Read Online Requiem's Hope (Dawn of Dragons) by Daniel Arenson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daniel Arenson
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baleful, and for many years
Laira had feared these beasts. For many years they had hunted
dragons, slaying many. Yet now this tribe—once her prison, then her
enemy, and finally her army—might save the world.
They flew closer, Goldtusk and Requiem, rocs and dragons, until they
glided above the foothills. Two Skull Mountain loomed ahead, dwarfing
them. Each of the eye sockets, great caverns in the stone, was large
enough to house them all. And still Laira did not see Leatherwing.
The place seemed too silent; she heard only the squawks of rocs and
the thuds of dragon wings. No enemy tribe. No leathery beasts. Had
Leatherwing abandoned this place?
Worry gnawed at her, and she was about to call for her rocs to land,
to camp upon the mountainside.
Before she could speak, they emerged.
Screams shattered the air. The mountain shook. With battle cries,
firing arrows, and the shadows of great wings, Leatherwing Tribe
appeared.
They flew from within the skulls—from the eye sockets, the nostrils,
the mouths—like bats from a cave. Yet unlike bats, these creatures
were as large as rocs, and bloodlust burned in their white eyes.
Their wings spread out, formed of translucent skin that stretched
from their ankles to the tips of their elongated, clawed fingers.
Their long jaws opened to shriek. A single horn grew from each
beast's head, crimson like old blood. Upon their backs rode the
warriors of Leatherwing. Men and women rode bare-chested, their skin
painted white and red. Many rings pierced their lips, noses, and
ears. Copper disks filled their earlobes, stretching them to thrice
the usual size. Each warrior bore axes, spears, and bows and arrows.
They stood in their stirrups, shouting out lilting battle cries.
"Halt!" Laira shouted. "Hear me, Leatherwing. I am
Laira, Chieftain of Goldtusk! I fly in peace."
The pteros swooped and arrows flew from their hunters.
Laira cursed. Around her, warriors of Goldtusk nocked their own
arrows. Projectiles flew both ways. Laira spun her roc toward her
warriors.
"Goldtusk, back! Fly to the foothills. Go!" She turned
toward the dragons. "Requiem! To the foothills! Fly now. Fly
before blood spills."
The warriors of Goldtusk sneered, tugging back bowstrings. For a few
heartbeats, the battle froze, each side watching the other.
"Go!" Laira shouted to her warriors. "This is not a
retreat. Wait for me in the valley. Dragons of Requiem! Go with them.
I've come here to parley, not shed blood."
Some of her Goldtusk hunters grumbled. A few spat and cursed. They
were a proud folk, and they loved bloodshed like they loved drinking
ale, bedding women, and feasting on mammoth flesh. But their wives
and children flew upon their rocs today, and perhaps the hunters
still loved their families more than any glory in war. They obeyed
Laira, leaving the mountaintop and heading down to the foothills. The
pteros' riders watched their old enemy leave, jeering and waving
their spears. They cried out in prayer to Two Skulls, their god of
stone.
The dragons of Requiem followed the rocs—all but Jeid. The copper
dragon hovered beside Laira and her roc, smoke rising from between
his teeth.
"I stay with you," he said.
She nodded, relieved. "Stay."
Laira turned back toward the pteros. The flying reptiles were
circling in the sky, cawing and snapping their long mouths. Their
wings beat the air, churning clouds. Upon their backs, their riders
glared at Laira and Jeid, their arrows still nocked.
What must we look like to them! Laira thought. A scrawny
girl upon a roc and a clanking dragon. I doubt an odder pair ever
flew here.
"Where is Chieftain Oritan!" she shouted. "Let two
chieftains meet in parley."
She had seen Oritan once from a distance. Three years ago, the
chieftain had visited the Goldtusk tribe after a bitter war that had
left many dead on both sides. Clad in bones, he had demanded an
alliance, offering to wed his daughter to Chieftain Zerra, to merge
both tribes with bonds of family. Laira had
Laira had feared these beasts. For many years they had hunted
dragons, slaying many. Yet now this tribe—once her prison, then her
enemy, and finally her army—might save the world.
They flew closer, Goldtusk and Requiem, rocs and dragons, until they
glided above the foothills. Two Skull Mountain loomed ahead, dwarfing
them. Each of the eye sockets, great caverns in the stone, was large
enough to house them all. And still Laira did not see Leatherwing.
The place seemed too silent; she heard only the squawks of rocs and
the thuds of dragon wings. No enemy tribe. No leathery beasts. Had
Leatherwing abandoned this place?
Worry gnawed at her, and she was about to call for her rocs to land,
to camp upon the mountainside.
Before she could speak, they emerged.
Screams shattered the air. The mountain shook. With battle cries,
firing arrows, and the shadows of great wings, Leatherwing Tribe
appeared.
They flew from within the skulls—from the eye sockets, the nostrils,
the mouths—like bats from a cave. Yet unlike bats, these creatures
were as large as rocs, and bloodlust burned in their white eyes.
Their wings spread out, formed of translucent skin that stretched
from their ankles to the tips of their elongated, clawed fingers.
Their long jaws opened to shriek. A single horn grew from each
beast's head, crimson like old blood. Upon their backs rode the
warriors of Leatherwing. Men and women rode bare-chested, their skin
painted white and red. Many rings pierced their lips, noses, and
ears. Copper disks filled their earlobes, stretching them to thrice
the usual size. Each warrior bore axes, spears, and bows and arrows.
They stood in their stirrups, shouting out lilting battle cries.
"Halt!" Laira shouted. "Hear me, Leatherwing. I am
Laira, Chieftain of Goldtusk! I fly in peace."
The pteros swooped and arrows flew from their hunters.
Laira cursed. Around her, warriors of Goldtusk nocked their own
arrows. Projectiles flew both ways. Laira spun her roc toward her
warriors.
"Goldtusk, back! Fly to the foothills. Go!" She turned
toward the dragons. "Requiem! To the foothills! Fly now. Fly
before blood spills."
The warriors of Goldtusk sneered, tugging back bowstrings. For a few
heartbeats, the battle froze, each side watching the other.
"Go!" Laira shouted to her warriors. "This is not a
retreat. Wait for me in the valley. Dragons of Requiem! Go with them.
I've come here to parley, not shed blood."
Some of her Goldtusk hunters grumbled. A few spat and cursed. They
were a proud folk, and they loved bloodshed like they loved drinking
ale, bedding women, and feasting on mammoth flesh. But their wives
and children flew upon their rocs today, and perhaps the hunters
still loved their families more than any glory in war. They obeyed
Laira, leaving the mountaintop and heading down to the foothills. The
pteros' riders watched their old enemy leave, jeering and waving
their spears. They cried out in prayer to Two Skulls, their god of
stone.
The dragons of Requiem followed the rocs—all but Jeid. The copper
dragon hovered beside Laira and her roc, smoke rising from between
his teeth.
"I stay with you," he said.
She nodded, relieved. "Stay."
Laira turned back toward the pteros. The flying reptiles were
circling in the sky, cawing and snapping their long mouths. Their
wings beat the air, churning clouds. Upon their backs, their riders
glared at Laira and Jeid, their arrows still nocked.
What must we look like to them! Laira thought. A scrawny
girl upon a roc and a clanking dragon. I doubt an odder pair ever
flew here.
"Where is Chieftain Oritan!" she shouted. "Let two
chieftains meet in parley."
She had seen Oritan once from a distance. Three years ago, the
chieftain had visited the Goldtusk tribe after a bitter war that had
left many dead on both sides. Clad in bones, he had demanded an
alliance, offering to wed his daughter to Chieftain Zerra, to merge
both tribes with bonds of family. Laira had
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