Crown of Dragonfire (27 page)

"Dragons will fly
again." He kissed Tash's forehead. "Again we will soar."

 
 
ELORY

She sat in the dark valley,
her shame burning like her wounded ear.

No, not a wounded
ear,
Elory thought.
I no longer have an ear at all. A missing ear.
She lowered her head.
A deformity.

She glanced across the
campsite. Meliora sat farther back in the valley, her hood dousing her fiery
halo. But even in the pale moonlight, Elory could see her sister's beauty—the
high cheekbones, pale skin, large glowing eyes, and short hair like softest
golden fleece. Meliora's limbs were long, well-formed, the body of a goddess
carved of marble.

At Meliora's side sat
Lucem, conversing with her softly. While Lucem had none of Meliora's ethereal
beauty, he was handsome in his own way. Rugged. Unshaven. Slender but strong.
His eyes were bright, and he moved his hands animatedly as he talked, telling
stories and jokes, making Meliora laugh.

Elory looked back at
her lap. If before she had felt plain by Meliora—what with her scrawny limbs,
short stature, and darker skin—now she felt downright monstrous. Meliora's
wounded cheek was even healing nicely, only hours after the battle, her seraph
ichor shrinking the cuts. Meanwhile, the left side of Elory's head was a
nightmare. When she touched it, she winced. Only the shell of her ear remained
around the canal. Most of the auricle was gone. With Elory's short hair—it had
barely grown since leaving Tofet—the wound was exposed to all.

I'm ugly now,
she
thought.
A deformed creature. I'll never be beautiful like Meliora, like
Tash . . . never be someone whom a man could love.

She looked back at
Lucem, cursing the feelings inside her. Why must those feelings surface? She
had felt something for Tash, a low flame, perhaps a mere spark, something that
could never grow, for Tash's kisses had been a thing of duty, not love. And now
. . . now, even here in dark danger, Elory felt new love kindle within her,
this love burning bright. Yet why would Lucem look at her when he could gaze at
Meliora?

She noticed that Lucem
had stopped talking, that he was looking at her. Elory's cheeks burned and her
fingers tingled. Hurriedly she looked away, shame and embarrassment now
battling within her.

"Elory!" he said. "Elory,
come sit near us. There are some lovely, comfortable limestone recliners here."
He patted the boulder he sat on. "Mmm . . . limestone! It's what Queen Kalafi
used to sleep on."

Elory merely looked at
her lap where she clasped her fingers.

Through the ringing in
her ears, Elory heard Meliora whisper something sharply, but she couldn't make
out the words. Pebbles cascaded as Lucem rose, walked across the emptiness
separating them, and sat down beside Elory.

"Hmmm, not bad!" he
said, patting the rocky ground. "My backside detects some granite pebbles—nice
and sharp!—some dust, just a tad of chalk . . . very comfortable." He leaned
toward her. "Nada? Not even a little smile?"

She couldn't help it.
She gave him that little smile, but it soon faded. She couldn't even bear to
look at him, and she turned her head away so he couldn't see her wounded ear.

"Does it hurt terribly?"
Lucem asked, and his voice softened.

Elory shook her head. "It
hurts, but not as much as I thought it would. It's just that . . ." She twisted
her fingers. "I feel ugly."

His eyes widened. "
You
feel ugly? I once had a vulture attack my face; it thought I was a dead
carcass. When I was a kid and looked out my hut window, seraphim kept trying to
arrest me for mooning. I once turned milk to yogurt just by looking at it." He
touched her chin. "You're beautiful, little one."

He's just saying
that,
Elory thought.
He just wants me to feel better is all.

"Thank you," she
whispered.

He gasped. "You don't
believe me! I can tell. But it's true. And no missing little ear can change
that. It can't take away your large, brown eyes, your smiling lips, the kindness
I see in your face." Gently, he pulled her face toward his. "You're absolutely the most adorable little thing I've seen."

Elory looked over his
shoulder, and she saw that Meliora had stepped away, was now a mere shadow, too
far away to hear them. She looked back at Lucem, and she saw the honesty in his
eyes. His hand reached out to caress her fingers, and her heart quivered.

He likes me?
Lucem—likes me?

"You're not ugly
either." She smiled. "I wouldn't say you're the
most
adorable thing I've
ever seen—those baby pigs we saw yesterday beat you—but you're up there."

She leaned against him,
and he wrapped an arm around her and kissed her cheek. For the first time in
many days—perhaps in her life—Elory felt safe.

 
 
LEYLEET

She screamed in the caves,
coated in blood and flesh. She tossed back her head, opened her arms wide,
laughed, licked the blood.

"We slew the gods!" She
rose in the cave, wreathed in black fire, her laughter shattering against the
walls. "We slew the champions of the Eight. We are gods! We are gods! We are
gods!"

She stared down at the
corpse—the Living Creatures, now the Dead Creatures. She laughed. A hysterical
laugh. A laugh that tore at her wounds, ripped her thigh open, spurted out her
blood, yet still she laughed, spinning around, her voice so shrill it shattered
the organs in the corpses.

"The Dead Creatures,
the Dead Creatures!" she cried, and around her they chanted, her warriors, her
comrades, the eleven survivors. The dark seraphim danced around the corpses,
the macabre dance of death, slick with blood. "The Dead Creatures!"

Leyleet stared at them.
Four bodies linked at the wings. Four heads on each—goat, lion, eagle, man.
Their bronze hides torn apart, exposing the organs within. Around them lay the
corpses of four dark seraphim, their limbs torn off, their flesh burnt and
melting across the skulls. The survivors too bore horrible wounds. One dark seraph
flew around the cave, laughing and dancing, his legs ending with exposed bones.
Another dark seraph's entrails hung loose, yet still he danced and sang for
glory. A third had been burnt as badly as the corpses, but he cackled and spat upon the dead.

Leyleet herself was
wounded. The weredragons had thrust their blades deep into her thigh, into her
belly. Already the wounds festered, stinking, the ichor sweet. She thrust her
fingers into the wound on her thigh, dug around in the hot moistness, pulled
her fingers free and licked the juices. Just to whet the appetite.

"Feed," she said. "Feed,
friends. Feed upon the dead gods and fill your souls with their strength!"

They dived through the
cave. They landed on the corpses of the Living Creatures. And the dark seraphim
fed. They tugged open the cracks on the bronze bodies, pulled out organ after
organ, and ripped into the flesh. They tore off the wings and chewed. They
yanked free the jaws and ripped at the meat. They cracked bones, sucked out the
marrow, played the bones like flutes. They paraded, gobbets of meat in their
hands. And they fed upon their own dead—hunched over the fallen seraphim,
ripping them open, picking at strips of meat and savoring the sweet, glistening
treasures within. They licked the blood off the floor and walls, and they
licked the blood off themselves, and they rutted in the puddles, slick, red,
screaming with their appetites.

As Leyleet feasted, she
tried to imagine feasting upon Meliora. Ishtafel needed her womb, that was all.

Your limbs will be
mine,
Leyleet thought and licked her lips.
We will share your delicious
legs. One for me, one for you. Your arms will follow, then your face. I will
deliver to Ishtafel your womb as promised, wrapped in what remains of your body
. . . and he will think of me as he spills his seed into it.

"Meliora fled these
caves!" Leyleet cried. "Meliora fled as a coward, but we defeated her champion,
and we absorbed its strength. The flesh of the Living Creatures fills our
belly, and soon—"

Leyleet screamed.

Around her, the dark
seraphim howled.

They doubled over.
Pain. Pain! Agony coursed through Leyleet. She clutched her belly, shivering,
gagging. Rotten meat! Foul meat! The Living Creatures coiled inside her,
clawing at her organs. She screamed. Blood filled her mouth.

"Poison, poison!" the
dark seraphim cried.

Leyleet screeched, tore
at her throat, clawed at her belly, desperate to tug out the meal. Poison,
poison! Bad meat!

She fell to her side,
convulsing. Around her, the others writhed. Boils sprouted on their necks,
bloating, growing to obscene size. As Leyleet thrashed, she touched her own neck,
felt the boils rise there too, swelling to the size of her fists, then growing
still.

Across the hall, the
boils twisted, ballooned, opened mouths and screamed, opened eyes and wept.
When Leyleet reached to the growths on her neck, she felt their tears, their
teeth biting her.

She laughed.

"We absorbed them!" She
spoke with four mouths. "We absorbed their strength."

She rose to her feet,
and the others rose around her. Every dark seraph now sprouted four heads, each
head topped with flowing white hair, each staring with blazing serpentine eyes.

"We are the dark
seraphim!" Leyleet's mouths cried out. "We are the Rancid Angels! We are the
living darkness!"

They all spun around
her, shouting wordlessly.

They beat their bat
wings, the twelve that remained, and flew through the winding caves. They burst
out into the night. The dark hills spread around them, and they soared toward
the bloated moon.

"We are stronger than
we've ever been!" Leyleet called to them. "We are mighty. We have the strength
of gods now. Hunt! Sniff them out! Find Meliora and our mouths will feed upon
her. Fly!"

Beating their dark
wings, the multiple mouths shrieking, they flew into the darkness, hunting
ichor and blood.

 
 
MELIORA

Sunset spilled across the
land when they saw Khalish Mountain ahead.

"Home of the Keymaker,"
Meliora whispered.

The mountain soared,
charcoal and black. A few scattered trees grew around its base, fading higher
up the slopes. Many fires burned on the mountain, and at first Meliora thought
them campfires, maybe torches, maybe chariots of fire, but she saw no movement
of men. High on the mountaintop she could see it—the ruins of an ancient
fortress.

She turned toward her
companions. Elory and Lucem were staring up at the mountain.

"It's as if the stars
fell and now burn upon it," Elory said.

Lucem sighed. "If only
the Keymaker could unlock our collars down here so we could fly up." He cracked
his neck. "It's a long climb."

They started that climb
as the sun dipped below the horizon. The way was steep, and many rocks
threatened to trip them, and many boulders blocked their way. The moon had
thinned and barely gave off light, but the light of many fires lit their way.
The flames emerged from holes in the mountainside, though Meliora could see no fuel.

"I smell something like
tar." Elory sniffed. "A little like the bitumen I used to haul in Tofet. The
mountain is leaking it. That's what's causing the fires."

"We just need some
sausages to roast," Lucem said. "A nice bottle of wine and a mandolin. Maybe
some taters to bake."

"What's taters?" Elory
asked him.

"Oh, you're a precious
little thing," Lucem said. "
Potatoes
. I forgot that they don't exist in
Tofet. I used to sneak into seraph farms to steal them." He smacked his lips. "One
of these days, I'm going to cook you one, Elory."

"Taters must be a delicacy
worthy of kings!" Elory said, eyes wide.

As Meliora climbed
beside them, guilt filled her. While Elory had been surviving on gruel, and
while Lucem had been stealing his taters, she had been dining on delicacies:
honeyed duck on beds of wild rice and leek, pears and figs stewed in honey and
wine, fresh crustaceans and clams and all other treasures of the sea, and
countless other fine comestibles.

"May we all dine
together in a rebuilt Requiem this time next year," Meliora said. "A fine tater
feast."

They continued climbing
between the fires. They were low on water; only a few sips remained in Lucem's waterskin.
They had eaten nearly all the fruit and fish they had collected on the journey
here. Meliora's belly ached with hunger and her throat was parched, but she
knew her pain paled in comparison to those still suffering in Tofet.

They climbed all night,
and their limbs were shaking, their bodies drenched with sweat, when they
finally reached the mountaintop. Dawn rose, casting its pale light upon ancient
ruins that soared before the companions.

Meliora had expected to
find a castle built atop the mountain, but it seemed like the mountaintop had
been carved down to form a fortress. The stony peak had been chiseled away—the
work must have taken years—forming the shape of columns, archways, turrets,
parapets, and colossal statues shaped as lions, goats, and serpents. Engravings
covered the columns and walls, depicting men and beasts many times the size of
men.

The castle must have
once been spectacular, a marvel of architecture. But time had worn it down. The
stone reliefs were faded and chipped; it was hard to tell which beasts they
portrayed. The statues were cracked, and some parapets and turrets had fallen
and lay strewn across the mountainside. The archways were crumbling, the
parapets and columns smoothed by centuries of rain and wind.

"Do we just walk up and
knock on the door?" Lucem asked.

"I don't see a door,"
Elory said.