A Night of Dragon Wings

ELETHOR



He flew across the temple ruins, roaring fire.

"Vir Requis!" he shouted. "Fall back to the main hall! Fall back! We gather in the Hall of Faces."

That hall, once the central temple of Bar Luan, rose at the back of the ruins. Over thousands of years, the rest of the complex had fallen to the encroaching forest; roots, trunks, and branches had gradually broken down Bar Luan's outer walls, smaller homes, and statues. The great Hall of Faces, however, still stood. Its walls were pockmarked and green with moss. The great stone faces upon those walls, each as large as a dragon, were smoothed with countless winters of rain and snow. Holes gaped open in the walls, punched by tree roots or the slow pummeling of the years.

Today fire blasted from those holes, burning the spawn of nephilim. Some dragons hid inside that great hall; there was safety there, Elethor thought. But many Vir Requis—hundreds of them, perhaps—still hid across the rest of the complex. These ones crouched in human forms. They hid under fallen statues, inside the small stone homes of ancient monks, or in tunnels that had once led to cellars. These hideouts had protected them from the fully grown nephilim; those beasts were too large to enter burrows where humans could fit. Now, as Elethor flew above the ruins, the spawn of nephilim scuttled across the ruins like cockroaches, entering every hollow and hole and feasting upon what flesh they found. Hundreds swarmed.

Three nephilim took flight from a craggy wall and flapped toward him. Their claws reached out, and their teeth snapped. Elethor doused them with fire. More nephilim soared from the ruins below and crashed into him. Elethor swiped his tail and crushed one's head. Another clawed his legs, and Elethor howled and flamed it.

"Vir Requis!" he shouted. "Fly with me! To the hall!"

A few Vir Requis burst out from their hiding places. Three children—just old enough to shift—emerged from a cellar, shifted, and took flight. Nephilim screeched and swooped toward them. From under a statue rose a silver dragon; she clutched her babe in her claws, a boy too young to shift. Three youths ran from inside a crumbled old home, took flight, and roared fire.

"To the Hall of Faces!" Elethor howled. "Enter through the windows at the back."

He flamed another nephil. To his left, three dragons soared. Nephilim crashed into them, claws swinging. One of the dragons screamed, then fell as a bloodied human girl. Beneath Elethor, three graybeards ran from a cellar, swinging clubs at nephil spawn. One old man fell, and the spawn leaped onto him, and blood sprayed.

The nephilim covered the sky. More kept rising from the trees. Elethor cursed and began flying toward the temple, spraying his fire.

"Fly!" he shouted. "Vir Requis, to the hall! Follow!"

Dozens of dragons soared around him, blowing their flames. Walls of fire rose around them. Nephilim tried to break through. They blazed and screeched and fell. The trees below kindled, and smoke filled the sky. Elethor coughed, barely able to see. More dragons kept rising from below. More nephilim crashed into them, biting and clawing. One crashed onto Elethor's back, and its teeth scraped his shoulder, and he roared and bucked. He slammed his tail like a scorpion, driving its spikes into the nephil; as the beast fell, he flamed it.

"To the Hall of Faces!" he cried. "Enter the windows."

He began circling the great, crumbling temple. Through holes in the walls and ceiling, he saw hundreds of Vir Requis inside. Most huddled in the center of the temple in human forms. The rest stood as dragons at the walls, blasting fire from windows, archways, and holes.

"We're sending people in!" Elethor shouted at them through a hole in the roof. "Make room!"

The dragons inside nodded, pulled back from one window, and opened a path for survivors. At once, the nephil spawn began clattering up the wall outside toward the window. Elethor swooped and whipped his tail, shoving them off. He blasted flames against the wall, burning the others.

Teeth bit into his wings, and he dipped several feet. Spawn covered him, biting and clawing. Elethor growled and shook, but they clung to him. He crashed onto the forest floor, and the brood crawled over him like ants over a discarded piece of fruit. Elethor roared and rolled and blew flames, but the spawn seemed endless.

Roars sounded above. A yellow dragon dived, shifted into human form, and leaped onto Elethor's back. It was Yar, the youth who had shared Elethor's tunnel for six days. He began swinging his sword, knocking the spawn off.

"Yar, shift and blow fire!" Elethor shouted. "Help me hold them back."

The boy nodded, leaped, and shifted back into dragon form. He and Elethor stood flanking the window, blowing flames at the encroaching spawn. Two walls of fire spread from the temple across the complex, creating a corridor.

Dragons dived into the corridor of fire, shifted into humans, and began leaping through the window into the temple. Soon a dozen had entered, and more kept landing between the streams of flame. Elethor dug his claws into the earth; he had maybe a few more breaths of fire in him before he would need rest.

Three young dragons landed in the corridor, shifted, and began running toward the window. An adult nephil swooped from above and tore into them. Its claws ripped them apart and the beast howled, tossing limbs aside like a child tossing toys.

Elethor growled and turned his fire toward the beast, crossing his flames with Yar's. The nephil shrieked and burned. More came flying from Elethor's other side, and more spawn began crawling atop him. He roared and fell back against the temple, cracking the wall, and tore the beasts off. He looked up to see thousands fly toward him; they covered the ruins.

"Yar, get inside!" he shouted. "Into the temple."

The yellow dragon growled at his side, clawing at demon spawn. "Not without you, my king."

"Go now, Yar! I'll hold them back. Go!"

He trundled toward the boy, shaking spawn off his back, and whipped his tail, knocking more beasts off the yellow dragon's back.

"Go!"

Yar blasted fire at the sky, catching a diving nephil, and shifted. He leaped through the window into the temple.

Elethor stood outside the walls, alone with the nephilim. The covered the ruins before him: the forest floor, the trees, the crumbled walls, and the sky. He could see nothing but them, a tapestry of the Abyss. Their eyes blazed, burning white. Their tongues lolled, raining drool. Some had swollen, distorted heads that leaked pus. Others had gaunt, long faces lined with spikes. Some had nothing but great mouths full of teeth, their entire heads made only of jaws.

"Elethorrr…," one hissed, a great nephil that hovered among them. Its wings spread wide, and it sat upon a throne of flame. A halo of fire wreathed its brow, shrieking like a storm, and blood coated its maw. It was the largest among them, a leader of darkness.

"You will leave this place," Elethor called to it, standing before the temple window. "You will return to the Abyss."

The nephilim tossed their heads back and howled. They laughed and snapped their teeth and beat their wings. Severed heads and limbs cracked inside their jaws. Their leader rose higher upon a throne of fire. Its halo blazed white-hot.

"I am Legion!" it screeched, its voice so loud and shrill, Elethor roared in pain and trees cracked across the ruins. "I am Prophet! I serve the great Queen Solina. I have feasted upon the sons of dragons. I will feast upon their king! Your doom is near, King Elethor of Requiem. Your blood will be my wine, and your spine will feed my children." It howled, pus and blood spraying from its maw. "The time of the dragon ends, King Elethor. Your kingdom is fallen. The world burns and we, the Fallen, feast. The nephilim rise!"

All around Legion, the thousands of nephilim repeated the cry. "We rise! We rise! We feast!"

How can we fight such evil? Elethor thought in a daze. His head spun. He felt weak. He could barely cling to his magic. How can we fight countless of these demons, creatures risen from ancient evil? How can Requiem survive such malice, such might?

He thought of Lyana, his wife, the love and light of his life. He thought of Mori, his sister whom he had vowed to find. He thought of all those people who had died under his banner, and those who still lived behind him.

I am still their king. Even now. Even as our light fades. If we die here, let us die with a roar that will sound across the world.

He sounded his roar. He blew his fire at the Prophet of the Fallen. The blaze crashed into Legion, and the nephil screeched to the sky.

Elethor shifted into human form and leaped through the window. He rolled into the temple and the arms of fellow survivors. At once two dragons thrust their heads to the window and shot fire outside, holding the swarm back.

Elethor lay in human form, bruised and cut and bleeding. He struggled to his feet and looked around him. His breath left his lungs and the weight of mountains seemed to lie upon his shoulder.

So few still live.

Several hundred Vir Requis huddled here, bloodied and bruised, clinging to one another. This was all that remained of his father's nation. Dragons stood along the walls and clung to the ceiling, blowing fire outside, holding the nephilim back.

But they will break in, Elethor thought. They will break these walls and they will tear us apart—elders, mothers, children. They will feed the horde and King's Column will fall.

"Come back to us, Lyana," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Come back to us, Bayrin. Bring what aid you can. We cannot wait."

He didn't even know if his friends could find them now. If Bayrin and Lyana returned to their abandoned camp, would they know to head to Bar Luan? Were they alone here, and no aid could reach them?

The sun set outside. Darkness covered the world. The nephilim howled and slammed against the walls. Dust and moss fell and babes wept. Fire blew. Elethor shifted back into dragon form and replaced a young dragon at a window. He blew his fire, not knowing if they'd last the night.