A Night of Dragon Wings - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,92
camp and Second Haven. Every Vir Requis old enough to fly and breathe fire stood here in the snow, smoke pluming from their nostrils, frost upon their scales.
East of them stood a host of griffins, over twenty thousand strong, snow in their fur and rage in their eyes. King Vale stood at their lead upon a boulder, the greatest among them, his head raised and his talons like great swords.
Beyond the griffins, an army of salvanae coiled above a frozen lake, as large and mighty as the host of griffins. The true dragons hovered, their long bodies undulating like waves, scales chinking like purses of jingling coins. Their beards were long, their eyes blazing, their breath fuming.
Finally, in a field of grass and stone, stood the soldiers of Osanna. Fifty thousand rallied here, each warrior bearing a sword, spear, and bow. Their breastplates and shields sported engraved bull horns, the sigil of Osanna's Earth God, a deity of all things growing and good and a nemesis of Tiranor's flaming lord. These warriors would ride to battle upon the beasts that flew. From the backs of griffins and dragons, they would shoot their arrows and toss their spears, and when they landed in the cities of Tiranor, they would draw swords and fight the enemy in streets and halls.
"A hundred thousand men and beasts," Elethor said softly as snow swirled around him, coated his beard, and frosted his armor. "Will it be enough?"
He turned to look at Lyana who stood at his side. She reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it. Their leather gloves creaked.
"All free nations fight against the evil in the south," she said. "It will be enough, or we will perish. But fly south we must. I would rather die charging into evil than waiting for it to come."
Her hair, shaved off in her captivity last year, now grew several inches long. It fell across her brow and ears, little cascades of orange curls kissed with snow. Her eyes, green as a spring forest, stared deeply into his. Fields of freckles spread across her pale face; Elethor knew and loved every one.
He looked south over forest and mist, imagining the desert. Tiranor, he thought. So many times, Solina had lain in his arms, or walked with him through the forests, or stood with him upon the hill, and spoke of her desert realm. She would describe dunes kissed golden with dawn, oases lush with palms and birds, and towers of limestone that rose capped with platinum. She spoke of the dragons burning those trees and toppling those towers, and how one day she would restore her land to glory. She spoke of a magical realm of secrets, a desert paradise of pomegranate wine, figs sweet as honey, smooth myrrh and chinking gold—a land of beauty, of wonders, of ancient wisdom.
"We will live there together someday, Elethor," she had whispered so many times in the halls of Requiem, her eyes rimmed red and her fingers clutching him desperately. "It will be our place, our secret land of magic. We will rule there together, queen and king of the desert, so far from the dragons who hurt us."
Elethor had never been to Tiranor, the land that Solina's heart had always beaten for. Now he would see those towers, those oases, and those statues and steel and treasures.
And we will burn them. Stars, Solina, we will burn your land and burn you. He clutched his sword so tightly his fist trembled. You drove me to this, Solina; now Tiranor will rise in flame.
"The north has mustered!" he cried to his army, palm coned around his mouth. "We have gathered our hosts, and we will crush the desert. We fly at dawn tomorrow. Rest tonight, northern warriors. Tomorrow we fly to victory!"
They cheered, a hundred thousand warriors roaring for victory and vengeance and flame. But Elethor only stood, jaw squared, chest tight. He could not roar with them. He could not find joy in this; the fires of war had never lit his heart, and even now, with so many dead behind them, he could not summon the flame that drove Solina, that drove these warriors below the mountain. He held Lyana's hand tight and looked at her. She looked back up at him, lips tight, and nodded.
"I fly by you, my king," she said. "Tomorrow and always. Our wings beat together, and our fires will light the long, cold night."