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Fire Born (Flight Moon Series Book 1)
Fire Born (Flight Moon Series Book 1)
Fire Born (Flight Moon Series Book 1)
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Fire Born (Flight Moon Series Book 1)

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Flight Moon was once the prized dragon of Gorusk. Swift and fearless, she oversaw Shirr's army with deadly beauty. But a dragon is never subservient to a human, even if he is the banished king of the Black Waste. Her plans to assassinate Shirr are thwarted. Barely able to escape, Flight Moon flees to Arnith.

Bleeding and exhausted, Flight Moon knows Shirr will eventually catch up to her. She's saved just enough strength for one last fight.

Twins are born in the kingdom of Arnith. A boy with silver hair like his elven grandmother, and a girl with a secret. A secret that if discovered, risks her life and the lives of her entire family.

Barely two weeks old, Fornala is already condemned to death. Bavun, the high mage, believes her physical deformity is a curse laid upon those who abuse magic. For this she must be sacrificed.

A dragon and an infant girl, both outmatched with impossible odds, may find strength in each other. What should kill them both, only makes them stronger.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherD. M. Raver
Release dateDec 10, 2014
ISBN9781311730701
Fire Born (Flight Moon Series Book 1)
Author

D. M. Raver

Fantasy author for over twenty years, D. M. has a passion for writing and literature. Her first novel, Brother Betrayed, is the prequel to the Flight Moon series, published 11/11/11. Fire Born and Fate of Fire are the first books in the series. Upcoming books are Converging Flames and Wild Fire. Other works include: City of Silver - a dystopian fantasy about a young girl with the power to save a dying city. The Enchantress - an arabian fantasy about a woman, some toys, and an intelligent white tiger. Deep Dark Waters - a collection of poetry Dying to Live Again - a contemporary fantasy

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    Fire Born (Flight Moon Series Book 1) - D. M. Raver

    CHAPTER ONE

    HUNTED

    Corban curses the wind. It rushes past him like a playful child. He tries to match his pace with its free wandering, but his feet can’t keep up. No matter how fast he runs, the wind gusts easily ahead of him.

    Numbness distorts his perception, and he doesn’t realize at first how far he’s come. A deep ravine divides the thick trees. Through the shroud of wind and snow, the ramshackle outline of the cabin comes into view. Corban pauses, expecting the vision to vanish back into the storm. The wind plays against his cloak, tendrils of snow swirl around him.

    The cabin doesn’t fade. Faint suggestions of smoke drift on the wind. He has arrived at his family home, but despite his frantic race here, he hesitates. Concealed by the storm, the fears of what pursues him may be nothing more than that, a fear.

    The scene replays in his mind. He should have done something then, instead of hiding, watching the soldiers gather. He had reached for his knife, crouched in the shadows of the street, but he knew he had to leave. One rogue versus a dozen soldiers... it wouldn’t have ended well.

    The brief pause causes his body to stiffen, the chill catching up to him, but he forces himself to resume. He circles the ravine, to the cabin nestled on the opposite side.

    Corban glances back to the woods. Nothing appears to have followed him, besides the eerie, dark cold. Shivering, he pushes open the door.

    A torrent of snow rushes inside. Corban remains at the threshold, the heat from within offering no comfort. He lifts his heavy gaze, finding the four occupants of the cabin staring at him.

    They are coming for her.

    A gust of frigid wind carries the words to his kin. His mother Folashia sits on the bed beside his sister Dornata. Dornata’s new husband Phillip and his short haired sister Gifij stand protectively over a makeshift crib.

    Dornata pulls her sleeping baby against her chest. The color of sparkling snow, her hair cascades around the child like a blanket.

    But she has done nothing…

    They don’t care what she’s done. They care what she is, Corban answers heavily, his breath rasping. We have to get the twins out of here. He tosses a coat to Phillip, trying to awaken him into action.

    Tall and built for labor, Phillip may be able to defend against the soldiers should they attack, but his mannerisms are too mild. He’s not a fighter.

    Where will we take them? The twins will freeze in this cold, Phillip responds. He lays his hand on the second babe’s head, asleep in the crib. The small boy, with hair that matches his mother’s, sighs in his sleep.

    We have to take the chance. Corban lowers his gaze to the infant girl in Dornata’s arms. They are claiming it is a curse.

    Dornata looks down to the girl, closed eyes and breathing deeply, oblivious to the troubling conversation.

    We need to split up, Corban urges. Gifij and I will take her and head towards Dugshi Forest. Dornata and Phillip can take the boy…

    Dornata isn’t well enough to travel, Folashia interjects. Corban starts to argue, but the stern look on his mother’s face cuts him off. He examines his sister. She would have difficulty standing, much less trying to escape through the woods.

    Phillip reaches for the sleeping babe, but Dornata sobs and pulls away. Wait. Tears fill her eyes as she holds the infant close. With soft breaths in her ear, Dornata presses the babe’s warm skin against hers. She caresses her petite, supple face. Sleep now, brave one. Let no trouble find you.

    Phillip gently takes the wrapped infant and leans down, laying his head against Dornata’s neck.

    Go Phillip. I can’t bear for them to find her.

    I don’t want to leave you. Phillip looks into her teary, silver eyes.

    I will stay with her, Folashia states, handing packs and blankets to them. Flee now. I fear what they will do to the child if they catch you.

    And the boy? He is innocent in this, Gifij states, taking up a light burden of packed supplies.

    Hide him. Phillip places his hand heavy on her shoulder. Wrapping a cloak around himself and the infant girl, he turns and meets her gaze. Go with Corban, sister.

    She nods with reluctance, pulls her hood up and follows Corban out the door. The blasting snow and wind consumes their escape.

    Two enormous masses collide, transferring their energy into a vibration of air, earth, and stone. Teeth and claw, deadly to mortal flesh, scratch against scales like swords on a grinding wheel. The larger, by far the stronger, gains hold of the smaller’s torso, though a slash of claw across his neck tries to prevent him. With a thrust of his powerful legs, the beast hurls his victim into the stone wall.

    The wall absorbs the impact and loose stones rain down on the beasts. The smaller rises from the rubble, shaking pebbles from her wings.

    A crowd gathers around them, where she is pinned against the castle’s dark stone wall. A crisp, deep voice rises above the shouts of the soldiers, Get this over with!

    Crescent-shaped pupils dilate as the command reverberates against the stone wall.

    Shirr. He’s here.

    Her claws dig into the barren earth. The pain from the impact awakens the victim’s muscles, breathing strength into them. Her large eyes turn back to the attacker. Air sucks in her jaws with an audible hiss.

    Stop her! She’ll set us all ablaze!

    The larger beast spreads his wings just as she releases the torrent of fire. His wings wither in the intense heat, but effectively block the flames from reaching the crowded figures behind him.

    The heat fades and the larger beast growls and lurches forward to clamp his jaws around her neck, but she is gone.

    Armored footfalls crunch on the accumulated snow. Without a rap on the door the soldiers enter the house. Two women are seated on the bed, not alarmed by their sudden entrance.

    You are to come with us, by order of the mage, a soldier commands.

    The soldiers pause at the younger woman’s silver hair, glinting from the firelight from the hearth. The elder woman’s is colored the same, though it shines with less luster. The elder’s features are strange as well, her face is thin and her form is tall and slender.

    Where is the child? another soldier demands.

    They search the one-room cottage, but find no others. The women do not move from their stolid position on the bed.

    The babies died of fever in the night, the young woman explains when the intruders’ attention returns to her.

    We were told others live here. Where are the wood smith and his sister? a soldier demands.

    They’ve gone to bury the children, the elder woman answers.

    In the middle of a storm?

    Hanging her head the woman responds, We couldn’t bear to have them in the house.

    The soldiers step aside for a blonde haired, heavily armored man. And what of the rogue that stays here? he asks, his tone level as if he addresses someone on the street, but his eyes watch them with scrutiny. Did it take all three of them to bury two infants?

    He has been gone for half a moon.

    I think they are trying to hide the babe, the leader says to the others. He moves to the door. Begin a search. The mage deemed it imperative that we find the child.

    Yes Captain.

    What about the mother?

    Dornata’s expression is tired and resentful, but she does not protest when she hears the captain answer.

    Take them both. They may assist in capturing the runaways.

    Wings. Powerful and agile, gliding through colorless clouds in the night sky. An exhilarating lift is created by sheer speed and motion. The angles of her body direct the wind, propelling her forward to the expanse of sky.

    But she is not alone.

    She senses she is followed, though the pursuers are not visible behind her. Normally she could easily out-fly them, but she’s weakened from her recent fight, and Shirr has chosen fresh dragons. He probably rides Sayshees, the second fastest dragon in his fleet, besides her.

    They are following her scent on the wind, and they will hunt her to the Great Waters.

    If she makes it that far.

    Tendrils of hair steal in front of her face. Dirt and straw cling to her intermittent braids. But she does not brush them away. It blocks her view of the faces. A forest of faces, all unfamiliar to her. All unfriendly. She thinks of Phillip and wraps her arms tighter around her chest.

    It was a mistake to allow them to live here, a man’s smooth, slow voice says from behind her. The elf, and her half-elf children, do not belong in Ophilnycad. The unnatural joining of two races has brought a curse upon our city.

    Dornata forces herself to remain still, the desire to leave the platform causing her to shake. Her mother is near, but she doesn’t turn to see her face. She knows her mother’s grief matches her own, and she can’t stand to witness it.

    We do not desire to continue the imprisonment of this woman, the man goes on. Someone must know the whereabouts of the child.

    Dornata fearfully listens to the murmurings of the crowd, but no voice rings forth. Her arms go lax. She is still safe.

    Please, if any of you can save these women from captivity, come forward.

    Again there is silence, aside from a slight hum of conversation from the gathered peasants. To the young mother, it is a sweeter sound than the first cry from her new babes.

    Very well. Any information leading to the capture of the fugitives and the cursed babe will be rewarded. Though the infant may seem innocent, it bears the mark. She will bring destruction down upon us.

    A hand wraps around Dornata’s arm. She will gladly spend the rest of her days in their prison, as long as they never find her child.

    Be strong, Dornata, her mother whispers beside her. Dornata sees Folashia too has been tortured, trying to find out where her husband and brother have gone. The glow that usually highlights Folashia’s graceful features is shadowed by grief. They are allowed no other exchange as their captors direct them back towards the prison entrance.

    A sound rises above the hum in Dornata’s ears. At first it is soft and indistinguishable, but then it grows shrill. Its high pitched tones penetrate her bones.

    Just in time Dornata realizes her situation. She continues with the soldiers, her absence only momentary. Still she hears the crying in the distance, but she fights the instinct to find her child.

    Halt! the smooth male voice commands and the soldiers obey. The baby’s cry carries over the crowd. Bile rises in Dornata’s throat. She can’t react. They can’t know it is her child.

    The robed man moves into her sight. He steps so close she can’t avert her gaze. Under other circumstances his face may have appeared kind; his facial hair neatly shaven, his sleek black hair drawn back, the contours of his face full and masculine. As his intent eyes peer into hers, Dornata realizes the crying has ceased. She tries to hide her relief.

    His attention shifts to the crowd, then back to her. Though he speaks no question, she knows it’s an interrogation. She gives him no response, barely breathing. He moves his hand to her face. Her lips quiver under the touch of his fingers.

    The child is here! he shouts. Guards, find her!

    Phillip hears a scream from the direction of the prison. He knows it’s Dornata, but even in his plight to slip back into the city without any further attention, he can tell his wife is not screaming in anguish. It is a brief cry of alarm, of fear.

    Which means they’re coming for him.

    He hushes the infant. Her squirming subsides and she’s lulled back to sleep against his chest. Having grown up in the city, Phillip knows there will be no shelter for him, no dark alley he can slip into. Most of the stone and pine buildings are modest and evenly spaced. His only hope is to reach the forest.

    He went that way!

    Phillip turns a corner and presses himself against a wall, but he hears commotion follow him. He runs down the street. People turn and stare as he passes, some begin shouting. Phillip starts down another lane, but forty paces away he sees a group of soldiers sprinting his direction.

    There he is!

    Phillip turns back to the main street, hoping to blend into the workers of the city, but he finds more soldiers coming towards him. They surround him, hands on their hilts.

    I am no fighter. I have no weapon, but you will not take her from me alive, Phillip growls.

    That is not your decision, the lead soldier answers. The soldiers point drawn weapons at him.

    They don’t try to pry the infant from Phillip as they escort him back to the town center. He realizes they are afraid to touch her. The infant sleeps fitfully in Phillip’s arms and he whispers to her, trying not to pass his fear through is skin.

    Her wounds seep sick energy, leaving a trail as strong as the scent of blood to a wolf. Giant lungs feel like they breathe ice. Her pursuers are closer, she can feel them. If she pushes herself any longer she will have no energy left to fight when they eventually catch her. Still now she has a chance of making a worthy end.

    And maybe kill Shirr...

    Dornata and her mother are dragged back to the raised platform.

    Great skies, Phillip fell into their trap, Folashia whispers.

    Phillip appears on the other side with is arms protectively wrapped around the infant. Soldiers surround him, but keep their distance, clearly unwilling to get near him, or the bundle he holds. Phillip’s gaze connects with Dornata, his lightly freckled skin matching his orange-auburn hair.

    Let me see her! the robed man exclaims, his voice losing some of its smooth quality in his excitement.

    Phillip’s expression betrays his anger, but he doesn’t speak his thoughts. He uses the moment to lean down and whisper in his daughter’s ear.

    Hand over the child, peasant, a soldier demands.

    Phillip ignores them, continuing to comfort the infant.

    Seize him! the robed man demands. The soldiers roughly grab his arms but do not reach for the babe.

    I am Bavun, high mage and protector of the city of Ophilnycad. I command you to relinquish the girl.

    You cannot have her, the father’s voice is barely audible, soft and gentle as if he speaks to the child. Just as casual as if he were adjusting her blankets, Phillip places his hand firmly over the babe’s mouth. With a quick thrust he frees himself from the soldiers’ holds and falls to one knee, wrapping his arms tightly over her.

    Stop him!

    The soldiers try to pry free his arms but he keeps her out of their reach and shakes them off.

    Suddenly the struggling ceases. The tall man becomes rigid and the soldiers are unable to budge his arms. Phillip grunts in frustration; his head lifts showing his face red and his eyes watering.

    You fool, the mage taunts and moves before him. The soldiers back away. Phillip’s clothing tightens around him as if it’s too small. The collar of his shirt visibly slips around his neck. The mage holds a cluster of trinkets dangling from his clenched fist, showing them to his captive. Phillip cries out as his arms are forced apart.

    The babe is revealed as the possessed cloth forces aside his limbs. She takes in several gasps then screams with shrill terror.

    No! Phillip yells and flexes his muscles against the rippling cloth, but the fabric of his collar begins to choke him. The cloth pulls his arms apart and he looses hold of the infant.

    The crying is silenced.

    She is over the human kingdom. Smells of their habitation rise above the thin clouds. Slowing her flight she lets the air move through her nostrils, catching hints of felled trees, smoke, stone, and closely housed livestock. A city.

    Perhaps they can offer some distraction.

    She turns her head, spotting indefinite shadows in the far distance. But she knows their source. It will end today. She tilts her wings forward and drifts into the clouds.

    Like curtains pulsating in an open window, the blanket comes alive with energy, suspended just above the ground. But this action leaves the babe exposed. She’s awake, her thin body quivering but calmed by the undulating cloth. Her bare skin forms goosebumps in the frigid air. The blanket falls off of her, exposing two deformed stubs where her legs should be. The guards back away.

    The mark.

    She bears the mark!

    Yes, the mark, the mage responds to the soldiers. The curse that is laid upon those who break the rules of magic. He loosens his hand from the ring of trinkets and the collar releases from Phillip’s throat. The child lowers gently to the ground.

    Fornala!

    The soldiers seize Phillip, now without restraint.

    The girl still does not cry. She stares up at Phillip with light, pasty blue eyes.

    This child is a danger to us all, the mage continues, stepping towards her. She does not follow the intended direction of nature. She is an abomination.

    No! Dornata cries from behind him.

    She must die, for the natural order to be protected.

    The infant’s gaze turns his direction.

    My child!

    Take the women away, Bavun commands. Captain, your knife.

    Glancing at the women as they are escorted down the platform, the stern-faced captain comes forward, taking a blade from his belt.

    She’s done nothing! Phillip protests, with Dornata and Folashia’s cries behind his.

    She is the source of your misery, the mage tells him. It will be over soon. The mage motions the captain forward.

    Please! Take my life instead! Dornata screams as they pull her into the street.

    That will not break the curse, the mage answers. That will not correct the wrong.

    The soldiers pull Phillip back as the captain approaches the child. She still does not cry, but seems on the verge of it. The captain turns the blade into his palm, hiding it as he kneels before her. She doesn’t look at him, distracted by cries

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