Children of the Desert Moon 2: Lady's Promise by GJ Woodrum

Heat Rating: Zero Fire

Content Warning: GLBT themes

Battles ensue when cultures collide.

Dohzhehn stared, eyes narrowed, at the onrushing verritaym'i. The predawn twilight meant he could clearly see their terrible aspects. Filthy, their weathered skins patterned with ridges of scars and fearsome designs painted on themóor ratheróinto their hides he realized, as they drew nearer. Barbaric savages. "Ugly brutes, aren't they?"

Ahzholahn nodded, "Aye, that they are."

"Dangerous, dangerous," Zhehrryhn murmured, his gaze falling on what Taizhehn was doing inside the concealment of the tent.

"He has the training," Ahzholahn countered, "do not worry." Then Ahzholahn grinned fiercely and glanced at Taizhehn, who would remain hidden from their enemies until the last instant. "Be ready, little brother."

Taizhehn's smile was no less vicious than his brother's as he clenched his left hand into a tight-balled fist. Energy crackled between his closed fingers, hot magenta and fuchsia tendrils that gave off such heat that a metalmage's forge was cold by comparison. Even his eyes, blood-red normally, had taken on a more brilliant hue as the boy worked the magic that was granted them by the blood of the Flame Lord's lineage.

The boy coughed, spat, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling the potency of the flame increasing. He was feeling a little better this morning. But that was little comfort. Ehzhehl had always seemed better in the morningsóat first. Or perhaps the swallow of brandyó the stuff they called Shynthair's Blood after the name of the Flame Lord himselfóDohzhehn had made him gag down had done some good.

A gust of wind whipped across the oasis, shaking the palms, raising a curtain of dust for an instant then falling off to a zephyr of breeze.

The verritaym'i were nearly on them. The older pair of kehshehn'eh moved forward to meet their attackers as Zherryhn stepped back to guard his youngest kinsman.

The khai'sho had moved nearer to the tent, the pair of them watching the approach of the dragonmen. Stormrunner was ready to attack these things should it prove necessary to protect his two-footed foal. The other khai'sho bared its fangs and stamped its feet at the foul odor coming off the two-legged beasts.

With a dozen feet between them and the attackers, Taizhehn stepped out of the tent. Choosing his targets with care, he made a hurling motion.

A ball of flame the size of a pebble flashed outward, incandescent, leaving a trail of hot air that screamed in its wake.

Full in the chest, the tiny ball of dharmehl fire hit Sroth and he went up like an oil-soaked rag, Brud and Paug to each side of him, screamed at the searing inferno-heat that scorched them, burning the skin from the halves of themselves that had been nearest Sroth. They both ignited. First struck, Sroth crumbled as ashes to the ground, Brud and Paug joining him a heartbeat later.

Taizhehn swayed, shook himself and slipped into the tent, hiding until the dizziness of powering so strong a blast faded.