A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,122
her head. Below her, dust and debris rolled across the desert.
"It was the Palace of Whispers," she said softly. "The lair of Solina and all her devilry. Elethor destroyed it."
Mori gasped. "Elethor!" the princess said. "Lyana, is… And Treale…"
Bayrin snorted smoke. "Stars, Lyana, where are they?" He looked around from side to side, as if seeking them. He sucked in his breath and looked back at the clouds of dust. "Lyana, are…"
Lyana looked at her brother. He appeared blurred to her, and she blinked, and her throat burned.
"We have to leave, Bayrin," she whispered. "We have to fly north. Back to Requiem. Please, Bayrin. Take me home."
She could speak no more. Her eyes stung too much. She turned and flew over the desert, fleeing this place, fleeing the pain inside her. Bayrin and Mori flew at her side, wailing and roaring flame, and their tears fell upon the desert. They understood, and they sounded their cry, a great song of mourning and pain for their fallen, for their king, for their guiding star. Lyana roared with them, a keen of starlight.
For Treale. For Elethor.
They flew for a long time.
They flew over dunes. They flew over the ruins of southern cities, their palm trees charred, their rivers littered with burnt ships, their towers fallen. They flew north over the sea, ragged survivors behind them, a thousand Vir Requis haunted and wounded and crying for their fallen. They flew over the ruins of Requiem: her blackened forests, her hills littered with dead, and finally her fallen courts among the ash of King's Forest.
His words echoed in her mind. You must lead Requiem now. Our people will follow your fire, and it will lead them home.
Once Nova Vita had stood here, a city of new life, a revival for Requiem among the holy birches. Once towers had risen here, white and pure against the sky. Once harpists had played music here in white halls, and dragons had flown overhead, singing the songs of their people. This had been a city, a hope, a living dream, the heartbeat of a nation.
This is where my parents raised me, Lyana thought. This is where I loved Orin, and where I loved Elethor, where I was knighted and where I fought, where I watched columns fall and dead rain.
She landed in the ruins of the palace. A single pillar rose from the debris, three hundred feet tall, its capital shaped as dragons: King's Column, raised by the first King Aeternum millennia ago. Even the cruelty of Queen Solina could not topple it, and all the claws of her beasts could not scratch its marble. Lyana shifted into human form, held her sword before her, and knelt before this column. It led from ruin into starlight, from death into hope, from memory into dream.
"This is where I fought, this is where I killed, this is where so many died," Lyana whispered. "And this is where I will lead. I swear to you, stars of Requiem. I swear to you, Father and Mother. I swear to you, my Elethor. I will lead Requiem in your path, and I will rebuild her halls, and starlight will forever shine upon us."
She turned from the column and looked over the ruins.
Her people stood there, a thousand Vir Requis dressed in white, Requiem's color of mourning. Many here were wounded. Many were scarred, limbless, broken—but strong.
Yes, they are still strong, Lyana thought, looking from face to face. Their eyes were grim and haunted, but determined. We will rekindle our fire.
She climbed onto a fallen column and stood before the crowd. Bayrin and Mori stood before her, hand in hand. The others sprawled around them over the strewn bricks, toppled columns, and smashed statues. All looked upon her. They had flown south in winter, and snow had covered these lands. Today spring warmed Requiem, and among the ruins, Lyana saw birch saplings sprouting.
This forest will live again.
Upon the column, Queen Lyana Aeternum spoke to her people, voice ringing clear above the ruins.
"We gather in desolation," she said. "We gather in grief. We stand here in spring to mourn our long winter." She looked from person to person—elders with white hair, children with solemn eyes, and warriors with scarred faces and scarred souls. "Today we all mourn a loss. Everyone who stands here grieves for family, for friends, for loved ones. We grieve for those who died. We grieve for our fallen kings. Let us look to our sky, and let us pray for them."