A Day of Dragon Blood

SOLINA



Her hand blazed. She snarled. When she raised her fist, her glove was charred and torn. Through the rents, she could see raw, red flesh. She clenched her fist tighter.

You did this, Elethor, she thought. She howled in rage. Ignoring the pain, she twisted her burnt fingers around her banner pole. She lifted it high, letting her standard unfurl. She flew above the battle, watching the wyverns and dragons clash above the city below.

"Level this city!" she shouted. "Leave no building standing! Bring me King Elethor alive."

Nova Vita was a small city—a backwater village compared to the glory of Irys. Her cloud of wyverns covered it entirely, a black fist from above. Barely a hundred reptile warriors still lived; more fell dead every moment. Some were landing on the streets, shifting into human form, and racing into the tunnels.

"Where are you, Elethor?" Solina whispered.

She dug her heels into her wyvern. With a scream, the beast swooped so fast that Solina's stomach lurched. She narrowed her eyes, snarled, and grasped her sword and banner tight. In the rushing dive, the wind lashing her, she could barely feel her burnt hand.

Wyverns parted to let her dive until she flew mere feet above the city's roofs. Below in the streets, weredragons clanked in armor, racing toward the tunnels. Solina howled, tugged her reins, and flew above them.

"Burn them, Baal!" she cried.

Her wyvern sprayed the street with acid. Weredragons screamed and fell. They tried to slap the acid off, but it seeped through their armor and began eating their flesh. One man clawed at his face; his eyes were already gone. Solina grinned, soared upon her wyvern, and flew across the city amphitheater and public baths; beyond them more weredragons were racing down the streets toward a second tunnel entrance. Solina swooped, splashed the street with acid, and soared as the men below screamed and fell. Baal's claws crashed against the tunnel archway, and its stones cascaded and crushed weredragons. The beast's wings beat, sending debris flying across the city.

Solina soared higher, seeking more dragons. She could see none. With their fire gone, the night was dark; she could barely see fleeing shadows. Her wyverns spread around her, flying in rings. Their riders held torches and howled for blood.

"Destroy these buildings!" Solina cried. "Let no column stand!"

The wyverns roared, dived, and began lashing the city buildings. A year ago, she had led ten thousand phoenixes to this place; their bodies had been woven of fire, and they had burned many trees and doors and bodies, but left the city's masonry standing. Today she had brought twenty thousand wyverns, each a behemoth of rippling muscles under metallic scales. Buildings collapsed under their blows like houses of cards.

"Level this city! Bring it down!"

Bricks tumbled and columns cracked. Dust rose in clouds that flowed across Solina. She dived toward the Temple of Stars, which rose upon a hill. She tugged the reins left, and her wyvern spun. His spiked tail—wider and stronger than a battering ram—cracked a column. He lashed the column again and again until it shattered. Soon the entire temple was collapsing. Solina soared higher and smiled as the dust flew and the bricks fell.

"You prayed here to your stars," she said. "But they cannot save you now. Not from the glory of my lord."

The weredragons cowered in their tunnels, daring not fight. Solina spat in disgust; they were vile creatures, too craven to defend their home. Truly they were shadows of the night, slinking things that wilted in the light of her lord.

She tugged the reins, directing Baal to fly over the Weredragon Palace. The edifice rose three hundred feet tall, its marble columns capped with dragon capitals. Solina snarled to see it. Eight years ago, the Weredragon Prince had burned her here. The scar blazed across her body now, a searing memory. The line of fire ran from her forehead to leg, from that year to this day. This cruel palace, disguising its evil with marble grace, was where the weredragons had torn her apart from her love, exiled her, and sealed their doom.

"You burned me here," she whispered through clenched teeth. "Now these ruins will scream for ten thousand years."

She reached into the pouch that hung across her saddle. She withdrew two clay balls wrought with red runes. A smile spread across her face.

Tiran fire.

The liquid inside these clay balls burned brighter than streams of dragonfire, than pools of acid, than the smelters of southern Iysa where her blades had been forged. For a year, a thousand men had labored in her barracks, distilling this liquid ruin and blessing it with the wrath of the Sun God. Today their work would blaze in glory.

She circled around the palace, rose high above its roof, and dropped two clay balls. As they fell, she saw the runes upon them glow red. Then they hit the palace, and her glory covered the city.

The Tiran fire exploded with blue light. The inferno burst out, great disks of white flame. Bricks shattered, columns cracked, and smoke filled the sky. Solina screamed to the Sun God, pulled out two more clay balls, and dropped them too.

The explosions rocked the city. Two columns shattered and fell, and then the roof caved in. Solina could barely see through the smoke and dust and flame. Laughing madly, she wrenched the pouch off her saddle and held it upside down. Ten more clay spheres tumbled onto the palace.

The air itself seemed to crack.

Ringing filled her ears over a sea of muffled susurration.

Fire thrashed the sky, and columns fell, and clouds of smoke rose; she could hear nothing but the ringing, a song of angels. She laughed, though she could not hear her own voice, and soared higher. Wind blew, kissed her cheeks, and streamed her hair. Below, the dust rolled across the city, burying the houses, the amphitheater, the barracks, and the collapsing temple. When the dust settled, Solina howled and laughed.

The Weredragon Palace was gone. Only a single column remained standing, rising from rubble.

"There is only one monarch of Requiem, Elethor!" she cried, her voice but a dim, distant whisper under the ringing in her ears. "I am queen of this land. You are but a cowering reptile. Emerge from your hole and face me!"

Thousands of wyverns howled below her, flying across the city and tearing it down. A hundred of the beasts slammed into the towers of Castra Draco, garrison of the Royal Army; the towers tumbled. Claws tore down homes. The walls crumbled, and beyond them in the farms, acid poured across the crops, until nothing but scorched earth remained.

"Tear down every last wall!" Solina howled. "I want to see nothing but rubble!"

All night the wyverns flew, screeching and destroying. Their riders chanted and laughed and sang the songs of their phalanxes. The weredragons remained hidden underground, if any still lived. It was a night to banish all nights, a battle to end all darkness.

When the sun rose, it rose upon glory. Its beams lit a world cleansed of evil. Solina raised her sword to the light and cried to the Sun God, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

"We bring your light to the world, Sun God!" she cried. "Hail the Light of Tiranor!"

Her army roared the prayer. Sunlight glinted on bright armor, spears, and swords. Their banners streamed in victory. Below them, where a city had stood, a single column rose from a ruin of rubble, dust, and bones.