A Night of Dragon Wings (Dragonlore, Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  The nephilim all lay dead, their corpses oozing pus and black blood thick with worms. Some lay burnt, others slashed with claws, their entrails dangling and their innards bustling with cockroaches. Many Vir Requis lay dead too, a hundred or more; they were torn apart, limbs strewn, heads severed. Some were half-eaten, and their blood stained the teeth of the fallen nephilim. Huts and trees burned, and living dragons flew between them, patting down the flames with tails and wings.

  Lyana's head spun. She shifted back into human form and clutched her sword. Her hand trembled and her breath shook in her lungs.

  War. War and blood and death again. She gritted her teeth, forcing down the horror. You are Lyana Eleison, Queen of Requiem, ruler to these people. You will not panic. You will not faint. You will stay strong.

  A hoarse cry rose through the camp. Lyana drew her sword, for an instant sure a nephil still lived. She looked up to see Gar Miner walk through the camp, the younger of the bronze brothers. He howled and wept, carrying the body of his fallen brother.

  "Dead!" he cried. "My brother is dead!" The short, burly miner looked at Lyana and his eyes blazed. "She led them here. Lyana Eleison arrived in our camp, and these beasts followed her." Tears ran down his cheeks. "She murdered my brother!"

  He lowered his dead brother to the ground, knelt over him, and wept.

  Around the camp, people muttered and stared at Lyana. One man, his arm lacerated, spat and glared. Two young men grabbed spears, and Gar rose to his feet and grabbed a club. They began to advance toward Lyana, stepping over corpses, and blood coated their boots. Lyana snarled and raised her sword.

  "You accuse your queen of treason," she said softly. "Come lay this charge before my sword; Levitas will cut your lying tongues from your mouths." She spat toward them. "I've slain more of Solina's beasts in this war than you have thoughts in your skulls. If you accuse me of treason, I will slay you too."

  They kept advancing toward her, raising their weapons. Ash and blood covered their faces.

  "You are no queen in Second Haven," said Gar. He limped; a gash ran down his leg. "You are a stranger here, and you've brought only blood to this camp. Your blood will be the last shed here."

  The men charged toward her.

  Lyana growled and raised her sword.

  "Cease this madness!" rose a shout over the camp.

  A legless red dragon dived down from above, wings raising a cloud of fallen leaves and dirt. Snorting smoke, Dorin landed by the combatants. He shoved his head between them, nudging Lyana away from Gar and his comrades. He blasted more smoke from his nostrils and grumbled. When Gar tried to step around him, Dorin slapped him back with his wing, and the miner's club thumped to the ground.

  Dorin shifted back into human form. He lay legless upon the leaves, his grizzled hair and beard matted with dirt and soot. He grumbled and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

  "Gar," he said and coughed. Soon his entire body shook as he hacked. "Gar, fetch me my seat. Go, son."

  The young miner still shed tears. He looked at Lyana. He looked back at his dead brother, and a sob racked his body. Finally Gar stormed into the wooden hall—half its roof had collapsed—and emerged carrying the mock Oak Throne carved from roots. He placed it upon the forest floor, grabbed Dorin under his arms, and lifted him into the seat.

  The Legless Lord sat in the forest, and slowly the Vir Requis of his camp gathered around. Many clutched wounds.

  Dorin shouted, voice hoarse. "People of Second Haven! Hear me. Hear your Lord Dorin. This camp is lost; Queen Solina knows we are here, and she will send more of these beasts our way. We must leave this place."

  All around, men and women wailed, whispered, and looked from side to side. Gardens lay trampled. Huts lay fallen. The palisades were smashed.

  Lyana lowered her head. She knew what these people were thinking.

  They spent moons building this place, she thought. They believed their life could spring anew here—a new city for the children of Requiem, a new haven. Now they relive the destruction of Nova Vita. Now again they are refugees.

  She stepped toward Dorin and bowed her head.

  "Lord Dorin," she said softly; for the first time, she gave him the honor of a title. "You fought nobly. You saved my life." She held her sword before her, blade pointing down. "Fight by my side. Fly with me to Confutatis, capital of this kingdom you hide in, and speak with me to the king of men. Let us Vir Requis form an alliance with Osanna." She raised her sword. "We will not just flee. We will not hide. We will fight."

  Dorin stared up at her from his seat, eyes narrowed and shrewd. His lips tightened and he clutched the armrests.

  "How can we fight such evil?" he said, voice low.

  She grabbed his shoulder. "We fly south. We fly to Tiranor. Solina is sending her wrath north, emptying her lands. We will fly to those lands and rain fire upon her." She tightened her fingers around him and stared into his eyes. "Fly with me, Dorin. The days of hiding are over. Fly with me, sound your roar, and blow your fire with mine. A dragon needs no legs, only fire and wings."

  He glared up at her, lips tightened and trembling. Finally he coughed, spat sideways, and stared back at her.

  "I will not serve you as some man-at-arms." His fists shook around his seat's armrests. "My sons served your husband, the Boy King Elethor. They fell upon his towers. I flew for Elethor. I lost my legs in his service. No, girl. My days of serving Elethor are over. Requiem is fallen, and he has no titles in these lands, nor do you."

  Her lip curled. "Requiem did not fall. She lives in the west, in Salvandos, among tree and stone, a light in our hearts."

  Dorin snorted. "Then let Requiem remain in the west." He swept his arm around him and spoke louder. "This is Second Haven! This is a free realm. Look at our banners upon the trees; they fly still." He looked back at her with narrowed eyes and spoke softly. "But yes, Lyana. I will fly with you. And I will rain fire upon those who destroyed our camp. I will not bend the knee before King Elethor even if I still had knees to bend. Let Requiem and Second Haven fly together, two free nations aligned, and together we will crush this desert queen."

  Lyana stared at him silently. The man still spoke treason. To secede from Requiem meant to hang from her walls.

  She lowered her head. Yet those walls are fallen. And I cannot fight this entire camp, nor will I kill my own people. She heaved a sigh. Bloody stars, but Elethor will kill me when he hears.

  She nodded. "We fly together, Dorin. Requiem and Second Haven. Let us seek what allies we can in these eastern realms—men and griffins who will fight at our side." She gripped her sword and snarled. "And then we will set the desert aflame."

  ELETHOR

  She lay nude beside him, golden in the dawn. The light cascaded through the window, dappling her with pale mottles. She smiled at him—the smile that showed her teeth—a smile so rich and full and singing of purity, and a smile so rare these days, so precious to him. Her platinum hair cascaded like a moonlit river, hiding her breasts, so pale it was almost white, and Elethor ran his fingers through it. He touched her nose, marveling at the golden freckles he loved, and ran his hand over her body, tracing her curves from shoulder, down her ribs, into the deep valley of her waist, and finally up the hill of her hip. He had caressed her landscape countless times, and every time he lost his breath at its beauty.

  "Solina," he whispered her name. Daughter of sunlight, the name meant in her tongue. Sun of his life.

  They lay in his bed upon blankets of green and silver wool—the colors of Requiem. Around them stood the statues that filled his small house upon the hill: marble elks with antlers of gold; a wooden turtle with jeweled eyes he had carved for Solina; and statues of Solina herself, nude or clad in flowing robes of marble.

  "They are all away," she whispered, leaned forward on her elbow, and kissed his lips. "Today is ours."

  He looked outside the window above and breathed in the clear air. A free day. A day for us. His father, his brother, the Lady Lyana, even his
little sister—they had all flown to distant Oldnale Farms for a feast. The courts of Requiem had emptied; only he, Prince Elethor, remained to rule.

  But I intend to spend the entire time here in bed with this very beautiful, very naked woman.

  He ran his hand again over her curves, from waist to hip and back. She reached under the blankets, sneaked her hand into his pants, and closed her fingers around him. She smiled softly and kissed him. They had made love last night for what seemed like hours; in the dawn, he loved her again until she screamed and scratched his back so violently, he bled.

  A day for us. A free day. A perfect day.

  They held each other close in bed. They closed their eyes under the soft light, and they slept again, and they did not wake until noon.

  Finally Solina rose from the bed, walked to the window, and stretched before the trees that rustled outside, nude and golden and drenched in light. She was a work of art to him, greater than any statue he could sculpt. She looked over her shoulder at him.

  "Wake up, sleepy," she said. "I'm hungry."

  She stepped toward the bed, pulled the blanket off him, and wrapped it around herself. He rose with a grunt, embraced her, and kissed her head. They held each other closely for long moments before breaking apart, stepping into his pantry, and rummaging for food.

  They filled a basket with bread rolls, a jar of preserves, smoked sausages, a slab of butter, a wheel of tangy cheese, and hard yellow apples. They took their meal outside and sat upon the grass beneath the cypresses. She wore nothing but the blanket wrapped around her shoulders; he wore only his woolen trousers. Below the hill where Elethor had built his home rolled the city of Nova Vita: the palace of marble columns, the domed temple, and the cobbled streets that snaked between birches.

  That palace is empty now, he thought. The day is ours: a day of sunlight, a day of peace, a day of Solina.

  "What will we do today?" he asked as they ate. "Walk through the forest? Go swim in the lake? Maybe visit the library and read old books?"

  She yawned magnificently. "Too hard." She lay back on the grass, and her hair spread out around her like molten white gold. The sunlight danced upon her face. "I'm just going to lie here all day." She reached out, grabbed him, and pulled him back. "And you will lie here with me."

  He lay on his back watching the clouds, and she nestled against him, and soon she slept again. He kissed her forehead and held her in his arms, and her breath danced against his neck. He closed his eyes, Solina warm against him.

  This is the best day of my life, he thought. Here and now, this is perfect. This is all I ever want. Never let this end.

  A shriek tore the day.

  Elethor opened his eyes and found himself in darkness. Solina slipped into shadow, and he tried to grab her, and his heart ached at her loss, and then the shriek sounded again and he covered his ears.

  He rose from the cold stone floor and looked upon a shadowy, dusty tunnel. His body ached, and dried blood covered his left arm. At his side, children cowered and held one another. The shriek sounded again, coming from far above through walls of stone—the nephilim circling above the temple ruins.

  Elethor clenched his jaw. His dream faded, the last warmth of sunlight and Solina's embrace falling into a deep, throbbing cold.

  He grimaced. He had slept in his armor, and every muscle and joint in him groaned. The mossy brick walls pressed close around him. The root of a great tree thrust down through the ceiling, splitting the room. Behind the root, a dozen more Vir Requis huddled—the young twins and ten others who had scurried inside. They had been hiding here for six days now, drinking what rainwater dripped through the ceiling and eating only what supplies they had carried in their packs and pockets.

  The screech sounded again from outside, a cry torn in agony. The tunnel where they hid shook and moss rained from the ceiling's bricks.

  "Something is going on out there," grumbled Garvon. The leathery, one-eyed man huddled against a wall, his white beard caked with mud. "I don't like this."

  Elethor frowned and found himself agreeing. The past three days had been eerily silent. They had heard nephilim pacing and grunting outside, sometimes shrieking in rage. They had heard other Vir Requis shout from their own hideouts in abandoned cellars and halls. But this—this cry of agony—was new.

  "Something is hurting them," Elethor muttered. "That is no scream of rage or hunger. It's a scream of pain."

  Were the other Vir Requis emerging to fight? No; he heard no dragon roars. Did Bayrin return with the salvanae or Lyana with griffins? Elethor could not hear them either; salvanae bugled and sang in battle, and griffins let out eagle cries.

  Garvon rose to his feet. His hoary head nearly hit the ceiling. He drew his sword with a grunt.

  "Get ready," he said and spat. "They're planning something."

  The nephilim screeched again, and a new stench flared from outside, one of blood and sour milk and worms. Elethor could not see outside from here—the tunnel curved, sealing them in shadow. He began walking toward the bend. He had to look outside, to see what new devilry festered there.

  Garvon grabbed his shoulder. "I go first."

  The old man shoved Elethor back, trudged around him, and walked down the tunnel toward the exit. Elethor drew Ferus, his old longsword, and walked close behind. The stench invaded his nostrils as violently as demons thrusting into mortal women.

  The crumbly doorway stood before them, lichen hanging from the lintel. Elethor frowned and Garvon muttered. For the past three days, nephilim had stood here, reaching claws and teeth through the doorway like cats pawing at mouse holes. Today Elethor saw sunlight through the doorway, no claws or teeth blocking the exit. The screeches rose outside, and the stench of blood and rot swirled so powerfully Elethor nearly gagged.

  Garvon kept advancing toward the doorway, sword raised. Elethor walked close behind. Soon they stood in range of thrusting claws; Elethor saw their grooves cut into the walls and floor.

  "Careful, Garvon," he said.

  The old soldier froze, spat, and cursed. Elethor looked over Garvon's shoulder into the forest. He felt the blood leave his face.

  "Stars," he whispered.

  The nephilim stood in a ring outside between fallen statues, crumbling walls, and trees that grew from cracked flagstones. Between them lay a howling nephil. She was a female, Elethor saw; her rotted breasts hung loose like bags of sour milk, and her shrieks sounded almost human.

  They are half human, he remembered with a chill, the spawn of demons and human mothers.

  The female nephil dug her claws into the earth, tearing stone and root. Her screams rose. Her legs lay open, and blood sprayed from between them. She gave a great howl, and a warty head began to emerge from her womb. The mother screeched. Her spawn's head burst out, coated in blood and mucus, and screeched.

  "Stars damn it, oh stars damn it," Elethor hissed through clenched teeth.

  The nephil spawn thrust its claws out, tearing the opening wider. Its mother wept and screeched, and the nephilim around her roared and reached for the heavens. The spawn fell into the dirt, coated with blood, and bit off its umbilical cord. It stood the size of a man, its wings limp and dripping, its flesh already rotten and covered in boils. It wailed and leaped onto its mother. It grabbed onto her breast and began to feed, not drinking milk but tearing into the flesh, feasting like a wolf upon prey.

  Garvon growled low in his throat. "Bastards."

  More blood gushed from the mother.

  Another spawn began to emerge, wailing and clawing and biting its way out. Soon the second beast began to feast, ripping into its mother's flesh. Across the forest ruins, more shrieks sounded, followed by the shrill wails of spawn.

  "They're small enough to enter the tunnels," Elethor said softly.

  Garvon stared at him, teeth bared. "They're too young; they're babes."

  "Babes who are tearing apart grown nephilim and eating their flesh." He grabbed his shield from over his back and slung it onto h
is arm. "Garvon, I—"

  A squeal rose outside, cutting off his words. One of the spawn leaped off its mother, face smeared with blood, and stared right at them. Its eyes burned with white fire. Its lips pulled back, revealing long teeth like daggers. It came racing toward them, squealing and snapping its jaws.

  Garvon cursed and raised his sword.

  The spawn reached the doorway, leaped into the tunnel, and crashed onto the old man.

  Elethor yowled and thrust his sword, but could not reach the spawn without cutting Garvon too. The old soldier screamed and hacked at the creature; it was nearly as large as him. Garvon fell. The spawn opened its jaws wide, bit down, and tore into Garvon's head. With thick claws, it cracked the skull open and began to feast.

  Elethor screamed, heart thrashing, and thrust his sword.

  The blade slammed into the spawn's chest, and blood sprayed.

  The beast writhed upon the sword. It lashed out its claws, mewling. Elethor raised his shield, and the claws slammed into it, scattering chips of wood. Screaming hoarsely, his boots sticky with blood, Elethor pulled his blade back and swung it down. He cleaved the demon open from collarbone to navel, and centipedes fled from its body to scurry across the floor.

  Elethor gagged. His head spun. The spawn fell dead, and Elethor stepped toward the doorway and chanced a look outside. He cursed. More demon spawn were racing across the forest and leaping into burrows, doorways, and tunnels. Among the ruins, other pockets of surviving Vir Requis fought. They swung swords from under fallen statues and collapsing roofs. Beyond an expanse of trees rose a crumbling hall; great stone faces stared stoically from its walls, mossy and green with vines. Nephil spawn were climbing the walls and trying to crawl into holes and windows. Fire blasted from within, roasting the beasts; dragons hid inside.

  Shrieks sounded ahead. Elethor snarled. Two demon spawn came racing toward his tunnel, eyes blazing and teeth stained with blood.

  Elethor raised his sword. The two nephil infants crashed into him, jaws snapping; they were nearly his size.