Pillars of Dragonfire (11 page)

He stared at the enemy
ahead—countless seraphim, some in chariots, others flying with their own
wings—and blasted his dragonfire.

Thousands of flaming
jets blasted from the dragons around him.

Arrows flew from the
enemy host, darkening the sky. The projectiles—each was longer than a human
arm, tipped with blades to dwarf daggers—slammed down into the charging
dragons, some snapping against scales, others driving through and finding
flesh. Dragons roared and lost their magic and fell, screaming, as men and
women.

Vale kept flying,
roaring his flames.

The dragonfire washed
across the first ranks of seraphim. Feathered wings kindled. Gilt melted off
steel armor. Skin peeled and seraphim screamed, flesh burning, but still the
immortals charged. Their lances thrust, the blades like longswords.

Vale bellowed and
swerved. A lance scraped across his side, shattering scales, and he kept
flying. He swung his claws, tearing through armor, digging into a seraph's
torso, tugging out the innards, and casting the man down.

"Fight, sons and
daughters of Requiem!" he cried. "You are an army! You will slay the
enemy!"

Lances drove forth all
around him. The blades slammed into dragons. One lance scraped across a
dragon's underbelly where no scales grew, ripping the beast open, spilling the
organs. All around, men and women fell, screaming, many already dead, their
magic lost. The corpses slammed against the hills below.

More seraphim stormed
toward Vale. He bucked in the sky. He whipped his tail around, driving the
spikes into a seraph's side, piercing his gut. He rose higher, dodging a lance,
and propelled himself forward. He closed his jaws around a seraph's head and
shoulders, bit down, tore the man in two, and spat out the arms and head.
Another seraph shoved his lance forward, and the blade scraped across Vale's
back. Scales flew like coins from a cut purse. Vale roared, grabbed the
seraph's shield in his claws, and shoved it aside. He blasted his dragonfire,
washing the seraph with the flames, sending him falling down to the ground like
a comet.

Fire, godlight, smoke,
scales, blood, fangs, steel—they swirled through the sky, a great dance of death.
Though bodies fell, though lances thrust, though countless seraphim still
swooped from above, the dragons never lost their composure, never broke
formation. All their lives, these Vir Requis had danced this dance macabre. All
their lives, they had toiled in the valley of death, allowing the seraphim to
beat them, slay them, and still they had toiled.

Now, in the sky, no
enemy would shatter their strength.

Still they worked
together—worked not at cutting stone but cutting flesh, not at mining black
bitumen but the golden ichor of immortals. They sang again—no longer their
songs of slavery, songs of straw and clay and tar and sweat, but songs of
Requiem, songs of pride, of marble, of starlight, of a home among the birches
and in the northern sky. A song of dragons.

Before them they
fell—a rain of seraphim, wings ablaze, and the corpses of the immortals
littered the fields of Saraph, as plentiful as the crops that grew there. The
crops the Vir Requis had planted; the crops they would claim.

The food in this
city is ours,
Vale thought as he lashed his claws, swung his tail, blew his
fire. The medicine in the houses of healing. The bricks of the temples,
fortresses, silos. The cobblestones on the roads. The wine in jugs, the water
drawn from wells, the wealth and work of this city—all these were made by Vir
Requis slaves. All would belong to free dragons.

They fought through the
night.

In the darkness, the
chariots of fire cast out their light. Their firehorses tore through the ranks
of dragons, wings aflame, sending men and women plunging down. The seraphim
riders fired their arrows, slaying warriors, breaking the lines, and storming
through the ranks of elders and children, cutting them down. Nursing mothers.
Babes. Elders who had survived decades of servitude. As the lines of Requiem's
army crumbled, they fell to their deaths below.

Yet even as Vale's army
regrouped and charged back into battle, those they protected joined the fight.

Young dragons, no
larger than ponies, blasted out streams of fire. Old dragons, their teeth
fallen and their scales cracked, slammed into the ranks of seraphim. Every
dragon fought this day, and in the fires above the city of Keleshan, all of
Requiem became an army. All fought for their nation, for a memory of their stars—a
memory that had passed through the generations. None here had ever seen the
stars of Requiem, and none had seen King's Column, but those lights still shone
in their hearts.

Dawn was rising when
the seraphim began to fall back.

Those chariots and
seraphim that still flew retreated into the city, their light vanishing behind
the walls. The dragons of Requiem cheered.

"The city is
ours!" they cried. "Requiem rises! Requiem rises!"

A rumble rose ahead.

The city shook.

As the dragons cheered,
Vale stared at the city with narrowed eyes, his belly churning.

Light grew within the
massive, oval fortress that crowned the city, leaking through the windows and
doors and between the bricks.

Vale sneered.

"Hold your
ranks!" he cried. "Warriors of Requiem, rally here! Hold the
lines!"

On the mountaintop, the
egg-shaped fortress shook, then began to crumble. Bricks rained from its
rounded facades. The arches collapsed around the base. The towers that rose
upon its crest cracked and tumbled. Soon the entire structure was collapsing,
casting out beams of light.

The great stone egg was
hatching, and a creature unfurled from within.

Vale stared, hissing.
His heart sank and fear thrummed through him.

A colossal beak, large
as a dragon, thrust through the disintegrating stone shell. A wet, feathered
body emerged, and wings spread out, large as fields. The massive bird rose upon
the mountaintop, claws the size of houses, and raised its head to the rising
sun. It let out a great cry, a sound that rolled across the city, scattering
stones, bending trees, cracking the walls and flattening the farms below.

"He is Ziz!"
Meliora said, darting up to fly by Vale. The silver dragon's scales were
cracked and bleeding, burns spread across her wings, and blood stained her
claws and mouth. "The ancient sunbird of Saraph, a great symbol of the
nation. They say he sleeps for a thousand years, only to rise again. I thought
it only a tale."

Vale grumbled.
"Well, that tale is taking flight before us, and he doesn't look too happy
that we woke him up."

As Ziz's wings flapped,
they snapped palm trees, toppled roofs, cracked walls across the city. The wind
buffeted the army of dragons, tossing them back in the sky. Ziz rose higher,
and his wings spread wide like storm clouds, hiding the sun. Darkness fell across
the land.

"Ziz, Ziz!"
chanted the surviving seraphim upon the walls.

Vale sneered, puffing
out smoke.

We have no time for
this. Ishtafel gains on us every hour that we delay.
He glanced behind him,
and in the darkness he could see a sickly smoke on the horizon—Ishtafel's
troops. Coming closer.

He looked around him.
Many from his army had fallen. Hundreds of Vir Requis lay dead upon the fields
and city roofs below, perhaps thousands. Those dragons that still flew hurried
to form new lines in the sky, readying what flames they could muster. Most were
too weary for full blasts of dragonfire; only weak puffs of smoke left their
nostrils, and only sparks left their jaws.

The sunbird shrieked
again, circling above. The cry was deafening. Vale couldn't help it; he
screamed in the noise, his ears thundering, feeling ready to shatter. Several
dragons lost their magic and fell, covering their ears, nearly hitting the
ground before rising again as dragons. Flames burst from Ziz's eyes, and the sunbird
turned in the sky . . . and came swooping toward the dragons.

"Ziz, Ziz!"
the seraphim cried. "Feed upon the dragons!"

Fear—icy,
overpowering—flowed across Vale.

The bird plunged down,
covering the sky, its beak large enough to swallow dragons whole. The dragons
of Requiem cried out and began to scatter. Vale stared skyward and saw his
death.

Live, son of
Aeternum. Your war does not end here.

He let starlight fill
his mind.

Vale roared, his cry
rising so loudly all the Royal Army could hear, even over the shriek of the
mythological beast swooping from above.

"Fly, Requiem! Fly
and burn him down!"

Vale soared.

Hundreds, soon
thousands of dragons soared with him.

Their dragonfire rose,
and Ziz's wrath fell upon them.

Pillars of dragonfire
slammed into the bird's wings and rained, showering back onto the dragons.
Claws tore at feathered flesh. Yet Ziz did not burn, and his blood did not
spill. His talons swung, as large as dragons, plowing through the hosts of
Requiem. Their blows knocked the magic out of Requiem's warriors; they fell as
men and women. The wind stormed, slamming into dragons, sending them tumbling
through the sky, crashing against one another. The sunbird screeched again, and
more men and women fell, eardrums pierced and bleeding.

"We can't hurt
it!" Meliora cried, flying by Vale as the wings beat above them, and the
storm buffeted them. "None can slay Ziz."

Vale roared and flew
higher.

A great battle
awaits you, son of Requiem.

"We will slay
him!" he cried.

He flew higher, rising
among falling dragons, until he flew before the head of the beast. Above the
span of its wings, the sun shone brilliantly, nearly blinding him. Ziz cried
out, beak opened wide, large as a temple's nave.

Head spinning, barely
clinging to his magic, Vale blew his dragonfire.

He had been breathing
fire all night, and he had to reach deep inside him, to summon all his pain,
the pain of his captivity, his torture in Saraph, to reach for all his grief
over the loss of Tash, the loss of thousands, to raise all his pride, his
honor, his love of Requiem and her stars. With mourning, fear, nobility, and
fury, he cast out a great jet of dragonfire, hotter and brighter than any he
had blown.

The inferno shrieked
across the sky and crashed into the great bird's eyes.

Ziz tossed back his
head and cried out again, but this time it was a cry of pain.

Vale stormed forth and
lashed his claws at the great bird's neck.

It felt like clawing a granite
cliff. Vale roared, feeling like his claws would snap off. He barely dented the
beast, and the beak plunged down. Vale flew backward, blasted fire again. The
beak snapped shut, missing him by inches. The talons rose, lashing at Vale. He
tried to fly backward again, but he was too slow.

The talons slammed
against him.

Each of those sharp,
yellow nails was as large as a dragon. Thankfully, the sharp end missed Vale,
but the polished surface of the talons crashed against him like the columns of
a crumbling temple.

The pain seemed to
shatter every scale across him.

Vale lost his magic.

He fell as a man.

He tumbled between
dozens of soaring dragons, their fire rising around him. Dozens of other Vir
Requis fell with him, dead or dying.

"Vale!" With
a flash of red scales, Lucem soared and caught Vale in his claws. "Vale,
old boy! You all right?"

Vale groaned and shook
his head, hanging in the red dragon's grip, still in human form. "Just
stunned a bit."

Dipping to avoid
another lash of the great talons, Lucem snorted. "That's what you get for
trying to be a hero like me. There's only one legendary hero in Requiem, old
boy, and that's Lucem the Red. But come, let's be heroes together." The
red dragon grinned toothily. "I'm the only one who ever scaled the walls
of Tofet. What's killing a giant bird the size of a mountain?"

Vale took a deep
breath, clearing the pain, and shifted back into a dragon, tugging himself free
from Lucem's grip. They were now flying below Ziz. The massive bird's wings hid
the sun again, casting darkness across them. Hundreds of dragons were rising
around them, blowing fire, trying to burn the beast, but Ziz kept flying. The
talons kept lashing, and Vale grimaced to see the bird's beak close around a
dragon and swallow.

"Fly with me,"
Lucem said and began diving, moving away from the great bird.

Vale growled. "Do
you flee from battle?"

The red dragon snorted
and looked over his shoulder at Vale. "Dive as a hero or soar and die as a
martyr."

With a grunt, Vale
followed. The two dragons plunged downward, weaving between their comrades. The
other warriors of Requiem, all rising to attack the bird above, cried out in
rage and fear.

"Vale the
commander and Lucem the hero flee from battle!" one dragon cried.

"Our prince and
hero are cowards!" said another dragon.

Across the battlefield,
dragons looked around in dismay. Some began to flee the battle.

"Lucem—"
Vale began.

"Trust me!"
said the red dragon.

Eyes narrowed, smoke
blasting between his teeth, Lucem kept swooping. The ground rushed up toward
them, littered with corpses of both Vir Requis and seraphim, cloaked in shadows
under the veil of wings. An instant before he could hit the ground, Lucem
curved his flight, reached out his claws, and grabbed a lance from a fallen
seraph.

"Grab one!"
Lucem said, rising again.

Vale spread his wings
wide, trapping air, and reached out to pluck a fallen lance like a raptor
grabbing a fish.

Again they soared.
Their fellow dragons parted before them. The two dragons, red and black, rose
with spears in their claws, heading back toward the massive sunbird that hid
the sky.