A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,105
him. Elethor growled deep in his throat.
It's too silent, he thought. Damn too silent.
He could see no movement upon the towers or walls of the great fortress. No nephilim shrieked or flew. No banners fluttered. The ruins seemed dead, and that unnerved Elethor more than a cloud of demons.
"I fly with you, my king," Treale said, voice strained. Upon her back, her rider—a young man named Jadin—nocked an arrow.
They flew closer. The mountain grew ahead. Soon it loomed before them, a monolith large enough that nations could live within it. Still silence covered the land; Elethor heard nothing but the beating wings and snarls of his host. No Tiran soldiers. No nephilim or wyverns or phoenixes. Nothing but desert wind and those old stone battlements.
Only a league separated them from the palace now. The towers and walls dwarfed them. Thousands of windows and archways peppered the mountain like maggot-holes. And still—silence. Stillness. Nothing but rock and wind.
A creak sounded.
A twang followed.
Something moved upon a tower ahead.
Elethor growled.
A lone trebuchet had fired. The missile flew their way—a round ball of clay. It arced in the sky, dived down toward them, and slammed against a griffin.
An explosion tore the sky.
A boom rang out so loudly Elethor screamed. Light blasted. The impact tore the griffin apart; the beast scattered into gobbets of flesh. Flames burst out in rings. Ten more griffins—those who surrounded the one hit—tumbled down, lacerated and bloodied, wings and limbs torn off.
"Tiran fire!" Elethor shouted. "Keep flying—topple those towers!"
He had barely finished his sentence when a hundred twangs sounded ahead. A hundred clay balls flew toward his host.
"Dodge them!" Elethor howled. "Fly higher!"
He soared. Upon his back, his rider—a gruff, mute knight of Osanna—fired an arrow and hit a clay ball two hundred yards away. It burst with light that blinded Elethor, and the blast of air sent him spinning backward. He crashed into a griffin, beat his wings, and rose higher. His warriors were scattering. Explosions rocked the sky, one after another. One clay ball slammed into a dragon, light blazed, and blood and flesh flew. A single, severed arm tumbled down toward the mountains.
"Keep flying!" Elethor roared. His ears rang. He did not know if anyone could hear him. "To the towers! Burn those catapults. Treale—with me!"
The black dragon flew above, scales splashed with blood. She nodded, dived, and flew at his side. They drove toward the fort's towers. Hundreds rose ahead, and more catapults fired. More balls of clay arced through the sky.
Elethor darted left and right, dodging the missiles. Treale flew at his side, whisking around like a bee set to sting. The clay missiles missed them, and explosions blazed at their backs, blasting them with heat. The two dragons flew toward twin towers that rose ahead upon a peak; each held a catapult and Tiran soldiers in tan cloaks.
"Treale, burn the left one. I've got the right!"
He swooped toward the tower. The Tirans fired arrows. Elethor roared. One arrow snapped against his shoulder. Another thrust into his leg. He spewed a jet of fire.
The tower top blazed. Men fell burning and rolled. The catapult rose in flame. To his left, Treale blew fire against the other tower, and its men burned and fell like comets to thump against the mountainsides.
Elethor looked back at his army. Most were still flying toward the fortress. From a hundred other towers, more missiles flew. Every second, a blast blazed across the sky, and more dragons and griffins fell dead.
"Attack the catapults!" Elethor shouted. "Tear them down!"
A flight of griffins—four swooping birds—flew down toward one tower. A clay missile flew and slammed into one beast. The griffin burst into blood and gore. One other griffin shrieked and tumbled, burning. The remaining two swooped and their talons tore down the catapult. Arrows pierced them, they crashed upon the tower, and the Tirans leapt onto them with swords.
"Treale, there, the walls!" Elethor said. "Dive with me."
She snarled and flew toward him. They swooped together. Below upon a snaking wall Tirans were firing three more catapults. Behind them in a ditch, baskets lay stacked with balls of Tiran fire—a hundred or more.
The two dragons blew their fire, drenching the wall.
"Treale, soar!" Elethor shouted. "With me!"
They began to rise, flying straight up.
White light flooded them.
The sky burned.
Flames licked their feet and Elethor could hear nothing but the ringing, see nothing but white light. He thought that he had died, that he flew in the afterlife of starlight.