Blood of Requiem by Daniel Arenson

Author:Daniel Arenson [Arenson, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

DIES IRAE

Dies Irae flew, the wind biting his cheeks, his griffin clutching Lacrimosa.

"Fly, damn you," he hissed. "Faster, Volucris!"

Volucris was large and heavy, twice Lacrimosa's size, but the chase had wearied him, and he flew slowly. Dies Irae dug his spurs into his flanks.

"Fly!"

Already the sounds of the other Vir Requis, roused from sleep, sounded behind him. "Lacrimosa!" one howled, and soon the others joined the howling. "What happened? Lacrimosa!" and "Mother! Mother, where are you?"

Dies Irae cursed under his breath. This night was not going as planned. He had hoped to catch the Vir Requis with a hundred griffins at his back. After finding the cave deserted, he had broken up his herd, then sent individual griffins to scan the fields and forests. Now he flew alone.

"Lacrimosa!" came a deep cry in the distance. It had to be Benedictus.

I should have killed him in his sleep, Dies Irae thought. I should have killed them all as they slept. But of course, that had been impossible. He'd arrived alone, and in the second he had before Lacrimosa could raise the alarm, he'd done what he must.

She squirmed in Volucris's talons, voice weak. "Ben... Benedi..." Her voice faded and she fell limp.

"Lacrimosa!" came the howls behind, and Dies Irae heard flapping dragon wings. "Lacrimosa, where are you?"

Dies Irae laughed. He turned in his saddle and gazed into the darkness. He could see nothing under the dark, raining clouds, but he could hear them, smell them.

"Do you want her back, Benedictus?" he shouted. "Do you want your Lacrimosa? I have her, Benedictus! I have the creature. If you want her, you'll follow."

Howls of pain and rage filled the night, widening Dies Irae's grin. So he was alone. So he could not kill them all. So Benedictus still lived. But this night was still proving useful. They would follow, Dies Irae knew; their pathetic weredragon "code of honor" demanded it. They would follow Lacrimosa, try to rescue her, and fly into his camp.

"Where are you, Benedictus?" he cried over his shoulder, the wind whipping him. They were blowing fire behind him, still distant, trying to see him. "Is that the fastest you can fly?"

He turned back forward and spurred his griffin. "Fly, Volucris. Faster."

The griffin grunted. His talons tightened around Lacrimosa's slender body. She was still mumbling, but Dies Irae could not make out the words. He had coated his quarrels with potent ilbane; the stuff would keep her dazed for hours. Despite the howling behind him, the thud of wings, and the roaring flames, Dies Irae felt his blood boil at the thought of Lacrimosa. True, she was in dragon form now, a hideous beast of scales, but he would force her to take human form later. He had ways to force her. In the night, the memories resurfaced, the sweet memories of that night in the woods, the night he caught her alone, the night he pulled off her dress and—

"I see him!" came a cry behind. It was the young blue weredragon from Fort Sanctus, Dies Irae realized; the Eleison kid.

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