A Night of Dragon Wings (Dragonlore, Book 3)

by Daniel Arenson

  Bayrin groaned and let his head fall back onto his pack. He looked up at the sky. Clouds rolled there beyond the branches of maples. It would be a long day of flight, and Bayrin knew his wings would ache, but anything was better than lying here.

  "Merciful stars, Piri, will you wake up?" he said. He grabbed her arm and tried to pry it off, but she clung tight.

  A distant cry sounded.

  Bayrin frowned.

  He raised his head and stared. In the distance between trees, he could just make out dark forms in the sky. Shrieks rose, closer this time.

  Oh stars.

  "Piri!" he said. "Wake up!"

  The screeches rolled across the sky. Long figures were flying there like dolls made from sticks, distant but moving fast. A stench of rot wafted through the forest.

  Nephilim.

  "Piri, Piri, wake up!" He shook her. "I really think you need to wake up now, Piri!"

  She scrunched her lips, squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and mumbled. "What, Bay? I'm sleepy."

  He managed to pry her arms off, leaped up, and stared east. Damn it. A hundred of the creatures flew there, moving straight toward them, and their cries rolled across the land.

  "Bay?" Piri sat up and rubbed her eyes. "What's that sound?"

  He grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. "Look!"

  "Hey!" The young healer wrenched herself free. "Watch who you tug, Bayrin Eleison! I—"

  Her eyes fell upon the approaching nephilim and she paled. She grabbed him and pulled him down. They ran at a crouch, grabbed their packs and blankets and pots, and scurried behind a fallen log.

  "Bloody stars, Piri," he whispered, "I think you could have slept through the Griffin War."

  She elbowed him. "Shush! And stay down." She tugged his cloak over them; leaves and twigs were still woven into it. "Be quiet for once, Bayrin."

  "Me?" He bristled. "I—"

  She dug her elbow sharply into his stomach. "Shh!"

  They crouched under the fallen tree and stared between its branches. The stench of the nephilim flared. Two years ago, after the phoenixes had crushed a building in Nova Vita, Bayrin had helped dig up the ruins. Beneath a fallen wall, they had revealed a rotted corpse, and the stench had nearly knocked him down. These nephilim smelled the same way, but the stench was older somehow: rotten flesh mixed with old leather, dust, and mold on cold stones. Their wings beat, sending leaves flying across the forest floor. Their mothers had been human, and their bodies bore humanoid shapes, though their ribs thrust out like those of birds, and their limbs were stretched like men pulled off the rack. Patches of scales clung to their skin, not bright like the scales of dragons, but rotten like lesions of leprosy. Their faces were bloated like waterlogged corpses about to burst. They screamed to the sky and their claws caught the sun and blazed. Their flesh was perhaps rotten, but those claws still looked sharp and hard as freshly forged blades.

  Bayrin grabbed his sword and growled. A hundred or more of the beasts flew above. If they saw him and Piri, could the two flee fast enough? These creatures swarmed as fast as swooping dragons. Bayrin pushed himself deeper under the branches.

  He waited for the nephilim to overshoot him and disappear westward. But they circled above like a murder of crows, and their nostrils flared, sniffing as loudly as steam rising from smelters.

  "Dragon flesh!" they cried, and their drool rained. "We smell dragon flesh, comrades! Crunchable bones, and blood to sip, and sweet organs to suck on, yes comrades. Dragon flesh hides here! Sweet bone and vein!"

  Piri cursed and whispered at his side. "Bayrin, they smell you!"

  He peeked between the branches and his stomach sank. The nephilim began to dive down. It happened so quickly, Bayrin barely had time to gasp. A few landed ahead, scattering leaves with bony, clawed feet like those of vultures. One landed behind him, mere feet away, and its swollen head thrust down. Its nostrils flared, and its milky white eyes widened. It opened a mouth full of razor teeth and howled, blowing back fallen leaves.

  With a roar, Bayrin leaped forward, drew his sword, and sliced the creature's eyes.

  It shrieked.

  Blood splattered the leaves.

  "Fly, Piri!" Bayrin shouted, leaped, and shifted. His wings beat and he crashed between three nephilim who still flew above. One dived screeching behind him, and he spun and flamed it.

  "Piri!" he cried, rising higher and blowing fire.

  "Bayrin, here!" she shouted. She flew ahead, her lavender scales flashing between the rotten beasts. She blew fire, flaming two.

  He shot toward her. They soared higher. They flew back to back, blowing fire in every direction. The nephilim screeched and surrounded them. One rose from below, and Bayrin knocked it aside with his tail. Another slammed against them from above, and claws tore at Bayrin's back. He roared and gored the beast with his horns.

  "Piri, follow me!" he shouted. "I'm breaking through."

  With a great roar, he shot forward, claws slashing and fire blazing. A nephil clawed his flank, and he howled. He barreled through them, revealing the western horizon, and shot forward. Teeth bit him. More claws cut him. He kept flying, screaming and blowing his fire.

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw Piri flying beside him. Behind them, a hundred nephilim screamed and followed.

  Clear cries bugled ahead.

  Bayrin looked back to the west, and his breath left him.

  Beautiful, he thought. Tears came to his eyes. Stars, it's beautiful.

  Over the forest flew a horde of salvanae, true dragons of the west. They had no human forms like Vir Requis; they lived feral in the woods and mountains, wise and ancient beings. They had no limbs or wings; they coiled upon the air like serpents upon water, a hundred feet long. Scales shimmered and chinked across them. Their horns were long and bright, and their beards and mustaches fluttered as they flew. Their eyes were like crystal balls, spinning and glowing and topped with long white lashes. A thousand or more flew there, a tapestry woven of silver and gold. As they charged eastward upon the wind, they bugled their cries again, sounding like trumpets of silver from castle towers.

  "Bloody stars, the cavalry's arrived!" Bayrin shouted.

  He shot toward them, Piri at his side.

  Behind them, the nephilim screeched to the sky. The earth shook below. Trees shattered. A boulder cracked. Bayrin screamed with the pain; the sound thudded against him and left his ears ringing.

  The salvanae ahead trumpeted again, and this time, their voices pealed with rage. They stormed forward, serpentine bodies undulating upon the wind, beards fluttering. The nephilim screamed, beat their tattered wings, and reached out their claws. The two armies drove toward each other over the toppled forest.

  "Up, Piri!" Bayrin shouted.

  He soared in a straight line, teeth grinding. Air beat his face. His head spun. Darkness spread across his eyes. Piri flew at his side, growling.

  Screams exploded below them as the armies clashed.

  Bayrin spun in the air and swooped. Below him, the salvanae were trumpeting their cries. Lighting shot from their maws to slam into nephilim. The beasts burned and screamed. Their claws tore into the salvanae. Scales showered like spilling jewels, and the blood of true dragons rained.

  Bayrin blew his fire, drenching a nephil below him. Piri swooped at his side, and her own fire took out another beast.

  The sky blazed with battle. Lightning bolts flew everywhere. Fire blazed. The bodies of salvanae and nephilim fell around them, and the forests below caught flame. One nephil shot forward, and its maw opened so wide Bayrin thought its head would split in two. It drove teeth into Piri's shoulder, and she cried out; suddenly she sounded so young to Bayrin, a mere girl.

  He roared and drove forward. He leaped onto the nephil, bit down, and tore into its neck. Its scales cut his mouth. Its rotten flesh oozed. He spat out a chunk and bit down again, and the nephil shrieked, releasing Piri. She dipped in the sky, blood streaming down her shoulder.

  The nephil turned t
oward Bayrin, half its neck missing. Black blood spurted from it, and it laughed, a bubbling laughter full of dragon blood. Its eyes were mad, burning with sickly white light.

  "Mortal child," it hissed through its laughter. "You do not know what you face. Legion rises! The Fallen rise! Your souls will scream in our darkness. We—"

  Bayrin bathed the creature with flame.

  It shrieked and fell. When its body hit the forest, it cracked open like a rotten fruit.

  Bayrin dived and flew toward Piri. She was wobbling, still aflight but barely higher than the trees. Blood coated her shoulder. He nudged her with his wing, and she gave him a weary smile.

  "You saved me, Bayrin."

  He looked above him, waiting for nephilim to swoop. He found only salvanae above, and when he looked over the forest, he saw bodies everywhere, two hundred or more; about half of them were the nephilim, their corpses leaking pus and blood. The rest were golden and silver salvanae, the light 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 thousand times these past few days—and failed again, the ropes tugging her back into human form.

  "Grom!" she screamed. "Damn you! You will hang for this in the court of my king!"

  Fire blazed and heat washed Lyana. Ahead above the trees, she saw dragons take flight. A few were tough, hardened warriors roaring fire. Others were elders missing teeth. A few were youngsters, barely larger than horses. She could catch only glimpses of them between the branches. She saw a nephil shoot above, baring its fangs. She heard a dragon scream.

  "Grom!" she shouted.

  Screeches rose. Claws grabbed the trees before her and yanked them out. The roots pulled from the soil like hair pulled from a scalp, showering dirt. A nephil stood before her, holding an oak in each hand. The beast tossed back its rotted head, howled at the sky, and threw the trees aside.

  Then it saw Lyana, its white eyes widened, and it snarled. Drool splattered. It came lolloping toward her on clawed feet.

  Lyana stood with legs parted, rocking on her heels. Her wrists were still bound behind her; the rope which tethered her to the tree stood taut, a good ten feet long. She narrowed her eyes, staring at the approaching beast, and bared her teeth.

  The nephil reached her and slammed down its claws.

  Lyana leaped aside.

  The claws slammed into the earth, digging ruts. The beast thrust its maw forward, teeth jutting out like rusted blades.

  Shouting wordlessly, Lyana leaped back, allowing the rope to spin her around the tree like a tether-ball. She placed the trunk between herself and the nephil.

  "God damn you, Grom," she muttered. If only she could fly! Stars, if only she had unbound wrists and sword in hand!

  The nephil screeched, shaking the earth, and raced around the oak. It thrust down its jaw, and Lyana leaped back again. Its teeth dug into the earth. It raised its head and howled, a shattering sound that splattered drool and earth and dry leaves.

  Lyana pressed herself close to the tree trunk, narrowed her eyes, and nodded at the rotted giant. The rope which ran between her wrists and the trunk lay loose at her feet.

  With a howl, the nephil lashed its claws.

  Lyana leaped forward, tightening the rope between herself and the trunk. The nephil's claws severed it.

  Shouting hoarsely, Lyana ran through the camp. The nephil raced behind her. Its jaws lashed down, and she rolled. Its teeth missed her by inches. She leaped up and tried to shift, but could not; she was free from the tree, but the rope still bound her wrists behind her back.

  Dragons and nephilim howled above her. Children ran through the camp. Lyana scurried forward. She looked over her shoulder and saw her nephil leap skyward like a giant, rotten grasshopper. The beast came plunging down toward her, and Lyana screamed and turned her head aside.

  Fire blazed.

  Through squinting eyes, Lyana saw a legless red dragon—Dor
in Blacksmith!—crash into the nephil an instant before the beast could hit her. Dragon and nephil tumbled, rolled through the leaves, and crashed into a tree.

  Lyana leaped up, whipping her head from side to side. The battle raged around her, nephilim and dragons slashing and biting and burning.

  A blade. I need a blade!

  Her eyes fell upon Grom.

  "The poor fool," she muttered.

  The miner lay in human form, his legs bitten off, his eyes staring lifelessly. He still clutched a sword in his hand—her sword, the ancient blade Levitas. The leaves around him soaked up his blood.

  She ran toward him, turned backward, and crouched. She ran her wrists against Levitas, cutting the rope.

  Three nephilim flew above, howled, and came swooping toward her.

  The rope fell off her wrists.

  Lyana grabbed her sword, shifted with it, and soared.

  A blue dragon, she roared her fire, bathing the creatures. She shot through her own flame, lashed her claws, and crashed between the blazing nephilim. They fell around her, burnt and lacerated.

  Lyana soared higher, rising from flame. Dragons and nephilim fought around her. She slew one beast with a blast of fire, then spun and swooped, the sun at her back. She crashed between the treetops into the camp, swung her claws, and ripped the head off a charging nephil.

  Wails rose behind her. Lyana landed and spun around. A nephil was chasing a group of toddlers too young to shift. The children leaped under a fallen bole, which the nephil began to slash at. Still in dragon form, Lyana charged and leaped onto the nephil's back. It bucked, and she dug her teeth into its shoulder.

  Gooey blood filled her mouth. The nephil screeched and she pulled it backward, allowing the toddlers to flee. She crashed onto her back, the nephil writhing above her. Lyana pushed her tail down, thrust herself up, and tossed the nephil forward. When it spun toward her, she flamed it and it fell.

  She looked around the camp, panting. The battle was over.