As they walked through the streets, Solina remembered the sight of Acribus thrusting into the princess as Orin lay dead, and she smiled.
BAYRIN
Soldiers rushed around them, shouting and drawing weapons. Survivors huddled in shadows, some weeping, others nursing wounds, all pale and trembling. Priests ran from wounded to wounded, praying, healing, comforting the dying. As Bayrin walked down the tunnel, stepping over and around survivors, he kept looking at Mori. The princess, he thought, looked just as hurt, pale, and haunted as any one of the dying souls on the floor. Her eyes were rimmed with red. She kept sniffing and looked close to bursting into tears.
"Hey, Mors," he said hesitantly and tapped her arm. "Chin up, huh? We're going to find those scrolls, find the Moondisk, and kick Solina's backside."
She only sniffed, twisted her fingers, and a tear rolled down her cheek. Bayrin touched her shoulder awkwardly, not knowing what to do. She flinched and shied away. How could he comfort her? Would she be like this the entire journey, trembling and weeping? He would go mad within a day!
"I know," she whispered, and her lips wobbled. She dared not meet his eyes, only twisted her fingers behind her back and stared at the floor.
Bayrin looked away from her and stared forward into the darkness. He held a tin lamp, but its wick cast only soft light; he could barely see three feet ahead. He kept walking, stepping between the crowds of survivors.
Why couldn't somebody else have gone on this quest with him—if not Elethor, then maybe Janith the blacksmith, or one of Father's men… or really anyone other than the weepy, frightened princess. Even his sister Lyana, for all her lectures and scoldings, would have made a better companion; though Bayrin hated to admit it, at least Lyana was brave and strong. But Mori? All his life, Bayrin knew Mori as the girl who screamed when spiders crept into her room, who cowered when dogs barked, who always stared at her toes shyly whenever he tried talking to her. The king had thought sending her south to Castellum Luna would toughen her up, but now Mori seemed even more timid and weepy. Bayrin sighed.
"Here we are, Mors," he said and pointed at a doorway in the tunnel ahead. "The Chamber of Artifacts."
The archway loomed above them, its keystone engraved with the Draco constellation. Its doors were thick oak clasped with a heavy lock. The archway only seemed to scare Mori further, and she hugged herself. She glanced longingly at the entrance to the library, which lay across the tunnel, then gulped and looked back the Chamber of Artifacts.
"I have the key," she whispered.
The Chamber of Artifacts, like the library, was locked to most people; the treasures within were too valuable. Only the royal family carried the old, filigreed keys to these tombs of secrets. Mori produced hers—she wore it around her neck on a chain—and unlocked the door with trembling fingers. She closed her eyes, whispered a prayer, and tugged the doors. They creaked open, revealing a room of shadows.
"After you," Bayrin said, but Mori only trembled.
Bayrin sighed. He considered holding her arm to guide her into the chamber, but knew she'd only cringe at his touch. Instead he stepped into the chamber alone and beckoned her to follow. With a shiver, she took small steps into the darkness.
Bayrin raised his lantern… and his breath died.
He was no prince; he had never been in this chamber, one of the holiest places in Requiem. All the magic, power, and history of the realm filled this place. On one shelf, he saw three golden skulls, twice the size of human skulls. The Beams, he knew; in countless bedtime stories, he'd heard how the old heroes of Requiem shone their light against the nightshades. In a chest on the floor, a thousand red gemstones glowed. Animating Stones, Bayrin thought—the magical gems that had given life to Dies Irae's monsters of rotting bodies. On other shelves he saw the Summoning Stick, an enchanted candlestick that could call griffins for aid; a jar of shards labeled "The Griffin Heart"; and dozens of jewels, statuettes, quills, and… two parchment scrolls.
"Look, Mors, some scrolls," he said, hoping that at least would cheer her up. "You reckon those are the Portal Scrolls, or some naughty drawings your brother hid here? Either way, we're winners!"
She only sniffed, and Bayrin groaned inwardly. This is going to be a long quest. He stepped around a few golden vases, reached up, and grabbed the two scrolls. Tied with blue ribbons, they felt unnaturally cold. He tossed one to Mori, untied the ribbon on his scroll, and began unrolling it.
"Wait," Mori whispered.
Bayrin paused, the scroll half-unrolled in his hands. "What is it?"
She shivered, the scroll rolled up in her hand. "What if… what if there are phoenixes out there? In the forest." She sniffed. "Lacrimosa Hill is only a league away. What if he sees us?"
Bayrin frowned. The princess was trembling and pale; Bayrin had never seen anyone look so frightened.
"Who is he, Mori?" he said, scrutinizing her.
She knuckled tears from her eyes, bit her lip, and clutched the sixth finger on her left hand.
"I mean… the phoenixes." Her voice was so quiet he barely heard.
Bayrin patted her shoulder, but she flinched and lowered her eyes. He sighed and said, "Mori, the phoenixes want to kill us. And they think we're all in these tunnels. They won't waste time searching a bleak forest a league away. Once we magically appear there, we'll find a nice, empty hill far from any phoenixes. And if they are there? Well, you're the fastest dragon in Requiem, right? You escaped thousands of those phoenixes before. If any lurk in the forest, just fly away, fast as you can. I'll be right behind you."
That seemed only to terrify her further. For the first time, she met his eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "But I don't want to flee them! I want to hide here." She clutched his sleeve. "Please, Bayrin, please let's not go. Please! Let's just find a place to hide here underground, or… or look for a different, better magical artifact."
"Mori!" Bayrin groaned inwardly, and he felt his anger rise. "You're the one who wanted to find the Moondisk in the first place, remember? You can't back out now! I know you're scared, but… stars, Mori. Crying and trembling won't help us defeat the phoenixes, will it?" She began to sob, and Bayrin rolled his eyes and softened his voice. "Look, Mors, I know you can do this. I believe in you. So chin up. Stand straight. Be brave. I'm with you, remember?"
She nodded, sniffing and rubbing her eyes. "All right." Her voice was so soft, he barely heard.
He helped her untie the ribbon binding her map. "On the count of three, all right?"
She nodded, face white and lips trembling, but she met his gaze. Her voice was but a whisper. "All right."
Just to be safe, Bayrin clutched the hilt of his sword. "One… two… three…"
They unrolled their Portal Scrolls, and Bayrin looked at his. It showed an ancient map, torn in one place, its ink faded. He recognized Nova Vita in the north and the ruins of Draco Murus in the east. And in the center, between small ink trees, a red star was drawn above Lacrimosa Hill.
The star began to spin and glow.
Bayrin looked over the map at Mori. She stood before him in the Chamber of Artifacts, staring at her map. She looked up to meet his gaze…
…and the world swirled.
The chamber twisted like a whirlpool. Mori's face stretched, ten feet long and curving. Light pulsed. Bayrin felt nausea rise in him. He winced and raised his hands, but his fingers extended across the room, and the shelves coiled, and shadows leaped. Then the room bulged and rippled, like a reflection in a pond under rain, and sparks rained. With a pulse of light, branches rustled, smoke filled his nostrils, and black streaks settled into the forms of burnt birches. The shadows faded, and Bayrin found himself standing in puddles of melted snow in a smoldering forest.
Mori was nowhere to be seen.
Frowning, Bayrin drew his sword and looked around. Something had gone wrong. The smell of smoke filled his nostrils. He was in the right place—this was the hill where, according to legend, the tyrant Dies Irae slew Lacrimosa, Queen of Re
quiem. But shouldn't Mori's scroll have pointed here too?
"Mori!" he whispered, belly churning.
Figures stepped out from behind the trees.
Bayrin cursed.
There were six of them. They wore breastplates over chain mail, the steel so bright it was almost white. Their hair was platinum, their skin golden, their eyes blue. Their sabres bore pommels shaped as rising suns.
Tirans, Bayrin knew. These are their human forms.
One of them—a tall and slim woman, her breastplate snug against her body—wore a golden mask. She removed it slowly and smiled at him.
"Hello again, Bayrin."
It was Solina.
Still clutching his sword, Bayrin raised his eyebrows and clucked his tongue. "Well hullo, Soli old friend. Been what, seven years? Time does fly. You must be looking for your old lover, El. Sorry to say he's not here at the moment, but if you'd like a roll in the hay—you know, for old time's sake—I'm more than happy to fill in."
She sighed. "Time has not made you any wiser." She turned to one of her men, a beefy warrior who looked like a rabid bear with yellow teeth. "Acribus, kill him."
The man snarled, drooled, and burst into flames.
Bayrin caught his breath.
The fire raced across Acribus. The man's flaming arms outstretched, and he rose into the air, ballooning and crackling, until he soared as a phoenix.
With a growl, Bayrin shifted into a dragon, flapped leathern wings, and shot into the sky.
He crashed between burnt branches, scattering chips of wood. Flames crackled and phoenix screeches rose. Bayrin growled and flew higher, as high and fast as he could. Below him, the other Tirans combusted into phoenixes. Their inferno rose, and heat blasted Bayrin.
"Stars damn it!" he shouted and flew forward, circling the hill. Phoenixes rose around him, their flames reaching toward him. One firebird shrieked behind him, and talons blazed against Bayrin's tail. He howled, spun around, and blew his own fire. The jet slammed into the phoenix, its beak lashed, and Bayrin screamed.
I can't fight it, he knew. Fang or fire can't kill it. He cursed and swooped, crashed between branches, and soared again.
"Mori!" he shouted. "Mori, where the stars are you?"
A phoenix swooped from above. Two more took flight from each side. Bayrin cursed, dived, and flew between trees. Smashed branches flew around him. He soared again, covered with ash, his scales blazing.
"Mori!" he shouted. "Stars damn it, Mori!"
He saw a flash of blue below. He dodged a phoenix, suffered a blast of fire, and dived. He saw the color again—a girl in a blue cloak, huddling between the trees.
"Mori! Mori, fly!"
She looked up at him, shivered, and seemed ready to faint. The phoenixes swooped toward Bayrin, and the trees below crackled. The snow melted.
"Mori, shift into a dragon! We're getting out of here!"
With a cry of fear, Mori became a slim golden dragon and took flight. A phoenix dived toward her, lashing fire. So fast Bayrin gasped, Mori skirted around the phoenix and soared higher. She flew toward him.
"Bayrin, behind you! Fly!"
He spun in time to see the phoenix shoot toward him, a blazing comet. The firebird crashed into him, and flames engulfed Bayrin. He howled in pain. Golden scales flashed, and Mori flew toward them. Her wings beat and her claws slammed into the phoenix, kicking it off. She cried in pain.
"Come on, Mori, we're out of here!" Bayrin shouted.
He began flying west. She flew at his side. When Bayrin looked over his shoulder, he saw five phoenixes following.
"Catch them!" Solina cried below, the only Tiran still in human form. "Bring me their heads, Acribus, or I will content myself with yours!"
Bayrin flew as fast as he could. Mori flew at his side, panting. The flames howled behind them, the heat bathed them, and ten thousand more phoenixes flamed a league north above the city. Bayrin cursed, narrowed his eyes, and flew.
LYANA
"Well, here it is," she said quietly and couldn't suppress a shudder. "The Gates of the Abyss."
Lyana raised her tin lamp, shining its light against the archway. It rose fifty feet tall, dwarfing her; she could have walked through this archway even in dragon form. Its keystone was shaped as a dragon's skull, horns blood red. Its remaining stones bore engravings of screaming mouths full of shattered teeth. Heavy doors filled the archway, wrought of iron that had not rusted in two thousand years. Cold air blew from beneath those doors, sneaking under Lyana's armor to chill her flesh. She clutched her sword's hilt like she would clutch Mother's hand as a child.
Standing at her side, Elethor drew a silver key from his tunic; it hung around his neck on a chain. All members of royal House Aeternum owned these keys, Lyana knew, even the young Princess Mori. They unlocked all forbidden places here in the underground: the library of ancient codices, the Chamber of Artifacts… and these dark doors to the Abyss.
"Are you ready, Lyana?" he said. "Are you afraid?"
Lyana shuddered to remember the stories her nurse would tell her of this place. The old woman whispered of horrors that dwelled below—rotting bodies that walked, naked moles the size of horses, ancient demons that could shrivel your body with a glance. Lyana had never believed those stories, not even as a child, but then again, she had never believed in phoenixes either. She had never believed she would lose her beloved. She had never believed she would see her friend and princess, the dear Mori, broken and ravaged and left a trembling shell of a girl. Who was to say what horrors truly existed in the world, and what were the whispers of old wives?
Yet she only glared at Elethor. She would show him no fear.
"I'm not afraid," she said. "I am a knight of Requiem. We will find this Starlit Demon, and we will tame him."
Elethor looked at her strangely, as if trying to read her mind.
"But I am afraid." His voice was soft. "This is a dark place, and I wonder if, on our quest to defeat the phoenixes, we unleash more beasts whose evil we cannot expect." He lowered his head, took a deep breath, and looked back up at her. Compassion softened the fear in his eyes. "It's okay to fear this darkness. Even great warriors feel fear; Orin would too."
Her insides trembled, cold sweat trickled down her back, and her head spun. But Lyana only raised her chin, tightened her jaw, and whispered, "I don't."
Slowly, Elethor placed his key in the heavy lock. It scraped against the metal, a sound like a banshee. Suddenly Lyana wanted to stop him. Don't! she wanted to cry. Don't unleash what horror dwells there! There must be another way! Yet she only tightened her lips, clutched her sword, and took a deep breath. Be brave, Lyana, she told herself. You are a bellator. You are a warrior. Whatever waits behind these doors, you can slay it.
Elethor paused, key in lock, and looked at her. She stared back, silent. He took a deep breath and shut his mouth. He seemed to be considering his words, then spoke again in a low voice.
"Lyana, I don't know what lurks beyond these doors. I don't know how long we will live once we walk past them, or if we'll even live long enough to enter. Before I unlock these doors, I want to tell you how sorry I am for your loss."
A deep sadness seeped into Lyana, like an underground river of ice. She sighed and lowered her eyes. Suddenly thoughts of demons and skeletons paled in her mind, overcome with this sadness, the tragedy of all this death.
"I know," she said softly. "I'm sorry too, Elethor."
Pain filled his eyes like ghosts in old castles. He placed a hand on her shoulder. His voice was hoarse.
"Lyana, I know this might not mean much now, in these tunnels, in the cold dark. And I know that you're a strong, capable woman, and I know you're not afraid. But however I can, I swear to you: I will look after you. I…" He swallowed. "I'm not a warrior like Orin was. I'm not strong as he was, nor as wise. But I promise you, Lyana. I will protect you however I can—in the Abyss, and if we return from it. For whatever it's worth, you have my sword, and you have my loyalty."
She couldn't stop a sad smile from touching her lips. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
"Thank you, Elethor," she said. "But for now, focus less on protecting me and more on finding this Starlit Demon. All right?"
His eyelids flinched, as if her words stabbed him, and Lyana sighed inwardly. What did he want her to do? To throw her arms around him, weep and kiss him, and vow her eternal love? He was her betrothed now; his older brother had died, so he had inherited all of Orin's claims, his titles, and his woman. Lyana was a daughter of Requiem, and she accepted her laws. That did not mean her grief left her. That did not mean she could forget how Elethor had spent years shunning the court, yearning for the woman who now burned it. He confessed that he lacked Orin's strength and wisdom. Did he want her to deny it? She could not. He was her king now. She would respect that. But love him… love him like she loved Orin? Accept him as a hero, a protector? She could not.
"All right, Lyana," he said softly, and pain lived in his voice. "We enter the darkness."
He turned back to the lock, took a deep breath… and twisted the key.
The lock clanked.
The doors to the Abyss, this dark lair of secrets deep below Requiem, began to creak open.
Lyana shuddered and gritted her teeth. Iciness stung her fingertips and roiled her belly. She would never admit it, of course. She was a soldier. A heroine of Requiem. She must show strength, especially now, especially to Elethor. And yet as the doors creaked open, revealing mist and shadow, cold sweat washed her.
She did not know what she was expecting. Demons to attack? Rotting bodies to lunge at all? Soon the doors were opened wide, and she saw nothing but shadow, smoke, the glimmer of smooth stone walls. That was all. Just a tunnel. And yet this darkness filled her with more fear than skeletons or demons would. She could kill skeletons or demons, smash them with her sword, beat them down, defeat them with all her skills of war. It was the darkness she feared. The secrets. The unknown.
A Dawn of Dragonfire (Dragonlore, Book 1) Page 12
