Requiem's Prayer (Book 3) Page 5

  One of these days, Tanin hoped, he would catch a rat. The rats scurried outside sometimes. He saw them in the hallway, yet none had yet come to visit. None were his friends.

  I wonder if rats ever visited Sena as he languished in his prison, Tanin thought.

  He thought back to the prince of Eteer, Issari's brother. The young man had always seemed odd, too quiet, too hurt. The memory of Sena hanging from the oak visited Tanin sometimes, a waking dream, a warning.

  He lost his sanity while imprisoned, Tanin thought. I have to cling to mine. I have to. He clenched his fists, though he was so weak his fingers could barely bend. For Requiem. And for Issari.

  At the thought of her, something swollen and wet filled his throat. His eyes stung and ice and fire filled his belly.

  "Issari," he whispered.

  She needed him. She was imprisoned too, held high above in the ziggurat, enslaved to the abina of Goshar. He had to find her, to save her. His fists shook. He would burn down this entire city to see her again.

  He thought of her large green eyes, her determined mouth, her raven braid, her strength, her wisdom, her courage—an innocent princess who had become a queen, a priestess, a great leader. The thought gave him the strength to struggle to his feet. The chains binding his wrists and ankles jangled.

  "I have to find you, Issari." He stumbled toward the door. "I have to . . ."

  His head spun. He was too weak, too dizzy, but he tightened his lips and summoned his magic.

  Red scales flowed across him.

  And he screamed.

  As his body grew, the chains cut into his wrists, ankles, and torso. Blood spilled. Tanin roared with pain, and his magic left him. He collapsed onto his knees, lowered his head, and trembled.

  Boots stomped outside.

  Tanin cringed.

  Several guards approached the cell. They stood outside the bars, glaring in at Tanin. Each man wore rusty old ring mail, and their beards mimicked the armor, curled into tight rings. Whips and daggers hung at their hips.

  One man shoved a torch between the bars. The flames crackled, spewed smoke and sparks, and forced Tanin back against the wall.

  "What are you screaming about, weredragon?" the guard demanded. He spat on Tanin. "Shut your mouth or I'll bash in every last one of your teeth."

  Cringing away from the flames—they felt hot enough to melt his eyeballs—Tanin spoke in a hoarse whisper. "Let me see her. Let me see Issari."

  The guards burst out laughing. "The abina is taking good care of her," one said. "Keeping her nice and satisfied. Bedding her right now, I reckon." The guard licked his lips. "Bet she's nice and soft. Bet she's hurting."

  Tanin winced. He did not understand every word these guards spoke—he had been studying the southern languages for only several moons—but he could piece together the sentences well enough from the man's tone, darting tongue, and cruel eyes.

  She's hurt. She needs me.

  "Let me see her," he repeated.

  One guard drew his whip and lashed it through the bars. The bronze-tipped thong slammed into Tanin's shoulder, tearing through skin. The guards laughed as he bled.

  Along with his pain, rage flared in Tanin.

  I am a Prince of Requiem. I can become a dragon. He bared his teeth. I will slay these men.

  He struggled to his feet as the guards laughed. Another whip tore skin off his chest, but he did not fall.

  I will shift here in this cell, he thought. Even if the chains tear off my hands and feet. He growled. I will burn these men, and I will fly out, and I will free Issari, even if I bleed to death while I fight. I will die knowing she's free.

  As the guards raised their whips again, prepared to strike him down, Tanin reached deep inside for the magic of dragons.

  Before his scales could appear, shouts rose from down the hall.

  "A dragon!" a man cried. "A dragon flies! A dragon in Goshar!"

  Tanin froze. He wasn't a dragon yet. Why did they—

  "A dragon flies!"

  Tanin sucked in his breath.

  "Issari," he whispered. His eyes dampened, he leaped, and he shouted, "Issari!"

  Cursing, the guards raced down the hall, leaving his cell. All across the dungeon, screams of fear rose from the other prison cells, echoing madly.

  Tanin slammed himself against the bars, trying to peer outside into the hall. He glimpsed the guards racing away, crying of a dragon in the sky. Tanin's heart pounded.

  Issari is free.

  Across the torchlit hallway, the other prisoners moaned, screamed, or wept in their cells. A few hopped about like mad frogs, their eyes buggy. Others simply lay still, too weak to rise. Only one guard remained in the dungeon—the large, lumbering one the other men called Halfhead.

  Tanin reached between the bars and whispered urgently, "Halfhead! Halfhead, to me!"

  The jailor turned around. He was a massive man, standing seven feet tall. He shoulders thrust out like the beams of ships, and his belly wobbled before him like a bale of hay. He was easily the largest man Tanin had ever seen; he was almost twice Jeid's size, and that old grizzly bear was something of a giant himself.

  "Halfhead!" Tanin whispered, thrusting his face between the bars.

  Unlike the other jailors, Halfhead sported no long, curly black beard; his beard was wispy and pale, his eyes blue. He was a northerner like Tanin, perhaps once a hunter or gatherer, possibly sold overseas by his old masters. His most distinguishing feature was not even his prodigious girth but his head. A large chunk of that head was missing; the cranium caved in, forming a declivity like a crater, perhaps the result of some old wound. Whatever had caused the deformity must have left Halfhead half-witted; the giant drooled and often mumbled incoherently, seeming no more mature than toddler.

  "What you want?" Drool slid down Halfhead’s chin and clung to his rusty ring mail. "You no talk. Dragon! Dragon flies up above." The giant shivered. "Halfhead no like dragons."

  Tanin clutched the bars. If there had ever been a chance to escape this cell, it was now.

  "Open my cell, Halfhead," Tanin said. "Open it so I can help you fight the dragon."

  Halfhead's eyes widened. He took a step backward, banging against the opposite cell. "Dragon . . . coming here?" He fumbled for his club and raised the weapon. "Halfhead no like dragons!" His bottom lip trembled. "Dragons scary. Dragons once hurt Halfhead." He caressed the declivity on his head. "Dragon once lift Halfhead, drop him, hurt him. Halfhead scared. Please send dragon away."

  As the giant trembled, Tanin couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor thing. But right now he would have to scare Halfhead a little more.

  "Halfhead, if you open my cell door, I can help you fight the dragon. I've slain dragons before."

  Halfhead sniffed and wiped mucus off his face. He growled, lolloped forward, and swung his club. Tanin leaped back and the club banged against the bars.

  "You can't go out!" Halfhead wagged his finger. "You can't. Can't go out! Masters told Halfhead. Halfhead is never to let anyone out again. Ever."

  Tanin grimaced to think that right now, archers might be firing at Issari as she flew above the city, seeking him.

  "But the dragon might come here!" Tanin said. "Dragons love dungeons. If it flies down this tunnel, I can help you."

  Halfhead roared even as tears streamed down his cheeks. He swung his club through the bars, forcing Tanin to leap back against the wall. "Halfhead will fight! Halfhead will have revenge. He will kill dragon." He growled and spun in circles in the hall, swinging his club, as prisoners hooted and wailed in their cells. "Dragons hurt Halfhead. Now Halfhead hurt dragon!"

  The giant jailor paced the hallway, swinging his club through the air, blubbering about how the dragon had hurt him, how his head still ached, how revenge would be his. Tanin sighed.

  Poor fellow, he thought. He wondered if the story were true. Had some Vir Requis in the north truly wounded this man? A flow of shame filled Tanin. Every man like Halfhead, hurt by dragons, was an
other reason for the world to hate Requiem.

  "Halfhead," Tanin said, deciding to change his approach. "Halfhead, listen to me. That dragon outside? I summoned it. I created it."

  The giant froze, club in mid-swing, and turned back toward Tanin. His boots thundered across the floor. "What you mean?"

  Tanin raised his chin and tried to appear ominous—at least, as ominous as a haggard, tied-up prisoner could appear. "I have an old magic, Halfhead. A magic that can turn people . . . into dragons."

  Halfhead gasped and stepped back. "Halfhead scared of magic. Magic evil!"

  "Very evil. Look."

  Tanin took a deep breath and summoned his magic. Red scales flowed across him. Horns began to bud upon his head. Fangs lengthened in his mouth. Just as his body began to grow larger, Tanin froze the transformation. He lingered between human and dragon, small enough to keep the chains from tearing him apart. Holding the magic halfway inside him felt like keeping food halfway down his throat; it ached to go one way or the other.

  "Do you see my magic?" he rumbled. "Do you see, Halfhead?"

  Halfhead gasped, whimpered, and covered his eyes. "No . . . please. Don't hurt Halfhead."

  Tanin released his magic, returning to human form. He stepped closer to the bars. "I have the magic to turn man into dragon. I created the dragon outside. I can create many more; I can turn every prisoner in these cells into dragons! Would you like that, Halfhead?"

  The giant blubbered, fear of dragons and fear of his masters battling across his face. "Halfhead fight them all!" He swung his club. "Halfhead fight all the dragons."

  Tanin narrowed his eyes and smiled thinly. "Would you fight even yourself?"

  Halfhead froze and sucked in air. "What . . . what you mean?"

  I'm sorry, Halfhead, Tanin thought. You have to let me out, even if it means I'll terrify you half to death.

  "If you don't release me, Halfhead, I will turn you into a dragon." He snarled. "Open these bars and unchain me, or you will suffer this curse."

  Halfhead whimpered. A stain spread across his pants as he wet himself. With trembling fingers, he pulled his ring of keys off his belt. He fumbled and dropped them twice before he found the right one. The barred door creaked open. For the first time in what felt like years, Tanin stumbled out into the hallway.

  "And the chains," Tanin said.

  Halfhead mewled and thrust his key into the chains' padlock. The bonds clattered to the floor, freeing Tanin at last.

  Tanin placed his thin, pale hand against Halfhead's arm. "Thank you, my friend."

  His legs were weak, his head spun, and his belly ached for food. But Tanin ran. On bare feet, clad in rags, he raced down the tunnel and found a staircase. All the guards were gone to fight the dragon, to fight Issari. Tanin stumbled up the stairs, wheezing and weak, and for the first time in many days he emerged into the sunlight.

  He found himself standing in a cobbled courtyard. Walls rose around him, topped with battlements and archers. A single cypress tree swayed in the wind, a tower rose into blue sky, and through an archway, Tanin glimpsed city streets full of racing soldiers.

  He inhaled deeply, eyes stinging. Air. Light. Freedom.

  The archers upon the walls were firing arrows skyward. A distant roar sounded above. One archer noticed Tanin and spun toward him, calling to his comrades. Soon ten archers tugged back their bowstrings and fired.

  Tanin rose as a dragon, roaring, beating his wings. The arrows clattered harmlessly against his scales. He blew fire, a shrieking inferno. The guards fell, screaming, comets of fire, and thudded against the courtyard below.

  Tanin was weakened and thin, but he felt so heavy. He could barely beat his wings. With a few mighty strokes, he cleared the walls and rose higher. He strained, eyes narrowed, grinning and shedding tears as he kept flapping, ascending past the tower top and into the sky.

  Goshar spread around him, a tapestry of yellows and browns: the coiling ziggurat like a mollusk shell, many streets lined with brick homes, domed temples, swaying palm trees, towering walls, and beyond them the mountains and the desert. Soldiers were racing along the streets, and archers were firing from roofs.

  A cry rose behind him. "Tanin!"

  He turned around. He saw her there.

  The white dragon flew across the sky, the sunlight gleaming upon her scales. Her green eyes shone with tears. She appeared to him like a deity of starlight.

  "Issari," he whispered.

  Arrows arched around them. The two dragons flew toward each other and soared higher above the city.

  "I was trying to find you," Issari said. "Thank the stars. Thank the stars, Tanin."

  He nodded, his own eyes damp. "Now let's fly out of here. Let's fly north. Back to Requiem."

  They glided upon the wind, too high for arrows. The city spread below them, nestled among the mountains. To the north spread the desert, and lush green lands spread to the south, lined with three rivers.

  "My people, Tanin," Issari said. "The people of Eteer."

  She pointed her claws. Tanin looked down. Beyond the city walls, the Eteerian exiles—myriads of them—labored in chains. They toiled upon the mountainside, chiseling stone, bustling across scaffolding, and crying under the whips of armored masters. They were carving a great statue into the mountain, he saw—a statue larger than any palace. Still crude, the statue was shaped as a man with the head of a serpent, the eyes large as dragons.

  "The goddess Shahazar," Tanin whispered.

  Issari nodded. "They're slaves." She looked at him. "I will free them, Tanin. Eteer has fallen; their home is gone." She bared her fangs. "But I will lead them through this city—to green, good lands. To hope. To freedom. To a new home." She reached out and touched him with her wing. "I'm a princess of Requiem, but I am Queen of Eteer. You may fly north. I will not ask you to join me here. I—"

  But Tanin was already diving toward the mountainside. "Come on, Issari! Less speeches and more dragonfire." He growled. "It's time to shatter more chains."

  JEID

  He stood inside the cave, his snout thrust out the opening, and roared his fire across the mountainside. A hundred sphinxes shrieked, trying to fly near, but his flames kept them at bay. Jeid could barely see them past his showering dragonfire; he only glimpsed their furry lion bodies, their rank wings, and their bloated human heads. A few of the creatures blew their foul miasma toward him, the smoke rustling with demonic maggots. The dragonfire roasted the tiny creatures, blocking the attack.

  "You cannot blow fire forever, dragons!" roared one of the sphinxes. "We will enter your caves, and we will sew pelts from your hides."

  The beast flew near. Jeid blew fire with all his might. The roaring jet sprayed forth, forcing the sphinx back.

  They will not enter, Jeid swore. We will hold them back.

  Soon his flames began to weaken, the fire depleting inside him. The sphinxes grew more brazen, flying closer, desperate to enter the cave. A few landed on the mountainside and shifted back into human form—warriors of Widejaw, their mouths opening wide in lurid grins, their bodies clad in armor. They drew their swords and began to climb, prepared to enter. Jeid tried to roast them, but he was down to sparks.

  "Bryn!" he grumbled between blasts of fire. Where was the damn woman?

  He felt a tap on his tail. Good.

  With a last blast of fire, he pulled his snout back into the cave. He released his magic, returning to human form. Bryn stood in the cave, a young woman with a mane of red hair, her body clad in leather and fur. Within an instant, she shifted into an orange dragon and thrust her snout through the cave opening. Her fresh fire roared across the mountainside, and Widejaws screamed.

  Standing behind the orange dragon's tail, Jeid took ragged breaths. He had never felt so weary. His shoulders slumped, his eyelids felt heavier than boulders, and queasiness filled his belly. He felt like he could collapse and sleep for weeks. He dared not rest even for a moment.

  Requiem needs me.

  Leaving Bry
n to guard the cave entrance, he shuffled deeper into the darkness. The cave narrowed, tapering from a wide chamber into a tunnel barely large enough to let him walk through. The sounds of Bryn and the sphinxes faded behind as Jeid trudged deeper into the darkness.

  In the cold tunnels beneath the mountains, they hid—the survivors of Requiem.

  As Jeid reached them, he forced himself to square his shoulders, to raise his chin, to hide all signs of weariness and fear. He had been their king back in Requiem; he would be their king here too.

  From a marble hall to walls of granite, he thought. From splendor to ruin. From a palace to a tomb. The pain clawed inside him. Does Requiem end here in darkness, far from the light of our stars?

  The caves were long, narrow, and winding, a labyrinth twisting under the mountains. Back at the cave entrance there was room enough for a dragon. Here the tunnels were too small for shifting. The Vir Requis huddled in human form, resting against walls, perched in alcoves, or lying on the floor.

  "My king," whispered an elderly woman. She sat against a wall, reaching out to him.

  He nodded at her. "May the stars bless you, Grandmama."

  He walked past her, moving deeper into the mountain. A young man shivered, slumped in the shadows, clutching the stump of his severed arm. Sweat beaded on his brow.

  "My king," he whispered.

  Jeid stroked the boy’s head. "May the stars heal you, my son."

  He kept moving, passing by every one of his people—the fearful, the brave, the wounded, the grieving. Everyone here had lost a soul in the attack on Requiem. Two hundred Vir Requis had lived among the birches; only a hundred now hid in this cave, the others lost or fallen to the enemy's claws and poison.

  The caves twisted and formed, branching off into many paths, each only two or three feet wide. Jeid kept walking deeper into the cold darkness. Almost no light filled this place. A few clay lamps rested in alcoves, their wicks flickering in their oil; the light was barely brighter than stars on a cold, moonless night.