Pillars of Dragonfire (7 page)

A chariot swooped
ahead, plunging between the trees. Til and Bim flew sideways, dodging it,
racing onward. When the chariot tried to follow, its flashing reins wrapped
around an oak, sending the chariot flying in one direction, the firehorses in
another. A second chariot plunged between two pines, and Til roared out her
dragonfire, roasting the seraph who stood within. She rose higher, emerged
above the canopy, and plunged back downward and flew between the trees again.
The forests of Requiem burned.

A voice rose above,
angelic, mellifluous, a voice so kind and beautiful that Til could almost weep.
The voice of a god.

"You cannot escape
us, Til Eleison. Come to me, my child."

Tears filled Til's
eyes. The voice was so warm, so benevolent. She wanted to obey, to seek that
voice, to hear it comfort her.

He knows my name. He
knows who I am, how I hurt.

Ahead, she saw it. A
golden glow in the sky, as bright as the sun. She could just make him out above
the trees. A heavenly figure, swan wings spread wide, a halo around his head of
flowing golden hair. A man in gilded armor, beautiful, noble, all knowing,
merciful.

The Overlord.

"Come to me,
child," his voice rolled across the land, the voice of harps and song.
"Rest your weary head in my embrace. Let me claim your life, so that you
might find comfort in death."

And now Til wept. She
wanted to rise from the forest. To fly to him in the sky, this god in the
heavens. To let him welcome her soul. To leave her hurting, hungry body here in
the forest, to forever live in that radiance.

She began to rise
toward the sweet song and light.

Bim reached out and
grabbed her.

"He's lying."
The black dragon stared at her, gripping her with his claws, still flying
between the trees. "He wants to kill you, Til. To kill you. Live. Live!
Don't die like Father."

That memory now flooded
Til—the Overlord thrusting his lance, a god of wrath, slamming the blade
through Father, raising the corpse.

Til howled, and now she
wanted to fly skyward not to join him but to slay him, to cast down this cruel
god upon the burnt forests of her homeland, even if she died in that searing
light.

But I made a
promise. I promised to take Bim south. To the coast. I promised to live.

Til snarled, dived low
to the ground, and grabbed one of the leaping serpopards. She soared, crashing
through the canopy, carrying the long-necked feline in her claws. She flew
toward the godly light and tossed the dark creature. The serpopard tumbled
toward the Overlord, neck flailing, and crashed into the light. The creature
burst into flame and slammed against the Overlord, and white bursts of light
blazed across the sky.

The Overlord shrieked,
all his grace gone, now a being of white fury. Til blasted dragonfire his way,
then dipped down and flew between the trees again. Bim flew at her side. The
light still blazed above, lighting the night, melting snow and ice.

The land sloped
downward, and Til knew this land, knew every curve and fold of the hills. She
crashed through the last few birches, dodged charging chariots of fire that were
braving the forest, and there below she saw it—a red strip in the night,
halving the landscape.

The River Ranin.

"Follow me,
Bim!" Til cried.

She flew downhill,
whipping between the trees. She smashed into an alder, cracking the trunk, and
plunged down into the dark river.

An instant later, Bim
dived into the water with her.

She swam underwater,
eyes open and stinging. The fire blazed above, casting orange light into the
river, revealing stones and algae. Bim swam at her side, tail flailing.

"Keep
swimming!" she said, bubbles rising from her mouth. "For as long as
you can."

Arrows whistled into
the water around them. One cracked a scale on her back, but she kept whipping
her tail, driving herself onward. She plunged deeper until her belly skimmed
the bottom. Bim kept swimming at her side, cheeks puffed out, his tail and
wings propelling him onward.

Her lungs ached for
air, but she kept moving. Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she
raised her nostrils from the water and spurted up fire. Bim followed suit.

At once arrows rained.

The dragons sank back
underwater.

"Come!" Til
said to her brother, tapping him with her tail.

They spun around in the
water and began swimming back from where they had come, diving deep, moving
against the current. Above her, Til thought she could see the fire streaming in
the opposite direction—the chariots following the current.

There was only one way
to be sure.

Til released her magic,
returning to human form underwater. Bim followed her lead, becoming again a
scrawny boy, his cloak fluttering in the water.

They swam toward the
riverbank and raised their heads from the water. They gulped air.

Til stared eastward
down the current and saw the chariots flying there, firing arrows into the
water. The Overlord flew above them, brighter than the others, wings as wide as
a dragon's.

She forced herself to
look away. She grabbed Bim, and they raced out of the water and back into the
forest.

They ran through the
shadows, silent, jaws clenched, trying to ignore the pain of their wounds. The
fire still crackled in the east, and the yips of serpopards sounded in the
west, but here the forest was empty, dark, a place to run and hide.

Because that is what
we're best at,
Til thought, smiling grimly.
That is what you trained us
for, seraphim. That is what five hundred years of survival gave my race. We
run. We hide.
She clenched her fists as she raced between the trees.
But
one day, Overlord . . . one day we will rise again. And that day we will fight.

They moved through the
forest, crossing miles, until the sounds of pursuit faded in the distance.
Finally, in a shadowy ravine, they crawled under an outcrop of stone, and they
built a wall of snow to hide themselves from pursuit.

They huddled, holding
each other for warmth, weak, wet, hurt, still bleeding.

"We're safe,
Bim," she whispered, holding her brother, their cloaks wrapped around
them. "We're safe now. We're safe."

They held each other
until dawn, trembling with cold and weakness.

They kept walking
south. To safety. To a dream of hope . . . a dream Til never wanted to wake
from.

 
 
MELIORA

The dragons of Requiem were flying
north across the plains, hundreds of thousands strong, when the rancid
creatures rose like a storm cloud, shrieking for death.

They had been flying
for three days now across the deserts of Saraph, moving fast, fleeing the
inferno of captivity. Meliora had been driving her dragons hard, allowing no rest.
They had not touched ground since her speech on the mountain outside the walls
of Tofet. Thousands of dragons now flew across the sky, a shimmering veil of
scales and fire. On each dragon's back rode two Vir Requis in human forms,
sleeping, nursing their wounds, and feeding from their sparse supplies.

Flying at their lead,
Meliora glanced at the sky. The sun had reached its zenith, casting down
blinding light and heat that spun her head and baked her silver scales. She
couldn't even imagine how hot the black-scaled dragons felt.

But soon we'll be in
the north,
she thought.
In the cool air of Requiem, flying in a gentler
sky. Soon we'll fly over forests, not rocks and sand. Soon we'll be home.

Her foot still
throbbed, pierced by Ishtafel's spear. She tried to let the pain motivate her,
keep her flying, keep her strong. Jaren had prayed over the wound, and it had
closed and was healing fast, yet the pain still blazed up her leg with every
flap of her wings.

She reared in the sky,
raised her head, and blasted up a pillar of fire. Most dragons, born of two Vir
Requis parents, blasted crackling red dragonfire. But Meliora, born to a seraph
mother, blew white flames like a pillar of starlight. The column rose high, a
beacon for her people.

She turned to face
them—thousands of dragons bearing riders. They were children of Requiem, an
ancient nation, but they were also her children. Hers to protect, to lead
across the miles to their lost home.

I was born of both
Requiem and Saraph,
she thought,
but I left the ichor of seraphim in
Tofet. Here let me be woven of pure starlight, a mother of Requiem.

The dragons were weary,
Meliora knew. Puffs of smoke rose from their nostrils. Their eyes were glazed.
They began to dip in the sky. But Meliora would not let her people camp. There
was nothing below but sand and rock, and Ishtafel was following them. Meliora
could not see her brother's hosts from here, but she knew that Ishtafel would
never let them flee. He would be flying over the horizon, even now, determined
to slay them. Meliora would not let him catch her.

"Children of
Requiem!" Meliora cried. "A new shift begins. Rest now, dragons, and
rise, riders!"

Across the cloud of
dragons, the human riders rose. Wings burst out from their backs. Scales flowed
across them. The number of dragons now doubled in the sky. The newer dragons
flew with fresh vigor, their eyes brighter, fire in their jaws. They glided
downward, flying below the wearier dragons, those who had been flying since
dawn. Those weary dragons lowered themselves so their bellies skimmed the backs
of the new flyers, then released their magic. The Vir Requis lay down on their
comrades in human form, ready for rest.

Like this we can fly
forever,
Meliora thought.
At least until hunger kills us.

They had taken their
meager supplies from Tofet—some dry oatmeal, some bags of flour, a few gourds
of water. Not enough. Constantly, the dragons were duplicating the food in the
Chest of Plenty, but with only one chest, it was slow work—too slow to feed half
a million souls. Soon they would have to find more food and lots of it, or they
wouldn't have to worry about pursuit.

Lavender scales flashed
in the sun, and a slim, one-eared dragon came flying toward Meliora. Elory was
smaller than most dragons, but Meliora knew that her sister was just as fierce.
She had seen the violet dragon slaying many enemies with her flames.

"Do you think that
tonight we can sleep on solid ground?" Elory asked. "The people need
time to build fires, to bake bread from our flour, to feel earth below
us."

Meliora shook her head,
her pearly scales chinking. "No. We will not rest. We will dip down only
to drink from the river, only to hunt any wild animals we see across the riverbanks.
But we will not place our feet on solid earth. Not until we reach
Requiem."

She looked ahead toward
the north. Requiem—if truly that fabled land existed—still lay across
countless miles. Past deserts, plains, mountains, seas, and forests—impossibly
distant. The ancient homeland. The prayer of her people, their beacon, their
heart. The only place where they could be free, rebuild their kingdom.

A memory stabbed
Meliora like a spear. Once more, she stood in darkness before Leyleet, queen of
the Rancid Angels, a cursed seraph with bat wings and cruel white eyes. Once
more, Leyleet's demonic voice echoed in her mind.

You will never see
Requiem, daughter of dragons. With my dying breath I curse you.

Meliora grimaced, the
horror of that night returning to her. She had slain Leyleet in the shadows,
ridding the world of her malice. But did the dark queen's final words truly
carry power?

Will I truly die on
this journey?
Meliora thought.
Am I truly cursed to lead my people to
freedom, only to fall before entering our homeland myself? Or will Ishtafel and
his hosts reach us in the wilderness of Saraph, slaying us all in these hot
southern lands?

She shook her head
wildly. Foolishness. There were no such things as prophecies. Requiem had
always forged its own future—from the first King Aeternum to the great Queen
Kaelyn and finally to her, Meliora, a daughter of their dynasty. Those old
monarchs had defeated their enemies.

"And I will defeat
mine," Meliora whispered. "Requiem will not fall on my watch. She
will rise again."

Even if I must give
my life to her,
she thought and shuddered.

She was about to lead
the dragons down to the river, allowing them to dive and scoop up water before
soaring again, when the shrieks sounded in the north.

Meliora caught her
breath. She stared ahead, eyes narrowed.

She could still see
nothing, but a stench filled the air, rancid, the smell of rotten meat and
sulfur and mold. The distant cries rose again, reminding her of vultures
fighting over corpses. When Meliora squinted, she could see a cloud rising from
beyond the hazy horizon. Many dark specks flew there like flies over filth.

"What are
they?" Elory asked. The lavender dragon wrinkled her snout. "I can
smell them even from here."

Smoke washed across
them, and with flashing red scales, Lucem darted up to fly between the sisters.

"Meliora, you
really need a bath," the young red dragon said. "The whole damn
nation can smell your stink."

Meliora glared at the
dragon. "You're the one who's been living in the wilderness for ten years.
But no, Lucem. This isn't dragon stench, as potent as yours is." She
pointed her claws to the north. "Your eyes are sharp. What do you see?"

Mumbles rose across the
crowd of dragons; more of them were now noticing the cloud ahead. The dark
flecks were flying closer, moving at great speed across the sky. Their stench
churned Meliora's stomach, and their cries made her wince. The sound was so
high-pitched, so cruel, it seemed to twist her very bones.