northern gods, but she prayed to them now. She whispered to Father Walrus to bless the memory of the ice people. She sang to the Wind Goddess, to Sky Eagle, to Sister Moon. She prayed to Mother Turtle who glowed green and purple upon the horizons. She wept as she lowered the icelings into the water, one by one, until they sank into the embrace of Old Whale, their guardian of afterlife.
They bound their wounds. They mourned for days. And they flew. Terra and Memoria, soldiers of Requiem. Exiles. They flew over icebergs, over oceans, over plains of snow and lifeless rock. They flew over forests of pines, the first trees they had seen in eleven years. They flew over fields of grass, over herds of deer, over fields and villages of men.
They flew home.
DIES IRAE
"They are beautiful," Umbra said.
She stood beside him on the walls of Confutatis, staring down into the field. The wind swayed her black hair. Her eyes were narrowed. A small smile twisted the corners of her mouth. She placed one hand on her hip, the other on his shoulder, and licked her lips.
"They are beautiful," Dies Irae agreed, "they are strong, and they will kill the weredragons."
The army roared below in the field, the greatest army he had ever mustered.
"Come," he said to Umbra, "let us walk between the troops. Let us inspect them."
They descended the city wall and walked into the field. Umbra slung her arm through his, a wolf's grin across her face. They approached the army's vanguard—thousands of howling mimics—and walked between their formations.
"Fifty thousand mimics scream here," Dies Irae said. "The world's greatest soldiers."
The mimics bared teeth, screeched, and banged their blades against their shields. Stench rose from them, and their eyes blazed. Some had the heads, legs, or claws of animals. Others sprouted many arms. A few towered twenty feet tall, giants stitched from gobbets of leftover flesh.
Dies Irae stopped by a burly mimic with a bull's head and four arms. Its hands held an axe, a spear, a sword, and a warhammer.
"Look at this one, Umbra. Look at the hand holding the axe. Do you recognize this hand?"
Umbra gasped. Her grin widened. "It's her hand. The hand we cut."
Dies Irae nodded, smiling silently.
Umbra laughed. "Brilliant, my lord! I hope that hand cuts the rest of Agnus Dei."
"Come, I will show you more."
For long moments, they walked by the lines of howling mimics, until they emerged from the vanguard and approached the left flank. Thousands of snowbeasts drooled here, towering creatures of white, loose skin hanging over knobby bones. Seven feet tall, they looked to Dies Irae like great white spiders, or perhaps furless cats with six legs.
"Their legs are fast, and their jaws will tear into weredragon flesh," he said.
Umbra caressed one. "They are beautiful."
They continued walking. Past the snowbeasts, they reached a battalion of skeletons. Wispy beards, flakes of old skin, and rusty armor clung to them. They held spears and their eye sockets glowed.
"The skeletons of Fidelium," Dies Irae said. "I have freed them from two thousand years of underground shame. They will fight for me now."
Umbra's own eyes seemed to glow. Her breath grew heavy. "I love them, my lord. Show me more."
They walked between the skeletons, passing row after row of them. Finally they reached an army of great reptiles, the size of dragons, who growled and snapped their teeth. A thousand of them roared as Dies Irae and Umbra walked between them.
Umbra's cheeks flushed, and her lips parted. "What are they?" she breathed.
"Swamp reptiles," Dies Irae answered. "Terrors from Gilnor. They are as large as dragons, and with larger teeth."
"Show me more," Umbra begged. "I want more, my lord."
He nodded. They kept walking. They reached a field where twisted, scaly creatures stood. They looked like men, but fish scales covered them. Their eyes bulged. Some had eyeballs that hung on stalks. Their fingers were webbed, their arms long and twisted. Blood dripped from sores on their faces.
Umbra bit her lip in delight. "What are these things, my lord?"
"They are the Poisoned," he answered. "Years ago, with green smoke from my dungeons, I turned many weredragons into these things. Today I found peasants, prisoners, soldiers who were once men; they are the new Poisoned, and they will fight for us with tooth and claw."
Umbra trembled in delight. "Show me more."
He took her past the Poisoned, and to a field where thousands of nightshades coiled. They shrieked, took flight, and roiled above them. They looked like