Crown of Dragonfire (31 page)

Had she come on this
quest not for Requiem, but only for herself? Had she seen him as only a
bodyguard, protecting her until she found the chest, until she could stab him
in the back?

He walked onward
through the nights, ignoring her, forcing her out of his mind. He thought only
of Requiem, only of meeting Meliora again, of raising the dragons.

It was a new moon, the
land cloaked in blackness, when Vale finally saw the lights of Shayeen ahead.

Vale stopped, the sight
stabbing him like nails driven into his palms.

The lights were still
distant, a mere cluster on the horizon, but bright as the fallen moon. The
capital of Saraph. The greatest light in the world. The City of Kings, home to
Ishtafel, to those who had destroyed Vale's own home.

Ahead of that city
spread a dark land, enclosed by walls. No lights shone within this prison. No
towers or golden domes rose. No lanterns hung over bustling streets. There in
the distance, in shadows, lay Tofet, the land of pain.

Vale grimaced. Pain
flared in his hands and feet. Again he could feel it—Ishtafel swinging the
hammer, driving the nails into Vale, pinning him to the platinum crest of the
ziggurat. Again he felt his life ending, the agony of the soul tearing from the
body . . . only to see stars, to feel Issari's hands upon him, to return to the
pain. To fight. To face the battle ahead, the great battle for Requiem.

Will that battle
begin now? Are you heading back too, Meliora, with the key?

He tugged at his
collar, aching to get the Keeper's Key from Meliora, to fly again.

He looked around him,
struggling to see the cave in the darkness, the place where he was supposed to
meet his sisters. Yet it was still too dark. He could barely even see the river;
only when squinting could he make out the dark surface of the water in the
jagged blackness. The landscape still smelled of the old fire, and the earth
was bare and burnt.

He walked slowly, and
finally he came across it, almost by accident—the cave in the hillside. The
meeting place.

"Meliora?" he
whispered, standing outside the cave. "Elory?"

No answer came. Vale
dared light his lantern, only for a moment. He cast its light inside the low, shallow
cave. Empty.

A sudden pang stabbed
him.

Here is where we
spent our first hours of freedom, where Tash nestled against me.

He lowered his head.
Suddenly he wanted to forgive her, to turn back, to find her in the darkness,
to hold her again. To stroke her hair, kiss her lips, feel her warmth, protect
her from the evil in the world. To love her again. Yet as soon as those
feelings surfaced, so did the memory: Tash walking away, holding the Chest of
Plenty.

Maybe she never
truly meant to leave,
he thought.
Maybe another step, and she would have
regretted it at once, turned back, resisted temptation. Maybe—

A shriek sounded in the
sky, cutting off his thoughts.

Vale spun around and
stared upward, clenching his fists.

He saw nothing. Only
the blackness of night. Another shriek rose, closer this time, and others
answered the call—creatures in the sky. Yet he didn't see the fire of
chariots.

Standing on the burnt
earth, he opened the Chest of Plenty. He placed the axe head inside and as much
of the shaft as would fit, closed the lid until it banged against the handle,
then opened it again. A second axe thrust out. As the screeches filled the
night, Vale raised a weapon in each hand. He stared upward. He still saw
nothing.

"We smell one,
comrades!" rose a feminine voice, demonic, so shrill it raised Vale's hackles. "We
smell a weredragon! Sweet meat! Sweet blood!"

Vale's heart pounded.
Where were they? He could see nothing. Those were not the voices of seraphim
above.

There!

He glimpsed them, just shadows
blotting out the stars, and he could smell them—a smell of blood and rot. They
spiraled down, eyes white and glowing, claws pale as bones. As they flew lower,
Vale saw that they had the bodies of men and women, clad in black armor. They
beat bat wings, and they held sickles. Each had four heads, cruel and pale and
fanged. Only the light from their eyes lit them.

"We smell it, Rancid
Angels!" cried one, a bloodied woman; her four heads cried out together. "Another
weredragon, a reptile! Kill it, drink it, eat it!"

Vale cursed. He could
not defeat so many; a dozen or more flew above. A part of him craved to swing
his axes, to fight them, to die, but he had to live. He had to survive just a
little longer, to deliver the chest to Meliora.

He hurried toward the
cave, crawled inside, and hid in the shadows. Outside he heard the wings beat,
the screeches, smelled the stench of them.

Another weredragon? Had
these creatures seen his kind before, slain them? Had they . . . had they hurt
Meliora and Elory?

Vale crouched lower in
the cave, praying they hadn't seen him, that they'd miss the cave in the
darkness of a moonless night. He readied his axes just in case, prepared to
swing them, to cut them down before they could enter. The Chest of Plenty stood
at his side, his treasure to protect—the hope of Requiem, here, only his
humble blades to defend it.

"Down, Rancid Angels!
There, in the shadows! We smell it, we see it, we will drink it!"

The wings beat in a
fury, the creatures cackled, and Vale tightened his grip on his axes, teeth
bared.

But the creatures were
not flying toward him.

He hissed.

Outside the cave, he
saw them—the light of their eyes glinting against their claws—flying away,
past him, downward toward the valley.

They howled and a woman
screamed.

For a second Vale
froze.

"Tash," he whispered.

She screamed again, and
Vale burst out from the cave. His body thought on its own. He ran, axes raised,
and roared.

"Rancid Angels!" He
leaped toward the valley. "Come, meet my blades!"

They were flying over
the valley, swooping toward a shadow. Tash! Tash knelt there, her hair
fluttering, raising her humble dagger. She met his gaze for just a second, and
at that second, Vale felt nothing but that old love again.

Then the foul creatures
flew toward him. Their sickles swung.

Vale flashed his axes.

He knocked aside one
sickle. He slammed aside reaching claws. They flew all around and above,
laughing, mocking him. Another claw thrust down, and he knocked it aside. He
leaped up, swung his axe, hit armor. A sickle slammed into his back, chipping
his chain mail. They flew faster around him, dancing in the air, eyes lurid.

"A meal, a meal! A
weredragon meal! Chop him up, tug him out, pull him to pieces. Feed, drink!"

Tash leaped to her
feet, ran forward, and stood beside him. She flashed up her dagger as the
creatures flew all around.

"You came to save me!"
she cried.

Vale growled and
knocked aside a sickle. Another blade hit his armor, cracking the rings,
cutting the skin beneath. Vale beat the creature back with the swipe of an axe.
"I'm not sure I saved anyone."

"Then you've come to
die with me!" Tash grinned. "I knew you still loved me. I knew it! It's very
romantic, dying together."

"I'm not dying without
a fight!" Vale leaped upward, axe swinging, and managed to cut a creature's
leg. Sizzling golden blood rained down.

The beasts screeched,
and their faces twisted, losing all amusement.

"He cuts us, he hurts
us! End this game. Kill, kill! Eat, drink!"

The creatures swooped
down together, no longer dancing. Pale hands grabbed Tash, yanking her skyward,
and claws slashed at her. She screamed, blood spurting. Vale roared, swung his
axes, knocked a creature aside, but hands grabbed him too, tugging him upward,
and fangs bit into his shoulder, and he knew that hope was lost, that here—so
close to the end of his journey, so close to raising the dragons again—here he
died in darkness.

"Vale, I'm sorry!" Tash
cried, dangling before him in the creatures' grasp, bleeding. She stared into
his eyes. "I love you. I'm so sorry, and I love you."

The fangs dug deeper
into Vale, and the claws yanked his axes free, and his feet no longer touched
the ground. They were drinking his blood.

"I love you too, Tash,"
he said. "I love you always, in this life and the—"

Light blinded him.

Fire shrieked.

Air blasted against
him, showering sparks.

Roars tore across the
sky, and Vale looked up, and he saw them there, flying in from the west.

"Dragons," he
whispered.

 
 
MELIORA

She roared out her fire.

Her wings churned smoke
and sparks.

A white dragon, she
charged forth, claws stretched out.

To her left flew Lucem,
a red dragon, fire in his maw. To her right flew Elory, lavender scales
reflecting her flames. Three streams of fire lit the night.

Ahead of them, the dark
seraphim screamed. They dropped those they held—the bloodied Vale and Tash.
Wings beating madly, the creatures stormed toward the dragons.

"Dragons fly, dragons
burn!" they cried. "The curse is broken, kill them, eat them!"

Meliora counted eleven
of them. She grinned, letting fresh fire fill her maw.

Now they will see
the wrath of Requiem.

Her white fire streamed
forth. A dark seraph screamed. The flames washed across him, heating his armor,
melting his skin, tearing holes through his wings. At her sides, Elory and
Lucem blasted their dragonfire, and the inferno blazed across two more dark
seraphim.

The demonic angels
stared with their white eyes. Each one now sprouted four heads—the curse of
the Living Creatures—and each of those heads screamed.

Three of the survivors
stormed toward Meliora. They were tall beings, seven feet of dark steel and
claws, yet so small by her dragon form. A sickle swung her way, and she knocked
it aside with her claws. She thrust forward, closed her jaws around a dark
seraph, and bit deep, denting his armor. She tore out a chunk of flesh and
metal, spat it out, and clawed the seraph down. Another flew from behind. She
lashed her tail, knocking it aside, then bathed it with fire.

She glimpsed her fellow
dragons. Lucem shredded a dark seraph's wings, then swiped his claws, knocking
the creature down. Elory flew in rings, spurting fire, burning the enemies.

Steel flashed.

A voice yowled.

Meliora glanced up in
time to see Leyleet, Queen of the Dark, swooping toward her. Before Meliora
could react, the dark seraph landed on her back, and twin sickles flashed.

Meliora screamed.

The blades cracked her
scales, dug into her, and her blood dripped. She bucked madly, struggling to
tear Leyleet off her back.

"I will ride you down
to your grave!" Leyleet shrieked from all four mouths, lashing the sickles
again. Silver scales flew through the night, and agony flared across Meliora.

"Sister!" Elory cried,
but dark seraphim flew toward her and Lucem, shoving them back.

"I will bring you to
Ishtafel!" Leyleet screeched, straddling Meliora's back, lashing her sickles
again and again like a fisherman scaling a fish. "Your womb will be his, but
when he's done with you, you will be mine to toy with, you—"

With a scream, Meliora
released her magic.

She fell through the
night.

Above her, Leyleet tore
free from her back, roaring with rage.

As Meliora tumbled
down, she glanced up, saw the dark queen swoop with her blades. The ground
rushed up from below.

Meliora summoned her magic
again.

She soared, blasting up
a blaze of white fire, a great pillar like King's Column in the north. It lit
the dark like a beam of starlight.

Leyleet screeched,
tried to dodge the fire, but the flames washed across her. The dark seraph
thrashed, caught in the blaze. Her four heads bloated, tore apart, dripped
their innards. Her wings shredded, the skin curling back to reveal the bones.
Her armor melted. And still the creature screamed, again and again, an endless
cry, refusing to die. All other dark seraphim fell, crashed onto the earth, lay
as shattered corpses, and still their queen howled, clinging to her mockery of
life.

Meliora had no more
fire within her. Her flames died.

She landed on the
ground, a silvery white dragon, splashed with blood.

Leyleet landed before
her.

The dark seraph was
melted flesh over bones. No more skin remained. No more eyes. But those four
heads turned toward her, red skulls, and the jaws opened, and they spoke
together, voices impossibly deep and distorted.

"You will fail,
daughter of Aeternum. Your dynasty will fall. You will never see Requiem,
daughter of dragons. With my dying breath, I curse you: You will never see
Requiem."

Meliora released her
magic, returning to human form. Amerath, the Amber Sword of Requiem's monarchs,
reappeared at her side. She drew the ancient blade. She stepped toward Leyleet.
She thrust her weapon.

The blade drove into
Leyleet's charred, exposed chest, slid between the ribs, and crashed into her
heart.

Meliora tugged the
blade free, and Leyleet crashed down upon the hill, spurting blackened ichor.
Her body fell apart, gobbets of flesh turning into beetles, bones melting into
worms, and the little creatures fled into the shadows and were gone.

The red and lavender
dragons landed beside Meliora and returned to human forms—young, yellow-haired
Lucem and thin, brown-eyed Elory.

Meliora turned around.

In the light of the
burning corpses, she saw them.

"Tash," she whispered. "Vale."

They stared at her,
hesitating for a moment. Blood dripped from cuts and scrapes across them.