Crown of Dragonfire (20 page)

And now, Elory thought,
Meliora was something different. No longer a seraph princess, but nor was she a
beaten slave. Even with an iron collar around her neck, with her hair barely
longer than stubble, Meliora looked like a queen of Requiem. Her back was
straight, her shoulders square, and her body—once soft—had hardened, her fat
melting to reveal taut muscles. With her crackling halo and her royal sword at
her side—Amerath itself, ancient sword of the Aeternum dynasty of
Requiem—Meliora could just as easily be walking through the halls of a reborn
Requiem.

It seemed that Lucem
noticed her striking presence too. The young man turned toward Meliora, and it
seemed to Elory that she saw appreciation in his eyes, maybe even admiration.

Suddenly Elory felt
rather plain looking. She had never spared much thought to her looks. Why would
she? Beauty did not matter in Tofet, only a back strong enough to lift the
bitumen, lungs strong enough to survive their fumes. Ishtafel had obviously
thought her fair enough, but perhaps he had only lusted for her fragility—a
fragility he longed to shatter.

I'm not tall and
noble like Meliora,
she thought.
I don't have the curves or alluring
beauty of Tash.
She glanced over at Lucem; he was still looking at Meliora.
Why would he look at me when he can look at my sister?

"Of course I know my
way!" The young man puffed out his chest. "I've spent countless days traveling
all across these hills and mountains. In my first year of freedom, I hid in a
network of caves that runs beneath these hills. Seraphim covered the sky,
seeking me, but they could not find me underground. I'm going to look after
you, Meliora. And you, Elory. I'm going to lead you to Khalish Mountain and we're
going to find this Keymaker."

Elory stepped closer. "Meliora
doesn't need anyone to protect her." She raised her chin. "She led a nation of
slaves against Queen Kalafi. She slew seraphim. She gave life to golems, life
from her own blood, and created a race of erevim. She's descended from the
Aeternum dynasty—as I am."

Lucem turned toward her
and raised an eyebrow, and at once Elory cursed herself. She had rushed to
protect Meliora's honor, but had she only hurt Lucem's pride?

Surely he won't only
think me plain now,
Elory thought,
but also unpleasant.

Lucem nodded. "Yet even
the greatest queen of light needs a guide when walking in shadows." A grin
split his face. "Meliora, Princess of Seraph—also a Princess of Requiem. Now
there's something I never imagined when I escaped your family, Mel. Can I call
you Mel?"

Meliora gave one of her
rare smiles. Elory did not think she had ever seen her sister smile so widely.

"No," Meliora said, "you
may not."

Lucem matched her grin.
"Oh, I see how it is. I'm to call you My Queen or Your Majesty, is it? You are,
after all . . ." He puffed out his chest and spoke in baritone. "Queen Meliora
Aeternum the First, Sovereign of all Requiem, Slayer of Seraphim."

And I am nothing to
him,
Elory thought, hating that feeling that suddenly sprang inside her.
Jealousy? Foolishness! How could she be jealous? What mattered now was
survival, that was all. Finding the Keymaker. Bringing a repaired key back to
Tofet. Raising the dragons and flying back to Requiem. Not a silly, handsome,
young hero who had spent the past few hours looking at Meliora and away from
Elory.

And yet her jealousy
remained. In the old tales of Requiem, Elory had heard of many lovers—the
timeless and doomed love of King Benedictus and Queen Lacrimosa, or the
star-crossed lovers Rune and Tilla, forced to fight on different sides of
Requiem's civil war. After entering the ziggurat, Elory had thought that
perhaps Tash had stirred those feelings in her, with her gentle caresses and
warm eyes. Yet now feelings ten times more powerful flared inside her,
tingling, warm, intolerable, growing whenever she so much as glanced at Lucem's
bare arms or ready grin.

"Just call me Meliora."
The tall haloed woman smiled thinly. "Though I wouldn't object to an odd Your
Highness now and then."

Lucem opened his mouth,
ready to say more when a shrill cry sounded in the distance.

They all froze.

A chill seized Elory's
spine like demonic fingers.

For a moment, all was
silent. Then the screech sounded again, so loud that Elory dropped her sword
and covered her ears. Meliora grimaced and her halo cracked, and even Lucem
paled.

"What is it?" Elory
whispered when the shriek died.

Lucem stared into the
sky. "I don't know. Not seraphim. I can't see anything."

Meliora was pale, and
she pulled her hood over her halo, extinguishing the flames. "Hurry. We must
find shelter."

They began to run
across the hills, hunched over. Shelter? There was no shelter here. Elory saw
no trees, no caves. By the Abyss, she barely saw anything at all, now that
Meliora's halo no longer cast its night. She stumbled as she ran in darkness,
and Lucem grabbed her hand, his grip warm.

The screeches rose
again behind them, closer now, so loud that Elory nearly cried out in pain,
thought her eardrums would shatter. Her father had told her that sound was
actually ripples through the air, like the ripples on a pond, something Elory
had never believed, yet this sound slammed against her with a physical force.
She felt it against her chest, in her bones. A demonic cry from another world,
a scream of pure hatred, pure malice.

She stared over her
shoulders as they ran. Still she saw nothing. No demons flying. Certainly no
chariots of fire. Nothing at all in the night. Nothing—

Wait!

It was just an instant.
A shadow blotting out the stars, a mere flicker. Again! Another star blinked
away for an instant. Something dark flying in the sky. Several of them.

Then they passed across
the moon, and such fear filled Elory that she could barely keep running.

"Bat wings," she
whispered. "Evil with bat wings."

The shrieks above
coalesced into words, the voice of shattering spines, of falling columns, of
shards of glass driving into flesh.

"We smell her,
comrades! We smell the half-breed. Find her! Break her!"

Each word shook Elory's
ribs, twisted her heart, churned her belly. She kept running, holding Lucem's
hand. Meliora ran alongside, a mere shadow in the night.

"Drink her blood!" rose
a cry above.

"Snap her bones and
suck the marrow!"

"Feast upon her organs!"

Elory's breath rattled
in her lungs. She glanced up and she saw them now. Oh stars, she saw them.
White eyes like stars. Fangs and sickle blades. Bat wings tipped with claws.

"We see them, comrades!"
the creatures screeched. "We see three! Catch them! Break them!"

"Seraphim!" Elory
cried, running across the rocky land.

"Dark seraphim,"
Meliora answered, voice shaking. "The cursed one, traitors to Saraph."

Elory drew her sword.
Lemuria, her ancient blade—borne by Kaelyn Cadigus herself in Requiem's great
civil war—gleamed with inner light. "Then we fight them. We kill them."

"No!" Meliora said. "You
cannot fight these creatures. Nobody can."

Lucem stared upward and
grimaced. "You might not have a choice, sweetheart." He hefted his spear. "Draw
that pretty sword of yours!"

Meliora had no sooner
drawn her blade than the creatures swooped.

The white eyes blazed
around them, slit down the middle with narrow pupils. Serpent eyes. Fangs shone
as the creatures laughed, and the wings beat. A sickle flew toward Elory, and
she screamed and swung her blade, heart lashing.

The blades crashed
together, sparking. Elory cried out. The sickle's blow was so powerful her arm
nearly dislocated again. She kept running, and a creature swooped before her,
grinning luridly, and lashed its claws. Elory thrust her blade, parrying the
claws, but more claws thrashed from her left, tearing through her side. She
screamed. Her blood spilled.

At her sides, Lucem and
Meliora were fighting too, weapons stabbing at the creatures. Amerath, the
Amber Sword, swung in arcs, holding them back. Lucem growled as he thrust his
spear again and again.

The dark seraphim flew
around them in a ring, a demonic dance, grinning, laughing, screeching, a
macabre song. Blood stained their faces. One of the creatures lashed his claws,
cut Elory's leg, then licked his fingers.

"Eat them, eat them,
flesh and blood!" they sang. "Bone and marrow, brains and liver, hearts and
stomachs, fleshy treats!"

They're toying with
us,
Elory realized, blood dripping.
They're playing with their food.

"Keep the tall female
alive!" shrieked one of the dark seraphim. "Eat her legs, eat her arms, but
keep her alive. Her womb belongs to Ishtafel."

The dark seraph who had
spoken was female, a woman all in black and white. Her breastplate was darker
than the night, her sickle a shard of shadow, her wings shadowy curtains of the
Abyss. Her skin was white as a frozen corpse, her hair like ice draped across a
tombstone, and her eyes were like cold stars, the eyes of a snake, yet
hot—searing hot like fire heated until it lost all color. For an instant, even
as she bled, even as the creatures danced around her, Elory could only stare at
this she-demon, frozen.

There is no hope,
Elory thought.
Not before this goddess. We are but playthings to her as mice
are to cats.

"Leyleet!" Meliora
cried, raising her sword. "I know you. I know your name! Be gone, Queen of
Darkness. I am Meliora of the Thirteenth Dynasty, your mistress. Leave this
place and return to your lair."

The Dark Queen laughed,
wings spread wide, sickle raised, and the air seemed to bend around her, and
the earth shook. Stones rolled across the hills, a chasm cracked open, and the
stars themselves began to extinguish. All the world seemed to fall as the dark
seraphim—sixteen in all, the sixteen who had rebelled against the throne of
Saraph—laughed with voices like dying nations.

"I shall be the first
to feed upon you, Meliora!" shrieked Leyleet. "Your blood will fill my mouth as
wine."

With a flash of her
sickle, Leyleet swooped.

Meliora pulled back her
hood, and her halo crackled to life.

The flames lashed out,
a shock wave of fire, showering sparks, illuminating the night as brightly as
red lightning. The fire slammed into Leyleet, and the creature screamed—this
time a scream of pain, of fear. Her comrades cried out, covering their eyes against
the light.

"The light of Requiem!"
they cried. "The fire of dragons! It burns our eyes."

Leyleet screamed louder
than them all. "Tear off her fire!"

The dark seraphim
swooped again.

Elory snapped out of
her paralysis. She raised her sword and charged.

"For Requiem!" she
cried, blade lashing.

"For Requiem!" cried
Meliora, thrusting her own sword.

The fire blazed, and
the weapons flashed, and the dark seraphim slammed against them. All amusement
was gone from their eyes now. Their claws tore at Meliora, ripping open the old
wounds on her back, and her blood showered. Another creature grabbed Elory,
tugging at her arm, and she swung her blade, screaming as her blood spilled.

Her blade slammed into
the dark seraph's armor, doing him no harm. The dark deity laughed and swung
his sickle again.

Blood.

Searing pain.

Elory screamed.

The side of her head
burned, melted, shrieked, cracked, died. She yowled. Her blood gushed. She
raised her hand to her left ear and found it gone. Her hand touched nothing but
a wound, burning, ringing, screaming, white, searing through her. And still the
dark seraph laughed, and his sickle swung again.

"Elory!" Lucem shouted.

He leaped forth, spear
lashing, and suddenly this young man was the hero again—the fabled Lucem,
legend of Requiem. Face twisted with rage, Lucem vaulted upward, and his spear
slammed into the dark seraph, knocking the sickle aside, driving the creature
back.

"Elory!" he cried
again, turning toward her.

She could not even
reply. She could barely stay standing. The fire spread from her missing ear,
driving through her head, down her spine.

It ends here. We die
here. Our quest failed.

"Elory, I think I know
where we are!" Lucem shouted, still lashing his spear, holding more of the
creatures back. "I saw it when Meliora's fire flared. Follow me to safety!"

The young man leaped
onto a boulder, vaulted through the air, and swung his spear, knocking a dark
seraph aside. He began to run. Swinging her blade, Meliora followed, her halo
of dragonfire casting out flames, lighting the darkness.

"Elory, come on!" they
cried.

She ran too. The hole
on her head where her ear had been screamed in agony, and her head spun, and
the pain was beyond anything she had thought possible, but she ran too. She
lashed her blade, holding the creatures back. Claws slashed at the companions,
bat wings beat above, the sickles flashed, but still they ran onward, bleeding,
falling, running again.

"Down this way!" Lucem
cried, leaping into a chasm that had appeared in the hillside—a narrow ravine,
barely wide enough to enter. Elory leaped into the chasm too, twisting her
ankle, and ran after Lucem with a limp. Walls of stone rose at her sides, and
Meliora leaped down behind her. The dark seraphim still flew above, and the
companions ran with blades raised, swinging their weapons, knocking sickles
aside.

The canyon opened up
into a valley, and there ahead Elory saw it—a cave in the hillside ahead.

"We'll never make it!"
she cried over the ringing in her ear.

Lucem grabbed her hand.
"Run with me. Run!"