A Night of Dragon Wings

LYANA



They flew north across the plains, heading toward the ancient capital of Osanna, and found it burning.

Lyana had been to this place, the legendary city of Confutatis, many times. She had flown here with her father to visit the king of men, a wise old grandfather with a flowing white beard but pitch-black eyebrows. The people of Osanna had no magic; they could not become dragons like the children of Requiem, but rode horses and shot arrows, forged steel and wove silk, wrote ancient books and studied the stars. They were an ancient race—their history stretched back as far as Requiem's—and wise.

As a youth, Lyana had read many stories of Confutatis, the White City: how the twins Osira and Osari had founded the city, carving its first bricks three thousand years ago; how Confutatis grew from a simple village of farmers to a great metropolis of towers, amphitheaters, castles, and a million souls; and of course, how the tyrant Dies Irae conquered Confutatis, forged his center of power here, and led the griffins from this place to destroy Requiem, leaving only the Living Seven among the ruins. Confutatis was a city of ancient secrets, of old blood, of steel and light and stone. For three hundred years now, the priest-kings of the Earth God had ruled here, honoring a strong alliance with Requiem—an alliance Lyana was depending on.

And today… today when she needed this city's strength most, she found its walls crumbling.

She still flew several miles away, and shadows still cloaked the world; dawn had just begun to rise. But dragon eyes were sharp, and Lyana snarled. A hundred nephilim encircled the city, tearing down walls and towers with claw and tooth. Arrows rained upon them from the battlements. More nephilim flew above, dipping to claw at soldiers who manned towers or ran along snaking streets. Three nephilim barreled into one of those towers, a great spire of marble and gold; it crashed onto the streets below, burying men beneath it.

Stars, Lyana thought, is no place upon this earth safe anymore? Solina's arm had grown long enough to cross desert, sea, forest, and plains, even to this distant northern city.

She turned to look at the dragons who flew around her. Dorin flew to her right, an old red dragon with no back legs, his wings whistling with holes. At her left flew Gar, the young miner, a burly bronze dragon with fire in his jaws. Behind them flew the survivors of Second Haven: three thousand men, women, and children. Their eyes widened with fear, and they blasted fire.

Lyana raised her voice and cried to them.

"Soldiers ahead!" she shouted, smoke fuming from her nostrils and mouth. "Women and children behind. Battle formations—like we drilled. Go!"

Wings creaking, Dorin snarled at her. His eyes blazed.

"You will lead our last survivors to die upon the walls of a foreign city?" He turned to the dragons behind them. "Dragons of Second Haven! This is not our war. We have come for aid; we find death. Fly back! Back to the forests! To—"

Lyana slammed into him, shoving him into a tumble. He glared and snapped at her, and she pulled back and hissed. Flames sparked between her teeth. She and Dorin circled each other in the sky, glaring and snorting smoke and flames.

"You have played your little games of dominion, Legless Lord," she said, spitting out the last words mockingly. "Yet Confutatis still stands; she is besieged but still fights. We will fly to her aid."

She looked back at the battle. Trebuchets swung upon the city walls, tossing boulders onto the Fallen Horde. One boulder crashed into a nephil, crushing the beast upon the plains like a great insect. Other nephilim still swooped above the city, lifting men from towers and feasting upon them. Arrows thrust out from the creatures, but seemed barely to faze them; their hunger was too great. Some soldiers of Osanna upon the walls, tall men clad in steel, saw the dragons and raised a cry.

"Requiem!" they cried. "Requiem flies to our aid!"

The nephilim screeched, turned, and saw the dragons too. They raised their arms and howled, and a city wall cracked, and the land itself shook. Dozens of the creatures began flying south toward Lyana, Dorin, and the thousands behind them.

"We flee now!" Dorin said, glaring at Lyana. "That is my order; these are my people."

Lyana looked back at the dragons; they hovered in midair, torn between their queen and their new lord. She looked at the nephilim; they flew across the plains, bat wings beating, teeth bared and glinting in the small morning sun.

"Dorin," she said softly. "Dorin, I led your son in battle."

His eyes narrowed. He sucked in his breath. Smoke plumed from his clenched jaw.

"He was brave," Lyana said softly as the nephil horde approached. "He was among the bravest dragons I knew. He charged into the host of phoenixes, and… I could not save him. But he saved me. He saved many."

Dorin hissed and flames shot from his mouth. "You will not mention my son! You—"

"Dorin, do not flee from this battle. If truly you lead these people, you must fight for them." She looked back at the nephilim; they flew only a mile away now. Her jaw twisted into a crooked smile. "We can take them."

Dorin stared at her. He stared at the dragons behind him. He stared at the enemy and grunted. Finally he bucked and roared.

"Dragons of Second Haven! Leave none alive!" He blew his fire, clawed the sky, and charged toward the horde. "Slay them!"

A hundred dragons, warriors of Second Haven, sounded their cry and charged.

The nephilim crashed into them.

Lyana blew fire. She slammed her tail's spikes into one nephil's head, punching through its skull. Her claws slashed another. Three nephilim crashed onto her, clinging like spiders onto their prey, and teeth punched through her scales. She roared and clawed at them, dipping in the sky. Another soared from below and slammed into her belly. The beasts enveloped her, crushing her and biting, and she howled.

Stars damn it.

With a deep breath, she shifted into human form.

She slipped between their claws and tumbled toward the ground.

Wind roared. The nephilim shrieked above and swooped. Before she could hit the ground, Lyana shifted back into a dragon and soared, shooting fire. Her blaze caught the swooping nephilim and she knocked between them, clawing their burning forms. They fell around her, blood and worms spilling from their wounds.

She soared to fight among her comrades. The dragons flew back and forth, blazing their fire. These ones had survived the phoenixes, the wyverns, and the attacks on Second Haven; they were scarred and battle-hardened, and they killed with grim intent. Nephilim fell before them, blazing.

A few of the beasts dipped, flew beneath the warrior dragons, and crashed into the women, children, and elders. Screams rose. Claws dug into dragon flesh. Dragons returned to human form and tumbled, and nephilim caught them in their jaws and feasted.

Lyana howled.

"Circle the group!" she shouted to her fellow warriors. "Above and below!"

She swooped, slashed a nephil's swollen head, and flew under the mothers and children. Nephilim swarmed her way; she blazed them with flames, and above her, the young dragons screamed. At her sides flew the other warriors, circling the weaker dragons, forming a shield of scale and flame around them. The nephilim kept charging at them. The dragons kept blowing their flames.

Finally only three nephilim remained. They howled, spraying fountains of saliva. One reached out and grabbed the leg of an old, female dragon. He pulled her from the protective ring and bit deep, and the old dragon returned to human form. The nephilim tore her apart and fed upon her.

Lyana roared and charged at them. Fire blazed at her side; Dorin flew there, howling. The two dragons—blue and red—crashed into the feasting nephilim, clawing and biting and thrusting their horns. The beasts fell dead, and Lyana roared to the sky.

She looked back at her people. Some had fallen; their bodies lay upon the fields below. Most still flew, scales splashed with blood and soot. Heart hammering, Lyana whipped her head back toward the city. Dozens of nephilim still flew above the walls, insects above a prized morsel.

"To Confutatis!" Lyana cried and roared a pillar of flame. "Slay the beasts upon the walls and towers!"

Three thousand dragons streamed toward the city, raising a roar to shake the earth. Lyana flew at their lead, blowing fire and howling, a hoarse cry of rage, of pain, of loss—a cry for the death of her parents, for the fall of her palace, for the fading light of her people. She flew to aid others. She flew to slay her enemies. She flew as queen, as a woman haunted, as a blue dragon with so much fear and pain inside her that she could never heal. She shot over the city walls. Above the towers and streets of Confutatis, she crashed into nephilim and slew them with fire and claw.

When all the creatures lay dead, diseased corpses strewn across streets and roofs, Lyana landed upon a steeple that rose among cobbled streets, dwarfing the houses and shops beneath it. Her fellow dragons landed upon roofs, towers, and walls around her, panting and tossing their heads to scatter their smoke. Around them across the city, soldiers ran in armor, cheering and crying for Requiem.

We slew them, Lyana thought, snarling and baring her teeth. We slew the bastards, and we will slay Solina next.

She kicked off the steeple and rose into the sky.

"Dragons of Requiem!" she shouted. "We've secured the city. We've shown our strength! We—"

Shrieks rose in the south.

Lyana's heart froze.

Hovering in midair, she turned to see a bustling swarm cover the southern horizon.

They had slain a hundred nephilim. Ten thousand more now cried for blood and stormed toward the city.

Merciful stars.

Below Lyana, Osannan soldiers ran along the streets, drawing swords and arrows; they heard the distant shrieks. Around her upon the towers, walls, and roofs of the White City, her fellow dragons snarled and stared. They were weary. Blood coated their scales. So much of the city lay fallen around them, towers smashed and walls fallen and houses crushed—the work of but a hundred nephlim. Now thousands flew from the south, and Lyana trembled and spat flames.

"Stars bless us, Requiem," she whispered. She landed back on the steeple. She could not win this fight, she knew. Not with only three thousand dragons, most of them elders and children. Not with only men living in this city, soldiers so small and frail by the cruelty and might of the Fallen Horde.

So here my life ends, she thought, far from Requiem and far from my king—here, upon the white walls of Osanna's Jewel, will I die with fire.

The screams rose from the south. The eyes of the nephilim blazed. Their wings rose and fell like a cloud of locusts. All around Lyana, dragons snarled upon roofs and men drew arrows upon walls.

Dorin perched upon a temple's dome beside her. He looked at her, and his eyes were weary; so much pain and whispers of blood filled them.

"Lyana," he said softly. She had never heard him speak softly before. "Lyana, you are brave, and you are strong, and you fought well. But now we must flee. We have shown our honor here, but this is not our war."

She glared at him, and her claws dug grooves into the steeple.

"This is Solina's horde!" she said. "These are the beasts that ravaged our camp. Here is our war—it flies toward us."

Dorin sighed and gestured at the city that sprawled around them. "In Confutatis? City of men? We are Vir Requis, Lyana. These are not our walls to die upon. This is not our city to protect."

"Our walls fell!" She snapped her teeth. "Our city, which we protected, burned. I will make my last stand here if I must. If here is my end, I will make it an end for poets, and I will rise to the stars knowing that I died fighting my enemy, not fleeing into the wilderness to die alone and old many years from now, still haunted by my cowardice."

Dorin shook his head, and smoke streamed between his teeth. "Cowardice, Lyana? Is it cowardice to seek life when death looms with certainty? Is it cowardice to survive, yes—to flee—when there is no chance of victory? No; I call that prudence. Your valor will have you die upon walls not yours. What honor is there in that? How will your death protect those of our people who still live? I would rather live as a man than die as a dragon. In the forests we survived."

"Until the horde found us," she said. "How much longer do you think we can hide? The nephilim cover the world; stand and fight them here, Dorin. With me."

And yet… and yet her words tasted stale to her. She wanted to roar them with conviction, to rally his heart and hers. But was this valor truly foolishness? Was his wish to flee not wisdom? And had she—Lyana herself—not fled from Nova Vita as its walls fell and the dead burned upon its streets?

The nephil army was close now, so close that Lyana could count the teeth in their jaws. She flapped her wings and rose higher, and flames filled her maw. She growled and her wings sent dust flying across the city below.

Maybe I am foolish, she thought. Maybe he is wise, and I am but a headstrong soldier dreaming of glory. Let him flee then; let him survive. But I am Queen of Requiem, and the scourge of my people flies before me, and I will roar my fire. If I must stand alone, I will die with my fire and the song of my stars—foolish perhaps, but I am a warrior, and I will die as one.

The Fallen Horde stormed across the fields, a tapestry of claw and fang, a night of rot and malice. Dorin grunted, gave Lyana a last glare, then took flight and began to flee north. A few dragons began to follow him.

Be strong, Lyana, she told herself, staring south as the horde approached. Be strong and you will soon fly to your parents, to Orin, to all those who fell.

Darkness covered the city.

From the east, like a sun rising, sounded the cries of new dawn.

Lyana turned her head, looked eastward, and tears filled her eyes.

"Hope," she whispered. She raised her voice and roared to the city. "Griffins! Griffins are coming! Dragons of Requiem, rally here! Griffins fly to aid."

Flocks flew from the dawn, half eagles and half lions, great beasts the size of dragons. Sunrays rose around them. Lyana had never been to their home, the mythical Leonis Isles across the sea. She had seen only one griffin before, Prince Velathar who had visited Requiem a year ago. Now thousands flew from the rising sun, a golden dawn aflight.

Seeing the host, the nephilim wailed and covered their eyes with their claws, blinded and hissing. A few turned to flee. Others howled and faced the sun.

The two hosts crashed above the ancient walls and towers of Confutatis.

Lyana soared and blew her fire.