A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,106
his father, and his mother. They awaited him, clad all in white, and smiled. They reached out to him.
"Elethor!" they cried. "Elethor!"
I'm flying to you… I can almost reach you… I…
"Elethor!"
A tail slapped against him. He looked and saw Treale flying by him. Ugly welts spread across her tail and back legs.
"Elethor!" she said. "The fortress—look."
He turned his head and looked down. He flew so high, he could cover the fortress with his feet. Dust rose in clouds. Elethor spun and began to dive, Treale at his side. When they grew closer, he saw it.
A great hole stretched across the fortress where the Tiran fire had burst. The opening loomed fifty feet wide, large enough for dragons to fly through. Inside, Elethor saw burrows and halls where men raced.
"We're going in, Treale," he said. "Can you fight? Is it bad?"
She snarled and howled in rage. "I can fight! I fight for you, my king."
For the first time, Elethor saw that the rider on her back was gone. Her saddle was singed black. When Elethor looked over his shoulder, his stomach plummeted and he wanted to gag. His own rider still sat upon his saddle—a charred corpse with a gaping skull.
Elethor cursed, tore off the saddle, and let the man fall; they would have to bury their dead later. He dived. Treale dived at his side. They pulled their wings close and curved their flight, racing toward the opening in the mountainside.
"Griffins and dragons!" Elethor roared as he flew. "Into the mountain! Into their halls. Rally here—we enter the darkness."
Thousands of dragons and griffins heard his cry and flew around him. Clay balls shot toward them. Blasts flared. Fire blazed. Griffins and dragons tore apart. Elethor roared, shot a stream of fire into the hole, and men inside burned.
He was first to enter. He dived into the opening and blasted fire in every direction. Upon staircases, bridges, and crumbling floors, men screamed and burned and fell. Arrows clattered against his scales. One slammed into his chest, and Elethor howled and snapped it off. He blew more fire.
He landed upon a rocky floor. Around him loomed a cave carved by the blast. Along the walls, halved hallways and chambers crumbled. It looked like a great ant hive that a giant had punched. Men scurried everywhere, firing arrows, and Elethor blew more flames. Treale and other dragons flew into the cave behind him, and their fire turned the place into an oven.
When the flames died, they revealed a chamber full of charred Tiran corpses. Elethor flapped his wings, grabbed onto the opening of a corridor, and shifted into human form. He ran into the shadows to find more Tirans firing arrows. He raised his shield, and the arrows peppered it. Men shouted and raced toward him, swinging swords.
Treale leaped at his side, her own sword blazing. Elethor raised his blade and snarled. Behind them, more of their warriors—soldiers from both Requiem and Osanna—raised their swords.
They had entered the mountain. The search for Solina began.
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!