A Day of Dragon Blood

by Daniel Arenson

  Pain drove through Elethor. His eyes stung. Smoke blew around him, searing hot. He wanted to still his wings, to fall upon his realm, to lie forever as charred bones.

  I failed my kingdom. I failed Lyana. I'm sorry, Father. I'm sorry, Orin.

  He looked at the sky, seeking the halls of his fathers, but saw only cloud and rain. He rose higher. His wings blazed and wind howled around him. Ice began to spread across his scales, and the thin air spun his head, and yet still he soared. Requiem. May our wings forever find your sky. The clouds broke, and he emerged from the storm. Below him, the clouds and rain and lightning swirled, an orchestra of water and fire. Above him spread the night, ablaze with countless stars. The Draco constellation shone, glittering so brightly it nearly blinded him. He flew, caught between storm and star.

  "I fly to you, Father," he whispered. All sounds faded; he could barely hear the storm beneath him. He looked up at the stars. "I fly to you, Queen Gloriae. I soon will dine in your hall, King Aeternum."

  Will Mori await me there? Will Lyana forever sit by my side as the celestial columns rise around us? Will the great kings of old scorn me for my failure, for our ancient realm that fell under my reign?

  A voice spoke behind him, clear in the night, as if answering his thoughts.

  "You did not fail, Elethor."

  He turned to see Solina upon her wyvern. The beast flapped its wings languidly, hovering before him. The golden queen regarded him, a visor hiding her face.

  Elethor wanted to rage. He wanted to howl. He wanted to blow fire, to fight, to kill Solina and then crash dead with her to the ruins below. Yet no rage found him now, only grief that dampened his eyes, churned his gut, and swelled in his throat.

  "I let Requiem fall," he said. He hovered before her. The night seemed so silent; only dim rumbles of thunder rolled below. No more wind blew. He hovered before his old love in soft darkness and starlight.

  She shook her head. "No, Elethor. You could not have stopped me. Your father and brother could not stop me either; they fell before my flame. You fought me for many days, Elethor, and you led your people with honor. They are not ashamed of you, Elethor. You fought nobly and you are stronger than you know. Your father and brother were worshipped as warriors; they saw you as a sculptor, a stargazer, a lesser prince. But I knew who you are, El. I always knew. You showed your strength to me and to your people."

  She lifted her visor. Her eyes were solemn. He remembered those eyes. With stabs of agony, he remembered marveling at their beauty, staring for hours into their depths. This was the woman he would kiss, the woman whose naked body he held under blankets, whose hair he would stroke—the woman who had claimed his soul and even now, even here, held it in her hands.

  "My people are dead," he said. "Solina, what strength can I show them now?"

  She pointed above to the Draco constellation. It seemed impossibly distant, impossibly large, great suns of distant fire.

  "They watch over you, Elethor. The souls of your people whisper there; so do the souls of your father and brother. I sent them there, but I need not send you." She reached out to him. "It's not too late, Elethor. I love you. I've always loved you. Requiem is gone; I crushed it so we might be together again. Return with me to your home. Return with me to the desert; we were always meant to rule there together." Tears sparkled in her eyes like more stars. "Elethor... I hate you. I vowed to destroy you. But now I look upon you and I love you." She reached toward him. "You and I were always meant to fly here, to hurt each other, to love in pain. Blood and fire have always been ours; we have beaten blood and fire before, and I returned to you. It's time to go home."

  Soft light glowed around her, and she seemed to Elethor not the Queen of Tiranor, not the tyrant and slayer of his people, but the Solina who would hold him in caves and forests, whisper of secret magical kingdoms, and cry onto his shoulder, then laugh and kiss him.

  "I never wanted anything but this," Elethor said softly. "A quiet place. The light of stars. You and I. For years that's all I dreamed of."

  Her wyvern's wings rose and fell like a silent midnight sea. Solina reached out toward him from the saddle. "That is what you have! That is what I brought us. Let your magic go, Elethor. Turn into the man I love, ride with me in my saddle, and we will live like this forever. No more fire or blood—just you and me."

  He laughed weakly. Smoke rose from his nostrils. "That is not what you said last year when you drove your dagger down my face. You spoke of torture then. You spoke of making me beg for death." He sighed. "Solina, the days when we could have been like this, here in solitude, are gone. Too much blood has spilled. Too many stones have shattered. Too many lights have gone out."

  She shook her head. "There is only this, Elethor. Don't you understand? There is no more Requiem for you to return to." Her wyvern lowered its head, its dark body nearly disappearing into shadow. Solina seemed to float before him, a golden queen in the night. "All has fallen. All has been laid to waste. The land where we grew up is gone, Elethor, swept away in this rain like the last snows of winter. Let spring rise from its ashes. With me, Elethor. With me."

  He looked below him. The storm swirled silently, a sea of gray and red and blue, flaring every moment with the faded glow of lightning. Requiem had fallen; there was no more home beneath those clouds. All was gone: the temple where he would pray with his people, their song rising between the columns to the stars; the house where he would sculpt and whisper Solina's name in the night; the gardens and hills where he would laugh with Bayrin; the palace where he had grown up with Orin and Mori.

  Gone. All is gone.

  He looked back up at Solina. "Where is Mori? Where is my sister?"

  Something crossed Solina's eyes, the flicker of deep fire. Her voice hardened. "I spared her life. I did not kill her. She lives, Elethor. She lives. She will be allowed to live in our realm."

  Yet there was no warmth to her voice; the shadow of her rage now filled it. He looked into her eyes and saw the madness there. The old Solina still lurked inside her, crying out to him—the Solina he had loved for years, the Solina whom he still loved, even now. But that fire burned now across her soul, the fire that had burned her body and twisted her mind, that perhaps had always simmered deep within her. He could not rid her of it, he knew. He could not undo her deeds, could not cleanse her of her crimes.

  A peace settled upon him then, and the starlight warmed him. He knew, perhaps for the first time, that she was gone from him; like never before, he knew that Solina—his Solina, the one he had loved—had fallen too, as ruined as the city below them.

  "I will not join you in your desert court," he said. "You may fight me; you may try to chain me. I will die fighting you above the earth of my home, in the light of my stars." He smiled softly. "It will be a good death."

  Solina stared at him a moment longer, silent. Tears flowed down her cheeks.

  "Goodbye, Elethor," she whispered.

  Lightning flared and thunder boomed.

  Solina screamed.

  She drove her wyvern toward him.

  Elethor spread his wings and bathed her with fire.

  She screamed. The fire flowed across her. He shot forward and his claws lashed. She swung her sword; the steel sliced his claw. He tried to bite her, to crush her between his teeth. Her wyvern swooped. Elethor followed, lashed his tail, and tossed Solina from her saddle.

  She tumbled.

  Her hair burned.

  "Elethor!" she screamed, falling into darkness. "I carried your child, Elethor!"

  She laughed and wept, hair blazing, arms reaching out toward him. Elethor inhaled sharply and dived after her, eyes narrowed.

  "Solina!"

  She laughed as she fell through cloud and rain, hair alight.

  "I carried your child when Orin burned me!" she shouted, tears streaming. "I lost the babe in his fire. The kingdom you fight for, the family you love—they murdered your child!"

  He reached out his claws.

  He tried to g
rab her.

  Stars of Requiem, stars, no. Please, stars, no.

  He screamed, diving as fast as he could. He stretched out his claws. He grazed her fingertips. Screaming and laughing, her hair crackling like a torch, she vanished into cloud and rain

  "Solina!" he howled and roared fire.

  Stars, our child... stars, no.

  He roared for her, voice torn, like he had called for her eight years ago from the walls of his city.

  "Solina!"

  He dived through the storm. Rain pounded his face. A lightning bolt slammed down by him. Wyverns rose from darkness and crashed into him. He tumbled. Scales flashed.

  "Solina!"

  My child.

  "Elethor!"

  The voice rose below, muffled and distant. A bolt of lightning slammed against a wyvern's rider and exploded. Fire burst. The beasts screeched. Elethor drove upward and through them.

  The distant voice cried again. "Mori! Mori, where are you? Elethor!"

  Lyana!

  Elethor howled. He flamed two wyverns, clawed a third, and drove through the storm. Wind pushed against him, and rain lashed him, but he kept flying. He wanted to seek Solina, to dive through the clouds, to slay her if she still lived—but Lyana needed him.

  "Lyana!" he shouted into the storm.

  Lyana—his betrothed. Lyana—of steel and fire. Lyana—of red hair that would never fall the way she wanted; of green eyes that would mock him one moment and love him the next; of wisdom and strength, of softness and joy. A knight. A betrothed. A woman who had walked with him to the Abyss and back. She cried to him now. Let me seek her now. Let Solina go.

  "Lyana!" he cried again. The wyverns streamed around him. "Lyana!"

  Her voice called from the distance. "Elethor! Stars, Elethor, where are you?"

  He dived lower. When he emerged from the clouds into rain and smoke, he cried out to her, and she answered his call, and he flew over ruin, over fallen walls, over charred forests. He saw blue scales ahead and he drove toward her, eyes stinging.

  She flew and all but crashed against him. A green dragon emerged from shadows by them, the rain washing blood from his body: Bayrin.

  Wyverns swarmed upon them. The three dragons blew fire, holding them back. A stream of acid fell, and they scattered, blew more flames at the beasts, and regrouped.

  "Lyana, where's Mori?" Elethor demanded. Spears rained, and one lashed across his shoulder.

  "We thought she was with you!" she said.

  With a chill, Solina's words returned to him. She lives, Elethor. She lives.

  More wyverns emerged from the clouds. Elethor cursed. He flapped his wings and soared back into the cloud cover. Bayrin and Lyana flew by his side, blowing fire at the wyverns.

  "Bayrin, fly north!" Elethor shouted. "Lyana, fly east! I go south. We must find Mori."

  A wyvern shot between them, showering acid. They scattered and Bayrin slew the beast with claw and fang.

  When it fell, the green dragon cried, "And what then, El? The whole bloody kingdom is burning!"

  Acid rained. They rose higher in the clouds. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed.

  Stars, she was carrying my child...

  "When the sun sets again, fly to Sequestra Mountains!" he shouted. "If you find Mori, bring her there. Now go! Find her, Bayrin!"

  The green dragon cursed. His wings were charred and his scales bloody, but still he blasted fire. He turned and began flying north, calling her name.

  Lyana remained at Elethor's side. Acid had spilled down her left flank, withering the scales. She stared at Elethor, her eyes haunted. She hovered before him.

  "Oh, El," she said softly.

  He growled. A lightning bolt crashed, illuminating a sky full of wyverns; thousands still flew.

  "Go, Lyana!" he shouted. "Fly east! Fly now!"

  She looked ready to weep. Her eyes watered. A howl left her throat. Her fire blazed. She spun around, roaring Requiem's call, and flew into the east. Soon she vanished into the clouds, wyverns in pursuit.

  Stars, Mori, where are you?

  He roared her name. He flew south. The fury of Tiranor flowed around him, and the bodies of his people littered the farmlands below.

  TREALE

  "Please let them fly away," she whispered, shivering on the ground. "Please, stars. Please."

  The charred trees rose above her, their leaves burnt white, their branches like fingers groping at the sky. The rain pattered down, swaying in the wind. Beneath the clouds flew the wyverns, grunting and screaming like rutting beasts.

  "Don't let them see me, stars," Treale whispered.

  She huddled in the mud between the trees. Ash and rain covered her hair. A glob of acid sprayed down ahead and began eating through a tree. Burns spread across her thigh and she grimaced; she had not imagined any wound could hurt so much. Her lungs still ached with smoke, and she wanted nothing more than to cough, but forced herself to hold her breath. She pushed herself down into the mud under the trees.

  The wyverns flew in formation above; there were eight. When Treale peered between the branches, she could see that their riders bore banners sporting a golden sun on a white field—Solina's personal guard. The lead wyvern carried a bundle in its claws, and Treale glimpsed flashes of muddy blue.

  She gasped.

  Despite the ache in her wound, and the fear in her breast, she pushed herself up against the bole. She peered between the charred branches and leaves.

  "Stars," she whispered.

  The beasts overshot her, but Treale had seen enough. The wyvern held a woman in its claws, her blue dress tattered and bloody, her limbs chained.

  Blue fabric was rare in Requiem; it came all the way from the southern sea, where divers collected the mollusks which leaked the indigo dye. Even House Oldnale, the wealthiest family in Requiem after the royal Aeternums and noble Eleisons, owned no blue fabrics. That was the color of royalty. That was a gown of a princess.

  "Mori," Treale whispered.

  The wyverns vanished overhead, flying... Treale did not know which way. How could anyone tell north or south with these clouds and this rain? Gritting her teeth against the blazing pain, she clutched the tree and began to climb. Soot covered her hands. The tree was wet but still hot from the fire. She grimaced. Her wounds burned like ten thousand suns, shooting pain through her limbs, into her fingertips, even into her teeth. She groaned and kept climbing. When she reached the treetop, she straightened. So much mud and soot covered her, she imagined that she looked like yet another branch. Squinting, she stared after the retreating wyverns. The blue gown flapped in the leader's claws, and Treale thought she could hear a muffled cry—the cry of a young woman. The rain kept falling, and even the shrieks of the wyverns sounded dim.

  It's her. It's Mori.

  Treale trembled and nearly fell from the tree. She clutched its branches so tightly her fingers bled. Mori had been her dearest friend since childhood; the two had been born mere days apart. Treale had grown up yearning for every harvest, when she could travel to Nova Vita and spend several joyous days with Mori—reading books in the library, teasing the princes with giggles and secret words only she and Mori understood, and going to the warrens behind Castra Murus to feed the rabbits. Every winter, when the Aeternums visited Oldnale Manor for the Feast of Stars, Treale would let Mori sleep by her side in her great canopy bed; the two would stay up nearly all night, whispering of the knights they would marry someday, what new pups they would adopt, and all the other secrets of youth.

  Lyana would often spend time with them too, but Lyana was two years older and so much wiser, so much stronger; the knight had always seemed closer to the adults, more like Prince Orin. But Mori and I were always as sisters—two young girls of great families with great older brothers.

  Now none of that remained. No more canopy bed or farms or... maybe not even any more Vir Requis.

  "But you live, Mori," Treale whispered, eyes damp.

  Shame burned inside her, as cold as her
wounds were hot. She had defected from King Elethor's army. She had fled from Nova Vita at the sight of its ruin. Tears burned in Treale's eyes. I am a coward. I wanted to be like Lady Lyana, a brave knight, but I fled from battle.

  She growled low in her throat. She narrowed her eyes and watched the wyverns flee.

  "I abandoned my king, my lady, and my kingdom," she whispered, a lump in her throat. "But I won't abandon you, Mori."

  The wyverns were soon distant specks in the storm, and she could no longer hear their calls. Treale knew what fate awaited Mori if she could not save her: the princess would be imprisoned and tortured, and when her body was broken, she would be burned in the city of Irys among the dunes.

  I won't let that happen.

  In the treetop, Treale shifted and tested her wings. She rose into the storm, a black dragon with dented, charred scales. The wind and rain lashed her, and she could barely flap her wings, but she growled, she snorted fire, and she flew.

  "I will find you, Mori." Smoke streamed between her teeth. "I will follow you to the desert itself if I must."

  They had no home to return to. Requiem lay in ruins, her halls fallen like so many old stones. But so long as Mori lived, there was hope. Treale sniffed and realized that tears filled her eyes.

  We will flee into the wilderness, Mori, you and I. We'll find a cave to live in, or a green forest that no fire has touched, and we'll whisper and laugh together again. If everyone else is fallen, we will still have each other.

  The wyverns flew ahead, flecks on the horizon. Fire flickering in her mouth, her wings roiling the clouds, Treale Oldnale followed through the ash, rain, and ruin of the world.

  SOLINA

  She stood at a towering window in her chambers, its archway large enough for a wyvern to fly through. A wind from the desert blew, billowing her white silks and platinum hair. Her golden jewels chinked, and the coppery taste of sand flickered across her lips. She gripped the hilts of her twin sabres and gazed upon her home.

  Cranes and ibises flew above her oasis, singing to the sun. Date and fig trees rustled. Men labored across the city of Irys, sweat glistening on their golden skin: tending to vineyards, hammering swords on anvils, and raising statues and columns for her glory. Ships sailed up the River Pallan, overflowing with spices and gems from Iysa, Jewel of the South and a twin to Irys. From the north, wyverns were flying over the delta and landing in Hog Corner. Upon their backs, they bore the trophies of Requiem: longswords of filigreed steel, statues of marble from Requiem's temples, sacks of golden coins, and chests full of books and scrolls and artifacts.