Song of Dragons The Complete Trilogy - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,245

into its head.

Gloriae came walking downhill, already nocking a second arrow. Her eyes were ice, her face emotionless. The wind streamed her hair. She drew the bowstring.

My daughter. She's alive. Such relief swept over Lacrimosa, that her eyes blurred.

The mimic screeched.

Gloriae shot her second arrow. It pierced the mimic's neck, and it fell to its knees.

Lacrimosa stepped toward it. It snarled, oozing pus and rot.

"Fire," she told it. "Stone. And steel."

Lacrimosa swung her blade and severed its head.

The other Vir Requis burned its body with their torches, until it did not move. But Lacrimosa held onto the head, keeping it at arm's length. It shouted and snapped its teeth. An arrow still thrust out of it.

"We will keep this piece alive," she said. "Now back to the fort."

Holding the head, she raced up the mountainside. The other Vir Requis followed. Around them, as if disheartened by the loss of their leader, the mimics were falling fast. The statues were tearing into them, killing them left and right. Only twenty statues remained standing; the rest were smashed and lay still on the ground. Many lay in pieces no longer than a foot.

The Vir Requis stepped back into the ruins, looked down the mountainside, and watched the statues kill the last mimics. Lacrimosa tossed the severed mimic head onto the cobblestones, then turned to face the youths.

"You three are the stupidest Vir Requis who ever lived. If Ben were here, he'd clobber you harder than the mimics."

Lacrimosa had promised herself she would stop weeping; she could no longer cry, not now, Benedictus having left her to lead. Tonight she could not help it. The tears filled her eyes, and she embraced Kyrie and her daughters.

"Never do anything so foolishly brave again," she said as she embraced them. "I love you too much to see it."

Agnus Dei squirmed in the embrace. "Mother, really."

They broke apart and breathed deeply. Lacrimosa's body ached. The fire crackled in the night, raising sparks like fireflies.

Laughter sounded in the shadows.

Lacrimosa turned and saw the severed mimic head. It lay on the cobblestones, glaring at her. Its sharp teeth reflected the firelight as it cackled.

"You have won this battle," the mimic said and spat out blood. "You killed a thousand of us. Fifty thousand are gathering as we speak. With each he builds, our master makes us larger, stronger, smarter. You cannot win, weredragons."

Lacrimosa walked toward the head. She pointed her sword at it.

"Where do the others gather?" she asked. "Where does Dies Irae find the Animating Stones?"

It cackled and spat at her. Its gob of spit landed on her boot.

Lacrimosa placed the tip of her sword against its face, but did not break the skin.

"Talk to me," she said, "or you will die."

It cackled. "Kill me, weredragon. It will not save you."

Lacrimosa felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Gloriae. The young woman was covered in blood, ash, and mimic gore. She stared down at the head, her eyes emotionless, her face as cold as one of the statues.

"I will make it talk," she said, her voice strangely soft. "Mother, take Agnus Dei and Kyrie into the cellars. Leave me with it. I promise you; it will tell me all it knows."

Lacrimosa shivered. What would Gloriae do? Had she tortured prisoners before? Lacrimosa did not want to think about it, did not want to imagine what skills Dies Irae had taught her daughter.

"Gloriae, are you sure?" she whispered.

The young woman nodded, eyes icy.

Lacrimosa looked away. Her eyes stung. I must be strong. For you, Ben. For our home. She took a deep breath.

"Agnus Dei," she said. "Kyrie. Come with me underground. We'll bandage your wounds. Gloriae will join us soon."

As they walked downstairs into shadows, Lacrimosa looked back one more time at Gloriae. The wind billowed her daughter's hair, swirling snow around her. Then Lacrimosa stepped into the cellars and saw nothing but darkness.

GLORIAE

She stood among the ruins, staring down the mountainside at the battlefield. A thousand mimics lay burned and torn apart. Nearly a hundred statues lay smashed. The last few statues, including the stone dragon, were searching for mimic body parts and crushing them.

It smells wrong, Gloriae thought. I was raised to savor the smell of fresh blood. To dream of it, crave it. Yet here I fight, in a field of rot and stone.

She raised her eyes from the carnage and stared into the eastern horizon. Dawn was rising, sending pink tendrils across a cloudy sky. Beyond that horizon lay home. What