A Night of Dragon Wings

MORI



The world spun around her.

Mori remembered little of leaving Irys, capital of Tiranor: only the scent of sand, the shriek of beasts above, and Treale carrying her across her shoulders. The young squire was a slight woman, and yet she had carried Mori through the entire city of sprawling squares, cobbled alleys, and throngs of people.

Stars, I'm so thin, Mori remembered thinking in a daze. I'm skin and bones.

Beasts of claws and fangs soared overhead, scuttled down the streets, and cried to the sun. Soldiers ran and somewhere above Solina laughed, flying upon the king of the Fallen, a twisted beast crowned with a flaming halo. Treale was sweating beneath her as they sneaked outside the city walls. The desert sands swirled around the squire's feet, and finally they rested beneath an ancient, smoothed statue of a falcon that rose from the dunes.

"Here," Treale said, reached into her pack, and handed her a waterskin. "Drink."

Sweat, sand, and blood coated Treale, and she panted and wiped damp hair off her brow. When Mori held out her arms to grab the waterskin, they seemed so thin to her, mere twigs compared to Treale's arms. Her hands trembled as she clutched the skin, and Treale had to help her drink. It was good, clear water, the best she had drunk in moons.

"I can't see very well," she said softly. The sun blazed overhead, and shadows fell only when nephilim scudded across it. The world seemed fuzzy and far too bright; it was like looking through sunlit glass.

Treale took a pomegranate from her pack and cracked it open against her knee. She handed half to Mori.

"Your eyesight will improve," she said firmly. "Eat, Mori. Eat and you'll grow strong again."

Her voice didn't waver, but Mori saw tears in the young woman's eyes. She looked down at her pomegranate. Looking at the bright red color helped her focus her eyes, and she blinked a few times. She scooped seeds out and ate them, then closed her eyes and sighed. They were the sweetest, most wonderful, magical things she had ever eaten; they exploded in her mouth and shot healing energy through her. Her body shook with it.

A shadow fell over them. A nephil screeched above and swooped so low, its wings raised sand around them. The creature overshot them and soared over the city ahead, crying to the sun. More followed, a flock of rot and screams, their wings spreading their stench.

"We shall feed on dragon bones!" they screeched. "We shall drink dragon blood! Hail Solina. Hail the Golden Queen!" They beat their wings and swirled across the desert sky. "We are free! We will eat dragon flesh!"

Treale huddled closer to the old falcon statue that rose above them; the sand below and the limestone beak above formed a hollow. Mori pushed herself back and huddled by her friend. She began to shiver.

"How did Solina free the nephilim, Treale?" she whispered. "My books said the Ancients imprisoned them years ago."

The squire placed her arms around her, pulled her close, and held her. She too was shaking. Sand stung the welts on Mori's back, mingling with the pain in her belly and head. She watched as the beasts dived and cried overhead.

"Don't worry about those creatures, Mori," Treale said, holding her. "I'll get you out of this desert. I promise. We're going to fly north to a beautiful forest, and we'll find lots of food there, and we'll live there together." Her tears fell. "I promise. Do you believe me?"

Though Mori shook and her own eyes dampened, she nodded.

"Will Elethor be there?" she whispered. "Is Bayrin waiting in that forest too? And Lyana? They're waiting in that forest for us, right?"

Treale hung her head low and said nothing. A tear streamed down her cheek.

Mori bit her lip. "I thought not," she whispered.

With a sniff, Treale raised her head, looked into her eyes, and pulled her into a soft embrace.

"I pray that they live, Mori," she whispered. "But if they're gone… if you and I are the only ones left… then we must survive. We must escape and we must live alone. You understand, right?"

Mori nodded, a lump in her throat. "We will live, Treale. We will get out of this awful place." Her lip trembled, and the statue shook behind them with the shrieks of the beasts above. "We'll find that forest, and we'll find lots of food and water, and we'll survive."

Treale sniffed again and knuckled her eyes. "Can you fly, Mori?"

"I don't know. Let me eat a little more. Let me catch my breath. And then we'll try to fly. If I can't, will you let me ride you—you a dragon and me a human?"

Treale laughed through her tears. "You'd fall straight off! But if you can't fly, I will hold you in my claws, and I promise to be gentle."

They finished their pomegranate, then some bread and cheese Treale had pilfered from the dungeon, and Mori felt some of her strength return. The world still seemed too bright, and her limbs too shaky and weak, but she managed to push herself up to her feet.

"We'll walk a little farther," Treale said. She pointed ahead. "See the mountains there in the west?"

Mori squinted, able to see only a tan smudge. She nodded. "I see them."

"None of these creatures fly there. But we will. We will rest there among the stones for the night, then keep going. The swamps of Gilnor lie a few days northwest. We'll find more food there—fish and frogs to eat—and we'll find shelter under trees." Treale's voice trembled as she spoke, but she clenched her fists and plowed on. "We'll fly north from the swamps. A few days' flight will take us to the forests of Salvandos. That's where the true dragons live, and they can protect us. We can be there this moon, if we fly fast enough."

"The salvanae!" Mori breathed.

She had read many books about them. True dragons of old, they had no wings, no limbs, and no human forms; they flew as great chinking serpents, wild in the forests and mountains, forging no metal and plowing no fields, yet studying the stars and singing many old songs. Mori had seen a salvana once—the priest Nehushtan, a wise old dragon who had visited Requiem a year ago.

She lowered her head. Memories of Requiem flowed over her, as powerful as whips: Lacrimosa Hill where she had stood with her brother, the library with the leather books, and her canopy bed where she would laugh with Bayrin. Her trembling returned, and tears filled her eyes, but she knuckled them dry. She could not panic now. She could not weep now. They were still in danger; there would be time for tears later.

"Let's go," she said. "We'll walk to the mountains as humans so the nephilim don't see us. We'll fly from there. I'm strong enough."

They began the journey. Mori walked with her arms slung across Treale's shoulders, and the young squire held her waist and helped her every step. The nephilim kept swarming above, screaming of the dragons they'd eat. If they saw Mori and Treale, two haggard women, they did not see them as prey. When one landed in the desert before them, and hissed at them, Mori nearly fainted with fright. The nephil, however, only tossed its head, spraying drool, and took flight again.

"Dragons!" it screeched. "Solina will feed us. We will feast upon them!"

Mori tightened her lips and kept walking toward the mountains. "Come on, Treale. Let's hurry. I reckon Solina told these creatures they can only eat prisoners and dragons, not her people. They must think we're Tirans. But once they get hungry enough to forget orders… I want to be far away."

They seemed to walk forever. The sand burned Mori's bare feet, and the sun pummeled her. When evening fell, she looked behind her. The city of Irys was distant now, a patch of stone under the red sky. Nephilim still bustled above it, cawing and swirling, landing and soaring. None now flew over Mori and Treale; they were safe from them here.

When Mori looked west toward the mountains, she let out a sigh. They still seemed so distant, leagues and leagues away, no closer than they had ever been.

"Once we get to those mountains, we can fly," Treale said. "We'll be far enough from the nephilim. They're staying at the city, and they won't see two dragons from there."

Mori nodded. Yet how far was enough? She felt weak, and her eyes rolled back. When she blinked, she found herself sitting in the sand, legs splayed out.

"Oh, Mori," Treale said softly, knelt, and touched Mori's forehead. "I'm sorry; I pushed you too hard. We'll rest for a bit here, okay? We'll keep walking toward the mountains later, and then I can fly and carry you."

Mori nodded, head spinning. Treale let her drink some more; there were only a few sips left, and Mori left the last one for Treale, yet the squire insisted that she was not thirsty. They nibbled on more bread and cheese as night fell. The sun dipped behind the horizon so fast here in Tiranor, not a slow melting sunset like the northern ones of Requiem, but a plunge into darkness. The stars emerged overhead, piercing bright, millions of them. The Draco constellation shone in the north—the stars of their home.

"Can we sleep a little, Treale?" Mori whispered. "I'm so tired. So tired. Can we sleep just for a little?"

Treale nodded. Nothing but leagues of sand surrounded them, but thankfully the wind lay low, and the dunes did not swirl. Treale laid out her cloak, lay down upon it, and Mori lay beside her.

With the sun gone, it grew very cold very fast. The day had been so hot, and sweat had drenched the two women, and the sun had burned their skin. Now it felt like winter, and Mori shivered. She clung to Treale, sharing her warmth. Weariness tugged on her as tightly as chains.

"Mori?" Treale whispered. "Do you remember my canopy bed in Oldnale Manor, the one we'd sleep in as children? Remember how we'd hide under the blankets, pretend it's a palace, and read books? Let's pretend we're sleeping there now."

Mori smiled, remembering that great bed with its oak posts, soft mattress of feathers, and woolen quilts. She imagined that she lay there again, and slowly the beating of her heart eased.

"Thank you, Treale," she whispered. "Thank you for coming for me."

They slept embraced, their breath mingling.

They woke to a dawn of shrieks and rot.

Mori opened her eyes and shivered. She had not expected to sleep this long, yet the morning rose around her, and she still lay by Treale. The desert shook around them. Nephilim swarmed above, their wings tossing the sand into clouds. Mori coughed; the sand entered her nostrils and mouth. Treale woke at her side and coughed too, and they could barely see through the sandstorm. The shadows of the nephilim shot overhead, wings beat, stench flared, and shrieks cracked the air.

"We seek dragon blood!" they howled. "We will find the dragons, and we will feast! We fly to blood and organs and sweet marrow. We rise, we rise!"

Mori and Treale lay huddled together. The sand rose and stormed around them. The horde seemed to swarm forever, blasting their faces and fluttering their hair and cloaks with beating wings. Finally the last nephil disappeared overhead, leaving the sand and stench to settle. Globs of nephil drool and pus littered the desert like boils upon patchy skin.

Mori rose to her feet and stared north. Her heart thrashed against her ribs, and her legs shook. She shielded her eyes with her palm and stared after the dwindling nephil army.

Stars, she thought and her breath quickened.

"Treale!" she said. "Treale, they… they seek dragons!"

The young squire pushed herself to her feet. Sand filled her long black hair, painting it yellow. She shook that hair and patted sand off her tunic.

"I heard!" she said. "Bloody stars, trust me, I heard; they've been screaming about that for two days now. That's why we're walking in human forms, isn't it?"

Mori wheeled toward her, and a smile spread across her face. She grabbed her friend's shoulders. "But Treale! Don't you understand? How did I not see this earlier? If they seek dragons, that means others still live! More Vir Requis survived, not just you and me!"

She trembled and panted, still grinning. Bayrin! Bayrin might be alive! And my brother Elethor, and my friend Lyana, and maybe more—many more.

Of course, if they did live, they were in grave danger. Solina had summoned these new beasts to hunt them—just like she had summoned the wyverns and phoenixes. But still, they could be alive. That filled Mori with such joy that she lifted her chin and began walking again, not even waiting for Treale.

"Mori!" Treale said behind her. "Wait up. Mori!"

But Mori would not wait. She kept walking, head high, biting her trembling lip.

They're alive. I know it. They have to be. Otherwise Solina would never have sent these beasts to find them.

Treale rushed up beside her, buckling her cloak and tossing her pack across her shoulders. They walked through the sand, stepping around the globs of nephil drool.

"Mori, please," Treale said. "I… I hope they're alive too, but… I don't want us to get our hopes up. Okay, Mori? You understand, right?" She looked down at her feet. "Mori, we both saw the wyverns destroy Nova Vita. It was a slaughter. I don't know if anyone else escaped. It could be Solina lied to these nephilim, or maybe only a very, very small handful survived in the mountains where the miners work."

Mori stopped walking and turned to face her friend. She sniffed and tightened her fists.

"Bayrin is alive," she said. "I feel it. I know it. Elethor and Lyana are alive too. They are great warriors and… stars, Treale. Solina wouldn't wake this horde of demons for a few miners. She sent them to catch Elethor! He's always been the one she wanted. This whole war started because of this… this unholy obsession she has with him. Elethor is alive, and if he's alive, I bet he kept Lyana and Bayrin close to him. We'll find them, Treale." A tear rolled down to her lips. "I won't stop looking. I believe."

She looked behind her; the city was distant and the nephilim had left it. She looked ahead; the horde had disappeared over the mountains.

Now we fly.

Mori summoned her magic and shifted.

Her wings wobbled. She tried to take off, flew a few feet, and dipped. Her claws hit the sand, and she kicked off again, flapped her wings with all her strength, and rose into a tottering flight. It took several heavy strokes to fill her wings with enough air and rise higher. She dipped again, snarled, and finally managed to rise and glide.

I will find you, Bayrin. I will find you, Elethor and Lyana. I swear.

Yet as she flew, she wondered: If truly she found Bayrin, would he even recognize her now? Whom would he find when he held her in his arms? Not the old Princess Mori, the timid girl whose lips he would kiss, who would laugh at his jokes. No; she could barely remember that Mori anymore. She did not know who she was now. A princess of Requiem? A famished prisoner, her back scarred and her mind forever haunted? In the dungeons of Tiranor, had something broken deep inside her, something that could never heal? She did not know.

"You are Mori," she whispered as she flew. "You are Mori, Mori, Mori."

She might not know what that name meant anymore, whether it was the name of a princess, a prisoner, or a survivor, but she would not forget it. She would cling to herself. She would hang onto that name like a rope, for below her spread an endless pit and the reaching claws of monsters.

She flew over the mountains, their peaks carved from tan, bare rock. Treale flew at her side, black scales shimmering under the sun. The Tiran Sea shone blue and white to the northeast; distant beyond that horizon lay the ruins of Requiem, too far to see from here. When Mori looked northwest, she could just make out a green haze: the swamps of Gilnor. Beyond them lay a wilderness of forests where lived the salvanae, the true dragons… and safety, and hope, and a dream.

They flew toward that distant green patch, two dragons in an endless sky.