Crown of Dragonfire (32 page)

"You're wounded!" Elory
said, rushing toward her brother. "You're—"

Vale ran forward,
scooped Elory into his embrace, and grabbed Meliora and pulled her close too.
He squeezed them, eyes shut, holding them against him.

"My sisters," he
whispered. "My sisters."

 
 
VALE

With heat and light, his
collar opened and fell.

Instantly, before he
could even rub his sore neck, Vale summoned his magic and shifted. Upon the
dark hills several miles out of Tofet, he became a dragon.

Earlier that year, he
had become a dragon in Shayeen, chained and whipped, forced to haul stones. But
now he stood as a free dragon, head proudly raised in the night. Fire flickered
in his maw, illuminating his blue scales.

Three other dragons
stood before him on the hill: Meliora, a silvery white dragon with golden
horns; Elory, a slender lavender dragon; and Lucem—the actual Lucem, hero of
Requiem!—a long red dragon.

Only one among them
still stood in human form.

Tash stood holding her
collar in her hand; the Keeper's Key had opened it. Yet still she did not
become a dragon. The wind ruffled her long brown hair and baggy pants, and her
eyes kept moving back and forth between the dragons. The Chest of Plenty lay at
her feet.

Vale stared at the
young woman.

When the dark seraphim
had attacked, why had he leaped out of his cave to fight for Tash—to die for
her? Why, looking at her, did he still love her? She had betrayed him! She had
nearly betrayed all of Requiem. He wanted to hate her. He wanted to hate her
with the heat of dragonfire, to blast that dragonfire her way, to burn her, at
least to exile her, at least to tell the others what she had done.

And yet still that love
for her filled him.

She was afraid,
a voice whispered inside him.
She lost her faith in Requiem, too weak to
resist temptation, to follow her old dream, and she regretted it. She would
have turned around after another two steps if I hadn't stopped her. She's good
at heart. She wouldn't have truly left. She fought bravely against many
enemies.

That voice inside him
begged Vale to forgive her, and yet he could not. The hatred and love battled
within him.

"Aren't you going to
shift?" Elory asked, bringing her scaly head down near Tash's.

Tash looked at her
collar, then lowered her head. "I'd like to. I'm just . . ." She glanced up at
Vale and met his gaze, pain in her eyes. "I'm not sure I'm worthy of becoming a
dragon."

"Tash!" Elory said. The
lavender dragon released her magic, once more becoming a slender, short-haired
girl with brown eyes. She held Tash's shoulders. "Why would you say something
like that?"

Tash looked down at her
feet. "I'm not a warrior. I'm not brave or noble. I'm just . . . just a
pleasure slave. And . . ." Another look at Vale, then back at her feet.

Vale looked away,
ignoring her attempts to meet his eyes again.

She still seeks my
forgiveness, still seeks absolution before joining us as dragons. I saved your
life, Tash, and I love you, but I cannot give you what you want.

"All right," Tash
whispered as if she had heard Vale's thoughts. She was looking at Elory, but
Vale knew that she was speaking to him. "Let's try this magic thing."

The young woman closed
her eyes, took a deep breath . . . and gasped. Golden scales flowed across her
like coins. Horns sprouted from her head, and wings burst out from her back.
She flapped those wings, rose into the sky, and gave a spin.

"You're beautiful!"
Elory said, shifting back into a dragon and rising to fly beside her friend.

The golden dragon
looked down at Vale, maybe hoping he'd call her beautiful too, but he looked
away.

"Enough," Vale said. "Back
to human forms, everyone. Into the cave. I see fire in the distance."

He pointed. On the dark
horizon the balls of fire rose from Shayeen, heading their way. Chariots of
fire. Vale grimaced. Had they been seen, or was this a routine patrol?

The dragons all
returned to human form, raced toward the cave on the hillside, and entered.
Complete darkness fell, and Vale dared not even light his lamp.

"Were we seen?" Meliora
whispered, kneeling at his side.

"I don't know." Vale
sneered. "If they saw us, we burn them. We fly out. We fight as dragons. We—"

"Wait." Meliora touched
his arm. "Wait, brother."

Fire crackled and red
light lit the land outside. The thunder of firehorse hooves filled the sky, and
the smell of fire and brimstone wafted. Vale stiffened, prepared to burst out
of the cave, to fight as a dragon. His muscles tensed, and he longed for the
battle.

His fists unclenched as
the chariots of fire flew over the cave, heading into the distance. At his
sides, the others exhaled in relief.

"Lovely place, this,"
Lucem said, wiping sweat off his brow. "I forgot how much I missed Tofet. We're
miles away and already dark seraphim and chariots of fire are trying to kill
us." He shuddered. "Remind me—why didn't we decide to just fly to some nice
little island, get rich and fat off duplicating coins and coconuts?"

Lucem laughed at his
own joke, but Vale cringed. He couldn't help but glance at Tash. She crouched
at his side, her cheeks red, and stared down at the floor.

When finally the
firelight outside faded, they all stepped out of the cave and onto the dark
hills. Meliora, a tall woman, her halo of dragonfire crackling above her head.
Elory, dark and small and quick, her eyes shining. Tash, still staring down at
her feet in shame, her hair hiding her face. Lucem, the legendary hero of
Requiem, revealed to be only a young man with a ready smile and eyes that hid
old pain.

And me,
Vale
thought.
With nothing but pain inside me. Pain for what the seraphim did to
me. Pain for what I saw Tash do.

Perhaps pain was all
they knew, all Vir Requis could ever know. In the old tales, Requiem suffered
tragedy after tragedy. Every generation brought war, genocide, slavery, nearly
extinguishing that light. Every generation the columns of Requiem fell, only
for heroes to build them anew.

Why do we keep
fighting?
Vale thought.
Why do we linger on, struggling to maintain our
torch of dragonfire, when darkness so often falls? When we suffer so much?

He looked at his
sisters, at Lucem, at Tash . . . and he thought he knew.

Because between the
dark nights the day still shines. Joy can still bloom through suffering like
flowers between cobblestones. Perhaps Requiem will never know peace. Perhaps
our kingdom will never enjoy an era of prosperity and grandeur. But with every
death, new life shines. With every fall, we rise anew. We suffer, but we also
love. We hurt, but we also feel joy. For those little flickers, like starlight
in darkest night, I will always fight. If not for a Requiem of eternal peace, I
will fight for a Requiem of blood and starlight. If that is our fate, that is
better than endless darkness where no stars shine.

"What do we do now?"
Elory whispered. "Our boat is gone. How will we sneak back into Tofet with the
Keeper's Key and the Chest of Plenty? Do we swim? Do we scale the wall like
Lucem once did?"

Vale smiled thinly at
her. "We don't need to swim or climb, my sister." He stared up at the dark sky.
"Dawn is still an hour away. We fly."

 
 
ELORY

The five dragons flew
through the night, silent, their fire hidden inside closed jaws, shadows high
above the landscape of ruin.

At first flying had
felt strange to Elory; she had wobbled in the air, no more graceful than a
toddler first learning to walk. Yet this night she would have to fly with the
grace of the bellators, the legendary and ancient knights of Requiem.

The others flew at her
side. Tash, a golden dragon. Lucem, red. Meliora, silvery, her feathers gone.
Vale, blue and burly. She knew their colors, yet Elory could barely see them in
the darkness, only the faintest hints of them. No moon shone in the sky, and
the only light came from below.

A path of fire stretched
across the land, semicircular, several miles long. The wall of Tofet. Upon its
parapets the seraphim guards stood, halos bright, torches brighter. A wall of
fire, of holy light, of death to any who dared approach it. Across the river, a
few miles away, Elory could see the bright lights of Shayeen shining upon
towers and temples. The City of Kings, home to seraphim masters, was bright as
day, even now. Yet that was not her destination, and Elory hoped she would
never enter that hive of light and gold and splendor again.

She looked down. Now
her destination lay there below—in the vast stretch of darkness. From up here,
higher than eagles, Tofet was but a black pool across the land. Barely any
lights shone, only the moving flickers of seraphim patrolling the streets,
holding torches. No towers rose here, no temples, no warm homes with firelight
in the windows. A place of darkness, of chains, of death.

A place we will
liberate,
Elory swore.
I swear to you, my people, you will be free. You
will fly with me in the sky of Saraph and in the sky of Requiem.

Firelight flashed
below.

Elory stared down and
hissed.

"Chariots!" she
whispered.

Three of them were
rising from below, crossing the river, soaring skyward. Three perhaps the
dragons could handle, but a battle would raise the others, and soon a thousand
chariots would light the sky. No. This was not the time for war, but the time
for silence, for shadows.

The other dragons saw
and nodded. They flew higher, fanning out—so high the air grew thin and cold,
barely letting Elory breathe. Her head spun. She glided, flapping her wings
only when she began to dip.

The chariots streamed
below them.

Please don't let
them see us. Don't let the firelight illuminate our bellies.

She flew eastward,
Meliora at her side. The other dragons flew westward.

The chariots below
charged onward, flying across the walls of Tofet and into the wilderness.

Elory let out a shaky
breath of relief, and the dragons glided downward, back to where the air was
thicker. She took several deep breaths, calming the spinning of her head and
the thrashing of her heart.

She glanced at her
fellow dragons, then down below. A dark patch sprawled in the south—the fields
of bricklaying. A darker patch spread beside it—the pit of bitumen. Near them,
lit by only a few scattered torches, spread the city of huts, a small
place—far smaller than Shayeen across the river—where over half a million
slaves lived.

That is where we
land
, Elory thought.
In the heart of suffering. From darkness will rise
fire.

She began to spiral
down, wings wide, jaws clenched shut to hide her fire. Only the faintest glow
filled her nostrils; Elory still thought it strange to be able to see her
nostrils, but she had a good view of them in dragon form. The other dragons
spiraled down around her, their scales giving the slightest of chinks.

"Hush!" Elory
whispered. "You're chinking, Lucem."

The red dragon grimaced
at her side, stiffened his body, and wobbled down beside her.

They glided lower. Soon
Elory could make out individual huts in the darkness. They seemed so small from
up here, as if they were toys, as if she could reach down and pluck them up.

Firelight flared below.

Another chariot of
fire—just one—rose from the walls and soared.

Elory cursed silently.
The chariot was heading toward them, casting its light.

She swerved sideways,
silent. Lucem flew with her. The other dragons scattered to other directions.
They were too low already to soar and hide in darkness. Elory's heart beat
madly against her ribs.

Did he see us?

She stared down and saw
the chariot still rising. Four firehorses tugged it, wings casting out sparks.
A single seraph stood in the chariot, lit by the firelight.

He saw her. Their eyes
connected.

The seraph's eyes
widened and he opened his mouth to shout.

Elory snarled and charged.

She streamed through
the air. She reached the chariot in a second. The seraph began to cry out, and
his voice died within her jaws. She snapped those jaws shut, severing his head.
Hot, sticky blood spurted, filling her mouth with its coppery taste. Her heart
beat madly. She spat the head out.

The firehorses reared
in the sky, and Elory released her magic.

She landed in the
chariot in human form, blood still in her mouth. The headless corpse lay at her
feet. She grabbed the reins.

The firehorses calmed.

Elory gave the reins a
gentle tug, nudging the beasts to glide through the sky, pulling the flaming
chariot behind them.

Finally Elory could
breathe, could think. She trembled, and sweat drenched her.

What have I done? Oh
stars, I killed a man, I bit off his head.

She stared around,
fearing that somebody had noticed. But no other chariots of fire flew. The
other dragons glided around her, staring with wide eyes, and Elory directed her
chariot down. She landed on a patch of bare earth outside the hut city. The
other dragons glided down farther away from the light, vanishing between the
huts.

Her knees trembled. Her
pulse pounded in her one ear, and sweat drenched her. Elory couldn't think. Her
mind was a storm, her body felt on fire, she was going to faint, she—

Calm yourself,
Elory,
spoke a voice in her head.
Right now you must remain calm.

Refusing to think, to
fear, just operating on cold logic, she climbed out of the chariot. Glancing
around, she resumed dragon form. She dug a hole with her claws, tugged the
headless seraph out from the chariot, and buried the corpse. She sniffed,
looked around, found the head a few meters away and buried it too.