A Dawn of Dragonfire: Dragonlore, Book 1 (15 page)

"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."

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.