Song of Dragons The Complete Trilogy - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,54

looked back, but Dies Irae barely noticed the beast. He was seeing his brother in his mind. "See what you did when you stole my birthright, took Requiem's throne, took the woman who should have been mine."

The griffins were soon tired, eyes rolling, fur matted with sweat, but Dies Irae refused them rest. How could they rest when they were so close, maybe moments away from killing Benedictus? Night was falling when they finally saw Sequestra Mountains ahead, deep purple veiled in shadows.

Dies Irae snarled a grin. He scanned the darkness. This was the place the shepherds had spoken of. Where were the weredragons? Where are you, brother?

"Fan out!" Dies Irae barked and gave a few signals with his good arm. The griffins split into five squads, twenty griffins in each. They began scanning the mountain and valley. Dies Irae led his squad to a piney mountainside. He narrowed his eyes, searching for caves. Weredragons liked cowering in caves, hiding their shame in the darkness.

They searched the mountains for a long time. The sun set, and the moon shone. Where are you, Lacrimosa?

"Father!" came Gloriae's voice beside him. She flew toward him, moonlight on her armor. Her griffin panted, eyes rolling back. "Father, the griffins must rest. They are weary enough to fall."

Dies Irae shook his head. "No, daughter. We must find the weredragons." His own griffin panted, but Dies Irae knew he could push the beast a while longer.

To his right, one griffin faltered and crashed to the ground. Dies Irae snorted; that one was a weakling. If any griffin could not survive this flight, they did not deserve to fly in his herd.

"Father, I—" Gloriae began again, but Dies Irae interrupted her.

"Look, Gloriae. There."

A cave yawned open in the mountainside ahead. Dies Irae led his griffin toward it. His heart raced and his fingers tingled. He imagined that he could feel his missing hand tingle too, as if fingers still moved there instead of an iron mace. He landed his griffin outside the cave and dismounted.

"Men, join me," he called and waved to the others. Soon twenty griffins covered the mountainside, panting, collapsing. The riders dismounted and joined Dies Irae outside the cave.

Dies Irae grabbed a torch from his griffin's saddle and lit it. His men too lit torches, drew swords, and Dies Irae led them into the cave. He gritted his teeth and raised his iron arm, prepared for a fight.

Inside the cave, he slowly exhaled. The place was empty, and Dies Irae lowered his mace, pulled up his visor, and spat. So the cowards had fled him. They had camped here. Ash covered the walls and ceiling, speaking of recent dragonfire. Claw marks covered the floor, and the place stank of them. Dies Irae could recognize that stench anywhere, a smell like smoke and oil.

Where are you, sweet Agnus Dei, sweet daughter? Dies Irae narrowed his eyes. He spun around, shoved his way past his men, and stepped outside into the night. He gazed up at the sky, sniffing the air. Where did you fly to, weredragons?

Dies Irae shut his eyes. He could imagine that he smelled their trail through the sky. They would not fly east, no. They would not fly north into the cold, nor south into the deserts. They could flee west, hoping to fly beyond his arm, but Dies Irae's arm was long enough to hunt weredragons anywhere.

Dies Irae opened his eyes and turned to his men. They stood behind him, torches and swords still raised. "Feed and water your griffins. You have ten minutes. Then we fly west... and hunt weredragons."

LACRIMOSA

As the four dragons streamed between the clouds, Lacrimosa shook her head. We're on a fool's quest, she thought. Chasing a legend, a dream.

The clouds filled her nostrils, tickled her cheeks, and stung her eyes. She could see Agnus Dei's red tail ahead, lashing from side to side. Benedictus and Kyrie flew by her, but the clouds hid them; she glimpsed only flashes of sunlight on their scales.

We're safe here, she thought. No griffins would see them in these clouds. Still Lacrimosa shivered as she flew. She wished she were in human form, walking upon the land; it was safer that way. Griffins could fly far, and Dies Irae would never stop hunting her, Lacrimosa knew.

We're risking our lives. And why? For a bedtime story I'd tell Agnus Dei years ago. A story, that's all. And for hope.

Lacrimosa sighed. The clouds darkened and moisture covered her. Maybe that is enough. Maybe