Crown of Dragonfire

by Daniel Arenson

  For just an instant, Meliora felt a sense of relief, of safety . . . and then she heard the creaking.

  "Oh stars," Elory whispered, reaching out to grasp Meliora's hand.

  Slowly, Meliora turned around from the door. She felt the blood drain from her face.

  The chamber was large and round, surrounded with decorative columns carved into the walls. Old bones and skulls lay strewn across the floor. In the chamber's center rose a stone dais, and a great wheel of fire surrounded it, spinning and casting out light. In the center of the fire stood four creatures, glittering like burnished bronze.

  They had the bodies of men but cloven hooves, and each had four faces and four wings. One was the face of a man, the second of a goat, the third of a lion, and the fourth of an eagle. The creatures were joined to one another by the tips of their wings, forcing them to stand abreast. Eyes blinked all across those wings, gazing in all directions.

  "The Living Creatures," Meliora whispered. "They still exist."

  Lucem leaned toward her. "The sky is up, Mel. The sky is up."

  The Living Creatures took a step forward across their stone dais. Their four bodies moved as one, connected at the wings. Their many heads stared, and the eyes upon their wings blinked. Not only the flaming wheel cast light, but the creatures' bronze bodies emitted a light of their own, searing and cruel.

  "Living Creatures!" Meliora said, kneeling before them. "We are Vir Requis, children of the stars, natives of this world. We come to praise your name! We—"

  "You are of Saraph."

  The sixteen heads spoke together—lions, goats, eagles, and men all uttering the words as one. The voices were deep, echoing, metallic, voices from another world.

  "I am Vir Requis—" Meliora began.

  The heads creaked, turning toward her, the eyes glittering. The Living Creatures took another step forward, and their arms rose, tipped with crimson claws. "We smell the smell of Saraph. We see the halo burn. The foul seraphim, traitors of the gods—we fed upon them. Yet they imprisoned us in stone. For five thousand years we lingered here, buried alive, but we never forgot your scent. The stench of betrayal. The stench of traitors." The flaming wheels spun madly around the creatures. Their claws rose, pointing at her, and the creatures' eyes blazed, casting out white light. "You will burn in the wheel of fire!"

  The flaming wheel spun madly, then rose to hover above the Living Creatures like a crown, like the halo above Meliora's own head. They stepped off the dais, advancing toward her.

  "You will not touch her!" Elory shouted, racing forward and raising her sickle.

  Lucem ran forth too, hefting his spear. "You stand before the Queen of Requiem, Living Creatures. She is not yours to touch."

  The Living Creatures raised their claws higher, and blasts of light and heat rippled out, slamming into Elory and Lucem. They cried out and fell, banging against the stone floor. The wheel crackled madly, and heat drenched the room. Meliora fell back against the closed stone door.

  "Stop this!" she cried. "Living Creatures, I have no wings! Seraphim have wings, yet I have none." She spun around to show them her back, then faced them again. "Seraphim bear halos of soft light, yet mine is a halo of fire—much like the wheel that burns above you. I praise you, Living Creatures! I kneel before you. I—"

  "Silence!" they cried. "We smell your stench. We smell the blood of seraphim. The air reeks with you. And so you will die, seraph child, for your kind betrayed the Eight Gods. You have entered your tomb."

  Elory and Lucem leaped forward.

  "Requiem!" they cried together, charging with their weapons.

  The Living Creatures roared, a sound that pounded across the chamber, rippling the air. Energy blasted out from them, slamming into Elory and Lucem, lifting them into the air, slamming them against the walls. Elory screamed and fell, fresh blood gushing from the wound of her severed ear. Lucem's head slammed against the wall, and he moaned and slumped down. And still the Living Creatures advanced toward Meliora, the four bodies moving together, the eyes glaring, the crimson claws rising to strike.

  "Die," they hissed. "Die . . . die . . ."

  Meliora stared at them, her meager halo's light drowned beneath their eternal flame. In the distance, barely audible, she heard other screams, heard claws against stone, the cackles of the hungry.

  "You speak of smelling seraphim," Meliora said. "And you are correct. But that stench is not from me." She reached behind her and grabbed the stone door. "Saraph invades your tomb! I reveal to you the traitors!"

  She tugged the stone door open again.

  Behind her, in the corridor, wailed the dark seraphim.

  "Seraphim, seraphim!" cried the Living Creatures. "Traitors with dark wings!"

  Meliora leaped aside, scurried toward Lucem and Elory, and knelt by them.

  The Living Creatures blazed with rage, fire blasting from their wheel, their bronze bodies casting out lightning. They charged, claws lashing, crying out in rage. The dark seraphim screamed, covered their eyes, fell back.

  "The Living Creatures!" they cried. "The vengeance of the gods!"

  Meliora shielded Lucem and Elory with her body, watching the devastation unfold.

  A few dark seraphim charged into the room, flying toward the Living Creatures with lashing claws and snapping teeth. The Living Creatures' wheel of fire spun madly, casting out flames, slamming them into the dark seraphim. Lightning bolts blasted from the bronze bodies of the creatures, and their many mouths opened to scream.

  One dark seraph fell, clutching its chest. Another slammed against the wall, cracking its armor. And still the fire blazed and lightning struck. Meliora pushed herself deeper into the corner, covering her eyes against the terrible light.

  "Traitors to the gods!" cried the Living Creatures. "Dark ones, foul ones, cursed ones! The betrayers of Edinnu shall perish."

  Another dark seraph crashed down, armor split open. The Living Creatures grabbed the man, pulled him up, tore him open, and the animal heads ripped through the flesh.

  The Living Creatures made for the doorway, and for the first time in five thousand years, they left the stone prison. With their wings connected, they had to turn sideways, walking like crabs through the round opening. Still their fire and lightning blasted out, knocking dark seraphim aside. The cursed ones screamed in pain, burning, falling before the wrath of the gods.

  "Come on!" Meliora said, grabbing Elory and Lucem and hoisting them to their feet. "We're getting out of here."

  The two swayed, bloodied and bruised, but managed to heft their weapons and nod. Swinging her sword before her, Meliora leaped out the round doorway after the Living Creatures. Elory and Lucem followed, holding hands and swinging their own weapons.

  The nave spread before them, large as an imperial hall. The Living Creatures were moving forward, their four bodies abreast, the eyes upon their connected wings blinking and casting out streamers of light. The luminous strands slammed into dark seraphim, cracking their armor. Another one of the cursed deities fell, gushing out the golden ichor of Saraph. The surviving dark seraphim flew in the chamber, swinging their sickles, chopping at the Living Creatures, but the godly warriors' bodies were like bronze, and the sickles sparked against them but could not cut them.

  Above all soared Leyleet, Queen of the Dark. Her wings were spread wide, and the fire blazed across her, but she only laughed, her eyes alight.

  "The gods are fools!" She cackled. "I spit upon the Eight Gods. I will slay their champions like a child slays ants."

  The dark queen swooped, face twisted with rage, swinging her sickle at the Living Creatures, blasting out dark fire from her eyes. The gods of vengeance turned toward her as one, raising their claws, casting out their light. The flames exploded and the nave shook. Cracks ran across the walls and stones fell from the ceiling.

  "Run!" Meliora shouted, racing through the battle.

  Elory and Lucem ran at her side. They raced around the Living Creatures, and Meliora ducked as a blast of
lightning flew over her head. Elory yelped and leaped aside, dodging a roaring pillar of fire. The walls kept shaking and boulders fell from above. One stone landed before Meliora and shattered, and she leaped over the debris.

  "The traitors will die!" cried the Living Creatures, sixteen heads speaking together. "The cursed shall be cleansed from the earth."

  Meliora kept running. A dark seraph swooped, sickle flashing. Meliora swung the Amber Sword, diverting the blow with a shower of sparks. Another dark seraph flew toward Lucem, and he roared and thrust his spear, knocking it back. Still the fire and light of the Living Creatures filled the hall, their bronze bodies gleaming, their heads roaring and shrieking, and their hooves shattered the floor as they advanced.

  As they kept running, Meliora saw the tunnel taper ahead, leading to a narrow corridor. If they could just enter there, make their way into the shadows . . .

  A great shriek pierced the hall. Wreathed in black fire, eyes blazing white like stars, Leyleet swooped toward them. A wound still gushed on her thigh from Elory's sword.

  "For Requiem!" Meliora cried. A boulder crashed down before her. She leaped onto it and vaulted through the air.

  Leyleet flew toward her, sickle flashing.

  With a scream, Meliora—still airborne—swung her blade. The Amber Sword arched. The sickle lashed. Meliora ducked her head, and the blade scraped across the top of her hair, shearing the stubble even shorter. The Amber Sword slammed into Leyleet's armor and knocked the dark queen back, cracking her breastplate. With a shout below, Lucem tossed his spear, and the weapon flew and slammed into Leyleet's chest, digging into her flesh.

  Meliora landed on the ground.

  Leyleet screeched.

  Meliora ran, pulling Elory and Lucem with her, and they leaped into the tunnel ahead. Light flashed and fire blazed as the Living Creatures charged, and Leyleet screamed again, awash in their rage, her voice rising so loudly the walls crumbled and boulders rained.

  Leaving the fire behind, Meliora, Lucem, and Elory raced through the narrow tunnel, breath ragged. When the way forked, Meliora looked for her pieces of cloth, though she hardly needed to; the acrid stench of the dark seraphim, the very stench that had saved her life, was a better path.

  Finally they saw daylight ahead, and they burst outside onto hills and mountains awash with sunbeams. The landscape spread into the horizons, barren, lifeless, and beautiful.

  We're alive. Oh stars, we're alive. There is still hope for Requiem.

  Elory fell to her knees, breathing raggedly, blood staining her neck and shoulder. In the daylight, Meliora could see that at least half the ear was gone; only a shell remained around the canal. Lucem gasped for breath; a thousand cuts and bruises covered him. Meliora's own clothes were bloody, and the wounds on her cheek blazed like embers pressed against her face.

  "Elory, up." Meliora reached down to her. "On your feet, Elory. Now."

  Lucem glared. "She's hurt."

  "She'll be more than hurt if we don't move. We don't yet know who'll win the battle in the caves. If Leyleet is still alive, if she triumphs, she'll never stop hunting us. Elory, up! Lucem, help her. Carry her if you must. We must move."

  Shuddering, her breath sawing, Elory rose to her feet. Lucem wrapped an arm around her, and she slung her arms around his neck. Meliora led the way. They raced across the hills, heading down into a valley, then up another slope. The sunlight blazed down, drenching them with sweat. From the cave the echoes of battle still sounded.

  As they ran, Meliora stared ahead into the northwest. Somewhere there, beyond the hazy white horizon, it lay. The mountain of Khalish. The Keymaker. Hope for a crumbling nation. They raced onward.

  JAREN

  It was past midnight when the door creaked open and evil, cloaked and hooded, entered Jaren's hut.

  Jaren had been up most of the night, healing the wounded of Tofet, guiding the dying to their rest, and whispering words of comfort to the grieving. Every night now, more wounded visited his door, and more dead piled up, a slow genocide, the old, the weak, the young, all perishing under the whips and heels of Saraph. Under Queen Kalafi's rule, the slaves had labored to build great monuments, and while they suffered, the queen had cared to keep most of them alive, to keep her labor force at work.

  But Ishtafel, it seemed, delighted in torture for its own sake, delighted in working more and more slaves to death every day. And every day it was Jaren who prayed over the pits of the dead.

  Days of labor in the heat. Nights of healing and prayer. A slow agony, a slow dying, an endless waiting for hope that might never come, for children who might never return. The torturous wait for an ancient race to fall—not in battle, not in glory, but a death stretched out, twisted, with more hope for the relief of death than for a savior.

  Jaren lay on the straw on the floor. Shivering even in the heat. Alone in darkness.

  "Be safe, Meliora, Vale, Elory," he whispered. "Return to me. Return with the treasures or return with your lives. We all pray for you, my children. We—"

  The creaking door interrupted him.

  Jaren pushed himself onto his elbows as the wooden door opened. A cloaked shadow stood outside, holding a lamp.

  "Kerish, is that you?" Jaren asked, rising to his feet. "Is the wound on your leg still aching, is—"

  The figure stepped into the hut, and Jaren lost his breath. Golden eyes blazed within the figure's hood, the pupils shaped as sunbursts casting out their rays.

  A seraph.

  "My lord!" Jaren said. "How may I serve you? I—"

  The seraph pulled back his hood, and Jaren lost his breath.

  A cold, handsome face stared back at him, ageless yet ancient. The jaw was square, the hair golden. An ugly scar rifted the man's face, crawling from the corner of the jaw, across the nose, and onto the brow—the mark of a flaming halo pressed against the flesh. The seraph's eyes were like flames themselves, horrible to behold, yet cold, soulless, the eyes of a beast.

  Ishtafel.

  "My lord," Jaren whispered, kneeling before him.

  Every fiber inside of Jaren screamed. He wanted to charge at Ishtafel, to pummel him. He still had some strength in him. He wanted to grab the seraph's neck, to squeeze, to crush.

  You murdered my wife, Ishtafel thought, trembling. You kidnapped my daughter and tried to rape her. You nailed my son to the ziggurat's crest. You murdered a hundred thousand of my people. His breath shook. You destroyed Requiem and put a nation in chains.

  "Yes," Ishtafel hissed, looking down at him. "I see the rage in you, the hatred. That's good. Hatred will keep you alive more than hope, more than prayer. And it makes this little game so much more fun. Rise, Jaren Aeternum. That is your name, is it not?"

  Jaren rose to his feet, unable to douse the rage inside him, but knowing that this seraph could shatter his bones like a child snapping twigs, knowing that he had to live, that he had to survive this night. For his children. For all the wounded who still needed him.

  "Yes, my lord," he whispered.

  Ishtafel nodded, lips stretching into a thin smile. "Aeternum, Aeternum . . . the name of an old weredragon dynasty, is it not? Your family once ruled the throne of the reptilian kingdom."

  "That was a long time ago, my lord."

  Ishtafel frowned. "And yet . . . and yet you long for those days to return, do you not?" He glanced up at the ceiling, at the Draco constellation that was engraved there. "You still dream of Requiem, I see."

  Jaren lowered his head. "A man can still dream, my lord, even while serving."

  Ishtafel's hand reached out, fast as a striking snake, and grabbed Jaren's throat. The fingers squeezed.

  Jaren gasped for breath. Stars spread before his eyes. The tendons in his neck creaked. Bringing his face close, Ishtafel snarled, and now those eyes blazed with unadulterated hatred.

  "You sent your children into the wild," he hissed. "Vale, the worm I pinned to my palace. Elory, the pathetic little wench who fled my bed. And Meliora . . . sweetest Meliora
, my sister, your daughter." Ishtafel barked a laugh. "That makes us related, doesn't it, old man? You bedded my mother, didn't you? She was a fine woman. Beautiful. Lovely teats I loved to suck on myself as a baby. Of course, I enjoyed sucking her blood more."

  "My—my lord!" Jaren managed. "If you would kill me, then kill me. I—"

  Ishtafel released his grip, tossing Jaren down. He fell to his knees, clutched his throat, gasped for breath.

  "Kill you?" Ishtafel laughed. "But then my fun would end! How would I torture you if you were dead? No, old man." Ishtafel drove down his heel, stomping Jaren's wrist, pinning his hand down, creaking the bones. "I want you to live, Jaren Aeternum. I want you to live to see your people die, your children suffer, your nation collapse."

  "Why?" Jaren whispered, hoarse, his wrist twisted under Ishtafel's boot. "We build you monuments. We dig bitumen. Why—"

  "I need no more monuments, old man. All my work in this world is completed, all my enemies conquered. But now I found a new task, a new game. To slowly destroy Requiem. Life by life. A slow death." Ishtafel licked his lips. "And you will be the last to die, heir of reptilian kings."

  Ishtafel released his heel, and Jaren pulled his wounded arm to his chest, cradling the wrist. "Is that why you came here?" Jaren whispered, staring at Ishtafel. "To tell me that?"

  Ishtafel raised his eyebrows. "Oh, but that would be so rude! To simply come unannounced to bandy words? No, Jaren. I came here to bring you something. A gift." He reached into his cloak, pulled out a bundle of cloth, and tossed it at Jaren. "A memento from Elory. Enjoy what remains of her, for you won't see the rest of her again."

  With that, Ishtafel turned and marched out of the hut.

  Jaren didn't want to look, didn't want to know, but his fingers seemed to move on their own, unfolding the bundle.

  His breath caught and he wrapped up the cloth again. He closed his eyes, but he still saw it there: a bloody ear. Elory's ear.

  His breath burst into a pant now, his heart into a gallop, and the hut spun around him.

  Elory . . . oh stars, Elory . . .