Song of Dragons The Complete Trilogy - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,52

see us as demonic shape shifters, as profane, an insult to their kind. If humans hate us for having dragon forms, the salvanae hate us for having human forms."

Agnus Dei growled. "I am like a true dragon. I do not have to take human form again. They hate Vir Requis? I will remain a dragon. I will tell them I am a dragon true, that I need their aid." She grabbed Kyrie. "Kyrie and I are going. What else could we do? Stay in this cave until Irae finds us? I want to fight. Fly with me to the west, Father, Mother."

Not waiting for a response, not caring if she was reckless, not caring that griffins might be flocking outside, Agnus Dei ran to the cave opening. She burst outside into the wilderness and sunlight, spread her wings, shot up toward the sky, and roared. Her fire flew, raining sparks.

She heard a roar behind her and saw Kyrie flying toward her, also breathing fire. His blue scales shimmered, blinding her. "I'm with you," he said. "Kitten."

She lashed her tail at him, but he ducked, narrowly escaping it.

"Who are you calling kitten?" she demanded and blew fire at him.

He swerved, dodging the flames, and grinned at her. Mother and Father were flying toward them too, and Agnus Dei looked at them, and saw in their eyes that they would join her, would fly west with her, fly to seek that land of legend. Land of the salvanae. The true dragons.

As Agnus Dei roared and flapped her wings, she was surprised to feel icy fear trickle down her spine.

The war, she knew, would flare again.

DIES IRAE

Dies Irae stood in the courtyard of another fort on another cold, dreary hill, and gazed down upon the lashed body of a shepherd. He admired the bruises and welts covering the man and smiled.

"Gloriae, your work is beautiful," he said.

His daughter stood by him. The wind streamed her hair and rustled the weeds between the cobblestones. Ice filled her eyes. She stared at the moaning peasant and spoke, her face blank. "He was hiding information about the weredragons. He got what he deserved. There is no beauty to this, Father. I took my information with my lash and my boots. There is beauty to the white towers of Confutatis, and to her banners that fly golden. This?" She nodded her head at the tortured man. "This is no art; it is justice, harsh and unforgiving."

The shepherd groaned at her feet, blood trickling across the cobblestones. Dies Irae caressed his daughter's cheek, so soft and cold. "I've taught you well, Gloriae."

He nodded at his guards, and they dragged the man away, leaving a trail of blood. Dies Irae caressed his mace, this new left arm. Benedictus had eluded him for too long, but he could not hide forever. When shepherds saw the monstrous shapes against the stars, they would speak, or they would die.

"They fly to Sequestra Mountains in the west, and they're hurt," Gloriae said, staring at those stains of blood. Her face was blank. "Soon we'll be upon them.

Dies Irae nodded. "Benedictus, Kyrie Eleison... and Lacrimosa."

Lacrimosa. Dies Irae loathed displays of emotion, but now he twisted his lips into a small, thin smile. Lacrimosa—of pale skin, lavender eyes, and moonlit hair. He remembered how he'd bruised that skin, filled those eyes with tears, pulled that hair. His blood boiled at the memory. He wanted to hurt her again, to tear her clothes, grab her breasts, hear her scream.

Gloriae looked to the west, over the crumbling fort to the distant mountains and forests. Dark clouds covered the sky, elk herded in the distance, and the grassy plains undulated in the wind. "There are those three... and there is a fourth," she said. "A red one. A female."

Dies Irae stared at his daughter and frowned. A red dragon. A female. Could it be? Dies Irae clenched his jaw. There was only one such living weredragon.

"The shepherd spoke of her?" Dies Irae asked, struggling to keep the rage from his voice.

Gloriae nodded. "He did, and I saw her myself. Her name is Agnus Dei."

Dies Irae turned from his daughter and stared into the distance. Vultures were circling under the clouds. A cold wind chilled him. Yes, Agnus Dei.

Two girls, one dark and wild, one fair and cold. One could shift, become a red monster. The other had no curse; she would remain forever beautiful and pure. Agnus Dei and Gloriae. Daughters of Lacrimosa. Benedictus believed they were his