A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,35
by silos, pantries, wine cellars, and reservoirs. Sunrise couldn't be more than two hours away. I must find a way to defeat the phoenixes before then… or we'll have to surrender and live forever under the bane of Solina.
"And under his bane," she whispered, remembering his fingers gripping her. How many more times would he hurt her, if they could not defeat the Tirans? Would he claim her as his own, take her to his chambers, chain her and invade her every night?
"We must defeat them." Mori's lips trembled. "We must."
Soon she reached the Library of Requiem. Its doors rose tall above her, set into the stone walls of the tunnel. Mori carried the old, filigreed key around her neck on a chain. This library was ancient, and its books were priceless; each codex of parchment and leather was worth more than a chest of gold. Only the royal family bore the keys to this chamber of secrets. With trembling fingers, Mori unlocked the doors, stepped inside, and found herself in a world of books.
Thousands of years ago, before the Vir Requis had built columns of marble, they lived in these tunnels. Before they wrote books, they wrote upon scrolls of parchment and kept them here in alcoves, safe from the dangers of rain and snow and war. None of those original scrolls remained; they had all burned in the Great War three hundred years ago, when King Benedictus fought Dies Irae underground. But today the library was rebuilt, and new knowledge filled the alcoves and shelves that lined the walls. A hundred thousand books, leather-bound and beautiful, rose all around Mori.
It was a lot to read within two hours.
For the first time since the phoenixes had invaded Castellum Luna, Mori felt peace flow over her. There was some solace here, some goodness hidden from fire. So many hours of her childhood had been spent here. While Orin would go hunting with Father, and while Bayrin and Elethor were drinking in alehouses, Mori would come to this place. She had read her first book here at age five, and she kept returning every day for more. She would devour poems of epic adventure; codices full of delicate illustrations of birds; tomes of herbalism, astrology, history; and more. More than anything—the softness of her gowns, the beauty of Nova Vita's gardens, or the warmth of her quilt—Mori drew comfort from books. As she stood here today, a hurt and damaged woman, she could still feel that comfort, that wonder of childhood. Centuries of knowledge surrounded her. The wisdom of thousands of poets and philosophers filled this one place.
"It's the best place in the world," she whispered. "May today it bring us salvation."
She walked across the tiled floor, approached a ladder, and climbed to a high shelf. She ran her hand across the books, caressing their smoothed leather spines, and smiled softly. There is still some goodness in the world. She knew the library well; this shelf held her favorite books, ancient tomes about creatures and monsters of legend.
She remembered one book, a heavy codex her father had claimed was a thousand years old, and between its pages dwelled a hundred monsters. The book was so old, Father claimed that even the legendary Queen Gloriae had read it, and the book had been ancient then too. Mori had always feared that codex and never dared read it; when Father would try to read it to her, she would run and he would laugh softly.
He thought me scared of the monsters inside, Mori remembered. But it was not the monsters that would scare her; it was the book's age. So many generations had passed since its author scribed its words and pictures, so many ages of men who lived and fought and died. So many generations read the book, laughed, whispered, loved and hated. It was a thing of ghosts, of ancient life that spun Mori's head. But how could she have told Father that? So she had pretended to fear its pictures of griffins and serpents, and she would instead read poems of love and heroes.
Today she sought this old tome. Today was all about conquering fears. Would the book tell her of birds woven from fire? She let her fingers dance across the spines, and soon her fingertips rested upon a large codex wrapped in leather so old, the binding formed a landscape of crevices, canyons, and valleys. Words of gold crawled along the spine, written in the tongue of Osanna,