Song of Dragons The Complete Trilogy - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,179

and a hundred feet long. Bulls with clawed feet and fire in their nostrils stood tethered to them, backs whipped and maws muzzled. The bulls were impressive beasts—Dies Irae had once sicced them on Lacrimosa—but today he cared not for the creatures who pulled the wagons. Today he cared for the creatures inside.

"My pets," he whispered and heard them shriek. "My lovelies."

Black cloth draped the wagons, and that cloth fluttered now, and bulged with strange shapes. The shrieks inside the wagons made grass and trees wilt. The nightshades were angry. They would get angrier. A smile spread across Dies Irae's lips. He stepped toward one wagon, grabbed the black curtains, and pulled them open.

Sunlight drenched the nightshades. They screamed. Steam rose from them. They spun and swirled in the wagon, slamming against its steel bars.

"You will stay in the wagon," he told them. He knew they could break the bars if they pleased, or flow between them. His power over them—the power of Osanna's throne—kept them trapped. "You will suffer the light."

They snapped teeth, howling, and began to eat one another. A few began to eat themselves, wispy teeth of mist tearing into their inky bodies. They had blood like steam.

"Had enough?" he asked them.

They screeched, begging for mercy. Dies Irae watched them for several long moments, savoring their pain. Then he closed the curtains. The nightshades squirmed and hissed inside the wagon, hating him but serving him.

"You will learn, my pets, to tolerate sunlight," Dies Irae said. "You will learn to hunt the weredragons by day as by night. You will learn that I am your master, the giver of pain and mercy. You will fly into the sun should I ask it of you."

Dies Irae moved to the next wagon. He drew its curtains and watched, smiling thinly, as these nightshades screeched and hissed too.

"You will soak up the sunlight," he said, "until it is like moonlight upon you."

Dies Irae nodded, waiting long moments before closing the curtains. Sunlight burned them like fire against men, Dies Irae knew. But it would not kill them. It would not stop them. There was only one light, he knew, that could harm these creatures. Only one light that could truly tame them.

And that light Dies Irae kept buried and forever extinguished.

As he watched the third wagon of nightshades rattle, he thought of his daughter.

"Thank you, Gloriae," he whispered, gazing into the west, to Requiem. She flew with the weredragons now. She had betrayed him, stabbed his heart, gone to evil. But she had given him the nightshades. She had done that. "Thank you for my lovelies."

If he ever met Gloriae again, he decided that he would not kill her. He would lock her in the wagons with the nightshades, and allow them to bite her, to rip her soul to shreds, to play with her.

"Then you too, Gloriae, will beg me for mercy. But I will give you none."

He left the wagon and walked between rows of soldiers who stood at attention, fists on their chests. One man, he saw, had a nervous tic. His left eye kept winking. Dies Irae approached him.

"Is that involuntary?" he asked.

"Yes, Comma—" the man began.

Dies Irae swung his left arm, his iron arm, and shattered the man's head. He fell. The other soldiers stood still, not daring to breathe.

"I don't care," Dies Irae said to the body.

He stepped into his tent and shut the curtains behind him. Golden vases, jewelled statues of eagles, and other fineries filled his tent. The girl was there too, sitting on a divan, eyes pleading.

"Please, my lord," she began, tears filling her eyes. "Please, is my brother—"

"Your brother is dead. You'll be dead soon too."

She wept, covering her face with her hands. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hands free.

"I want to see your face," he said. He leaned down and stared at her. She looked back, trembling. He had found her in the nearby ruins of a village, cowering with her brother in a barn.

"Yes, you look just like her... just like my Gloriae."

She shivered. "My lord, I don't know Gloriae, I—"

He backhanded her. She fell to the floor, bleeding.

"You will suffer, Gloriae, for betraying me," Dies Irae said. "You disobeyed me. You freed the nightshades. You fly with the weredragons."

The girl trembled on the floor. "Please, my lord, I don't know who Gloriae is. My name is Alendra, I... I...." She wept. "I'm only a peasant girl, my lord."

"You are a betrayer, Gloriae," he told her, and