A Dawn of Dragonfire: Dragonlore, Book 1 (32 page)

"You'll burn the Moondisk!" she managed to say.  "It's surrounded with branches.  The bronze and gold would melt in dragonfire!"

Ral Siyan howled, a deep cry, the rage of forests and oceans and buried rock.  The demon leaped, columns swinging.  The two dragons scattered, and Mori found herself growling, anger pounding through her.

I won't let my family die,
she thought. 
I won't let Solina cut open Elethor too.  I won't let Acribus rape Lyana like he raped me.
  Her growl turned into a roar, and she swooped, claws outstretched. 
I will grab the Moondisk.

The demon spun toward her, all twisting roots and vines.  Her claws glinted.  She reached toward the Moondisk.  Her claws almost closed around it… but the vines and brambles that encased the disk twisted.  A branch lashed out, and its thorns slammed into her, each like an arrowhead.  She screamed as they pierced her scales, fell, and her back hit the mountaintop.

The demon swung its arm like a hammer.  The stone column came crashing down, as wide as an oak.  Mori screamed and rolled aside, and the column smashed into the ground, shattering rock.

A roar pierced the air, and Bayrin swooped.  His tail swung and slammed into Ral Siyan's head of root and leaf.

Wooden chips flew.  A branch cracked.  The demon turned.  The stone archway—its torso—creaked and rained dust.  The branches within the archway bound tighter together; Mori could barely see the Moondisk within them now, but she drove forward.  Her howl rose.  Her claws slashed at the brambles.

The Moondisk loosened.  It fell a foot within the archway.  Before Mori could grab the disk, the branches and vines wrapped around it again.  The demon spun, arms lashing.  One column slammed into a swooping Bayrin, knocking him to the ground.  Another roared over Mori's head.

"Bayrin!" she cried.  "Bayrin, get up!"

He lay on his back, wings flapping too feebly for flight.  His tail flopped weakly and his eyes rolled back.  The scales along his left side were cracked.  Ral Siyan laughed—a grumble like an avalanche—and raised stony arms above the fallen green dragon.

Mori howled.

"You will not hurt him!" she cried and drove forward.

She slammed into the beast, cracking the stones of its archway.  It tumbled forward and crashed down, and its leg—a column of stone and ivy—slammed into Bayrin.

Horror exploded inside Mori. 
Stars, no, stars, please don't let Bayrin die, please please.  I killed him, stars….

Ral Siyan rose to its feet, the stones of its body shifting and rearranging themselves.  The vines inside the archway coiled like a nest of snakes, wrapping tight around the Moondisk.  The demon's mouth, a mere crack in wood, opened in a mocking grin.

Mori screamed with all her rage, all her pain, all her fear.  It was the cry she could not utter when Orin died, when Acribus raped her, when her home burned and crashed around her.  It was the cry of Requiem, of loss and wrath.  She shot forward like an arrow, howling.  Her claws reached out.  Fire streamed from her maw, trailing behind her as a wake.  A battering ram, she crashed into the demon, breaking through its archway.  Roots and branches snapped against her.  Her teeth closed around the Moondisk, and she shot out the archway's other side, scattering splinters of wood.

Howling, she spat the Moondisk into the air, where it spun and blazed in the sunlight.  Before it could fall, Mori spun and blew her fire.

The stream of flame crashed into Ral Siyan.  Its branches and leaves ignited.  It howled, consumed with fire, a living torch the height of a palace.  The mountain seemed to Mori like an erupting volcano.

"Bayrin!" she cried, tears in her eyes, and dived down.  She saw him lying on his back, head drooping, wings limp.

Is he dead?  Stars, please, let him live.

As the demon lashed its arms and howled, Mori grabbed Bayrin with her claws.  She grunted with effort, pulling him back.  Her feet dug into the mountainside.  With a howl, she managed to drag Bayrin ten feet back, then twenty, until they were sliding down the mountainside.  His eyes were still closed, and she wrapped her wings around them as they tumbled.  Pebbles cascaded around them.  With a thud, they slammed onto a rocky outcrop and lay still.

A hundred feet above her, Mori saw Ral Siyan still thrashing and burning.  Smoke billowed from the demon.  Its cry pierced the air, a cry of mourning, of endless pain.  The cry was wordless, the cry of a wounded beast, but the more she listened, the more human it seemed to Mori.  She thought she could hear words within it.

"Maaaa!" it seemed to cry.  "Maaaa!  Mother!  Mother, please!"

It raised its hands to the sky, and Mori saw the moon there, a pale disk in the soft daylight.  Blazing branches tore off the demon and fluttered, a thousand fireflies.  It cried to the moon, its mother, a dying child.  Mori wept for it; suddenly the creature was beautiful to her, a wonder she had slain.

With a great crack like snapping bones, Ral Siyan's archway crumbled.  The stones crashed.  Columns fell and shattered.  Branches landed, crackling with fire.  When the rocks settled, nothing remained of the demon but more ruins and scattered flames.

Tears in her eyes, Mori lowered her head toward Bayrin.  He lay still, head tilted back and scales dented.  Mori wept and shook him.

"Bayrin!" she whispered, throat tight.  Her tears fell upon him.  "Bay, wake up!  Come on!  Wake up, please!"

She cradled his head.  He couldn't be dead.  Couldn't!  In death, Vir Requis returned to human forms.  He was still a dragon.  He had to live,
had to
, otherwise his magic would fail, he couldn't die like this, not in her arms, not like Orin had died.  She sobbed and trembled.

"Bay?" she whispered.

As she held him, his scales melted.  His wings pulled into his back.

He turned into a bloodied man.

Sobs racked Mori's body.

Dead…

She shifted into a human too.  She sat upon the boulder, cradling him in her arms.  Her hair covered his face, and she shook him.

"Bay, Bay, wake up!" she whispered, unable to speak any louder.  "Please, Bay, please.  I love you."  She kissed his cold lips and held him tight.  "I love you, Bay, please, don't leave me."

He moaned.

He moaned!  Mori's heart leaped.  Fresh tears fell and she shouted and shook him wildly.

"Bay!"  She touched his cheek.  "Bay, you're going to be all right.  I'm going to take care of you."

His eyes fluttered and he moaned again.  His lips moved, but only a hoarse whisper left his throat.  Mori leaned closer to hear his words.

"What is it, Bay?" she whispered.

"I… I fell on my lamp."  His face crinkled up.  "Ouch."

Mori laughed as she cried, body shaking.  She touched his cheek and kissed him again, a peck on his lips, and felt his hand in her hair.

She thought that they would kiss again, like last time, and she wanted to.  She ached for it.  But she pulled back, and once more her shame flooded her, ice inside her.  But then his arms were around her, and she
was
kissing him, and she melted into it.

And it feels right,
she thought. 
It feels good.
  Her tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling salty in their kiss.  She lay down beside him, arms around him.  When she looked up, she saw a glint.  The Moondisk lay on the mountainside above them, a beacon of light for her home and her life.

 
 
DERAMON

He slew the Tiran with a downward swing, driving his axe into the man's head, through helmet into skull.  Blood spilled and the man fell dead, joining his fallen comrades.  When he hit the ground, his visor clanked open, revealing a young face.

A boy,
Deramon thought. 
Nothing but a stupid boy, fifteen if he was a day.

He spat and gritted his teeth.  He cursed under his breath, damning Solina for this slaughter, for killing his people, and for forcing him to kill hers.

"Bring the hammers!" he bellowed.  "Break this tunnel upon them!"

The corpses of Tirans and Vir Requis rose in piles.  They stank, blood and offal seeping from them.  Severed limbs littered the floor.  Years ago, Deramon used to read to his children stories of epic battle.  In those books, the heroes smote the enemies with light and justice. 
The books never mention the entrails and bones and human waste
, he thought.
  They never mention the heroes cleaving the skulls of boys too young to shave.

Men came running from deeper below, holding hammers still hot from the forge.  As Deramon and ten soldiers swung swords at those Tirans who surged from above, the hammermen slammed at the ceiling and walls.  Chips of stone rained.  One Tiran leaped forward and slew a hammerman.  The Tiran fell, face caved in like a red crater, when a second hammerman bashed his skull.  Blood splashed and the screams of men echoed.  The body of a slain child lay torn under the fighters' boots, limbs ripped off, her head a flattened ruin.  Chunks of stone fell and cracks raced along the tunnel walls.

"Where are you, Solina?" Deramon grumbled as he swung his sword and axe.  "Come and face me again."

Two more men died.  Hammers swung.  Stones rolled and cracks pierced the ceiling.

"Back, men!" Deramon shouted hoarsely.  Dust flew.  "Back!"

He slew another Tiran, cleaving his armor with an axe blow, and leaped back into the darkness.

Boulders tumbled.  Men screamed and dust filled the air.  The tunnel collapsed.

A boulder slammed down an inch from Deramon.  A rock crashed against his helmet, another against his pauldron.  He ran, leaped over a body, and fell.  His men leaped around him.  The sound roared like an army of dragons.  For a moment Deramon thought that all the tunnels below Requiem would crumble, that every last survivor would die.

Bayrin and Mori will live,
he thought as rocks pummeled him. 
We've saved my son at least.

For long moments, he lay on his stomach, rocks raining against him.  The dust flew; he saw nothing but gray and black.  It seemed the passing of ages before he realized that he could hear men moan.  One cursed and spat, while another wept and prayed.  The dust was settling, and soon Deramon could see again.  Men shifted around them, coated in dust, their blood seeping through it.

His body ached and his head rang.  Grimacing, Deramon sat up and turned around.

The tunnel had collapsed into a heap of boulders.  He could neither see nor hear the Tirans.  Blood seeped from under the wreckage.

"Good," he muttered. 
May they all lie dead.

He rose to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.  His men rose around him.  Behind them, the tunnel sloped deeper into darkness; the prayers and cries of survivors rose from the depth.

I've buried us alive,
Deramon thought. 
How long until we run out of air?  How long until we all perish in the darkness?  Will we ever find a way back to light?

He did not know.  But death was delayed.  They had staved off fire, even if hunger, thirst, and suffocation still awaited.

"Their battering ram will not break this blockage as easily," said Garvon, the captain with the white beard and one eye.  Dust filled a gash along his cheek, and a dent pressed into his breastplate, leaking blood.

"No," Deramon agreed and scratched his own beard, wondering if he'd live to see it as white as Garvon's.  "Go see my wife, Garvon.  Go see Adia.  Get your wounds bandaged.  Silas!"  He turned to see the younger soldier struggle to his feet; blood seeped from under his helmet.  "Silas, can you stand?  Can you still swing a blade?"

The young man nodded, lips tight, and lifted his fallen sword.  "My blade will always swing for Requiem."

He is younger than my son,
Deramon thought. 
But not as young as the boy whose skull I cleaved.

"Good.  Stay here and guard this pile of rubble."  Deramon passed his eyes over the others who were rising from the dust.  "Talin!  Raion!  Stay here with him.  The rest of you too.  I'll send up fresh men."

Leaving them there, he walked with Garvon down the tunnel.  Soon they were stepping through crowds of women and children.  If the survivors had been cramped before, they were now pressed together, a wall of flesh and tears and blood.

This place is a grave,
Deramon thought.  How much more of these tunnels could they lose?  So much of the underground had fallen.  All that remained was this—a few burrows, a few alcoves, thousands of survivors breathing and crowding together.  How long until their air was gone?  A day?  An hour?

We cannot wait for you,
Bayrin,
he thought. 
We cannot wait, Lyana.  Return to us… or flee as far as you can, and never return to our tomb.

Robes swirled, and Adia came walking toward them.  The survivors around her bowed their heads and moved aside as best they could, letting her pass.  She mumbled blessings to them.  The priestess's face was pale, her eyes sunken, and blood stained her robes.

"Deramon," she whispered.  She touched blood that trickled down his forehead.

"We held them back," he said, so hoarse he could barely speak at all.  "We brought the tunnel down upon them."

And upon a dozen of my own men,
he thought.

She stood for a moment, stern, the Mother of Requiem, the great Priestess of Stars… and then her lips trembled, and she embraced him and clung to him.

"Thank the stars," she whispered.  "Deramon, I thought you had left me.  Stars, so many are dead.  So many I cannot heal."

He looked over her shoulder at the survivors.  Here too people were dying.  Some were sick, their wounds festering.  The elderly huddled on the floor and babes wept.

Deramon wanted to comfort his wife.  To be strong for her, to give her hope… but he knew that hope was gone. 
We will die here.  But we will die fighting.

"Adia," he began… and his breath died.

 Cracks raced along the ceiling, and with a crash and sound like crumbling mountains, boulders rained.  A hole broke open above, and firelight blazed, like the sun breaking through clouds.