Song of Dragons The Complete Trilogy - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,94

from cracking. "If I were a bloody weredragon, this stuff would kill me, not just bring sweat to my brow."

The guard's frown deepened. Take it off, take it off! Benedictus did not think he could last a second longer. He was just about to shift into a dragon, to kill every guard he saw, to storm the city, when....

"All right," the guard said and pulled the ilbane back. "Sorry to trouble you, and I know you pay well. In you go."

Benedictus turned around quickly, and once the guard was behind him, he grimaced. His knees trembled, but he forced himself to keep walking. Once in the city, he knelt by the fallen old man and woman, who were still struggling to rise from the cobblestones. He knelt not only to help them; he could no longer stand upright.

"Here," he said to the old peasants when he'd caught his breath, "let me help you up."

He took several more deep breaths, assisted the peasants to their feet, and walked deeper into Confutatis, leaving the gates behind.

"I'm almost there, Lacrimosa," he whispered. "Almost there to save you, my love." He clenched his fists. "And I'll find you too, Gloriae. I'll find you, daughter, and I'll free you too from Dies Irae."

He moved through the city, cloak pulled tight around him, hood low. His old wound ached with new fire, his joints burned, and his head pounded. The ilbane had taken so much of his strength. Benedictus could barely walk. If soldiers attacked him now, he would not fight well. He grunted, leaned against a wall, and clutched his chest.

Some hero, he thought as he stood, catching his breath. Look at the great king now. Just a gruff old man sneaking through alleys, grunting in pain.

As he took ragged breaths, Benedictus noticed people rushing down the cobbled streets. Kids were jostling one another as they ran, smashing dragon dolls with wooden swords. Adults were placing bets and talking about "the beast" fighting new creatures today, "something truly deadly; lions I hear, or elephants in armor." Most of those hurrying down the street were commoners, but Benedictus also saw two wealthy merchants in a carriage, and even a noblewoman on a palanquin.

The beast.

Benedictus steadied himself and kept walking. He stumbled down the cobbled road among the commoners, nobles, and horses. Crenellations and towers rose at his sides, laden with guards sporting the golden griffin upon their shields. Real griffins stood atop towers and walls, armored, staring down at the crowd.

At every square he passed, Benedictus saw a marble statue of Dies Irae. The statues all stared toward the heavens, one fist against the heart, the other around a sword hilt. In the statues, Dies Irae still had both his hands. But Benedictus remembered biting off the left one, spitting it out, then taking pity on his brother. I left you alive, Irae. If I meet you again, you will find that my mercy has left me.

Benedictus did not want to meet his brother. He wanted only to find Lacrimosa and Gloriae, to steal them back, to flee with them into the west. He'd had enough of fighting, of killing, of his monstrous brother. And yet, another part of him did want to meet Dies Irae here. Craved it. That part felt like a shark in bloodlust, wanting only to bite, to kill. Benedictus hated that part of him, and hated Dies Irae for placing it within him.

The streets of Confutatis widened as he walked, clutching his chest. The crowds thickened, some chanting "Blood for the beast!" Fortresses towered here, and griffins circled in the skies. Soldiers stood at every street corner, and monoliths of Dies Irae gazed down from hills, jeweled eyes watching the crowds. Troops patrolled between the commoners, armor chinking.

The Marble City—once a place of gardens, of peace, of poets and artists. Now a city of sword and shield, of beak and talon.

Soon he beheld the amphitheater of Confutatis, a ring of white marble. Its walls rose two hundred feet, set with alcoves that held statues. Years ago, solemn stone statues of kings had filled these alcoves; today he saw figures of Dies Irae holding the Sun Disk. A golden idol stood outside the amphitheater's gates, a hundred feet tall, hands raised. It was carved as a young Dies Irae, cherubic, a halo encircling his brow.

"The beast is hungry today, I hear," said a bearded man beside Benedictus, speaking to his friends. "Whatever Dies Irae has in store for her today, it ain't