumed. Mimic drool covered him. He had tried to shield his followers; the bodies of iceling children lay in the corner behind Amberus. Young Gif, whom Memoria would sculpt with. His sisters. So many others.

"All dead," she whispered.

She turned to Terra. Her throat was so tight, she could barely speak.

"They came here searching for us," she said. "It's our fault."

Terra stared at the bodies with dark eyes. His claws shook, and he dug them into the ice floor. "We will avenge them. We will kill the man who sent them here." He looked up at her. "We will kill Dies Irae."

She shook her head. "I don't care about Irae." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I just want to save whoever I still can. Agnus Dei. And Kyrie. My Kyrie."

They pulled the bodies outside, and placed them on the ice, and prayed for them, and wept for them, and let the sun and moon shine upon them.

"The last of the icelings," Memoria whispered. "The end of a race. A people extinguished, but forever in my memory, forever in my soul."

She had never prayed to the northern gods, but she prayed to them now. She whispered to Father Walrus to bless the memory of the ice people. She sang to the Wind Goddess, to Sky Eagle, to Sister Moon. She prayed to Mother Turtle who glowed green and purple upon the horizons. She wept as she lowered the icelings into the water, one by one, until they sank into the embrace of Old Whale, their guardian of afterlife.

They bound their wounds. They mourned for days. And they flew. Terra and Memoria, soldiers of Requiem. Exiles. They flew over icebergs, over oceans, over plains of snow and lifeless rock. They flew over forests of pines, the first trees they had seen in eleven years. They flew over fields of grass, over herds of deer, over fields and villages of men.

They flew home.