Requiem's Hope (Dawn of Dragons) Read online

  REQUIEM'S HOPE

  DAWN OF DRAGONS, BOOK TWO

  by

  Daniel Arenson

  Copyright © 2014 by Daniel Arenson

  All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.

  Table of Contents

  FOREWORD

  CHAPTER ONE: ISSARI

  CHAPTER TWO: LAIRA

  CHAPTER THREE: DORVIN

  CHAPTER FOUR: RAEM

  CHAPTER FIVE: LAIRA

  CHAPTER SIX: JEID

  CHAPTER SEVEN: MAEV

  CHAPTER EIGHT: TANIN

  CHAPTER NINE: LAIRA

  CHAPTER TEN: TANIN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: DORVIN

  CHAPTER TWELVE: ISSARI

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: RAEM

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: LAIRA

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: MAEV

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: JEID

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: ISSARI

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: RAEM

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: LAIRA

  CHAPTER TWENTY: ALINA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: ISSARI

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: DORVIN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: JEID

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: LAIRA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: ISSARI

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: RAEM

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: MAEV

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: ISSARI

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: ALINA

  CHAPTER THIRTY: LAIRA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: RAEM

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: LAIRA

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: JEID

  AFTERWORD

  NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

  KEEP IN TOUCH

  FOREWORD

  Requiem's Hope is the second volume of Dawn of Dragons, a fantasy series about an ancient kingdom whose people can turn into dragons.

  This novel assumes you've already read the first Dawn of Dragons novel, Requiem's Song. If you haven't, you'll probably still get the gist of things here, though I do recommend reading Requiem's Song first. You can grab the first book here or search Amazon for "Requiem's Song."

  With this introduction out of the way, I welcome you back into a world of blood, steel, and dragonfire.

  ISSARI

  A white dragon, she flew across the wilderness, a thousand demons of the Abyss flying in pursuit.

  Issari panted and her wings ached with every beat. Jabs of pain shot through her belly, and fire blazed in her maw, blasting out smoke that blinded her. She had been flying for days, barely resting, as they drew closer behind her—shrieking, roaring, clattering, hissing—the creatures of nightmares.

  Heart thudding, struggling for every breath, she looked over her shoulder and saw them. Three days ago, they had been only a shadow on the horizon. Now she could see their eyes blazing, their fangs glinting red in the dawn, their claws stretching out toward her. Creatures of rot. Creatures of scales, of slime, of disease, of leather and of mummified flesh. Demons. Beasts of the underground. The unholy army her father had summoned to kill weredragons, to kill her kind.

  Issari turned her eyes back forward and blinked away tears. The wilderness of the north spread before her: hills topped with patches of snow, plains of frosted grass, and forests leading to distant mountains.

  My kind, she thought, her scales clinking.

  She was eighteen years old, and she had never known of her magic, had never shifted into a dragon, until only days ago. All her life, weredragons—the cursed, diseased ones who could shift into reptiles—had been people to pity, to protect from her father's wrath.

  And now I'm one of them.

  She didn't know how she had become a dragon after all these years. Had praying to the Draco constellation given her this magic? Had she inherited it from her parents and only seen it manifest now? She had lost her baby teeth late, bled late, grown to her adult height late; had she simply discovered her magic late too?

  "Catch the reptile!" rose a shriek from the southern horizon; it rolled across the plains like thunder. "Break her spine! Tear off her wings! Pull every tooth from her mouth, and snap her limbs, and drag out her entrails, and make her beg for death!" The demons jeered, their voices rising into a single cry, a sound like shattering metal, whistling steam, and collapsing mountains. "Slay all weredragons!"

  Issari growled and flew harder.

  No, she thought. No, I am no weredragon. Weredragons are monsters. She howled and spat fire across the sky. I am Vir Requis.

  She picked up speed and streamed across the world.

  "Make the sky rain the blood of dragons!" rose a screech.

  "We will feast upon dragon flesh!" bellowed a deep voice.

  "We will crack their bones and suck sweet marrow!"

  Issari ground her teeth, narrowed her eyes, and kept flying.

  The memories of the past few days filled her, hazy and thick like dreams in the dawn. For so long there had been pain, water, sky—a flight over the sea, three dusks and dawns, sometimes sleeping in the water, her wings stretched out to help her float, mostly flying, mostly hurting, seeking the northern coast. Then there had been this—snow, cold winds, dark clouds, the hinterlands of the barbarian north, a new world, a world of dragons.

  "You're here somewhere, Requiem," Issari whispered. "My sister. My brother. My friends. The dragons of Requiem."

  Did they live in peace now, building their kingdom in the north?

  "I have to find you. I have to warn you." The shrieks rose again and she shuddered, her scales clattering. "We have to flee them."

  Yet how could she find the others? The north was vast and sprawling, far larger than Eteer. And even if she did find the Vir Requis, would she not lead these demons directly to their door?

  She looked behind her again, and she saw him there—her father.

  From here, several marks away, he was a glint of sunlight on bronze, no larger than a bead of dawn on the sea. But she knew it was him. He led this army, riding upon a great demon as large as a dragon, a human woman broken, stretched, fed the flesh of men, and shaped into an obscene bat. Even from here, Issari felt her father's eyes staring at her, boring into her, cutting her like his whip had cut her flesh.

  My father, she thought, and new fire rose in her maw, fleeing between her teeth. The man who butchered thousands. The man I must kill. The man who tossed me to the demons and will shatter my body if he catches me.

  She roared more flame and flew with every last drop of her strength.

  So I won't let him catch me.

  The clouds thickened above and a drizzle began to fall. In the north, sheets of rain swayed like curtains, and lightning flashed, spreading across the sky like the roots of a burning tree. A forest spread below Issari, thick with oaks, pines, and many trees she did not recognize, trees that did not exist in her warm, southern kingdom. She dipped in the sky, panting, her chest feeling ready to cave in.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The demons were closer.

  I can no longer flee them in the sky, she thought. My scales are too bright, my scent too clear. I'll have to lose them in the forest, a human again, small and sneaky.

  She glided down.

  The treetops spread below her, drooping with rain and shaking in the wind. Patches of old snow thumped down like a giant's dandruff. Issari dived lower. Wincing, she turned her head aside, stretched out her claws, and crashed through the canopy.
<
br />   Branches snapped around her, cracking against her scales. Snow filled her nostrils and mouth. One branch thrust up like a spear, its sharp edge driving under a scale like a splinter under a fingernail, and Issari yowled. She kept falling, shattering more branches, and finally thumped onto the ground.

  She lay in the snow, the early spring shower pattering against her. Twigs fell like more rain. Her tail flicked and smoke plumed from her nostrils. When she glanced up, she saw a hole in the canopy, revealing the gray sky. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled, and she heard them in the distance, screeching, laughing, mocking her, flying closer.

  A growl sounded ahead.

  Issari turned her head slowly.

  A bear stood before her, staring at her, a burly animal so small next to her dragon form.

  The cries rose from the sky.

  "Sniff her out! Find her! Follow her scent."

  Issari had spent many hours on her balcony back in Eteer, watching the demons sniff across the city, seeking weredragons.

  They'll smell me. They can find me anywhere. I shifted into a dragon; the starlit magic fills me now, forever leaving a trail for them to follow.

  The bear growled.

  "I'm sorry, friend," Issari whispered. She grimaced, guilt pounding through her, and lashed her claws.

  The bear whimpered and fell.

  As the demon cries grew closer, Issari worked with narrowed eyes, struggling not to gag. With claws and fangs, she skinned the bear, ripping off a cloak of fur, skin, and blood. The meaty, coppery smell filled her nostrils, mingling with the stench of the approaching demons.

  Her work complete, she stared down at the skinned carcass. She grimaced. She had not planned to eat this animal, and the sight disgusted her; back in Eteer, she never ate meat. Yet now her stomach growled, clanking her scales. She blasted out fire, roasting the meat, already imagining the taste.

  I need this. I need its energy. I've not eaten for days.

  She growled and let her flames die.

  No. No! With a dragon-sized stomach full of bear, she wouldn't be able to become a human again, not unless she wanted her stomach to burst. And now she needed to run as a girl, hidden, quiet, disguised.

  For the first time since fleeing Eteer, she released her magic.

  Her white scales melted like snow under rain. Her wings pulled into her back, her claws and fangs retracted, and her body shrank. She stood in the forest, a woman again, shivering in a white tunic, her black braid hanging across her shoulder.

  And still her stomach growled, and still the meat tempted her.

  Grimacing, she tore off a chunk of half-cooked, bloody bear meat and stuffed it into her mouth. She chewed, struggling not to gag, and she hated herself, and she cried, and still she savored the sweet meat and hot blood.

  "We smell her!" rose cries behind, not a mark away. "We smell the whore. Find her! Break her!"

  Panting, still chewing the meat, Issari grabbed her bloodied cloak of bear fur. Bits of flesh still clung to it. Her stomach roiling, she wrapped the dripping coat around her, shielding herself in a cocoon of its wet, hot smell.

  With any luck they can't smell me like this.

  She ran three steps, heading away from the shattered canopy and into the depths of the shadowy forest.

  Blood dripped down her face, her stomach gave a sharp twist, and she couldn't help it. She doubled over and gagged, vomiting up her sparse meal.

  "Find her! Rip out her spine!"

  She kept running.

  She ran between the trees, the canopy hiding her, praying the cloak masked her smell. Tears stung her eyes, her breath shuddered, and her legs shook with weakness, but she wouldn't stop running. The demons streamed above now, spinning, diving, and their drool and rot dripped like the rain, pattering between the trees.

  "Her scent is gone!"

  "Uproot the forest!"

  "Break her!"

  Claws shattered a tree ahead. Issari bit down on a yelp, spun, and ran in another direction. Shadows streamed above, and talons uprooted an oak. She turned and kept running.

  They can't smell me. I just have to keep running. I have to find the others. She clutched her aching belly, stumbling over roots and stones.

  "I'll find you, Requiem," she whispered. "I'll find you and warn you. We will slay them together, or we will flee . . . or I will die as a dragon of Requiem, roaring fire, fighting among my kind."

  The demons screamed above, branches slapped her, the meat roiled in her belly, and Princess Issari Seran—a Vir Requis, a child of magic—kept running.

  LAIRA

  On a beautiful spring morning, flowers blooming and birds singing, Laira woke up to find her brother hanging dead from an oak.

  She had woken that morning happy—truly, deeply happy for the first time in many years, the sort of contentment that came from a full belly, a good sleep, and a feeling of love and safety. For so many years, she had suffered—exiled from Eteer across the sea, brutalized as an omega of the Goldtusk tribe, and finally limping wounded through the wilderness, almost dying, seeking a home. A home she had finally found.

  Requiem.

  Waking that morning, she had gazed around at this new kingdom, this dawn of dragons. King's Column rose above her, a pillar three hundred feet tall, perhaps the tallest structure in the world. The sunlight gleamed against its marble, its dragon capital reared, and even in the morning light, Laira saw the Draco constellation shining above the column, blessing it, blessing her. Birches rustled around the pillar, dwarfed by its majesty, sprouting fresh leaves whose scent filled her nostrils.

  "Requiem," she whispered, placing a hand against the pillar. "The beat of my heart. A beacon for my kind. Your light will call all others home." Her eyes stung. "All weary, hunted weredragons will see King's Column, and they will heed its call, and they will gather here. They will become Vir Requis, a people noble and strong."

  That light and warmth in her heart, Laira made her way deeper into the forest. After the nobility of her prayer, she needed a moment decidedly less noble, and she sought a private place to relieve her bladder. Leaving the other Vir Requis to sleep—they still lay wrapped in fur blankets around the column, snoring softly—she made her way down a hill.

  Past a cluster of birches, a twisting pine with a trunk like a face, and a boulder she had engraved with a dragon rune, she saw him.

  Her brother.

  Prince Sena Seran.

  He hung from the tree, his belt around his neck. His bloated tongue protruded from his mouth, and his eyes stared at her, blank, bulging. A crow was already pecking at his ear.

  Laira lost her breath. She couldn't even scream.

  A choked whisper finally left her lips.

  "Why?"

  The crow tore off the earlobe and swallowed, snapping Laira out of her paralysis. She ran forward, tears in her eyes, and she wanted to toss a stone at the crow, but she didn't want to hurt Sena, and the bird wouldn't leave, and she tugged her brother's feet, trying to pull him down, but she couldn't, and finally she simply fell to her knees, hugged his dangling feet, and wailed.

  The others must have heard her cry; she heard their feet thumping down the hill, and arms wrapped around her, pulling her back. Tanin was embracing her, stroking her hair, holding her as the others cut down the corpse.

  "Why, Tanin?" Laira whispered, held in his arms, trembling. "I thought . . . I thought he was happy here, I . . ."

  The brown-haired young man held her close. He said nothing; perhaps he did not know what to say.

  Tanin's sister—the gruff, golden-haired Maev—stared down at the body which now lay upon the grass. The wrestler crossed her tattooed arms, spat, and shook her head in disgust.

  "Bloody bollocks," Maev said. "I flew halfway across the world to save the damn boy's arse from his prison. And now, when we finally bring the bastard to a safe home, he hangs himself? Stars damn—"

  Maev's father—the burly, shaggy Jeid—cuffed the back of her head and glared at her. "Show some
respect, Maev." The bearded Vir Requis, the first King of Requiem, turned toward Laira, and his eyes softened. He approached her slowly, knelt, and joined her embrace with Tanin.

  "I thought he was happy," Laira whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. She let the two men—a father and his son—hold her in their arms. "I thought he'd find joy among us."

  She lowered her head. Perhaps she had always lied to herself. She had been exiled from Eteer as a toddler, too young to remember much of that realm across the sea. But Sena had grown up among the white towers and golden palaces of that warm, southern kingdom. He had fled into these cold hinterlands as a young man, soft and afraid. On his first day here, Sena had tried to take Jeid captive, to betray his own kind—to do anything to gain acceptance back into his father's court.

  My father, the cruel King Raem, hunts Vir Requis, Laira thought. I've been suffering from this truth all my life, but Sena . . .

  She looked over Jeid's shoulder at the body of her brother.

  For Sena it was too much.

  She freed herself from the embrace, made her way across the grass, and knelt by his fallen body. She touched her brother's cheek and gazed into his dead eyes. Even in death, he was a handsome boy, his features noble, his hair soft. She pulled his lifeless body into an embrace.

  "I'm so sorry, Sena." Her tears dampened his tunic. "Goodbye. I love you."

  Before she could say more, a shriek rose above.

  Laira raised her head, stared between the trees, and saw it there. For the second time that morning, she lost her breath.

  Around her, the others gasped and sneered.

  "A demon," Laira whispered.

  She had never seen one of these creatures, the unholy things her father had freed from the underworld to hunt dragons. But she had heard the tales, and she recognized it at once. The creature flew down toward them, large as a dragon and shaped as an octopus. Instead of suckers, its tentacles bore many round mouths, each containing a ring of teeth. A central mouth, large as a dragon's maw and full of fangs, opened in the creature's head. It emitted a cry so loud the trees shook, shedding their last patches of snow.