A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,73
racing toward them.
"They'll tear us apart here," Elethor said. "Yar, get the others! Follow me to the hall!"
Snarling, Elethor raced outside into the forest, shifted into a dragon, and blew his fire. The nephilim howled and swarmed toward him.
BAYRIN
Bayrin had heard tales of Har Zahav, the mythical golden mountain of the salvanae. In old books, he had read how Kyrie Eleison and Agnus Dei, the great hero and heroine of Requiem, had visited this place to summon the salvanae to aid them. Those books described a volcano of pure gold rising from the forest, above it a sky full of the true dragons. In countless illustrations, tapestries, and paintings Bayrin had admired the scene: the two Vir Requis, among the last of their kind, flying to the golden hall under a sky of coiling, glittering salvanae with flowing beards and crystal eyes.
During the journey here, Bayrin had imagined himself like Kyrie Eleison, the old prince of Requiem, and imagined Piri as Agnus Dei, the fiery warrior-princess. He had imagined them too flying among wise salvanae toward a mountain of wonder and magic.
Now Har Zahav rose before him, the golden mountain of legend, and Bayrin's eyes dampened at its glory lost. Nephilim had flown here. Whatever beauty had once shone here had fallen to their rot.
"Stars," Piri whispered, flying beside him. Her eyes dampened. "Stars, Bayrin, we're too late."
A battle had raged here not long ago. The pines lay smashed and burnt below. The mountain did rise ahead—triangular and golden like in the paintings—but blood and ash now coated it, and the corpses of both salvanae and nephilim lay upon its slopes. More bodies littered the forest below: salvanae torn into segments, the glow of their eyes dimmed, and nephilim charred with lighting, their corpses bustling with maggots.
"When the wyverns attacked last year, we found no allies," Bayrin said softly. "The world did not believe that Solina could threaten it too. Stars, Piri. Look at this world now."
Those salvanae who had first found Bayrin and Piri in the forests now flew around them. At the sight of their bloodied mountain and the corpses of their brothers, the salvanae tossed back their heads and cried with grief. Their calls rang out like mournful bells, like forests weeping, and their tears fell as rain into smoldering fires.
"Salvandos!" they cried. "Salvandos, land of the true dragons! We will avenge you, land of Draco. Your beauty rivaled the light of stars, Salvandos! You were brighter than sunlight, sweeter than wine."
Gliding beside him, her lavender scales glimmering under the veiled sun, Piri looked at Bayrin with soft eyes.
"Are the other salvanae all dead?" she whispered.
Bayrin looked ahead across the smoldering forests to the mountain. He squinted and then breathed in relief.
"Look, Piri," he said and pointed a claw. "Some still live."
A group of salvanae rose from the mountain, their scales splashed with blood. They coiled skyward, wailing in grief, then dived down the mountainside toward their slain kin. Flying serpents, they had no limbs or wings, and Bayrin caught his breath, wondering how they would lift the bodies and carry them to burial. The salvanae opened their mouths wide, tears in their eyes.
Piri gasped and looked aside. "Stars, Bayrin! They… stars! They're eating them!"
As he glided toward the mountain, Bayrin stared with disbelief. Piri was right. The living salvanae took the tails of their fallen into their mouths. They began to swallow the fallen like snakes swallowing their prey. As they ate the dead, more salvanae coiled above, singing songs of mourning. The clouds parted, and rays of light fell upon the golden mountain, and the song rose like the keen of harps. Bayrin knew he should be horrified. Stars, they're cannibals! And yet, as he glided upon the wind, this act—the consumption of the fallen—seemed not obscene but deeply sad, deeply respectful.
"It's a last honor," he whispered. "The fallen will become part of the living. Their blood will live on."
When the bodies were gone, the salvanae rose—heavier and rounder—into the air. They coiled toward the top of their golden volcano and vanished inward into darkness.
Above the mountain floated a great, golden salvana with a flowing white beard. He came flying across the charred forest toward Bayrin and Piri; they met above golden, bloodied foothills.
"Children of Draco," said the salvana, and his eyes shone with tears.
Bayrin recognized him; here was Nehushtan, High Priest of Salvandos. Bayrin had seen the wise old dragon in Requiem; Nehushtan had visited Nova Vita a year ago to meet with Elethor.