"Fly in my slipstream, Bay!" she shouted. "I'll shield you from the wind."
They drove forward, the shrieks rising behind them, the wind howling. The clouds parted, and Mori found herself under blue sky. Mountains rolled below, their slopes golden, the peaks white with snow. Between them, silver strings of frozen rivers snaked through forests of evergreens. Red light blazed against the landscape, and when Mori turned her head, she saw the phoenixes emerge from the clouds.
There were five. Their flames twisted and rained sparks. Their beaks like molten steel cried in fury. One phoenix led the pack, larger than his brethren, his wings a hundred feet wide. He was Lord Acribus. Mori knew it was him; she knew the cruelty in those white eyes.
"Bayrin, fly!" she shouted.
He was lagging behind, tongue lolling, chest rising and falling. He stared at her, eyes glazed; he had reached the end of his strength.
Again she saw Solina in her mind, scarred face cold, blue eyes staring. Again she heard that voice.
Have your treat, dog.
The fingers dug into her, and she could not breathe, not even scream.
"No," she told herself, wings flapping. I won't let them catch us. Her breath ached in her lungs. Never. Never again.
She looked around madly, over mountain and river and forest, seeking a place to hide. When she saw the fallen tower, she gasped. It lay upon a mountaintop, jagged and crumbling. These were the ruins of Draco Vallum, she knew. She had always loved books of maps and histories; she had spent so many hours poring over them in the library. She remembered reading about these ruins—the crumbling remains of proud, ancient forts from Requiem's Golden Age before the griffins destroyed the land.
"Bay, fly to the ruins!" Mori shouted into the wind. "Do you see them?"
She slapped him with her tail, nudging him in the right direction. He panted and his eyes rolled, but he managed to nod. The two dragons, gold and green, began diving down toward the mountains. Wind howled and Mori's belly twisted. She swooped so fast that she nearly fainted, and the tug of the world pulled her stomach and skull. She gritted her teeth and kept diving.
"We'll have to fight them in the ruins!" she said.
Memories pounded through her, and she saw herself again in Castellum Luna, slamming the doors shut, racing into darkness.
That is where he killed Orin, hurt me, and spat on my bleeding body. Suddenly Mori wanted to turn away from these ruins. She wanted to fly to the phoenixes, to die in their fire, to fall burnt upon the forests of her homeland. Anything seemed better than hiding underground, waiting for him to shove her down, clutch her throat, grunt above her as she wept.
But she growled and kept swooping.
I'm stronger now. Bayrin is with me, and we both bear swords. This time I will fight him… and I will kill him.
She looked over her shoulder. The phoenixes swooped behind her, talons outstretched. Fire rained from them, and their wings crackled like crashing pyres. Mori stared into his eyes—white orbs of swirling flame. There was so much hatred there. Mori had never known such hatred and madness could exist. Though the phoenixes drenched the world with searing heat, she felt cold.
"Mori, come on!" Bayrin shouted.
The dragons were near the ruins now. Little remained of Draco Vallum, this old fortress of fallen heroes. Only one wall still stood, craggy like the gums of an old stone giant. The rest of the fortress lay as fallen bricks. Mori discerned half of an archway leading into a cellar, and she dived toward it.
"We'll kill them in shadow," she shouted and swooped.
The ruins rushed up to meet her. She landed, claws digging into snow. At once she shifted, becoming a girl again, and drew her sword. She ran, blade in hand, and leaped through the archway. She found herself upon a staircase plunging underground.
"Bayrin, in here!"
She turned to see him land in the snow outside. The lanky green dragon shifted, and Bayrin ran forward in human form, drawing his sword. He leaped onto the staircase to join her.
Mori had time to see the phoenixes land too, melting the snow, before she turned and ran downstairs into darkness.
The steps were narrow and craggy. She tripped, pitched forward, and just barely righted herself and kept running. Bayrin ran behind her, boots thudding and scabbard banging against the walls. He cursed as he ran, such foul words that Mori had never heard. She cursed too, repeating words she had never dreamed a princess would utter.
Soon she heard other voices—calling for her blood, calling for her flesh. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the Tirans, and she saw him.
In human forms they were no less frightening than phoenixes. The Tiran soldiers wore armor darkened with soot, and their sabres were bloody. Her tormentor walked at their lead, the Lord Acribus, his face like beaten leather and his eyes cruel, blue chips. He opened his mouth, revealing his yellow teeth, and his tongue licked his lips, serpentine.
"Mori!" he called to her. He grinned like a rabid animal, drooling. "Are you ready for more, weredragon? Are you ready to scream?"
Fear pounded through Mori, nearly freezing her. Her heart thudded, tears leaped into her eyes, and she whimpered. But then she saw that his arm was bandaged. She had cut him there with Orin's dagger. He can be hurt. He's just a man now, not a phoenix, not a demon, and I can kill him.
She and Bayrin reached the end of the staircase. They found themselves in a dusty, ancient cellar, too narrow for shifting into a dragon or phoenix. Rusted blades lay upon the floor between fallen bricks, the wood and leather of their hilts rotted away. The back of the chamber lay in shadow. Mori raced into the darkness, seeking a tunnel, a doorway, somewhere to flee, but found herself facing a brick wall.
She spun toward the Tirans, her back to the wall. Bayrin stood by her, panting and holding his sword before him.
"Bayrin," Mori whispered. She reached out and clutched his hand. "Bayrin, we will fight them."
He nodded and spoke with a choked voice. "Be brave, Mori. I won't let them hurt you."
At that moment, she loved him—loved him like she loved Orin, her fallen hero, like she loved Elethor, her new king. Bayrin was no warrior, she knew. To her he'd always been a fool, a jokester, Elethor's gangly friend whom she always thought looked like a grasshopper. Yet now he stood by her, sword raised, sworn to defend her… and in the darkness of this chamber and her fears, she loved him.
Acribus came walking toward them, a half snarl, half smile on his lips. His firegem blazed around his neck, painting his face red. Drool dripped down his chin. He was tall, even taller than Bayrin, and twice as wide. He cracked his knuckles and stripped Mori naked with his eyes. His tongue licked his chops, dropping as far as his chin. Lust for her body and blood filled his eyes.
"Men," he said to his four companions. "Kill the boy. Keep the girl alive. We'll have our fun with her."
The four soldiers eyed her, no less hunger in their eyes, and raised their swords. They approached Bayrin, their firegems crackling; in the flickering light, they looked like demons of shadow and fire.
Mori raised her sword and prayed.
BAYRIN
Cold sweat washed him, and his fingers shook, but he forced himself to grin—a terrified, trembling grin.
"So, dear friends." He forced the words through stiff lips. "Thank you so much for visiting Requiem. We do love visitors up here in the north. I hope you enjoyed our tour, but now we really must be on our way."
The Tirans kept advancing toward him, sabres raised. They bared their teeth. Their faces became demonic masks in the light of the firegems.
Bayrin gulped, his own sword raised. His limbs throbbed. His every instinct called for him to retreat into the corner, to press his back against the wall, to move as far as he could from these men—even if that meant retreating only a foot. He forced himself to step forward instead, feet numb. With his left hand, he pushed Mori behind him, shielding her with his body.
Stars, he thought. What had that rabid, leathery-faced Acribus meant?
Are you ready for more, weredragon? he had asked. Nausea filled Bayrin. Had he meant that… had this man met Mori before… and hurt her? Even now the Tiran eyed her with lust, that white tongue of his licking his lips and dripping drool.
"Well," he said to the five Tiran soldiers. He forced a laugh, sweat dripping down his forehead. "I suppose now is the time that you try to stab me, and I try to stab you, and swords clang and blood pours. I do love swordplay—I'm quite good at it too—but I suppose I'll show some mercy, and I'll offer you a chance to settle this over a nice game of dice. What do you say?"
The Tirans laughed.
One lashed his sword at him.
Bayrin parried, and steel clanged, and he couldn't help but yelp. That drew more laughter from the Tirans. They formed a semicircle around him, like vultures over prey.
His heart hammered so powerfully, Bayrin thought it would burst from his mouth. His belly roiled. How had he come to this? He was no warrior like his father. He knew no swordplay like his sister. He… he was only Bayrin the prankster, the fool, the young man nobody expected anything of. And yet here he was, in a dark dungeon, defending his princess against five soldiers.
A Tiran swiped his sabre, and Bayrin parried madly, holding his sword with two hands. The Tirans laughed again, and Bayrin realized they were toying with him. They knew he was no fighter.
"The boy wants to play dice!" one said and laughed, a hoarse sound, almost inhuman. "Maybe we'll carve dice from his bones."
His comrades laughed, and one swung his sabre so fast, Bayrin could not parry. The blade sliced his shoulder, blood sprayed, and Mori screamed.
"We'll play with his bones after we play with the girl," said another Tiran, voice a deep growl. "I haven't had a girl since we left home."
Two more swords flew. Bayrin parried left and right. He thrust his weapon, trying to kill a man, but the Tiran parried and nearly yanked the sword from Bayrin's hand.
None of this should have happened, he thought. The scrolls should have taken them to safety. They should have been on their way to find the Moondisk now. It should have been King Olasar fighting, or Prince Orin, or…
He gritted his teeth. But they're dead, Bay. They're dead, and you're alive, so man up and defend your princess.
With a wordless cry, he thrust his blade at Lord Acribus.
The Tiran swung his sword, blocking the blow. His left hand drove forward, and his fist slammed into Bayrin's face.
"Bayrin!" Mori screamed behind him.
White light flooded him. He fell back, hit Mori, and she screamed. He swung his sword blindly, pain suffusing him. A blade bit his left arm, and a chill washed him. Another blade flashed, and Bayrin raised his sword, blocking most of the blow. But the sabre still sliced along his arm, cutting his sleeve and skin. Another sword slashed. Bayrin parried and tripped on a fallen brick. He fell down hard, knocking the breath out of him.
He spat out a glob of blood, coughed, and said, "Do you…" He coughed again. "Do you give up yet?"
The Tirans stared silently for a moment, then laughed—cruel laughter like crashing stones. Bayrin chuckled through the blood in his mouth. He nodded, raised his eyebrows, and laughed harder until the Tirans' laughter grew too. This is what I've always known how to do… make people laugh. As his bloody laughter roared, he grabbed the fallen brick and hurled it.
It smashed into Acribus's firegem.
The laughter died when the gem shattered. Acribus howled. Fire burst from the shattered gem like demons escaping a tomb. It raced across him, until Acribus blazed, a creature of fire.
He's turning into a phoenix, here, underground, Bayrin thought. He leaped to his feet and grabbed Mori's hand.
"Come on, Mori!" he screamed. "Run!"
He pulled her forward, sword swinging. Fire blazed. He could barely see. He knocked aside a Tiran's sword, plowed forward, and drove his shoulder into the man. The soldier crashed down, flames roared, and Bayrin and Mori whipped around him.
Firelight filled the chamber. Behind Bayrin, a phoenix shriek rose, deafening. It was a small chamber; the phoenix would be crushed, he knew. It would burn everything alive inside. He leaped onto the staircase. He ran, pulling Mori behind him.
"Mori, run, faster!" he shouted.
Smoke and flames blasted their backs. They raced upstairs into the fort's courtyard. Tirans shouted and cursed behind them, running upstairs too.
Bayrin spun around and shoved Mori aside. He shifted into a dragon, so fast that his head spun, and blew a jet of fire into the dungeon.
His flames roared, spinning and blazing down the stairway. Tiran soldiers burned and fell back, dragonfire before them, phoenix fire in the dungeon behind. They screamed. Their screams filled Bayrin's ears, cries of such agony, that he knew he would forever hear them. He kept blowing fire. He could make out one Tiran, his skin bubbling, his flesh burning away, until the blackened thing fell back into the inferno and vanished in fire.
"Bayrin, fly!" Mori cried. She shifted into a dragon and panted. Firelight blazed against her golden scales. "Acribus is a phoenix down there, he's still alive!"
Bayrin let his flames die. He growled, spun, and slammed his tail against the entrance to the dungeon. The crumbly archway collapsed, raining stones. He slammed his tail again, shoving down more bricks and dirt.
"So we'll bury the bastard," he said. "Help me."
The slim golden dragon trembled but began lashing her own tail and claws, shoving dirt and stones into the dungeon. Soon the fire was contained. Smoke rose between cracks and fissures. Inside the tomb, the phoenix was screeching.
Bayrin surveyed the ruins, seeking more bricks. He found only a few pieces of shattered columns. He began shoving them. With Mori's help, he placed them over the dungeon. The phoenix inside was slamming against the blocked entrance, and the bricks and stones jostled. Searing heat rose from below, almost intolerable against his claws.
"This won't hold him for long," he said and heard the grimness in his voice. "Let's get out of here."
The two dragons took flight. They soared over the ruins, smoke and heat rising around them. They righted themselves and began flying north, the scent of fire in their nostrils. The frozen valleys of pines blurred beneath them. The shrieks of the phoenix, and the screams of the burning men, still echoed in Bayrin's ears. Most of all, he kept seeing Acribus lick his chops and heard the man's voice again: Are you ready for more, weredragon?
Bayrin growled, belly cold. He began to descend toward the evergreens.
"Bayrin, fly, come on!" Mori cried above him. "We have to fly fast before he escapes."
Bayrin shook his head. Fire caressed the inside of his mouth.
"We're not flying anymore," he said. He spiraled down toward a valley. "We're too easy to spot in the air. We're a beacon up there. Tirans might still crawl this land. We go on foot from here."
He crashed between branches and landed by a frozen stream. His claws dug into snow, and when he shifted into human form, he shivered. The pines creaked in the wind and sap covered him. Blood dampened his clothes and his wounds blazed. He sniffed the air and could still smell the phoenix fire, and when he looked south, he saw a plume of smoke rising between the trees.
Golden scales glimmered and Mori landed by him. She shifted into human form and stood trembling, hugging herself. She stared at him, her eyes huge and haunted, and for a moment, Bayrin could only stare at her. So much pain lived in those gray eyes that his chest ached.
At home, he always knew what to say—he could spout countless jokes, bawdy lyrics, taunting puns. Now he was speechless. He took three steps toward her, reached out his arms, and embraced her. She flinched and trembled like a bird caught in his palm, but soon her trembling eased and she laid her head against his chest.
"Oh Mori," he said softly, remembering those rabid teeth, that lolling tongue, those lustful eyes. "Did…"
Did he hurt you? he wanted to ask. What did he do to you? But the words caught in his throat. He feared that if he spoke the
m, her heart would shatter. So he only held her, kissed her forehead, and smoothed her hair.
"You did well," he said instead. "But damn it, Mors, you make me look bad! Flying fast like that… I'm going to tie some weights onto you next time so I can keep up."
A soft smile touched her lips, and Bayrin couldn't help it. He grinned, a huge grin that made his cheeks hurt. It was the first time he'd seen her smile since the Tiran invasion.
Her eyes were lowered. She spoke, her voice so soft, he could barely hear.
"I bet I walk faster than you too."
He snorted. "No way. You walk like a turtle, I've seen it."
Still staring at her feet, she whispered, "You walk like a snail."
"Oh that does it!" he said, still holding her. Mockingly, he pushed her back and started stomping through the snow. "It's a race, turtle girl. See if you can catch up."
The Crescent Isle lay countless leagues away. They walked between the trees, smoke and phoenix screeches rising behind them.
ELETHOR
He ran down the tunnel, eyes stinging, heart pounding, searching for Lyana in the darkness. He saw nothing but black mist, craggy walls, and shadows. His boots thudded against soft ground, as if running over moss. Or over corpses, he thought.
"Lyana!" he cried, and his voice echoed, taunting him, twisting through endless caverns. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and his clothes clung to him, damp with sweat.
The image still burned against his eyes—Nedath the Guardian, a rotting girl with the body of a centipede, lifting Lyana in her arms. Licking her. Biting her. Elethor had tried to stop the demon, but Nedath moved too quickly. She had vanished into the bowels of the Abyss with her meal—with Lyana.
"Lyana!" he called again, and again his voice echoed like a hundred ghosts. Was she still alive?
As he ran, shadows swirled. Feet clattered all around. He could not tell if they moved near him or echoed from a distance. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, slapping against him.
A Dawn of Dragonfire (Dragonlore, Book 1) Page 14