A Day of Dragon Blood

ELETHOR



They stood behind the doors, swords drawn, and waited.

The tunnel walls rose around them, craggy and black. Only several candles upon the walls lit the darkness; their light flickered and cast shadows like dancing demons. Elethor gripped the hilt of Ferus, his ancient sword. With narrowed eyes, he stared at the doors before him. He tightened his lips. He breathed slowly. He waited.

His warriors stood around him. Lyana stood at his right, sword drawn in her right hand, dagger in her left. A helmet hid her stubbly head, the Draco stars carved onto its brow, and the candlelight danced against her breastplate, the ancient breastplate of a bellator. At his left stood Bayrin and Deramon, clad in the armor of the City Guard and clutching their own blades. A hundred other warriors—survivors of the battle over the mountains—filled the tunnel behind them, blades orange in the candlelight.

A hundred souls stood in silence, staring at those doors. A hundred souls waited for death. Beyond those doors, a staircase rose narrow and steep toward the fallen city. The candles flickered with their every breath. Not a piece of armor clanked.

Stars, be with us today, Elethor prayed silently.

The doors before him were a foot thick, carved of oak bolted with iron. Great beams stood in brackets. No battering ram would break these doors, Elethor knew. A wyvern's tail perhaps could shatter them, but Elethor had ordered the doors built a hundred yards down the narrow staircase; no wyvern could fit down here to reach them.

Behind him, the tunnel sloped into silent darkness. Beyond tunnel, portcullis, and more doors loomed the chambers where his people waited, where Mori waited, where the last light of Requiem glowed.

All that separates them from their fall is me, my warriors, and a whisper of starlight.

He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword, reminding himself that he had prepared for this day.

We are safe here, he told himself. They will not claim these tunnels. We will hold back the enemy.

A smaller, cold voice whispered in his head. But for how long? They had food and water for a year. It was a long time, but eventually their supplies would run out. What then? Would they starve here underground? He squared his jaw and clutched his sword tighter. Had he led his people into a tomb?

A great boom shook the tunnels. The candles flickered and dust fell. Above, through many feet of stone, he could hear the distant cries of wyverns. Elethor narrowed his eyes and sucked in breath. A second crash shook the tunnels, and again the wyverns wailed, a distant sound like ghosts. Elethor snarled. When he looked at his sides, he saw Lyana, Bayrin, and the others clutch their swords tight. More booms sounded. More dust rained and the candles danced. Muffled voices rose in song: the battle songs of Tiranor, songs of triumph and bloodlust.

For the first time somebody spoke. "Bloody stars," Bayrin muttered and spat. "They're destroying the city. Bastards."

Lyana looked at her brother, then turned toward Elethor. Their eyes met. Any other day, Elethor would have expected to see Lyana roll her eyes, scold her brother, and launch into a lecture. Today she only stared silently, and new ghosts haunted her eyes. Elethor remembered holding her in the Abyss as Nedath's curse spread across her, as her body wilted and her teeth fell. They had emerged from darkness. They had defeated ancient evils underground. The memories pained Elethor but comforted him too; they had faced darkness before and defeated it. They would face this new darkness together too.

"Elethor," she said, pale. "Bayrin is right. I know he rarely is, but... they aren't leaving one building standing."

Elethor nodded, fist clenched at his side. He spoke in a low voice. "I know. But I would rather them crush buildings than bodies." He shook his head, struggling to drown panic. "Stars, Lyana, they ripped through our army. They were like hawks in a cloud of sparrows."

Lyana looked behind her where warriors filled the tunnel. "There are twenty thousand wyverns above us. They outnumbered us over the forest." She looked back at him, eyes dark. "Elethor, we have twenty thousand Vir Requis in the lower chambers. One dragon for every wyvern." She bared her teeth. "Let us fly! Let us fly in battle, the great last stand of the Vir Requis. Let every child, grandparent, and wounded son of Requiem fly to war today. We will make such a roar."

Her eyes glistened in her pale face, and her hands gripped her weapons. She is a warrior, Elethor thought, raised on tales of knights and epic battle. But I am a king.

"Lyana, these wyverns crushed soldiers—dragons trained to fly in formation, to blow fire from above, to slash claws, to lash tails. My soldiers trained for a year, and these wyverns tore through us." He shook his head. "Thousands of survivors hide below us, it's true. Children. Mothers and babes. Old men and women. Cripples." He sighed. "Even as dragons, their fire is weak, their claws soft, their hearts frightened. Many of them have lost their fangs to old age; many others haven't even grown theirs. No, I will not lead them out to die in the skies. There is safety underground."

Her eyes flashed. "Elethor! Last year they tore through these tunnels like—"

"Last year this place merely stored grain and wine. Last year no doors stood here. We have thick doors now and strong men to guard them; three levels stand between the Tirans and our people. They will not break in so easily this time."

Bayrin, who had watched the exchange with dark eyes, let out a slow breath. Dirt smeared his face and hair, and a wound spread across his arm.

"Famous last words, El," he muttered. "Bloody stars, but for the first time in my life, I'm going to agree with Lyana. We—"

Battle cries surged behind the doors, cutting off his words. Armor and weapons clanked above, and soon Elethor heard boots thudding down the staircase, rushing from the city into the tunnels. The cries of Tirans rose, hoarse and crude. Above them rose a shrill voice; it made Elethor close his eyes, grind his teeth, and cringe with old pain.

"Kill the weredragons!" cried Solina behind the doors. "Bring me the Reptile King alive! Slay the others."

The boots thudded and the Tiran voices rose in wordless, enraged shouts. With a boom that shook the tunnels, they crashed against the doors.

Elethor tightened his grip on his sword. His hand was sweaty. Why hadn't they carved this tunnel wider, wide enough for a dragon to blow fire? Why hadn't they made the doors thicker, or carved them with arrow slits? They hadn't had enough time! Not enough time to dig, to prepare, to—

The Tirans slammed against the doors again. They creaked, and Elethor found himself snarling.

Deal with this now. You cannot change the past. Face them down as you are.

He looked to his left at Bayrin and Deramon. They stared back and nodded.

"We fight with you, my friend," Bayrin whispered.

Deramon growled. "We kill for you, my king."

When Elethor looked to his right, he saw Lyana glaring at the doors, blades raised. She spared him a quick glance, eyes blazing with green fire, and smiled crookedly.

"I'm ready to spill blood," she said. "Keep count, El; I bet I can kill ten times more than you."

Elethor nodded at her, silent. Good. This was the Lyana he wanted to see, not the Lyana with sad eyes, but the knight with the fiery stare.

The doors shook again and splinters cracked. The Tirans howled behind the oak and iron. Again and again the doors shook, and every boom rolled through the tunnel, louder than thunder. Thud. Thud. The Tirans howled. Solina screamed. Thud. Thud. Splinters flew.

"Break them down!" Solina shouted.

Her men roared. Boom. Thud. Splinters flew. Candles fell around Elethor. He stood still, staring at the doors, waiting. His warriors stood around him. Boom. Thud. Again and again. Screams and shrieks. Thud. Thud.

"Requiem," Elethor whispered. "May our wings forever find your sky."

His men repeated the words around him. The Tirans screamed for blood. Their shadows danced under the doors. Boom. Thud. Screams and splinters.

And then... silence.

Ragged breath, curses, and grumbles sounded behind the doors. Boots stomped upstairs and Solina's shrieks faded. Soon the sounds of her men faded too, moving back to the city above.

Elethor released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He squinted at the doors.

What are you doing, Solina?

"Stars yeah!" Bayrin said at his side. He grinned wildly. "The doors stood! The bastards couldn't break them. This time we were ready for them!" He growled at the doors. "Pity, almost; I was looking forward to shoving my sword up Solina's backside."

When Elethor looked at Lyana, he saw less hope there. The knight was still staring at the doors, her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened.

"I don't like this," she whispered.

Bayrin snorted. "Why, Lyana? You were worried you couldn't kill as many men as me? The cowards gave up! They thought they'd find undefended tunnels like last year. Well, they—"

Elethor interrupted his friend. "They'll be back, Bay. Keep your sword drawn. Get ready. Wait."

Silence fell.

They stood, gripping weapons, breath soft.

Above, the sounds of collapsing buildings faded, and even the wyvern shrieks died.

Elethor caught his breath. In the silence, his ears rang.

With a swell like a typhoon, a thousand wyvern shrieks rose above. Elethor grimaced. The sound was so loud and shrill he couldn't help but cry out. Bayrin snarled and winced, Deramon cursed, and Lyana growled. It sounded like the entire army of wyverns cried above the stairs. Acrid stench flared, so hot it burned Elethor's nose, eyes, and throat.

Lyana straightened and her face paled. Her eyes widened and she shouted, "Back! Everybody back!"

Confusion reigned. Lyana began retreating, trying to herd soldiers back into darkness. Elethor stared at her, then back at the doors. The stench of acid intensified. His eyes stung so badly, he could barely see. The wyverns above howled. A sound like a river roaring plunged beyond the doors.

Smoke and stench exploded, and the doors began to sizzle. Acid seeped around and under them.

"Stars," Elethor whispered. He spun and began running. "Back, everyone! Deeper into the tunnels—move!"

Acid sluiced around his boots. The soles began to sizzle. He cursed and ran. A hundred soldiers raced before him. Bayrin and Deramon ran cursing at his side. When he looked over his shoulder, Elethor saw the doors splintering. A hinge fell. Acid burst through a hole and shot into the tunnels. The doors looked like a dam holding back a river—a dam about to collapse.

Elethor looked back ahead and ran, teeth bared and eyes burning. The darkness swirled. Behind him, he heard the doors shatter.