A Night of Dragon Wings

by Daniel Arenson

  Teeth bit into his wings, and he dipped several feet. Spawn covered him, biting and clawing. Elethor growled and shook, but they clung to him. He crashed onto the forest floor, and the brood crawled over him like ants over a discarded piece of fruit. Elethor roared and rolled and blew flames, but the spawn seemed endless.

  Roars sounded above. A yellow dragon dived, shifted into human form, and leaped onto Elethor's back. It was Yar, the youth who had shared Elethor's tunnel for six days. He began swinging his sword, knocking the spawn off.

  "Yar, shift and blow fire!" Elethor shouted. "Help me hold them back."

  The boy nodded, leaped, and shifted back into dragon form. He and Elethor stood flanking the window, blowing flames at the encroaching spawn. Two walls of fire spread from the temple across the complex, creating a corridor.

  Dragons dived into the corridor of fire, shifted into humans, and began leaping through the window into the temple. Soon a dozen had entered, and more kept landing between the streams of flame. Elethor dug his claws into the earth; he had maybe a few more breaths of fire in him before he would need rest.

  Three young dragons landed in the corridor, shifted, and began running toward the window. An adult nephil swooped from above and tore into them. Its claws ripped them apart and the beast howled, tossing limbs aside like a child tossing toys.

  Elethor growled and turned his fire toward the beast, crossing his flames with Yar's. The nephil shrieked and burned. More came flying from Elethor's other side, and more spawn began crawling atop him. He roared and fell back against the temple, cracking the wall, and tore the beasts off. He looked up to see thousands fly toward him; they covered the ruins.

  "Yar, get inside!" he shouted. "Into the temple."

  The yellow dragon growled at his side, clawing at demon spawn. "Not without you, my king."

  "Go now, Yar! I'll hold them back. Go!"

  He trundled toward the boy, shaking spawn off his back, and whipped his tail, knocking more beasts off the yellow dragon's back.

  "Go!"

  Yar blasted fire at the sky, catching a diving nephil, and shifted. He leaped through the window into the temple.

  Elethor stood outside the walls, alone with the nephilim. The covered the ruins before him: the forest floor, the trees, the crumbled walls, and the sky. He could see nothing but them, a tapestry of the Abyss. Their eyes blazed, burning white. Their tongues lolled, raining drool. Some had swollen, distorted heads that leaked pus. Others had gaunt, long faces lined with spikes. Some had nothing but great mouths full of teeth, their entire heads made only of jaws.

  "Elethorrr…," one hissed, a great nephil that hovered among them. Its wings spread wide, and it sat upon a throne of flame. A halo of fire wreathed its brow, shrieking like a storm, and blood coated its maw. It was the largest among them, a leader of darkness.

  "You will leave this place," Elethor called to it, standing before the temple window. "You will return to the Abyss."

  The nephilim tossed their heads back and howled. They laughed and snapped their teeth and beat their wings. Severed heads and limbs cracked inside their jaws. Their leader rose higher upon a throne of fire. Its halo blazed white-hot.

  "I am Legion!" it screeched, its voice so loud and shrill, Elethor roared in pain and trees cracked across the ruins. "I am Prophet! I serve the great Queen Solina. I have feasted upon the sons of dragons. I will feast upon their king! Your doom is near, King Elethor of Requiem. Your blood will be my wine, and your spine will feed my children." It howled, pus and blood spraying from its maw. "The time of the dragon ends, King Elethor. Your kingdom is fallen. The world burns and we, the Fallen, feast. The nephilim rise!"

  All around Legion, the thousands of nephilim repeated the cry. "We rise! We rise! We feast!"

  How can we fight such evil? Elethor thought in a daze. His head spun. He felt weak. He could barely cling to his magic. How can we fight countless of these demons, creatures risen from ancient evil? How can Requiem survive such malice, such might?

  He thought of Lyana, his wife, the love and light of his life. He thought of Mori, his sister whom he had vowed to find. He thought of all those people who had died under his banner, and those who still lived behind him.

  I am still their king. Even now. Even as our light fades. If we die here, let us die with a roar that will sound across the world.

  He sounded his roar. He blew his fire at the Prophet of the Fallen. The blaze crashed into Legion, and the nephil screeched to the sky.

  Elethor shifted into human form and leaped through the window. He rolled into the temple and the arms of fellow survivors. At once two dragons thrust their heads to the window and shot fire outside, holding the swarm back.

  Elethor lay in human form, bruised and cut and bleeding. He struggled to his feet and looked around him. His breath left his lungs and the weight of mountains seemed to lie upon his shoulder.

  So few still live.

  Several hundred Vir Requis huddled here, bloodied and bruised, clinging to one another. This was all that remained of his father's nation. Dragons stood along the walls and clung to the ceiling, blowing fire outside, holding the nephilim back.

  But they will break in, Elethor thought. They will break these walls and they will tear us apart—elders, mothers, children. They will feed the horde and King's Column will fall.

  "Come back to us, Lyana," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Come back to us, Bayrin. Bring what aid you can. We cannot wait."

  He didn't even know if his friends could find them now. If Bayrin and Lyana returned to their abandoned camp, would they know to head to Bar Luan? Were they alone here, and no aid could reach them?

  The sun set outside. Darkness covered the world. The nephilim howled and slammed against the walls. Dust and moss fell and babes wept. Fire blew. Elethor shifted back into dragon form and replaced a young dragon at a window. He blew his fire, not knowing if they'd last the night.

  LYANA

  They flew north across the plains, heading toward the ancient capital of Osanna, and found it burning.

  Lyana had been to this place, the legendary city of Confutatis, many times. She had flown here with her father to visit the king of men, a wise old grandfather with a flowing white beard but pitch-black eyebrows. The people of Osanna had no magic; they could not become dragons like the children of Requiem, but rode horses and shot arrows, forged steel and wove silk, wrote ancient books and studied the stars. They were an ancient race—their history stretched back as far as Requiem's—and wise.

  As a youth, Lyana had read many stories of Confutatis, the White City: how the twins Osira and Osari had founded the city, carving its first bricks three thousand years ago; how Confutatis grew from a simple village of farmers to a great metropolis of towers, amphitheaters, castles, and a million souls; and of course, how the tyrant Dies Irae conquered Confutatis, forged his center of power here, and led the griffins from this place to destroy Requiem, leaving only the Living Seven among the ruins. Confutatis was a city of ancient secrets, of old blood, of steel and light and stone. For three hundred years now, the priest-kings of the Earth God had ruled here, honoring a strong alliance with Requiem—an alliance Lyana was depending on.

  And today… today when she needed this city's strength most, she found its walls crumbling.

  She still flew several miles away, and shadows still cloaked the world; dawn had just begun to rise. But dragon eyes were sharp, and Lyana snarled. A hundred nephilim encircled the city, tearing down walls and towers with claw and tooth. Arrows rained upon them from the battlements. More nephilim flew above, dipping to claw at soldiers who manned towers or ran along snaking streets. Three nephilim barreled into one of those towers, a great spire of marble and gold; it crashed onto the streets below, burying men beneath it.

  Stars, Lyana thought, is no place upon this earth safe anymore? Solina's arm had grown long enough to cross desert, sea, forest, and plains, even to this distant northern city.

  She turned to look at the dr
agons who flew around her. Dorin flew to her right, an old red dragon with no back legs, his wings whistling with holes. At her left flew Gar, the young miner, a burly bronze dragon with fire in his jaws. Behind them flew the survivors of Second Haven: three thousand men, women, and children. Their eyes widened with fear, and they blasted fire.

  Lyana raised her voice and cried to them.

  "Soldiers ahead!" she shouted, smoke fuming from her nostrils and mouth. "Women and children behind. Battle formations—like we drilled. Go!"

  Wings creaking, Dorin snarled at her. His eyes blazed.

  "You will lead our last survivors to die upon the walls of a foreign city?" He turned to the dragons behind them. "Dragons of Second Haven! This is not our war. We have come for aid; we find death. Fly back! Back to the forests! To—"

  Lyana slammed into him, shoving him into a tumble. He glared and snapped at her, and she pulled back and hissed. Flames sparked between her teeth. She and Dorin circled each other in the sky, glaring and snorting smoke and flames.

  "You have played your little games of dominion, Legless Lord," she said, spitting out the last words mockingly. "Yet Confutatis still stands; she is besieged but still fights. We will fly to her aid."

  She looked back at the battle. Trebuchets swung upon the city walls, tossing boulders onto the Fallen Horde. One boulder crashed into a nephil, crushing the beast upon the plains like a great insect. Other nephilim still swooped above the city, lifting men from towers and feasting upon them. Arrows thrust out from the creatures, but seemed barely to faze them; their hunger was too great. Some soldiers of Osanna upon the walls, tall men clad in steel, saw the dragons and raised a cry.

  "Requiem!" they cried. "Requiem flies to our aid!"

  The nephilim screeched, turned, and saw the dragons too. They raised their arms and howled, and a city wall cracked, and the land itself shook. Dozens of the creatures began flying south toward Lyana, Dorin, and the thousands behind them.

  "We flee now!" Dorin said, glaring at Lyana. "That is my order; these are my people."

  Lyana looked back at the dragons; they hovered in midair, torn between their queen and their new lord. She looked at the nephilim; they flew across the plains, bat wings beating, teeth bared and glinting in the small morning sun.

  "Dorin," she said softly. "Dorin, I led your son in battle."

  His eyes narrowed. He sucked in his breath. Smoke plumed from his clenched jaw.

  "He was brave," Lyana said softly as the nephil horde approached. "He was among the bravest dragons I knew. He charged into the host of phoenixes, and… I could not save him. But he saved me. He saved many."

  Dorin hissed and flames shot from his mouth. "You will not mention my son! You—"

  "Dorin, do not flee from this battle. If truly you lead these people, you must fight for them." She looked back at the nephilim; they flew only a mile away now. Her jaw twisted into a crooked smile. "We can take them."

  Dorin stared at her. He stared at the dragons behind him. He stared at the enemy and grunted. Finally he bucked and roared.

  "Dragons of Second Haven! Leave none alive!" He blew his fire, clawed the sky, and charged toward the horde. "Slay them!"

  A hundred dragons, warriors of Second Haven, sounded their cry and charged.

  The nephilim crashed into them.

  Lyana blew fire. She slammed her tail's spikes into one nephil's head, punching through its skull. Her claws slashed another. Three nephilim crashed onto her, clinging like spiders onto their prey, and teeth punched through her scales. She roared and clawed at them, dipping in the sky. Another soared from below and slammed into her belly. The beasts enveloped her, crushing her and biting, and she howled.

  Stars damn it.

  With a deep breath, she shifted into human form.

  She slipped between their claws and tumbled toward the ground.

  Wind roared. The nephilim shrieked above and swooped. Before she could hit the ground, Lyana shifted back into a dragon and soared, shooting fire. Her blaze caught the swooping nephilim and she knocked between them, clawing their burning forms. They fell around her, blood and worms spilling from their wounds.

  She soared to fight among her comrades. The dragons flew back and forth, blazing their fire. These ones had survived the phoenixes, the wyverns, and the attacks on Second Haven; they were scarred and battle-hardened, and they killed with grim intent. Nephilim fell before them, blazing.

  A few of the beasts dipped, flew beneath the warrior dragons, and crashed into the women, children, and elders. Screams rose. Claws dug into dragon flesh. Dragons returned to human form and tumbled, and nephilim caught them in their jaws and feasted.

  Lyana howled.

  "Circle the group!" she shouted to her fellow warriors. "Above and below!"

  She swooped, slashed a nephil's swollen head, and flew under the mothers and children. Nephilim swarmed her way; she blazed them with flames, and above her, the young dragons screamed. At her sides flew the other warriors, circling the weaker dragons, forming a shield of scale and flame around them. The nephilim kept charging at them. The dragons kept blowing their flames.

  Finally only three nephilim remained. They howled, spraying fountains of saliva. One reached out and grabbed the leg of an old, female dragon. He pulled her from the protective ring and bit deep, and the old dragon returned to human form. The nephilim tore her apart and fed upon her.

  Lyana roared and charged at them. Fire blazed at her side; Dorin flew there, howling. The two dragons—blue and red—crashed into the feasting nephilim, clawing and biting and thrusting their horns. The beasts fell dead, and Lyana roared to the sky.

  She looked back at her people. Some had fallen; their bodies lay upon the fields below. Most still flew, scales splashed with blood and soot. Heart hammering, Lyana whipped her head back toward the city. Dozens of nephilim still flew above the walls, insects above a prized morsel.

  "To Confutatis!" Lyana cried and roared a pillar of flame. "Slay the beasts upon the walls and towers!"

  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 lande
d 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."