A Dawn of Dragonfire

BAYRIN



Dawn rose cold and bleak. Bayrin lay under his cloak, his head on a rolled-up blanket. Mori lay at his side, her cheek upon her hands. She still slept, face pale in the dawn, her hair spread out like a halo. Even in sleep, she seemed fearful; her lips were scrunched, her eyelids were closed tight, and she occasionally winced. Bayrin lay watching her as the sun rose. Her thigh pressed against him, a hint of warmth in the icy forest.

"No, please," she whispered in her sleep, and her legs kicked. "Please, Solina, please, please don't."

Bayrin sighed. He raised his hand, hesitated for a moment, then stroked her hair. It felt soft and smooth, like running his hand over silk. She calmed, her face smoothed, and her breathing deepened.

A deep anger filled Bayrin as he watched her. She was only a thin, pale thing, the last petal of a flower in snow. Bayrin knew of the shame she carried. She had spoken in her sleep of that night, begging for Acribus to release her, begging for the stars to forgive her for her shame.

She's only a child, he thought. Eighteen years old, but so much younger in spirit. How could anyone have done this to her?

With a pain like a dagger in his gut, Bayrin regretted all those years he had taunted Mori, all those times he'd mock her extra finger, tug her hair, and joke of her tears and trembles. It had been easy to roll his eyes at Mori back in Nova Vita, when walls and guards surrounded them, when wars were merely the words of old stories. Here in the wilderness, the phoenix on their trail, he felt ashamed. Careful not to wake her, he kissed her pale cheek. It was cold against his lips.

She mumbled and her brow furrowed.

"Mmmm… Bayrin?" She opened her eyes and blinked. "Did I kick you?"

"You damned near cracked my ribs," he said. "Horse kicks are weaker than yours."

She blinked and kicked his leg. "How's that?"

He feigned a look of pain and let out a long, exaggerated groan. "Oww… my bones are shattered!"

When she smiled sheepishly, eyes lowered, Bayrin couldn't help but feel warmth inside him, like butter melting.

You are my princess, he thought. I might only be a lowly guard, the lesser son of a great house, but I will serve you as best I can.

They rose in the cold morning, breath frosting before them, and wrapped themselves in their cloaks. Snow filled Bayrin's hair and his boots were soggy. Clouds glided across the sky and flurries fell. In their packs they found only some bread, cheese, and dried fruit. They shared the breakfast, eating with numb fingers.

"Mori," he said, "we should fly today."

She bit her lip and shook her head silently.

"It's been two days since we saw the phoenix," Bayrin continued. "If he's still hunting us, he's hunting us leagues away. We should shift into dragons and fly to the sea. It still lies hundreds of leagues away; walking is too slow."

She lowered her head, and a tear ran down her cheek. "But Bayrin, if we fly, he'll see us. I know it." She raised her eyes; they glimmered with tears. "Can't we walk for just another day, to be sure he's gone?"

Bayrin placed an awkward hand on her shoulder. "Mori, Requiem needs us. My sister needs us. Your brother needs us. Solina is still attacking them, and if we can't bring the Moondisk back soon, more will die. We can't dally any longer."

She hugged herself. "But… but what if he sees us, Bayrin? What if he's flying up there? We're little as humans. But dragons are too large, our scales are too bright, and…"

"We'll have to take that risk. For Requiem. We'll have to be brave. We'll be brave together, all right? I know you can do this."

She looked at her feet, trembling, then looked up at him again. Her eyes were so large, so haunted, so full of pain, that Bayrin felt his chest twinge. Without breaking her stare, she shifted.

Wings sprouted from her back, a pale gold like honey. Scales clanked across her, fangs and claws sprouted from her, and soon she stood before him, thirty feet long, a golden dragon with sad eyes. Bayrin shifted too and stood before her, a long green dragon, fifty feet from snout to tail's tip. Snow fell around them, their breath plumed, and their scales frosted.

They leaped, scattering snow, and flapped their wings. With a shower of twigs and snow, they crashed through the treetops into the sky. Snow flurried and wind howled in Bayrin's ears. Their wings thudded, bending the trees, and they soared until they flew among the clouds. Hidden among them, they leveled off and dived north. Wind and snow flowed around them.

As they flew, Bayrin kept looking around him, seeking phoenix fire. Once he thought he saw the beast, and his heart leaped, but it was only the sun glowing dimly through the clouds.

He's leagues away, he told himself. Stars, I hope we never see that bastard again.

They flew for several leagues before the clouds parted, revealing a rolling landscape. Cliffs and mountains rose like battlements, their eastern facades gilded with sunlight, their western slopes melting into mist and purple shadow. Evergreens rose tall and frosted, and a frozen lake glimmered like beaten silver. Herds of deer swept across valleys, while eagles soared from mountainous nests. The two dragons' shadows raced across the land. Even this high up, the smells of pine filled Bayrin's nostrils.

He saw no towns, no farms, no sign of civilization. Mori was better at maps, but Bayrin thought they flew beyond the Old Kingdom's borders, heading toward the distant Terius Bay. This was a cold hinterland north of Requiem, west of the fallen kingdom of Fidelium, and east of the mythical land of Salvandos. Few bards ever sang of these lands. Few scrolls told their tales. In most maps, they were empty spaces of canvas. It was a realm untouched by man or dragon, wild and beautiful.

As he flew, Mori at his side, his thoughts kept returning to Requiem, to his family and friends. While he flew here, the cold air in his nostrils, they huddled underground. While he fled one phoenix, they fought an army. Suddenly he wished Elethor had not chosen him for this task. He was no explorer, no hero, no warrior. He should be back home, helping his family and friends. Even if he couldn't fight well, he could still comfort them, make them laugh, bring some light to the darkness. But here… was he truly helping Requiem here? Was there truly a Moondisk beyond mountain and sea, or did Elethor merely send him here to spare his life, to save the princess from death underground? Bayrin didn't know. If all should die and he lived, the shame would be too great to bear, he thought.

They should have sent my sister. Lyana would know where to fly, what to do, how to fight. They should have sent my father; he's a great warrior and would have killed Acribus in the fort. They should have sent my mother; she's a healer, and could have healed the pain inside of Mori. But they sent me… Bayrin. A lowly guard. A jokester. A fool. Why should they fight and die, while I flee over wild country?

He ground his teeth. He had to believe. He had to find this Moondisk, if it truly existed, or die seeking it. He would not be a coward, hiding beyond map and measure as his kingdom fell.

"We will return, Requiem," he whispered into the wind. "Fight. Stay alive. We will bring aid."

Mori looked at him, wings churning the clouds, smoke seeping from her nostrils. He could see the same thought in her eyes.

They glided over mountain and forest. In the afternoon, they spotted goats upon a mountain and swooped to hunt. They flew again with bellies full, soaring over an icy lake, a frozen waterfall, and cliffs bristly with pines. At night they slept as dragons, curled up in the snow, coiled together for warmth. At dawn they flew again, frost on their scales, blowing fire to warm them.

For three days they flew—over ancient forests, plains of snow, and mountains that rose around them as jagged walls. On the fourth morning, the sun cold in an iron sky, they saw Terius Sea ahead.

It stretched beyond Bayrin's sight, curving to span the horizon. Lines of foam ran across it. The water was deep iron, stained cobalt where hidden valleys plunged. Jagged boulders rose from the depths like the hands of drowning gods. Bayrin had once flown east to Altus Mare, a port city in the kingdom of Osanna. There the waters had been green and bright, but here they spread like oil, dark and foreboding. He hovered before the sea, wings flapping.

"I'm scared," Mori said, flying beside him. There was no wind, and he could hear her words clearly, even above the thud of their wings.

He gestured with his head toward the rocky beach, snorted a blast of fire, and spiraled down. Soon he felt the spray of crashing waves. He filled his wings with air, reached out his claws, and landed, smoke rising from between his teeth. Mori landed beside him, claws nearly silent against the rocks, and folded her wings. The sea grumbled before them, spraying them with salt.

"Mori," he said, "you used to love books of maps. How far is the Crescent Isle from this shore?"

She stared into the sea. "Hundreds of leagues," she said. "A distance as wide as Requiem. But… those maps are very old, and the Crescent Isle appears only in ancient myths. I don't know what the true distance is." Her claws dug into pebbles. "Maybe the island doesn't exist at all."

Bayrin shot a jet of flame over the waves. Was this a fool's errand? They could perhaps navigate by the stars—he knew some of the skill—but how far could they possibly fly at once? Fifty leagues? A hundred? Soon or later, they would need rest. What if they found no island; were they doomed to drown?

Despite his earlier vows of heroism, he was tempted to turn around, find a quiet forest, and spend the rest of his days there with Mori. They could live forever here in the hinterlands, far from any phoenix or war. They would hunt goats, and sleep in their cloaks, and Mori would kick him at night, and he would smooth her hair, and kiss her cheek, and never have to feel like a failure again, the lowly son of a great father.

So don't act like a lowly son, whispered a voice in his head. All your life, you've watched men praise your father, worship your mother, admire your sister for her courage and knighthood. So you would mock them, and run off with Elethor to alehouses, and forget the world. But now Requiem needs you—not the great Lord Deramon, or the beloved priestess Adia, or the brave knight Lyana, but you… Bayrin. Now is your time to be the hero.

Bayrin didn't know who spoke to him. Was it a part of his own mind? The stars of Requiem? Was it the voice of Elethor, his best friend and now his king?

"Bay, are you all right?" Mori asked. She touched him with her snout, her breath warm against his scales.

He shrugged his wings. "I could use a ship. And a night's rest in a soft bed. And some tavern wenches with big eyes and bigger mugs of ale. But otherwise I'm fine. Are you ready for the 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.