A harpy streamed above him, and Lucem ducked, cringed, blasted his fire. A dragon stormed forth, crashing into the beast. Thousands of others fought all around him, slamming together, blood and fire and ice surrounding them.
I'm not a hero, Lucem thought. I've never been a hero. All I did was escape Tofet. All I did was flee.
Now he just wanted to flee again.
Another harpy drove forward, grabbed a young dragon, and tore her apart. Scaly limbs fell, becoming human again before they hit the trees. The girl still lived, limbless and screaming, until the harpy ripped into the torso. Three more harpies stormed downward, and their talons thrust, piercing the chests of dragons that rose to meet them, emerging from their scaly backs.
Lucem dipped lower in the sky.
He flew down to hover over the treetops.
I can run between the trees. I can escape. I can hide.
He trembled. He had survived one tragedy before. He had been the only Vir Requis to have fled the seraphim, to have found safety, found life. Here was just more death, more disaster, and he could flee this time too, he could again be the one who made it out. He could find a new cave here, maybe make his way south and return to his old cave, or—
A cry above, high and pained, tore through his thoughts.
He stared above and saw her there, fighting above him, a slender lavender dragon blowing yellow fire.
Elory.
And she was hurt.
A harpy talon had scratched her leg, and her blood dripped. Several of the rancid beasts surrounded Elory now, reaching out more talons. The lavender dragon spurted her fire and swung her tail, struggling to hold them back.
Lucem's fear vanished under a wave of guilt.
I abandoned my people ten years ago. I will not do it again. I will never more leave those I love.
He howled and soared.
His fire blazed skyward.
Several harpies dived down to meet him. Their wings spread wide, dripping disease. They had no arms, but their talons stretched down, massive and gleaming. Their shrieks tore at his ears.
I fought dark seraphim. I slew archangels and a massive bird the size of a mountain. And I will slay these beasts.
His dragonfire slammed into one harpy, igniting the foul creature's feathers. Lucem curved his flight, dodging reaching talons. One harpy managed to slam into him, and her teeth dug into Lucem's shoulder. The snakes on her head bit too. Lucem roared and clawed at the wrinkled, feathered skin, tore the creature off, and blasted his fire.
The harpy fell, and Lucem kept rising. His tail whipped around him, knocking back other harpies; each of the creatures was larger than him.
"Elory!" he cried.
She still fought two harpies, and several of her scales were missing. Lucem roared out dragonfire, torching one of the creatures attacking her. The massive beast, half crone and half vulture, blazed and screeched, a great firebird. Elory blew her own flames, burning the second harpy. Their tails whipped side by side, knocking the creatures through the sky.
Harpies fell around them, and the two dragons roared, back to back. Around them, countless harpies and dragons still flew.
"Elory, are you all right?" he shouted, looking over his shoulder at her.
"You mean besides facing a million harpies? Yes, splendid!"
I love that dragon more than life, Lucem thought. I will never leave her. I would die for her.
"Ready to kill those million harpies?" he said. "Just you and me! It'll be romantic."
Elory blasted out fire at one of the creatures, knocking it back in the sky. "Shouldn't we leave some for the others?"
"To the Abyss with them." Lucem raised his claws, and his wings beat back clouds of icy fog. "Half a million for me, half a million for you. Let's keep score!"
They roared and flew together, charging into the enemy.
Dragons fell around them. Countless harpies hid the sky, driving toward them, flying in from all sides, shattering the forest, shattering the sky.
And Lucem knew that he would die here.
He knew that this was real, not a nightmare, but that Requiem herself had always been a dream, a brief moment of wonder, a reality they could never claim.
Requiem lived for a day, he thought. And I am proud to die for her. A single day here in our land, fighting by Elory, is worth ten thousand days in a cave.
The icicles slammed into him. The fog froze his wings, and the leathern membranes tore when he tried to flap them. Talons tore at his dragon armor, and more harpies kept attacking, and more dragons kept falling. Elory cried out at his side, overcome by the creatures, her fire down to sparks, her claws bloody, her armor cracked.
"I love you, Elory," he said, blood on his scales, tears in his eyes.
"I love you, Lucem." She wept as she fought. "Always. In this Requiem and the Requiem beyond the stars."
The harpies slammed into Lucem, laughing, ripping at his scales, at his flesh, eating, drinking him. Great jaws closed around his leg, and pain washed over him. A dozen more harpies crashed into him, and he tried to claw them, and the teeth sank deeper into his leg.
It's here.
He convulsed, crying out.
This is the end. My death.
"Elory!" he cried. "Elory, look away. I love you. I lo—"
The jaws snapped shut tightly around his leg, tugging back, ripping off the limb, exposing and snapping the bone.
Lucem screamed.
He fell as a man.
Terror pulsed through him, but relief too. It was over. It was over . . .
His eyes darkened. He caught just a glimpse of lavender scales, of sputtering fire, heard Elory calling him . . . but then the harpies flowed across her, and she vanished in their cloud of feathers. And then Lucem saw and heard nothing more.
I love you, Elory. I love you more than Requiem and more than the sky.
He could no longer summon his magic. He could no longer fly. But he had found the sky of Requiem. He had flown in his kingdom for a day, flown with a woman he loved.
I will see you again, Elory, I know that I—
JAREN
Around him, they fell.
In the sky of their home, they died. The children of Requiem. Thousands falling like the rain.
Jaren flew through the battle, an old green dragon, scarred, weary, an old soul who had seen too much. Too much loss. Too much pain. Too much grief.
I was a healer, but how can I heal this? How can I heal a breaking nation?
The dragons fought around him, calling out hoarsely, sputtering their last sparks of fire. They fell around him, more and more. On the trees below they lay—butchered men, women, children. Babies, dead in the snow. Eyes staring skyward.
Lost.
Gone.
"I'm sorry," Jaren whispered. "I'm sorry I led you here. I'm sorry for everything."
They should have waited. They should have languished longer in chains. They could have lived. They had chased Requiem, and they had found their homeland—but only to die. Only a cursed victory. Only to perish so soon, to fall as bones onto the forest.
Live, Queen Gloriae had told him in his dream. Live, son of Aeternum.
Jaren reared in the sky, clawing at a harpy. He swiped his tail at another beast, suffering a gash to his side. More dragons fell around him, not soldiers now, mere children.
"What did I live for?" Jaren cried. "Why did you guide us here, stars? Only for death?"
He stared up at the sky, seeking those stars, but could see nothing but the harpies, their burning white eyes, their rotted wings, their hair of serpents. The sky was lost.
Jaren sneered and bared his fangs.
Then we will fight without our sky. We must survive.
"Requiem!" he bellowed. "Requiem, into the tunnels! The sky is lost. Fly down, fly down, into the underground!"
Around Jaren, they began to descend. Cut, frozen, some of them dying, thousands of dragons glided toward the forest. During the long night, waiting for the harpies,
the Vir Requis had discovered three entrances to the catacombs beneath Requiem. Jaren now flew toward one opening—a stone archway half-hidden in soil, shaped as two rearing dragons, their top claws touching. Through the archway, a tunnel plunged underground. He landed, remained in dragon form, and cried out to the others.
"Vir Requis, into the tunnels! We fight underground. Soldiers—help the women and children in!"
Armored dragons roared above, blasting fire toward the setting sun, holding back the harpies. They formed a corridor of steel and scale, allowing the civilians—the older or younger dragons, no armor on them—to glide down to the forest.
The first dragon swooped toward the archway. Only yards away, a harpy burst between the trees, slammed into the dragon, and tore him apart. The dragon crashed onto the forest floor and returned to human form—an old greybeard. The harpy feasted on his flesh. Jaren plowed forward and blasted his fire, slamming the flames against the harpy, knocking the creature back, burning it until it fell.
"Requiem, to the tunnels!" he cried.
More dragons descended. A pair of young ones—no larger than horses—reached the forest floor and shifted into a boy and girl. They ran toward the archway.
Another harpy swooped. Jaren roared and shot upward, beating his wings, and knocked into the beast. Its hair of serpents bit him. Its teeth sank into his shoulder. Jaren blasted dragonfire, burning the creature, burning himself, shoving it back. He glanced down to see the boy and girl race into the tunnels, and more dragons kept diving.
Many nights among the huts of Tofet, Jaren had guided souls into death. Now he stood in a new land, guiding his people to life. One by one they descended. Broken. Limbs missing. Bleeding. Some nearly frozen, pierced with icicles, skin white with frost. They stumbled into the tunnels beneath Requiem, seeking shelter from the storm.
And that storm roared with all its fury. The harpies seemed endless. For every one felled, ten dragons crashed down. They covered the sky. They swarmed through the forest, shattering trees. Their rot flowed across the land, and their cries shook the world. They danced around King's Column, hundreds of them, human limbs in their mouths, clutching severed heads in their talons. The Royal Army crumbled before them. Dragons crashed down, becoming men and women. Massive breastplates and helmets, the armor of dragons, slammed onto the trees. Dragonfire faded, and ice coated the world.
"Into the tunnels!" Jaren cried, voice hoarse, guiding them in. One by one. Children. Women. Wounded soldiers. A few other dragons stood with him, blasting fire, guarding the way in.
But more harpies attacked every moment.
They descended in the darkness, blowing their ice. The eyes of countless snakes blazed red in the night. The harpies flowed forth, ten emerging from the shadows for every one slain.
"They enter their tunnels, my harpies!" rose a voice above, and light flared through the darkness. "They flee underground like the cowardly maggots that they are. Shatter their hole! Slay them all."
The light grew brighter, blinding. A sickly halo blazed. Through the frozen fog he descended, wreathed in ice, his featherless wings spread wide. He wore a suit of gilded iron, not mere armor but a new skin, and a golden mask hid the ruined face within. In one hand, he held his lance, the blade bloody. In the other hand, he held a shield emblazoned with an eye within a sunburst.
He descended toward the tunnel, harpies dancing around him and cackling and snapping their teeth. Dragons fled before the unholy host. Ishtafel's lance thrust as he glided down, piercing a young dragon, then casting a girl toward the trees.
As Ishtafel landed before the tunnel, Jaren sneered. Still in dragon form, he walked up toward the seraph, placing the tunnel's entrance behind him.
"An aging, scarred dragon with sad eyes." Ishtafel's eyes, visible through the holes in his mask, crinkled with delight. "I do believe I stand before Jaren Aeternum, Priest of Requiem, the old man I knew from Tofet. The man who bedded my whore of a mother."
Jaren raised his head. He barely had any more fire to breathe. He was so weary he nearly lost his dragon form. But he let the last sparks fill his jaws, and he sneered, revealing his fangs.
"Your rule over Requiem has ended, Ishtafel." Jaren raised his spiked tail like a scorpion. "You will leave this hallowed ground. Return to your banishment across the sea, and never more set foot on our ancient land. Leave now, accursed one! Leave or you will burn in Requiem's fire."
Ishtafel spread out his arms, and his golden halo turned an ugly crimson color, crackling almost like fire. "Oh, but Requiem's fire has already burned me, peeling away my skin, my weakness, leaving me stronger, turning me into a god of gold and steel and retribution. But yes, weredragon king. I will leave this frozen land, and I will return to my palace in the south, but not before I cleanse my empire of weredragons. This place you call Requiem will be renamed Harash Es, land of the harpies. It will be their domain, and your bones will decorate their halls."
Ishtafel raised his lance—the lance that had slain countless Vir Requis. That had slain Jaren's wife, the kind Nala, the love of Jaren's life. With his other hand, Ishtafel raised his shield, and the eye engraved upon it blazed with light, and the sunburst crackled with true fire. The seraph rose several feet above the ground, and the air stormed around him with flame and ice, and the harpies danced. Dragons fled before the apparition.
"You have come here to your death, Ishtafel!" Jaren shouted over the storm. The frozen winds buffeted him. The flames burned him. But still the green dragon reared, hind feet on the soil of Requiem, front claws raised. "I offered you banishment. Now I will offer you only death. I am a priest, yes. And I am a healer. But I am also a warrior of starlight, a soldier of Requiem, an heir to a line of kings. Do not be fooled by my cracked scales, nor the grayness of my snout, nor the weight of many years upon me. I have shed the blood of many enemies. Now I shall spill your blood on the soil of my ancestors and my children."
Lightning cleaved the sky, lighting the flying harpies and dragons. Thunder boomed. Rain came crashing down.
With a howl and blaze of light, Ishtafel charged.
Jaren leaped up to meet him.
The lance thrust, and Jaren swiped it aside with his claws. He blasted all the dragonfire that remained in him.
The blaze slammed into Ishtafel, white and blue in the center, flaring out to red. The flames washed across the seraph's armor, and Ishtafel laughed. His shield swung in an arc, ringed with light.
The metal disk slammed into Jaren's ribs with the force of a charging chariot.
Jaren heard a rib crack.
He fell to his side, lost his magic for an instant, returned to a man, then shifted into a dragon again in time to swipe aside another thrust of the lance. Above in the sky, the harpies held back any dragons who tried to fly near. Ishtafel and Jaren, King of Saraph and Priest of Requiem, battled in a cocoon of ice and steam.
"Already you fall, old one!" Ishtafel laughed. "And you are the great warrior guarding the halls of reptiles? You will die now, Aeternum, and die knowing this: the others will follow. Your son. Your daughters. All your people. I will slay them as I slew your wife."
Jaren roared and beat his wings. He charged toward Ishtafel, no more fire in his maw, but his claws lashed and teeth snapped.
And they fought.
It was not a dance, not a thing of grace and beauty like the duels of the young. Jaren's bones were too old, Ishtafel's flesh too raw. They were a beast of scales and a monster of metal. Clunky. Crying out hoarsely. Claws cut at armor, peeling back the gilt to reveal the steel within. Shield and lance slammed into scales, cracking them, cutting skin and muscle, shedding blood. Fire spurted and light flared and all around the harpies danced and sang and dragons died.
"She squealed like a hog in heat when I slew her." Ishtafel swung his shield, slamming it again into Jaren, cracking more scales, snapping another rib. "Your whore of a wife. Are you ready to meet her?"
Jaren tried to cut Ishtafel, but his claws only scraped against the
seraph's armor, denting but not cracking the steel. The lance thrust into a wound on Jaren's shoulder, digging deeper into him.
Jaren lost his magic.
He fell to his knees, a man again, clad in burlap, his hair graying. Just an old priest.
"Yes," Ishtafel said, gliding down to place his feet on the ground. "Kneel before me, slave. Die like the rest of you will die."
I fly to join you now, Nala, he thought, burning in the glare of the unholy halo. I rise now to our starlit halls, where I will fly forever at your side, my wife.
Ishtafel hefted his lance and placed the tip against Jaren's chest.
"Will you beg me for your life, old man? Or will you simply squeal and weep as I take it?"
Jaren raised his eyes, but he did not look at the seraph. He stared beyond the light, beyond the cloud of harpies. In the distance, he saw them—thousands of dragons diving down, landing outside another entrance to the tunnels, the hole in the valley Elory had uncovered.
"Keep fighting, my children," Jaren whispered. "Fight them always. The world is good. The world is beautiful. Fight for it."
The lance drove forth.
The blade pierced Jaren's chest and emerged from his back.
Above him the smoke and ice seemed to part, and he saw them. The stars of his forebears. Not only the Draco constellation but millions of other stars, other lights, the souls of Vir Requis from the first king to his fallen wife. Waiting for him. Shining upon him.
Goodbye, my children, Jaren thought. I love you. I love you always.
The lance pulled back, and Jaren flew, rising, all his pain gone, until he saw nothing but starlight.
ISHTAFEL
Glory.
It was glory distilled, pure, sweeter than wine. A song of triumph. His greatest victory.
He was glad to have let the weredragons linger this long. He could have slain them in Tofet, but he had let them suffer. Let them dream. Let them flee here. Let them hope, feel some joy before the pain. What a fine place to end their race! Here, in sight of their precious column, he finally was slaying them, and here their bones would forever remain.
Pillars of Dragonfire Page 19