KYRIE ELEISON
His griffin plummeted, blazing. The smoke flew over Kyrie, stinging his eyes, entering his nostrils, choking him. He coughed and clung to the griffin. He wanted to shift, and tried to summon his magic, but too many Animating Stones pulsed around him.
"Gloriae!" he shouted. "Agnus Dei!"
Where were the twins? He could see nothing, nothing but smoke, darkness, and the ground rushing up toward him.
"Oh stars," he said, tightened his jaw, and winced.
His griffin crashed into the field, landing atop mimics and skeletons. Bones snapped beneath it. The griffin slid over bodies, snow, and blood, and finally crashed into a fallen log, dead.
Arrows flew.
Kyrie cursed, leaped off the griffin, and crouched behind it. He clutched his sword and gritted his teeth.
"Oh bloody stars, this is bad."
The ground shook. Mimics galloped toward him, centaurs sewn from dead horses and dead women. Their hair was woven of snakes. Their arms ended with bloody blades. They swung those blades at Kyrie.
He crouched, slid through the snow, and hacked at one's legs. He rose and ran, shoving his way between skeletons, bashing them with his blade.
"Lacrimosa!" he cried. "Where are you?"
He saw King's Column rising ahead from smoke and flames. He ran toward it. Hooves galloped behind him, and he turned to see the mimic centaurs chasing him. He cursed, grabbed a spear from a dead man, and tossed it. The spear pierced one centaur's chest. Kyrie ran at the other and clanged swords with it. He ducked, sliced at its legs, and ran.
"Lacrimosa!"
Was she alive? Mimics surrounded him—starfish, centaurs, giants, dogs, bats. He saw no end to them. Dead salvanae, griffins, and Earthen covered the ground. The mimics were feasting upon them, or leaping over them to kill more.
Ten mimic centaurs came galloping toward him from the smoke, bearing lances. Kyrie cursed. He gritted his teeth and raised his blade.
A horn blared. A hundred Earthen leaped from the flames and swung swords.
"For the Earth God!" cried Silva, their High Priest. "Kill the abominations."
Kyrie swung swords with them. Blood spilled and mimic limbs burned. Lightning fell from the sky, hitting more mimics. The salvanae swooped, biting, clawing, killing. Mimic dragons flew around them, tearing them apart with their claws. Blood splattered.
Kyrie glimpsed Lacrimosa ahead, only a hundred yards away. She seemed to glow in the battlefield, her blade bright, her hair sparkling, her face like glimmering marble. King's Column rose above her.
"Lacrimosa!" Kyrie cried again and ran toward her, hacking his way through skeletons. He had to step over the bodies of men, his boot even stepping on one's head. He winced but kept running. Enemies surrounded his queen; he had to protect her.
The skeletons parted before him.
A woman emerged from the shadows.
Kyrie growled. "Umbra."
She gave him a mocking smile and placed her hands on her hips. "Weredragon."
Kyrie knew this one. He had seen her capture the twins in the mine. He had seen her battle Gloriae at the camp. He knew about her chaining down Agnus Dei's hand so that Dies Irae could sever it.
"You might have escaped Gloriae's sword," he told her, "but you won't escape mine."
He raised his dripping blade. Umbra drew her daggers. The skeletons and mimics formed a ring around them, like spectators eager to watch the fight.
Umbra tossed a dagger.
Kyrie parried with his blade, knocking it aside.
Snarling, Umbra tossed two daggers.
Kyrie knelt and raised his blade. He knocked one dagger aside, and the other glanced off his helmet. He ran forward, swinging his sword.
The mimics howled. Umbra slid through the snow, drew two daggers, and crossed them. Kyrie's sword slammed into them, and Umbra twisted her daggers, yanking the sword from his hand. The mimics cheered and Kyrie's heart leaped with horror.
He jumped back, defenseless, as Umbra lashed her daggers. One bit under his arm, grazing him, drawing a line along his ribs. The second dagger hit his raised arm, glancing off the vambrace.
"Are you ready, boy?" Umbra said, smirking.
Kyrie leaped back, dodging her daggers. "I'm not dying yet."
Umbra laughed and winked. "I didn't ask if you're ready to die. I asked if you're ready to become my mimic." She lashed her dagger, nicking his shoulder, and Kyrie cursed. "I will carve you like a pig, and sew you back together into my slave."
Kyrie fell to one knee, grabbed snow, and tossed it at her face. Umbra shook her head, snow in her eyes, and Kyrie jumped forward. He barrelled into her, knocking his shoulder hard into her chest. She grunted, and Kyrie grabbed her wrists and twisted them.
Umbra snarled and clenched her fists around her daggers, pointing their blades toward him. Kyrie grunted, struggling to push her arms away, shocked at her strength. She was as strong as he was—maybe stronger—moving the daggers closer and closer.
Kyrie kicked her shin. She grunted and he headbutted her.
Umbra screamed and fell back. She thrust a dagger. Kyrie ducked and the dagger hit his helmet. He grabbed his sword and swung it, but Umbra parried. The blade hit the snow. A dagger lashed. Kyrie blocked it with his vambrace and pulled his sword up. It sliced Umbra's thigh; she screamed and stabbed her blade.
The dagger scratched Kyrie's neck, and ice flooded him. For an instant, he was sure he was dead. Umbra's eyes widened, and a smile found her lips.
No. It only cut skin, Kyrie thought. He could still breathe, still shout, and he swung his blade.
Umbra parried with both daggers. She tried twisting the sword between them again, but Kyrie pulled his blade back. Umbra lunged at him, leaping through the air, howling, daggers gleaming.
Kyrie thrust his sword forward.
Umbra twisted, parried with one dagger, and brought the other down hard.
Turning sideways, Kyrie dodged it and punched Umbra's shoulder. He knocked her down and stepped on her wrist. She screamed and tossed her second dagger. Kyrie ducked. It flew over his head.
The skeletons and mimics howled. Kyrie placed his sword against Umbra's neck.
"You will be the mimic, Umbra," he said. "Once I cut you, Dies Irae will have no other use for you."
She kicked hard, hitting his knee. The pain suffused him. He fell, cursing, and Umbra leaped up. She drew another dagger, and the blade flashed down.
Kyrie raised his sword.
The blade pierced Umbra's stomach.
The mimics and skeletons roared. Kyrie sucked in his breath, stars floating before him, his blood dripping. Pain spun his head. He pushed himself up, Umbra impaled on the sword, and shoved her down.
She fell and curled up, clutching her stomach. She glared up at him, snarling, a wild animal.
"Weredragon!" she screamed and spat at him. "I curse you. I curse your kind. I curse you all to the abyss, and to pain, and to eternal slavery. You are monsters. You killed my family." Blood filled her mouth and her eyes blazed. "I curse you, weredragon! My lord will destroy you!"
Her clothes soaked with blood, she leaped to her feet and jumped at him. Her daggers lashed. Kyrie parried, thrust his blade, and pierced her chest.
She fell to her knees.
Blood poured down her clothes.
She stared up at him. Kyrie stared back, panting. He expected her to rage, to curse, to spit... but tears filled her eyes. She whimpered.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why do you do this? I miss my husband. I miss my brothers. I'm sorry I couldn't avenge you. I'm sorry."
She fell to her knees, then fell forward, and her face hit the snow. She lay still.
Kyrie knelt by her, surprised to find pity fill him. He placed a hand on her head.
"You fought well," he said softly. "Whatever your pain was, I'm sorry if we caused it. May you find some peace in the world beyond... with your husband and brothers."
He rose to his feet and looked around him. The mimics and skeletons were screeching and fighting the Earthen. Blood and fire filled the night. He looked above him. The nightshades had scattered, but many mimic dragons and bats still flew. Salvanae kept falling; they covered the battlefield, sliced and battered and burned.
"Pup!"
He turned, and his heart leaped to see Agnus Dei running toward him. Snow, blood, and ash covered her. She hacked at a skeleton, jumped over a dead salvanae, and came to fight beside him. They swung their blades, holding back attacking mimics.
"Agnus Dei, what do you know?" he shouted over the din.
"It's bad, pup. Silva's troops are falling fast. Most are dead already. Half of the salvanae have fallen, and most of the griffins."
Kyrie cursed. "Lovely. How's our friend Irae?"
Agnus Dei pierced one of the Poisoned with her blade. "I can't find the bastard. But his troops keep coming at us. There's no end to them. Pup... what do we do?"
A snowbeast leaped at them. They hacked at it, chopping off its legs, and stabbed its mouth until it died.
"I don't know," Kyrie said and cursed again. The monsters kept slamming against them, endless in the night. He looked at Agnus Dei. Blood filled her hair and smeared her face. Her armor was dented and her clothes were mere tatters.
"I love you, Agnus Dei," he said.
She looked at him, fear in her eyes. "I love you too, Kyrie. In this life and in our starlit halls."
They fought back to back as the shadows and horrors of the night surged toward them.
DIES IRAE
He swung his mace, crushing an Earthen's head. The man's helmet was weak. The spikes in Dies Irae's mace punched through it. When he yanked his mace back, it came free with a spurt of blood.
A swordsman attacked at his right—a mere peasant garbed in Earth God green. The man's chipped blade slammed against Dies Irae's plate armor, glancing off with sparks. Dies Irae swung his mace. The man tried to parry, and the mace shattered the blade. Dies Irae smiled and clubbed his head. When the man fell, he swung his mace down, finishing the job.
Pathetic, he thought. These were no warriors. This Silva had brought farmers to fight, their armor weak, their weapons chipped, their bodies fragile. He swung his mace side to side, shattering bones. Their blades could not pierce his armor. Their bodies piled up at his feet.
"Where are you, Lacrimosa?" he said softly. "Where are you, my lizard harlot? You will be mine, Lacrimosa. I will burn your body, and sew your head onto one of my women, and you will warm my bed every night."
He scanned the battlefield, seeking her. She will try to defend King's Column. He turned northward and saw the column rising from smoke and flame and lightning. Yes, she would be there.
Smirking, Dies Irae began cleaving a path through the enemy, clubbing them, tossing them left and right. His mimics fought by him, burly beasts, each with four human heads sewn together at the napes, so they could see in every direction. They swung bloody war hammers, shattering their foes' bones.
They drove through the lines of Earthen, and Dies Irae saw a sight that made him grin. A ring of Earthen surrounded a hill, guarding a makeshift palisade. Behind the palisade, thousands of women and children huddled atop the hill.
"Look at them," Dies Irae said to his mimics, laughing. "Once more, the weredragons bring women and children to fight their wars."
His mimics laughed, spraying blood and drool from their maws.
Dies Irae clenched his fist. "We smashed their women and children at Lanburg Fields. We will crush these Earth God peasants too."
I will join you soon, Lacrimosa. First I will whet my appetite.
He began driving a path toward the hill, grinning savagely. The Earthen seemed desperate. They crashed against him, shouting, thrusting their spears like madmen. They fell fast. For every mimic they slew, they lost three men. Dies Irae grinned as he clubbed at them, breaking knees, ribs, arms, heads.
He reached the palisade, a frail wall of thin logs, and clubbed it with his mace.
"Tear it down!" he shouted. "Tear down the wall."
His mimics attacked the logs with their war hammers. Within moments, they had breached the palisade. Earthen soldiers crashed against them, howling, torching and cutting them. Mimics fell blazing. The women and children on the hilltop screamed, sobbed, and held one another.
Mimic bodies piled up at the breach in the palisade, smoking. Weaklings, Dies Irae thought in disgust. He stepped over their bodies, the smoke rising around him, stinging his eye and filling his lungs. Laughing, he swung his mace at the Earthen who attacked him. Their blades sparked against his armor. He drove forward, mace swinging, and crossed the palisade.
"Mimics, after me!" he bellowed and pointed his mace at the hilltop. "Kill them all."
The women and children screamed.
Roaring, his mimics stormed through the palisade behind him, clashing against the Earthen soldiers. Dies Irae drove forward. The women and children were trying to flee, but the hill was too crowded, and the palisade locked them in. They fell and cried and shouted. Dies Irae laughed. They doomed themselves.
He tore through the last line of soldiers, and saw the women and children fleeing. He ran forward, grabbed a child by the hair, and pulled it around. The young girl stared at him with huge, teary eyes. Dies Irae clubbed her head and kicked her body aside.
Her mother knelt and wept over her, and Dies Irae slammed his mace into her skull. The others fled, trampling over one another, a mad rout. Dies Irae grinned and moved between them, swinging his mace. They didn't even fight back. They died around him; it was like slaughtering lambs.
Dies Irae laughed. He had not enjoyed himself so much in many days. He grabbed a baby from its mother, and was about to club it, when a shout rose behind him.
"Let the child go, Irae. Face me instead."
Dies Irae's smile widened.
He turned around slowly.
"Lacrimosa!" he said in delight and tossed the baby aside.
She stood before him, covered in blood and ash. Her armor was dented and nearly falling off. Her clothes were mere tatters. Her hair was singed. She stared with blazing eyes from a blackened face. When she raised her sword, it caught the light and glowed like the stars of Requiem.
"Dies Irae," she said. "Your crusade of death ends here."
He licked his lips. "It's only beginning."
She leaped toward him, swinging her sword.
LACRIMOSA
Stella Lumen hit his breastplate. It sparked and glanced off the steel, shooting pain up Lacrimosa's arm. Dies Irae swung his mace. She leaped back, and the steel arm of Dies Irae swung before her.
Do not parry, she told herself. He will shatter your blade. Jump. Dance. Attack where his armor is weak.
His mace swung again. She leaped back, hitting a fleeing child, and bounded forward. She swung her blade toward his helmet, its visor shaped as a monstrous beak. He parried with his arm, and her sword scratched along the steel, showering sparks. He thrust his mace again, and she ducked, dodging it.
Do not parry. Jump. Dance. He is slow and you are fast.
She sprang up, swinging her sword. She aimed for the chain mail under his arm; it was weaker than his plates of steel. But he twisted, and her blade hit his breastplate, not even chipping it.
"You are feisty, lizard whore," he said, eyes blazing behind the slits in his visor. "Will you be feisty in my bed too?"
She growled and thrust her blade. Do not waste words on him. Jump. Dance. Kill him. She aimed again for his armpit, but he moved, and the blade slammed against his pauldron. He swung the mace again, and this time Lacrimosa did have to parry. The mace glanced off the base of Stella Lumen, and she caught her breath, sure it would shatter. But her father's blade was strong, stronger than most blades of steel; it glowed and rang. She swung it and hit Dies Irae's helmet. He grunted but did not fall.
"Did you hear the sound your husband made when I butchered him?" Dies Irae said, swinging his mace. "He sounded like a pig in heat. You will make the same sound every night when I thrust into you."
Lacrimosa's eyes stung with smoke. Her limbs shook with weakness. The mimics had cut her, and blood stained her left leg and trickled under her ribs. She did not know how bad the wounds were, but she could still stand, still breathe, still kill.
Leap. Jump. Dance.
And they danced. It was the dance of her life—against death, against evil, against blood and darkness. She danced for life, for the light of her stars, for the love of her family—because she could not stop dancing, she could not give up, not when her children needed her, not when her people cried to her from the earth. She was Queen of Requiem. She was a widow. She was a mother. So she swung her sword, and cried to her stars, and lashed her blade at the man who'd raped her, who'd killed her family, who'd shattered the halls of her home. She danced and cried and pierced his armor below the arm, so that he screamed and his blood spilled.
"It's over, Irae," she said, face drenched in sweat. He clutched his wound, glaring at her. "It's over. I end your reign this night."
She swung her sword.
Snarling, he raised his mace and slammed it against her wrist.
Lacrimosa screamed. She felt the bones in her wrist snap. The blade fell from her hand. Dies Irae swung the mace again, and she could not breathe. Pain filled her, white and blinding. Her shoulder shattered. She fell to her knees, gasping for breath. She tried to leap, to run, but he kicked her, and she fell.
Stars of Requiem... give me strength. Help me rise.
He stepped onto her neck, his boot bloody, made from the golden scales of a Vir Requis child. She could not breathe or speak. He lifted her sword with bloody fingers.
"My my," he said. "You still struggle beneath me?"
She tried to speak, but his foot constricted her, nearly snapping her neck. I'm sorry, Ben. I'm sorry, Gloriae, Agnus Dei, Kyrie. I love you all so much. I love you.
Blackness was spreading before her eyes. Through blurry tears, she could see that the women and children had fled the hill. She smiled softly. I saved them. He will kill me now, but I saved them.
He lifted Stella Lumen above her. The Draco Stars shone above between the smoke and flames, glittering across the sword.
"I'll kill you like I killed your husband, whore," he said. "I'll butcher you with your own sword."
Stars floated around her. Stars glowed on the hilt of her sword, and in the sky beyond the fire and shadow—the stars of her life. The light of Requiem fell upon her, waiting for her. I will join you soon, Ben. I will join you soon, Mother and Father.
Dies Irae lifted his foot off her neck.
"Will you plead for your life now, weredragon?" he asked. "Beg for it."
His boot crushed her shattered wrist, pinning her down. She saw her husband again, her love, her eternal companion. They danced in the halls of Requiem among marble columns. They raised their daughters in the light of stars and the song of harps. They fled together, hid together, fought together. She sat with him again by the stream outside Confutatis, the night they had summoned the griffins. The young ones went seeking supplies, and we kissed, and he loved me by the water.
She smiled softly. It began to snow. The snowflakes glided, so beautiful to her, and coated her.
"I do not fear death," she whispered, staring up with blurred eyes. "I do not fear my father's blade. But yes, I beg you, Dies Irae. If you still remember Requiem... if you still have any pity in you... spare me. Spare me for the child that I carry within me."
His eyes widened.
"Pregnant," he whispered. "With his child."
Her lips parted. The blade slammed down, a streak of starlight.
She gasped.
Blood bloomed across her breast, poppies in the snow.
She tried to speak, but no words left her lips. He stood above her, boots crushing her. He twisted the blade, his eyes alight. But Lacrimosa felt no pain, only love and warmth. She smiled softly and her fingers uncurled.
Harps played, and the stars seemed so close, their light no longer cold and distant, but warm against her. She looked at King's Column, which rose from the fire, and it seemed to her like the halls of Requiem stood again, all in white, awash with light. The birches rustled around her, their leaves silver.
"I return to you, Ben," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "I love you."
She held his hand as starlight flooded her.
KYRIE ELEISON
He was running uphill when he saw her fall.
His heart froze.
He gasped.
Lacrimosa. Stars, no.
"Mother!" Agnus Dei shouted beside him, voice torn.
Stars, no, Kyrie prayed. She lost a father already, don't let her lose her mother too.
"Lacrimosa!" he shouted and ran uphill, his eyes burning. Smoke flowed around him. Fire licked at his boots. He ran, shouting, horror pulsing through him. Stars, no, please. He shoved his way between battling Earthen and mimics.
He reached the hilltop and saw Dies Irae laughing, Stella Lumen bloody in his hand. Lacrimosa lay at his feet, eyes glassy and staring. Kyrie shouted, eyes blurred, and leaped at him. He swung his sword.
The blade slammed against Dies Irae's breastplate. Rubies flew from it. Dies Irae laughed and swung his mace, and Kyrie leaped back, dodging it.
"Murderer!" Agnus Dei screamed, swinging her blade at Dies Irae. Her hair was wild, her eyes blazing. "I'll kill you, bastard! I'll kill you!"
Her blade slammed against his helmet, knocking his head sideways, but he stayed standing. He swung down his mace. Agnus Dei leaped back, and the mace grazed her thigh. She screamed and thrust her blade.
Shouting, Kyrie swung his sword too. He wanted to go to Lacrimosa. Is she dead? Oh stars, is she dead? But he dared not. He leaped onto Dies Irae, screaming, the world turned red. He slammed the pommel of his sword against Dies Irae's visor, a monstrous beak of steel. It dented, but Dies Irae only laughed.
Agnus Dei whipped around him and slammed her sword behind his knees, where his plates of armor joined. Dies Irae shouted. Agnus Dei swung the blade again, tears on her cheeks, shouting hoarsely. Blood splashed down his armor.
Dies Irae fell.
"You killed her!" Agnus Dei screamed, weeping. "You killed my parents, bastard."
Dies Irae was on his knees, blood seeping from his legs. More blood poured from his armpit, trickling over his armor.
"Knock him down!" Agnus Dei screamed and swung her sword into his helmet.
Dies Irae swung his mace at Kyrie, but missed. Kyrie hacked at his helmet too, and kicked, and Dies Irae fell onto his back. His blood darkened the snow.
Wet, gurgling laughter came from his helmet. "Yes, weredragons, fight me. I like it when you fight me."
Kyrie placed his foot against Dies Irae's chest, holding him down. He slammed his sword against the beak visor, knocking it open.
Bloody stars.
Kyrie froze, nausea filling him. For a moment, he could not move.
Moons ago, Benedictus had taken Dies Irae's left eye in battle. Today Dies Irae wore a new eye, sewn into his face with bloody stitches. It was the eye of a horse, three times the size of his right eye. It spun madly. Blood poured down his forehead, seeping into it.
"Stars," Kyrie whispered. "What have you done to yourself?"
Dies Irae opened his mouth and cackled. His human teeth were gone. Instead, wolf teeth were screwed into his rotting, bleeding gums.
"I am strong now," Dies Irae said, blood bubbling in his mouth. "I am mimic. I will live forever. I am too strong for you to kill."
He struggled to rise, but Kyrie kept his boot pressed against his breastplate. Agnus Dei stepped on his mace, pinning it down. Roaring, she ripped off his helmet and tossed it aside. Kyrie placed the tip of his sword against Dies Irae's neck.
"Call off your troops," he said.
He laughed, spraying blood. "Weredragon, you—"
"Call off your troops!" Kyrie shouted, pushing down his blade enough to tear the skin. A bead of blood trickled down Dies Irae's neck.
Dies Irae laughed and coughed. His chest rose and fell. "Mimics!" he shouted. "You heard the weredragon. Place down your arms. This is between the weredragons and me now."
The mimics grunted, howled, but obeyed. They tossed their weapons into the snow. The blades clanked against one another. The Earthen paused too from battle, panting, their cloaks red and black with blood.
Kyrie stared down at this man, this beast, this wretched creature who bled and cackled. He's no longer a man, he thought. He stopped being a man moons ago, maybe years ago.
"Agnus Dei, go to Lacrimosa," he said, never removing his eyes from Dies Irae.
Agnus Dei ran to her mother, knelt, and cradled her in her arms. She cried to the sky, a wail so heartbroken, that Kyrie knew that Lacrimosa was dead.
He tightened his fingers around the hilt of his sword, keeping the blade pressed against Dies Irae's throat.
"You killed her," he said. "You killed so many. Why, Irae? Why?"
The creature cackled, his horse eye spinning wildly. Blood dripped down his teeth. "You...," he said, coughed, and laughed. "You are weredragon. You infested this world. You will die. You will be my mimics. You will be my slaves."
He tried to rise, but Kyrie held him down, his boot against the creature's breastplate. Agnus Dei cried and howled behind him. Kyrie realized that the entire battle had paused; the armies watched from a distance, smoke rising between them. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Terra and Memoria had joined the hill. They knelt by Agnus Dei in human forms, watching him.
"No, Irae," Kyrie said softly to the creature below him. "No. You failed. You murdered so many. You destroyed so much. But you failed. It has already ended for you."
The creature laughed, spitting blood. Maggots squirmed in his mouth. "Try to kill me, weredragon. You cannot. You are a lizard. You are weak." He coughed.
Kyrie shook his head, and suddenly his eyes stung, and he could see Benedictus again, hear the man's voice, feel his spirit with him.
"No, I will not kill you," he said. "King Benedictus wanted to put you on trial. He wanted the world to know your sins. I will not give you the honor of dying in battle." His took a deep breath. "I will honor his wishes. Dies Irae, you will live today, and you will watch Requiem be reborn, and you will stand trial in her halls. If you are found guilty of your crimes, you will spend your life as our prisoner, and rot in a cell as our nation blooms."
Agnus Dei raised her head, her eyes red.
"Yes," she whispered, holding her mother's body. "He will stand trial."
Terra and Memoria held each other, covered in blood and ash, their eyes huge and haunted. Fires burned behind them, and they both nodded. Yes, their eyes told him. He will stand trial.
Fire crackled. Smoke unfurled. Mimics and Earthen whispered and bustled.
A long shadow fell upon the battlefield. Covered in ash and blood, Gloriae emerged from the smoke and fire.
She walked forward, her eyes green ice, her face blank, her sword drawn in her hand. Her hair flew in the wind, black with smoke.
"Gloriae," Dies Irae whispered, choking on his blood.
Gloriae the Gilded, the Light of Osanna, Heir to Requiem, walked toward the man she had once called Father. She said nothing. Her face was a dead mask
"Gloriae," Kyrie said softly, and she shoved him.
He fell off Dies Irae and stumbled two steps. Before he could leap back, Gloriae pointed her sword at Dies Irae's neck.
"Stand back, Kyrie," she said quietly. "This is between me and him."
"Gloriae, he—"
"Stand back, Kyrie!" she shouted, and her eyes blazed. Kyrie froze.
For sixteen years, Gloriae lived captive to this man, he reminded himself. Let her say what she will. He stood watching.
"You murdered May," she whispered.
Dies Irae nodded. "I raped her too. What is your point?"
She bared her teeth. Her knuckles were white around the hilt of her sword. "You murdered my parents."
He shook his head. "But I am your parent, child. I created you when I took the lizard queen. You are mine, child. You are mine."
Her voice shook, and her eyes burned. "I am not your child."
He raised a bloody hand to her. "Gloriae. Leave these weredragons. Join me. We will rule again. You are forgiven, child. You are still beautiful and pure. Leave these creatures who corrupted you. Let us rule together like we used to. Look at you. You wear rags now. You hide in mud and grime. Join me, and I will forge you new armor of gold, and you will rule a great empire again, not these piles of ruin."
Gloriae stared down at him, her lips tight, and her eyes dampened. She shook her head. Her voice trembled.
"I believed you once," she said. "I loved you once. I fought for your ideals. For glory, light, order and justice." She gestured at the battlefield. "Look around you, Irae. Look at the creatures you created, that you brought to war. There is no light and justice here. You always told me that you fought monsters. But you have become the monster, leading a host of them. I still believe in light and justice and glory. But I found it among the mud and ruins. You will pay for what you've done. But you will not stand trial; I will not allow it."
Dies Irae stared up at her, eyes widening. "Gloriae. Please. Gloriae, I—"
Gloriae screamed.
Smoke unfurled and fire crackled.
"You will die on the blade that you forged me." She drove Per Ignem into his neck.
Blood painted the snow.
The stars glowed.
Dawn rose in the east, and Kyrie fell to his knees, and held the body of his queen, and wept. His siblings held him. His beloved cried with him. Sunrise flowed over King's Forest, a dawn of blood, tears, and light.
Kyrie lowered his head. All victory is vanished; all joy is forever lost. His queen had fallen.
GLORIAE
She stood apart from the others. With dry eyes, she stared at the grave, and at the last survivors of Requiem who huddled together with tears and whispers.
Another funeral, she thought. Another sacrifice for our nation, our life, our sky.
The wind blew, ruffled her hair, and stung her cheeks. It sneaked under her breastplate to kiss her skin. The wind too seemed to cry, but Gloriae could not. She could shed no tears, could whisper no whispers, could not embrace the others and share their pain. Her mourning was her own. They will think me cold, she knew. Gloriae the Gilded, the warrior of ice.
Her pain was a private thing; it always had been. The pain of her exile. The pain of losing May. The pain of finding her true parents, only to lose them like this, so quickly, a flash of stars soon overcome with clouds.
Gloriae rested her hand on the hilt of her sword. Her mother's sword. Stella Lumen, diamonds upon its grip, shaped like the Draco constellation.
"I will carry this sword, Mother," she whispered.
Crows flew above, circling the sky. The crows have returned. Winter is ending. Gloriae took slow steps toward the grave. The others saw her approach and pulled apart silently, tears in their eyes. She saw the tombstone behind them. It rose beside the grave of Benedictus—twin stones.
It was tall and white, taller than Gloriae, carved of marble from Requiem's fallen columns. Kyrie had carved text upon it.
Queen Lacrimosa
and her sleeping child
lights of Requiem
our guiding stars
Now tears did sting Gloriae's eyes. She thought of this unborn child, the sister or brother she would never know.
"He would have been a great son of Requiem," she whispered. "I would have taught him. But he would not have been a warrior. He would not kill like I have killed. He would have been a ruler of peace. I would have loved him."
Agnus Dei approached her, and placed her arms around her, and leaned her head against Gloriae's shoulder. Gloriae held her sister, lowered her eyes, and found tears streaming down to her lips.
"I'm glad I have you, sister," Agnus Dei whispered. "I love you."
Gloriae's tears fell, and she held her sister tight. "I love you too," she whispered.
The others joined their embrace. Terra, Memoria, and Kyrie. Young, brave, foolish Kyrie, the boy who had grown up in fire, the warrior whose promise whispered within her. She looked at him over Agnus Dei's shoulder, and he met her eyes.
They flew over Requiem. Five dragons, streaming over ruins and snow. The last of their kind, diving through the clouds, roaring their fire. The wind filled Gloriae's nostrils, streamed under her wings, and stung her eyes. She blew flame and flew, like she would fly on Aquila, and she roared for her new home.
This is my home now, Gloriae thought. She who had lived in palaces, who wore gold and samite, who killed for light and glory... she lived now among ruins and whispers, but this was her home. This is who I am. This is where I find my strength.
No bones remained here. They had buried and burned the slain mimics and Earthen. The living beasts had fled with the death of their master; Silva and his men still hunted them. For this day, peace had come to Requiem. Only ruins. Graves. Wind rustling the last snow. Gloriae roared her fire.
She found herself flying to King's Forest. Memories would always haunt this place, but Gloriae would not avoid them. She had seen horror there, and anguish like she'd never known... but there too pulsed the heart of Requiem, and she flew toward it through her fire and the icy wind. The others flew around her. We are a new herd, like the herds of old.
She landed by King's Column. Even in dragon form, she felt dwarfed by this column; it towered above her. The other dragons landed around her, their claws silent in the snow.
Gloriae shifted into human form, drew her sword, and place its tip on the earth. She knelt before the column, and she prayed.
"Draco stars," she whispered. "I have never prayed to you before. But I beg that you hear my words now. I am Gloriae, daughter of Benedictus and Lacrimosa, a warrior of Requiem. Let me serve you now. Let me defend you with sword, claw, fang, and fire."
The others knelt around her and whispered their own prayers. For Requiem. For their constellation. For the memory of the dead and their souls in starlit halls.
Gloriae closed her eyes and lowered her head. "And for you, Father and Mother. For you, the brother or sister I never knew. I will restore this land for your memory. I swear this to you. I love you always."
When she rose to her feet, she found the others looking at her strangely, their eyes soft.
"It is time," Memoria whispered and smiled sadly.
Kyrie nodded. "It is time," he agreed.
Gloriae frowned. She looked from them to Terra and to her sister. They stared back, solemn.
"It is time," Agnus Dei whispered.
"For what, sister?" Gloriae asked, sword still drawn. "Tell me."
Agnus Dei approached her, smiling sadly, her eyes soft. She placed her hand on Gloriae's shoulder.
"It is time that we crown a new queen of Requiem."
Gloriae couldn't help it. She laughed. "Sister, I... do you mean to crown me?"
She nodded. "You were born before me, Gloriae. Only a few minutes before me, but you are still the rightful heir."
Gloriae laughed again, though her eyes stung. She looked at the others, one by one, but they all stared back solemnly. She shook her head in bewilderment.
"My friends... the Oak Throne is burned. It burned years ago. Our halls are shattered."
Kyrie shook his head. "King's Column still stands. We stand in the hall of Requiem's kings, as many generations have stood before us."
Gloriae swept her arm around her. "I see ruins. Only five of us remain. Would I rule over a single column, a sister, and three friends? There is no more meaning to ceremony, to titles, to queens or kings."
Agnus Dei nodded. "Maybe, Gloriae. Ceremony and titles might be meaningless now. But not to me. Not in my heart. Not if we're to survive, and honor the memory of our fathers, and rebuild this land. For seventy-six generations, since King Aeternum, we have passed down the reign and ruled here. For our stars, and for those who died, let us continue their tradition." She looked at King's Column, and she took Gloriae's hand and squeezed it. "Maybe ceremony and titles are still worth clinging to."
Gloriae lowered her head, and her throat felt tight. She remembered her arrows, lance, and crossbow. She remembered leading her griffins on the hunt, killing and burning. She remembered the child she had killed, a young boy with teary eyes, and how her blade had pierced him.
"I... I cannot be queen," she whispered. "I do not have a good heart. I am not just, or righteous, or gentle. I am not like you, Agnus Dei, or like you, Kyrie. You two have kind souls. You feel love, you feel compassion. But I am cold. I am steel; all I know is war. My hands are stained with the blood of innocents, even children. I killed children when I myself was a child. How could I, who sinned, who killed, who did such evil... how could I rule Requiem?"
Kyrie approached her, eyes somber. A scar ran along his forehead, a lingering whisper from the Battle of King's Forest. A beard was growing over his cheeks, frosted white, and Gloriae found herself wondering at how he had grown. She had fought a boy once, and mocked him, and hurt him; the war had killed that boy.
"Many kings and queens of Requiem have sinned," he said. "They enslaved griffins. They cast out Dies Irae from their court, and scorned him, and drove him to his rage. From the fire, we are reborn, purer, stronger. This is true of Requiem herself. It is true of you too, Gloriae. You have been raised to destroy Requiem. Let your hands be those that rebuild it. This is just." He knelt before her and lowered his head. "My queen."
Agnus Dei knelt too, tears in her eyes. "My sister. My queen."
Terra and Memoria knelt next, their heads lowered, their drawn swords held with tips in the snow.
"My queen."
"My queen."
Gloriae looked at them kneeling around her, and looked up at King's Column, and looked at the sky strewn with winter's last clouds.
I am no longer Gloriae the Gilded, she thought. Let that woman fade into the wind. I am Gloriae of Requiem, of starlight and fire.
She whispered softly, and the others whispered along with her, echoing her words.
"As the leaves fall upon our marble tiles, as the breeze rustles the birches beyond our columns, as the sun gilds the mountains above our halls—know, young child of the woods, you are home, you are home. Requiem! May our wings forever find your sky."
KYRIE ELEISON
He stood alone in the snow, the burned trees icy around him. He wrapped his cloak around him and watched the sunrise. It spread pink and yellow fingers across the sky, rivers of dawn.
"I miss you, Mirum," he said softly. "We used to watch the sunrise together from Fort Sanctus above the sea."
He sighed, his shoulders heavy. Requiem was free now, beautiful under the snow, and they had defeated their enemies... but Kyrie couldn't stop thinking about all those he had lost in this war. His parents. The Lady Mirum, his foster sister and best friend. Benedictus, his king and mentor. Lacrimosa, his queen, his inspiration. So many had died. So much pain still filled him, even in this victory.
He looked over the valleys and hills and took a deep breath. But I have Agnus Dei, he thought. I have my brother and sister. And I have Gloriae.
He tightened his cloak around him. Gloriae. Who was she to him? He had hated her once. He had fought her. He had watched her laugh as Dies Irae murdered Mirum. And... he had lain with her in the ruins of Osanna. He had sworn to defend her with his sword. She was his queen, his friend, and....
"Kyrie."
He turned his head and saw her emerge from the ruins. Gloriae no longer wore her armor. Today she wore a green dress Silva had given her, a silver cloak lined with fur, and a pair of moleskin gloves. Her golden locks cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes stared at him, solemn.
"Gloriae."
She approached him, stood behind him, and placed her hands on his shoulders. She laid her head against him.
"Kyrie," she said softly, "do you know what I want to tell you this morning?"
His throat itched and his fingers tingled. "Yes."
She walked around him, faced him, and held his hands. "It's been over three moons now, four I think. You remember that night, when autumn leaves covered the ground."
He nodded, and his heart thrashed against his ribs. His eyes stung. "I remember," he whispered.
She embraced him and kissed his cheek. "I told Agnus Dei," she said. "She's happy for us, Kyrie. She won't let this change what you two have. I won't either. This is a great blessing."
Her eyes were soft, and she smiled. He smiled too, his breath shook, and he held Gloriae as they watched the sunrise.
"Are you still ready, Kyrie?" she whispered.
He nodded. "I am. I've never wanted anything more."
They walked through the ruins and frosty trees, and saw King's Column before them. Terra and Memoria stood there, garbed in green and silver, their swords at their hips. They smiled at him, eyes damp.
When he saw Agnus Dei, Kyrie's breath caught.
She stood between his siblings, head lowered shyly, arms behind her back. When she looked up at him, her eyes were shy, questioning, trembling with tears. She was more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. She wore a green gown and flowers in her hair. She smiled through her tears, and reached out to him. On her left arm, she wore a giltwood hand Silva had carved her, its fingers moving on invisible joints.
Kyrie approached his bride and held her hands, one hand soft and warm, the other hard and smooth. They walked to stand before King's Column, and gazed over the shattered hall of Requiem's kings. Snowflakes fell around them, filling their hair.
Terra and Memoria stood at their sides. Gloriae stood before them, eyes solemn.
"This is a sad day," the Queen of Requiem whispered. "This is a day when we still mourn those we lost. But I know that Benedictus and Lacrimosa are watching over us. They stand now in our starlit halls, and they smile."
Agnus Dei nodded, biting her lip. Tears spiked her lashes.
Kyrie could never afterwards remember Gloriae's words. She spoke of love, and joy, and a future for Requiem. And he spoke too—spoke of meeting Agnus Dei, of loving her always, of growing old by her side. But words glided like snowflakes, and he thought only of her eyes, and her smile, and the light in her hair, and he marvelled at how much joy she gave him, and how the mere touch of her hand spread warmth through him.
He kissed her, arms around her. She mussed his hair and laughed.
"Pup," she said, and winked, and cried.
They walked through the forest, hand in hand.
The snowflakes fell, and melted, and the ice left the trees. They planted gardens, and for the first time in years, life grew in Requiem: sweet peas, and mint, and squash, and enough flowers for Memoria to pick every day, and place inside the cave where they lived. And they lived—like the wild dragons of old, nesting upon cliffs, sleeping in caves, roaring in the dawn and herding across the sky.
"It's a new spring," Kyrie said as they planted birches around the ruins of their temples. He brushed soil off his hands. "These trees will be saplings next year, and the year after that. But when our children pray here, tall trees will shade them, and countless leaves will rustle around them."
The twins smiled and placed their hands upon their bellies.
Under summer's blue skies, Gloriae lay in their cave and shouted and clutched Kyrie's hand. Memoria delivered their child, and held up the squalling, red creature that Kyrie thought looked so ugly, he couldn't help but laugh and cry.
"It's a girl," Memoria said. "A golden-haired girl."
Gloriae took the baby into her arms, and nursed her, and kissed her head. "Her name is Luna."
Autumn winds blew, and Kyrie found himself in the cave again, holding Agnus Dei's hand as she shouted, and cursed him, and swore to beat him bloody. When Memoria held up the child, Kyrie thought this one ugly too, wrinkled and red and squealing. This babe had curly black hair, like lambs' wool.
"It's a son," Memoria said, smiling, and placed the baby in Agnus Dei's arms.
Agnus Dei nodded, her brow and hair sweaty, and kissed the child. "His name is Ben."
Once he had lain in blood, dying. Once he had hidden in a tower, trapped and frightened. Once he had fought wars, and killed, and seen those he loved die. Two years after he escaped Fort Sanctus, flying over the sea with Dies Irae in pursuit, Kyrie found himself waging a new war—battling soiled swaddling clothes, and cleaning baby sickness off his shoulders, and nursing sick and crying creatures that he loved deeply. I am happy, he often thought, even when bone-tired after hunting, farming, tending to the babes, and fleeing Agnus Dei when she chased him for breaking a plate or forgetting to weed the garden. I am happy.
And yet... at nights, he often lay awake, and those memories returned to him. Lady Mirum, her skull shattered, falling upon the tower. Benedictus, dead in his arms. Lacrimosa, blood pouring down her chest, soaking the snow around her. When night fell, and the others slept around him in the cave, he stared into the darkness, and still saw the mimic bats, and the eyes of the nightshades, and the fire and blood of Lanburg Fields.
He would gently remove Agnus Dei's arm which draped over him, and tiptoe out of their cave, and stand in the darkness. He would stare into the horizon, and wait for sunlight, and he would miss them. Mirum. Benedictus. Lacrimosa. His friends. I am happy. I've never been happier. And he knew then that time did not heal all hurts. Not all memories faded. The scar on his forehead would remain; so would these terrors in the night, and this pain in his chest.
He'd return into the cave, and sneak back into their pile of furs, and kiss Agnus Dei's cheek as she mumbled and shifted. I love you, Agnus Dei. Now. Forever. I am happy so long as I have you.
When the first snow fell, they gathered in their cave. The twins, holding their babes. Kyrie and his siblings. Seven Vir Requis, the last of their kind. They ate the sweet peas, and the squash, and the turnips, and the other crops they grew in their garden. And they ate the game they hunted beyond Requiem's borders, in the forests of Osanna where Silva now reigned.
And for the first time, they spoke of it.
"What happens when they grow?" Kyrie said softly, watching his children.
The twins looked up at him, rocking their babes in their arms. Terra and Memoria looked at each other, then back at him.
Agnus Dei answered him. "I don't know," she said softly.
Kyrie touched Ben's cheek. The baby reached out and held his pinky finger.
"They... they have nobody but each other," he said. "Brother and sister. How will... well, I mean...." He tongue felt heavy. "Being related, how would...."
Agnus Dei groaned. "Pup, I think the babies are more eloquent than you. You want to ask how they'd breed. How our people will continue, if the entire next generation is brother and sister."
He bristled and felt his cheeks redden. "Well, I might have phrased it better than that, if you'd have given me a chance."
Agnus Dei rolled her eyes, but it was Gloriae who answered.
"He was terrified of it."
They all looked at her. She stared at them over her meal, face blank.
"Who, Gloriae?" Kyrie asked her. "Terrified of what?"
"Dies Irae," she answered, and Kyrie shuddered. He saw the others shudder too. They had not spoken his name since he had died.
"Terrified of what?" Kyrie asked softly.
She stared at him, eyes icy. "Of our magic. Of our curse. He claimed that weredragons would rape the women of his empire, and infect them with reptilian blood. That their disease could spread." She caressed Luna's hair and sighed. "Many men and women of Osanna died too; they too want to rebuild the world."
They all looked at one another, the words sinking in. Terra laughed softly. Memoria raised her eyebrows, then laughed too. Agnus Dei looked at them all in shock. Kyrie only sighed—a deep, contented sigh.
Yes, he thought. I am happy.
Gloriae—the Light of Osanna, the Maiden of Steel, the Queen of Requiem—smiled. She rocked her baby, and her voice was warm.
"It's time to mingle with the people who feared us, hated us, and hunted us... and give them a bit of our magic."
THE END
AFTERWORD
It was a long journey, and we've come to its end. The story that began in Blood of Requiem, at Fort Sanctus by the sea, is now complete. I hope you enjoyed reading about Requiem. I'm grateful and humbled that you've chosen to share this story with me.
The Song of Dragons trilogy has ended, but Requiem's story continues.
It continues not with a fourth Song of Dragons book, but with a whole new trilogy—a "sequel trilogy" titled Dragonlore. This new series is set years after the events in Song of Dragons; it tells of Requiem struggling to rebuild and facing new threats. The first Dragonlore novel is titled A Dawn of Dragonfire; it's available now in all the ebook stores.
Thank you again for reading this story, and I hope you choose to fly with Requiem's dragons again.
Daniel, 2012