A Night of Dragon Wings

by Daniel Arenson

  Mori limped by her, arms around her neck, and Treale stumbled toward one cell. She thrust the keys into the door's lock. The lock clanked, and the door opened to reveal a cell with three prisoners.

  The men lay upon the floor, bloodied and whimpering. Sharik had dislocated their arms upon the rack. They trembled, pale and sickly and coughing, blood upon their backs. For a moment Treale could only stand, breath wheezing, head spinning.

  How can we do this? Guards shouted above. Hundreds filled the palace, and thousands filled the city. Scores of prisoners filled this dungeon, and most were too ill, frail, and wounded to walk; she could not carry them all.

  Did I travel to Tiranor only to die in darkness? Did I survive the fire over Requiem, and fly through smoke and blood, to fall with my princess underground?

  Treale tightened her lips. No. No, I will not die here. She knelt by the prisoners, somehow holding her club, her keys, and Mori. She growled. We will not die like rats in Tiranor's bowels. We will find our sky. We will fly over Requiem again.

  "You must stand!" she said to the prisoners. "Stand and flee! Move, now, before guards arrive."

  The prisoners crawled, struggling for breath, struggling to rise. One managed to stand, leaning against a wall, then fell and mewled. The others could not even do that. More wails rose from the other chambers, and voices cried out to her, begging for freedom, begging for death. Tears stung Treale's eyes, and she let out a frustrated yowl.

  "How can I do this, Mori?" she whispered. The princess still leaned against her, so frail she could barely support her own weight. "How can we free them? There are so many… so many wounded…"

  The prisoners were crawling toward her, bloody hands outreached, when a shriek pierced the dungeons.

  It was a shriek like shattering glass, like rending souls, the primordial cry of ancient evil. It was so loud, the dungeon shook and dust rained, and Treale dropped club and key and covered her ears. The prisoners moaned and fell. The floor shook and cracks raced along the wall. Mori winced and also covered her ears, and the shriek kept flowing, rising to an impossible pitch, so shrill Treale thought her eardrums might rip.

  When finally the shriek ended, Treale turned to face the cell door. She raised her club. Outside in the hall, a shadow was stirring.

  Stars of Requiem, be with me.

  The torchlight flickered madly outside, casting shadows and red light across the floor. Something was moving in the hall. Snorts rose and a stench like rotten flesh and mold invaded Treale's nostrils. A long shadow fell across the corridor outside the doorway, and the shriek sounded again, so loud Treale fell to her knees and winced and thought her skull might crack.

  "Treale," Mori whispered. She trembled against her.

  "Be strong, Mori," Treale whispered back. Her heart thrashed and her chest rose and fell. "Whatever walks outside, we will face it."

  Was a wyvern crawling in the corridor? No, impossible; wyverns were too large to fit down here. Was it a phoenix? No; she would have felt the heat. Some beast, some evil, crawled outside the cell. Its breath snorted as if sniffing for flesh, and claws clanked against the floor, and the shadow neared, and finally the creature appeared at the doorway.

  Treale froze. Such terror pounded through her she couldn't even scream.

  She had faced wyverns in battle over Ralora Beach. She had seen the death of her parents. She had sailed from Osanna to Tiranor and survived for days in these dungeons, witnessing the blood and gore and agony of Tiranor's torture. Yet she had never seen anything that filled her with such pounding, twisting, screaming terror. Her teeth clenched, sweat drenched her, and her knees felt soft as wet cloth.

  "Stand behind me, Mori," Treale whispered. Without removing her eyes from the creature, she knelt, placed Mori upon the floor, and straightened again. She raised her club with shaking, clammy hands.

  The creature regarded her, one eye bright yellow, the other milky white and swollen. It crawled on hands and knees, body long and lanky, its bones thrusting against leathery skin. It looked almost like a man, but far too large; Treale guessed it would stand fifteen feet tall, if it had room to straighten. Leathern swings sprouted from its back, and its claws were long and thin. As it stared at her, its lips pulled back to reveal fangs like daggers. When its tongue lolled, drool dripped and sizzled against the floor.

  "Stand back!" Treale warned and raised her club. Her knees shook, but she snarled and stayed standing. "You will not enter this place."

  Its tongue licked its chops, long and wet like a sea serpent. Its white eye spun madly, the size of a melon, oozing pus.

  "Fleshhhh," it hissed, eyes blazing. "We must eat, yes, we must lick blood, we must suck marrow. Fleshhh."

  Quick as a spider, it scuttled on hands and knees into the chamber.

  Treale yelped and leaped back. She swung her club, and it clanged against the demon's shoulder. The beast barely seemed to notice. Its head whipped from side to side, taking in the cell, like a starving man stumbling upon a feast and for a moment overcome, not sure which dish to devour first. Mori crawled into the corner, face pale, and Treale stood over her, club trembling in her hands. The beast gave them a stare, then looked back at the prisoners who mewled upon the floor. It finally seemed to make up its mind.

  It pounced onto one prisoner, a man with dislocated arms and severed fingers, and began to feast.

  Treale winced and Mori yelped. Blood and entrails splattered. The prisoner gave a last scream, then died as the beast fed. It ate greedily, claws lashing and teeth ripping flesh, then turned and pounced upon a second prisoner. The man screamed as the creature sucked up his entrails. The third prisoner, back lashed and legs broken, whimpered and began crawling away, but the demon leaped upon him too, and more blood splashed.

  "Come on, Mori!" Treale cried. She grabbed the princess and pulled her up. "Run, Mori!"

  As the demon feasted upon the third prisoner, crunching bones and sucking organs, the two young women stumbled out into the hall.

  A second shriek, coming from ahead, tore through the dungeon. Walls cracked and dust rained. Treale screamed and Mori whimpered. More shadows stirred, and a second beast scuttled into the dungeon, licking its chops. This one's flesh was so rotten, it hung in tatters, revealing white bones. It crawled forward, long and rail thin. Its nostrils flared, and with a howl, it burst into a cell where children hung from a wall. The beast began to feast, splattering blood. The children screamed and died between its teeth.

  "Nephilim," Mori whispered, her arms around Treale's shoulders. Her voice was weak, and her arms shook.

  "Demons?" Treale whispered.

  "Half demons. I read about them in my books. Their fathers were demons from the Abyss who took human brides; these are their spawn." She began to limp forward again. "Hurry, Treale!"

  They rushed down the corridor as the nephilim screeched and slurped and feasted behind them. As they passed by cells, they saw that the prisoners had already been devoured. The doors lay shattered, and only bits of hair and bloodied chains remained beyond them. More screeches rose above; the dungeons were swarming with these creatures.

  "More flesh!" rose cries behind them. "We must drink more blood! We crave more bones, comrades, and marrow to suck."

  Treale's feet slogged through blood. The nephilim screeched behind her. Every step seemed a mile long. The staircase rose ahead; it would lead them out of darkness. It was only ten paces away, but seemed the distance of seas and forests. She walked on shaky legs, Mori leaning against her.

  The shrieks swirled behind her, louder now. "More blood! More flesh to suck!"

  Shadows danced. The torches flickered madly. The staircase was only five paces away now. When Treale looked over her shoulder, she saw the nephilim emerge from the chambers, maws bloody. They tossed their heads back and howled, and the dungeons shook.

  The prisoners had only whetted their appetite, she realized. And we're the main course.

  She yowled, clenched her jaw, and kept trudging forward.
Mori was frail, but she seemed so heavy now; Treale's limbs were too weak, too thin. The creatures began scuttling behind them, claws clanking against the stone floor. Treale yowled and tried to run, but her feet slipped in the blood, and she crashed to her knees. Mori whimpered and fell beside her.

  "Blood! Flesh! Fresh sustenance, comrades, fresh bones to snap!"

  The two nephilim came charging toward them. Treale screamed and leaped to her feet. Was this corridor too small? Would the walls crush her? Would she crush Mori?

  The nephilim snapped their teeth.

  "Stand back, Mori!" Treale shouted, summoned her magic, and shifted.

  Her body ballooned, becoming the dragon. Flames crackled in her maw. Her scaly flank shoved against Mori, pinning the princess to the wall. Treale howled, a black dragon trapped in the corridor like a clot in a vein. The nephilim screamed before her, and Treale blew her fire.

  The flames exploded through the dungeon, crashed against the nephilim, and roared into the cells lining the corridor. The half demons shrieked, stones shattered, cracks raced along the ceiling, and bricks tumbled. Treale kept blowing her flames, and the beasts kept screaming. A chunk of the ceiling crashed against Treale's back, and she howled. More stones slammed against the nephilim, and she heard one's spine snap. She kept roaring her fire, emptying every flame inside her, until the beasts lay burnt and broken and still.

  Panting, head twisting with pain, Treale shifted back into human form. Smoke and flame filled the dungeon; she could barely breathe. She knelt above Mori, and tears filled her eyes. The princess lay on her back, eyes closed.

  "Mori!" Treale called, lifted the princess in her arms, and shook her. "Mori, wake up. Stars, Mori!"

  The princess lay still in Treale's arms. Stars, did I crush her? Did I kill her? She placed her ear against Mori's lips. A shaky sob fled Treale's own lips. Mori still breathed! Some life still filled her.

  "I'm going to save you, Mori," she said.

  She wrapped Mori in her cloak, then roared with pain as she lifted the princess. She was not much larger than Mori. And yet here in this dungeon, weakened and wounded, she slung Mori across her shoulders and began to climb the stairs.

  Step by step, growling with effort, Treale carried her princess out of the dungeon. Screams rose above her: both the shrieks of nephilim and the cries of men. Treale kept climbing. The stairs seemed to twist forever, finally leading to corridors that twisted and chambers where blood flowed. Down one hall, she glimpsed a nephil scuttling and shrieking for blood; she heard more racing through the palace above her.

  It seemed hours before Treale found the back door that led outdoors into sunlight.

  The sun nearly blinded her, and for a moment Treale saw nothing but light; she had been underground for six days now. When she blinked, she saw the sky swarming with nephilim. Hundreds flew there, maybe thousands, lanky bodies twisting and coiling, black wings flapping. They shrieked and howled at the sun.

  "Hail Queen Solina!" they cried. "Hail Legion! We are free! We will feast! We will devour dragons!"

  Treale stared, frozen, and her eyes burned.

  The world is overrun. Can we ever flee such evil?

  She sniffed and tightened her grip on Mori; the princess still hung across her shoulder, wrapped in a cloak, unconscious and breathing softly.

  "We're leaving this city," Treale said.

  She began to trudge away from the palace, and soon she walked down an alley where people fled, pointed at the sky, and whimpered in corners. If anyone even looked Treale's way, they saw her carrying only a thin bundle wrapped in cloth, perhaps some kindling for a fire.

  "We are leaving this cursed desert, Mori, and we are never coming back."

  Her legs shook, her back blazed with pain, yet Treale kept walking—step by step, breath by breath. She would cross the desert afoot if she must. Soldiers raced around her, shouting and pointing at the nephilim who swarmed above. Children wept and families rushed into their homes and peered from windows.

  Treale kept walking, Mori across her shoulder, the screams of the nephilim shaking the sky.

  MORI

  The world spun around her.

  Mori remembered little of leaving Irys, capital of Tiranor: only the scent of sand, the shriek of beasts above, and Treale carrying her across her shoulders. The young squire was a slight woman, and yet she had carried Mori through the entire city of sprawling squares, cobbled alleys, and throngs of people.

  Stars, I'm so thin, Mori remembered thinking in a daze. I'm skin and bones.

  Beasts of claws and fangs soared overhead, scuttled down the streets, and cried to the sun. Soldiers ran and somewhere above Solina laughed, flying upon the king of the Fallen, a twisted beast crowned with a flaming halo. Treale was sweating beneath her as they sneaked outside the city walls. The desert sands swirled around the squire's feet, and finally they rested beneath an ancient, smoothed statue of a falcon that rose from the dunes.

  "Here," Treale said, reached into her pack, and handed her a waterskin. "Drink."

  Sweat, sand, and blood coated Treale, and she panted and wiped damp hair off her brow. When Mori held out her arms to grab the waterskin, they seemed so thin to her, mere twigs compared to Treale's arms. Her hands trembled as she clutched the skin, and Treale had to help her drink. It was good, clear water, the best she had drunk in moons.

  "I can't see very well," she said softly. The sun blazed overhead, and shadows fell only when nephilim scudded across it. The world seemed fuzzy and far too bright; it was like looking through sunlit glass.

  Treale took a pomegranate from her pack and cracked it open against her knee. She handed half to Mori.

  "Your eyesight will improve," she said firmly. "Eat, Mori. Eat and you'll grow strong again."

  Her voice didn't waver, but Mori saw tears in the young woman's eyes. She looked down at her pomegranate. Looking at the bright red color helped her focus her eyes, and she blinked a few times. She scooped seeds out and ate them, then closed her eyes and sighed. They were the sweetest, most wonderful, magical things she had ever eaten; they exploded in her mouth and shot healing energy through her. Her body shook with it.

  A shadow fell over them. A nephil screeched above and swooped so low, its wings raised sand around them. The creature overshot them and soared over the city ahead, crying to the sun. More followed, a flock of rot and screams, their wings spreading their stench.

  "We shall feed on dragon bones!" they screeched. "We shall drink dragon blood! Hail Solina. Hail the Golden Queen!" They beat their wings and swirled across the desert sky. "We are free! We will eat dragon flesh!"

  Treale huddled closer to the old falcon statue that rose above them; the sand below and the limestone beak above formed a hollow. Mori pushed herself back and huddled by her friend. She began to shiver.

  "How did Solina free the nephilim, Treale?" she whispered. "My books said the Ancients imprisoned them years ago."

  The squire placed her arms around her, pulled her close, and held her. She too was shaking. Sand stung the welts on Mori's back, mingling with the pain in her belly and head. She watched as the beasts dived and cried overhead.

  "Don't worry about those creatures, Mori," Treale said, holding her. "I'll get you out of this desert. I promise. We're going to fly north to a beautiful forest, and we'll find lots of food there, and we'll live there together." Her tears fell. "I promise. Do you believe me?"

  Though Mori shook and her own eyes dampened, she nodded.

  "Will Elethor be there?" she whispered. "Is Bayrin waiting in that forest too? And Lyana? They're waiting in that forest for us, right?"

  Treale hung her head low and said nothing. A tear streamed down her cheek.

  Mori bit her lip. "I thought not," she whispered.

  With a sniff, Treale raised her head, looked into her eyes, and pulled her into a soft embrace.

  "I pray that they live, Mori," she whispered. "But if they're gone… if you and I are the only ones left… then we must survi
ve. We must escape and we must live alone. You understand, right?"

  Mori nodded, a lump in her throat. "We will live, Treale. We will get out of this awful place." Her lip trembled, and the statue shook behind them with the shrieks of the beasts above. "We'll find that forest, and we'll find lots of food and water, and we'll survive."

  Treale sniffed again and knuckled her eyes. "Can you fly, Mori?"

  "I don't know. Let me eat a little more. Let me catch my breath. And then we'll try to fly. If I can't, will you let me ride you—you a dragon and me a human?"

  Treale laughed through her tears. "You'd fall straight off! But if you can't fly, I will hold you in my claws, and I promise to be gentle."

  They finished their pomegranate, then some bread and cheese Treale had pilfered from the dungeon, and Mori felt some of her strength return. The world still seemed too bright, and her limbs too shaky and weak, but she managed to push herself up to her feet.

  "We'll walk a little farther," Treale said. She pointed ahead. "See the mountains there in the west?"

  Mori squinted, able to see only a tan smudge. She nodded. "I see them."

  "None of these creatures fly there. But we will. We will rest there among the stones for the night, then keep going. The swamps of Gilnor lie a few days northwest. We'll find more food there—fish and frogs to eat—and we'll find shelter under trees." Treale's voice trembled as she spoke, but she clenched her fists and plowed on. "We'll fly north from the swamps. A few days' flight will take us to the forests of Salvandos. That's where the true dragons live, and they can protect us. We can be there this moon, if we fly fast enough."

  "The salvanae!" Mori breathed.

  She had read many books about them. True dragons of old, they had no wings, no limbs, and no human forms; they flew as great chinking serpents, wild in the forests and mountains, forging no metal and plowing no fields, yet studying the stars and singing many old songs. Mori had seen a salvana once—the priest Nehushtan, a wise old dragon who had visited Requiem a year ago.