A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,66

dimmed from their eyes, their bodies hanging from the trees like the discarded skins of great snakes.

Piri landed in a clearing, shifted into human form, and clutched her wounded shoulder. Bayrin rushed toward her, and she gave him a wan smile.

"My hero," she said and kissed his cheek. "I'm never letting you go now."

Despite the horror, fire, and blood around them, Bayrin rolled his eyes.

The salvanae spiraled down above them like streamers. Soon they hovered a few feet above the clearing, scales chinking like coins. They blinked their crystal eyes, and their long white lashes fanned the grass. Their beards hung low enough to brush the ground. One of them, a dragon of white scales, lowered his head and blinked at Bayrin and Piri. He exhaled through his nostrils, fluttering his mustache and blasting the two Vir Requis with air.

"Children of Draco!" the salvana said. His tufty eyebrows pushed down over his crystal eyes. "A great evil followed you into our realm—an ancient curse. You have brought the Fallen here! We have heard their tales. Our forefathers whose souls fly among the Draco stars have fought these beasts before; they are the spawn of demons. Why have you brought this curse into our land?" The salvana tossed his head back and cried in mourning. "My brothers are slain! Salvanae have fallen! Curse this day."

Bayrin reached into his pack and began rummaging for bandages.

"Save your curses for later," he said. "My friend is wounded, and I have a feeling more of these nephilim are on their way." He looked up at the salvanae. "Queen Solina of Tiranor freed them. She cursed this land, not us. I am Bayrin Eleison of Requiem. Take me to your halls, and I will speak with your leader, the priest Nehushtan." He looked at a dead nephil which leaked blood upon a tree. "Our trouble with these bastards is just beginning."

LYANA

She sat tied to a tree when the nephilim lumbered into the camp.

The tree was an ancient oak, twisting skyward as tall as a palace, and its roots rose around Lyana, coiling and smoothed like the Oak Throne of Requiem's fallen hall. The tree grew in the southern corner of the camp behind piles of firewood; she could see nobody from here other than a distant guard in a tree.

It was seven days since she'd entered Second Haven, and she had spent these days sitting upon these fallen leaves, her wrists bound behind her back and tied to the trunk. The rope was ten feet long, just enough to let her sneak into the bushes when nature called, but too short to reach the huts, gardens, and people of the camp. Twice a day, the bronze brothers would bring her game and wild berries and oats. She ate at her tree. She slept at her tree. She wondered sometimes if she would grow old and die at her tree.

The seventh morning dawned clear and cold; winter was almost here, and the sun seemed small in the pale, cloudless sky, unable to warm her. Lyana shivered in her cloak and gave the ropes a good morning tug, but once again could not break them.

"Here," said Grom, the elder of the bronze brothers, who came trudging through the fallen leaves toward her. "Eat, dog."

He tossed a bowl of stewed greens and venison her way, spilling half onto the ground before her. Lyana glared, wrists bound behind her back. With a growl, she leaned down to grab the food in her mouth. Grom stood above her, smirking.

Before Lyana could take a bite, she heard the shrieks.

The sound tore across the camp, and Lyana winced and yelped. Grom covered his ears. It sounded like steel scratching along stone, like mountains shattering, like ancient souls torn in two. The camp shook with it. The shriek died for an instant, leaving Lyana's ears ringing, and then ten more cries answered it, and Lyana screamed.

Grom fell to his knees and clutched his ears.

"Grom!" Lyana shouted. "Free me. Nephilim. Free me!"

He looked up at her, gasped, and turned to flee. He kicked the bowl of food as he went.

"Grom, damn you!" Lyana shouted. "I will rip your guts out and feed them to the beasts!"

Shouts and screams sounded through the camp. Lyana leaped to her feet, ran ten steps, and the rope yanked her back. From here at her tree—stuck between a palisade on one side, a copse of oaks on the other—she could see nothing. She tried to shift—she had tried it a