A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,101

coated in dust, their blood seeping through it.

His body ached and his head rang. Grimacing, Deramon sat up and turned around.

The tunnel had collapsed into a heap of boulders. He could neither see nor hear the Tirans. Blood seeped from under the wreckage.

"Good," he muttered. May they all lie dead.

He rose to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. His men rose around him. Behind them, the tunnel sloped deeper into darkness; the prayers and cries of survivors rose from the depth.

I've buried us alive, Deramon thought. How long until we run out of air? How long until we all perish in the darkness? Will we ever find a way back to light?

He did not know. But death was delayed. They had staved off fire, even if hunger, thirst, and suffocation still awaited.

"Their battering ram will not break this blockage as easily," said Garvon, the captain with the white beard and one eye. Dust filled a gash along his cheek, and a dent pressed into his breastplate, leaking blood.

"No," Deramon agreed and scratched his own beard, wondering if he'd live to see it as white as Garvon's. "Go see my wife, Garvon. Go see Adia. Get your wounds bandaged. Silas!" He turned to see the younger soldier struggle to his feet; blood seeped from under his helmet. "Silas, can you stand? Can you still swing a blade?"

The young man nodded, lips tight, and lifted his fallen sword. "My blade will always swing for Requiem."

He is younger than my son, Deramon thought. But not as young as the boy whose skull I cleaved.

"Good. Stay here and guard this pile of rubble." Deramon passed his eyes over the others who were rising from the dust. "Talin! Raion! Stay here with him. The rest of you too. I'll send up fresh men."

Leaving them there, he walked with Garvon down the tunnel. Soon they were stepping through crowds of women and children. If the survivors had been cramped before, they were now pressed together, a wall of flesh and tears and blood.

This place is a grave, Deramon thought. How much more of these tunnels could they lose? So much of the underground had fallen. All that remained was this—a few burrows, a few alcoves, thousands of survivors breathing and crowding together. How long until their air was gone? A day? An hour?

We cannot wait for you, Bayrin, he thought. We cannot wait, Lyana. Return to us… or flee as far as you can, and never return to our tomb.

Robes swirled, and Adia came walking toward them. The survivors around her bowed their heads and moved aside as best they could, letting her pass. She mumbled blessings to them. The priestess's face was pale, her eyes sunken, and blood stained her robes.

"Deramon," she whispered. She touched blood that trickled down his forehead.

"We held them back," he said, so hoarse he could barely speak at all. "We brought the tunnel down upon them."

And upon a dozen of my own men, he thought.

She stood for a moment, stern, the Mother of Requiem, the great Priestess of Stars… and then her lips trembled, and she embraced him and clung to him.

"Thank the stars," she whispered. "Deramon, I thought you had left me. Stars, so many are dead. So many I cannot heal."

He looked over her shoulder at the survivors. Here too people were dying. Some were sick, their wounds festering. The elderly huddled on the floor and babes wept.

Deramon wanted to comfort his wife. To be strong for her, to give her hope… but he knew that hope was gone. We will die here. But we will die fighting.

"Adia," he began… and his breath died.

Cracks raced along the ceiling, and with a crash and sound like crumbling mountains, boulders rained. A hole broke open above, and firelight blazed, like the sun breaking through clouds.

"Storm the tunnels!" rose Solina's voice above. "Slay them all!"

Tirans leaped from above, tossed down shovels, and drew swords. Solina landed like a cat, snarled, and swung her twin blades. Vir Requis screamed and tried to flee, but there was nowhere to run; they fell dead at the Tirans' blades.

"Garvon, with me!" Deramon shouted and ran forward, shoving men aside. Behind him, he heard more of his troops rushing into the tunnel. He saw Solina stab an old woman who gasped and fell. Then a Tiran man charged toward him, thrusting a spear, and Deramon parried with his sword.

The Tirans' torches filled the tunnels. There were dozens, maybe hundreds. They kept pouring in from