A Dawn of Dragonfire: Dragonlore, Book 1 (37 page)

Finally they reached a narrow hallway, its wall smashed and its floor strewn with bricks.  Two guards in breastplates stood before a doorway, clutching spears.  They bowed to Elethor and pulled the door open.

"Go and see her," Elethor said softly.  "I'm needed at court, and you two have a lot to discuss."  He clutched Bayrin's shoulder, then pulled him into an embrace.  "It's good to have you back, friend."

When Bayrin stepped alone into the room, he found himself holding his breath, suddenly sheepish.  Their quest north, the battle with the demon of wood and stone, the inferno over Nova Vita… it all seemed like a bad dream to him now.  He had kissed Mori on the Crescent Isle, had vowed to protect her, but… back home, in Nova Vita, would she mock him for it?  Would they be as before the war—he the ne'er-do-well guard, she the timid princess who shied away at every touch?  It felt like waking from a dream, not knowing what the dawn would bring.

She lay in a bed, wrapped in embroidered blankets, her wounds bandaged.  When she saw him enter, she smiled wanly and lowered her eyes.  The dawn's light kissed her pale cheeks, pink lips, and chestnut hair.  She was so beautiful.

Bayrin stepped toward her, hesitant.  She looked up at him, then down again, and her eyes dampened.  His breath caught, he froze… and then he took three great strides toward her.  He found himself embracing her, nearly crushing her in his arms, as she wept against him, soaking his shirt.  As the morning's light fell upon them, they kissed with tears and laughter.  She touched his cheek, and he couldn't help but cry too; joy and relief swept over him.

"Hi there, Mors," he whispered.

She smiled tremulously, tears on her lips.  "Hi there, Bay."

He laughed and pulled her back into his embrace.  He rocked her gently in his arms.

"I told you we'd do it," she whispered.

Still holding her, Bayrin looked outside.  Burnt trees rose between ashy walls.  Buildings lay toppled.  But he saw people move between those buildings, lifting fallen bricks, collecting shattered weapons, and sweeping the ash away.  It would be a time of pain, he knew, of mourning and grief. 
But we will rebuild.

He knew then—things would not return to how they had been.  He had changed too much.  He remembered himself before the phoenix fire—a lowly guard with great parentage.  He had watched his sister rise in the ranks of the court, his father lead armies, his mother speak to the stars.  And he would joke to hide his pain, run off with Elethor to escape his failed life.

But he had purpose now.  He had Mori.

I may still be nothing but a lowly guard… but I guard the Princess of Requiem, the woman I love.

"I won't let anyone hurt you again," he whispered into her hair.  "I love you, Mori.  I know that healing will be long and painful—for you, for this city, for all of us.  I know that some battles only now begin.  But you have me.  We'll go through this together."

She lowered her eyes, her lashes brushing his cheek, and clung to him.  "I miss them, Bay.  My brother.  My father.  I miss them so much, that… I don't know if the pain will ever end."  She looked up at him, eyes sparkling with tears.  "I love you too, Bayrin.  Always.  So much that it hurts, so much that… when you fell from the sky, I thought I would die, that light could never more shine in the world."  She smiled shakily and nodded.  "We will heal together, Bay, you and I.  It hurts so much, but… we have each other.  We'll do this together."

A robin took flight outside the window, rising into a clear sky. 
Spring is here,
Bayrin thought, Mori in his arms.  They sat together silently, embracing, watching the dawn rise.

 
 
ELETHOR

He stood above the twin graves, jaw tight, staring with dry eyes.

The stones rose tall and white, carved of marble and engraved with the Draco constellation.  One bore the name of King Olasar.  The second bore the name of Prince Orin.

My father.  My brother.

Elethor lowered his head.  Spring had come to Requiem, and grass grew where snow, blood, and ash had fallen.  Bluebells bloomed upon the hill, and the air was sweet, but Elethor's heart was heavy.  He found no peace here, only memories and grief.

He remembered the day of the funerals.  His throat tightened to remember the coffins, their birch wood inlaid with golden leaves and stars.  Elethor had looked upon them, unable to stop the horrible thoughts, the twisting imagination.  Inside the coffin, was his father only a burnt skeleton?  Was his brother just a severed head—the only part of him found?  He had clenched his fists, praying to remember Father as the wise ruler, his brother as the handsome hero, to forget the blood and fire.

That had been a moon ago, but the blood and fire remained in Elethor's mind, and even the song of birds or the scent of flowers could not dull them.

How do you forget the sight of dead children, limbs severed and bellies slashed?  How do you forget the demon Nedath, or the sphinx of the underground, or the shriveled bodies that lingered there?

He turned away from the graves, jaw clenched and eyes burning.

He walked that day through the city of Nova Vita, his guards at his sides.  Requiem's crown, forged three hundred years ago by Queen Gloriae herself, rested on his head.  He visited the temple and spoke to those who still lay wounded, healing or slowly dying.  He visited buildings covered with scaffolding, where masons spoke of new walls, arches, and towers.  He visited the barracks of soldiers, too many of them gone, and praised their courage and sacrifice.

The numbers spun through his head as he moved through the city.  Fifty thousand Vir Requis had lived here under his father's reign.  He now ruled thirty thousand haunted souls.

Everywhere he looked, he saw the wounds of battle.  As he walked through the city, Elethor saw a child sitting upon a toppled wall, his face wrapped in bandages, his eyes peering and haunted.  He saw a young woman sweeping her porch; her left arm ended with a stump.  He saw a husband leading his wife down a street; a scarf covered her eyes, and a scar ran along her head.

Elethor greeted all those he passed, squeezed shoulders, whispered comforts.  He tried to stand strong.  To smile.  To jest that wounded children were stronger than knights, that farmers missing limbs would be back plowing tomorrow, that women with burnt faces were still as beautiful as queens.  His words tasted stale.

He turned to face a wall and shut his eyes. 
Did I drive her to this?
he wondered, as he wondered every day, the guilt clawing inside him.  He touched the scar along his face, a twin to the one Solina bore, her last gift to him. 
Did I cause this death and pain?

"My lord."

The gruff voice rose behind him.  Elethor turned to see Lord Deramon.  The burly man stood in burnished armor.  His sword clanked at his side, and in his left hand, he held his axe.  More white than ever filled his beard.

Elethor approached him, and the two stepped into a quiet, cobbled alley.

"So many lost limbs, eyes, faces."  Elethor lowered his head.  "Every wounded person mourns dead family and friends.  Deramon, how do I give them strength?  How do I comfort them?"

Deramon gave a low grumble like a bear disturbed in his cave.  He blew out his breath and said, "Give them time to mourn.  You walk among them.  You stand tall.  You smile rather than cry.  This is well, Elethor.  You are doing right."

Elethor nodded, eyes stinging.  "I keep thinking… what would my father do?"  He looked up at Deramon.  "How would he lead today?"

Deramon's lips tightened and he clutched Elethor's shoulder.  For a moment, Elethor was sure that the lord would admonish him, call him a callow boy, speak of how greater King Olasar had been.

But Deramon only stared at him steadily and said, "Your father watches from the stars, Elethor, and he's proud of you. 
I
am proud of you.  You will make a fine king, and a fine husband to my daughter."  He growled and hefted his axe.  "I'll be here to make sure of it."

Grumbling, the lord trundled out of the alley, barked orders at some wandering guards, and disappeared around a corner.

That evening, Elethor walked toward the gazebo in the city square, the place where she had asked him to surrender, and where he chose to lead Requiem to war.  He stood staring at the columns and glass panes, then turned and looked south.  Somewhere beyond forest, mountain, and desert, Solina waited.

Are you looking north now, Solina?  Do our eyes meet across the endless leagues?

"Elethor."

Again a voice rose behind him, but this voice was high, fair, and soft.  For a terrible instant, he was sure it was
her
, Solina.  He spun around, saw Lyana, and slowly exhaled.

She stood in her silvery armor, the ancient armor of the bellators, the knights of Requiem; she was the only one of their number to survive.  Her eyes were soft, and her sword hung from her waist.  Her wounds had healed, the scabs peeling to show her pale skin strewn with freckles like stars.  A year ago, the mere sight of Lyana would chafe him, like seeing a bee during a garden meal.  Today she seemed so fair to him, so soothing, that his eyes stung.

This is how I let go of the ghosts,
he thought. 
With Lyana.

"She offered me surrender here," he said to her, voice soft.  "In this gazebo.  If I had gone with her to Tiranor, how many would still live?  How many lives would I have saved?"  He shook his head.  "Did I make a mistake, Lyana?"

She walked toward him, placed her hands on her hips, and glared at him.  "Elethor, if you do not stop speaking utter nonsense, I will kick your backside across this square.  If you had surrendered, she would have burned us all, and you know it."  Her eyes flashed.  "So will you please stop moping, and maybe grow some sense in your hollow head?"

He sighed. 
Same old Lyana after all.

"Would have saved me the lectures," he said and couldn't help but smile.

She shook her head, curls flouncing.  "Just wait until we are wed, Elethor.  If you think this is bad, you haven't seen nothing yet."  She grabbed his hand and tugged him.  "Now come
on
!  Stars.  We're meeting my parents in the court today, and the Prince of Osanna will be there, and if you are late again, I swear that I will…"

He stopped listening.  He let her pull him across the square toward the palace, and as they walked, he looked at the flowers that grew in gardens, and the masons hauling bricks, and the doves that flew, and he felt something new, something he had never felt in his life.

He felt whole.

 
 
SOLINA

She stood upon the Tower of Akartum, a spire of sandstone and platinum.  The wind billowed her hair, tasting of sand and palm oil.  Tiranor rolled before her: the lush palms of her oasis, fluttering with cranes and ibises and falcons; the ships that sailed along the River Pallan, laden with spice and gems and treasures of distant lands; the towers of her city, shards of white capped with gold; and beyond them dunes kissed golden with her lord's light, rolling to distant yellow mountains.

"It is my realm," she whispered into the wind.  "My magical world of secrets."  She shook her head, hair billowing.  "You could have been here with me.  You could have stood here too."

She looked north past oasis, dune, and mountain.  Did he stand there too upon a tower, looking south toward her?  She caressed her shoulder where she bore a scar his sword had given her.  And yet she loved him, even now.

She could have killed him, she knew.  She had wanted to.  In the tunnels of Requiem, the bloody dagger in hand, she could have plunged it into his heart.  But no.  Not yet.  He had not suffered enough in life to escape her torment.

"I will bring you here, El," she said and licked the sand from her lips.  "But first… first you will watch me slay your sister, and your betrothed Lyana, and all the people of your realm.  You will stand and watch them die, and I will make you drink their blood."  She nodded, a soft smile on her lips.  "And then, El, then I will bring you here, a broken man.  I will chain you to this tower, and let the vultures feed upon your living flesh and eyes.  And then, El… then maybe I will grant you mercy.  Then maybe I will kiss you and let you die."

Upon her tower, she turned around and faced south.

Her army spread across the desert.

A hundred thousand men stood in burnished breastplates, bearing spears, bows, and arrows tipped with poison.  Ten thousand horses stood in armor, tethered to chariots of wood and iron.  The sun fell upon them, and the golden suns upon her men's breastplates blazed.  And behind her men…

Solina's smile widened.

Beyond the army, the dunes undulated, and grumbles rose from beneath.  Something was buried there, something ancient and cruel.  Beneath the sand waited her greatest champions, like the eggs of snakes waiting to hatch.  Soon the desert was trembling, and a crack opened, a womb ready for birth.  Sand fell into the crevice.  The grumbles turned to roars that shook the city.

Solina raised her arms.  Her heart thrashed and her blood thrummed in her ears.

"Arise, my children!" she cried.  "Arise from the desert and serve your queen!"

As the beasts hatched from the sand, Solina snarled, tossed her head back, and howled at the sun and its glory.

 
 
AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading
A Dawn of Dragonfire
.  As Bayrin might say, "Bloody stars, you read the whole thing?"

If you made it this far, I hope that means you enjoyed the book.  If you did, please—tell your friends, post a review online, or just email me your thoughts.  My email is [email protected]; I'd love to hear from you.  You can also find me on Facebook and Twitter.

And if you'd like to read more, please grab a copy of
A Day of Dragon Blood
, the second
Dragonlore
novel. It's available now in all the ebook stores.