Blood of Requiem (Song of Dragons, Book 1)

37. BENEDICTUS

BENEDICTUS

Pain like shattered glass filled him.

The guard held the ilbane against his chest, and Benedictus wanted to die. The fire spread across his ribs, into his heart, down his spine, and scorched his fingertips. He had not felt such agony since Lanburg Fields.

"How does it feel, old man?" the guard asked, eyes narrowed.

With every last drop of will, Benedictus forced himself to remain silent, to keep his face calm. He even tried to will sweat from appearing on his brow.

"Fine," he whispered. He could speak no louder. He wanted to fall to his knees. He wanted to kill the guard. He wanted anything but to remain standing, casual, the ilbane against him. Take it off! he wanted to scream. I've stood my ground. Remove the leaves!

But the guard held them against Benedictus. "Are you sure?" he asked, frowning. "You look pale. And there's sweat on your brow."

Benedictus growled, though he wanted to scream in pain. The fire! The fire filled him. It was too much, too much. This must be how women feel at childbirth, he thought, almost blind with pain. Stars and mist flooded his vision.

"It's been a long journey," he somehow managed to say, mustering all his will to stop his voice 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.