A Night of Dragon Wings (Dragonlore, Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  "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?"

  She raised her chin at him. "Probably having a rougher time than you, Bayrin Eleison. Now sit down and don't be rude. We have a council to attend."

  Blinking in amazement, Bayrin landed upon one of the boulders. His tail flicked against the grass below, and a silvery rune glowed upon his perch, warming him. Mori landed upon another stone, and the high priest Nehushtan flew to hover above another. All the stones were now occupied, the stars shone, and the council began.

  "An ancient evil has fallen upon our land," said Nehushtan. He blinked, and his great white lashes fanned the grass below. "Thousands of winters have passed since blood spilled in our land, and we were young. We saw the demons of the Abyss rise to crawl upon the earth, and we saw them choose mortal brides. We watched, weeping, as their spawn grew into rotted giants, as the Fallen Ones—the nephilim—roamed the world, neither men nor demons, half-breeds torn in anguish. We watched them burn trees, smash rocks, and feast upon living flesh. We fought them. We slew them. Now they rise again, and we weep, for our sons and daughters have fallen and now fly among the stars."

  The salvanae all looked up toward the Draco constellation and sang prayers, for the true dragons—like the Vir Requis—worshipped the stars of Draco.

  They too are Draco's children, Bayrin thought. They too are dragons. They are cousins to us Vir Requis—different from us, but sharing our light. He sang their prayers with them.

  As they sang to the stars, he looked at Mori. She sat beside him upon a boulder engraved with a crescent rune. She was looking skyward, and the starlight glimmered in her eyes and upon her scales. Warmth filled Bayrin in the cold night. He reached out his tail and coiled it around hers. She looked at him softly and nodded, and their tails braided together in a warm grip.

  Other dragons spoke next. Treale spoke of seeing Solina raise these beasts in Irys, capital of her desert realm, and send them to feed upon dragon flesh. Piri spoke too, talking of King Elethor and his camp in the eastern forests where a thousand Vir Requis lived. Finally Bayrin himself spoke, describing Elethor's wrath and plans to invade Tiranor and slay its queen. Only Mori did not speak, but every time the word nephilim was uttered, she gave his tail a squeeze.

  The salvanae elders talked too. They talked as the stars wheeled above: of Solina's evil, of the souls of the fallen, of the sadness in their hearts. They bugled to the sky their rage and mourning.

  Bayrin listened to them pray, talk, and sing, and slowly fire grew inside him. He mourned too—for his slain parents, for his fallen friends, for his kingdom that lay in ruins. Yet perched here upon this stone, he found mostly rage inside him—a rage against Solina's cruelty and the murder of so many. Finally he could bear it no longer. He released Mori's tail. With three great flaps of his wings, he rose to hover above the henge, and he blasted fire skyward.

  "Hear me!" he said. "We have mourned here for hours, and the stars have turned; soon dawn will rise. I'm done weeping! Solina brought death here. She bought blood and misery. I say we repay her in kind." He blasted more flames; they danced against the dragons' scales. "I am a warrior of Draco. You can fight too. Fly east with me to King Elethor and his camp. We'll join our forces there, and we'll fly south as one… and we'll slay this mad queen upon her desert." He sounded his roar. "What say you?"

  At his right side, Piri and Treale both snarled, flapped their own wings, and tossed their heads back. Lavender and black dragons, they blew pillars of fire skyward. Heat blasted Bayrin to his left, and he turned to see Mori roaring her own fire. Bayrin joined his fire to theirs. Four flaming pillars crackled and spun and blasted heat, and the dragons of Requiem sounded their roars.

  The salvanae looked at one another, and their bushy eyebrows furrowed. They were peaceful beings, wise and ancient and sad, and yet now their lips peeled back, and their fangs shone, and they became terrible to behold. A fire burned in their eyes, and lightning crackled in their maws, and for the first time, Bayrin saw them not as old wise priests, but as warriors.

  They tossed back their heads and roared their wrath, and they shot lighting to the stars.

  "We will fly!" they cried. "We will fly! We will avenge our brothers. We will fly!"

  Their roars seemed to shake the forest, and Bayrin grinned as his flames flowed.

  Yes, he thought. Yes. To fire. To blood. To ruin. To the desert and to Queen Solina.

  "We will fly!"

  SOLINA

  In the bowels of the Palace of Whispers, she sat in a hall of stone and shadow. Nephilim swarmed around her. They scuttled across the dusty mosaic floors, clung to the ceiling like bats, and climbed the limestone columns. Three knelt beneath her, heads downcast and wings splayed out; they formed her new throne, a seat of living rot and scale and bone. The spine ridges of two beasts formed her armrests, and their claws formed the legs of her chair; a third nephil rose behind her, a backrest of scales and boils, and its head drooled and hissed above her own.

  "Children!" Solina cried, her voice ringing across the hall. "Feast! Feast upon the bones."

  They howled and fed upon the bones of prisoners she had tossed them, cracking them open to suck the marrow. This chamber, here in this desert palace, loomed thrice the size of her throne room in Irys; ten thousand nephilim fit inside it. They roared all around, drooling and screeching and clawing the floor and walls. Solina imagined that their cries carried to every hall, tunnel, and chamber throughout this great palace—an edifice the size of a city. Their cry would ring across the desert too—across the world.

  "Do you hear it too, Elethor?" she whispered. "Do they scream for you?"

  The nephilim that formed her throne cawed and writhed, and she stroked them. They drooled and their white eyes narrowed. She had sent Legion himself, king of these beasts, to fetch her beloved. She had sent more to every corner of the world: to the wilderness of Salvandos where true dragons flew, to the plains and cities of Osanna where men rode upon horses and knew no magic, and even to the distant isles where griffins flew.

  "You will find no place to hide, Elethor," she said, stroking the nephilim she sat upon. "In every corner of this world, my children will hunt you. Any allies you enlist, my children will kill them. You cannot stop them. You cannot hide from me." She clenched her fists and grinned. "I will bring you here."

  She stood upon her throne of living flesh and raised her arms. All around her, the Fallen Horde flew in a storm, wings beating and teeth snapping.

  "The flesh
of the world is ours!" she called. "The bones of your enemies will be your prize! We will never fall!"

  They howled around her, a myriad of demons, bodies lanky and rotted like corpses, wings full of holes, mouths full of blood. They roared and praised her name, and the chamber shook.

  "Hail Solina! Hail the Golden Goddess! We are free!"

  She walked down a nephil's spine as if descending stairs, crossed the hall between the beasts, and left the chamber. When she closed the doors behind her, she could still hear them sing her name and growl and feast.

  Solina walked down a corridor of shadows. She gripped her twin sabers at her sides, and her lips tightened. She had her power. She had her glory. But one thing she still missed; one prize she would still claim.

  She walked through the palace for a long time.

  She walked down hallways where dust and cobwebs covered old murals of beasts and men. She climbed chipped staircases lined with statues of slender, solemn Ancients, their heads oval and their eyes staring. Finally, after what seemed like miles, she stepped through a doorway into the Hall of Memories.

  She stood before the great, dark cavern and a shiver ran through her.

  The chamber was vast, larger even than her throne room; she could have fit a palace in here. Columns surrounded the chamber in a ring, supporting a shadowy, domed ceiling. Below the doorway spread a black pit; the bases of the columns faded there into shadow. Solina had tossed stones into that pit before and could not hear them hit the bottom; perhaps there was no bottom and the darkness led to the Abyss itself.

  In the center of the chamber, a great stone well rose from the darkness like a tower rising from a moat. A bridge crossed the pit, leading from the doorway where Solina stood to the towering well. She began to walk. The stone bridge was narrow, barely wide enough for her to cross. On both sides loomed the pit; cold air rose from those shadows to sting her cheeks. The columns that surrounded the chasm frowned upon her, ancient sentinels of stone. The hall was so silent Solina could hear her own heartbeat.