A Dawn of Dragonfire: Dragonlore, Book 1 (25 page)

"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."

The boulder rose from the lava, fifty feet tall, black and craggy.  Elethor flew toward it, narrowly dodging another shower of lava.  He landed on the rock with a grunt, claws clacking against stone.  Lyana landed beside him.

Elethor perched upon the rock, tail curled around it, as fire rained from the stone ceiling like falling fireflies.  Lyana lay beside him, her head against his neck, and he folded his wing over her.  He dared not return to human form, not as lava still boiled around him, spreading for leagues.

"Are you all right?" he asked Lyana, voice soft.

She nodded, smoke rising from her nostrils.  The firelight danced on her scales.  "A few burns, that's all.  I'll be fine."

"I don't mean the burns."

She looked up at him, eyes like sapphires the size of apples.

"I don't know," she whispered.  She lowered her head and nestled against his neck.  "I miss him, Elethor.  I miss him all the time.  I keep thinking how… if Orin were still alive, he'd know what to do.  He'd rally the troops, tell me how to fight, and…"  A tear streamed from her eye.  "And I wouldn't feel so lost, so alone."

Her words dug into him, a shard of ice.  
Orin would know what to do.  Orin would fight.  Orin would save us.
  But how could he, Elethor, the younger son, the lesser prince—how could he inspire such love from his people… from Lyana?  How could he be a good king to Requiem, and a good husband to Lyana, if he too felt so lost, so afraid?

"I miss him too," he said, voice cracking.  "But… it's up to us now.  We must know what to do, how to fight, how save our home.  And we will, Lyana.  We will save Requiem."

His words sounded trite to him.  As a king, he would have to inspire, to lead, to galvanize.  He wanted to sound as wise as the ancient leaders of Requiem from the stories—the legendary King Benedictus who fought the griffins, or the great Queen Gloriae who slew the tyrant Dies Irae, or Queen Lacrimosa who led Requiem in the Battle of King's Forest.

But I'm not like them,
he thought. 
I'm just a sculptor.  And I still miss and love Solina, the very enemy who attacks us.

Lyana nestled closer to him, her breath hot against his cheek.

"I… I think I now know how you felt," she whispered.  "When Solina left, I mean.  You loved her.  And you lost her.  The pain must have been so great, tearing inside you.  I cannot think of greater pain."  She lowered her eyes.  "I'm sorry, Elethor.  When Solina left, I was glad.  I scolded you for loving her.  I mocked you for your pain."  Her eyes glistened with tears.  "I'm sorry."

They huddled in darkness as lava gurgled around them, fire rained, and the stone walls shook and cracked.  A fountain gushed by the boulder, nearly spraying them with lava, then crashed back into the sea.  They huddled closer, scales clanking, and wrapped their wings around them as a tent.

"Yes," Elethor whispered.  "I hurt when she left.  And I hurt when she returned.  I loved her for so long, it's hard to switch to hating her, even now, even when I know that she killed my father, my brother, and so many of our people.  I… I hate myself for it, that I once kissed her, wanted to marry her, spent years pining for her."  He closed his eyes.  "I'm the one who should be sorry.  You were right, Lyana.  You were right all along about her, and about me."

How had he come to this place?  A moon ago, he would never have thought it possible.  Solina, the love of his life, was now his greatest enemy.  Lyana, the girl who always scorned him, now huddled at his side, his betrothed and future queen consort.  Requiem lay leagues above them, past tunnels of terrors he had never imagined could exist.  His life seemed so mad now that his head spun, and he could only cling to this rock and to Lyana, and he felt lost.

"Come, Lyana," he finally said.  "We'll fly again.  Maybe we'll find the Crimson Archway today… and the Starlit Demon who's locked behind it."

They flew over the fire.  They flew for hours through the great caverns of the Abyss, down tunnels where lava rushed, over great forests of bones, through chambers where smoke blinded them and the howls of ghosts filled the darkness.  Finally, when their lungs burned and their wings could barely flap, they emerged from a tunnel into a great cavern the size of a city.

"Stars," Elethor whispered, feeling sickness rise inside him.

The cavern was a league wide and tall, carved of craggy rock.  Pillars of stone stood like ribs, and rivers of lava coiled.  A mountain rose in the chamber's center, pale pink and knobby.  When Elethor squinted, he saw that the mountain was made of bodies—thousands of them, maybe millions, naked and interwoven.

"Who are they?" Lyana whispered, flying at his side.

Elethor didn't know.  He saw the bodies of men, women, and children, skin pale and hairless, eyes staring, mouths gaping.  Were they dead Vir Requis?  Were they but a nightmare?  Nausea rose inside him, and the stench of death filled his nostrils, spinning his head.  Suddenly he was sure he would see his father and brother there, dead and naked, eyes staring.  He gritted his teeth, forcing down his sickness.

"Look, El, on top of the mountain!" Lyana said.

An archway rose atop the mountain of bodies, carved of craggy stones.  When they flew closer, Elethor saw that blood seeped from between the bricks, painting them red.  Mist and shadows swirled inside the archway, casting black light, like a portal to a storm.

"The Crimson Archway," Elethor whispered.  "The path to the Starlit Demon."

They flew up the mountain.  Countless bodies lay below them, famished and limp like discarded chicken skins.  Elethor narrowed his eyes and soared toward the archway.  It looked just wide enough that, if he pulled his wings close, he could shoot through it.  Whatever shadowy land it led to, and whatever enemy waited there, he would face it.

He was only seconds from flying through the archway when a creature rose from the pile of bodies.

At first, Elethor thought that the bodies themselves were rising upon the mountaintop.  Then he realized that the creature had lain there all along, but was as naked, fleshy, and famished as the bodies.  Fifty feet long, its skin hung loose on knobby bones.  It had the body of a great cat, furless and starving.  Its head was the head of a woman, but much larger, the size of a carriage.  Her face was pale and stoic, her eyes golden and feline.  Her torso, nude and stitched from collarbone to navel, rose to block the archway.

Elethor thrust his claws forward, beat his wings mightily, and slowed to hover in midair.  He growled.  Lyana flew and hovered by him, fire flickering between her teeth.  Elethor's heart beat against his ribs.

"Who are you?" he demanded of the creature.  "Name yourself."

The beast watched them, a soft smile on her lips.  Her eyes glimmered gold, and a trickle of blood dripped from her pale lips.

"I am Herathia," she said, voice hissing like wind, "the Guardian of Crimson, the Sphinx of the Abyss, the Protector of the Starlit Demon.  You cannot enter, King Elethor Aeternum of Requiem, Son of Olasar.  The way is forbidden to you."

Elethor flapped his stiff wings, refusing to land upon the mountain of bodies.  The thrusts of air sent the smallest bodies, mere babes, tumbling down the mountain.

"Stand aside, or we will burn you," he said to the sphinx.  "The Starlit Demon is a servant of Requiem; you will not block our way to him."

The sphinx tilted her head.  The stitches running up her torso shifted, and blood seeped from them, trickling between her breasts to her feline paws.  She snarled, baring sharp teeth stained with blood.  Human heads filled her mouth, rotting, faces twisting in anguish.

"The old kings of Requiem placed the Starlit Demon here, long before the griffins attacked your halls, before your ancestors raised columns of marble, back in the days when your people lived feral, digging underground for shelter and knowledge.  It was as a behemoth, devouring all, bringing evil upon the world; its starlight seared flesh and its wrath tormented and broke the minds of those who fought it.  I am the Guardian of Crimson!  I protect the evil of the beast.  I move for none, not even for the spawn of those who placed me here.  Leave this place of shadow.  Return to your land and leave the darkness to rustle below the earth you till."

Lyana growled deep in her throat.  "I know of you, Herathia!  You lie.  You are a riddler.  We keep scrolls of your trickery in Requiem.  You guard the way with riddles.  I've read of them."

The sphinx turned her feline eyes to the blue dragon.  "Lyana Eleison, daughter of Deramon, I do not merely ask riddles.  I
kill
with riddles.  If I ask you my questions, you will fail to answer.  You will die.  You will join the bodies at my feet, a million souls who thought they could answer me.  They now form my bed.  Turn back, Lyana and Elethor.  Leave this place and do not tempt me; my words are poison and will cost you your souls."

Elethor stared at the bodies in disgust, still not daring to land upon them.  "Do you mean… you asked these people riddles?"

The sphinx nodded.  One of her stitches tore, and pus dripped from her.  "They failed to answer."

Elethor growled.  He had no time for this.  His people languished underground while Solina attacked; he could wait no longer.  He let fire grow in his belly.

"They did not have dragonfire," he said, roared, and blew a jet of flame.

The fire spun and slammed against the sphinx.  Lyana howled and added her fire to Elethor's.  The inferno roared, white hot.  The bodies on the mountaintop burned.  The heat blazed against Elethor's eyes, blinding him.  He kept spewing his fire, wings fanning it, as much as he could muster.

Finally, after long moments, the flames died.

The sphinx stood upon seared bodies, unharmed.  The stitches along her torso had melted, revealing a gaping cavern full of severed hands.  The skin around her wound, however, was as pale and sagging as before.

"Do you think mortal fire can burn me?" she asked.  She narrowed her feline eyes, bared her teeth, and raised her claws.

Black lightning blazed from them.  A bolt slammed into Lyana.  She gasped and fell.  A second bolt crashed against Elethor's chest, and pain suffused him.  He opened his maw to roar, but found no breath.  Agony spread across him, clutching at his throat, crushing his innards.  The pain was so great, he lost his magic.  His wings and scales vanished, and he thudded onto the mountain in human form.  Black lightning raced across him, raising smoke, and finally he found his voice.  He screamed in anguish.  Lyana twisted on the bodies beside him, also back in human form, sparks twisting around her like serpents.  She wept and screamed.

"Enough!" Elethor shouted, tears streaming down his cheeks, and with a flash, the lightning vanished.  He doubled over, gasping for breath and trembling.  Lyana coughed beside him, on hands and knees, head lowered and hair dangling in a red curtain.  He crawled toward her over the bodies, his knees digging into their flesh, and raised a trembling hand to touch her hair.

"Lyana," he said, voice hoarse.

She coughed, struggled to her feet, and stood atop the bodies.  Legs shaking, Elethor stood up beside her.  The sphinx dwarfed their human forms.  She towered over them, an implacable sentinel of bone and skin and stench.  Her golden orbs, each the size of a human head, glimmered down at them.

"Turn back, children of starlight," the sphinx said, voice deep as the sky.  "You will not pass my door."

"We will pass!" Lyana shouted up to her.  "Ask us your riddles, Herathia, Crimson Guardian.  We will answer them.  We will not fail."

The sphinx bared her fangs.  Blood rained from her mouth.  "Very well.  I will ask you my riddles.  And you will ask me yours.  We will take turns like the great riddle masters of old.  If I cannot answer your riddles, I will let you pass."  She licked the blood off her lips.  "And if you cannot answer mine… your bodies will lie forever at my feet."

 
 
DERAMON

He stood, stiff and aching, and lowered his head.  The smoke stung his eyes and his gut felt colder than the heart of winter.  His men stood at his sides, staring at the ground.  His wife stood ahead, eyes raised, praying to the ceiling as if stars could still shine upon them.

"May the Draco constellation bless their spirits.  May their souls find their way to our starlit halls."

Adia closed her eyes, whispered last words, and nodded.  Ten of Deramon's men began shoveling dirt into the ditch, covering the dozens of bodies.  They had dug this crevice into the floor of a narrow, earthy tunnel, using makeshift shovels from broken axes and helmets.

This is no proper burial for warriors of Requiem,
Deramon thought, jaw clenched.  They deserved to be buried in a field of grass and flowers, or burned in a pyre like the great warriors of ancient days.  Not this.  He looked away, grimacing.  And yet he knew they had to bury them somehow, and fast.  If they began to rot, disease would spread, and more in these tunnels would die.