A Night of Dragon Wings

LYANA



She sat tied to a tree when the nephilim lumbered into the camp.

The tree was an ancient oak, twisting skyward as tall as a palace, and its roots rose around Lyana, coiling and smoothed like the Oak Throne of Requiem's fallen hall. The tree grew in the southern corner of the camp behind piles of firewood; she could see nobody from here other than a distant guard in a tree.

It was seven days since she'd entered Second Haven, and she had spent these days sitting upon these fallen leaves, her wrists bound behind her back and tied to the trunk. The rope was ten feet long, just enough to let her sneak into the bushes when nature called, but too short to reach the huts, gardens, and people of the camp. Twice a day, the bronze brothers would bring her game and wild berries and oats. She ate at her tree. She slept at her tree. She wondered sometimes if she would grow old and die at her tree.

The seventh morning dawned clear and cold; winter was almost here, and the sun seemed small in the pale, cloudless sky, unable to warm her. Lyana shivered in her cloak and gave the ropes a good morning tug, but once again could not break them.

"Here," said Grom, the elder of the bronze brothers, who came trudging through the fallen leaves toward her. "Eat, dog."

He tossed a bowl of stewed greens and venison her way, spilling half onto the ground before her. Lyana glared, wrists bound behind her back. With a growl, she leaned down to grab the food in her mouth. Grom stood above her, smirking.

Before Lyana could take a bite, she heard the shrieks.

The sound tore across the camp, and Lyana winced and yelped. Grom covered his ears. It sounded like steel scratching along stone, like mountains shattering, like ancient souls torn in two. The camp shook with it. The shriek died for an instant, leaving Lyana's ears ringing, and then ten more cries answered it, and Lyana screamed.

Grom fell to his knees and clutched his ears.

"Grom!" Lyana shouted. "Free me. Nephilim. Free me!"

He looked up at her, gasped, and turned to flee. He kicked the bowl of food as he went.

"Grom, damn you!" Lyana shouted. "I will rip your guts out and feed them to the beasts!"

Shouts and screams sounded through the camp. Lyana leaped to her feet, ran ten steps, and the rope yanked her back. From here at her tree—stuck between a palisade on one side, a copse of oaks on the other—she could see nothing. She tried to shift—she had tried it a thousand times these past few days—and failed again, the ropes tugging her back into human form.

"Grom!" she screamed. "Damn you! You will hang for this in the court of my king!"

Fire blazed and heat washed Lyana. Ahead above the trees, she saw dragons take flight. A few were tough, hardened warriors roaring fire. Others were elders missing teeth. A few were youngsters, barely larger than horses. She could catch only glimpses of them between the branches. She saw a nephil shoot above, baring its fangs. She heard a dragon scream.

"Grom!" she shouted.

Screeches rose. Claws grabbed the trees before her and yanked them out. The roots pulled from the soil like hair pulled from a scalp, showering dirt. A nephil stood before her, holding an oak in each hand. The beast tossed back its rotted head, howled at the sky, and threw the trees aside.

Then it saw Lyana, its white eyes widened, and it snarled. Drool splattered. It came lolloping toward her on clawed feet.

Lyana stood with legs parted, rocking on her heels. Her wrists were still bound behind her; the rope which tethered her to the tree stood taut, a good ten feet long. She narrowed her eyes, staring at the approaching beast, and bared her teeth.

The nephil reached her and slammed down its claws.

Lyana leaped aside.

The claws slammed into the earth, digging ruts. The beast thrust its maw forward, teeth jutting out like rusted blades.

Shouting wordlessly, Lyana leaped back, allowing the rope to spin her around the tree like a tether-ball. She placed the trunk between herself and the nephil.

"God damn you, Grom," she muttered. If only she could fly! Stars, if only she had unbound wrists and sword in hand!

The nephil screeched, shaking the earth, and raced around the oak. It thrust down its jaw, and Lyana leaped back again. Its teeth dug into the earth. It raised its head and howled, a shattering sound that splattered drool and earth and dry leaves.

Lyana pressed herself close to the tree trunk, narrowed her eyes, and nodded at the rotted giant. The rope which ran between her wrists and the trunk lay loose at her feet.

With a howl, the nephil lashed its claws.

Lyana leaped forward, tightening the rope between herself and the trunk. The nephil's claws severed it.

Shouting hoarsely, Lyana ran through the camp. The nephil raced behind her. Its jaws lashed down, and she rolled. Its teeth missed her by inches. She leaped up and tried to shift, but could not; she was free from the tree, but the rope still bound her wrists behind her back.

Dragons and nephilim howled above her. Children ran through the camp. Lyana scurried forward. She looked over her shoulder and saw her nephil leap skyward like a giant, rotten grasshopper. The beast came plunging down toward her, and Lyana screamed and turned her head aside.

Fire blazed.

Through squinting eyes, Lyana saw a legless red dragon—Dorin Blacksmith!—crash into the nephil an instant before the beast could hit her. Dragon and nephil tumbled, rolled through the leaves, and crashed into a tree.

Lyana leaped up, whipping her head from side to side. The battle raged around her, nephilim and dragons slashing and biting and burning.

A blade. I need a blade!

Her eyes fell upon Grom.

"The poor fool," she muttered.

The miner lay in human form, his legs bitten off, his eyes staring lifelessly. He still clutched a sword in his hand—her sword, the ancient blade Levitas. The leaves around him soaked up his blood.

She ran toward him, turned backward, and crouched. She ran her wrists against Levitas, cutting the rope.

Three nephilim flew above, howled, and came swooping toward her.

The rope fell off her wrists.

Lyana grabbed her sword, shifted with it, and soared.

A blue dragon, she roared her fire, bathing the creatures. She shot through her own flame, lashed her claws, and crashed between the blazing nephilim. They fell around her, burnt and lacerated.

Lyana soared higher, rising from flame. Dragons and nephilim fought around her. She slew one beast with a blast of fire, then spun and swooped, the sun at her back. She crashed between the treetops into the camp, swung her claws, and ripped the head off a charging nephil.

Wails rose behind her. Lyana landed and spun around. A nephil was chasing a group of toddlers too young to shift. The children leaped under a fallen bole, which the nephil began to slash at. Still in dragon form, Lyana charged and leaped onto the nephil's back. It bucked, and she dug her teeth into its shoulder.

Gooey blood filled her mouth. The nephil screeched and she pulled it backward, allowing the toddlers to flee. She crashed onto her back, the nephil writhing above her. Lyana pushed her tail down, thrust herself up, and tossed the nephil forward. When it spun toward her, she flamed it and it fell.

She looked around the camp, panting. The battle was over.

The nephilim all lay dead, their corpses oozing pus and black blood thick with worms. Some lay burnt, others slashed with claws, their entrails dangling and their innards bustling with cockroaches. Many Vir Requis lay dead too, a hundred or more; they were torn apart, limbs strewn, heads severed. Some were half-eaten, and their blood stained the teeth of the fallen nephilim. Huts and trees burned, and living dragons flew between them, patting down the flames with tails and wings.

Lyana's head spun. She shifted back into human form and clutched her sword. Her hand trembled and her breath shook in her lungs.

War. War and blood and death again. She gritted her teeth, forcing down the horror. You are Lyana Eleison, Queen of Requiem, ruler to these people. You will not panic. You will not faint. You will stay strong.

A hoarse cry rose through the camp. Lyana drew her sword, for an instant sure a nephil still lived. She looked up to see Gar Miner walk through the camp, the younger of the bronze brothers. He howled and wept, carrying the body of his fallen brother.

"Dead!" he cried. "My brother is dead!" The short, burly miner looked at Lyana and his eyes blazed. "She led them here. Lyana Eleison arrived in our camp, and these beasts followed her." Tears ran down his cheeks. "She murdered my brother!"

He lowered his dead brother to the ground, knelt over him, and wept.

Around the camp, people muttered and stared at Lyana. One man, his arm lacerated, spat and glared. Two young men grabbed spears, and Gar rose to his feet and grabbed a club. They began to advance toward Lyana, stepping over corpses, and blood coated their boots. Lyana snarled and raised her sword.

"You accuse your queen of treason," she said softly. "Come lay this charge before my sword; Levitas will cut your lying tongues from your mouths." She spat toward them. "I've slain more of Solina's beasts in this war than you have thoughts in your skulls. If you accuse me of treason, I will slay you too."

They kept advancing toward her, raising their weapons. Ash and blood covered their faces.

"You are no queen in Second Haven," said Gar. He limped; a gash ran down his leg. "You are a stranger here, and you've brought only blood to this camp. Your blood will be the last shed here."

The men charged toward her.

Lyana growled and raised her sword.

"Cease this madness!" rose a shout over the camp.

A legless red dragon dived down from above, wings raising a cloud of fallen leaves and dirt. Snorting smoke, Dorin landed by the combatants. He shoved his head between them, nudging Lyana away from Gar and his comrades. He blasted more smoke from his nostrils and grumbled. When Gar tried to step around him, Dorin slapped him back with his wing, and the miner's club thumped to the ground.

Dorin shifted back into human form. He lay legless upon the leaves, his grizzled hair and beard matted with dirt and soot. He grumbled and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"Gar," he said and coughed. Soon his entire body shook as he hacked. "Gar, fetch me my seat. Go, son."

The young miner still shed tears. He looked at Lyana. He looked back at his dead brother, and a sob racked his body. Finally Gar stormed into the wooden hall—half its roof had collapsed—and emerged carrying the mock Oak Throne carved from roots. He placed it upon the forest floor, grabbed Dorin under his arms, and lifted him into the seat.

The Legless Lord sat in the forest, and slowly the Vir Requis of his camp gathered around. Many clutched wounds.

Dorin shouted, voice hoarse. "People of Second Haven! Hear me. Hear your Lord Dorin. This camp is lost; Queen Solina knows we are here, and she will send more of these beasts our way. We must leave this place."

All around, men and women wailed, whispered, and looked from side to side. Gardens lay trampled. Huts lay fallen. The palisades were smashed.

Lyana lowered her head. She knew what these people were thinking.

They spent moons building this place, she thought. They believed their life could spring anew here—a new city for the children of Requiem, a new haven. Now they relive the destruction of Nova Vita. Now again they are refugees.

She stepped toward Dorin and bowed her head.

"Lord Dorin," she said softly; for the first time, she gave him the honor of a title. "You fought nobly. You saved my life." She held her sword before her, blade pointing down. "Fight by my side. Fly with me to Confutatis, capital of this kingdom you hide in, and speak with me to the king of men. Let us Vir Requis form an alliance with Osanna." She raised her sword. "We will not just flee. We will not hide. We will fight."

Dorin stared up at her from his seat, eyes narrowed and shrewd. His lips tightened and he clutched the armrests.

"How can we fight such evil?" he said, voice low.

She grabbed his shoulder. "We fly south. We fly to Tiranor. Solina is sending her wrath north, emptying her lands. We will fly to those lands and rain fire upon her." She tightened her fingers around him and stared into his eyes. "Fly with me, Dorin. The days of hiding are over. Fly with me, sound your roar, and blow your fire with mine. A dragon needs no legs, only fire and wings."

He glared up at her, lips tightened and trembling. Finally he coughed, spat sideways, and stared back at her.

"I will not serve you as some man-at-arms." His fists shook around his seat's armrests. "My sons served your husband, the Boy King Elethor. They fell upon his towers. I flew for Elethor. I lost my legs in his service. No, girl. My days of serving Elethor are over. Requiem is fallen, and he has no titles in these lands, nor do you."

Her lip curled. "Requiem did not fall. She lives in the west, in Salvandos, among tree and stone, a light in our hearts."

Dorin snorted. "Then let Requiem remain in the west." He swept his arm around him and spoke louder. "This is Second Haven! This is a free realm. Look at our banners upon the trees; they fly still." He looked back at her with narrowed eyes and spoke softly. "But yes, Lyana. I will fly with you. And I will rain fire upon those who destroyed our camp. I will not bend the knee before King Elethor even if I still had knees to bend. Let Requiem and Second Haven fly together, two free nations aligned, and together we will crush this desert queen."

Lyana stared at him silently. The man still spoke treason. To secede from Requiem meant to hang from her walls.

She lowered her head. Yet those walls are fallen. And I cannot fight this entire camp, nor will I kill my own people. She heaved a sigh. Bloody stars, but Elethor will kill me when he hears.

She nodded. "We fly together, Dorin. Requiem and Second Haven. Let us seek what allies we can in these eastern realms—men and griffins who will fight at our side." She gripped her sword and snarled. "And then we will set the desert aflame."