A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,99
the rest."
He shifted into a dragon, took flight, and soared above the cliffs. Before him, plains of rock and dry scrub rolled for leagues, finally giving way to dunes and distant southern mountains. Heat rose in waves. Even in winter, the sun pounded the Tiran landscape; it baked Elethor's scales and blinded him.
When he looked east, he could just discern a distant green line leading to a delta—the Riven Pallan and the city of Irys, capital of this land. They still lay a day's flight away. When he looked west, Elethor saw the desert roll to distant tan mountains against a white sky, mere hints of color from here. Somewhere in those mountains rose the Palace of Whispers, he knew, the ruins where Solina lurked and bred her beasts.
He looked down at the desert below him. His camp spread here, a league from the sea. Whoever had survived the slaughter upon the beach bivouacked upon the plain. Griffins stood to one side, frozen like sentinels of stone. Salvanae hovered around the camp, coiling and chinking, their beards dipping into the sand. Soldiers of Osanna were erecting tents and campfires, and the scents of sausages, breads, and wine filled the air.
Finally, the Vir Requis camped to one side, the smallest of the hosts. They stood in human forms, gazing south upon the desert, solemn and silent. Most of them were not soldiers; they were mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters. They were the few who'd survived the attacks on Nova Vita and the slaughter in Bar Luan. They were the last light of Requiem, and they stood here wounded and gaunt and grim, and they comforted Elethor even more than the might of griffins or the wisdom of salvanae. They were his people, and their fire burned deep and hot within them.
As the sun set, spreading orange and red fingers across the desert, Elethor met with his generals upon a rocky hill.
At his right stood Lyana, clad as always in her silvery armor, her helmet upon her head, her sword and dagger hanging from her belt. Beside Lyana stood her squire, the young Lady Treale; she wore armor engraved with a sheaf of wheat, the sigil of her house, and the wind played with her long black hair. To Elethor's left stood Princess Mori, clad in the armor they had forged her, its steel engraved with a two-headed dragon, sigil of House Aeternum. Bayrin stood there too, the wind in his red hair.
Elethor looked upon them—a wife, a sister, his dearest friends. His heart gave a twist. Suddenly he loved them so much that it hurt. These were the dearest people in his life, the people who had flown through fire and blood for him. There were none braver in the world, he thought.
I wish you were here with us, Orin. I miss you, brother.
He thought of those who had died in this war: his brother, his father, Deramon and Adia, Piri Healer, and so many others. So many extinguished lights.
But we still fight for you. Your light still guides us—always.
Before him upon the hill stood his allies: the Griffin King Vale, his fur kindled with sunset; wise old Nehushtan, High Priest of Salvandos; and King Shae, his beard white and flowing, ruler of Osanna. Between the allies stood a table topped with candles, wooden carvings of griffins and dragons, and a parchment map of the desert. Standing over the map, Elethor looked at his companions one by one. They stared back in the sunset. He took a deep breath and began to speak.
"We invaded Tiranor with a hundred thousand warriors. Twenty thousand of them died upon the beaches." He lowered his head. "Their memory will light our path. We will forever sing of their sacrifice and courage in our halls."
The others bowed their heads and whispered prayers. A few had tears in their eyes. When the moment of prayer ended, Elethor spoke in a deep, firm voice.
"We cannot rest here long," he said. "We won a battle, but Solina is not idle. Already she musters new forces; we must continue our assault with all the might and speed we can muster. We believe that Solina lurks here." He tapped a western mountain upon the map. "The Palace of Whispers—a great fortress built into a mountain, once the domain of the Ancients, now a lair of her devilry. She is… creating, summoning, or breeding nephilim there. It won't be long before she hears of our invasion and strikes our camp."