Meliora had been driving her dragons hard, allowing no rest.
They had not touched ground since her speech on the mountain outside the walls
of Tofet. Thousands of dragons now flew across the sky, a shimmering veil of
scales and fire. On each dragon's back rode two Vir Requis in human forms,
sleeping, nursing their wounds, and feeding from their sparse supplies.
Flying at their lead,
Meliora glanced at the sky. The sun had reached its zenith, casting down
blinding light and heat that spun her head and baked her silver scales. She
couldn't even imagine how hot the black-scaled dragons felt.
But soon we'll be in
the north, she thought. In the cool air of Requiem, flying in a gentler
sky. Soon we'll fly over forests, not rocks and sand. Soon we'll be home.
Her foot still
throbbed, pierced by Ishtafel's spear. She tried to let the pain motivate her,
keep her flying, keep her strong. Jaren had prayed over the wound, and it had
closed and was healing fast, yet the pain still blazed up her leg with every
flap of her wings.
She reared in the sky,
raised her head, and blasted up a pillar of fire. Most dragons, born of two Vir
Requis parents, blasted crackling red dragonfire. But Meliora, born to a seraph
mother, blew white flames like a pillar of starlight. The column rose high, a
beacon for her people.
She turned to face
them—thousands of dragons bearing riders. They were children of Requiem, an
ancient nation, but they were also her children. Hers to protect, to lead
across the miles to their lost home.
I was born of both
Requiem and Saraph, she thought, but I left the ichor of seraphim in
Tofet. Here let me be woven of pure starlight, a mother of Requiem.
The dragons were weary,
Meliora knew. Puffs of smoke rose from their nostrils. Their eyes were glazed.
They began to dip in the sky. But Meliora would not let her people camp. There
was nothing below but sand and rock, and Ishtafel was following them. Meliora
could not see her brother's hosts from here, but she knew that Ishtafel would
never let them flee. He would be flying over the horizon, even now, determined
to slay them. Meliora would not let him catch her.
"Children of
Requiem!" Meliora cried. "A new shift begins. Rest now, dragons, and
rise, riders!"
Across the cloud of
dragons, the human riders rose. Wings burst out from their backs. Scales flowed
across them. The number of dragons now doubled in the sky. The newer dragons
flew with fresh vigor, their eyes brighter, fire in their jaws. They glided
downward, flying below the wearier dragons, those who had been flying since
dawn. Those weary dragons lowered themselves so their bellies skimmed the backs
of the new flyers, then released their magic. The Vir Requis lay down on their
comrades in human form, ready for rest.
Like this we can fly
forever, Meliora thought. At least until hunger kills us.
They had taken their
meager supplies from Tofet—some dry oatmeal, some bags of flour, a few gourds
of water. Not enough. Constantly, the dragons were duplicating the food in the
Chest of Plenty, but with only one chest, it was slow work—too slow to feed half
a million souls. Soon they would have to find more food and lots of it, or they
wouldn't have to worry about pursuit.
Lavender scales flashed
in the sun, and a slim, one-eared dragon came flying toward Meliora. Elory was
smaller than most dragons, but Meliora knew that her sister was just as fierce.
She had seen the violet dragon slaying many enemies with her flames.
"Do you think that
tonight we can sleep on solid ground?" Elory asked. "The people need
time to build fires, to bake bread from our flour, to feel earth below
us."
Meliora shook her head,
her pearly scales chinking. "No. We will not rest. We will dip down only
to drink from the river, only to hunt any wild animals we see across the riverbanks.
But we will not place our feet on solid earth. Not until we reach
Requiem."
She looked ahead toward
the north. Requiem—if truly that fabled land
They had not touched ground since her speech on the mountain outside the walls
of Tofet. Thousands of dragons now flew across the sky, a shimmering veil of
scales and fire. On each dragon's back rode two Vir Requis in human forms,
sleeping, nursing their wounds, and feeding from their sparse supplies.
Flying at their lead,
Meliora glanced at the sky. The sun had reached its zenith, casting down
blinding light and heat that spun her head and baked her silver scales. She
couldn't even imagine how hot the black-scaled dragons felt.
But soon we'll be in
the north, she thought. In the cool air of Requiem, flying in a gentler
sky. Soon we'll fly over forests, not rocks and sand. Soon we'll be home.
Her foot still
throbbed, pierced by Ishtafel's spear. She tried to let the pain motivate her,
keep her flying, keep her strong. Jaren had prayed over the wound, and it had
closed and was healing fast, yet the pain still blazed up her leg with every
flap of her wings.
She reared in the sky,
raised her head, and blasted up a pillar of fire. Most dragons, born of two Vir
Requis parents, blasted crackling red dragonfire. But Meliora, born to a seraph
mother, blew white flames like a pillar of starlight. The column rose high, a
beacon for her people.
She turned to face
them—thousands of dragons bearing riders. They were children of Requiem, an
ancient nation, but they were also her children. Hers to protect, to lead
across the miles to their lost home.
I was born of both
Requiem and Saraph, she thought, but I left the ichor of seraphim in
Tofet. Here let me be woven of pure starlight, a mother of Requiem.
The dragons were weary,
Meliora knew. Puffs of smoke rose from their nostrils. Their eyes were glazed.
They began to dip in the sky. But Meliora would not let her people camp. There
was nothing below but sand and rock, and Ishtafel was following them. Meliora
could not see her brother's hosts from here, but she knew that Ishtafel would
never let them flee. He would be flying over the horizon, even now, determined
to slay them. Meliora would not let him catch her.
"Children of
Requiem!" Meliora cried. "A new shift begins. Rest now, dragons, and
rise, riders!"
Across the cloud of
dragons, the human riders rose. Wings burst out from their backs. Scales flowed
across them. The number of dragons now doubled in the sky. The newer dragons
flew with fresh vigor, their eyes brighter, fire in their jaws. They glided
downward, flying below the wearier dragons, those who had been flying since
dawn. Those weary dragons lowered themselves so their bellies skimmed the backs
of the new flyers, then released their magic. The Vir Requis lay down on their
comrades in human form, ready for rest.
Like this we can fly
forever, Meliora thought. At least until hunger kills us.
They had taken their
meager supplies from Tofet—some dry oatmeal, some bags of flour, a few gourds
of water. Not enough. Constantly, the dragons were duplicating the food in the
Chest of Plenty, but with only one chest, it was slow work—too slow to feed half
a million souls. Soon they would have to find more food and lots of it, or they
wouldn't have to worry about pursuit.
Lavender scales flashed
in the sun, and a slim, one-eared dragon came flying toward Meliora. Elory was
smaller than most dragons, but Meliora knew that her sister was just as fierce.
She had seen the violet dragon slaying many enemies with her flames.
"Do you think that
tonight we can sleep on solid ground?" Elory asked. "The people need
time to build fires, to bake bread from our flour, to feel earth below
us."
Meliora shook her head,
her pearly scales chinking. "No. We will not rest. We will dip down only
to drink from the river, only to hunt any wild animals we see across the riverbanks.
But we will not place our feet on solid earth. Not until we reach
Requiem."
She looked ahead toward
the north. Requiem—if truly that fabled land
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