it seemed, was this pillar of stone, these marble
tiles, and a wooden hut between the birches. The footprints of
dragons covered the forest floor beyond the tiles, but he could see
none of the beasts; if any were here, the cowards hid. Holding his
khopesh, he walked between the birches, leaving the column and
approaching the hut. He kicked the door open to reveal an empty room.
Inside he found five piles of straw topped with fur blankets, a
brazier full of cold embers, a few bowls, and a clay tablet bearing
the cuneiform writing of Eteer. When Raem lifted and examined the
tablet, he recognized the words—it was a tale of the god Sharash and
his journeys, a tale Sena used to enjoy.
"Did you engrave these words, Sena, after fleeing me as a
coward?" Raem tossed down the tablet; it shattered on the floor.
Snorts sounded from the doorway, and he turned to see Anai gazing
into the room. The demon's bloated, vaguely human head sniffed, and
her distended body rose behind her, too large to enter.
"The weredragons lived here," Raem said to her. "They
fled."
He was walking back toward the door when his boot hit something. He
knelt and lifted a wooden doll. Upon it appeared more Eteerian
letters, markings that would be meaningless to anyone born in the
north. "Mustardseed." It was the doll's name, perhaps.
"Laira's old doll." He caressed its wooden cheek, then
snapped off its head. He tossed the broken toy aside and stepped back
outside.
He stood before the column, tilted back his head, and coned his palm
around his mouth. He shouted for all his demons to hear. "Crush
the column! Tear it down."
The creatures descended like insects upon a fallen morsel. They bit
at the marble. They clawed. They kicked it, drove horns against it,
gnashed their teeth, rubbed hooks and jagged scales.
Not a scratch appeared upon the marble.
"Pathetic weaklings!" Raem shouted. "Topple it!"
The demons howled. They slammed against the column again and again,
ten at a time, storming around it, shoving, scratching and biting,
yet still it stood. Light fell upon the creatures, and when the
clouds parted, Raem saw it above. Even in the blue sky of day, it
shone—the Draco constellation, the stars the dragons claimed blessed
them.
The demons mewled, covered their eyes, and cowered between the trees.
Raem spat in disgust, walked toward the column, and swung his
khopesh.
The blade shattered against the marble. A shard scratched along his
hand, and Raem spat and cursed.
"The gods of the dragons protect their column." Clutching
his wound, he stared up at the stars and shouted hoarsely. "You
will watch, weredragon of the heavens! You will watch as I slaughter
all your children."
The stars gleamed down upon him, their light soft, comforting, and he
imagined that he could hear a soothing voice inside him, a voice of
starlight. You are one of them, child. You are blessed with our
magic. You too are a child of Requiem.
Raem covered his ears, ignoring the words, ignoring the need inside
him, the urge to shift into a dragon. He had shifted many times in
the city cistern, chastising himself every time. No. No! I am not
cursed. I am not a reptile. I am a pure son of Taal.
A high whimper—not the cry of a demon—rose above from the stars.
Raem looked back up and sucked in breath with a hiss.
Dragons! Two dragons flew above, descending from the starlight!
The demons roared and squealed and bustled.
"Do not feed yet!" Raem shouted. "Bring the dragons to
me alive."
He licked his lips, his body crackling with energy. He felt more
alive than he had since slaughtering weredragons back in Eteer.
Finally—to kill again! Killing was the greatest joy there was,
greater even than shifting.
The demon army swarmed, and the two dragons cried out and tried to
flee. They were too slow. The demon horde rose from the forest like
flies from a disturbed carcass, grabbed the two dragons, and tugged
them down. The demons slammed the scaly creatures against the marble
tiles at
tiles, and a wooden hut between the birches. The footprints of
dragons covered the forest floor beyond the tiles, but he could see
none of the beasts; if any were here, the cowards hid. Holding his
khopesh, he walked between the birches, leaving the column and
approaching the hut. He kicked the door open to reveal an empty room.
Inside he found five piles of straw topped with fur blankets, a
brazier full of cold embers, a few bowls, and a clay tablet bearing
the cuneiform writing of Eteer. When Raem lifted and examined the
tablet, he recognized the words—it was a tale of the god Sharash and
his journeys, a tale Sena used to enjoy.
"Did you engrave these words, Sena, after fleeing me as a
coward?" Raem tossed down the tablet; it shattered on the floor.
Snorts sounded from the doorway, and he turned to see Anai gazing
into the room. The demon's bloated, vaguely human head sniffed, and
her distended body rose behind her, too large to enter.
"The weredragons lived here," Raem said to her. "They
fled."
He was walking back toward the door when his boot hit something. He
knelt and lifted a wooden doll. Upon it appeared more Eteerian
letters, markings that would be meaningless to anyone born in the
north. "Mustardseed." It was the doll's name, perhaps.
"Laira's old doll." He caressed its wooden cheek, then
snapped off its head. He tossed the broken toy aside and stepped back
outside.
He stood before the column, tilted back his head, and coned his palm
around his mouth. He shouted for all his demons to hear. "Crush
the column! Tear it down."
The creatures descended like insects upon a fallen morsel. They bit
at the marble. They clawed. They kicked it, drove horns against it,
gnashed their teeth, rubbed hooks and jagged scales.
Not a scratch appeared upon the marble.
"Pathetic weaklings!" Raem shouted. "Topple it!"
The demons howled. They slammed against the column again and again,
ten at a time, storming around it, shoving, scratching and biting,
yet still it stood. Light fell upon the creatures, and when the
clouds parted, Raem saw it above. Even in the blue sky of day, it
shone—the Draco constellation, the stars the dragons claimed blessed
them.
The demons mewled, covered their eyes, and cowered between the trees.
Raem spat in disgust, walked toward the column, and swung his
khopesh.
The blade shattered against the marble. A shard scratched along his
hand, and Raem spat and cursed.
"The gods of the dragons protect their column." Clutching
his wound, he stared up at the stars and shouted hoarsely. "You
will watch, weredragon of the heavens! You will watch as I slaughter
all your children."
The stars gleamed down upon him, their light soft, comforting, and he
imagined that he could hear a soothing voice inside him, a voice of
starlight. You are one of them, child. You are blessed with our
magic. You too are a child of Requiem.
Raem covered his ears, ignoring the words, ignoring the need inside
him, the urge to shift into a dragon. He had shifted many times in
the city cistern, chastising himself every time. No. No! I am not
cursed. I am not a reptile. I am a pure son of Taal.
A high whimper—not the cry of a demon—rose above from the stars.
Raem looked back up and sucked in breath with a hiss.
Dragons! Two dragons flew above, descending from the starlight!
The demons roared and squealed and bustled.
"Do not feed yet!" Raem shouted. "Bring the dragons to
me alive."
He licked his lips, his body crackling with energy. He felt more
alive than he had since slaughtering weredragons back in Eteer.
Finally—to kill again! Killing was the greatest joy there was,
greater even than shifting.
The demon army swarmed, and the two dragons cried out and tried to
flee. They were too slow. The demon horde rose from the forest like
flies from a disturbed carcass, grabbed the two dragons, and tugged
them down. The demons slammed the scaly creatures against the marble
tiles at
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