A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,63

place. I will fill it with only my strength and majesty."

She made her way through the ruined city of Nova Vita. The birches still smoldered, charred sticks rising from mounds of ash. The palace rose ahead, its proud columns blackened, its lush gardens now crackling with scattered flames. The city amphitheater dipped into a hillside, a bowl cut into the earth, its tiers of seats holding charred bones, its stage splashed with blood. A hill of bodies burned between the columns of a temple, an offering of death for the cruel stars of Requiem.

No more weredragons filled this place—their vile, shapeshifting bodies now cowered underground. Her troops of Tiranor lined the roads, tall and proud men and women, their skin golden and pure, their hair shimmering platinum, their eyes sapphire jewels. They were as noble a race as weredragons were foul. Even as smoke rose across the city, their armor glimmered, and the firegems around their necks cast ten thousand lights. They stood with swords drawn, the blades curved like the beaks of sacred ibises, their pommels carved as sunbursts. Above them a hundred phoenixes circled in patrol of the skies. Ash rained and smoke rose in pillars.

Solina called out as she walked. "Sandfire Phalanx, fall in behind me! Jade Phalanx, follow! Deserthawk, follow!"

Her troops slammed blades against shields and cried for blood. They marched down the road behind her, boots thudding as one. As they moved between the ruins, Solina summoned more troops, and soon a thousand marched behind her. A snarling grin twisted her lips.

"It is time," she said, "for a fire in the deep."

This would be no long siege. She would not wait here for moons, even years, until the weredragons' food and water dwindled. She would break through their defenses. She would burn them all, and her men would take their women, and her blades would cut her old love.

"For your glory, Sun God," she whispered and looked to the heavens. The sun burned there behind smoke and cloud; it was smaller here in the north, and colder, but Solina would bring all its wrath to this place. She would serve her lord with the flames he'd given her. Her hand clutched the firegem around her neck and its heat shot through her, rivers of flame in her veins.

Soon they reached the tunnel entrance, where a hundred Tirans stood with drawn steel. The archway rose around the darkness, stained with fire and blood. The stairs plunged into shadow.

Elethor waits down there.

Lord Deramon had raised barricades of stone, sealing her outside. He would find that no rock could face the flame of Tiranor.

As her troops stood behind her, swords raised, Solina opened her pack. Delicately, as if handling a holy artifact, Solina withdrew the long box of olive wood. It thrummed and its runes blazed, nearly blinding her.

She whispered a prayer to the Sun God. "May your light forever cast out the darkness. May your fire forever burn out the cold."

She caught her breath and opened the box.

Six clay balls lay there, placed into holes lined with cloth. They nearly burned her hand when she touched them. Decorative red lines, shaped as flames, ran across them.

"Tiran Fire," she whispered. A hungry smile touched her lips.

Her priests had labored for moons to produce these weapons. Each clay container had taken many nights of work and prayer. One alone could destroy a phalanx of troops. Six would destroy Requiem.

She raised the box over her head, ignoring the heat that ran down her arms, and faced her troops. Firelight blazed in their eyes.

"For the glory of the Sun God!" she called. "We cast out the darkness!"

Her troops howled and waved their weapons. Their roar shook the ground. Snarling, Solina turned back toward the tunnel, thrust the box forward, and sent the six balls of Tiran Fire tumbling into darkness.

She stood facing the stairway, panting, teeth bared. She let the empty wooden box thud to the ground. The clay balls clanked down the stairs, and Solina snarled and waited… one breath, two, three…

An explosion rocked the city.

Fire and wind blasted from the darkness, and Solina turned aside, gritting her teeth. Dust flew and coated her. Rocks fell. The ground shook beneath her boots. The flames roared so loudly she could hear nothing else.

Soon she heard more sounds—screams from below.

A smile spread across her face, becoming a grin.

When the dust settled, she found the staircase coated with debris, some stained with blood. Black lines stretched along the walls. Solina drew her twin