A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,64

blades, Aknur and Raem, and the golden runes upon them blazed. She would lead the charge.

"For the Sun God!" she shouted. "And for Tiranor!"

Her army answered the call behind her, shouting so loudly, the ruins shook. "For the Sun God! For Tiranor! For Queen Solina!"

Solina charged into the darkness with her light and heat. She raced down stairs covered with dust and rock. Her men charged behind her, shouting for sun and glory. The walls rushed at her sides, stained with blood and ash and weredragon stench. Her blades blazed like the sun, casting out the shadows.

This is my purpose, Solina thought with a snarl. This is my glory. I will banish the darkness of reptiles with my lord's light.

At the bottom of the staircase, the barricade Deramon had raised was gone. The boulders were smashed to shards. Grooves dug into the walls. Blood, dust, and chunks of flesh covered everything. Blades raised, Solina stepped over the debris… and crashed against an army of weredragons.

Dozens of them filled the darkness, thrusting their straight, heavy blades of the north. The stains of fire and blood coated them. Stubble covered their faces and pain filled their eyes. They were desperate men, pushed into a corner, and wild; but Solina was glorious and strong and she would defeat them.

Her twin sabres lashed. Aknur, her left blade of nightfire, parried a blow from a weredragon's sword. Raem, her right blade of dawn, sliced into a man's neck. Blood sprayed like sunrise. Her troops roared behind her and burst into the chamber, sabres clashed against longswords, blood spilled, men fell. They fought over the bodies of the fallen, boots snapping bones and crushing faces.

She fought for hours. Aknur and Raem spun like disks of light. Blood coated her armor when she finally drove into the deeper chambers, where tunnels snaked wide and tall, lined with doors. The women and children of Requiem cowered here, wailing. They began to flee, a mad rout into darkness.

"Kill the reptiles!" Solina cried hoarsely. "Kill them all."

She marched through the tunnels, swinging her blades. Soldiers still hacked at her. A child ran to her left, wailing. Solina swung Aknur and cut him down. More soldiers raced up from the darkness, blades lashing. She parried and thrust, shedding their blood upon the fleeing survivors.

"Solina of Tiranor!" howled a deep voice, and Lord Deramon himself marched toward her. He bore a sword in one hand, an axe in the other. His armor was thick, his arms wide, his face cold.

She smiled at him and raised her sabres in salute. "Come die at my feet."

They circled each other, blades raised, and blood pounded in Solina's ears. It was Deramon who had caught her making love to Elethor. It was Deramon who had told her secrets to the king—who had her burned, exiled, torn apart from her lover. It was Deramon who would now die in pain and fear.

Her sabres lashed. He parried. His axe flew and she blocked, riposted, shouted in rage. Steel rang and pain thrust up her arms. Men fought around them, but Solina would not remove her eyes from her foe. He was a tall, broad man—almost twice her size—and his blades were heavier than hers. But she was younger and faster. Aknur blocked a thrust of his sword, and Raem, her blade of dawn, slammed against his breastplate.

Steel dented and Deramon grunted. His axe thrust, and Solina fell to one knee as she parried. Aknur, blade of nightfire, clanged against his axe. Raem swung against his leg, steel sparked against steel, and Deramon grunted. She leaped up and swung both blades down.

He blocked one. The other hit his shoulder, cleaving his pauldron, and blood seeped.

She lashed again at once. This was her chance to slay him. But despite his wound, he did not miss a step of the dance. His sword rose, blocked her blow, and his axe slammed against her breastplate.

Steel bent. Pain blazed. She gasped for breath and found none. His sword clanged against her pauldron, and she thought her arm would dislocate. She fell, armor dented, by the body of the child she'd slain.

Deramon stood above her and stared down, eyes cold, blood seeping. A lesser warrior might have given her some last words, spoken some poetry of farewell or justice. Deramon wasted no time on dramatic partings; he lusted for nothing more than the kill itself. His axe swung down.

On her knees, Solina raised her blades and crossed them. The axe slammed down, chipping Aknur