A Night of Dragon Wings

MORI



The skies above Irys, ancient capital of Tiranor, swirled with blood, fire, and endless beasts of scale, feather, and rot.

Everywhere Mori looked she saw them. Salvanae streamed around her like banners in a storm, shooting lighting from their mouths. Griffins shrieked and swooped, talons outstretched, to tear down buildings. Dragons blew fire across streets and forts. Upon their backs, the soldiers of Osanna shot a rain of arrows that clattered against streets, rooftops, and the armor of Tiran soldiers.

The warriors of the enemy were not idle. Nephilim filled the sky like murders of undead crows. Phoenixes blazed and shrieked and crashed into dragons, burning them down. Wyverns beat their leathern wings and spewed their acid; the foul liquid tore into bodies and rained blood upon the city below.

Mori had seen the fall of Nova Vita, but she had never seen such slaughter, tens of thousands falling together, and a city of a million souls—twenty times the size of Nova Vita at its largest—burning and crumbling. As she flew between the beasts, her heart pounded, her eyes stung, and she could barely breathe.

"Bayrin!" she shouted. "Come with me. We're going to the palace. I know the way."

She winced, snarled, and pulled her wings close to her body. She dived, skirted around a soaring wyvern, and arced over a nephil. She dared not breathe fire—not yet. She needed to save her flames.

"Mori!" Bayrin shouted behind her. "Bloody stars, Mori, you know, we are part of a phalanx, and—damn it!

The green dragon cursed, swerved around a phoenix, and barely dodged two swooping nephilim. Mori spared him only a glance. She kept flying, dodging the creatures, seeking the palace between the flames.

"Princess Mori!" cried the rider on her back, a young man of Osanna. "Mori, wyvern on your tail!"

"Shoot the rider!" Mori replied. "Keep your arrows flying!"

Crossbow bolts whizzed around her. Upon her back, she heard her rider respond with arrows. Mori kept flying, rising and falling between the combatants. Behind her, she heard Bayrin cry for their phalanx—a group of one hundred dragons and salvanae—to follow. Mori could not even spare them a glance. She had to find the place. She—

There! Among flames and smoke ahead spread a cobbled square, an expanse large enough for armies to muster upon. Mori knew this place. Here was the Square of the Sun, a sprawling disk of stone in the south of the city.

This is where she whipped me. Mori clenched her jaw and swallowed. Her eyes burned and she could barely breathe. This is where she chained me for the crowds to see. This is where I screamed and bled.

Pain pounded through Mori. She could feel those whips upon her back again, tearing her skin, tearing her mind; she had never imagined pain could blaze so powerfully, shake and claim and twist her insides until she could not bear it. She could feel the chains around her wrists again. She could see the cruel jailor and feel his rough fingers forcing her jaw open. Mori screamed. She dived down, blasted fire at two nephilim who rose toward her, and skimmed along a street. She roared her flames, and men and women fell dead before her. Mori screamed and flew through the stone canyon.

Queen's Archway rose ahead. Roaring, Mori flew under it, her claws grabbing soldiers like an eagle grabbing prey. Past the archway, she soared high above the Square of the Sun, soldiers still screaming in her claws. She tossed the men down, knocking them against their comrades below, and bathed the square with fire.

The Palace of Phoebus rose before her from flame. A great staircase led from the square below to the palace gates. The Faceless Guardians flanked the ivory doors, statues that rose taller than dragons.

That is the place. That is where she hurt me.

Mori roared and wept. She flew toward the palace. Arrows fired all around her. Two shot through her wings. Another pierced her shoulder. On her back, her rider screamed and fell silent. Mori kept flying, howling, rage and pain tearing through her.

She flew up the stairs, clawing men apart, and soared up the palace walls. She bathed those walls and towers with fire.

Roars sounded behind her. The dragons of her phalanx descended upon the palace, howling and blowing flames. Their tails lashed at towers. Their claws tore at walls. Nephilim flew to face them. Mori roared and shot flames at the beasts. One nephil grabbed her leg, and she clubbed it with her tail, tearing the beast off.

She flew higher, shooting up in a straight line. Before her rose the Tower of Akartum, the tallest spire in Tiranor, perhaps in the world; it scratched the sky, looming above the city like a great needle of stone and platinum. Archers lined its top, and arrows flew, and Mori roared her fire until the archers burned and fell. She circled the tower, tears in her eyes. The city spread burning below her.

I screamed. I hurt. I cried. I will always scream, Solina. Always. Every night I will scream in my dreams, and every night I will feel those whips again, and I will destroy this place. I will crush these stones that held me.

She slammed her tail against the tower, again and again. She screamed. Stones cracked. Mori howled and barreled into the tower, claws lashing, teeth biting, eyes weeping. Bricks rolled.

Always. Always, Solina. Always you will hurt me. But know this—know that I'm the one who crushed your glory.

The Tower of Akartum cracked. With one more swipe of her tail, Mori sent it crashing down.

The great pillar of stone slammed into the palace. The roofs below collapsed. Walls fell. The lesser towers crumbled. Dust rose in clouds, and the dragons howled and soared.

The Palace of Phoebus, Solina's ancestral home, fell below them into a ruin of flame and dust and blood.

Mori rose higher, tears in her eyes, until she flew so high the cold air spun her head and she could barely see the streets below. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw her rider dead, pierced with a dozen arrows. Below across the city, fires burned and thousands of warriors flew and killed and died.