The sun-dragon struck the water a hundred feet beneath her, creating a huge circle of waves. Cool droplets splashed against her face. A scream tore from her throat as she forced her injured shoulders to obey her will. She pulled from her dive, darting across the lake at neck-breaking speed.
She glanced up at the remaining sun-dragons. More valkyries charged them and the night again was lit with a web of flame. She needed to return to combat, no matter her injuries. She needed a weapon. She wished she could get back into the central tower to recover her spear. She wondered if Sparrow would ever make it to the control panel.
As she thought this, the island rumbled and the grates slowly rose. She tried to focus on her mission, ignoring the screams of the dying valkyries above her. Burnt feather-scales drifted through the air, filling the night with their stench. She flew only inches from the barbs and spear points that studded the Nest until she reached the tower. Through sheer will she beat her wings, shooting up the stony surface, until she found the bell room. She landed inside, avoiding the bodies of the girls that Sparrow had killed. Sparrow had made short work of them, certainly, and she'd apparently had no problem reaching the gear room. Arifiel could do no less. She retrieved her spear and steadied herself. She felt lightheaded. Blood streamed from the charred flesh of her shoulders. The battle sounded faint and distant compared to her labored breathing. She badly wanted to lie down to catch her breath.
"This isn't how you die," she whispered. "Go rip another of these interlopers from the sky!"
She leapt from the window. The spear in her hind-talons seemed made of lead. She climbed toward the cluster of sun-dragons. A cloud of valkyries swarmed them, darting and dodging through the jets of flame. Arifiel took heart as she saw a sun-dragon stumble in the air, spinning down in a deadly spiral to the rocky shore below. Another sun-dragon had lost its rider and was now covered in flames; the burning fluid in the bladders on its back had been punctured.
Arifiel felt that if she could only draw a deep breath, she'd be able to rise above the battle and once more attack with a dive. It would be her last dive ever, she felt certain, but at least she would not die alone.
Then, the spear in her hind-talons slipped from her grasp. The stars above her spun as her path tilted downward. She'd failed to reach her target. Her wings went limp. Below her was the Nest, with its vicious thorny surface. She vowed not to close her eyes. She would face death head on, without taking the comfort of a coward.
Below her, from an open balcony, she saw a human-a tall male, unlike the petite females who'd attacked her. She tried to steer her fall toward him. She could see that the spear she had dropped had already landed on this balcony; its tip was buried into a gap in the stone. If she could land on this human with equal force, her death wouldn't be in vain.
The man looked up at her with a placid smile as golden wings unfolded from his back. He leapt toward Arifiel. The distance between them closed in seconds. But instead of a violent collision, the man held out his arms and caught her, using his wings as a parachute to slow their fall. He hugged her against his muscular chest as he drifted back to the balcony. He placed her carefully upon her back against the cool stone.
"You've fought valiantly, valkyrie," he said, in a soothing, almost musical voice. "Rest now. Victory is at hand."
He once more spread his wings and shot skyward, drawing a sword from the scabbard on his belt. The blade glowed red, as if it had just been pulled from a forge, then burst into flame. The yellow fire glimmered against his golden wings as he hurtled toward the dragons high above.
Graxen was lost in the maze of corridors. He found himself in a room where a human male dressed in a white uniform stood over the dying body of a tattooed woman. The man's eyes were hidden behind a visor, and his face was devoid of emotion. This wasn't the one the angel had called Adam. It must be another of the long-wyrm riders. A sky-dragon was slumped on the floor near him.
"I got here in time to save this one," the man reported.
Graxen nodded. He'd seen many horrors tonight, but as he'd passed through the fortress, he'd discovered more unconscious sky-dragons than dead ones. Hope wasn't lost. His species might yet survive Blasphet's assault. At the open window beyond the man, the night was aglow with white flames. He ran to it and looked up, trying to make sense of the chaos overhead. Bodies were falling from the heavens-sky-dragons, wreathed in fire. Graxen watched as the seven sun-dragons still in the air shot spouts of fire from their heads, frying the valkyries who bravely rushed to defend their home. One of the sun-dragons began to plummet, trailing a white hot arc of flame. Above the falling dragon hovered Gabriel, burning bright as the sun. Gabriel was aflame-his clothes, his hair, even his skin was peeling away in the pillar of fire that engulfed him. Gabriel had obviously been the target of the dragons many times, but if the fire caused him any discomfort, Graxen couldn't tell it. The angel remained aloft on his metallic wings, fluidly wheeling through the air to target his next opponent.
Gabriel drew his sword back to strike a sun-dragon that barreled straight toward him. He landed a decisive blow, burying his sword to the hilt in the dragon's gaping mouth. Unfortunately, the great beast was slow to realize it was dead. The dragon closed its jaws tightly around the angel's shoulder. It carried Gabriel forward through sheer mass, traveling a hundred yards before its body shuddered with the spasms of death. The dragon started to fall but didn't release its death-bite on Gabriel. The angel was dragged from the air by the plummeting dragon, falling a quarter of a mile until they both vanished in the waters of the lake.
Graxen leapt from the window. There were fewer than twenty sky-dragons facing the remaining five sun-dragons. If the sun-dragons made it through this gauntlet, it wouldn't matter that Blasphet and his cult were in retreat. The sun-dragons could gut the Nest with fire if they weren't stopped. Blasphet could still have his victory.
Graxen scanned the shoreline for any sign of a weapon. He spotted a spear jutting upright on a nearby balcony. He swooped down and tried to grab it in mid-flight. Alas, its tip was buried so securely in the stone the jolt of tearing it loose also snatched it from his grasp. He heard it clatter against the balcony railing as he circled around to grab it once more. He landed on the railing and looked down, surprised to discover a valkyrie lying in the shadows.
"Arifiel?" he asked.
"Graxen?" she answered. Her voice trembled as if she were shivering.
"I need your spear, valkyrie," Graxen said, grabbing her weapon from where he'd dropped it. "I promise I'll make good use of it."
"Why are you here, G-Graxen?" Arifiel whispered. "Are you to b-blame for this?"
Graxen swallowed hard. Was he to blame? Had his foolish desires turned him into an instrument of death? He instinctively shyed away from that line of thought. It could only lead to despair, and despair was a luxury he couldn't afford at the moment.
He removed the satchel he always carried from his shoulder. It would only weigh him down. It still held the beaded belt he'd intended to give to Nadala. It seemed as if the momentum of events would always conspire against him presenting her the gift. He tossed the bag to Arifiel's side.
"If you live and I do not," said Graxen, "give Nadala this bag, and tell her I loved her."
"L-love counts for nothing here," Arifiel said.
"Perhaps it counts for nothing anywhere," said Graxen, spreading his wings. "Tell her all the same."
He didn't wait for her answer.
With the spear in his hind-talons he climbed toward the conflict. He had seconds to study the aerial battlefield. The sun-dragons were relatively slow, but the jets of flame more than made up for that disadvantage. The flames could shoot out a hundred feet in the space of a second, and the five sun-dragons were swooping around in overlapping figure-eights. There was no part of the sky where a valkyrie could approach one dragon without being in the sight of another.