A Dawn of Dragonfire (Dragonlore, Book 1)

by Daniel Arenson

  "Tirans!" she shouted. "To me. Form rank. Leave the weredragons to cower in their burrow."

  With a few last sword swings, the men fell back and formed rank around her. Blood splashed their armor, and they glared at the tunnel archway. Weredragon warriors stood there, panting over the bodies of their fallen. One man clutched a hole where his ear had been, and another sat against a wall, cradling an arm that ended with a stump. The place seemed strangely silent without the clash of steel and cries of battle; Solina heard only the fire of phoenixes above and the moans of the dying.

  "Elethor," she said, speaking to the gaping shadow of the tunnel. "Elethor. Come see me."

  Flames crackled. Smoke unfurled. From the blood and shadows, the pain and hope of her youth emerged. All that sweet pain—the secret kisses, the forbidden taste of love—flooded her, made her fingers tingle, and she stared in silence.

  He had been only eighteen when she last saw him, a tall and gaunt youth; she would poke him and laugh at how thin he was. He had grown into adulthood since then, a man of twenty-five with dark, haunted eyes and brown hair that fell over his brow, caked with blood and ash. And yet those were the same lips she would kiss, the same eyes she would gaze into—hound dog eyes, she would call them.

  "Solina," he said softly.

  Her eyes stung. She had not expected this to be so difficult. She had not expected to still feel so much, hurt so badly. She remembered him speaking her name so many times—as a child growing up in her arms, a lover in her bed, and that last time he called her name, shouting it from the walls of Nova Vita as she fled into exile, her line of fire burning down her body.

  "Elethor," she whispered. She beckoned him closer. "Come. We will speak." She snapped her fingers, and her men formed lines around her. "Follow me; we will find someplace quiet."

  He stood still, staring at her between strands of damp hair. "We will speak here."

  She couldn't help it; she laughed, tears stinging her eyes. "I won't harm you, Elethor. And my men will not hurt yours until we've spoken. You have my word." She stepped toward him and took his hands. They were bloody and hot. "Come with me, Elethor. Let's work out this mess."

  He stared into her eyes, scrutinizing her, and she saw the same memories and pain pound through him. He still loved her, she knew then. That soothed her. This will make things easier. She did not want to hurt him. Finally he nodded and took a step forward.

  At once, two more wereragons emerged from the tunnels, making to follow him. Both held drawn, bloodied swords. Solina recognized them. One was Lord Deramon, Captain of the Guard, a burly man with a red beard now grizzled. He is the man who caught me with Elethor, she remembered, a deep rage simmering inside her. The man who doomed me to exile. The second weredragon was his daughter, the Lady Lyana. The girl Solina knew had been overbearing, an imperious brat. Today Solina saw a woman with fear and grief in her eyes. We hurt her. Good.

  Solina held up her hand. "No. You two stay here. Elethor and I speak alone. Just me and him."

  They began to object.

  "She'll kill you, Elethor," Deramon said, eyes dark.

  "We go with you," said Lyana and bared her teeth at Solina.

  Elethor's eyes never left Solina; they were narrowed, seeking answers, reliving old years. He hushed his companions with a raised hand.

  "Just me and her," he repeated softly. "They won't touch me. Deramon. Lyana. Stay and tend to the wounded. I'll be back soon."

  They walked through the streets, she and Elethor. Her men snaked around them, forming a hallway of steel. Phoenixes circled above, bodies lay scorched, trees burned, and columns lay smashed. The battle had surged; for now it simmered.

  The smell of burnt flesh filled Solina's nostrils. She remembered that smell from seven years ago; she had smelled it on herself. She felt her line of fire tingle across her body. She clenched her teeth and smiled.

  "Here," she said to Elethor, gesturing at a gazebo rising from a stone square. "We will talk here."

  He stared at the gazebo, eyes dark. He knows why I chose this place. The gazebo rose upon a dais, fifty steps leading toward it. Its columns were white marble engraved with dragon reliefs. The roof was domed and set with frosted glass panes. Solina remembered sitting here with Elethor at night, watching the stars and moon glimmer through that glass, a shower of fireflies. It was the first place she had kissed him.

  He nodded. "We will talk."

  She left her men below in the square. They stood at attention upon the flagstones, fists against their breastplates. She climbed the stairs toward the gazebo, Elethor at her side. When they stepped inside, she could see firelight through the frosted glass roof—countless phoenixes diving through the night, casting orange dapples upon her and Elethor.

  She turned toward him, placed her hands in his hair, and pressed her body against his. She kissed his lips, and for a moment, their heat mingled like in the old days.

  "Elethor," she whispered, eyes stinging. "I missed you. I love you."

  He turned his head away, breaking their kiss, and pushed her back. His bloodied hands stained her breastplate.

  "Solina, did you bring me here for that? You killed my father. You killed my brother." His voice shook. "How dare you kiss me now?"

  She glared at him, teeth bared. Her line of fire blazed. "Your father?" She snorted. "He banished me, El. You remember. He banished me because of our love, cast me out into the desert." She clenched her fists. "Your brother? Orin burned me. He blew his fire upon me and left me scarred, deformed." She ran her finger along her scar, from her forehead, across her face, and down her neck. "But I tamed fire, El. I told you I would." She clutched his arms. "They can no longer banish me, no longer burn me. I did this for you. So we can be together, with no fear, no pain. No more hiding." She tried to kiss him again. "I've returned to kill those who hurt us and to be with you again. I love you."

  He stared at her, and something filled his eyes… something dark, shocked, frightened. He shook his head. "Solina… what have you done?" He clenched his fists and looked aside. "Stars, Solina, how could you do this?"

  She snarled and slapped his face, hard, driving all her strength into the blow. "How dare you speak of your stars here? Your stars are worthless." She laughed bitterly. "Starlight never blessed us, Elethor. It never protected Requiem. But fire…" She breathed heavily. "Fire is strong. Fire burned me. Fire is now my ally." She felt it burn inside her, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders. "You do not know the power of the Sun God, Elethor. He cured me from Orin's flames." She grabbed her firegem. "He gave me his power, so that I could become a phoenix, a deity woven of his flame. He has given me so much. He can give this fire to you too."

  He shoved her back again, more roughly this time. "Do not speak to me of this Sun God. I know of him. I know that he destroyed Requiem once, driving the evil of Dies Irae the Tyrant. I know that his flame will burn everything it can consume."

  "It will not consume those who serve it." She was panting now, and she touched his cheek. "Elethor. Oh, my Elethor; you were the fire of my youth. Now join your flames to mine. I will grant you a firegem; you will become a phoenix, a great firebird, no longer a lizard of scales. Join me in Tiranor and worship my lord at my side. We will rule together. We will cast our flames across the world and watch it burn." She held him, pressed her lips against his ear, and whispered. "Elethor, don't you love me? Don't you remember all those nights we spent here?"

  He let out his breath slowly, and his head lowered; suddenly he felt so sad to her, the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

  "I remember," he said softly. "Solina, I loved you more than anything—so much that it ached. For seven years since you left, I thought of you every day." He laughed bitterly. "Every minute of every day. I never loved another woman since you. I don't know if I ever will."

  She held him tight, eyes stinging. "So come with me, El. Come south with me. They can no longer hurt us, no longer drive us apart. I will kill anyone who comes between us again."<
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  She trembled, remembering those years so long ago, her life in the courts of Requiem. The pain flooded her, memories like rivers, streams of faces and words and feelings.

  She had been only three years old when the dragons of Requiem burned her home. Their claws toppled the white towers of Tiranor, and their flames burned their oases in the desert. Solina had been too small to understand why the war raged. She did not understand why her parents would not wake, why their blood covered her. The dragon who slew them, the vile King Olasar, pitied her that day. He kidnapped her from her home, brought her to his cold realm of snow and birches, far from the warmth and light of Tiranor.

  She grew in his court. A freak. An outsider. A Tiran girl not blessed by Requiem's stars. She could not shift into a dragon like Prince Orin, like King Olasar, like all the Vir Requis she grew up among.

  Deformed, the children of the court would call her. Freak. Cripple. They would shift into dragons, slap her with their tails, and blast fire at her feet and make her dance. How she tried to shift too! How she dreamed of becoming a dragon! Yet she was a southerner, a desert child, doomed to be weak, scared, tormented.

  And then… then her life changed. Then Elethor was born. A pure baby, younger brother to Orin and like a brother to her. Solina vowed to protect this soft, beautiful child, to make sure he never felt loneliness or pain like she did. She watched Elethor grow. He was her treasure, her foster brother, her reason to live. Even when he grew old enough to become a dragon, she still loved him. She would run her fingers over his brass scales and kiss him, and he was her dragon, her protector.

  He was only fifteen when she kissed him in this gazebo. She was twenty, but still clinging to all the fear and rage of youth; in her mind, she felt no older than him. They conquered their fear together. For three years, they would hide in this gazebo, or in the forests, or in the tunnels beneath Nova Vita, and they would love each other. A forbidden, secret, wonderful, horrible love. For three years Solina felt pure joy… until Lord Deramon caught them in the forest, and told his king, and Requiem's rage rained down upon them.

  "Solina of Tiranor!" King Olasar shouted in his court. She stood before him, head lowered, tears on her cheeks. "Despite the crime of your parents, who attacked our borders and sacked our temples, I raised you as a daughter. I sheltered you, taught you, protected you. And yet you cast your sin upon my son." His fists trembled at his sides. "Elethor is like a brother to you. How dared you seduce him? He is only a youth, five years younger than you. How dared you bring such perversion into my hall?" He pointed a shaky finger at her. "You are banished from Requiem! Leave this place now, and wander whatever lands you may please; if you are caught within our borders, your life is forfeit."

  Rage bloomed within her. She drew her dagger and screamed.

  "You will not speak of my parents!" Her voice was hoarse, torn with years of pain. "I know what you did to them. I know that you killed them, framed them for stealing jewels from your temples. Liar!" She ran toward him, knife raised. "You cannot know how Elethor and I love each other. You will not tear us apart!"

  She almost killed him that night. A few steps more, and she could have plunged her blade into his heart. Yet Orin—brutish, cruel Prince Orin—stood as a dragon by the throne. Like a coward, he did not face her as a man, but blew fire upon her. The flames shot toward her, a screaming inferno.

  Elethor shouted and pulled her aside. He saved her life, she knew… but dragonfire burned bright, and tongues of its flames still seared her. She screamed, ablaze, and fell. Welts and smoke rose across her. Never had such pain filled her. It made her weep, roll on the ground, and claw the air.

  For days she lay abed in a temple, bandaged and feverish. The priestesses tended to her in darkness. She cried for Elethor, but they would not let her see him. When finally she rose from her bed, and her bandages were removed, she bore her line of fire. The scar split her face, snaked down her torso, and crawled down her leg. A reminder, she knew. A pledge. A battle scar.

  "Solina!" he shouted from the walls as they cast her out, goading her with spears, sending her into the wilderness with nothing but a waterskin and loaf of bread.

  She dared not look back at him. She walked, barefoot, leaving the city behind. She heard his dragon roars calling her name, but she did not want to remember him this way. She would remember the Elethor who held her in the tunnels, laughed with her, whispered with her. She walked south for days, leaving Requiem, heading into the swamps of Gilnor. All of autumn she walked, until in winter she reached a land where no snow fell, and heat rose from sand.

  Tiranor. Land of her parents. Land of the Sun God, of flame, of power. Her people welcomed her with joy—the last, lost daughter of the great Phoebus Dynasty. They crowned her with ivory and raised her to be their queen. In desert temples of stone, she worshipped her new lord the Sun God. She swore that if he gave her the strength, she would kill his enemies in Requiem.

  "He gave me so much."

  A chest of firegems, crystals that held flames from the sun itself. With them, she could become the phoenix. With them, her followers could soar as beasts woven of sunfire. Soon all the temples of Tiranor praised her name, flew with her to battle, and vowed to destroy the weredragons who worshipped night and stars.

  "But you, Elethor," she whispered in the gazebo as Requiem burned, "you don't need to die. Come south and rule with me. We will be together again… like we were born to be."

  She saw in his eyes that he had relived their lost years too. He removed her hands from his shoulders, took a step back, and stared at her.

  "You come with fire," he said. "You come with death. You murdered my family and you burned my home. How can you now ask me for love? Did you do all this from some… some mad notion that if you destroyed everything I have, I would be with you?" Pain cracked his voice. "I loved you so much, but I don't understand this."

  She shook her head sadly. "Elethor, oh Elethor, how to make you understand? I did not kill and burn for you alone." She touched her scar. "I killed for this. For how they hurt me, and how they hurt you. I killed for my lord, the Sun God, and all that he's given me. But I do not wish to kill you." She took a step toward him, breathing heavily. "But if you refuse me, Elethor… if you fight me, I will hurt you. Turn me down and I will kill you. I will kill everyone who huddles in your tunnels."

  He stared away from her, watching Requiem burn between the gazebo columns. "I am king of this land now. I never wanted the crown. I never imagined that I'd wear it. But I am King of Requiem, and I cannot abandon her. I cannot abandon all those who still live here."

  "You will abandon them." She grabbed his shoulder, digging her fingernails into it, and spun him around. She snarled. "You will surrender this land to me, Elethor. You will return with me to Tiranor. Do this, and I will spare your life, and I will spare those of your people who still live. Refuse me, Elethor… and you will all die. You will die in fire."

  He stared aside, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. She saw the turmoil on his face.

  "You know my answer," he said.

  She pulled his face to her and stared into his eyes. "You are loyal to your friends. That is admirable. How would you serve them by refusing me? Would you watch me burn them? Because I would make you watch, Elethor. You would watch them die in agony before I killed you." She turned her back to him and spoke through clenched teeth. "Go to your tunnel, weredragon, and think. Think of those you love. Return here at sunrise to surrender to me. If you still choose to fight me, my fire will consume the world."

  With that, she left him and walked downstairs to the courtyard. Her fingers tingled and a trembling smile found her lips.

  I love you, Elethor, she thought, breathing hard. But if I cannot have you, I will destroy you.

  MORI

  She stood in the corner, hugging herself, and listened to the adults argue. Elethor had returned with the news: They had until dawn to surrender. Everyone seemed to have an opinion, which they were shouting. Bayrin Elei
son, who would tug her pigtails in childhood, shouted that he'd charge through the Tirans and kill Solina himself. Lord Deramon grumbled that surrender might be the only option they had. Others stood around them—the Lady Lyana, a priest, two wounded lords, a group of guards—calling for war, for prayer, or for surrender.

  Only Mori was silent. She stood in the back, cloaked in shadows, and dared not speak. She worried that if she opened her mouth, her voice would tremble, and tears would fill her eyes. An iciness lived in her belly, twisting and growing. Her shame still ached, a deep pain she worried would never leave her.

  She remembered his tongue, a wet serpent, licking her cheek. She remembered his stale breath, his hands crushing her, his body above her, her mouse dying under her chest. She remembered the pain, and she closed her eyes and forced herself to take deep breaths. Before, in the battle, she had found no time for shame. Now it flooded her.

  "Stars, I've heard enough!" Bayrin shouted, so loud that Mori's ears ached. "You can't be serious, Father. To let Elethor go with this… this creature of fire back to her lair?"

  Lord Deramon was glaring at everyone and everything. "How do you suggest we fight the phoenixes? Dragonfire only feeds them. Claws cannot cut them. Even if we could stop them from entering the tunnels, we'd eventually die of starvation and thirst."

  Bayrin crossed his arms. "Our water reservoirs and our silos are here underground. We have enough to last all winter."

  "And what then?" Lady Lyana interjected, clutching her sword so tightly her knuckles were white. "Will you have us linger underground all winter, only to starve in spring? That's assuming we can even hold back the Tirans that long."