Song of Dragons The Complete Trilogy - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,22

again. "I want a job."

"What language you speaking, kid? Talk to me in High Speech. I don't understand your gibberish."

Kyrie snorted, but decided to humor Rex. He switched back to the language of Osanna. "I said I want a job."

"Got no money to pay you," replied Rex's voice from inside the hut.

"I don't need money. I'll work for food. I'm a good worker. I can hunt, repair things, cook...."

For a moment there was silence. The moment lasted so long, Kyrie raised his fist to pound again, and then the door swung open. Rex stood there, black hair dusty, eyes dark. He shoved a loaf of bread, a flask, and a shank of meat into Kyrie's hands, then slammed the door shut.

"Eat that," came Rex's voice from inside the hut. "Then go away."

Kyrie considered pounding on the door again, but the food smelled too good. He sat by the fire pit and ate. The bread was homemade, not a day old, grainy but soft. The meat was slow cooked—deer, Kyrie thought—and melted in his mouth. The flask contained good, strong beer. It was the best meal Kyrie could remember eating; definitely the best he'd eaten since fleeing Fort Sanctus. He polished off every crumb and drop, then leaned back on his elbows, sighing. I needed that. Badly.

Maybe Rex was just in a bad mood today, but would feel better tomorrow, Kyrie thought. It was getting dark, the sun dipping between the trees, casting long shadows. Kyrie yawned. He curled up outside the hut, hoping no bears or wolves frequented this part of the forest. He closed his eyes and instantly slept.

He did not dream.

He woke at dawn to the sound of the hut door slamming open. Before Kyrie could even open his eyes, he felt a boot prod his side. He heard Rex's gravelly voice.

"I thought I told you to get lost, kid."

Kyrie blinked, rubbed his eyes, and rose to his feet. Rex stood by him, a knife in his belt, a bow in his hands. The scar peeking from his shirt looked red in the dawn.

"I wanted to thank you for the food last night," Kyrie said. "Let me work for breakfast. I can weed your garden, or skin your catch, or—"

"Or get lost," Rex said. "How about you do that for me?"

The hunter walked away, disappearing into the trees.

Kyrie hurried to follow. "You won't get rid of me that easily," he called after Rex, trudging over fallen logs and boulders. "I know who you are."

Rex spoke without turning to look back at Kyrie. "Told you, kid. You've got the wrong guy. Ain't ever heard of no Benedictus or weredragons. You're wasting your time. Go home."

Kyrie struggled to keep up. The forest was thick. Every step he took, branches, thorns, rocks, or vines nearly tripped him. Rex's large boots trod here with ease, but it was all Kyrie could do to keep up.

"I don't have a home," he said. "Not anymore. Nor do you. That hut you've got? You should be living in a palace! Dies Irae destroyed our home. Your brother. He didn't have Vir Requis magic, so your dad hated him. He stole the amulet, he controlled the griffins, he destroyed Requiem—"

Rex spun around. His face was so livid, Kyrie took two steps back. Teeth bared, eyes flashing, Rex's weathered face resembled a dragon's face. "Stories," Rex grumbled. He spat. "Fairytales. I don't know who you think I am, kid. I'm just a hunter. No weredragons. No palaces. Just a hunter, nothing more. Okay?"

Without waiting for a reply, Rex stormed off.

That night Kyrie pounded on the hut's door again. Again Rex shoved food into his hands, then slammed the door in his face, grumbling at Kyrie to go away. Again the next day, Kyrie followed Rex through the trees. Again Rex would answer him only with growls and grunts.

For a week Kyrie spent his nights outside the hut, and spent his days demanding a job. For a week he heard nothing but grumbles, saw nothing but frowns.

On the seventh night, a sound woke Kyrie in the darkness.

He opened his eyes and saw the stars above between the trees. He heard the sound again—the hut's door clanking. Kyrie closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. He heard Rex's boots walking beside him. Normally Rex thumped through the forest, but now he paced softly, as if trying not to wake Kyrie.

What's going on? Kyrie waited until the footsteps moved farther away, then opened his eyes and rose to his feet.