A Dawn of Dragonfire (Dragonlore, Book 1)

by Daniel Arenson

  "Elethor," she said softly.

  He pushed back a curl of her hair. "Lyana."

  She swallowed and stared at him. "It's time to find that Starlit Demon. I want to leave this place."

  He nodded. They walked into the darkness, swords raised, smoke curling around their boots.

  ADIA

  She tried to run past her husband's soldiers. They held her—broad men in armor, their eyes hard. She tried to push them aside, but they stood firm.

  "Let me through!" she demanded, glaring at them. "I am High Priestess of Requiem, and I command you move aside."

  Adia was a tall woman, and she knew that men often whispered of her stern eyes, her cold face, her commanding voice that could wither flowers. Yet none of that held sway in these tunnels, as men clashed and cried and died ahead in the darkness. She looked over the men's shoulders and saw their comrades pile rocks and wood, sealing the chambers above—the library, the wine cellar that had become their war room, the armory where Solina had burned all those Adia had labored to heal.

  "I'm sorry, Mother Adia," one of the soldiers said, eyes lowered. "Your lord husband commands it. The upper tunnels have fallen, from the library to the armory."

  "It is no longer an armory!" Adia said. "It ceased being an armory once you donned your armor, and once we started moving the wounded in. It's a hospital now, and I'm a healer, and you will let me through."

  She was about to shove them again when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun around, glaring, to see her husband. Dust covered Deramon, painting him gray. Blood trickled from a wound on his shoulder, thick with dirt. Dents and scratches covered his armor, and welts ran down his cheek.

  "The upper chambers have fallen," he said, voice low and gruff, but tinged with softness. "They're dead, Adia. They're gone."

  She spun back to the soldiers, then back again to Deramon, and felt close to panic. She forced herself to stand still, to take deep breaths, to ease the hammering of her heart. Her eyes stung and her belly felt so cold and heavy, as if ice filled it.

  I swore to heal them, she thought. They depended on me. I shouldn't have left them. I shouldn't have gone to sleep while they burned. Now the hurt are gone, while I, the healer, linger.

  She turned and faced the other direction, staring into the darkness. Survivors huddled before her, lining the walls. There were so few of them. So many had not managed to escape the upper chambers. From behind her, she heard the cries of the Tirans, clashing steel, and a scream. A voice cried out the words of Requiem—"May our wings forever find your sky!"—torn with pain.

  "There are still Vir Requis alive up there," she whispered, a tremble running through her.

  Deramon nodded, grim. "They're beyond our help now."

  The voice behind her rose in a scream—a cry of more anguish than Adia had ever heard, even in her hospital.

  "They're torturing our men," she whispered.

  Deramon held her shoulder and began leading her away. "We can no longer help them, only pray. Come with me, Adia."

  How could she just leave this place? How could she abandon those Vir Requis who still lived beyond the line of battle, cut and broken and tortured by Tiran steel? And yet she walked, head raised, eyes staring ahead. She would pray for those still left behind… pray that death found them quickly.

  They walked deeper into darkness and found a corner to huddle in. She sat on the cold ground, Deramon's great arms holding her, and Adia closed her eyes. She could still hear the screams, even down here, and she clenched her jaw so tight, her teeth ached.

  Did her children scream like this too? Had the phoenixes caught Bayrin, her firstborn, the son she loved with all her heart? Did the terrors of the Abyss now torture her daughter, the brave and beautiful Lyana, the light of her life? Would her children leave her like Noela?

  I should not have let them go! Adia thought, fingernails digging into her palms. I should never have let them leave me! They need me now. They need me to protect them.

  "Mother Adia," spoke a soft voice. "Mother Adia, I beg you. My wife, she's… she's giving birth, and… the midwife is in the upper chambers. Please, Mother, can you help?"

  Still held in Deramon's arms, Adia opened her eyes. She saw a young man with a wide, pale face. Sweat soaked him and his left arm was wrapped in bloody bandages. Adia stared at him in silence, and for a moment she only thought: What of my children? What of those I gave birth to? Leave me. Your child will die with the rest of them.

  She wanted him to leave, and she hated herself for it, and her thoughts scared her more than anything in this darkness.

  She rose to her feet.

  "Lead me to her," she said. She was still Mother of Requiem, and all the survivors were her children. She would protect them, heal them, comfort them… until the fire consumed them all.

  BAYRIN

  Dawn rose cold and bleak. Bayrin lay under his cloak, his head on a rolled-up blanket. Mori lay at his side, her cheek upon her hands. She still slept, face pale in the dawn, her hair spread out like a halo. Even in sleep, she seemed fearful; her lips were scrunched, her eyelids were closed tight, and she occasionally winced. Bayrin lay watching her as the sun rose. Her thigh pressed against him, a hint of warmth in the icy forest.

  "No, please," she whispered in her sleep, and her legs kicked. "Please, Solina, please, please don't."

  Bayrin sighed. He raised his hand, hesitated for a moment, then stroked her hair. It felt soft and smooth, like running his hand over silk. She calmed, her face smoothed, and her breathing deepened.

  A deep anger filled Bayrin as he watched her. She was only a thin, pale thing, the last petal of a flower in snow. Bayrin knew of the shame she carried. She had spoken in her sleep of that night, begging for Acribus to release her, begging for the stars to forgive her for her shame.

  She's only a child, he thought. Eighteen years old, but so much younger in spirit. How could anyone have done this to her?

  With a pain like a dagger in his gut, Bayrin regretted all those years he had taunted Mori, all those times he'd mock her extra finger, tug her hair, and joke of her tears and trembles. It had been easy to roll his eyes at Mori back in Nova Vita, when walls and guards surrounded them, when wars were merely the words of old stories. Here in the wilderness, the phoenix on their trail, he felt ashamed. Careful not to wake her, he kissed her pale cheek. It was cold against his lips.

  She mumbled and her brow furrowed.

  "Mmmm… Bayrin?" She opened her eyes and blinked. "Did I kick you?"

  "You damned near cracked my ribs," he said. "Horse kicks are weaker than yours."

  She blinked and kicked his leg. "How's that?"

  He feigned a look of pain and let out a long, exaggerated groan. "Oww… my bones are shattered!"

  When she smiled sheepishly, eyes lowered, Bayrin couldn't help but feel warmth inside him, like butter melting.

  You are my princess, he thought. I might only be a lowly guard, the lesser son of a great house, but I will serve you as best I can.

  They rose in the cold morning, breath frosting before them, and wrapped themselves in their cloaks. Snow filled Bayrin's hair and his boots were soggy. Clouds glided across the sky and flurries fell. In their packs they found only some bread, cheese, and dried fruit. They shared the breakfast, eating with numb fingers.

  "Mori," he said, "we should fly today."

  She bit her lip and shook her head silently.

  "It's been two days since we saw the phoenix," Bayrin continued. "If he's still hunting us, he's hunting us leagues away. We should shift into dragons and fly to the sea. It still lies hundreds of leagues away; walking is too slow."

  She lowered her head, and a tear ran down her cheek. "But Bayrin, if we fly, he'll see us. I know it." She raised her eyes; they glimmered with tears. "Can't we walk for just another day, to be sure he's gone?"

  Bayrin placed an awkward hand on her shoulder. "Mori, Requiem needs us. My sister needs us. Your brother needs us. Solina is still attacking the
m, and if we can't bring the Moondisk back soon, more will die. We can't dally any longer."

  She hugged herself. "But… but what if he sees us, Bayrin? What if he's flying up there? We're little as humans. But dragons are too large, our scales are too bright, and…"

  "We'll have to take that risk. For Requiem. We'll have to be brave. We'll be brave together, all right? I know you can do this."

  She looked at her feet, trembling, then looked up at him again. Her eyes were so large, so haunted, so full of pain, that Bayrin felt his chest twinge. Without breaking her stare, she shifted.

  Wings sprouted from her back, a pale gold like honey. Scales clanked across her, fangs and claws sprouted from her, and soon she stood before him, thirty feet long, a golden dragon with sad eyes. Bayrin shifted too and stood before her, a long green dragon, fifty feet from snout to tail's tip. Snow fell around them, their breath plumed, and their scales frosted.

  They leaped, scattering snow, and flapped their wings. With a shower of twigs and snow, they crashed through the treetops into the sky. Snow flurried and wind howled in Bayrin's ears. Their wings thudded, bending the trees, and they soared until they flew among the clouds. Hidden among them, they leveled off and dived north. Wind and snow flowed around them.

  As they flew, Bayrin kept looking around him, seeking phoenix fire. Once he thought he saw the beast, and his heart leaped, but it was only the sun glowing dimly through the clouds.

  He's leagues away, he told himself. Stars, I hope we never see that bastard again.

  They flew for several leagues before the clouds parted, revealing a rolling landscape. Cliffs and mountains rose like battlements, their eastern facades gilded with sunlight, their western slopes melting into mist and purple shadow. Evergreens rose tall and frosted, and a frozen lake glimmered like beaten silver. Herds of deer swept across valleys, while eagles soared from mountainous nests. The two dragons' shadows raced across the land. Even this high up, the smells of pine filled Bayrin's nostrils.

  He saw no towns, no farms, no sign of civilization. Mori was better at maps, but Bayrin thought they flew beyond the Old Kingdom's borders, heading toward the distant Terius Bay. This was a cold hinterland north of Requiem, west of the fallen kingdom of Fidelium, and east of the mythical land of Salvandos. Few bards ever sang of these lands. Few scrolls told their tales. In most maps, they were empty spaces of canvas. It was a realm untouched by man or dragon, wild and beautiful.

  As he flew, Mori at his side, his thoughts kept returning to Requiem, to his family and friends. While he flew here, the cold air in his nostrils, they huddled underground. While he fled one phoenix, they fought an army. Suddenly he wished Elethor had not chosen him for this task. He was no explorer, no hero, no warrior. He should be back home, helping his family and friends. Even if he couldn't fight well, he could still comfort them, make them laugh, bring some light to the darkness. But here… was he truly helping Requiem here? Was there truly a Moondisk beyond mountain and sea, or did Elethor merely send him here to spare his life, to save the princess from death underground? Bayrin didn't know. If all should die and he lived, the shame would be too great to bear, he thought.

  They should have sent my sister. Lyana would know where to fly, what to do, how to fight. They should have sent my father; he's a great warrior and would have killed Acribus in the fort. They should have sent my mother; she's a healer, and could have healed the pain inside of Mori. But they sent me… Bayrin. A lowly guard. A jokester. A fool. Why should they fight and die, while I flee over wild country?

  He ground his teeth. He had to believe. He had to find this Moondisk, if it truly existed, or die seeking it. He would not be a coward, hiding beyond map and measure as his kingdom fell.

  "We will return, Requiem," he whispered into the wind. "Fight. Stay alive. We will bring aid."

  Mori looked at him, wings churning the clouds, smoke seeping from her nostrils. He could see the same thought in her eyes.

  They glided over mountain and forest. In the afternoon, they spotted goats upon a mountain and swooped to hunt. They flew again with bellies full, soaring over an icy lake, a frozen waterfall, and cliffs bristly with pines. At night they slept as dragons, curled up in the snow, coiled together for warmth. At dawn they flew again, frost on their scales, blowing fire to warm them.

  For three days they flew—over ancient forests, plains of snow, and mountains that rose around them as jagged walls. On the fourth morning, the sun cold in an iron sky, they saw Terius Sea ahead.

  It stretched beyond Bayrin's sight, curving to span the horizon. Lines of foam ran across it. The water was deep iron, stained cobalt where hidden valleys plunged. Jagged boulders rose from the depths like the hands of drowning gods. Bayrin had once flown east to Altus Mare, a port city in the kingdom of Osanna. There the waters had been green and bright, but here they spread like oil, dark and foreboding. He hovered before the sea, wings flapping.

  "I'm scared," Mori said, flying beside him. There was no wind, and he could hear her words clearly, even above the thud of their wings.

  He gestured with his head toward the rocky beach, snorted a blast of fire, and spiraled down. Soon he felt the spray of crashing waves. He filled his wings with air, reached out his claws, and landed, smoke rising from between his teeth. Mori landed beside him, claws nearly silent against the rocks, and folded her wings. The sea grumbled before them, spraying them with salt.

  "Mori," he said, "you used to love books of maps. How far is the Crescent Isle from this shore?"

  She stared into the sea. "Hundreds of leagues," she said. "A distance as wide as Requiem. But… those maps are very old, and the Crescent Isle appears only in ancient myths. I don't know what the true distance is." Her claws dug into pebbles. "Maybe the island doesn't exist at all."

  Bayrin shot a jet of flame over the waves. Was this a fool's errand? They could perhaps navigate by the stars—he knew some of the skill—but how far could they possibly fly at once? Fifty leagues? A hundred? Soon or later, they would need rest. What if they found no island; were they doomed to drown?

  Despite his earlier vows of heroism, he was tempted to turn around, find a quiet forest, and spend the rest of his days there with Mori. They could live forever here in the hinterlands, far from any phoenix or war. They would hunt goats, and sleep in their cloaks, and Mori would kick him at night, and he would smooth her hair, and kiss her cheek, and never have to feel like a failure again, the lowly son of a great father.

  So don't act like a lowly son, whispered a voice in his head. All your life, you've watched men praise your father, worship your mother, admire your sister for her courage and knighthood. So you would mock them, and run off with Elethor to alehouses, and forget the world. But now Requiem needs you—not the great Lord Deramon, or the beloved priestess Adia, or the brave knight Lyana, but you… Bayrin. Now is your time to be the hero.

  Bayrin didn't know who spoke to him. Was it a part of his own mind? The stars of Requiem? Was it the voice of Elethor, his best friend and now his king?

  "Bay, are you all right?" Mori asked. She touched him with her snout, her breath warm against his scales.

  He shrugged his wings. "I could use a ship. And a night's rest in a soft bed. And some tavern wenches with big eyes and bigger mugs of ale. But otherwise I'm fine. Are you ready for the longest flight of your life?"

  She lowered her head and whispered. "I flew from Castellum Luna in the south to Nova Vita, and it took me two days with no rest." She raised her head and stared at him, her eyes haunted with the death of her brother, the death of her father, and her own tragedy. "I am ready to fly as far as it takes."

  Bayrin briefly considered waiting, resting, spending the day here on the beach, then flying tomorrow. But Solina would not wait; she would be slaughtering his people as he stood here on the shore. With a blast of fire, he kicked off the beach, his wings flapped, and he soared into the sky.

  Mori flew beside him and they streamed forward, shooting so low the sea sprayed the
ir bellies. Their reflections raced along the water beneath them, and Bayrin saw the shapes of submerged boulders, valleys, and hills. When he looked behind him, he could see distant forests under mist. Soon they too were gone, and they flew over endless water.

  The sea stretched into the horizon, cold and cruel as a grave.

  ELETHOR

  He flew, a brass dragon with white claws, wings roiling ash, flames trickling from his mouth like the tails of comets. Lyana flew at his side, squinting. The sea of lava below painted her blue scales a deep purple. The liquid fire gurgled, whirled, and shot up fountains. The dragons flew side to side, dodging them. A stone ceiling rose above them, embedded with countless skulls of dragons, spiders nesting in the eye sockets.

  "We must be close now!" Lyana cried, voice dim under the roar of lava and wind. "In the books of Requiem, the Abyss is said to end where rock turns to fire. We will find the Starlit Demon here."

  Elethor was less hopeful. They had been flying for hours—since the tunnels had given way to this sea of fire. He had seen no sign of a demon, no sign of life but for the spiders that crawled in the skulls. This place could be vast, larger than the world aboveground. And yet what other hope did they have? And so he flew, wings aching, the heat baking his belly, the smoke stinging his lungs.

  A fountain of lava gushed from the sea. Elethor cursed, banked, and knocked into Lyana. They tumbled aside, nearly hit the burning sea, and soared. The stream of liquid fire crashed into the ceiling and boulders fell. One knocked Elethor's tail, and he shouted a curse but kept flying. Drops of lava fell like rain.

  "Are you all right?" he asked Lyana.

  She nodded, but weariness filled her eyes, and a burn spread across her wing.

  Damn this place, Elethor thought. His tail ached and droplets of lava sizzled on his wings. He was tired, so tired that he could barely flap his wings, barely breathe the smoky air.

  "I see a rock ahead!" he shouted to Lyana. "Let's rest for a bit."