Song of Dragons The Complete Trilogy - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,214

imagined they'd use this wood for war... to kill mimics.

Mimics. Even in the chill of winter, sweat washed her. She hated mimics. She had seen them only once, but still woke most nights, out of breath and sweaty, memories of their rot and worms filling her mind.

"I miss you, Dada," she whispered as she carried four logs upstairs, out of the cellar, and into the snowy courtyard. A pile of branches, twigs, and logs rose there, ten feet tall.

Mother stood by the wood, frowning toward the east. The wind filled her hair and fluttered her old, tattered dress. Her eyes seemed dead; no fear, pain, or mourning filled them. Agnus Dei wanted to hug her, but something held her back. She was not only her mother now, but Queen Lacrimosa of Requiem. Ruler of these ruins. Widow.

A lump filled Agnus Dei's throat.

"Here, Mother," she said and added her logs to the pile. Her sister Gloriae stepped out from the cellars behind her, also carrying wood. Finally Kyrie emerged and added more wood to the pile.

Mother seemed not to notice. She kept staring into the snowy horizons, as if imagining the mimics that approached.

"Mother," Agnus Dei whispered. Gingerly, she touched her shoulder. "We've brought the last wood from the cellars. What now?"

Mother turned to face her, and Agnus Dei realized she'd been wrong. Mother's eyes were not dead. Pain saturated them, but steel lived there too, a strength that held the mourning at bay like a breakwater holding back the waves. The passing clouds reflected in those lavender eyes. For a long moment Lacrimosa was silent, and when she spoke, her voice was soft and cold as the snow.

"You will build spears, Agnus Dei. Spears with tips of kindling, to burn mimics."

Agnus Dei nodded. She lifted a long, narrow branch from the pile. Her knuckles turned white around it. "This one will do. I will kill mimics with it."

Mother turned to Gloriae. "And you, daughter. Take our hundred arrows, and wrap their tips with kindling, and soak them with oil. Then make more arrows from straight, strong sticks; they won't have blades or fletching, but they'll still fly and burn."

Gloriae nodded. Her lips were tight, her fists clenched at her sides. The wind fluttered her golden locks and pinched her cheeks pink.

"Yes," she said. "I'm ready for fire. I'm ready to kill."

Mother then turned to Kyrie. "And you, Kyrie, will help me. We'll build a ring of fire around the fort. When the mimics arrive, it'll shield us."

Kyrie nodded. "I'm good at building fires. We'll soak the wood in oil, and crack it, and stuff kindling into it. When the mimics arrive, it'll catch fire quickly and burn high." He touched Mother's shoulder. "We'll be safe, Lacrimosa. I promise you. I... I'm no great warrior like Benedictus, but...." He swallowed and squared his shoulders. "I'll do all I can to protect you and your daughters."

Agnus Dei smiled sadly. She was better than the pup in a fight, and Gloriae was too, but she knew what he was doing, and she loved him for it. She approached Kyrie, embraced him, and kissed his cheek. He held her, his gloves sticky with sap.

"I love you, pup," she whispered, her head against his shoulder.

Another pair of arms held her, and Agnus Dei saw that Gloriae joined the embrace. For a moment the three stood, warm in their embrace as the wind blew. Then they broke apart.

"We prepare for fire and for war," Agnus Dei said.

She began collecting the long, straight branches from the pile. She placed them in a corner of the courtyard, in the shadow of the archway. They'll make good spears, she thought. Not strong spears like those of soldiers, carved from the heart of boles and tipped with steel, but they'll do. Gloriae was collecting the smaller sticks and placing them at the courtyard's other end. Kyrie and Lacrimosa were collecting logs, crooked branches, and any pieces the twins could not use; they began arranging them in a ring around the courtyard.

As she worked, Agnus Dei kept scanning the horizon for the mimics. From here upon the mountaintop, she could see leagues of ruins. The land was dead.

When will the mimics arrive? The wind howled, and Agnus Dei shivered. The sun was setting, and it was getting colder. The clouds thickened.

When evening fell, a ring of wood and kindling surrounded the fort's courtyard, soaked in oil. Torches stood in the ground in an inner ring, two feet apart; wherever mimics attacked,