A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,65
and shooting pain down her arms. Keeping Raem raised, Solina dropped Aknur, snarled, and grabbed the dead child's hair. She tugged the head up and tossed the small, lacerated body at Deramon.
The child slammed against him, and Deramon fell back a step. Solina leaped up, swung her blade, and hit Deramon's helmet. He staggered.
She would have killed him then. She would have ended this. Yet Deramon had no honor; he would not even duel her to the death. Five of his men rushed forward from the shadows, blades lashing. With a snarl, Solina grabbed the fallen Aknur, parried a blow, and stepped under an archway. Here she could slay them one by one.
Men lashed at her. Moans and wails rose behind her. Solina glanced at the reflection in her blades. A wild smile tingled across her face. Perfect.
As men thrust blades at her, Solina retreated through the archway and into the chamber of wails. She found herself fighting in Requiem's old armory, now a hospital crowded with dying weredragons. They lay around her on the floor, bandaged, burnt, some with severed limbs, others with gaping wounds. A hundred filled this place. A single healer, a young woman with a stern braid of dark hair, huddled over the wounded.
Soldiers of Requiem came spilling into the chamber, and Solina fought alone. The hospital was wide, fifty feet deep, its ceiling twenty feet tall. She licked her lips. It is large enough. It is time for fire.
She parried a blow, clutched the firegem around her neck, and smiled.
She summoned her lord's gift.
At once, she burst into flames. They raced across her, scorching, intoxicating. She reached out her arms, and flaming feathers grew from them. She howled, and her voice became the shriek of an eagle. Men cowered before her. The wounded burst into flame. The young healer screamed and ran, a living torch. Solina grew in size until she was a great phoenix, dragon-sized, an inferno of flame and smoke and wind.
The hundred wounded weredragons blazed. A few were well enough to run, but none made it to the doors. They fell, burning into charred bones. The fire filled the chamber until it was a furnace, a pyre for her glory. The weredragons at the door howled. Some brought crossbows but their darts only passed through her flames, and Solina screeched, a great bird of sunfire.
She was a queen. She was a goddess. Soon she would destroy these tunnels, find her cowering Elethor, and she would burn him too until he screamed and begged and knew her glory.
MORI
She huddled under the trees, cloak pulled over her, and prayed.
"Please, stars, please please don't let him see us, please stars, send him away."
Above in the clouds, the phoenix dived and shrieked. Its wake of fire spread behind it like a comet's tail. Mori pushed herself against the tree, as close as she could. Bayrin huddled at her side, also covered in cloak and hood. They had strung branches and leaves over their cloaks, but would that fool the phoenix? It circled the veiled sun, crackling.
Mori did not know if Acribus could still take human form. Bayrin had smashed that crystal he wore around his neck, the one with the fire inside. She knew little of southern magic, but thought that the firegem let the Tirans turn into phoenixes. Solina had worn one too, which she never had back in those days in Requiem. With his firegem smashed, could he still turn into a man? A man who could choke her with cracked hands, tear off her clothes, thrust into her with such blazing pain that she wanted to die? Or would he remain forever a phoenix, a questing demon of fire that would forever hunt her?
"Bayrin," she whispered. She wanted to ask him about the firegem, but he hushed her.
They huddled together, frozen in the cold. The wind cut through their cloaks, icy but scented of fire. It seemed ages before the phoenix turned east and flew away, and its shrieks faded in the distance. Mori shivered and rose to her feet. She clasped the hilt of her sword, that sword she had never wielded in battle, and watched the wake of fire disperse above.
Bayrin too stood up. He spat. "Good riddance. I thought the damn bird would never fly away. Peskier than bees in your underpants, these phoenixes are." He squinted and watched the skies for a while. "We might be fine for flying soon. The phoenix is heading east, and we're going north."