A Dawn of Dragonfire: Dragonlore, Book 1

A DAWN OF DRAGONFIRE

DRAGONLORE, BOOK ONE

by

Daniel Arenson

Copyright © 2012 by Daniel Arenson

All rights reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.

 
 
MORI

Mori was standing on the fortress walls when she saw the phoenix rise.

A bird of fire, it soared from the snowy horizon, wings outstretched like sunrays.  It must have been huge—the size of a dragon or larger.  Mori gasped and shivered.  The wind whipped her cloak, scented of fire, too hot for winter.  She grasped her little finger behind her back, the sixth finger on her left hand, her
luck
finger.  Her pet mouse clutched her shoulder; he too had seen the creature of flame.

"Orin!" Mori whispered, lips trembling.  She wanted to cry out louder, to sound the alarm, to summon her brother and all his guards… but her fear froze her lips like the frost upon the endless forest before her.

The phoenix coiled in the distance, soaring higher, a creature of grace and beauty.  It seemed woven of nothing but fire, and a wake of sparks like stars trailed below it.  Mori could hear its distant call, caws like a southern bird of many colors.

Mori wanted to flee.  She remembered all those stories her brothers would tell her, terrible stories of griffins attacking Requiem and killing a million of her people. 
Even when we took dragon form, we could not stop them,
her brothers would say and squawk like griffins, making Mori run and weep and hide.

"But that was a long time ago," Mori whispered, fingers shaking, even her luck finger.  It had been hundreds of years since griffins had attacked, and Requiem was strong now, so powerful no enemy could harm her.  Fifty thousand Vir Requis lived in Nova Vita, fair city of the north, and each could grow scales and wings, take flight as a dragon, and defend her.

Still, she reminded herself, Nova Vita lay far north—so many leagues away, she could not count them.  Here in the south, in cold and lonely Castellum Luna, only fifty Vir Requis dwelled.  Her brother Orin.  A few soldiers.  And her… the princess Mori, an eighteen-year-old girl with one finger too many, a pet mouse, and enough fear to drown her.

She squinted at the horizon.  The phoenix was undulating skyward like a candle's flame torn free from the wick.  Its song carried on the wind.  Her mouse twitched his whiskers, scurried down Mori's gown, and entered her pocket.  Mori envied her pet; she often wished she too could hide so easily.

"Maybe it's good," she whispered.  "Maybe it won't hurt us, Pip."

Without Pip, her dear mouse, she would have gone mad down here, she thought.  It was just so
lonely
in this southern hinterland.  So… so cold and distant and everything frightened her.  Mori missed Nova Vita.  She missed the city's marble columns that rose between the birches, so beautiful, not like the rough bricks of this outpost.  She missed her father the king, her friend the Lady Lyana, and all the minstrels and priests and jugglers and storytellers.  Most of all, she missed the library of Nova Vita, a towering chamber with so many books she could read for a lifetime.

Why did Father have to send her here?  Why did Requiem even need another settlement?  Nova Vita was good enough.  Mori had tried to tell Father that, but he only spoke of Requiem recovering from the griffins, and expanding to her old borders, and how the southern air would put some courage into her, and…  Mori wanted to weep.  None of it made sense to her, and nothing so far had made her any braver.  If anything, her fear only grew upon these cold stone walls, staring into this frosted forest, and watching this bird of fire.

As she stood frozen in fear, the horizon kindled.  An orange glow rose from distant mist, spreading tendrils across the white sky; it was like sunrise from the south.  The snowy forest turned red, and the smell of fire filled Mori's nostrils, spinning her head.  Flames crackled and finally she found her voice.

"Orin!" she shouted from the walls.  "Fire, Orin!  The forest is burning!"

But no, this was no forest fire, she saw.  These were no earthly flames.  Countless more phoenixes spread wings.  Countless wakes of fire rose like comets.  The horizon blazed with an army of firebirds, eagles of sound and fury.  Their shrieks rose, cries of war.  The clouds themselves burned and the forest shook, its frost melting, its trees crackling.

"Orin!" Mori cried.  She wanted to use her magic, the magic of Requiem.  She wanted to grow scales and wings, breathe fire, and fly as a dragon.  But she could only stand upon these walls, a girl with tears in her eyes, a lucky finger, and fear that froze her.

Armor clanked, swords hissed, and boots thumped.  Orin ran up the wall, his men behind him.  They formed ranks upon the battlements, and their scent filled Mori's nostrils: the smell of oil, leather, sweat, and safety.  Her brother clasped her shoulder, staring at the flaming birds that rose in the south.  He was a tall man, ten years her senior.  His hair was brown like hers and his eyes the same gray, but his face was so much harder, his soul so much stronger.  His armor was thick and his sword heavy, and Mori clung to him.  He was Orin Aeternum, Son of Olasar, Prince of Requiem, and he was the strongest man she knew.

"What are they, Orin?" she whispered.

His men leaned over the parapets, frowning, each burly and bedecked in steel.  Their breath plumed and frost covered their beards.  They were the finest warriors of Requiem, sent here to guard this southern fort, this border, and her.  Their hands clutched the hilts of their swords.  Orin stared with them, frown deepening.

"I don't know," he said softly.  "But we're going to find out."  His voice rose.  "Men of Requiem!  We fly!"

He tossed back his head, outstretched his arms, and drew his magic, the magic of Requiem's stars.  Silver scales flowed across him.  Wings unfurled from his back, claws sprang from his fingers, and fangs grew in his mouth.  Soon he roared upon the walls, a silver dragon, fifty feet long and blowing fire.  His men shifted around him.  They too grew wings and scales, and soon fifty dragons took flight, their fire crackling.

Mori took a deep breath and prepared to shift too.  She could not become a burly, powerful dragon like these soldiers, but her scales were still hard, her breath hot, her wings fast.  Many called her the fastest dragon in Requiem.  Yet Orin, flying from the wall, looked over his shoulder and glared.

"Stay here, sister!" he called, wings churning the falling snow.  "Go into the hall, bar the door, and do not emerge until I return."

With that, he roared flame and soared, howls ringing in Mori's ears.  His fellow dragons flew at his sides, scales glimmering and breath flaming.  Mori watched them, clutching her eleventh finger behind her back.

Help them, luck finger,
she prayed.  In the distance, the phoenixes screeched, moving closer.

She could see the birds clearly now.  Their bodies were woven of molten fire, coiling like storms upon the sun.  Their beaks were white and blazing, their eyes swirling stars.  With every flap, their wings sprayed fire.  Their heat crashed against Mori, even from this distance.  The forest wept beneath them, melted snow running in rivulets toward the fort Mori stood upon.  Ten thousand firebirds flew there, maybe more.  The fifty dragons seemed so small before them—specks of dust flying into a furnace.

"Fly back, beasts of fire!" Orin cried to them, voice thundering.  His wings fanned their flame.  "Turn from our border."

The phoenixes screeched and swooped toward him.

Mori watched in horror, clutching her finger so tightly she thought she might rip it off.  The phoenixes reached out claws of white fire.  Flames swirled around their wings and their eyes blazed like stars.  The firebirds crashed against the dragons, engulfing them with flame.

"
Orin!
" Mori shouted.  She could barely see him, only the fire and smoke… but she heard him.  She heard him scream.

What could she do?  He'd told her to hide in the fortress, but… they were killing him!  She stared, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.  The dragons were howling, kicking, and clawing.  She glimpsed their lashing tails, their scales, their maws crying in agony.  They tried to fight.  Their fangs bit only fire, and their tails only scattered sparks.  A few dragons were blowing flames, but that only stoked the phoenix fire.

"Orin, come back!" Mori cried, tears in her eyes.  The heat blazed against her, drenching her with sweat.  Her gown clung to her body, and her damp hair stuck to her face.  She coughed, struggling for breath.

His roars tore at her, cries of pain.  Mori wanted to fly to him.  She wanted to hide.  She could barely breathe, and she knew the phoenixes saw her; their eyes blazed against her.  One dragon cried in agony, a sound like tearing flesh.  A phoenix claw slashed him, and Requiem's magic left him.  Where a dragon had flown, a man now fell, blazing, and thudded dead against the trees.  Three more dragons burned, and in the pain of death, their magic vanished.  Three more bodies tumbled.

"Mori!" her brother cried from the inferno.  Flames engulfed him, white around his silver scales.  His wings churned the fire, showering sparks like exploding suns.  "Mori, run!  Hide!"

"Orin…," she whispered, trembling, clutching her hands behind her back.

"Mori, run!" he cried as the phoenixes tore into him.  Their beaks thrust, woven of hardened fire.  Their claws dug into him.  Their flames surrounded him.  Orin Aeternum, Son of Olasar, Prince of Requiem… lost his magic, turned from dragon to burning man, and fell from the sky.

Something tore inside Mori.  Her heart shattered.  A pain splintered in her chest and shot through her.  A cry fled her lips, and before she knew it, she had shifted into a dragon.  Golden scales clinked across her, her wings flapped, and she flew into the southern fire.

"Orin, where are you?" she cried, swooping through flame.  The fire blazed around her, so hot she could only squint, and her scales felt ready to melt.  Three phoenixes dived toward her, each larger than her.  Their shrieks tore at her ears.  They clawed at her scales, and Mori screamed, tumbled, flapped her wings, and howled.  She soared, knocked by them, and rose through an inferno of heat and sound and rage.  Everywhere she looked were blazing eyes, beaks of fire, talons that lashed her.  She soared higher, burst between them, and swooped again.  She had to find her brother.  She had to find her Orin, her dear Orin, her hero, her only chance for life.  She knocked between phoenixes and falling dragons, crashed toward the earth, and saw him lying in snow.

His clothes smoked.  Singed black, they clung to his melted flesh.  Half his face was a burnt ruin, red and black and blistering.  His skin peeled.  He gazed at her with one good eye, and his lips worked, trying to whisper, trying to call to her.

"Oh, Orin," she whispered, horror pounding through her.  He was alive.  She could still save him.  She lifted him with her claws, as gently as she could, but he cried hoarsely and his eyes rolled back.

Was he dead?  Had she killed him?  She had no time to check.  The phoenixes swooped down, an army of wrath, and Mori took flight.  Fire bathed her.  She shot through flames, wings churning smoke.

I'm the fastest dragon in Requiem, Orin always said so, I can do this.
She screamed and emerged from the flames, her brother's limp human form in her claws.  The phoenix army on her tail, she flew over the walls of Castellum Luna, down into the courtyard, and landed by the doors of their hall.

They cannot enter,
she told herself. 
They're too big.
  She placed Orin upon the flagstones, shifted back into a human girl, and pushed the doors.  They creaked open, revealing a hall full of trestle tables, tapestries, and spears.