A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,56

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