A Dawn of Dragonfire (Dragonlore, Book 1)

by Daniel Arenson

  The phoenix landed in the snow before him. It regarded him for a moment, and then its fires flared, twisted, pulled inward. It shrank and reformed, taking the shape of a human. It was a woman, he realized—a woman with platinum hair, a golden mask, and sabres at her hips. She walked toward him as the sky burned. A crystal hung around her neck, a flame dancing inside it.

  "Who are you?" Olasar whispered, staring up at her.

  She came to stand above him, staring down through her golden mask. In one hand, she held a sack. Her other hand rested on the pommel of her sword.

  "Olasar," she said to him, her voice itself like caressing flame. "Hello again."

  He squinted, staring up at her; she stood dark before the wall of fire. Her golden mask glimmered. He tried to rise but could not. Welts rose across him, seeping. The pain spun his head and sweat drenched him.

  "Show yourself," he managed to say, reaching for his sword with charred fingers.

  Slowly, the woman removed her golden mask… and Olasar snarled.

  You were right, Lyana. Stars bless us.

  "Solina," he whispered hoarsely.

  Her face was golden, her eyes blue, her lips cruel. A burn mark ran across her face, from forehead to chin and down her neck. She traced the scar with her fingers.

  "My line of fire," Solina said softly. "You remember how your son, the great Prince Orin, burned me." She opened her sack and held it upside down. A severed head rolled out. Half the head was burned into pulpy, red flesh. The other half was locked in a cry of anguish.

  "No," Olasar whispered, then howled in the night. "My son! My son." Tears filled her eyes.

  Solina nodded, smiling softly. "He burned me… and so I burned him. And so I will burn all of you."

  Olasar shook his head. Though the pain suffused him, he managed to rise to his feet. He drew Stella Lumen, his ancient sword. The fire of the phoenix army blazed against the blade.

  "I took you into my court," he said, voice trembling but still strong. "I raised you as a daughter. I—"

  "You lie!" Solina screamed. Suddenly her eyes blazed, and her fury twisted her face. "I was no daughter to you. I know, Olasar. I know what happened to my true parents. I know that you killed them." She laughed and touched the crystal at her neck; the flame inside it danced. "But I am strong now; I have the strength of the Sun God. As you killed my parents with steel, so will I kill you. Goodbye, tyrant. May your soul forever burn in the court of my lord."

  She drew her sword. It crackled with fire and she drove it forward. Olasar parried, sparks showered, and his blade shattered. Shards of steel flew.

  Solina snarled and her blade thrust. It drove into Olasar's chest, burning, blazing, twisting inside him.

  He fell. Solina laughed above him, and all Olasar saw was the thousands of firebirds flowing north, burning all in their path, heading to the heart of his realm… and then the flames flooded his world, and he saw nothing else.

  LYANA

  "No," she whispered, eyes stinging. Her breath died within her. "Stars, please, no… Stars, no."

  The image seared her. Orin's head, severed and charred, rolling from a sack. It stared up at her from below, hundreds of yards away, but dragon eyes were sharp, and she knew it was him. Tears blurred Lyana's vision.

  "Orin, stars… my Orin."

  My love. My betrothed. My prince.

  She watched as Solina pulled her sword free from the king's body, this woman who had once been like an older sister to her. Smirking, Solina sheathed her blade, leaped into the air, and flames engulfed her. She spread fiery wings and took flight as a phoenix, a flaming beast the size of a dragon. Her shrieks tore the air.

  "Kill every last dragon!" Her voice stormed through her beak of fire. "Soon we fly to Nova Vita."

  Lyana had heard enough. She had to warn them. The king had commanded her. Growling, she spun around and began flying north. I will warn them. I will save our city.

  She shot through the battle, eyes narrowed. Around her, dragons were still dying, burned in the grip of phoenix talons. Three of the firebirds dived toward her, leaving trails of flame. Lyana flew sideways, dodging them, and flashed around them. She soared, jaw clenched.

  You will not have died in vain, Orin, she vowed. I will save our people.

  She had always been fast—not as fast as Mori, perhaps, but faster than anyone else she knew. Her body was slim, her scales smooth, her wings strong. She burst through walls of fire, howling, and shot into the clouds.

  Snow flurried and filled her maw. Its ice stung the welts that covered her wings. She flew higher and higher until her eyes burned, her lungs ached, and she could barely see or breathe. She straightened, glided forward, and looked down.

  The battle raged below, hidden under the clouds. She saw bursts of light where phoenixes flared. She heard their shrieks and the death cries of dragons. When she looked north, she saw only darkness, but she knew Nova Vita lay ahead across lake and mountain. Capital of Requiem. Home to thousands of Vir Requis she had to save.

  The shame of leaving her phalanx—a hundred soldiers sworn to serve her in battle—dug through her chest. She was a knight, a leader of warriors… and she was leaving them to die. She gritted her teeth and fire flared inside her.

  Yet I will obey my king. I will save the people of Nova Vita. I will do what I must.

  She flew toward the city. She cut through the night, the cold air stinging.

  Shrieks sounded behind her, moving closer. When she looked over her shoulder, she cursed. Three phoenixes emerged from the clouds, flames blazing, and flew toward her.

  "Damn it!" Lyana gritted her teeth and flew faster. She could not let these beasts follow her home. She dived, plunging into the cloud cover. The snow slammed against her and the wind screamed.

  The phoenix cries rose behind her. She turned her head and saw blazes of light through the clouds, like three suns chasing her. She flapped her wings mightily.

  Even three could destroy our city, she thought. I can't let these ones reach Nova Vita before I evacuate everyone into the tunnels.

  She kept flying. They kept chasing, orbs of light inside the clouds. They will not leave me. Lyana swerved sideways and flew east, cursing the delay; every moment she lingered could mean another life lost. When she looked back, she saw the flames follow, blazing among the clouds.

  Stars! How could they keep following her? The clouds were surely too thick to see a slim, blue dragon who blew no fire. I must be leaving a wake through the clouds… that, or they can smell dragons.

  She flew up and down, left and right, but the phoenixes followed. Their shrieks grew closer. The clouds began to thin, and Lyana cursed under her breath. Soon the flurries of snow died, and only wisps of clouds raced across her scales. Sky burst open before her, black and tainted with the orange glow of distant fire. Smoke billowed above, umber and gray. Behind her, a wall of fire rose from the battle, casting red light like blood across the land.

  The phoenixes cried behind her. Lyana glanced back and cursed. They tore through the last clouds, comets of fury, blazing toward her. Their wings burned red and yellow. Their beaks opened, revealing gullets like flowing lava. Their eyes flared, collapsing stars. They left wakes of flame as they soared toward her. Though the night was black, their light filled it; they saw her, and they cried with bloodlust.

  What unholy magic had created these beings? Lyana growled and swooped. She had seen one turn into Solina, adopted sister to her fallen betrothed. These are no demons, she thought. They are men and women with magic similar to ours. We can turn into dragons; they turn into these creatures.

  She could not fight fire. If she could face them in their humans forms, she could kill them.

  She dived toward Aranath Mountains below, chunks of black rock in the night. The phoenix light blazed against them, racing across the black stone and patches of snow. Lyana would come to these mountains with Orin—sweet, handsome Prince Orin—and they would walk through caves, whispering, holding hands, stealing kiss
es. If I must die today, let these caves be my place of eternal rest.

  "Come on, you bastards!" she shouted over her shoulder. She blew a jet of fire back toward the three chasing phoenixes. "You killed him. You killed my love. Now come face me."

  She swooped, claws extended. She knew these mountains better than anyone in Requiem. Wind whistled around her, and the phoenixes cried so loudly, snow cascaded and melted below. She saw the cave there, her cave, hers and Orin's, its mouth round and five feet tall, short enough that she'd always had to stoop to enter.

  She landed outside the cave. As soon as her claws hit the ground, she shifted into human form. Her wings pulled into her back. Her fangs and claws retracted. Instead of scales, steel armor covered her body. Her sword—as much a part of her as her arm—still hung on her belt. She ran into the cave, hand on its hilt.

  She spun around, the cave walls close around her, and saw an inferno.

  Damn them. This delay shot fear through her. She needed to reach Nova Vita quickly. Mori had fainted after only a vague warning and might still be sleeping. Did the city know of this phoenix fire? Did they know they could not fight, only hide? Lyana had to warn them. She had to fly now. She had to kill these beasts quickly, or it would be too late.

  The phoenixes landed outside the cave. Snow melted and fell like rain around them. Wings thrashing, they reached into the tunnel with claws of fire. The flames blazed. Lyana leaped back; the heat blasted her armor, and she felt like her eyeballs could melt. She retreated into the darkness.

  The first time we made love was here, sweet Orin, she thought, eyes stinging and throat burning. The image kept playing before her eyes—his head rolling from the sack, burnt and grimacing—even now as these beasts of sunfire clawed outside.

  "Come in and face me!" she cried. "You are like us children of Requiem. You have human forms; I have seen it. Come face me, or are you such cowards that you dare not face one woman?"

  They howled and flared. Their heat drenched Lyana with sweat; locks of her damp, red hair stuck to her face. She snarled, holding her sword before her. With her left hand, she drew her dagger, its blade shaped as a dragonclaw. The heat of battle raged over her loss of Orin, simmering over her grief.

  "Be with me, stars of Requiem," she prayed. "May your light shine upon my blades."

  With cries of fury, the phoenixes outside shifted.

  Their fire pulled into them, twisting and coiling into human shapes. The flames darkened and hardened, like lava cooling into stone, until they became flesh. They stared at her, eyes still burning like coals. They wore breastplates of steel emblazoned with the golden Sun of Tiranor, and swords hung at their sides. Their hair was a blond so pale, it was almost white. Their skin was golden, their eyes blue and cold. Each wore a chain holding a crystal glimmering with fire. Two were men, their faces bearded and cruel. The third was a woman holding a sabre and a spear. The sides of her head were shaven, revealing sun tattoos, and her lips were pierced with rings.

  "See how she cowers in darkness," said the woman to her companions. Her voice was cold, her eyes ruthless. "When the dragons burned our homeland, they howled with their pride, their bloodlust, their cruelty. See what pathetic creatures they've become." She snarled and her voice rose to a shout. "Hail the Sun God, destroyer of Requiem!"

  "Tirans," Lyana said, eyes narrowing. "Return to your homeland that we burned. Leave Requiem, or we will kill you on our mountains, like we killed you in your deserts."

  The female Tiran smirked. Her armor was bright, and her blades glimmered like shards of light, flames racing across them.

  "You may call me Phira of the Two Blades," she said, raising her sword and spear. "Do you see them? They will cut your tongue from your mouth, weredragon." She spat out the last word in disgust.

  Lyana snarled. Weredragon. It was a dirty word, an ugly curse. She was Vir Requis, a proud daughter of Requiem, descended from the hero Terra Eleison himself. Hers was old blood, proud and pure. Like every child of Requiem, she could grow wings and scales, breathe fire, and take flight as a dragon. It was a magic old and noble, kissed with starlight. Weredragon meant a reptile, a filthy beast.

  "And you may call me Lady Lyana Eleison, a knight of Requiem, daughter of Lord Deramon and Mother Adia," she said. "May the stars burn your souls."

  She ran toward them.

  The two men ran to meet her. Lyana lashed her sword and dagger. The soldiers parried. Flames leaped from their swords and burned her sleeve. She screamed, swung her sword, and blades clashed again. She raised her dagger, parrying a thrust. Flames hit the cave walls and steel rang.

  "Requiem!" she cried. "May our wings forever find your sky."

  The words of her fathers. The words of battle, of death, of blood and hope.

  Her blades swung and thrust, glowing bright. She knocked one sword against the wall, thrust her blade, and pierced the man's neck. The second Tiran swung down his sword, and she raised her dagger. The blades sparked. The blow nearly dislocated her arm, and she screamed, but pulled her sword free and swung low.

  Her blade slashed the leg before her, and the second man fell. She leaped back, dodging his sabre, and thrust. Her sword slammed into his mouth, muffling his scream. Blood spurted and he fell. More blood painted the cave walls and floor, congealing in the heat of fire.

  Two men lay dead, sabres still crackling.

  Phira, the Tiran woman, snarled. She stepped over the bodies and raised her blades. Fire wreathed her, glittering upon the rings piercing her lips. The suns tattooed onto her head seemed to burn with real fire, but her eyes were cold, chips of ice. There was no humanity in them, only hunger and cruel amusement.

  "Very good, girl," she said and licked those pierced lips. "Not bad for a weredragon. But now you will taste true steel."

  Phira thrust her spear.

  Her arms ached, but Lyana parried. The blades clanged. Phira's sabre swung next, and Lyana barely checked the blow.

  Phira was strong, stronger than Lyana had expected. She cried in pain. Her sword nearly flew from her arm, and her bone felt like it could snap. The sabre swung. Lyana parried with her dagger. Phira's spear sliced her hip, and she cried.

  "Do you like the taste of my steel?" Phira asked, smirking. She thrust her blades again. Lyana parried, grunting in pain. Sweat dripped into her eyes. The spear sliced a lock of her hair, and the Tiran laughed.

  "Yes, groan for me, weredragon," she said and spat. "That's how I like to hear reptiles die."

  Lyana screamed and thrust her sword. Phira parried, caught her wrist, and bent her hand back. Fight her! Lyana cried to herself. You are a knight of Requiem!

  Phira clutched her right wrist, twisting, her strength almost unreal. Lyana felt like her bones could shatter. As her fingers uncurled and her sword fell, she thrust her dagger. She aimed for Phira's neck, but the Tiran moved aside, and Lyana's dagger scraped across her pauldron. Sparks flew. Phira laughed and punched, slamming her fist into Lyana's face.

  Light blazed. Blood filled her mouth. Lyana fell, hit the ground, and tried to rise. Phira kicked her chest, knocking her onto her back. Her boot stepped onto Lyana's left wrist, and she yanked her dagger free. Stars floated before Lyana's eyes.

  Up! Up, daughter of Requiem! She growled and tried to rise, but the boot crushed her hand. Phira's second boot pressed down on her neck. Lyana couldn't breathe, couldn't even scream. She groped for her weapons, but couldn't reach them.

  Phira smirked above her. "You must be that Lyana the Weredragon Prince spoke of," she said. "The troops speak of this Prince Orin. When my queen tortured him, he cried your name. Lyana, Lyana! All the while as Queen Solina's blade cut him, he shouted for you." Phira laughed. "He cried like a girl, they say, and squealed like a pig when my queen finally ran him through."

  No. No, stars, it can't be. Tears blurred Lyana's eyes. She wanted to see him again, to hold her Orin, kiss him, heal him. But he's dead now, dead like the king, like so many upon the battlefield.

  The smirk neve
r leaving her face, Phira knelt. Her knee drove into Lyana. She gasped in pain, and Phira's hand clutched her throat. Lyana struggled, and Phira backhanded her, rattling her jaw. She spat blood and coughed, gasping for breath.

  "We shall see," the Tiran said, "if I can make you squeal and beg for death too."

  She kept one hand on Lyana's throat. Her second hand drew a serrated knife from her belt. Despite the heat that still lingered, her hand was icy. Lyana kicked the air, trying to hurt her, trying to break free. She could not. She could see only stars, the Tiran's snarl, her cold eyes. Her knife ran down Lyana's cheek, drawing blood.

  "Filthy weredragon," Phira said in disgust. "Will you beg for death too before I pull you entrails from your body?"

  Lyana clenched her fists. She was a bellator, a knight of Requiem. I will not die today.

  With a howl, she grabbed Phira's wrist, twisted, and shoved the knife up.

  The blade slammed into the Tiran's neck. Blood gushed, showering onto Lyana's face. Screaming, she twisted the blade.

  For an instant, Phira stared in shock, eyes wide, spittle on her lips. Then she screamed, a gurgling sound. Lyana shoved the woman off, rose to her feet, and lifted her fallen sword.

  Phira convulsed on the ground, knife still buried in her neck. Fear flooded her eyes. Lyana looked down at her, dripping sword in hand. With her other hand, she wiped the blood off her face.

  "Will you beg for death?" she whispered.

  Phira stared up at her, eyes blazing.

  I didn't think so.

  Lyana drove her sword down, blood splashed, and it was over.

  She turned, ran out the cave, and stood upon the snowy mountainside. Screeches and howls rose in the night. Lyana was slick with blood, her eyes stung, and her knees shook. She had never killed before; tonight she had taken three lives.

  No, she told herself and forced a deep, shuddering breath. There's no time for horror now. She allowed herself to count to five. That was all. One. Two. Three. She trembled, forced another breath, and clenched her jaw. Four. Five.