A Night of Dragon Wings (26 page)

Three thousand dragons streamed toward the city, raising a roar to shake the earth.  Lyana flew at their lead, blowing fire and howling, a hoarse cry of rage, of pain, of loss—a cry for the death of her parents, for the fall of her palace, for the fading light of her people.  She flew to aid others.  She flew to slay her enemies.  She flew as queen, as a woman haunted, as a blue dragon with so much fear and pain inside her that she could never heal.  She shot over the city walls.  Above the towers and streets of Confutatis, she crashed into nephilim and slew them with fire and claw.

When all the creatures lay dead, diseased corpses strewn across streets and roofs, Lyana landed upon a steeple that rose among cobbled streets, dwarfing the houses and shops beneath it.  Her fellow dragons landed upon roofs, towers, and walls around her, panting and tossing their heads to scatter their smoke.  Around them across the city, soldiers ran in armor, cheering and crying for Requiem.

We slew them,
Lyana thought, snarling and baring her teeth. 
We slew the bastards, and we will slay Solina next.

She kicked off the steeple and rose into the sky.

"Dragons of Requiem!" she shouted.  "We've secured the city.  We've shown our strength!  We—"

Shrieks rose in the south.

Lyana's heart froze.

Hovering in midair, she turned to see a bustling swarm cover the southern horizon.

They had slain a hundred nephilim.  Ten thousand more now cried for blood and stormed toward the city.

Merciful stars.

Below Lyana, Osannan soldiers ran along the streets, drawing swords and arrows; they heard the distant shrieks.  Around her upon the towers, walls, and roofs of the White City, her fellow dragons snarled and stared.  They were weary.  Blood coated their scales.  So much of the city lay fallen around them, towers smashed and walls fallen and houses crushed—the work of but a hundred nephlim.  Now thousands flew from the south, and Lyana trembled and spat flames.

"Stars bless us, Requiem," she whispered.  She landed back on the steeple.  She could not win this fight, she knew.  Not with only three thousand dragons, most of them elders and children.  Not with only men living in this city, soldiers so small and frail by the cruelty and might of the Fallen Horde.

So here my life ends,
she thought,
far from Requiem and far from my king—here, upon the white walls of Osanna's Jewel, will I die with fire.

The screams rose from the south.  The eyes of the nephilim blazed.  Their wings rose and fell like a cloud of locusts.  All around Lyana, dragons snarled upon roofs and men drew arrows upon walls.

Dorin perched upon a temple's dome beside her.  He looked at her, and his eyes were weary; so much pain and whispers of blood filled them.

"Lyana," he said softly.  She had never heard him speak softly before.  "Lyana, you are brave, and you are strong, and you fought well.  But now we must flee.  We have shown our honor here, but this is not our war."

She glared at him, and her claws dug grooves into the steeple.

"This is Solina's horde!" she said.  "These are the beasts that ravaged our camp.  Here is our war—it flies toward us."

Dorin sighed and gestured at the city that sprawled around them.  "In Confutatis?  City of men?  We are Vir Requis, Lyana.  These are not our walls to die upon.  This is not our city to protect."

"Our walls fell!"  She snapped her teeth.  "Our city, which we protected, burned.  I will make my last stand here if I must.  If here is my end, I will make it an end for poets, and I will rise to the stars knowing that I died fighting my enemy, not fleeing into the wilderness to die alone and old many years from now, still haunted by my cowardice."

Dorin shook his head, and smoke streamed between his teeth.  "Cowardice, Lyana?  Is it cowardice to seek life when death looms with certainty?  Is it cowardice to survive, yes—to flee—when there is no chance of victory?  No; I call that prudence.  Your valor will have you die upon walls not yours.  What honor is there in that?  How will your death protect those of our people who still live?  I would rather live as a man than die as a dragon.  In the forests we survived."

"Until the horde found us," she said.  "How much longer do you think we can hide?  The nephilim cover the world; stand and fight them here, Dorin.  With me."

And yet… and yet her words tasted stale to her.  She wanted to roar them with conviction, to rally his heart and hers.  But was this valor truly foolishness?  Was his wish to flee not wisdom?  And had she—Lyana herself—not fled from Nova Vita as its walls fell and the dead burned upon its streets?

The nephil army was close now, so close that Lyana could count the teeth in their jaws.  She flapped her wings and rose higher, and flames filled her maw.  She growled and her wings sent dust flying across the city below.

Maybe I am foolish,
she thought. 
Maybe he is wise, and I am but a headstrong soldier dreaming of glory.  Let him flee then; let him survive. But I am Queen of Requiem, and the scourge of my people flies before me, and I will roar my fire.  If I must stand alone, I will die with my fire and the song of my stars—foolish perhaps, but I am a warrior, and I will die as one.

The Fallen Horde stormed across the fields, a tapestry of claw and fang, a night of rot and malice.  Dorin grunted, gave Lyana a last glare, then took flight and began to flee north.  A few dragons began to follow him.

Be strong, Lyana,
she told herself, staring south as the horde approached. 
Be strong and you will soon fly to your parents, to Orin, to all those who fell.

Darkness covered the city.

From the east, like a sun rising, sounded the cries of new dawn.

Lyana turned her head, looked eastward, and tears filled her eyes.

"Hope," she whispered.  She raised her voice and roared to the city.  "Griffins!  Griffins are coming!  Dragons of Requiem, rally here!  Griffins fly to aid."

Flocks flew from the dawn, half eagles and half lions, great beasts the size of dragons.  Sunrays rose around them.  Lyana had never been to their home, the mythical Leonis Isles across the sea.  She had seen only one griffin before, Prince Velathar who had visited Requiem a year ago.  Now thousands flew from the rising sun, a golden dawn aflight.

Seeing the host, the nephilim wailed and covered their eyes with their claws, blinded and hissing.  A few turned to flee.  Others howled and faced the sun.

The two hosts crashed above the ancient walls and towers of Confutatis.

Lyana soared and blew her fire.

 
 
BAYRIN

"Mori?" he whispered.

Inside the golden mountain of the true dragons, he stood in his pod, embracing a very naked Piri.  Before him at the doorway, Mori stood with wide eyes and trembling lips.

Bayrin gasped and froze, barely able to breathe.  How could this be?  How could Mori be here?  She looked almost like a ghost, so frail and pallid Bayrin thought he might be seeing a spirit.  She was thinner than he'd ever seen her, her cheekbones prominent, her eyes large and gray, her arms sticklike and neck too thin.  Her skin was milky white and dark circles surrounded her eyes.  And yet it was her, and she was alive, and she was beautiful and fragile and
real
.

Still embracing him, Piri looked over her shoulder and saw the princess.  She gasped, pulled away from Bayrin, and grabbed her cloak from the floor.  She covered her nakedness and retreated to the back of the room, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"Mori," Bayrin said, and his eyes stung, and his heart thrashed.  He took a step toward her.  "Stars, Mori, are… is it really you?"

She looked at him, frozen.  She looked toward the back of the room where Piri stood, cloak wrapped around her.  Mori's eyes dampened.  She turned, shifted into a golden dragon, and flew away from the pod.

Bayrin leaped out into the darkness.  The cavern of the golden mountain loomed around him, its walls lined with countless more pods like a beehive, its empty spaces lit by flowing orbs of light and the shimmer of salvanae scales.  He shifted and flew, seeking Mori, but salvanae flew everywhere—thousands of them.  He could not see her.

"Mori!" he shouted, flying inside the mountain.  He knocked through a cluster of floating orbs; they scattered, tossing light and shadows.  "Mori!"

He glimpsed a slim golden tail behind a group of salvanae.  He flew in pursuit.  Salvanae streamed everywhere around him, flying serpents moving so quickly they appeared as streams of light.  As he flew, Bayrin kept having to dip, rise, and skirt the coiling creatures.

"Mori!" he cried out.  "Stars, Mori, come talk to me."

He barreled through a group of salvanae; they bugled in surprise and scattered.  He dived between floating orbs and saw her there.  She flew away from him, descending deeper down the mountain into shadow.

"Mori!"

He dived after her, calling her name.  She flew beneath a cluster of salvanae elders who crowded around glowing runes, their eyelashes beating and their beards dipping as they prayed.  Stars, she was still so fast!  Bayrin flew after her, incurring clucking tongues and grunts from the salvanae elders.  He saw Mori soar toward a wall of more pods.  She approached one pod, shifted into a human, and ran inside.

Heart pounding, Bayrin followed.  His claws grabbed the pod's rim.  He shifted into human form and crawled inside like a bee entering its hive.  This pod looked much like the one he shared with Piri: long, round, and simple.  Fresh leaves covered its floor in a rug, and bubbles of food and wine lay upon them.  Mori sat by the far wall, her back to him.

Bayrin approached her, walking gingerly upon the carpet of leaves.  When he reached her, he knelt and hesitantly touched her shoulder.  She cowered at his touch and huddled deeper into the corner.

"Mori," he whispered.  "Stars, Mori, I… I can't believe you're here!  I missed you.  Mori?"

She looked over her shoulder at him.  Tears filled those huge gray eyes Bayrin had dreamed to see joyous.

"Bayrin," she whispered.  A tear rolled down her cheek.

He embraced her, but she felt wooden and stiff, and she did not return the embrace.  She was so thin, so pale.  Bayrin closed his eyes.  This was not how he'd dreamed of meeting Mori again.  For moons, he had wanted nothing else, and his fingers still shook with the shock of it.  In endless dreams, she would run toward him and crash into his embrace, and they would kiss and laugh and tell stories of daring escapes.  Not… not this, just silence and Mori so still in his arms, a porcelain figurine.

"Mori," he whispered again.  "I'm so glad you're here.  Stars, I missed you, Mors."  His voice cracked and his eyes dampened.  "You don't have to tell me what happened.  Not now or ever, if you don't want to.  I'm just so glad you're here.  I'm not going to let you go again—ever, not ever, Mori.  I'll never let you out of my arms.  If we have to, we'll just stay like this forever."

She looked up at him, blinking tears from her eyes.  "Is… I saw Piri.  Is she…?"

Bayrin found himself weeping.  He hated showing such emotion; hated it!  He had not cried since he was nine and Lyana had kicked him too hard.  Today he could not help it.  And yet he laughed—he laughed through his tears until his chest shook.

"Piri!  Stars, Mori, the girl in crazy.  You remember how she used to follow me around, right?"  He kissed her cheek.  "I love you, Mori.  Only you.  Now and always.  Nothing happened between Piri and me.  She tried to seduce me; I refused her.  You've always had a talent for showing up at just the wrong moment!  Remember how you once walked into the armory just as I was, uhm… testing Lyana's dress?"

"You were going to put it on!" she said, and now a soft smile trembled on her lips.

"I was not!  I was only holding it against me to see if… I accidentally stabbed it with my sword."

She laid her head against his chest.

"I know," she whispered.  "I know, Bay.  I believe you."

He did not have to ask if she meant the dress or Piri.  He leaned back against the wall, and Mori wriggled until she nestled in his arms.  He held her very close for a very long time, and they said nothing more.

A hole upon the mountainside, a remnant of the nephil attack, gaped open not far outside their pod.  Through it, Bayrin could see into the wilderness.  The sun began to set, casting rays of orange light upon the forest.  In the evening, the priest Nehushtan flew to their pod, coiling and chinking, and summoned them to a council.

"We will meet under the stars and discuss the evil that stains the world," he said, his tufted eyebrows curved in sorrow.

Bayrin and Mori followed him in dragon forms, and they flew out the mountain and above the forests.  Sunset gilded the land, and Bayrin looked at Mori as she flew.  She looked back and gave him a soft smile, and despite the ruin of the world, and the evil that still lurked in the desert, Bayrin was happy.

Mori is here.  There is still light in the world.

Nehushtan led them to a grassy hill that rose from a forest clearing.  Ten great stones rose here, each larger than a man, arranged like the Draco constellation.  Night fell, and blue runes glowed upon the stones, and the true stars shone above.  Fireflies swirled around the henge, adding their glow.  All around the hill, the forest rolled into shadow, the trees mere black hints like charcoal etched onto obsidian.

Above several stones hovered elder salvanae.  Their eyes glowed silver and gold in the starlight.  Their bodies coiled behind them like banners in a breeze.  Their beards were long and their brows furrowed, and their breath steamed in the night.

Upon a pair of stones perched two dragons of Requiem—unlike the salvanae, they had stockier bodies, four legs, and wings.  Even in the dim starlight, Bayrin recognized Piri's lavender scales; it was a rare color in Requiem.  The other was a slim black dragon, and Bayrin gasped when he recognized her.

"Treale Oldnale!" he blurted out, hovering above the henge.  "Bloody stars, I haven't seen you in ages.  Where the Abyss have you been?"