Crown of Dragonfire by Daniel Arenson Read Free Book Online Page B

sixty, yet he felt over a hundred,
wearied by years of toil. He could not fight this battle as the younger ones
could, yet they looked to him for guidance, for wisdom . . . for leadership.
For gifts he didn't know that he had to give. Perhaps that was the folly of
youth—that the young, when faced with hardship, looked to their elders for
aid, not knowing that even the very old wished for a teacher.
    Yet Jaren was the only
teacher they had now, and the young ones needed him. He would give them
whatever guidance he could, would shepherd them through a storm he was not sure
any of them could survive.
    He spoke softly. "This
is a precious moment. This is a moment of sweetness, of family, of peace. Our
family sits together, bound by love and light, though darkness surrounds us.
Before we face that darkness, let us pray."
    He sang in a deep,
rumbling voice as he lit candles on the table. He sang the old prayers of
Requiem—songs of distant hills in dawn, rustling birch forests, blue mountains
kissed with mist and sunlight, marble tiles and white columns. A song of
dragons. A song of home. A song of their lost sky. The others sang with him as
the candles burned, little lights shaped as the Draco constellation. The
brightest candle he arranged to shine as the dragon's eye—Issari's Star.
    "Many small lights can banish
even the greatest shadow." Jaren looked across the candles at his family. "And
now a great shadow surrounds us. The cruel tyrant seeks Meliora in every corner
of Shayeen and Tofet, and he will not rest until he finds her. He will seek our
dear Tash too, a new daughter in our family. And he will continue to enslave
the rest of us, to grind us down, to break us, to slay us. And now we must
decide: how can we keep our lights shining in this darkness?"
    "We fight." Vale rose
to his feet, nearly knocking back his stool. "We've collected and hidden two
spears in this very hut. Other slaves have hidden weapons too. We rise! We
march to the palace again, this time armed. And—"
    "No." Jaren shook his
head. "We marched once. We lost too many." He lowered his head, overcome by the
grief, the memory of the decimation. "We cannot face the enemy, not in human
forms, not while collared."
    Vale slammed his fist
against the tabletop. "Then we storm the ziggurat. We find the Keeper's Key.
We—"
    "I already found it,"
Meliora said, voice barely more than a whisper. She reached into her pocket,
pulled out a crumpled ball of crimson metal, and placed it on the tabletop. The
edges of golden runes were still visible; most of the ancient symbols were
hidden within the crushed, metallic embrace.
    Elory spoke for the
first time, eyes widening. "The Keeper's Key! It's . . ."
    "Useless." Meliora
sighed. "Many times I tried to use it on my collar, to no avail. With the key
crushed, its runes won't work. Ishtafel crushed it in his palm." She nudged the
crumpled ball across the table. "Try it on your collars. Perhaps you'll have
more luck than I did."
    They all stared at one
another, silent. Jaren reached across the tabletop first and lifted the broken
key. The crimson metal was cold. Jaren had never touched ice before, but he
imagined that it felt like this. Yet whenever his fingertips passed across what
remained of the runes, he felt warmth. He had seen this key from a distance
before—the overseers would use it when unlocking his wife's collar, allowing
her to become a dragon and dig through the bitumen—though he had never come so
close. Slowly he raised the ancient relic to his throat, bringing it near his
collar.
    Elory gasped. "Father,
the runes on your collar! They're glowing! They're . . . fading."
    Warmth surrounded Jaren's
neck. The runes on the key too glowed, but then their light fizzled and dimmed.
The collar remained around his neck.
    He passed the key to
Elory, and she tried it on her collar, then Tash and Vale both tried on theirs.
In each case, the runes only flickered, glowed softly for an instant, then
faded to