A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,76
longest flight of your life?"
She lowered her head and whispered. "I flew from Castellum Luna in the south to Nova Vita, and it took me two days with no rest." She raised her head and stared at him, her eyes haunted with the death of her brother, the death of her father, and her own tragedy. "I am ready to fly as far as it takes."
Bayrin briefly considered waiting, resting, spending the day here on the beach, then flying tomorrow. But Solina would not wait; she would be slaughtering his people as he stood here on the shore. With a blast of fire, he kicked off the beach, his wings flapped, and he soared into the sky.
Mori flew beside him and they streamed forward, shooting so low the sea sprayed their bellies. Their reflections raced along the water beneath them, and Bayrin saw the shapes of submerged boulders, valleys, and hills. When he looked behind him, he could see distant forests under mist. Soon they too were gone, and they flew over endless water.
The sea stretched into the horizon, cold and cruel as a grave.
ELETHOR
He flew, a brass dragon with white claws, wings roiling ash, flames trickling from his mouth like the tails of comets. Lyana flew at his side, squinting. The sea of lava below painted her blue scales a deep purple. The liquid fire gurgled, whirled, and shot up fountains. The dragons flew side to side, dodging them. A stone ceiling rose above them, embedded with countless skulls of dragons, spiders nesting in the eye sockets.
"We must be close now!" Lyana cried, voice dim under the roar of lava and wind. "In the books of Requiem, the Abyss is said to end where rock turns to fire. We will find the Starlit Demon here."
Elethor was less hopeful. They had been flying for hours—since the tunnels had given way to this sea of fire. He had seen no sign of a demon, no sign of life but for the spiders that crawled in the skulls. This place could be vast, larger than the world aboveground. And yet what other hope did they have? And so he flew, wings aching, the heat baking his belly, the smoke stinging his lungs.
A fountain of lava gushed from the sea. Elethor cursed, banked, and knocked into Lyana. They tumbled aside, nearly hit the burning sea, and soared. The stream of liquid fire crashed into the ceiling and boulders fell. One knocked Elethor's tail, and he shouted a curse but kept flying. Drops of lava fell like rain.
"Are you all right?" he asked Lyana.
She nodded, but weariness filled her eyes, and a burn spread across her wing.
Damn this place, Elethor thought. His tail ached and droplets of lava sizzled on his wings. He was tired, so tired that he could barely flap his wings, barely breathe the smoky air.
"I see a rock ahead!" he shouted to Lyana. "Let's rest for a bit."
The boulder rose from the lava, fifty feet tall, black and craggy. Elethor flew toward it, narrowly dodging another shower of lava. He landed on the rock with a grunt, claws clacking against stone. Lyana landed beside him.
Elethor perched upon the rock, tail curled around it, as fire rained from the stone ceiling like falling fireflies. Lyana lay beside him, her head against his neck, and he folded his wing over her. He dared not return to human form, not as lava still boiled around him, spreading for leagues.
"Are you all right?" he asked Lyana, voice soft.
She nodded, smoke rising from her nostrils. The firelight danced on her scales. "A few burns, that's all. I'll be fine."
"I don't mean the burns."
She looked up at him, eyes like sapphires the size of apples.
"I don't know," she whispered. She lowered her head and nestled against his neck. "I miss him, Elethor. I miss him all the time. I keep thinking how… if Orin were still alive, he'd know what to do. He'd rally the troops, tell me how to fight, and…" A tear streamed from her eye. "And I wouldn't feel so lost, so alone."
Her words dug into him, a shard of ice. Orin would know what to do. Orin would fight. Orin would save us. But how could he, Elethor, the younger son, the lesser prince—how could he inspire such love from his people… from Lyana? How could he be a good king to Requiem, and a good husband to Lyana, if he too felt so lost, so afraid?