"See this death, Meliora!" he shouted. "Do you see how they die? I slew your father! Do you see?"
He laughed, lifted the corpse of the priest over his head, and tossed it into the air. Harpies grabbed the old man and ripped into the flesh, digging, feasting.
"See them tear your father apart!" he cried, laughing. "Hear the screams of those who still die. You will be the last, Meliora! The last weredragon. I will drag you back to my palace, but not before you hear every last scream."
Yet his sister did not answer. He beat his wings, rose higher, and scanned the sky, yet he could not see her. The coward must have fled into the tunnels. The worms hid there, as they had centuries ago. He had defeated them then in the darkness, and he would defeat them now.
"Come, my harpies!" He pointed his bloody lance at the archway leading into the tunnel. "Into the shadows."
He advanced toward the archway, walking over the frosted soil. He was only yards away when one's head emerged from within—a dragon lying in the tunnel, barely fitting, blowing dragonfire. Around Isthafel, harpies shrieked and fled the flames, but Ishtafel kept walking, shield held before him. The dragonfire slammed into the disk, melting the metal, heating his armor, but Ishtafel had been burned by dragonfire before. It could no longer hurt him. His pain was purified, his soul impossible to burn. He walked through the fire and thrust his lance, shoving it down the dragon's mouth and throat.
The beast lost its magic, returning to a man inside the tunnel, dead upon the lance. Ishtafel tugged his weapon free and entered the darkness.
And there again, after all this time—they awaited him.
The weredragons.
The beasts who had slain his lover.
"I return to you now," Ishtafel whispered, "to finish what I began here five hundred years ago."
The weredragons stood in human form, clad in their ancient armor, bearing swords. They howled and charged toward him, and Ishtafel danced.
He fought as he had never fought before. He was immortal, but his wounds had slowed him down, and his armor weighed heavily upon him, but his five hundred years of war had given him a ruthless expertise in killing. He beat his wings, rose to the top of the tunnel, and thrust his lance downward, skewering a man. His shield swung, the sharp edge tearing through helmets and skulls. The weredragons attacked him, lashing their swords, but the blades bounced off his armor, and his shield cut them down.
The tunnel was narrow; only three of the weredragons could fight abreast. He moved down the corridor, stepping on their corpses, slaying them as he had so many years ago—as he and Reehan had cut them together.
I still fight for you, Reehan.
In his memories, she seemed to float beside him, smiling as she slew, beautiful in the darkness, his lioness of Edinnu.
We will slay the reptiles together, my love!
Her voice echoed across the centuries, and her grin stretched at her cheeks, toothy, bright, her eyes shining with bloodlust and love for him.
"I still love you, Reehan," Ishtafel whispered as he shoved his lance through a mother and her babe, piercing them both with one blow. "I still fight our war."
Behind him, the harpies entered the tunnel too. They were so large they could only walk single file, hunched over, knees bent, their wings pulled close to their sides. When Ishtafel glanced over his shoulder, he saw their wrinkled, warty faces in the darkness, large as wagons, hissing and dripping saliva. Their bloated bodies scraped against the walls, boils bursting. Their mouths opened, and they shot icicles around Ishtafel, narrowly missing him and hitting weredragons ahead.
They moved deeper into the tunnels. The labyrinth soon split into many paths, and the harpies flowed down them all, biting, freezing, cutting, eating their enemies. Ishtafel had not been here for most of his life, yet he still remembered every twist and turn; he had been walking these tunnels in his dreams since that war long ago. He passed through chambers, mostly barren, a few still containing ancient metal vessels. A dragon roared in the library, not daring to blow fire and burn the books. Ishtafel beat his wings, rose high, and thrust his lance, piercing the creature's neck, sending it crashing down as a woman. The tunnels delved deeper, and soon Ishtafel passed a makeshift nursery, mothers and babes cowering in the shadows. He stabbed them as they begged. He moved onward, the harpies heeling him, feeding upon the corpses he made.
Five hundred years ago, I feared you, weredragons, Ishtafel thought as he stabbed a soldier, casting the man down. No more.
He gritted his teeth. He should have done this ages ago. Finally, after centuries, he faced his old demons. And he slew them. Each weredragon dead was another nightmare gone. Each corpse was redemption for his soul. He laughed as he fought that old war again, and always Reehan danced in his memories, fighting beside him as a spirit, eyes and smile bright.
They plunged deeper, and the tunnels grew narrow. Here were the darkest depths of Requiem.
Here is where she died.
The spirit of Reehan seemed to grow brighter at his side, but her smile died, and she cried out in pain. An astral sword cut through her, and she flickered . . . fading . . . becoming but a shadow.
Ishtafel raised his dripping lance, chest heaving, staring around at the craggy stone walls. It was here—this very place, this very spot where he stood. Here that she had died.
A tremble seized him. Suddenly Ishtafel could not breathe, and his wounds—the horrible burns that spread beneath his metal skin—blazed in agony, as if Tash were again bathing him with dragonfire. His heart pounded in his ears. Harpies crowded behind him, shrieking, licking their lips, sucking up last gobbets of flesh.
"I will finish this," Ishtafel hissed, lance trembling in his grip. "It ends here and now."
Several weredragon children cowered before him. He roared and ran toward them.
MELIORA
The forest burned below her.
The sky above froze.
The column rose through an inferno, a single tor in a sea of blood and death and light and shadow.
It ends here, Meliora thought as she flew through the storm. In darkness our nation falls and our column cracks.
The wind buffeted her, and she barely saw any more dragons flying. But the harpies were everywhere. Laughing. Feasting. Dancing in the dark sky. A million torturous creations, the bane of dragons.
"It was but a dream," Meliora whispered, flying through the storm of wind and rot. "We were but fools dreaming, praying, wishing for something that could never be. A dream that lasted but a day. And now it ends." Tears filled her eyes, and her fire blasted out, a white pillar piercing the clouds.
For thousands of years, we fought against those who rose up to destroy us, Meliora thought. For thousands of years, we fell, burned, died . . . and rose again. In our primordial forests, we faced the rocs and the demons, and we withstood them. In our golden age, the griffins slew us, leaving only seven alive . . . yet we defeated our enemies, and we rose again. The phoenixes burned us in our halls, crumbling our cities, and we survived them, and we rebuilt. War after war, enemy after enemy, genocide after genocide, we rose again and again, never dying, remembering always our column. Remembering our sky. Remembering our name: Requiem.
"Yet now it ends," she whispered. "Now this dream of a day—this dream of thousands of years—ends in ice."
They had never faced so many enemies—a million beasts covering the land, slaying all in their path. An enemy too strong for them. For here were no monsters, no demons, no men leading flying beasts—here were deities. Cruel immortals of Edinnu, beings of unholy gods.
Meliora lowered her head, ashamed of the ichor that flowed through her veins, for she was half of Edinnu, and that cruel blood burned her.
"I renounce you, Saraph!" she cried to the sky, rising through a storm of harpies, knocking them back with her tail and claws. "I renounce you, Eight Gods! I defy you, Ishtafel! I am Meliora Aeternum. I am an heiress of Requiem. I will fight for my column, for my people, for my stars."
; She flew higher, faster, bursting through the enemies, rising through the clouds, until the sky opened up above her, dark and brilliant. And there they shone—the stars of Requiem. The Draco constellation. The gods of Requiem who had forever blessed the Vir Requis, who had given Meliora's people the strength to rise again and again, to overcome tragedy after tragedy.
The dragon's eye shone, and Meliora thought that she could hear a soft, high voice speak inside her.
Requiem is eternal.
"Requiem is eternal," Meliora whispered. "The line of Aeternum will never fall." She sneered and narrowed her eyes. "Not on my watch. Not so long as I draw breath."
She stared down toward the battle, and she saw that thousands of harpies were streaming into the tunnels like ants into a hive, forming three lines.
The tunnels of Requiem.
Meliora growled.
The place that had always haunted Ishtafel.
In her childhood, Meliora had heard Ishtafel screaming in his sleep, crying of weredragons in the tunnels. The guards and slaves would whisper of the ichor that had spilled there. Vir Requis told tales of Ishtafel slaying the king of Requiem in the darkness. Statues of Reehan—the great Lioness of Edinnu—still stood in the palace.
There Requiem's long night began, Meliora thought. There it will end.
Smoke blasting through her nostrils, Meliora swooped.
Harpies rose to meet her. She breathed her white fire, a humming pillar, a twin to King's Column, burning them down. Her claws tore through their flesh, severing the snakes on their heads. She kept diving. Her fire trailed across the land, burning trees, melting snow, melting boulders, crumpling seraphim like ants under a magnifying glass. Her flames exposed an archway leading into the tunnels, and Meliora dived down, roaring.
Her claws touched the ground, and her fire died down. At once harpies leaped toward her, each as large as her. Their talons reached out, cutting her scales. Meliora bellowed and reared, claws raised to her stars. She lashed her tail. She bit deep, tearing them apart, scattering their flesh. Their blood coated her, and she blew fire skyward.
"Requiem is eternal!" she cried.
Across the sky, the last few dragons who still fought echoed her cry. "Requiem is eternal! Fight for Requiem!"
Til Eleison still flew, an orange dragon blasting spinning flames. Vale flew higher above, rallying the last survivors, his claws bloody. But there were so few to rally. So little hope remained.
Surrounded by the corpses of harpies, Meliora released her magic. In her human form, she no longer wore the fine kalasiri and jewels of a princess. Nor did she wear the rough burlap and shackles of a slave. This night she stood in the ancient armor of Requiem, her breastplate engraved with the holy birch leaves, her green shield inlaid with silver stars. She drew her ancient longsword, the fabled Amerath, sword of her ancestor, Prince Relesar Aeternum.
If I die, I die free. I die as a warrior of Requiem.
She raced into the tunnels.
She ran through darkness.
She ran through a nightmare of harpies, her sword swinging, cutting into them. Hers was an ancient blade, the sword of Relesar himself, forged in dragonfire. The harpies were clumsy in the tunnels, unable to turn around, and Meliora was fast, agile, leaping between the chambers, her sword flashing. Once she would skip through the halls of a palace, but today she moved through darker, holier halls, the chambers of her true people. Today she filled these halls with the death of her enemies. Her halo crackled above her head, woven of fire, and the blood of her enemies coated her blade and armor.
"Requiem is eternal!" she cried out.
Across the tunnels, her fellow Vir Requis answered her call. "Requiem is eternal!"
They fought together, moving through the shadows. Many fell. The corpses of thousands fed the harpies. But still Meliora fought on.
Meliora did not know if her family still lived. She had not seen her father or sister since the first assault a night and day ago. But she knew that Requiem still lived—within those who still fought with her, within her own breast. Her blood perhaps was mixed but her heart was pure, and her sword sang but one song—a song of dragons.
She kept moving, stepping over corpses of Vir Requis and harpies, passing the armory, the library, the wine cellars, finally entering the deepest passageways, places where no foot had stepped for centuries.
And there ahead, cloaked in shadows and drenched in blood, he stood.
Her brother.
Ishtafel.
He stood over a pile of dead children, his back toward her. As Meliora stepped into the chamber, she saw him drive down his spear, slaying a girl. Only one child still lived here now—a little boy cowering in the corner. Just a single soul among so much death.
"Ishtafel!" Meliora said.
He tugged his lance free from the dead girl. Slowly, he turned toward her, armor creaking. No, not armor—new skin of metal to replace the true skin Tash had burned off. In the holes of his golden mask, his eyes narrowed in amusement. His wings spread out, dripping rot.
"Hello, my dear sister."
She trembled, but she forced herself to step forward, to raise her chin. A child still lived here. She would save him. She would save whoever she still could, even if it were just one soul.
"Ishtafel," she said. "As a daughter of Aeternum, as an heiress to Requiem, I banish you from this place. Leave now. Leave this land and I will spare your life." Meliora raised her sword, forcing herself to stare steadily into his eyes. "This is Amerath, the Amber Sword, the ancestral blade of my line, which slew many of my people's enemies. Retreat to the south lest it slay you too."
She did not wish him a life in luxury. She did not wish him to fester in the south, growing his forces. But Meliora knew that she could not defeat him. He was too strong, his forces too great. She could only hope against hope to scare him away, as a cat might scare a larger predator by bristling.
But Ishtafel only laughed.
"Your father offered me the same deal." He snorted. "The fool Jaren, the brute who had bedded our mother. Do you know how I answered him?" He hefted his lance. "With this blade." He stepped closer to Meliora, and his voice dropped to a dangerous hiss. "I carved him up, and I fed his corpse to the harpies."
Meliora stared at him, and the tunnels seemed to collapse around her.
Her heart seemed to stop beating.
Her world seemed to die.
No. Oh stars, no.
"It's true," Ishtafel said, as if able to read her thoughts. He tilted his head. "I just realized this means I killed both your parents. Interesting, isn't it?"
No. Stars, no.
Meliora's chest shook. She had to force herself to draw breath. Her eyes dampened. She knew he was telling the truth. She had always been able to tell when Ishtafel was lying.
My father is dead.
She wanted to rage. To scream. To race forward, swing her sword, cut him down.
But she could only force herself to whisper. "Why?" Her tears flowed. "Why, Ishtafel? You loved me once. I loved you. We played in the gardens. You read me stories. I rode on your back, and you taught me how to fish and . . . why do you do these things? Who have you become?"
He stepped closer to her. He now stood only a couple feet away. He towered above her, so much larger, made of metal and wounds.
"I am who I've always been," he said. "Who I've been for centuries. Long before you were born, I fought the weredragons in these tunnels. I stand now in the very place where Reehan died, where I vowed to enslave and torture the creatures. When you were a child, Meliora, I played with you in the gardens, then returned to slaughtering the barbarians of the east. I read you stories, then flew south to battle the giants. You never knew the true me. Not until you became a woman. And you are a woman now, and you know me, and we're going back home. Both of us. Never to return to Requiem. You will be my wife, Meliora, and we will rule the empire together."
She shook her head. "No."
He placed a hand on her shoulde
r. "We can end this, Meliora. We can end this war now, this youthful rebellion of yours. I am willing to forgive you. For many days now, I vowed to drag you home in chains. To sever your limbs and feed them to the harpies. To keep your torso and head in a cell, to impregnate you again and again, to keep you bringing me heirs for millennia. But I was wrathful. I am willing to forgive, to spare you that fate. To love you again. To see you love me as you once did. We can be as we were, my sister. To live again in the ziggurat. To play in the gardens. To laugh. To read stories. And to rule, to see our heirs rule."
Meliora trembled. She could end this. She could stop this war, this death. She could go home.
I can be as I once was, she thought. A princess. A pampered girl who knows nothing of war, of death, of slavery, of conquest. I can sleep again in my old bed, and I can have my beloved brother back. All this can become but a bad dream.
A small voice resisted inside her, but what choice did she have? To fight him? She would lose. To resist him? He would imprison her again, and this time there would be no Tash to save her.
She wanted to say yes. She wanted to forget all this pain, this death, this whole world outside of her palace.
But she still saw the starlight.
And still that voice whispered in her mind.
Requiem is eternal.
"No," Meliora whispered. "No, we cannot be as we were. You changed, Ishtafel. You're no longer a prince of seraphim. You've become a monster of metal. When you cut off my wings, you thought to hurt me, to shame me, but you purified me. I am no longer a seraph. I am no longer your sister. I can never be what I was, a beautiful princess in a palace. I am Vir Requis. I am the singer of an ancient song. I am a leaf in a forest of birches. I am heiress to a legacy too great, too holy, too strong for you to understand. Requiem's roots run deeper than you can reach, and though you may take our lives, you cannot silence our song. Requiem is eternal. I will fight for her, and I will die for her if I must."
His eyes narrowed, blazing with rage. "I will not allow you to die."
Pillars of Dragonfire Page 20