Pillars of Dragonfire (24 page)

A few skeletons still
remained to bury. Elory moved farther east, down into a valley, seeking room for
more graves without disturbing the holy birches. She walked in dragon form, and
she walked alone, the moonlight and the fire in her mouth lighting her way. The
sounds of prayer still rose behind her, but walking here apart from the group,
she could hear other sounds: the creaking trees, the wind, her chinking scales,
and the sounds that never left her memories. The sounds of screaming. Of dying.
Of Ishtafel's decimation that had slain sixty thousand souls in the city of Shayeen.

Finally Elory found a
moonlit clearing. Here was a good place to dig. She would have to uproot no
birches here, and it would be a beautiful place for the fallen to rest, and in
the spring many flowers would bloom here. Elory touched her claws to the frozen
ground, prepared to dig, but suddenly the pain was too real. Suddenly she could
barely even breathe.

She released her magic.
She fell to her knees, shivering in the cold—it was so damn cold here in
Requiem. Her tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I miss you,
Mother," she whispered. "I miss you, Mayana, my friend. I miss you,
sweet Tash. I miss you and I love you all, and I'm so scared. I'm so scared
without you."

A soft voice sounded
behind her.

"You have
me."

Elory turned around, at
first expecting to see Lucem. But she saw Meliora standing there.

"I know,"
Elory whispered, rising to her feet.

Meliora stepped closer
and embraced Elory. Her sister was much taller—Elory barely even reached her
shoulder—and the embrace felt so warm, so safe, that Elory almost felt as she
had in her mother's embrace.

"You're safe,
Elory, I promise you." Meliora kissed her forehead. "You are loved.
You are in Requiem. I did not know your mother, but I know that she looks down
upon you now from the stars, and that she's proud of you. As I'm proud of you."

Elory rubbed away her
tears. "How can you be proud of me? I'm not a warrior like Vale. I'm not a
healer like our father. I'm not a leader as you are. I'm not a hero like Lucem.
I'm not brave, not strong, not wise like all of you."

Meliora frowned. "I
prefer hugging you, little sister. So don't make me clobber you." She
kissed Elory's forehead again. "I could tell you that you are strong,
brave, noble, heroic. But I don't need to. Because you prove these things
yourself, every day and night, Elory. The harpies will soon arrive, and if we
survive them, for many generations the Vir Requis will speak of your courage,
and they will love you. As I love you, my sister. Always."

Elory shuddered and
laid her head against Meliora's chest. "My courage? So why am I so afraid?
I know you want to make our final stand here, to fight the harpies by our
column. But I just want to run. To hide. That doesn't sound very brave to
me."

"Will you
run?" Meliora asked. "Will you hide?"

Elory shook her head
vehemently. "I will never run from a fight. I will always fight with you,
Meliora. You are my heroine, my leader, my light in the darkness."

"You are your own
light, Elory. And a very bright one. And you are braver than I am, and you
survived far greater hardships than I can imagine." Meliora squared her
shoulders and raised her chin. "We will survive this too. The time comes
upon us, only hours away. Our greatest battle. Our final battle. Ishtafel draws
near."

Elory stepped back.
"Then let's dig the last graves. The old dead will rest before more join
them."

She shifted back into a
dragon, sank her claws into the frozen soil, and began to dig a grave. Even
using dragon claws, it was slow work, for the icy ground was hard as rock, and
Elory strained to pull out each chunk.

She had dug three feet
deep when the grave collapsed.

Frozen soil tumbled
downward.

Elory gasped and
stared. She let fire fill her mouth, lighting the shadows.

Meliora shifted into a
dragon and peered down, lighting her own fire. "What is it?"

Elory blasted down a
short burst of flame. The fire shot into the grave . . . and into darkness
beyond.

"A tunnel,"
Elory whispered.

She returned to human
form and made to leap inside.

"Wait,"
Meliora said. "We don't know if it's safe."

Elory smiled at her
sister, tilting over the edge. "As safe as a sky full of harpies?"

"Fair
enough." Meliora sighed. "Go on."

Elory jumped into the
tunnel. Dust rained around her, and for a moment she coughed. At first she saw
nothing. But when Meliora leaped into the tunnel, the half-seraph's halo of
fire lit the darkness.

The tunnel walls were paneled
with gray bricks. It was too narrow for a dragon but the perfect size for Elory
and Meliora to stand abreast.

"What is this
place?" Meliora whispered, looking around, her halo crackling and casting
its dancing light.

"The fabled
tunnels of Requiem!" Elory looked around with wide eyes. "I've heard
of them. They say that the Vir Requis built these tunnels thousands of years
ago, back in the Griffin Wars. In our stories in Tofet, we tell of the last Vir
Requis survivors fleeing here from the griffins, of King Elethor fighting the
cruel Solina here, and many other tales."

Meliora nodded, and her
face hardened. "Ishtafel would talk of tunnels. He lost somebody here,
they whispered in the palace. A lover. Only the chatter of slaves and soldiers.
I asked Ishtafel once about the tunnels of Requiem, about what happened to him
here. He grew very pale and very quiet, and he refused to say more, and so I
knew it was true. This is the place where his beloved was slain." She
placed her hand upon the brick wall. "Well, perhaps not this spot exactly,
but somewhere here in the underground. This is a sad place."

"But also a place
of wonder," said Elory, "if the tales are to be believed. They say
that many old artifacts and books of Requiem were stored here." She
squinted. "I see something. Come on!"

"Wait—"
Meliora began, but Elory was already racing down the tunnel.

The tunnel stretched
ahead, roughly a hundred yards, before opening up into a wide chamber. When
Meliora stepped in after Elory, her halo cast its light.

Both sisters gasped.

"It's
beautiful," Elory whispered, tears in her eyes.

"It's a
library." Meliora's eyes widened. "A library of Vir Requis books."

The chamber was large
as a temple's nave and lined with bookshelves. Countless books stood here. All
were wrapped in green leather, and silver words appeared on their spines. Elory
stepped deeper into the room and examined some of the books.

"They're
stories." She touched a spine reverently. "The stories of Requiem. Of
her old days and heroes. Books of tales. Of songs. Of family lines." She
spun toward Meliora. "Here is the greatest treasure of Requiem—all her
lore. All those stories we would tell in Tofet were always missing pieces, but
here is the full wealth of our nation's heritage. Do you know what this means,
Meliora?"

Her sister nodded. Her
voice was barely a whisper. "That we can rebuild not only our halls but
our lore. That we can restore the culture we lost."

Elory spotted an
archway leading into a second tunnel, and she began to walk. Meliora stepped
forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"We don't have
much time, Elory. He'll be here soon."

Elory nodded, head
lowered. She ached to explore these tunnels, to find their many treasures, the
heritage of her nation. But Meliora was right. Ishtafel and his harpies perhaps
were slower than dragons, since they needed rest along the way, unable to fly
on one another's backs, but they were relentless in their pursuit. They would be
here within hours. There would be a time for rebuilding Requiem after defending
it.

Elory was about to walk
back with Meliora, to step out into the world, when a glint in the far tunnel
caught her eye. Elory frowned.

"Just one
moment," she said and darted forth.

She left the library
behind, ran along the second tunnel, and entered another towering chamber. Her
eyes widened and she gasped.

"Bloody
stars," Elory whispered.

Meliora gasped.
"Almost as beautiful as books."

It was an armory.
Thousands of suits of armor hung from the walls, their silvery breastplates
engraved with birch leaf motifs. Thousands of green shields hung alongside
them, emblazoned with the Draco constellation in silver. Finally, countless
swords gleamed on racks, their pommels shaped as dragonclaws clutching hilts.

"We need to get
everyone in here," Elory whispered. "Now."

She turned toward
Meliora, and she saw that tears dampened her sister's eyes.

"My brother flies
here, thinking he'll meet a band of ragged exiles." Meliora bared her
teeth and clenched her fists. "He will meet the great Royal Army of
old."

 
 
VALE

Dawn rose over Requiem,
shining on a cleansed King's Column, a forest of birch leaves, and thousands of
soldiers in armor.

Vale stood at their
lead, wearing a full plate suit. Upon the breastplate were engraved three birch
leaves, and his shield displayed the silver Draco constellation on a green
field. At his side hung his sword, a heavy two-handed weapon with a dragonclaw
hilt. Vale had never worn armor before, but it already felt like a second skin.

Like the second skin
Ishtafel now wears,
he thought, a bad taste in his mouth.

The Royal Army stood
behind him, organized into the same units they had worked with back in Tofet.
The bricklayers formed one brigade, the bitumen haulers another, and so
on—thousands of laborers trained in ruthless discipline and strength, now
soldiers.

At Vale's right-hand side
stood Elory. The girl was short and slim, barely larger than a child, but she
too wore armor and bore a sword. At Vale's left stood Lucem, the legendary hero
who had first defied the seraphim, and he too wore steel.

"We fight with
you, Vale," Lucem said, voice somber.

"Always,"
said Elory.

With them too stood Til
Eleison, her long red hair blowing in the wind. One of only two Vir Requis who
had avoided captivity and survived, she no longer wore her old patches of fur
and rusted armor. Instead, she wore full plate armor, and stars adorned her
shield. If anyone here was truly a warrior of Old Requiem, it was Til—she who
had remained, who had survived, who had never stopped fighting for her nation.

"I fight with you,
Vale Aeternum," she said, gazing into his eyes, her cheeks pale and strewn
with freckles. "Ever have the Eleisons fought alongside the Aeternum
Dynasty, knights to the crown. Today let our old families fight together
again."

Ahead of them rolled
the forest of birches, silent, still. Even the wind had died, and the snow
glimmered under the sunlight like a field of stars.

But soon they will
be here,
Vale thought.
Soon these trees will burn.

He turned to look
behind him, and he saw King's Column soaring there, three hundred feet tall,
the chains gone, the blood washed off its marble. It shone in the dawn, purest
white, unblemished. The heroes Kyrie Eleison and Agnus Dei, survivors of the
griffins, had found this column rising from ruin thousands of years ago, and
even then it had been ancient. Its capital was shaped as rearing dragons,
carved of marble, and upon it perched a true white dragon—Meliora.

The heiress of
Aeternum, half seraph but a true daughter of Requiem, seemed carved of marble
herself, her scales shining. She gazed toward the south, watching, waiting.
Above the white dragon, Issari's Star still shone, soon fading under the rising
sunlight.

But Vale knew that
Issari still watched over him. He remembered his death upon the ziggurat,
remembered the Priestess in White descending from the heavens to heal him.

A great battle
awaits you,
she had told him.
Live.

And Vale knew that
here—here in this forest, under Issari's light, was the great battle he had survived
for. The battle to save their column. To restore their sky.

Vale lowered his eyes
and looked at his troops. Row after row of soldiers, all in armor, all bearing
swords. All staring ahead. Waiting. Knowing that here, after all their
struggles, their pain, that here was the battle of their lives. Elders stood
here. Young men and women, some barely more than youths. Freed slaves. Proud
defenders of their ancient realm.

Vale spoke to them,
voice ringing across the silent forest.

"Children of
Requiem! We stand in the light of our column. We stand upon holy ground, a free
nation. Requiem restored. Yet an enemy flies forth to slay us, to shatter our
column! For hundreds of years, this enemy enslaved us. And now we tell
Ishtafel: We stand strong! We grew strong in the heat of Tofet. We remain
strong in the cold of Requiem. Requiem lives, and we will always find our
sky!"

Vale drew and raised
his sword. Thousands of warriors drew their own blades, a new forest of steel.
Farther back, behind the column, stood the civilians of Requiem, hundreds of
thousands of them, and while they had no weapons, they raised their fists in
salute.

Upon the column's
capital, three hundred feet above the forest, Meliora tossed back her head and
raised a pillar of white fire.

From the south rose a
foul stench and evil cry.

Vale spun southward.
His chest tightened and he gripped the hilt of his sword.

They're here.

He could not see them
yet, but they were moving fast, their cries louder every moment. Hideous
shrieks. The stench of rotting meat. The thud of oily wings. A sound like a
storm.

"We smell them,
sisters!" rose a distant cry among them.