Requiem's Prayer (Book 3) Read online

  Another Widejaw approached, wide of belly, and saliva dripped from his enlarged mouth. He reached for the meat, grabbed a piece, and took it back to a campfire. When Slyn did not object, a dozen more Widejaws raced forward to grab their own meat.

  Laira turned and nodded toward Jeid and the others. They too upended their packs, spilling out legs of goat, boar ribs, deer hides, mammoth steaks, and plucked geese. The Widejaws howled and hooted, grabbed the rich pieces, and brought them to the campfires.

  "Wait!" Slyn howled.

  At once the hall fell silent.

  Widejaws froze and stared. The only sound came from the crackling fires and the wind among the birches.

  Slyn turned toward Laira and leaned down. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her. Suspicion and lust for her flesh filled his eyes. He turned toward his men.

  "Why should we fill ourselves on the meat of deer and boars?" he called out. "We have here dozens of nice, juicy men and women to feast upon." He drew his bronze apa sword. "Why don't we carve up this sorry lot for our meal?"

  Maev growled, took a step forward, and raised her fist. Jeid had to grab her and tug her back. Dorvin cursed under his breath. Luckily, the Widejaws were focusing on Laira and did not seem to notice.

  Laira stared into Slyn's eyes. The man was thrice her size, and his hands could easily snap her bones, but she refused to break the stare.

  "Dead, we are a single meal to you. Alive, we can hunt for you. Gather berries for you. Serve you in any way you please." She allowed the edge of her cloak to fall off her shoulder. "We are not your enemies, King Slyn. We are not your meals. We will be your servants, catering to your every desire—for flesh to eat, and for flesh to claim." She took a step closer to him and placed a hand on his chest. "You slew the dragons, our tormentors. We ask only that you let us serve."

  His eyes flicked down to her bare shoulders. She let the cloak fall further, revealing the top of her breasts.

  I tempted Zerra this way, she thought, and I got what I wanted from him. I'm too weak to defeat these men with swords or spears, but I can deceive them. I can turn their need to conquer, their lust for blood and for body, against them. She gave Slyn a deep stare, letting him imagine all that she offered.

  The brute licked his lips and turned back toward his men. "Roast us a feast!"

  The Widejaws cheered and returned to their fires, tending to the meat. The scents of the meal filled the air: the fresh meat, the dripping fat, the spices, and the secret herb Laira had added.

  The smell of tillvine. Her heart quickened. The smell of our victory.

  She thought back to her captivity by the Cured Druids. She remembered watching the poor Vir Requis man swallow the tillvine juice, writhe and scream, and how his dragon magic had risen from him in strands of starlight. The memory still chilled her. But she also remembered feeding the tillvine to the Widejaw she had captured in the valley, watching him thrash, watching his own foul magic leave in a cloud of demon-infested smoke. Now the tillvine filled the meat. Now she would watch hundreds of Widejaws scream in agony as their magic tore from their bodies.

  The Vir Requis crowded together in the center of the hall. All around them, the meat roasted and the Widejaws laughed, sang, and drank from wineskins. Slyn returned to his throne and stared at his domain, his eyes never straying far from Laira.

  Laira inched closer to Jeid and glanced at him. He looked back, expressionless, but she saw the fear and hope in his eyes.

  "The meat is cooked, my king!" said one Widejaw. He rushed toward the throne with a slab of roast boar. "Eat first, King Slyn, as is your right."

  The meat steamed and its delicious aroma wafted, mixed with the tangy hint of tillvine. Laira could see green flecks of the crushed leaves on the meat.

  Sitting on his throne, Slyn snatched the meat. The Widejaws all stared, drooling and sniffing, awaiting their own turn to feast. But Slyn would not eat. He held the hot slab, sniffed once, and stared over the steaming meal at Laira. His eyes narrowed.

  Eat, Laira thought, staring up at him. Please, stars, let him eat.

  He simply stared, not taking a bite.

  Laira wanted to scream. There he was—the man who had slain so many Vir Requis, who had stolen their throne, who had defiled their hall. There was Slyn, a servant of Raem, the destroyer of Requiem, so close to losing his power . . . and he would not eat. He only stared. Laira's innards shook with hatred for the man, with a desire to shift, to blow her fire, to see his body burn.

  "Eat, my king!" she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. It seemed that none of the Vir Requis behind her so much as dared to breathe. "Enjoy our gift."

  The meat steamed in his hand, flecked with tillvine. He lowered the slab.

  "I smell a strange smell," Slyn said. "This meat is strangely spiced."

  Laira nodded. "We've dusted the meat with herbs, my king, giving it a delicious flavor you will enjoy."

  Please eat, she thought. Please, stars, let them all eat.

  "I'm hungry!" shouted a Widejaw from across the hall. "Let us feast."

  But Slyn only stared at Laira. He rose again from his throne, walked toward her, and held out the steaming meat.

  "Take a bite," he said to Laira. "The great kings in the south have slaves taste their meals, testing them for poison. Eat, chieftain of Sharpspear. Take a big bite."

  She stared at the meat, hesitating.

  What do I do?

  She felt everyone stare at her—the Widejaws around her and the Vir Requis behind her. They all waited.

  "Eat." Slyn's voice dropped, turning dangerous. He reached for his sword. "Is there a reason why you're not taking a bite?" He gripped her arm, his fingers digging into her. "Do you bring bad meat into my hall?"

  Laira trembled. She looked over her shoulder at the other Vir Requis. Jeid took a step closer and shook his head.

  No, his eyes told her. No. Don't.

  Behind Jeid, Dorvin and Maev glanced at each other, then back at Laira. They placed their index fingers against their thighs, pointing downward, a predetermined symbol.

  We fly as dragons, they were telling her. We attack.

  She shook her head. "No," she whispered to them. She looked back at Slyn. "It is your right, my king, to eat first. Who am I to steal that right?"

  Slyn's nostrils flared as the scent of poisoned meat filled them. "Eat now or we will feast upon your flesh instead." Slyn licked his massive chops. He twisted her arm painfully, nearly dislocating it. "I will enjoy crunching your bones between my teeth."

  Laira closed her eyes.

  In her mind, she was a child again, a mere girl of only several years, flying with her mother through the night. She was a young woman fleeing her tribe, flying through the open sky, no longer a beaten wretch but a proud dragon. She was flying with her husband, a queen of many other dragons, a queen of Requiem. She was free. She was strong. The wind flowed across her, and her stars shone above, and her fire lit the darkness.

  How would she live without the magic of dragons? How would she go on, powerless, lacking the one gift that had always given her strength?

  Jeid stepped closer. He placed a hand on her shoulder, prepared to pull her back, to shift, to attack, to die. And Laira knew that he would die this day. They were fifty Vir Requis, and five hundred Widejaws stood here, each capable of becoming a sphinx.

  A tear streamed down Laira's cheek.

  If I cling to my stars, I'll lose my husband. Like I lost my mother, my brother, maybe my sister. She looked at Jeid through a veil of tears.

  She loved her magic. But she loved Jeid more.

  "I love you," she whispered . . . and took a bite.

  Jeid stared, eyes wide. His hands dropped to his sides and he took a step back. But within an instant, the King of Requiem steeled himself and turned back toward Slyn, his clenched fists his only sign of distress.

  Laira stared ahead, chewing, maintaining eye contact with Slyn. He stared at her greedily. Saliva dripped down his chin. Laira swallo
wed her bite and pushed the meat back toward him.

  He stared at her, eyes narrowed, perhaps waiting for her to collapse.

  She stared back. She felt nothing. She felt hollow. She felt dead.

  Slowly, Slyn's face split into a grin. He bit deeply into the meat.

  Across the shattered halls of Requiem, five hundred Widejaws roared with approval and began to feast. Teeth sank into the meat. Bones crunched. Gravy dripped down chins.

  Laira lowered her head.

  Maev stepped closer and grabbed Laira. She leaned down, scrutinizing her. "Laira," she whispered. "Laira, are you . . .?"

  As the Widejaws feasted, Dorvin and Jeid stepped close too, staring at her, talking to her, but she couldn't see them, couldn't hear them. The world blurred. All was starlight, silvery and cold and beautiful, flowing around her. All sounds faded into a hum, a song of dragons.

  "It's beautiful," she whispered. She wept. "I can see the stars."

  She realized that she was lying down, that Jeid was holding her, calling to her. She realized that the Widejaws had fallen around her, that they were writhing, kicking, screaming, that smoke rose from them. The strands of starlight thickened around her, flowing upward, taking the forms of many dragons of silver and white, and Laira smiled.

  "Requiem," she whispered. "May our wings forever find your sky."

  Her head tilted back, and she looked up and tried to find that sky, but she could see nothing but smoke and silvery strands, and she knew that the sky was lost to her forever.

  JEID

  All across the hall of Requiem, Widejaws thrashed and screamed as smoke rose from them. The miasma flowed on the wind, thick with countless buzzing demons the size of maggots. The foul magic of the Abyss was leaving the Widejaws, but Jeid barely spared them a glance.

  "Laira!" he cried, holding her small frame. "Laira, can you hear me?"

  The strands of starlight rose from her, coalescing into the form of a great, glowing dragon with gleaming eyes. The astral figure seemed to stare at Jeid, to smile sadly, to weep tears like diamonds . . . and then the dragon ascended in many strands, streaming skyward until it vanished.

  Laira fell limp in his arms.

  "Laira!" He touched her cheek. "Laira, can you hear?"

  She lay still.

  Jeid shook her. "Wake up, Laira. Wake up." He shook her. "Laira!"

  Dorvin, Maev, and the other Vir Requis crowded near, silent and staring.

  "Laira?" Dorvin whispered.

  She felt so light in Jeid's arms. Her head, bald and painted, hung limply on her neck.

  "I can't lose you, Laira," Jeid whispered. "Wake up. I can't lose you too. I—"

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she coughed and gasped for air. She blinked and tears streamed down her painted cheeks.

  "It's gone," she whispered to Jeid. She squeezed his hand and stared up. "The sky. The call of the stars. Gone." She looked at him, and horror filled her eyes. "I'm no longer Vir Requis."

  Jeid's eyes stung, and he pulled her close against him. "You are alive. You are Laira. You are my wife. That's what matters. You are—"

  ". . . a filthy weredragon." The voice rose from behind. "You all are. Maggoty, disgusting weredragons."

  Kneeling over Laira, Jeid slowly turned his head around.

  Most of the Widejaws still twitched on the floor, the last blasts of unholy smoke leaving them. But Slyn still stood, glaring down at Jeid. The towering, burly man stepped closer, his ring mail chinking, and spat out a chunk of uneaten meat.

  Jeid snarled and shifted into a dragon.

  With a roar, Slyn leaped into the air and became a sphinx.

  The two beasts—one scaled, one furred—slammed together with snapping teeth and slashing claws.

  Hundreds of Widejaws still lay across the hall, their magic lost. But dozens more emerged from between the trees—those who had not yet eaten—and rose into the sky as sphinxes, blasting out their miasma.

  Dorvin and Maev roared and soared as dragons. An instant later, the rest of Requiem rose into the sky, blowing fire and crying out for their kingdom. Dragons and sphinxes crashed together.

  Jeid beat his wings, shoving against Slyn. The sphinx's jaws snapped open and closed, tearing at Jeid's scales, ripping through flesh. The creature's claws dug into the dragon's flanks.

  "I will feed upon the girl," Slyn hissed, blood on his teeth, and laughed. "Limb by limb, as I keep her alive, as she screams, as she begs me. I will force her to eat her own flesh."

  His body shaking with laughter, Slyn blasted out his smoke.

  Jeid roared and blew his flames.

  Demon smoke and dragonfire washed across them.

  The flames burned Jeid. The stench of Slyn's burning fur filled his nostrils. Tiny demons filled the smoke blasting from Slyn's mouth. Most of the creatures roasted in the dragonfire, screaming as they died, but a few invaded Jeid's mouth and ran down his throat. He felt them clawing inside him, moving through his gut, cutting him from within.

  He roared and swiped his claws, knocking off the burning sphinx. Slyn crashed down, a ball of fire.

  Jeid tried to fly, to rise higher, but pain filled his gut, and the tiny demons swarmed with him. He fell and hit the marble tiles, nearly losing his dragon magic. He leaned over and gagged, vomiting up fire and a stream of the small demons. Vaguely, he was aware of the others fighting around him. Maev flew overhead, roaring fire against sphinxes, while Dorvin raced between columns, a silver dragon lashing his claws against more of the creatures.

  Where was Laira? Jeid struggled to his feet and looked from side to side, seeking her.

  "Laira!" he called out. "Lai—"

  Still ablaze, Slyn beat his flaming wings and crashed into Jeid.

  The feathers had burned off the sphinx's wings, leaving dark membranes stretched over bones. The fur across Slyn's lion body still smoldered, falling off to reveal raw, red skin. Worst of all was Slyn's face. When shifting into a sphinx, it had bloated to three times its size. In the dragonfire, it had burst like a boil under a needle. Shreds of flesh hung loosely, revealing a skull rustling with worms. One eye was gone, burned away. Little more than the jaw remained, open wide, laughing, snapping its teeth. Those teeth closed around Jeid's neck.

  The two beasts slammed against the floor, cracking tiles beneath them. Slyn dug his teeth deep, laughing even with his face burned away.

  "I am the king!" the burning sphinx shrieked. "I will vanquish all. I am Lord of Requiem!" He tugged his head back with a spurt of blood, tearing a scale off Jeid's neck.

  Jeid struggled to rise. His head spun. He managed to shove himself up, but Slyn's claws lashed out, cutting into Jeid's snout, knocking him back down.

  "Dragonfire cannot hurt me!" the creature shouted as it burned. "The power of demons fills me!" A chunk of his face fell off like fat from a cooking roast. It slapped against the floor, but still Slyn laughed. "The power of my lord Raem will forever give me the strength to slay dragons. To—"

  Slyn gasped.

  The spear burst through his throat, emerging bloody and jagged.

  Laira snarled as she twisted the wood, splintering it inside the sphinx's neck. The young woman stood in human form, her magic gone, but with the spear in her hands, with her bared teeth, she looked as fierce as any dragon.

  "Raem is my father." She snapped the spear inside Slyn's neck. "And his darkness will vanish before the light of Requiem."

  Slyn screamed, spraying blood from his mouth. The creature beat his crumbling wings, rising higher. His body was burnt, his face crumbled, his neck spurted blood, but still he rose, still he laughed, and his screech tore across Requiem.

  "You will all bow before me! I am Slyn of Widejaw! I am King of Requiem!"

  As all around dragons and sphinxes battled, the mutilated Slyn blasted out his demonic smoke.

  Jeid blew his dragonfire. The stream crashed through the smoke and showered against Slyn. Roaring, Jeid beat his wings, rammed into the burning sphinx, and slammed the cre
ature against King's Column. The forest seemed to shake. Light blazed out.

  "Now die against the marble you desecrated." Jeid growled, leaned in, and bit through Slyn's neck. He tugged his head back, spat out flesh, and watched Slyn's severed head slam down against the tiles. The burning body followed with a thump.

  Jeid landed back on the tiles, panting, and looked around him. Dorvin and Maev blasted out dragonfire, slew the last two sphinxes, then landed too. Hundreds of Widejaw corpses lay across the hall and forest, torn apart and burnt. Among them lay a dozen Vir Requis bodies.

  The survivors stood, their scales covered in soot and blood. Among them stood one woman, bald and painted, small and frail, her magic lost.

  Jeid released his own magic and ran toward her.

  "Laira."

  He pulled her into his arms, and she laid her head against his chest, and he held her for a long time as ash rained.

  LAIRA

  She walked alone through the snowy forest, and though she knew every birch here, and though the columns of her home rose behind her, Laira felt lost.

  Ice coated the naked branches of the trees, and snow piled upon them; every tree was a three-layered painting of brown wood, silvery ice, and white snow, the tricolor strands spreading across the blue sky like cobwebs. The snow lay glittering in blankets, rising halfway to her knees, a field of stars marred only by the footprints of scurrying coyotes whom Laira only glimpsed from a distance, their eyes shining between trees. The sounds of Requiem still rose behind her: the flapping of dragon wings, the song of survivors, the music of a harp. Laira kept walking, moving away from the warmth and song of her hall.

  For Requiem is no longer my home. She placed a hand against her chest. My heart was ripped from me. My magic is gone. She paused and closed her eyes, too overcome with pain to continue. I am no longer Vir Requis.

  Since eating the tillvine, a hollowness had filled Laira. It felt as if an unseen force had ripped out her innards, leaving nothing behind her ribs, only an empty cavern. All her life, Laira had suffered. She had fled the cruelty of her father in Eteer. She had suffered the fists of Zerra, cruel chieftain of Goldtusk. She had fought demons and watched those she loved die in fire. And throughout all her nightmares, she had clung to a dream of beauty, to a pillar of light within her, a twin to King's Column—to her magic. The magic of dragons.