Pillars of Dragonfire (23 page)

Meliora closed her eyes
as she flew, and Leyleet's words again echoed in her ears.

You will never see
Requiem.

Perhaps Meliora finally
understood that curse. She had seen the land of Requiem, but Requiem had always
been more than soil and sky. Requiem had always been something beyond the
physical. An idea. A dream. A home. Peace. These Meliora would never see, for
even should she claim this land and defeat Ishtafel, her soul could no longer
be mended. Her hands could no longer be cleansed of blood, even should she
cleanse Requiem of the seraphim.

So no, I will never
see the true Requiem, a Requiem rebuilt and pure. I will forever be the
warrior, the column leading the camp, the one who slew.

"Then let us
sin," Meliora whispered and looked at her father again, and tears streamed
down her cheeks. "Let us kill. Let us bear this burden. We will sin so
that our children do not. We will kill so our children can live in peace. We
will destroy so they can build."

They flew onward until
Meliora saw it ahead—a great forest of birches, their branches still coated
with snow. Countless birches, the holy trees of Requiem, spreading for miles.
They had reached the fabled King's Forest, the heart of their nation.

We are near King's
Column.

Shrieks sounded behind
her, and Meliora cringed. As she flew closer toward the pillar of Requiem, so
did her brother.

With blood and fire,
the Vir Requis had found Requiem. Soon the great battle to reclaim it would
flare.

 
 
VALE

"We're near." Til, flying as an orange dragon, pointed with her claws. "We'll be there by sundown."

Gliding on a cold wind,
Vale stared ahead but saw only leagues of snowy birches rolling into the
horizon. It was so damn cold here in the north. Vale could not imagine how the
ancient Vir Requis had ever tolerated this weather. For the first time in his
life, he saw snow and ice, felt the chill of true winter, as cruel as the
blazing sun of Saraph in the south. Yet he would endure a thousand blizzards
for just a sight of it on the horizon—a marble pillar rising, the heart of his
nation, the column of his first king.

He turned to look at
the orange dragon again. "You saw it," he said. "You actually
saw King's Column."

The orange dragon
lowered her head. Til had joined their forces on the southern coast, along with
her younger brother, a small black dragon named Bim. At first, Vale had not
believed her story. Vir Requis who had survived the fall five hundred years
ago, who had hidden here all this time, no collars around their necks, avoiding
both death and slavery? It seemed impossible, yet for the past few days, Til
had predicted every landmark—every old ruin, every mountain, every river and
plain. All Vale knew of Requiem's landscape came from old maps; Til knew the
kingdom like her own scales.

"I saw King's Column."
Til lowered her head, and smoke trailed from her nostrils in two thin streams.
"It still stands, but the seraphim have profaned it. They painted its
white marble with the blood of dragons, and they hung the skeletons of Vir
Requis from it on chains, turning it into a macabre maypole."

Vale grimaced,
remembering the mountains of dead the seraphim had raised in Tofet. If some
guilt at slaying the immortals had filled him over the past few days, it now
burned away in his rage.

"We will cleanse
the column," he said. "And we will build many more columns around it,
raise the old palace again, and worship the stars. We—"

A yawn interrupted his
words.

Til stared at him with
wide eyes, then laughed. Vale felt the scales on his cheeks heat up.

"When's the last
time you've slept?" Til asked.

Vale considered.
"I can't remember. Over Castellum Luna?"

Her eyes widened
further. "That was two days ago! And—" Now it was she who yawned.
"I don't think I've slept since then either."

Vale looked over his
shoulder at his back. Lucem and Elory lay there, cuddled and sleeping soundly.
They had been sleeping there since before dawn. Vale curled up his tail and
tapped them.

They rose, yawning and
stretching and blinking.

"Hey!" Lucem
said, shoving Vale's spiky tail away. "I was sleeping."

"You've been
sleeping all day," Vale said. "Take a turn flying."

The young man grumbled
but dutifully leaped off Vale's back, and Elory followed. Both turned into
dragons. Quickly, several young dragons above—Vale recognized Meliora's former
handmaidens, as well as the young Bim—landed on Elory's back, shifted into
human form, and instantly fell asleep.

That left Lucem's red,
scaly back. Vale flew higher, dipped down onto the red dragon's back, and
released his magic. He lay down in human form, his muscles aching.

The orange dragon
hovered above, released her magic, and landed on the dragon too. For the first
time, Vale got to see Til's human form up close. She was a young woman with
long hair the color of her scales. She wore pelts of fur, many leather belts
and straps, and assorted plates of rusted armor, no one piece matching the
other. A sword and quiver hung at her side, and she carried a bow.

Vale knew that he was
gaunt, haggard, bruised, that he looked about as healthy as any man who had
lived through slavery might look. Til looked just as haggard and weary. Ash
stained her freckled skin, dry leaves filled her fiery hair, and haunting pain
filled her eyes.

Her life here in
Requiem was no easier than ours,
Vale thought.
And yet she is beautiful.
And noble. As fair and proud as Queen Gloriae of old.

Sitting before him on
the dragon, she reached out and touched his neck, her fingers slender and
callused. The skin around his throat was still chafed from the cursed collar.

"I'm sorry,
Vale," she whispered.

He tilted his head.
"For what?"

She looked down at the
forest. "For not being there with you. With all of you. For hiding here.
While so many Vir Requis suffered in slavery." She looked back at him,
eyes damp. "I should have been there with you, fighting the seraphim. My
surname is Eleison; I am descended from the great knights of Ancient Requiem,
who had fought forever at the side of your family, the Aeternums. Yet . . . I
failed my duty. I failed to protect you." She lowered her eyes. "My
family remained here and hid. We should have been there to overthrow the
shackles with Meliora. With you."

Vale caressed a bruise
on her cheek. "You too bear the marks of war, of Requiem's suffering. I do
not think, my lady, that you fought any less nobly, nor that your task was any
less important for our people. In years to come, if we survive this war, the
books will speak proudly of the courage of Eleison—the family that stayed,
that survived, that fought for Requiem for five hundred years in shadow."

She yawned again.
"I fought in shadow. Now I will sleep in daylight." She lay down.
"And you sleep too!"

He lay down beside her.
Lucem's back wasn't particularly wide, forcing Vale and Til to press together,
slinging their limbs across each other. Her red hair tickled his forehead, and
their faces were but an inch apart.

"Sleep well, Vale
Aeternum, my prince," Til whispered, smiled, and touched his cheek.
"Dream of dragons."

"Sleep well, my
lady," he replied. "Dream of something nicer than dragons. I suggest
fluffy bunnies."

She laughed softly and
slept, her arms around him.

Vale was weary yet
sleep eluded him. He lay on his side on the red scales, holding Til close.

If I sleep, she'll
fall off the dragon,
he thought.
I have to protect her. To hold her
close. Or she'll fall. She'll die. I'll lose her like I lost Tash, like I lost
my Mother, and—

He clenched his jaw.
The pain flared through him.

Again Vale saw it, the
sight he had never stopped seeing. Ishtafel thrusting his spear, impaling Tash,
and the young woman dying in his arms, smiling softly, her soul departing.

Vale's chest began to
tighten, his heart to beat faster, his mind to storm with grief. Remembering
Tash's death seemed worse than all his battles, and in his mind, he saw the
rest of them dying. Til slipping from his grasp and falling. Meliora burning.
Elory perishing under the lance. Countless dragons dying before the harpy horde
and—

He forced himself to
breathe.

Breath after breath.

He looked at Til again.
She still slept, smiling gently. The wind ruffled her hair, and she nestled
closer to him, her leg tossed across him. As Vale gazed at her, slowly his
anxiety faded, replaced with soothing warmth.

Til is still alive,
he
thought.
So are my sisters and father. So is our nation. There is still hope
here, still life, still love.

He closed his eyes, and
he slept too, but he did not dream.

 
 
ELORY

Blood.

Searing sunlight.

The crack of whips on
flesh.

With cries of agony,
with sand and tar, with twisted shoulders and breaking backs, the children of
Requiem toiled.

"Faster!"

The flaming whips flew,
ripping through skin.

"Up!"

The chains rattled.
Slaves fell. Masters roared.

"Toil!"

Elory cried out in
pain. She struggled to walk across bubbling bitumen that burned her soles.
Chained to her neck, the yoke nearly crushed her shoulders. The baskets of
bitumen swayed from the yoke, their fumes burning her nostrils. The whips of
fire lashed, again and again, tearing into her back. She screamed. She wept.
And around her they died. Her dear friend Mayana. Her mother. A hundred
thousand others.

"You will be
mine," Ishtafel said in his chamber of gold and jewels. The tall, handsome
prince reached out to caress her. "You will be my slave. Your body will
belong to me."

Elory trembled,
begging, but he showed her no mercy. He hurt her. He burned in fire, rising,
covered in metal, shrieking for her blood, and all of Requiem burned around Elory.

"We see it!"
cried a voice.

"They have defiled
it."

"Curse them! Curse
the seraphim!"

The voices danced
around her, torn in mourning, and a cold wind moaned.

Elory opened her eyes,
shuddering. She forced a deep breath.

A dream. Just a
dream.

She was in her human
form, lying on a dragon. When she looked up, she saw a night sky strewn with
stars, brightest among them the Draco constellation. The moon shone there too,
full and silvery. Many dragons flew all around, fire flaring in their mouths, crying
out.

"Curse the
seraphim!"

Elory blinked, turned
around, and stared north.

She lost her breath.

Her hands curled into
fists.

With a deep breath, she
leaped off the dragon she rode, shifted into her own dragon form, and rose
higher.

Curse them.

Ahead of her, it rose
from the forest, hundreds of feet tall, the moonlight upon it. King's Column.

In the old tales they
had told in Tofet, King's Column was a great monument, purest white, rising
from the forest as a beacon for all Vir Requis. Elory's ancestors, King
Aeternum and Queen Laira, had raised the column to summon all those hunted for
their magic, and the stars had blessed the column with their magic. So long as
a Vir Requis lived in the world, the column would stand. Through endless
wars—against the demons, the griffins, the phoenixes, and many other
enemies—this column had stood.

Like many others before
them, the seraphim could not fell nor even scratch King's Column. Yet they
could profane it. Even in the moonlight, Elory could see that old blood stained
the marble, hiding its shine. Many chains were attached to the column's crest,
draping downward toward the forest like ropes from a tent pole. Upon those
chains they hung—hundreds of skeletons. The skeletons of Vir Requis.

Requiem's greatest
artifact had become a monument to death.

Elory expected to feel
rage. All around her, the dragons blasted their fire in fury, and voices cried
out for revenge. Elory wanted to feel that anger. She wanted to feel hatred.

But more than anything,
she felt grief.

She didn't know who
those dead Vir Requis were. The original inhabitants of Requiem, their bones
hanging here for five hundred years? More resistors like Til, those who had
stayed and fought?

Each had dreams,
hopes, people they loved,
Elory thought, staring at the skeletons.
They
did not deserve this.

"We'll bury
them," Elory said, flying toward the column. "We'll bury them with
honor."

Lucem flew up to help
her, and soon other dragons joined their task. Elory had spent years burying
the dead in Tofet; she did not shy away from these bones. For long hours, the
dragons labored, unchaining the skeletons and gently laying them down upon the
holy ground of Requiem.

When the remains had
been removed and the chains tugged off the column, they counted over a thousand
skeletons. A thousand martyrs of Requiem. A thousand who would finally be at
peace.

Requiem was cold, far
colder than anything any of them—aside from Til and Bim—had ever felt. Snow
still coated the birches, and the ground was frozen. Yet dragon claws were
sharp, and Elory and her family labored, digging graves. Not mass graves like
the seraphim had them dig in Tofet. Each of these slaves would rest alone upon
a hill, a tombstone marking his or her grave.

Jaren moved between the
graves in human form, holding his staff, praying over the dead.

"We come from
starlight, and to starlight we go." The priest knelt before each grave,
placing down a simple stone, for no flowers grew in the winter of Requiem.
"May your soul rise to those stars and rest in their light."