A Day of Dragon Blood

ELETHOR



He stood inside the cave and stared out upon the forest. The trees rolled into misty horizons, their leaves golden and red. A cold wind blew, ruffling his hair, and ravens circled under the veil of clouds. A drizzle fell, deepening the colors of the world until all became a smudged painting of brown, orange, and silver. Elethor held Ferus's hilt. He could barely see Requiem from here, only a distant haze of smoke. The burnt lands of his fathers lay beyond the leagues, ravaged and swarming with wyverns.

Elethor lowered his gaze to the camp below the mountain. Men and women moved between the trees, clad in leaf and fur and mud. A few men were skinning a deer, and two children ran around a tree, banging wooden swords they had carved. A mother nursed her babe, and an old man sat upon a boulder, reading from a scroll of prayers. Four Vir Requis stood in dragon forms, guarding each corner of the camp; mud covered their scales to dull their shimmer.

Ninety-seven souls, Elethor thought. Fewer than a hundred survivors from a realm of fifty thousand.

As he stood in the cave upon the mountainside, looking down at this ragged camp, he thought of Mori.

"Do you too hide in some distant camp beyond our borders?" he whispered. "Do you have someone with you, someone to protect you?"

He looked over the forest, as if she could emerge any moment from the distance, a golden dragon—haggard but smiling, alive. Every day he waited here in this cave, watching the horizon for wyverns, watching for Mori. They had lived here for two moons now, and still she did not arrive.

Elethor lowered his head. Maybe you lie among the ruins of Nova Vita, resting by the bones of Orin and Father. Maybe you now sing with them in the starlit halls. I love you, sister. I miss you.

A blue glimmer flew upon the horizon. Elethor stood watching, the wind in his hair, until the sapphire dragon emerged from the distant mist and flew toward the cave. Lyana landed on the mountainside and looked up at him. Smoke rose in curtains from between her teeth.

"Lyana," he said. He approached as she shifted into human form. She stood before him with somber eyes, still clad in the silvery armor of the bellators.

"I'm sorry, Elethor," she whispered. She removed her helm, embraced him, and laid her head upon his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, my king. I searched Fidelium in the north, and the plains of Sequestra, and sought her among the cities of Osanna. None have seen the princess."

He held her. Her hair had grown an inch, and the fiery curls brushed against his face. He cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead. Her eyes were deep green pools.

"Maybe Bayrin found her," he said softly, but heard no hope in his voice and saw none in Lyana's eyes.

They stood upon the mountainside, watching the forest until emerald scales shimmered in the north, and Bayrin flew toward them. The green dragon landed outside the cave, panting and cursing. He spat a flicker of fire.

"Bloody stars!" Bayrin said. "The north is swarming with those wyvern bastards." He raised his tail; an ugly welt rose across it. "One gave me this before I roasted him." He whipped his head from side to side, then lowered his eyes. "I... I was hoping Lyana had found her. Oh, stars."

He shifted into human form. Red rimmed his eyes and ash filled his hair. His gangly frame was thinner than ever, stubble was thickening into a beard across his face, and soot covered his breastplate and scabbard. He looked down, tightened his jaw, and clenched his fists. Elethor saw a tear on his chin.

He approached his friend and held his shoulder. "We'll find her, Bay. We won't rest until we do. For as long as it takes, I will send out dragons to every corner of the world, and we will find her."

Yet in the cold pit of his stomach, Elethor knew there was only one more place they could search, one more hope to save her... to save everyone who still lived here among the trees.

He turned to look south. The forests rolled for countless leagues, finally fading into a yellow haze and blue mountains against a silver sky. Standing to his right, Lyana clasped his hand and held it tight. At his left side, Bayrin placed a hand on his shoulder and stared with him, solemn and silent. The wind blew their hair, cold and wet with rain, but Elethor thought he could scent the distant sands.

"What do we do now?" Bayrin said. "Do we stay here, hidden in the wilderness, and continue our search from this camp? Do we fly to Salvandos and seek sanctuary among the true dragons of the golden mountain? Do we fly east to Osanna and live among the men of the white halls?"

Elethor shook his head, watching the forest rustle and the rain sway in sheets.

"No, Bayrin," he said softly. "We will not flee. Not yet." He turned to look at his friend. "We collect what dragons we can still find among the ruins of Requiem. We fly to Tiranor. We rain fire upon them. If Mori is captive there, we will save her."

Bayrin nodded, lips tight. Elethor turned to look at Lyana; she stared back with green eyes that spoke of her loyalty, her love, and her fire that would forever light his darkness.

He squeezed her hand and whispered. "And we kill Solina."

They stood upon the mountain, holding one another, and gazed upon the southern horizon of forest, mist, mountain... and beyond them the cruel, endless desert.