A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,19

fire? Did they know they could not fight, only hide? Lyana had to warn them. She had to fly now. She had to kill these beasts quickly, or it would be too late.

The phoenixes landed outside the cave. Snow melted and fell like rain around them. Wings thrashing, they reached into the tunnel with claws of fire. The flames blazed. Lyana leaped back; the heat blasted her armor, and she felt like her eyeballs could melt. She retreated into the darkness.

The first time we made love was here, sweet Orin, she thought, eyes stinging and throat burning. The image kept playing before her eyes—his head rolling from the sack, burnt and grimacing—even now as these beasts of sunfire clawed outside.

"Come in and face me!" she cried. "You are like us children of Requiem. You have human forms; I have seen it. Come face me, or are you such cowards that you dare not face one woman?"

They howled and flared. Their heat drenched Lyana with sweat; locks of her damp, red hair stuck to her face. She snarled, holding her sword before her. With her left hand, she drew her dagger, its blade shaped as a dragonclaw. The heat of battle raged over her loss of Orin, simmering over her grief.

"Be with me, stars of Requiem," she prayed. "May your light shine upon my blades."

With cries of fury, the phoenixes outside shifted.

Their fire pulled into them, twisting and coiling into human shapes. The flames darkened and hardened, like lava cooling into stone, until they became flesh. They stared at her, eyes still burning like coals. They wore breastplates of steel emblazoned with the golden Sun of Tiranor, and swords hung at their sides. Their hair was a blond so pale, it was almost white. Their skin was golden, their eyes blue and cold. Each wore a chain holding a crystal glimmering with fire. Two were men, their faces bearded and cruel. The third was a woman holding a sabre and a spear. The sides of her head were shaven, revealing sun tattoos, and her lips were pierced with rings.

"See how she cowers in darkness," said the woman to her companions. Her voice was cold, her eyes ruthless. "When the dragons burned our homeland, they howled with their pride, their bloodlust, their cruelty. See what pathetic creatures they've become." She snarled and her voice rose to a shout. "Hail the Sun God, destroyer of Requiem!"

"Tirans," Lyana said, eyes narrowing. "Return to your homeland that we burned. Leave Requiem, or we will kill you on our mountains, like we killed you in your deserts."

The female Tiran smirked. Her armor was bright, and her blades glimmered like shards of light, flames racing across them.

"You may call me Phira of the Two Blades," she said, raising her sword and spear. "Do you see them? They will cut your tongue from your mouth, weredragon." She spat out the last word in disgust.

Lyana snarled. Weredragon. It was a dirty word, an ugly curse. She was Vir Requis, a proud daughter of Requiem, descended from the hero Terra Eleison himself. Hers was old blood, proud and pure. Like every child of Requiem, she could grow wings and scales, breathe fire, and take flight as a dragon. It was a magic old and noble, kissed with starlight. Weredragon meant a reptile, a filthy beast.

"And you may call me Lady Lyana Eleison, a knight of Requiem, daughter of Lord Deramon and Mother Adia," she said. "May the stars burn your souls."

She ran toward them.

The two men ran to meet her. Lyana lashed her sword and dagger. The soldiers parried. Flames leaped from their swords and burned her sleeve. She screamed, swung her sword, and blades clashed again. She raised her dagger, parrying a thrust. Flames hit the cave walls and steel rang.

"Requiem!" she cried. "May our wings forever find your sky."

The words of her fathers. The words of battle, of death, of blood and hope.

Her blades swung and thrust, glowing bright. She knocked one sword against the wall, thrust her blade, and pierced the man's neck. The second Tiran swung down his sword, and she raised her dagger. The blades sparked. The blow nearly dislocated her arm, and she screamed, but pulled her sword free and swung low.

Her blade slashed the leg before her, and the second man fell. She leaped back, dodging his sabre, and thrust. Her sword slammed into his mouth, muffling his scream. Blood spurted and he fell. More blood painted the cave walls and floor, congealing