Lyana groaned, rolled her eyes, and punched her brother. "Bayrin, you go do that, and spare the world your stupidity. Mori will escape the sensible way—using the Portal Scrolls."
Bayrin scratched his head of red curls. "The porta-what-now?"
Lyana groaned even louder. "You really are an idiot, aren't you? Are you sure we're related?" She slapped his head. "The Portal Scrolls! You should have spent less time chasing girls with Elethor, and more time listening to your teachers' lectures."
"I sense another lecture coming on," Bayrin muttered.
Lyana seemed not to hear him; she kept speaking, nose raised. "King Elaras, son of Queen Luna the Traveler, crafted the Portal Scrolls in the year 3318. That's 232 years ago; don't break anything trying to do the numbers in your head. Each Portal Scroll has a map with a star on it. When you read a scroll, it will magically whisk you away to that place on the map."
Bayrin whistled. "Some magic! So, you don't happen to have any Portal Scrolls leading to the Crescent Isle, do you?"
Lyana glared at him. "Bayrin! If you had ever listened to anything your teachers told you, or even bothered to visit the Chamber of Artifacts, you would know. But of course, the Chamber of Artifacts is next to the library, and I forgot that you avoid being within a league of any book." She sighed. "King Elaras and his descendents used most of the Portal Scrolls, visiting many distant realms. Only two scrolls remain in the chamber, both pointing to Lacrimosa Hill."
"But…." Bayrin rubbed his eyes. "Lyana! Lacrimosa Hill is only about a league from here. You can bloody walk that far in an hour, or fly in a second. Why would Elaras even bother crafting a magical scroll leading to a hill just outside the city?"
The groan that escaped Lyana's mouth was so loud, it echoed in the chamber. "My stars, you really are the dumbest man in Requiem, aren't you? He crafted those scrolls to get back home. A scroll leading to Salvandos isn't very useful unless you can get home, right?"
"Me, I'd stay in Salvandos if it meant escaping a know-it-all sister," he muttered.
Lyana placed her hands on her hips. "That's as may be. In any case, the Chamber of Artifacts has two scrolls; they will take you and Mori into the forest." She glared at her brother. "Do you understand now, Bayrin, or do I need to get some puppets?"
"All right, all right, I get it!" Bayrin said. He rolled his eyes. "Do you see what I have to put up with, El? The real reason I volunteered to grab the Moondisk is to get away from the constant history lessons. So, Mors and I visit the Chamber of Artifacts, find those Portal Scrolls, and zoom into the forest, nice and far from all those phoenixes. Then it's off to the magical lands of moonlight."
Elethor stared down at Mythical Creatures of the Gray Age. The illustrated Starlit Demon stared back up at him, carved of stone, its eyes two stars. Did this ancient being still live below Requiem, entombed in the Abyss, the mythical caverns far below these tunnels? Like everyone, Elethor had heard stories of the Abyss. As youths, he and Solina would even creep down to the Abyss Gates—a towering archway of stone and iron. Solina had once wanted to enter them, to make love in the Abyss itself, but Elethor had become frightened and hurried back to the surface. Do I dare approach these doors again… and this time step through them?
He spoke softly, still staring at the book. "Only the King of Requiem can wake the Starlit Demon, if the stories are true." He took a deep breath. "It seems I am the king now, so this task falls to me. I've been to the Gates of the Abyss, though I don't know what lies beyond them. They say that beyond those doors, evil dwells, and tunnels plunge for leagues into shadow and fire." He looked up from the book and found Lyana staring at him. He stared into her eyes. "I don't know if this demon is real. I don't know what awaits in the Abyss; none have entered that evil place for centuries. But if more hope lies there, I will go on this journey. If the Starlit Demon truly lives and truly sleeps in the dark deep, I will tame him and bring him to Nova Vita to slay whatever enemies the Moondisk cannot."
Lyana stared at him steadily, cheeks flushed, and nodded. "And I will go with you."
Her parents began to protest at once. Deramon spoke of needing her here, by his side, to help him defend the tunnels. Mother Adia spoke of Lyana being only a child, of the dark depths being too dangerous for her. Lyana shook her head.
"Elethor needs my sword," she said. "And he needs my knowledge. According to this book, many traps and riddles guard the way to the demon's lair." She smiled crookedly. "I've always been good at riddles. Mori might be the fastest dragon, my father the strongest, my brother, well… I'm sure he has some talents somebody will discover someday. As for me, I like to think I'm the smartest of the group. Elethor will need my knowledge."
Elethor was about to say more when the room shook. The mugs rattled on the table, and shrieks echoed outside in the tunnels. The cries of men and ringing blades filled the cellar. Deramon and Lyana drew their swords.
"It's sunrise," Elethor said softly, his insides chilling. "And Solina's wrath is upon us again." He looked at them all, one by one. "We know our tasks. Deramon, lead the men. Defend these tunnels. Adia—heal the wounded, and pray for us."
Deramon approached him, axe in hand, and gave him a hard look.
"You better not let any harm befall my daughter," Deramon said, eyes narrowed. "If you do anything stupid down there, Elethor… if you let any harm come to Lyana… I will hunt you down with more wrath than ten thousand phoenixes." He growled. "It's your lover who burns our city. I don't forget that. You find a way to extinguish her flames, or by the stars, it won't be a phoenix who kills you. It will be my axe."
Elethor stared back at the gruff, grizzled face. "You keep these tunnels safe until I return, old man. Swing your axe at the Tirans, not at me. I will extinguish Solina's fire."
Deramon spat onto the floor, gave Elethor a last glower, then turned toward his daughter. When his eyes fell upon her, they softened. The gruff warrior suddenly looked like a mother bear. He pulled Lyana into his embrace and held her tight. She clung to him.
"Take care, daughter," Deramon said. "Come back to me. Don't let the boy do anything stupid."
She nodded, tears in her eyes, and kissed his cheek.
"Goodbye, Father," she whispered.
Lyana turned to her mother next. The stately priestess stared at the young knight, tall and proud as ever, but then her eyes filled with tears, and she seemed no longer a great figure of starlight, but a mother overwhelmed with grief and worry. She hugged her daughter close, and their tears fell.
"I love you, child," Adia whispered. "I will pray for you."
Elethor turned away from them, his own eyes stinging, and found Mori and Bayrin staring at him, silent. My best friend. And my sister. I'm sending them both into danger, and I don't know if they'll return. A lump filled his throat, and he could not curb his tears. He approached them hurriedly, so they would not see his turmoil, and pulled them into an embrace.
"Goodbye, Bay," he whispered to his friend. The young man's shaggy head pressed against his cheek. Mori clung to his other side, her face pressed against his chest. He kissed her head, and she looked up at him with huge, damp eyes. "Goodbye, Mori. I love you, sister. Be careful out there. Fly fast and return to me."
She nodded, lips trembling, and held him tight. "Goodbye, El. Please be safe. Please. Listen to Lyana and don't do anything stupid, okay? And if you see anything dangerous, don't be brave, just run. Promise me."
He laughed softly through his tears and mussed her hair. "Okay, Mori, I promise."
He wiped his eyes and pulled away from the embrace. The sounds of battle echoed through the chambers. Deramon and Adia were gone already, off to fight and heal. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Elethor approached Lyana and smiled thinly.
"Are you ready?" he asked quietly.
"No," she said. "I was never ready for this. Nobody was. But let's go." She tightened her lips, nodded, and her eyes flared with rage. "Let's find this Starlit Demon and kill Solina."
SOLINA
The statue of King Benedictus—the vile weredragon who had fought the griffins three hundred years ago—lay fallen and cracked in the square. Solina stood upon it, her boots smearing mud across its marble face. Hands on her hips, she stared at the archway before her, which led into the tunnels. Her men fought there, slamming sword and spear against defenders who lurked in shadow. The sun rose around them, painting the ruins red, and smoke unfurled like dark phoenixes. It stung Solina's eyes.
He did not return to me, she thought, pain pounding through her. He did not surrender. He wants to kill me.
Watching the fight, she clenched her fists and snarled. Her rage bloomed inside her like the fire of her amulet. She had given everything for him! She had raised an army for him. She had killed a cruel king and a vain prince for him. In her palace in Tiranor, she had built chambers for his sculptures, dreaming of the day he ruled by her side.
"You could have ruled in luxury," she whispered through clenched teeth. "You could have ruled me, my body, my soul. I would have given myself to you. I would have made love to you every night, kissed you until you cried with the sweet pain of it." She pounded her fist into her palm, growling. "But you choose to fight for the reptiles. You choose their love over mine. You will die for this, Elethor. You will die in more agony than any weredragon ever knew."
As she watched the blood sluice the street, she imagined Elethor's blood washing her. She swore that she would break him. She would shatter him with hammers. She would gut him alive. She would let him linger in life, deformed and begging for death. And finally, when he could bear it no more, she would burn him with her phoenix fire, then watch his ashes rise into the wind and scatter over the desert she ruled.
"That will be your fate, Elethor," she whispered. She shook her head, eyes burning and throat tight. "You will regret this. You will beg me to love you again, and I will laugh."
She drew her twin sabres with a hiss, leaped off the fallen statue, and marched toward the tunnel entrance. Her men fought around her, stabbing spears and sabres at the shadows. Solina saw weredragons fighting inside in their human forms, eyes dark and blades bloodied.
"Move aside!" Solina said to her men, snarling. "My blades thirst for blood."
Her men stepped aside, and Solina stepped toward the archway. Its stones, once white and carved with golden reliefs, were now slick with blood. Three weredragons stood at the entrance, hiding their lizard forms in facades of gruff men in armor. They raised the thick, double-edged longswords of the north—hacking weapons so crude compared to Tiranor's curved steel. More weredragons spread behind them into the shadows.
"Where is Elethor Aeternum?" Solina demanded, rushing toward the weredragons. "I will kill you instead, if he is too cowardly to die at my blades."
They thrust their swords at her, graceless hunks of metal. Grinning savagely, Solina swung both her blades. She parried two blows and swung again, slicing a man's face. Blood showered. Solina snarled, sabres whirring, shards of sunlight. Steel clanged and blood splashed. She parried more blows, sliced into a man's mail, and opened another's neck. He fell, blood spurting, and another replaced him only for Solina to slash his face.
She smirked. These were no warriors. They were brutes, their armor heavy, their legs stiff and their muscles slow. She was a dancer. She was wildfire. Her feet were quick, her sabres like striking asps, her teeth bared in a grin.
"We killed you in the sky," she said and growled. "We will kill you underground."
She swung her blades, reveling at the taste of splashing blood. She severed a man's leg, snarled, and swung her sword down so hard, she cut through another man's helmet. A sword hit her breastplate, knocking the breath out of her, but she only growled and kept fighting.
"Come face me, Elethor!" she shouted into the darkness. "Come taste my steel."
She kicked a soldier, cut down another, and forced her way into the archway. She found herself on a staircase that plunged into darkness. Her men cried for the Sun God and ran to fight with her; one stood at each side, and a hundred shouted for blood behind her. She swung her blades, kicked, sliced, and pushed her way down a step. Bodies fell before her. A hundred weredragons cried below upon the stairs, awaiting her steel. She slew three, suffered a cut on her arm, but pushed forward and descended another step.
"I will find you, Elethor. Step by step, I will descend into your lair."
Cries of war filled the darkness. Solina smiled and licked blood off her lips.
Time vanished. She fought for hours—maybe for days. Her sabres were parts of her, extensions of her arms, demons of her wrath. Soon her face, armor, and helmet were covered with blood; she was a red devil of death, blades always whirring, throat always growling. Her men shouted at her sides, dying, killing. A blade cut Solina's leg. She fell, pushed herself up, and drove her sword into a man's throat. Snarling, she pulled her sword back with a red shower, swung it again, and cut down another man.
She fought in darkness. The archway was far above her now, and she had descended many steps into this den of evil.
"You pitied me, weredragons!" she called, the blood of her enemies in her mouth. "You saw me as an orphan, a cripple, a sinner to burn and banish. Now you die at my feet, reptiles."
She swung her blades, cutting down more weredragons, and took another step into the darkness. Soon she saw the end of the staircase where a tunnel sloped into shadow. Corpses piled up there, a hill of her victory. A burly man emerged from the shadows and stood above the bodies, a sword in one hand, an axe in the other.
Solina grinned. "Deramon!" she cried to him and bared her bloody teeth. "Do you remember me, weredragon? Will you come die at my feet too?"
The memories filled her like fire in an oven. Deramon, cruel Captain of the City Guard, had always loathed her. He had once accused her of stealing from a temple—she had only taken one gem!—and twisted her arm, and would have beaten her had she not kicked him and escaped. Today she would do more than kick him. Today she would twist his arm too, until flesh ripped and bone snapped, and she would laugh as he screamed.
"Come to me, weredragon! You would torment me as a child, but I've grown. Come die."
He stood below, bodies around him, and stared at her. His eyes were narrowed and cruel. A cut ran down his face, dripping blood. For a moment the battle died, and the only movement was the thrashing of the wounded, the only sound their moans. Solina and Deramon stared at each other, and she grinned, prepared to dance.
Deramon nodded and stepped back.
Solina snarled and ran down toward him.
A dozen weredragons emerged from the shadows, shoving boulders.
Solina screamed. "Cowards! Fight me!"
They shoved the boulders and cried, and Solina slammed into the stone. She tried to climb above a boulder, but more piled up. She growled and punched the stone, bloodying her knuckles. Her men ran down to join her and pushed against the boulders, shoving them back.
"Break down their barricade!" Solina cried. "Kill them all."
But the weredragons were cowards. They piled up more stones, and she could not break through. She shouted to them.
"Deramon! Deramon, you coward! Fight me like a man. Or will you hide like a rat? Do you think your stones can hold me back for long?"
Soon she was forced to stop. She stood panting before the pile of boulders. Sweat and blood covered her. She spat, licked blood off her blade, and screamed. Her voice echoed like a hundred demons. Her men crowded around her, breathing heavily, swords drawn.
"Get hammers," she told them when she'd caught her breath. "We're breaking through."
Not waiting for a reply, she shoved her way through them so roughly she knocked one man down. She stormed upstairs, teeth gritting, until she emerged back onto the surface. She stood in the courtyard, dizzy with the heady smell of death.
Lord Acribus came marching across the courtyard, armor and sword bloody. He nodded his head at her.
"My queen." His voice was like crackling gravel.
/> "How are the other tunnel entrances?" she asked him, holding her blades crossed.
Acribus spat out a tooth. "They blocked them," he said. He uncorked his flask, took a draft of spirits, and swished it. When he spat it out, it was bloody. "Bastards put up walls of rock. My men are hammering at them. We will break them down soon."
Solina shook her head. None of this made sense. Did Elethor truly think he could win this way? Did he expect to survive, locked in darkness behind rock, forever buried underground?
"He'll die down there," she said. "He has enough food for winter, maybe. When spring comes, they will all starve. Unless…"
She thought back to the days she'd enter those tunnels with Elethor. Years ago, they would sneak underground most nights, undress in darkness, kiss each other across their bodies, make love in shadow where none could find them. She would scream in the darkness with nobody to hear, nobody to hurt her, pity her, judge her. One midnight, they had made love in the Chamber of Artifacts, their bodies pressed together as the wonder and secrets of the world covered shelves around them. Elethor had pressed her against a cold stone wall. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, head tossed back, and gasped at amulets, crystals, and…
She snarled.
"The Portal Scrolls," she said.
Acribus grumbled and scrunched his face, as if seeking more loose teeth with his tongue. "My queen?"
She growled and clenched her fists. "They have two Portal Scrolls down there, magical artifacts that can send two weredragons into the forest." She nodded. "Elethor will try to flee that way, or send his sister to safety. Come, Acribus." She started walking across the square. "We head into King's Forest."
Acribus snarled and followed. "If Mori the weredragon whore tries to escape, I will catch her." He clutched his wounded arm where the princess had stabbed him. "I will make her envy her dead brother. I will make her beg for death."
A Dawn of Dragonfire (Dragonlore, Book 1) Page 11
