Requiem's Song (Book 1) (31 page)

He listened. Sometimes his eyes
widened, and sometimes he gasped, and at other times he seemed both
mad and pained. But he did not speak until she was done. And then he
simply held her, silent.

They returned to the canyon.
Laira had learned that many tunnels and caves ran underground here.
There were chambers for sleeping, for cooking, for storing supplies.
There were secret rooms for defense; their walls had small openings
like arrowslits, outlets for a dragon to blow fire into the canyon.
There were secret traps of boulders to topple onto invaders. There
were deep caves for hiding when danger came. It was both a secret,
magical labyrinth and a fortress of stone and moss.

That night, Jeid and Laira lay
down to sleep in one of the caves, a fire burning beside them, its
smoke wafting out a hole in the ceiling. Eranor stood outside upon
the watchtower—that pillar of stone that rose between the trees,
affording a view of the valleys below. Firelight painted the cave,
but Laira still felt cold.

She rose, wrapped in her fur
blankets, and settled down beside Jeid, and he held her in his arms.
They lay together, sharing their warmth. She laid her head against
his chest, and his one hand held the small of her back. She felt
safe. He would not hurt her. He would not try to lie with her as his
twin brother had.

"I will keep you safe,"
he whispered. "Always."

She believed him. And she loved
him. She did not know if she loved him as she loved a foster father,
a man, or a friend. It did not matter. She loved him and that was
enough.

I'm
happy here,
she thought.
This
is my home.

She was drifting off to sleep
when she heard the shrieks.

She jerked up, sure she was
dreaming.

She knew those shrieks. They
still filled her nightmares.

When Jeid sat up, eyes wide, she
knew it was no dream.

"They're here," she
whispered. She leaped to her feet and grabbed a burning stick from
the fire.

A shadow darted and Eranor
rushed into the cave, gasping.

"Rocs!" the old man
said. "Rocs outside!"

Laira ran. She bolted past
Eranor, raced out into the canyon, and looked up into the night sky.
A hundred of the foul vultures flew above, larger than dragons, their
riders bearing torches and bows.

The Goldtusk tribe attacked.

 
 
JEID

He allowed himself only an
instant of fear.

My brother attacks.

The rocs no longer fear us.

We will die under stone.

The thoughts pounded through
Jeid. His fingers shook and his heart thrashed. Then he took a deep
breath. He clenched his fists. He turned toward his companions.

"Laira, you stay in this
cave. When I give the signal, blow fire through the exit. The rocs
won't be able to enter." He unclasped his sword from his belt
and handed it to her. "And take this blade. If you must race
into the tunnels, you'll only fit in human form; you'll need a
sword."

His voice was soft, and he
worried that Laira would tremble, that her fear would overcome her.
But the young woman nodded firmly. She took the short, broad sword
and held it steadily. She raised her chin and stared back. "They
will not enter."

This
one has been fighting all her life,
Jeid realized.
She
is perhaps the strongest among us.

He nodded and turned toward his
father. The old man stared back grimly, eyes dark beneath his white
brows.

"Father, hurry down the
tunnel to the pantry," Jeid said. "Wait for my signal, then
blow your fire too."

Jeid pointed to the two tunnels
at the back of the cave. The left one led to the pantry, a hidden
chamber full of their nuts, dried meats, fruits, mushrooms, and other
foods for winter. The right tunnel gaped open beside it; that one
dived underground, twisted under the canyon floor, and emerged into a
chamber in the opposite cliff.

Eranor nodded, tossed his beard
across his shoulder, and raced into the left tunnel. He vanished in
the darkness.

The shrieks rose outside, louder
now; the rocs were descending into the canyon. Men shouted too,
crying out to find the weredragons, to flay and bugger and disembowel
the creatures until they begged for death.

Damn
it,
Jeid thought.
Stars
damn it! I need Tanin and Maev here for this. Just when we need to
fight, the two little buggers are away.

"Where will you go,
Grizzly?" Laira asked, voice quiet.

Jeid managed a wry smile. "To
cook some birds." He touched her cheek, leaned forward, and
kissed her forehead. "Be strong, Laira. We will defeat them."

With that he raced into the
second tunnel at the back. The passage was narrow; he had to crawl.
As he moved in the darkness, his heart thudded and the sneer would
not leave his lips. He was not afraid for his life, he realized. His
cared not whether he lived or died. He was scared for his father. For
Laira. For Requiem. The tunnel walls shook as the rocs shrieked
outside.

Finally the tunnel curved
sharply. He climbed a slope, emerging into a chamber that held their
tools and weapons—fishing gear, blades, pelts, arrows, and sundry
other items. A small opening gaped in the cliff side, looking out
into the dark canyon, barely larger than his head.

"I see no weredragons, my
chieftain!" rose a deep, hoarse voice outside. A roc cawed.

A second voice answered,
high-pitched and twisted with cruelty. "This is the place. The
reptiles are hiding here. Down into the canyon! Find them."

Jeid recognized that second
voice, and a growl rose in his throat.

Zerra.
My twin brother.

Wings beat, men cursed, and he
heard talons clatter down against the stones outside. Jeid approached
the small opening and peered outside. He could see them below, the
great vultures—larger than dragons—barely fitting into the gorge.
Their talons scattered stones, and their riders gazed around, hands
on their bows. Last time Jeid had seen them, the tribesmen had worn
fur and leather and fought with stone-tipped arrows. Tonight they
wore bronze breastplates and helms, and metal tipped their arrows.

Somebody
armed them,
Jeid realized.
That's
why they no longer fear us. Somebody gave them armor and weapons . .
. and sent them here.

He pulled back from the opening.
An eerie silence fell. Men began to dismount and spread out across
the canyon, searching. Their torches crackled.

"I see a cave!" one
man cried, pointing toward the chamber where Laira hid.

"There's another cave
here," said another man, pointing toward the pantry where Eranor
was awaiting the signal.

"It's time," Jeid
whispered.

A rope dangled above him. Jeid
gripped it with both hands, clenched his jaw, and gave it a mighty
tug.

For a moment nothing happened.

Jeid held his breath.

A creak rose, almost inaudible
at first, then growing louder. Dust rained across the cave exit.

Then, with the sound of crashing
mountains, a hundred boulders crashed down.

The avalanche slammed into the
canyon, shaking the cliffs. Cracks raced across the cave walls around
Jeid. Dust and shards of stone blasted into the chamber, nearly
blinding him. When he peered outside, he saw the boulders
rolling—some larger than men, craggy and mossy, others sharp and
small.

Blood splattered the canyon.

Boulders slammed into rocs,
snapping their spines, burying the birds. Men screamed. Arms reached
out from the rubble. More rocs flew above, helpless to rescue their
brethren.

"They're here—find them!"
Zerra cried above. "Land on the boulders and into the caves."

Jeid shifted. His dragon form,
bulky and long, filled the chamber, pressing up against the walls. He
shoved his snout out of the exit.

"Fire!" he shouted.

He roared his flames.

The jet blasted out into the
canyon, crashed against the fallen boulders, and sprayed up like red
waves. Through the blaze, Jeid saw Laira and Eranor breathing their
own fire from their holes, adding their jets to his.

The canyon roared, a great oven.

Tribesmen screamed.

Rocs ignited and fell.

A man ran, a living torch, and
collapsed.

When Jeid had to pause for
breath and their flames lowered, he beheld a ruin. Melted flesh clung
to stones. Arms twitched under the rubble. One man still lived,
crawling across boulders; his legs were gone, ending with trailing
stumps and jutting bones, and the skin on his face had peeled off.
But more rocs and riders still lived. Dozens of wings beat above, and
dozens of men cried out.

"Get down there!"
Zerra was screaming. The voice came from the sky above the canyon;
the chieftain had not yet dared enter the gauntlet. "I don't
care how much fire they blow. Get down there and dig them out!"

Jeid found himself trembling
again, his scales chinking. He ground his teeth. He dug his claws
into the stone beneath him. That day returned to him, the day he
still dreamed of: fleeing Oldforge with fire and blood, leaving his
dead wife behind.

"Turn back, Zerra!" he
shouted into the gorge. "Turn back and I will spare your life.
This place is forbidden to you. Enter this canyon and it will be your
tomb."

He heard his twin laughing
outside. "It is you, my dear brother, who is buried now. It is
you who lurks in your grave. Emerge to fight me or die like a coward.
I care not." Zerra emitted a horrible laugh that sounded like
snapping bones. "Men! Dig into these walls, shatter these
stones, and slay the maggots in their holes."

More rocs screeched and
descended. Jeid growled and blew his flames again.

 
 
LAIRA

Laira filled the cave, a golden
dragon. She sneered, beat her wings against the ceiling, and blew
more fire out into the canyon. She heard the tribesmen scream, and a
smile twisted her jaw. Even in dragon form, that jaw was crooked,
shoved to the side, a reminder of Zerra's cruelty.

You
are out there,
she thought, blasting her flame.
The
man who beat me, starved me, thrust into me in his bed.
She roared as her flames crackled.
Now
I burn you. This ends here.

Across the canyon, she glimpsed
Jeid blowing his flames too. The jet emerged from a hole no larger
than his snout. Within the canyon, the enemies died. Fire blasted
against the walls, showered up, and knocked rocs down. Screams echoed
and ash rained.

But the rocs kept coming, and
Laira's flames were burning low. Soon her jet fizzled into mere
sparks. Fear gripped her, and she growled and blasted out every last
flame inside her. Across the canyon, she saw that Jeid and Eranor too
were down to sparks. They would need time to rest and recharge.

But the rocs gave them no
respite.

They kept diving into the
canyon. Men leaped off and hid behind boulders where the fire could
not reach. Archers rose from behind a dead roc, fired, and crouched
down. One arrow slammed into the cliff side near Laira. A second
entered the cave and grazed her cheek, and she hissed. She closed her
jaw, waiting, sneering. Smoke plumed from her nostrils. When the
archers rose again, she blasted what flames remained inside her. It
was but a thin stream, but it caught one archer in the chest. He
fell.

More arrows flew. Laira
retreated from the exit and flexed her claws. Her foot stepped into
the brazier, and she grunted and kicked the embers aside. Smoke rose
around her. She had no fire within her—not until she could rest—but
she could still fight.

"Enter and fight me!"
she shouted. "Enter this cave, Zerra, and face me."

She snarled and raised her
claws. Arrows flew into the cave, slamming into the walls around her.
When she stepped back, they could not hit her. The tribesmen would
have to enter, leaving their rocs outside.

And
I will kill them,
Laira thought, refusing to tremble, refusing to let the horror
overwhelm her. She had killed men with her flames. Now she would kill
with tooth and claw.

"You came here to die."
She clawed the air. "Requiem is my new tribe. Requiem will be
forged in fire and blood."

As she waited for them to enter,
shrieks sounded above.

Laira whipped her head up and
blasted smoke out of her nostrils. On the ceiling was a small hole, a
vent for their brazier's smoke. Talons reached into the opening,
scratching, cracking stone, widening the gap. Soon a roc head
appeared, and its shriek echoed in the cavern, nearly deafening
Laira. She cried out with the pain of the sound.

More talons dug above and debris
rained. With a shower of dust, a chunk of the ceiling collapsed.
Stones pelted Laira, cracking her scales, and she blasted what fire
she could muster.

Through the dust, flame, and
smoke, a roc crashed down into the cave.

Zerra sat upon it.

The chieftain stared at her and
his lips—halved by his scars—twisted into a horrible smirk. He wore
a breastplate beneath his fur pelts, and he pointed a bronze-tipped
arrow at her.

Still in dragon form, Laira
lunged toward him.

The arrow flew and slammed into
her neck.

She cried out, the pain driving
through her. Her neck stiffened. She felt ilbane flow through her,
bitter and burning—a leaf's latex harmless to most but poisonous to
dragons. She roared and tried to lash her claws. But the roc was
quicker. Its talons drove into her chest, knocking her down.

She slammed onto the floor. The
pain drove the magic away from her. She shrank, becoming a woman
again. The arrow clattered to the floor, coated with her blood.

"Hello again, little
Laira," Zerra said, staring down from his roc. He spat upon her.
"You I will not kill, no. The other weredragons will die
tonight, but you will return home with me. Do you think you suffered
before? You will soon miss those days. I will make you suffer like no
one ever has. Ashoor, grab her."