Song of Dragons The Complete Trilogy - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,29

lies had Dies Irae told her? What cruelty had he inflicted upon her, to turn her into this heartless killer, this creature of hatred? She's only a girl, he thought, shaking his head. What kind of girl yearns to die in battle?

Kyrie felt his anger melting, replaced with pity. He had suffered in his childhood, Dies Irae hunting him. What would it be like to have Dies Irae as your father, to grow up in his hall? It sounded to Kyrie like a childhood infinitely worse than his own.

In his moment of hesitation, he barely saw her draw the vial.

She smashed it against his claws.

The glass shards stung him. More painful was the ilbane sap the vial had contained.

Kyrie roared, his claws burned, and he dropped Gloriae. She fell into the water below. Despite her wound, she began swimming away.

Kyrie wanted to follow, but the ilbane was like chains around him. He crashed into the pool, swallowed water, and floundered. His head spun and he could barely swim. Finally he crawled onto the bank, coughing, and looked around.

Gloriae was gone.

Kyrie howled. He tried to take flight, but his wings barely flapped. He spat and cursed. It was long moments before the pain of ilbane faded. When it did, Kyrie crashed through the treetops into the sky.

Where was Gloriae? Kyrie wanted to seek her, but griffins still filled the air. Three were attacking Benedictus in the distance. Three more flew toward Kyrie.

Forget Gloriae for now, he told himself. Benedictus needs me. Kyrie shot between clouds, tumbling and somersaulting. He flew with eyes narrowed, flew like never before, dazzling the griffins, spinning so fast, they barely knew where to follow. As he flew, he roared in pain and pride, for his king had returned.

Benedictus joined him. Together they fought. Blue dragon and black. Kyrie and Benedictus. Together they flew. One dragon slim, fast, dizzying; the other large, slow, his wing torn. Together they killed. Soon three griffins remained, then two, then one.

They killed the last griffin with fang and fire, then landed on the forest floor, wounded, panting, and victorious.

Kyrie shook with excitement. He turned back into human form. His knees wobbled, and the hatred for Gloriae, the thrill of the battle, and the pain of his wounds all throbbed in his head.

He faced Benedictus, who shifted back into human form too. The gruff man spat, breath heavy. Sweat drenched his graying curls, and his eyes seemed darker than ever.

"You were amazing," Kyrie said. "I've seen you fly before, at Lanburg Fields, but that was from a distance. To fight beside you... it was an honor." Before he realized what he was doing, Kyrie knelt; it felt right. "My king. You have returned, and you fly again."

Benedictus grunted. He grabbed Kyrie's shoulder and pulled him to his feet. "Get up," he said in disgust. For the first time, Kyrie heard him speaking Dragontongue. "I'm no king. That was a long time ago. Honor? Honor is dead, kid. I was amazing? I was slow. I was clumsy. I could barely fly with my torn wing. I probably would have died were you not here."

Kyrie felt himself glow. Pride welled up in him, like a torrent of water rising throughout his body. "Thank you." He wanted to say more, but found no words. His throat was tight.

Benedictus turned and walked toward a fallen log, rubbing his shoulder blade, the shoulder blade where his torn wing grew in dragon form. He sat down with a grunt. For the first time, Kyrie realized that Benedictus was aging. He was still closer to fifty than sixty perhaps, but not by much. Lines covered his brow, gray hairs filled his stubble, and his joints creaked. It had been ten years since Lanburg Fields, and those years had not been kind to Benedictus. The great King of Requiem moved slowly, grunted when he sat down on the log, and still panted and wiped sweat from his brow. He's four decades older than me, Kyrie realized, and he thinks his time is over. But it's not over yet. He still has some fight in him.

Kyrie sat down beside him, and for long moments, the two said nothing. Finally, when his breath had slowed and his sweat dried, Benedictus spoke in his low, gruff voice.

"I knew your parents, kid."

Kyrie spun his head toward him so fast, his neck hurt. "My parents?"

Benedictus nodded. "Aye. Your father was a bellator in my court. Do you know what that means? In our forests of