A Dawn of Dragonfire (Dragonlore, Book 1)

by Daniel Arenson

  No, Deramon thought. We cannot defeat them, even here. Not with so few men. Not against the wrath and fire of these southern demons. They needed aid; Deramon knew that. They needed his children back.

  Boots thumped behind him, running up from the deeper tunnels, and a man called out, "Lord Deramon!"

  He turned to see Silas, a young soldier who had once guarded the eastern wing of Olasar's palace. Today half his face was burnt and bandaged, but he still carried a sword and shield. His eyes were wide and blood splashed his dented armor.

  "What is it, Silas?" said Deramon. "Speak."

  The young soldier reached him and bowed his head. "My lord Deramon, men are fighting at the silo. One stabbed another. Others are trying to grab the sacks of grain."

  Deramon began marching at once, fists clenched. Silas followed. What guards lined the walls stood at attention, chins raised, hands grasping swords and spears.

  Children of Requiem squabbling over grain like hens, Deramon thought in disgust. I will have them flayed. His anger bubbled in him. His king had fallen. The new Boy King had plunged into darkness. He, Deramon Eleison, was caretaker of Requiem now, an ancient and proud kingdom. He would not let it descend into madness on his watch.

  He marched down sloping, twisting tunnels like the veins of a stone giant. Soon he reached the lower silos. The main pantries were higher up, in the chambers Solina had claimed; there Requiem stored its dried fruit, vegetables, smoked meats, salted fish, barley, and sacks of golden grain. Here in the depths was only what grain the upper chambers could not hold—a meager supply that Deramon doubted could feed the survivors for a moon. Ten guards stood at the silo's gateway, holding back a crowd of men who were trying to push through. One man lay dead in the corner, a knife in his heart.

  "My daughter is starving to death!" a man was shouting, shoving a guard. "Starving! She has not eaten in three days. She is only four years old. How could you stand here like this, letting us die?"

  Another man began shoving a second guard. "There is grain behind you! You are a man of Requiem, or do you serve the Tirans? Let us through."

  The guards were scowling and shoving the men back. "The grain is rationed. Your children are not starving; they received grain like everyone else."

  The first man had tears on his cheeks. "What grain? She hasn't eaten in three days! Where are these rations? Not all received them." He grabbed the guard's spear and tried to wrench it free. "I will hand out the grain."

  Deramon stormed toward them, howling. "Cease this!"

  His guards bowed their heads. The men who'd tried to break through cried of hunger, of famished children, of youths eating double rations, leaving others to starve. Deramon listened and scowled. He was a fighter; he knew how to kill an enemy with steel, claw, and dragonfire. Hunger was a foe he had never known, and it might be the foe that slew them here.

  How long before this grain is gone? How long until we turn to eating one another? Two moons? One?

  "Silas," he said to his guard, "organize another round of rations—one cup of grain per person. Take what men you need to make sure everyone eats. If you see anyone eating double rations, depriving another of food, I want them clamped in irons and brought before me."

  Silas bowed. "Yes, my lord."

  Sacks of grain were opened and gourds being filled when shouts rose from the tunnels behind. Steel clanged and cries echoed. A soldier came racing from around the corner, face red.

  "My lord Deramon! Tirans are breaking through the barricade. They have a battering ram."

  Deramon cursed, drew his sword, and ran. His soldiers ran with him. He raced up the tunnels, heart hammering.

  Maybe it won't be hunger that kills us after all, he thought. He rounded a corner and beheld the barricade collapsing, sending boulders tumbling and dust flying. Through the wreckage, he glimpsed a battering ram slam into the rocks. Tiran troops stood around it, blades drawn and eyes full of bloodlust.

  It is a blessing, Deramon thought and snarled. We'll die of steel and fire. We'll go down fighting after all.

  A dozen Tiran troops broke through the wreckage, leaped over the boulders, and ran toward him. Deramon howled, swung his sword, and leaped into battle.

  MORI

  Her pain had faded into a daze. Her wings blazed with agony; she knew that, but could barely feel it. Her lungs burned, her muscles cramped, her heart thudded. The agony drove through her, but exhaustion drowned it like a gag muffling screams. She and Bayrin had been flying for a day and a night. Dawn rose around her, and still she saw no island, only endless leagues of sea.

  She wanted to ask Bayrin how he was, but could find no breath. He flew by her, tongue lolling. Her wings felt like they could fall off. She could almost imagine it—one more flap, and they'd disconnect like sails torn from a ship, fly alone into the horizon, and she would tumble. Despite herself she laughed weakly.

  "Bayrin," she managed. "Let's… let's swim for a while."

  If she could no longer fly, perhaps she could swim, let her wings rest and her legs propel her onward. She began spiraling down, wings billowing, the smell of salt in her nostrils. When she reached the water, she nearly crashed into it. It stung her belly, ice cold, shocking her. She lost her breath and wanted to take flight again, but could not. Her wings hurt too much. Lashing her tail, she managed to flip onto her back, stretch out her wings, and float.

  Bayrin spiraled down above her. He crashed into the water by her side, howled, and cursed.

  "Stars, this water's cold!" He flipped onto his back and floated beside her. He panted, smoke rising between his teeth. "Gone is the hope for any future little Bayrins."

  Mori smiled wanly, not sure she understood the jest, but thankful that Bayrin's spirit was high enough to attempt one. Though she shivered in the water, she was thankful for a break from flight; her wings cramped and blazed in pain. She lay upon the water, watching the clouds roil. They formed gray and blue shapes like swooping dragons which soon began to weep. The sleet pattered against her belly. Suddenly she found that she too was weeping.

  "Mori!" Bayrin said. "I know you were hoping for little Bayrins, but… what's wrong?"

  What was wrong? How could he ask that? Her world had fallen. Orin was dead and so was Father. Her city lay in ruin, Elethor was in the Abyss, and she lay here, a dirty and impure thing, floating in a sea that could never wash her shame. She wept for her fallen brother and father, for her soul that too felt dead. But how could she tell Bayrin that? How could she speak to anyone of the twisting guilt, grief, and agony inside her? How could she tell them that she still saw Orin's eyes, lifeless, staring at her from his burnt face as Acribus choked her?

  Instead she only said, "Bayrin… I want to go home."

  He sighed and his eyes softened. He reached out his wing and touched her shoulder.

  "We will go home," he promised. "We'll fly over Requiem again, Mori. You and I, and Elethor and Lyana. We'll hunt in King's Forest, stargaze from Lacrimosa Hill, and lie in the palace gardens and watch the birds. We'll sit by the fireplace in Alin's Alehouse, drink sweet ice wine, and listen to minstrels play. You'll read your books with maps, and Elethor will whittle those little wooden animals of his, do you remember them? We will rebuild our city. We will go home again."

  But was there a home? she wondered. Was there still a forest, and a garden, and an alehouse, or had they burned? Was there still a city to rebuild, or mere piles of ash and bodies? Did Elethor and Lyana lie dead underground, or twisted by black magic?

  "I have to believe," she whispered. "Or otherwise let the sea claim me." She stared into Bayrin's eyes. "We will find the Moondisk. We have to."

  Or else all this pain, this death, was for nothing.

  Bayrin opened his mouth, as if about to speak, when suddenly his eyes widened. A cry of pain tore from his maw.

  "Bayrin!" Mori cried.

  He kicked and floundered. His wings fluttered, spilling water, and he rose from the sea.

  Mori screamed.

&
nbsp; A twisting lamprey clung to Bayrin's back, its mouth locked onto his scales. The creature looked like a great, writhing worm, tall and wide as an oak. Its tail lashed in the water. Hovering above the water, Bayrin tried to soar. His wings fanned the sea, sending ripples across it, but he was upside down, legs kicking uselessly at the air. He could not rise. The lamprey tugged, holding him down like a chain.

  "Get it off!" Bayrin cried.

  Mori flipped onto her belly, craned her neck forward, and blew fire.

  The jet slammed against the lamprey, roaring hot. The creature opened its mouth, detaching itself from Bayrin, and screamed. Its mouth was a perfect circle, a foot in diameter, and ringed with several rows of teeth. Blood filled it.

  Bayrin soared, teeth marks on his back. Below, the burnt lamprey crashed into the water and began swimming toward Mori.

  Heart pounding, she leaped from the water, wings flapping. Waves rippled. She soared, dripping wet, and the lamprey leaped, soaring after her. It was massive—easily the length of her tail—its body slick and undulating. Its mouth opened wide. Wings thudding madly, Mori screamed, swiped her tail, and knocked it aside. It crashed into the water, writhing and screeching.

  "What the stars was that?" Bayrin shouted, blood on his scales. He looked from side to side, as if seeking it.

  Water rose in curtains. Two lampreys leaped from the sea and flew toward them. They had no wings, but they soared as if shot from geysers. Their maws opened wide, and their teeth glimmered.

  Mori screamed and blew fire at one. The other slammed against her tail, and its teeth sank into her flesh. She cried in pain, lashed her tail, and began to fall. It tugged her down—she could barely believe its weight. She flapped her wings madly, struggling to rise.

  "Bayrin!"

  He swooped, leveled off, and shot forward. His flames baked the creature. It screeched and fell.

  Three lampreys leaped from the sea.

  Mori shouted, batted one aside with her tail, and flew high. A lamprey shot up to her right, dripping water and screeching. She flamed it and kept soaring, and soon the sea was distant below her. Ten more lampreys leaped from the water, and Mori was sure that she flew high enough. But the lampreys kept flying upward, as if they were mere fountains of water. Their mouths opened wide.

  Bayrin blew fire at one. Mori blasted her flames at another. One flew up directly beneath her, mouth wide, tongue reaching out. She swerved, and the lamprey knocked against her side, mouth sucking the air. She tumbled, flapped her wings, and knocked into another lamprey. She clawed at it, beat it back, and flew higher.

  "Bayrin, higher!" she shouted.

  They climbed the sky. Soon they flew so high, the waves were mere ripples, and the air was cold and thin. When the lampreys crashed back into the sea below, they seemed small as earthworms. Mori blew out her breath in relief.

  "Bayrin," she said, "you're hurt, I—"

  Screeches rose below. She looked down to see a hundred lampreys, maybe more, shoot up from the water. They must be mad, she thought. We're hundreds of feet in the air.

  And yet they kept soaring, tails flapping, propelling themselves through the air as if swimming underwater. Mori growled and flew even higher, but the lampreys were faster. Soon they were feet away, and she bathed them with fire. They kept shooting up, aflame. Several shot around her, so fast that she felt the whoosh of air. Another slammed into her belly, and she shouted, clawed at it, and knocked it off.

  The lampreys who overshot her turned in midair and began to fall. One slammed onto her back, its teeth dug into her shoulder, and she screamed.

  A growl pierced the air. Bayrin swooped, a lamprey clinging to his tail, and slashed his claws. He dug into the lamprey on Mori's back, and when it opened its mouth to screech, it detached from her flesh and fell.

  "Bay!" Mori cried and blew flame, hitting the lamprey that tugged on his tail. It burned, writhed madly, and tumbled.

  Dozens more came shooting up from the sea.

  "Damn it!" Bayrin said. "These things could probably fly to the stars themselves. If flying up won't stop them, fly north! Come on!"

  The lampreys soon soared around them, mouths sucking air, tongues seeking. The dragons flew forward on the wind, blasting fire at the creatures. They seemed endless. Whenever one crashed back into the water, three more shot up. The wounds on Mori's shoulder blazed; the lamprey's teeth had chipped her scales and dug down to the flesh. Blood trickled from her leg. She blew fire in all directions, but soon her flames dwindled to mere sparks; she would need rest and food to replenish them, and she would find neither in this sea.

  "Mori, look, ahead!" Bayrin shouted. He slammed a lamprey with his tail and clawed another.

  Mori stared ahead and gasped. Her heart leaped. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she howled.

  "The island! The Crescent Isle!"

  It still lay leagues away, but her eyes were sharp, and she knew this was the place. Green and misty, it formed the shape of a crescent moon. From here, it seemed as small and distant as the moon itself. She had never felt such hope, such joy and relief. Her body shook with it. She blazed toward her salvation.

  A volley of lampreys flew at her. Several slammed into her belly, knocking her into a spin. Teeth dug into her. For a moment she saw only spinning sky and clouds.

  She clawed the lamprey on her belly, but it wouldn't release her. More of the beasts flew around her, mouths peeling back, revealing their many teeth. They leaped from all sides, flew in arcs, and rained above her. One more slammed into her side and bit. Soon they were sucking her blood as she screamed.

  "Bayrin!"

  Three of the beasts clung to him, writhing as they fed. Bayrin howled. He tried to roast them with fire, but only sparks left his maw; he too was too tired, too famished, too weak. He clawed at the beasts, and one fell, but two others slammed into him and bit.

  "Fly, Mori, to the island!"

  She coughed and gasped for breath. Two lampreys clung to her, and dozens more leaped all around. She lashed her claws and tail, knocking them aside. She couldn't even claw the ones attached to her without letting ten more bite.

  "Mori, fly!"

  She flew. Her wings blazed. She howled in pain. She shot forward, dipping, rising again, tumbling. She managed to slash the lamprey on her belly, and it fell, but two more leaped. One attached its maw onto her leg, and the other replaced the one on her belly. She screamed and clawed but kept flying.

  She dipped. Soon she flew a hundred feet over the water, then fifty. The lampreys kept tugging her down, drinking her blood, and she howled as she flew.

  Please, stars, give me strength, let me reach the land alive.

  She did not know how long she flew. Minutes seemed like hours. Her eyes blurred. She could barely hear Bayrin roar at her side, barely see him. Mist swirled around her. Pines rose ahead.

  The island.

  It lay a league away, maybe closer, its trees towering, dark green columns rising from fog. She flapped her wings with every last drop of her strength. Just to reach that island. Just to land. To rest. To sleep.

  A lamprey leaped from the water, slammed into her, and bit her neck.

  Her eyes rolled back, she tumbled, and icy water crashed around her.

  Her head went under. Water filled her nostrils. She kicked, dazed, pain pounding through her. She screamed and bubbles rose around her, white orbs in the deep blue. Her blood rose like red ghosts. Weakly, she lashed her claws, pierced one lamprey, and saw ten more swim toward her.

  Goodbye, Bayrin, she thought. Goodbye, Requiem. I go now to the starlit halls… to Father and Mother. To Orin.

  Claws slashed. A tail swung. Fangs bit. Lampreys screeched and fled, and Bayrin grabbed her under her wings, pulled her up, and her head rose from the water. She gasped for air.

  "Mori, fly! Fly, Mori, we're almost there. Fly!"

  He tugged her, raising her from the water. Boulders jutted around them. A rocky beach rose ahead, appearing and disappearing as waves crashed. She
flapped her wings once, rose from the water, flapped again. Pines rose ahead like the columns of Requiem. She growled and flew, a lamprey still on her shoulder. She knocked her feet against a boulder, flapped her wings again, and drove a dozen feet forward. She hit another boulder, flew again, leaped and soared and crashed onto a beach.

  Bayrin landed beside her, three lampreys on his body. He thrashed and knocked them off. Mori leaped onto them and bit, digging her fangs into their flesh. They opened their bloody maws to screech, and the dragons scurried up the shore, coughing and hacking. Bayrin slammed his tail against the last lamprey clinging to Mori, and it too fell, wriggled down the beach, and disappeared back into the water.

  The wet, wounded dragons pulled themselves forward, too weak to fly, until they crawled beneath the pines. There they crashed down upon fallen pine needles, panting, blood seeping.

  "We made it," Mori whispered, staring up at mist that swirled between the evergreens. "We reached the Crescent Isle."

  Bayrin coughed and smoke rose from his mouth. Their tails reached out, seeking each other, and braided together. Soft rain began to fall. Mori closed her eyes and slept.

  SOLINA

  She walked down the tunnel, sabres drawn, and entered the library. Her lips peeled back in a smile.

  The chamber was as she remembered. Its ceiling curved high above, high enough that if she wanted, she could shift into a phoenix here too, burn all the books and scrolls upon the shelves. But she was no brute, no mindless killer. Unlike most of her men, she knew how to read and write—both Old and Common Tiran, the Dragontongue of Requiem, and the High Speech of eastern Osanna. She knew that books held power—a power greater than steel, as great as magic itself. She would empty these shelves. She would take these books and scrolls back to the desert, place them in her temples, and learn from their lore.

  Requiem will remain bare of knowledge, she thought, a wasteland of skeletons and dried blood.

  "My queen!" said one of her men, a captain with a bloody sunburst on his breastplate. He bowed before her, fist against his chest. "The prisoners await your inspection."