A Night of Dragon Wings

TREALE



She stood upon the cliff, the wind in her hair, and looked at her king. Treale had dreamed of this for so long—to finally stand beside him again. He was so close now she could reach out and grab him, yet he had never seemed farther to her, not in all the forests and deserts she had hid in.

Once more they stood upon Ralora Beach. Last year she had stood here with Elethor and three thousand dragons, a green army awaiting the southern fire. Today a hundred thousand warriors covered the cliffs, hills, and beach: griffins, salvanae, soldiers of Osanna, and dragons of Requiem. Last year Solina had lured them here, allowing her forces to crush Nova Vita. Today Elethor had decided the queen's fall would begin in this same place.

You are thinking of her now, Treale thought, looking at the young king. He was staring south, the wind ruffling his dark hair. You are thinking of Solina, the one you loved, the one you vow to kill. But I am thinking of you, Elethor. I am thinking of the night I kissed your cheek, and I am standing here beside you, and you cannot even see me.

Treale lowered her head, and the wind played with her long black hair, scented of the sea. She closed her eyes. So many nights she had dreamed of him! When she had lain curled up in charred forests, fleeing the wyverns, she had pretended to still lie by his side like that night upon the hill. When she had huddled in alleys in cruel Irys, or crawled over dunes that burned her, or trekked through the swamps of Gilnor to seek sanctuary in the north, she had thought of him. She would remember talking to him about her puppets, and kissing his cheek, and sleeping all night by his side under the stars, feeling safe by her king. And then… and then after all those long moons, she had met him again! She had returned to him. She had flown with true dragons and fought by his side, driving the nephilim from the ruins of Bar Luan.

And he had gone into his tent.

And he had taken Lyana into his bed.

And her heart had been broken; it still felt like shattered clay in her breast.

Oh, he had given her a compulsory embrace, and squeezed her shoulder, and thanked her for saving his sister. He had kissed her forehead, then pulled Mori into his arms again and nearly crushed her, and not a moment later he was walking with his soldiers and talking of battles, and Treale had remained standing in the ruins, cold and alone.

You have Mori now, she thought, looking at him. You have your sister whom I saved. And you have your wife, whom I serve. And you have me, Elethor. You have me always; you had me since that night upon the hill. And still I wait for you. Still I stand by your side, but do you see me here?

She walked across the cliff, moving closer to him, until she stood a foot away. Lyana stood at his other side, clutching her sword and also staring south. Mori stood beyond her, clad in armor—Treale had never seen the princess in armor before—and hugging herself. None seemed to notice her.

"My king?" Treale said softly. He seemed not to hear her, and she touched his arm. "Elethor?"

He seemed to wake from a dream. With a quick draw of his breath, he turned toward her, and his face softened.

"Lady Treale," he said.

Not his love, she thought. Not his wife or sister or even a friend. A lady. A cold title for a court. Her eyes stung and she blinked. She wanted to grab and shake him, to yell at him: Don't you remember that night? Don't you remember how you told me your story, and I told you mine—about the puppets, and Oldnale Farms, and… I kissed your cheek, Elethor, and we slept side by side. And now I am only a lady, this… this cold warrior like the thousands of them?

But she could say none of that. Not with his wife by his side or even with Mori there. So Treale only swallowed and spoke soft words.

"I will fight by your side, Elethor," she said. "I will not leave you. I promise. You have my fire—always."

She lowered her eyes, the shame burning through her. Of course, she thought. Of course he was so cold to her. She had abandoned him in battle last year. When the wyverns had flown toward Nova Vita, she had defected. She had left his army despite his orders, had flown to Oldnale Farms and found her parents dead. She had deserted him; of course he would not show her the warmth he showed Lyana and Mori.

I'm a traitor to him, she thought, and her throat constricted. She looked away lest he saw the tears in her eyes. I saved his sister, but he still remembers my sin.

The wind blew, and she lowered her head.

The invasion of Tiranor began with rain, wind, and beating waves. The dragons of Requiem took flight first, three thousand in all—all Vir Requis old enough to shift into dragons and fight. Today they were all soldiers. They roared and their scales clanked and their wings thudded, rippling the sea. Upon every dragon's back rode a soldier of Osanna, clad in steel and armed with bow, spear, and sword. Their bull horn banners streamed, and their shields caught the sun. They shouted for their land, and the dragons roared, and they raced across the sea into a horizon of rain and cloud.

Behind them, the salvanae and griffins took flight too, a great host nearly fifty thousand strong. Upon their backs too rode soldiers of Osanna, clinging to their saddles. The army soon covered the sea like a great cloud, shimmering and snorting and rippling the water beneath them.

Never had the world seen so many beasts fly together, Treale thought. Poets would sing of this day until the world fell.

She flew, a slim black dragon with fire in her nostrils. Upon her back rode an Osannan soldier, a young man with a stubbly face, an impish grin, and a shock of brown hair.

"Stop dipping so much!" he shouted down to her. "By the Earth God, you do wobble when you fly."

She growled over her shoulder and found him grinning.

"Be quiet, Jadin," she said and gave him her best glare. "Stars, you farm boys do whine a lot."

He snorted. "I haven't seen my farm in a year now. I'm a soldier; don't you forget it. If we meet any nephilim, it'll be my bow shooting at them."

It was her turn to snort. "And my fire. I think they will barely notice your puny little arro—OW!"

He had dug his heels deep into her flanks. Treale grumbled and cursed. She was a dragon of Requiem! It was ridiculous that she should wear a saddle like a horse. And yet the Osannans had insisted, saying something about how otherwise, they would fall and drown in the sea. Flying with Jadin upon her back, Treale did not think that would have been so tragic.

"If you do that again," she said, "I'll bite your legs off."

He flashed a grin. "I'll stop if you stop wobbling."

She grumbled, looked back forward, and beat her wings with grim intent. She tried to forget he rode her. It would be a long flight. The sea stretched for many leagues between southern Requiem to the northern shores of Tiranor. Even flying at top speed, it would take hours to reach Tiranor, perhaps all day.

Jadin began to sing old, rude limericks—something about the beasts he'd slay, the women he'd bed, and the gold he'd plunder. Treale grumbled and snorted fire and kept flying.

She looked to her left. Elethor flew there, Lyana and Mori at his sides.

The royal family of Requiem, she thought. The man I love. The man so close and so far from me.

Behind them, the army spread like a great tapestry, a league long. Treale looked over her shoulder at them, so many dragons and griffins and men. She imagined this army sweeping across Tiranor, claiming city and fort; the world had never known such might. And yet…

Fear pounded through her. She had seen the nephilim. She had seen them slay so many. She had seen the Lord Legion rise, a great beast all of scales and horns and rot, his halo flaming like a sun. Could they truly kill this dark god? Even with all their might, could this northern alliance truly defeat Solina, or would they crash against the shores of Tiranor?

A growl rose in her throat.

Perhaps we fly to death, she thought. But I will fight by my king. I will never more abandon him. I will show him that I've grown brave.

She narrowed her eyes, snarled, and flew.

They flew for a long time.

Dawn turned to noon, and the sun burned above; already it felt hotter than the sun of Requiem. They kept flying. Treale's wings ached and she snorted smoke. Her lungs blazed. She wanted to slow down—her body screamed for it—but when she looked around her, the other dragons still beat their wings mightily. Treale growled and kept flying.

"Stop wobbling!" Jadin said on her back. "Treale, darling, are you getting tired?"

"Tired of hearing your voice, boy," she said. "Save it for your battle cries."

The noon sun trailed down in the sky. When Treale looked behind her, she saw that the army's formations had loosened. Griffins, salvanae, and Vir Requis now trailed behind her, the slower flyers dragging like a wake. King Elethor, however, flew far ahead of her now; Treale could see his brass scales glinting hundreds of yards ahead. By his side, she saw Lyana's blue scales, Bayrin's green ones, and Mori's gold.

I will fight by their side.

Treale snarled and flew faster.

"That's more like it," Jadin said. "Go, little dragon, go!"

Treale's breath ached. Her eyes stung. Her wings screamed with pain. The sun hung low in the sky when finally she saw rocky beaches ahead leading to a dead, golden desert.

"Tiranor," she whispered.

She drew flame into her throat, bared her fangs, and shot forward. Soon she flew by her king. Elethor was staring ahead with narrowed eyes, and smoke streamed from between his teeth. She gave him a nod and a grim smile; he returned the same.

"I fly by you, Elethor," she said, fire flickering in her mouth.

He growled and stared forward, and his claws flexed. "Be strong, Lady Treale. Be brave. We fly together." He looked at her and his eyes softened, and Treale could weep, because she saw that he did remember, that he too had never forgotten that night. "Stay safe, Treale. You are among the bravest, strongest dragons in Requiem, and you will make me proud this night."

I love you, Elethor, she wanted to say. I love you always; from that night upon the hill until today and every day after this one. Always. Always.

Yet she did not have to utter those words; in his eyes, she saw that he knew, and that though he was wed to another—though he loved Lyana with all his heart—he loved her too. That soothed her. That would give her strength this night.

Lyana came to fly at their side, flames snorting from her nostrils. Bayrin and Mori joined them, flying so close their wings almost touched. Behind them spread thousands of other dragons, the last of their kind, and as the sun fell, their flames lit the darkness.

They streamed toward the Tiran shore.

The sun dipped into the sea.

From the dunes of Tiranor, a dark host rose, and countless nephilim soared, screeched, and flew toward them.