A Night of Dragon Wings

SOLINA



She flew through the night, a phoenix of crackling fire and claws of molten steel. The desert streamed below her. She opened her beak and cawed to the darkness. She was fire. She was gold. She was might. She called to her lord the Sun God, and his glory rose from the eastern dunes to kindle her empire. The sand and clouds burned with his might. She flew through the dawn, a bird of beauty, a light to banish the darkness.

She had brought this fire to Requiem; the weredragons had doused it with their dark magic. She had brought wyverns and acid to their halls; they had fled.

But they cannot fight the nephilim. They cannot flee my long arm. Their halls are fallen; their skulls will be mine.

She had left her men in Irys, her oasis jewel. Today she flew alone. Today was a day of her glory.

I was born for today. You will see my power, Elethor. You will see my light.

The agony rose inside her, twisting like demon claws in her womb. A child had grown there, a life she had created with Elethor. The small light had died; her soul had extinguished with it. In her dreams, he cried to her, her son of golden skin and blue eyes, a paragon of light, a holy son—a gift to the world.

For you, she thought. For you I burn. For you I conquer. They killed you, my son. The weredragons killed you, and I will slaughter them all, and it will not be enough. For you I raise this army; in your memory the nephilim shall rise.

She screamed to the sky, wings showering flame.

The mountain rose before her in the south, an edifice of stone under a yellow sky. It rose taller than the peaks of Amarath Mountains where she had crushed the Weredragon Army. It rose taller than the great mountains of Ranin where she would make love to Elethor in their youth. It rose like her empire, undying, eternally strong.

When she flew closer, she saw that towers, archways, and walls covered the mountain, ancient beyond reckoning, faded into mere hints of their past glory. Steeples, once topped with battlements, now rose crumbling like melted candles. Archways, once gleaming in welcome, now rose craggy like the mouths of caves. Walls, once bright with soldiers and banners, snaked across the mountain like the faded trails of goats.

This had been a great fortress once—an entire city, a palace that had housed myriads. Thousands of years had passed since the Ancients had raised it. This was all that remained: rugged boulders, snaking trails, echoing chambers. In the rains and winds of time, the fortress had melted into the mountain like a corpse's flesh melting into the earth.

The sun crackled overhead. Heat waves rose from the endless dunes. Solina flew toward the mountain, a comet of fire. As a phoenix, her wings were two hundred feet wide; she was a beast of wrath. And yet the mountain dwarfed her. She felt like a mere spark by this stone edifice.

A great archway loomed upon the mountainside, as tall and wide as Queen's Archway back in the capital. Shadows loomed beyond. When Solina flew near, her flames lit a hall carved from living rock.

She shrieked—an eagle's cry that echoed down the mountainside—and flew through the doorway.

Walls of stone streamed at her sides. Her flaming wings beat, sending dust flying to reveal chipped mosaics of coiling serpents and manticores. The firelight leaped against the walls. The hall drove into the mountain, its ceiling a hundred feet tall.

The nephilim will emerge from this canal like a child from its mother's womb. I will be their mother.

She landed upon the dusty mosaic. She shifted into human form. Her flames writhed around her, then gathered into the amulet she wore around her neck. She clutched the amulet in her hand and raised it, casting its light against the grand hall of the Palace of Whispers.

Once this place had been beautiful. Once the Ancients had lived here, a people of golden light. Statues rose here, faded now with the years, showing a people slim and fair, their heads oval, their eyes almond-shaped, their hair flowing. Once the limestone statues had held blades; today but stumps of rusted metal remained.

"Once you ruled this world," Solina whispered to the statues. "But you sinned. You lay with the demons of the Abyss. You birthed the nephilim. They destroyed you, but I will rule them." She clenched her fist around her amulet. "You buried and sealed them. You tried to hide the shame of your spawn. They were your children and you shackled them. I will free them. I will rule what you imprisoned."

She walked deeper into the hall and entered a doorway. A dark corridor loomed before her, and she walked upon limestone tiles, her sandals clattering. Her light shone upon walls covered with silver runes and faded murals. The Ancients had drawn their wars here, a hundred feet tall upon the walls of their palace. The murals rose around her, painted in faded blacks, golds, and reds.

Solina saw hordes of men, great armies in steel, tossing spears and shooting arrows at their enemy. Painted nephilim charged across the walls, life-sized, thrice the height of men. The giants lumbered, bat wings spread wide, fangs and claws painted a faded blood red. Men died between their teeth and under their feet, crushed and devoured. Solina raised her amulet high, shining her light. The painting of a great nephil covered the ceiling, spines dangling from its jaws, a flaming halo around its head. Solina smiled to imagine the nephilim walking again, feasting upon the weredragons' backbones.

She explored the Palace of Whispers for hours. She climbed staircases and gazed upon shadowy halls. She moved through chambers where stood hundreds of statues, stone armies of sandstone and gold. She walked down winding halls lined with dozens of doors, labyrinths like the veins of a giant. The palace seemed endless. Solina thought that all the people of Tiranor, two million souls, could reside within these halls and think them roomy. This was not merely an abandoned palace, but a city.

No, not even a city; an entire kingdom, she thought. She walked through chambers where thousands of sarcophagi rose, tombs for ancient kings and warriors. She moved deeper and deeper into the mountain. She thought that the sun outside must have set. She thought that she could walk here for days—for years.

Finally, after what seemed like eras of wandering, a shriek shattered the silence.

Solina froze.

The scream was mournful, echoing, a cry like a dying star. It rolled through the palace, torn in agony, a call of ancient pain, of lingering torment, of fallen ones begging for revenge. She had heard such screams in Requiem when toppling her halls. She herself had screamed that way when the weredragons murdered her child.

Now the nephilim screamed, and Solina smiled.

"I am coming to you, my children," she whispered.

The scream died and echoed. A hundred screams then rose together, a chorus of screeches, groans, and wails. The palace reverberated. Dust rained as bricks shifted. A column cracked.

"I come to you, fallen children!" Solina shouted.

Her voice echoed down dark halls. She walked under vaulted ceilings, her light shining in the dark. The screams rose.

"Free us!" they screeched.

"The pain! End the pain!" they cried.

"Enough, enough!" they howled. "The pain must end!"

Solina raised her arms as she walked, casting her light upon halls as large as her entire palace in Irys. A grin spread across her face. She followed the screams through the darkness.

"I have the key, twisted ones!" she called. "Your savior comes to you!"

The screams swirled. The creatures wept and laughed and roared and shrieked.

"Savior! Savior!"

"We will crush bones, we will drink blood!"

"Legion will lead! Legion will kill!"

The Palace of Whispers trembled around her. A statue of a priest fell and shattered. Cracks spread along the ceiling. The screams of the nephilim raced like demons through the halls, so loud Solina could barely hear her own cries.

"Ten thousand years you languished here!" she shouted. "Today I free you, Fallen Ones. Today you will drink the blood of the world that tortured you!"

The palace echoed and shook with their cries.

She descended a coiling staircase. The screams rained against her. She crossed a dark hall lined with statues. The voices wept and begged. She reached an iron door that shone a deep gray; it towered taller than dragons. The screams crashed like falling empires.

"I have come, nephilim!" she shouted and laughed. "I come to free you!"

Red light and shadows scurried around the door. Claws reached under the doorframe, scratching at the iron. Blood dripped through the keyhole and between the hinges.

"Free us, free us!" they begged.

"End the pain!"

"End the hunger!"

Solina drew the key from her belt. It thrummed and gleamed in her hand, so hot it nearly burned her. A force was tugging it toward the lock; Solina barely kept it in her hand.

"I am Solina Pheobus!" she howled above the screams. "I am Queen of Tiranor! I am the Destroyer of Requiem! I free you, nephilim. You will follow my light to flesh and bone and blood!"

The red light streamed across her. Her key flared like a rising sun. Screaming and laughing, Solina placed the key into the lock.

She twisted.

Light and blood and sound exploded.

The Iron Door blazed like sunrise, then shattered into a million shards. Howls and stench rose. Shadows leaped. From the darkness, the nephilim swarmed.

Solina raised her arms above her, dwarfed by the giants, but shining bright with the light of her lord.

"Serve me, nephilim! I am Solina! I free you."

They spilled into the hall, weeping and shouting and swirling. They stood fifteen feet tall, giants of shriveled flesh, patches of scales, and diseased eyes. Their fangs tore at the walls. Their claws slashed. Their great wings, wide as the wings of dragons, beat the air. Their armor was rusted, their blades chipped, their chain mail hanging in shreds, yet still Solina knew: This was the greatest army the world had seen.

"We rise!" one shouted and wept tears of blood.

"We walk again!" cried another, a bloated beast with lines of teeth like stitches crossing its face.

They kept spilling from their prison, filling the halls, swarming across the caverns. A cry rose among them, a cry shriller and louder than all others, a screech like boiling oceans.

"Bow before Queen Solina!" The voice echoed. "I am Legion! I foresaw the savior. Bow before the Queen of Light!"

All around, the nephilim fell to their knees, wept, clawed the air, and screamed. They trembled. They kissed the floor.

"Hail Solina!" they cried. "Hail the prophet Legion! We rise!"

From the shadows of the prison, a great nephil emerged, taller than the others, reeking and rotten. He was an androgynous beast, a thing of ruin, but Solina deemed him male. A halo of fire burned around his brow; he alone among the beasts bore this crown. Solina knew this one from the old, whispered tales. He was Legion, spawn of a mortal priestess and a demon king—ruler of the nephilim.

Beneath his burning halo, strands of yellow hair dangled from his scarred head, caked with blood. Milky-white eyes burned in his face between oozing boils. He had no nose, only two slits for nostrils. Drool, blood, and sharp teeth filled his maw. His skin was rotten and torn, but muscles shone and rippled beneath it. His claws were long as swords and jagged black. Rust covered his armor and a great blade, taller than two men, hung at his side. He howled to the ceiling, arms raised and drool spraying.

"Hail Solina!" he cried. "I am Legion. I am Leader. I am Prophet. I serve you, Golden Queen! We are nephilim; we were fallen. We rise! We rise!"

They swarmed through the palace. They carried Solina upon their shoulders. They flapped wings, and clawed at walls, and shattered columns, and wept and praised her name. They flew to daylight. They flowed from the palace like a swarm of wasps from a nest. They filled the desert sky and howled at the sun. The land shook beneath them, the palace trembled, and the sand burned.

"Rise, nephilim!" cried Solina, caught in the storm of them, flying upon their glory. "Fill the world with your might! I will lead you to food. I will lead you to dragon bones and scales and blood to drink. Fly, nephilim! Fly north, fly to Requiem, and you will feast!"

The roared and sang and wept.

They flew.

Solina laughed and raised her arms and the sunlight bathed her.