Song of Dragons The Complete Trilogy - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,128

She saw nothing but blood, ash, and destruction. She should be happy, she knew. Requiem was defeated! The evil of weredragons was wiped clean!

But Gloriae could not rejoice. Nothing seemed clean here. There was no Sun God light, only ash and smoke in the sky. There was no good, clean earth, only bodies and blood.

But no. Not all were dead. A group of dragons crouched behind the toppled columns. A few were warriors, tough male dragons with sharp claws and dented scales. A few were females. Some were children.

"Dragons of Requiem!" cried a burly black dragon. "Fly! Fly from here."

It was King Benedictus, Gloriae realized, but he was younger here, stronger, his voice clearer. Blood and ash covered him. He flapped his leathern wings and took flight, leading the other dragons into battle.

As Gloriae watched them fly away, she heard a new voice.

"Daughters."

She turned toward the voice, and tears filled her eyes.

It was her mother.

Mother was beautiful, her hair silvery-gold, her skin pale, her eyes deep lavender. She wore a gown of white silk. Blood and ash covered her.

"Girls, come, we must leave," Mother said. She ran toward them, feet silent on the bloody earth.

Wings flapped.

A griffin landed before Mother.

Volucris. King of Griffins. And Dies Irae rode him.

"You will not touch them!" Mother screamed and shifted into a silver dragon. She lunged at Dies Irae, blowing fire.

Volucris leaped back. Dies Irae shot his crossbow, and the quarrel hit Mother. The silver dragon screamed, lashed her claws, and hit Dies Irae's armor. Dies Irae fell from his griffin, hit the ground, and swung his sword. Mother tried to bite him, but Dies Irae held her back with his blade. Volucris leapt onto the silver dragon. Shrieks tore the air. Fire rose. Blood splashed.

Gloved hands grabbed Gloriae. Somebody hoisted her into the air.

"Mother!" she screamed. Dies Irae had grabbed her, she realized. His fingers dug into her, so painful she could barely breathe.

"No!" Mother cried. "Not my daughter. Leave her, Irae!"

Dies Irae only laughed and shot his crossbow again. He hit Mother in the neck, and the silver dragon screamed and fell.

"She's my daughter too, lizard whore," Dies Irae said. "You can keep the dark one, the freak who shifts into a red dragon. Gloriae is pure. Gloriae is not cursed. She is mine."

Mother tried to rise, but Volucris kicked her down.

Gloriae screamed and cried and twisted. "Mother!" she cried. "Sister! Help me!"

Dies Irae's gloved hand covered her mouth. She could not scream. She could not breathe. Stars floated before her eyes. She was so small, so weak, her arms so soft.

She thought she would die, and then a dozen dragons swooped upon them.

Fire. Claws. Pain and heat and blood.

Gloriae kicked and felt faint. Her lungs felt ready to burst. Her eyelids fluttered.

The world went black, then red, then blue. The next thing she knew, they were airborne. She sat in a griffin's saddle. Dies Irae sat behind her, his arm wrapped around her. Dragons chased them through the sky, and a thousand griffins screeched and flowed around them. The griffins and dragons clashed, and blood rained. The screams nearly deafened Gloriae.

"Daughter!" Mother cried somewhere in the distance. Gloriae could not see her through the smoke and fire. "Gloriae! Stay strong, daughter! I will save you."

Gloriae cried, and screamed, and kicked, but Dies Irae held her tight.

They flew from the battle. They flew from the smoke and fire, from her mother's cries. They flew over leagues of ruin, toppled temples, fallen palaces, burned forests, a million bodies. They flew to the east.

The world of ruin blurred.

She slept.

When she awoke, she saw a world of light and beauty. Forests and rivers. Farms of gold. Castles and walls. Dawn, sunset, stars, and dawn again. Still they flew, Dies Irae clutching her in the saddle. Finally she saw a city ahead, a great city of white stone, its towers touching the clouds, its banners white and gold.

"Our new home," Dies Irae said. "Behold the city of Confutatis." He stroked her hair. "I will raise you here, Gloriae. Away from the weredragons. I will raise you to be pure, and strong, and cruel. I will raise you in the light of the Sun God, to be a huntress of evil."

"I want to go home," she whispered, tears on her cheeks.

He kissed her head. "We are home, daughter."

"Where is Mother? Where is Agnus Dei?" She trembled.

Dies Irae caressed her cheek. "The weredragons killed your mother. They killed your entire family. All but me, your father. I will