Janine Cross - Forged By Fire: Book Three of the Dragon Temple Saga

A ROC BOOK
Praise for the Novels of Janine Cross Forged by Fire

[A] gritty finale to her dystopian feminist fantasy trilogy.... Cross puts her heroine through brutal, fast-paced action sequences in a world resembling the Middle East. Without preaching, the author handles challenging themes of addic tion, graphic sexuality, racism, slavery, and the oppression of children and women. This concluding installment is for adult readers who like their escapism darker than their re ality. Publishers Weekly

The Dragon Temple Saga
[A] remarkable debut novel.... It is clear that Janine Cross is a significant new voice in fantasy.
Cinefantastique

Crosss debut novel tells a fascinating story of love and vengeance. Offering a different approach to dragons and dragon lore, the author combines skillful storytelling with sensually evocative details. With particular appeal to fans of the works of Jacqueline Carey and Terry Goodkind.

Library Journal (starred review)

Crosss bold debut introduces headstrong nine-year-old Zarq Darquel.... Turning the fantasy clich of the under dog girl who dreams of dragon-mastery into a grim but fascinating coming-of-age tale, Cross scratches only the surface of this richly detailed, well-imagined world.

Publishers Weekly
Books in the Dragon Temple Saga

Touched by Venom Shadowed by Wings Forged by Fire

A ROC BOOK

ROC
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Published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in a Roc trade paperback edition. Copyright Janine Cross, 2007
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ISBN: 1-4295-6712-0

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To my mother and father ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

For support unlimited, thanks go first and foremost to Linda DeMeulemeester. Sincere gratitude to my editor, Liz, and my agent, Caitlin, for their insights and patience. Thanks also to all the listserv folks at SF Canada; Claire Eddy, for encouraging and challenging me, way back when; John D., my computer guru; and Sean Kerr, who asked me some pertinent questions when Id reached an impasse, and thus provided me with forward mobility. As always, much love to the Faerie and the Bean, for all the magick they regularly conjure.

tered. Your head should be on a pike by now.

The tunnel reeked of dead air. No mildew or lichen grew on the walls; the stones were a lifeless gray that leapt briefly into a fluctuating tapestry of shadow and flamelight under Gens torch before being swallowed again by darkness.

Gen gripped my elbow, urged me on faster. I stumbled. Pain lanced across my fractured ribs and I cried out.
Steady, he murmured.
Hurts, I snapped.
No empathy from him. The bull dragonll be mounting his last breeder soon, and the crowdll expect to see your head paraded afterward. We dont want to be caught in this labyrinth when that spectacle doesnt occur, so move , girl, move.
The tunnel rumbled.
Earthquake, I thought with a spurt of panic, but realized, even as I thought it, that the rumble was the bellowing of the bull dragon in Arena above us, answered by the cheers of two hundred thousand Arena spectators. A clammy sweat broke over my skin.
It was then that I thought of Dono.
I dont know why; perhaps because Id smelled the sweat of fear on him as hed attacked me in Arena, just a short while before.
What about Dono? I asked.
I could see nothing of Gens face beneath the ivoryhued Auditors veil he wore, save for the whites of his eyes gleaming like the petals of wet lilies, and his pupils, black as beetle carapaces. He cant hurt you now, Babu. Keep moving
Hes dead?
Bastard refused to die, a voice gurgled behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder at Dragonmaster Re, who was supported by a man disguised, like Gen, as an Audi tor. Blood ran dark as plum jelly down the dragonmasters thighs; hed been wounded by the bull dragons venomous tongue. A great flap of torn skin hung from his chest in a bloody frown. His goatee braid dangled in the wound.
I couldnt strangle the air from him, so I ripped his throat out with my teeth. The dragonmasters eyes rolled. The bastard still refused to die.
Donos alive? Up there? I stopped, looked at the stone ceiling that was so low, Daronpu Gen walked stooped over.
Dead, Gen said with finality. The bull will have tram pled him by now. Keep walking.
I jerked my elbow from his grasp. The bull flies when mating. Dono wont be trampled.
Not trampled, oh, no. Not him. The dragonmaster cackled. His head lolled; he was barely lucid from the bulls toxin. Crawling through the dust I left him, pressed against the stadiums walls; oh, no, not dead, that bastard, not dead.
Gen, the other would-be Auditor said curtly. We have to go .
Gen jerked on my arm and we were moving again.
Son of a whore turned against me! the dragonmaster shrilled, and his voice echoed down the tunnel.
Shut up, the man holding him growled.
We reached a crossroad of tunnels. One was blocked; the ceiling had collapsed, whether long ago or recently, I couldnt tell. I wondered if there were any human bones moldering beneath that blockage. Or on the other side of it.
Without hesitation, Gen steered us down the tunnel to our right. The air was cooler and slightly damp. I pictured Donomy milk-brother, the orphan Id spent my childhood withcrawling through the hot, dusty Arena above, his sight impaired by the wound Id inflicted on one of his eyes the day previous, his throat mauled by the dragonmaster.