Pillars of Dragonfire (3 page)

"Requiem
rises," Meliora whispered, flying with them.

She beat her wings,
spinning and soaring higher, and she blasted out a great pillar of white flame.
Her flaming halo crackled above her head. They spread below her, flying
higher—the great nation of Requiem, their firelight burning the sky.

"Hear me, O
Requiem!" Meliora cried, her voice ringing across Tofet. "Arise,
arise, sons and daughters of Draco! Fly for freedom. Fly for your stars. Fly
for Requiem!"

They rose around her,
streaming higher, dragonfire soaring skyward. Their voices rang together, torn
with pain, with tears, with awe, with joy.

"Requiem
rises!"

And from the south,
rose new fire.

Meliora spun in the sky
and snarled, smoke blasting from between her teeth.

"The
seraphim," she hissed.

They rose from Shayeen
across the river. A hundred thousand chariots of fire, leaving trails of flame
and smoke. They painted the sky red. The night turned bright as day under their
wrath. Their firehorses' wings spread out in a burning canopy, and the seraphim
raised their spears. At their lead he rode, his armor bright, his halo a great ring of
gold.

Ishtafel.

The seraphim cried out
together, spears gleaming, chanting for war. Ishtafel's voice rose above them
all, tearing across the sky.

"Slay the
reptiles! Slay every last one. Saraph, Saraph, rise with fire! Slay every last
dragon."

The dragons of Requiem bellowed
in fear. Child dragons, no larger than ponies, wailed in the sky. Elders
prayed. The stronger dragons stormed forth to protect the weak, fangs bared,
fire crackling.

Vale, a great blue
dragon, darted up beside Meliora. "We must fight."

The seraphim kept
charging, howling for war, the firehorses' hooves deafening like countless
blasts of thunder.

No,
Meliora
thought.
We're too hurt, too weak. We cannot defeat them.

She soared higher and
roared out her fire, a beacon for Requiem. "Fly north, Requiem! Fly north!
Flee them! Flee the city!"

A few dragons began to fly
north at once, but most bustled in a confused mass, and the chariots of fire
flew closer.

"Elory!"
Meliora shouted. "Elory, lead them out! Lead them north. Father, help
her!"

The two—the green
elder and the young lavender dragon—nodded and flew north, blasting twin jets
of fire.

"Follow,
Requiem!" Jaren roared, casting out firelight, green scales clattering.
"Follow me, Jaren Aeternum. Follow me north!"

Elory flew at his side,
raising her fire, crying out. "Follow, children of Requiem! Follow us
north—to freedom, to home!"

The green dragon led
the way, raising his pillar of fire, while Elory flew madly from side to side,
shepherding the dragons onward.

Lucem flew up to hover
at Meliora's side, facing the approaching seraphim. The red dragon growled.
"Time to burn some seraphim."

Meliora slapped him
with her tail. "The sky is up, Lucem."

Scales flashed, and
Vale and Tash came to fly with them too. His scales shone deep blue, while hers
glittered gold like coins.

"We fight with
you, Meliora," Tash said, snarling.

Vale roared out a great
cry. "For the light of Requiem, we fight!"

While most dragons were
fleeing the city, flying after Jaren, hundreds rose to fly around Meliora, to
join the defenders. Their roars rolled across the sky, and their wings churned
smoke and fire.

"For Requiem! For
Meliora!"

The chariots stormed
across the river.

The warriors of Requiem
charged forth to meet them.

Above the field of
bricks and dust and agony, dragons and chariots slammed together.

The fire of chariots
and the fire of dragons blasted across the sky. Meliora roared out her inferno,
slashed her claws, whipped her tail. A chariot stormed toward her, and she
soared, spun, lashed her tail, slammed the spikes into the firehorses. Another
chariot flew from below, and Meliora swooped, reached out her claws, and tore
the rider apart. Ichor rained.

Around her, her
companions fought. Dragonfire washed across seraphim. Spears shattered scales.
Fangs tore into armor and tails smashed chariots. Firehorses drove into
dragons, tearing out their magic, casting them down as screaming, bleeding men
and women.

"Welcome home,
Meliora!" rose a voice across the battle—Ishtafel's voice. "You will
watch your people burn before I drag you back to your cell."

She saw him ahead, and
Meliora growled. She rose to fly toward him, but a dozen chariots stormed her
way. She roared. She blasted her fire. Her tail whipped, her claws lashed, and
she tore into the seraphim around her. A lance thrust and dug into her side,
and Meliora screamed, her scales cracking. She spun, scuttled forward, and grabbed
the seraph in her jaws. She bit deep, tearing into the armor, tearing the flesh
beneath, and pulled back, cutting the man in half. She spat out his upper torso
and roared, blasting fire skyward, holding the chariots back.

The other dragons
fought around her in a fury, crying out for their kingdom. Every moment another
dragon fell. Lances drove into them, picking them out from the sky. They lost
their magic in death, falling as men, women, children, bleeding, slamming down
onto the field where they had labored for so many years—falling finally as
warriors, not slaves. And always the chariots stormed forth, thousands and
thousands, covering the sky, and still more rising—an inferno in the heavens.

"Ishtafel!"
Meliora roared, meat and metal in her mouth. "You will die too, coward.
Requiem is free!"

"Requiem is
free!" the other dragons cried.

Meliora glanced behind
her, just for a second. Countless dragons were fleeing the battle, flying so
close together their wings touched. The scaly mosaic covered the sky. At their
lead flew Jaren, blowing his fire. But as Meliora watched, thousands of
chariots were making their way past the dragon defenders. Their fire blazed
across those who fled, and the lances of the seraphim drove into dragons,
sending them falling down as humans.

We're not going to
make it,
Meliora thought, heart sinking.
We're—

"Sweet
sister!" The cry rose above, and fire crackled.

She looked up and saw
him charging down toward her.

"Ishtafel!"
she roared. Growling, she narrowed her eyes and stormed up to meet him.

Ishtafel laughed as he
flew, wreathed in the fire, and his lance pointed down toward her. A white and
gold dragon, Meliora blasted forth her fire.

Her white flames
crackled and streamed over the charging firehorses. Ishtafel raised his shield,
and the blaze exploded across the disk, scattering like a collapsing sun. The
firehorses crashed against Meliora, their flames washing across her. Her scales
expanded in the heat and cracked, and she bellowed with rage. She whipped her
tail, beat her wings, soared higher and swooped toward the chariot.

Ishtafel grinned, protected
within his armor, the gilt melting and peeling off the steel. He thrust his
lance skyward.

The blade drove into
Meliora's front foot, cutting through the scales and flesh, then bursting out
the other side.

Pain blasted up her
leg, along her back, into her head, and she screamed.

Ishtafel tugged the
lance back with a shower of blood.

She couldn't even
breathe.

A hole in her hand,
Meliora lost her magic. She fell. She landed in the chariot beside him, a woman
again.

"You've come back
to me, sister!" He reached toward her, grinning. "Now stand with me
here and watch as—"

With her good hand, she
drew her sword and thrust the blade into his chest.

He yowled, the blade
denting the steel and cutting the skin inside.

Before she could push
the blade deeper, he swung his fist into her cheek.

Meliora fell. She saw
nothing but light and shadows.

Don't faint. Live.
Live!

She summoned her magic
and rose as a dragon.

Pain throbbed through
her. The blazing agony of a shattering world filled her wounded hand. Her eyes
began to roll back, but she sneered and blew her fire.

Chariots slammed into
her.

Fire washed over her.

Meliora lost her magic
again and fell.

She tumbled through the
battle, a woman again, passing through fire. She slammed onto a dragon's back,
rolled across its scaly flank, and fell again. The ground rushed up toward her,
strewn with corpses.

You will never see
Requiem!
Leyleet shrieked in her mind.
With my dying breath I curse you.

"No," Meliora
whispered and clenched her shattered hand. "I will find your sky."

She shifted into a
dragon, soared, blew her fire against a chariot. She tried to find Ishtafel
again but did not see him. Dragons and chariots flew everywhere.

"Ishtafel!"
she roared. "Ishtafel!"

She blasted fire,
knocking back another chariot, and surveyed the battle. Hundreds of Vir Requis,
maybe thousands, already lay dead below, their human bodies torn apart. Many
dragons still flew, battling the seraphim, but they were falling fast.

When Meliora spun her
head northward, she saw the bulk of the dragons still fleeing, following Jaren.
But hundreds of seraphim had made their way around the dragon defenders. They
were now falling upon the flanks of fleeing slaves, cutting into the
dragons—the young, the old, the wounded, sending them crashing down. Thousands
of other chariots kept streaming forth.

"Kill them all!"
Ishtafel cried somewhere in the distance, laughing. "Kill all the
dragons!"

Meliora's heart sank.

Does our dream end
here? Did we rise as dragons only to fall in battle?

She sneered.

No. We must escape.
We must make it back to Requiem. I will not see our dream end here.

"Meliora!" a
red dragon roared, and Lucem came to fly beside her, tail knocking a chariot
out of his way. "Meliora, the seraphim are tearing into us!"

"The sky is up,
Lucem!" Meliora cried back. "Now fly with me."

She was bleeding,
burnt, her scales cracked and her front foot ravaged, but still she flew. Lucem
flew at her side. They stormed toward the nation of fleeing dragons—half a
million strong—and charged into the ranks of attacking seraphim.

Dragonfire and blood
filled the sky.

 
 
VALE

He saw Meliora fall.

He saw Ishtafel laugh
above her in his chariot.

Vale roared and charged
toward the tyrant.

Chariots flew toward
them, and Vale lashed his tail and claws, knocking them back. Seraphim thrust
their lances at him, and he shattered the spears and blasted his fire across
the soldiers. He stormed through the battle, burning down the enemy, and howled
with rage.

"Meliora!"
Vale cried, seeking her in the blaze. "Sister!"

He could no longer see
her, but he could see Ishtafel. The King of Saraph flew before him, his armor
shining, chariot casting out flames, a god of light and wrath, a sun shining
upon the battle.

Vale flew toward the
tyrant. All around him, thousands of dragons battled thousands of chariots. The
sky rained blood, scales, and ash.

Issari, the
Priestess in White, told me that a great battle awaits me.
Vale roared and
blew his dragonfire.
This is my battle.

"Vale
Aeternum!" Ishtafel called in delight.

Vale growled. He had
fought Ishtafel before over the city, had watched the deity slay sixty thousand
slaves.

But today we are no
longer slaves. Today we are dragons.

He
blasted his dragonfire.

The inferno crackled
and spun, driving toward Ishtafel, but the tyrant rose in his chariot, dodging
the flames. He swooped, lance thrusting.

Vale swiped his claws,
knocking the lance aside. He snapped his jaws, trying to bite Ishtafel, but he bit
only fire and cried out in pain. He swung his tail toward Ishtafel but hit the
seraph's shield.

"Last time I
nailed you to my palace!" Ishtafel laughed and thrust his lance.
"This time I'll skewer you in the sky."

Vale dipped in the sky,
and the lance scraped across his back, tearing off scales. He yowled. He blew
his fire again, but Ishtafel raised his shield, and the flames scattered and
showered back onto Vale.

The chariot spun around
and the firehorses charged, slamming into Vale.

He cried out as the
fire washed over him, and the hooves slammed into his head.

He fell.

Burnt and cut, he lost
his magic, tumbling down as a human.

He grabbed his magic
again. He rose as a dragon, blowing his dragonfire, but only sparks now left
his mouth. He was too weary, too hurt, his belly empty of flames.

Ishtafel charged, and his
spear flashed and drove into Vale's wing. The leathern membrane tore.

Vale roared and snapped
his jaws, tried to blow fire, but cast out only sparks.

The spear thrust again,
scraping across his cheek, tearing it open and scattering scales.

Vale fell, tumbling,
barely clinging to his dragon magic.

"Grab him!"
Ishtafel shouted, all amusement now gone from his voice. "Hold him
up!"

Chariots of fire
streamed forth, twenty or more, surrounding Vale. He slammed down onto one.
Others drove into his sides, their fire washing across him. Seraphim stood
within, swinging chains. Grapples drove into Vale's flesh. Chains tightened
around him. The chariots flew higher, trapping him in the chains, stretching
him out, displaying him like a tortured prisoner upon a metal cross.

Vale thrashed, whipped
his tail, knocked one seraph down. The chariots pulled farther apart,
stretching his chained limbs, driving iron links into his soft underbelly. Vale
roared, stretched so wide his joints nearly dislocated. He hung in the sky,
helpless like the time he'd been nailed onto the ziggurat. As all around in the
sky the dragons and seraphim battled, Vale hung in his chains, roaring and flailing
and unable to free himself, knowing he was going to die.