Free Pillars of Dragonfire by Daniel Arenson

icicles but a cloud of frost. The frozen miasma flowed
across Meliora, and her scales chipped, and her muscles stiffened. She could
barely breathe, but she managed to blow her dragonfire, piercing a way through
the frozen cloud. She stormed forth, snapped her jaws, drove her teeth into the
harpy's neck. She pulled back, tearing out rotted flesh. The harpy fell. More
flew around her, freezing her scales with their breath. Meliora spun in
circles, spreading her fire, melting the ice. Her claws lashed, scattering the
gray blood of the creatures.
    Her blood spilled but
her hope soared. Slowly, one by one, the harpies were falling. Elory roasted
one with dragonfire. Vale cast another down, tearing the beast open with his
claws. Lucem and Jaren fought back to back, flames forming a ring around them,
burning the harpies. Thousands of other dragons fought with them, finally
overwhelming the enemies. Meliora's flames were down to sparks, and her blood
dripped, and with her final drop of strength she slew the last of the
creatures.
    She had vowed not to
land until they reached Requiem, but Meliora could barely cling to her magic.
She flew down and all but crashed onto a rocky plain. Corpses spread around
her, some smashed beyond recognition; what the harpy claws hadn't done, the
fall from the sky had. Meliora released her magic and lay among the dead,
lacerations and frostbite covering her.
    Other dragons landed
around her and released their magic. They too were wounded. Gashes bled across
them, left by talons and fangs. Frost covered some, and others nursed swelling
serpent bites. Hundreds of wounded lay among the dead. Healers rushed among
them, bearing what meager supplies they had—the bandages and ointments they
had taken from their humble huts in Tofet.
    So many dead, Meliora thought, staring into the eyes of the fallen around her. Only three
days out of Tofet, and so many fallen already.
    Jaren came walking
toward her, back in human form. The tall priest still wore his burlap robes
from Tofet, and he leaned on his wooden staff, limping from an old wound. Frost
covered his beard, melting as the clouds parted and the sun emerged. He knelt
above Meliora.
    "I will pray for
your healing, daughter." He placed his hands upon her.
    "No." Meliora
struggled to her feet, removing his hands. "Heal the others first. Heal
those who followed me to war. I'll wait."
    Those words hurt him;
she saw that. She could see the thoughts in his eyes.
    You are my precious
daughter. I lost you before you were even born, only to meet you twenty-seven
years later. I can't lose you again.
    "I'm fine,"
she whispered, though every word hurt to utter. "Pray for the warriors of
Requiem. They need you more than I do."
    As he turned toward the
others, praying to the stars to heal their wounds, Meliora raised her eyes,
seeking more harpies in the sky.
    Instead she saw two
distant figures—dragons, their scales bright—approaching from the south.
    A red dragon and a black
dragon. Meliora's breath caught. She raised her hand, summoning them.
    The two dragons flew
closer and saw her signal. They spiraled down and landed before her, winded,
puffing out smoke and spurts of flame. Both were young and slender, their
scales clanking as they breathed raggedly. When they had caught their breath,
they released their magic, becoming two young women clad in white livery—one
with dark hair and olive skin, the other pale and sporting red stubble on her
head.
    Meliora stepped closer
to them. "Kira! Talana! Tell me what you saw."
    A lifetime ago—stars,
it had been only months!—the two young women had served Meliora in the palace,
her loyal handmaidens. Meliora still felt shame at remembering who she had been
then—a pampered, ignorant princess who had treated Kira and Talana as one
might treat pups. She had saved them from Malok, the bronze bull, and burn
marks still covered their arms, the scars perhaps permanent. That had been the
day Meliora had changed, the day her