A Dawn of Dragonfire - By Daniel Arenson Page 0,54
forward, lips tight, and knelt by the dying man. With sure fingers, she uncorked her vials, then poured silverweed nectar into the man's mouth.
"Sister," he whispered, shaking now. "Hold me. Hold me as I leave."
The young woman held the dying man, praying for him, until he lay still in her arms. Adia watched, eyes moist, and she shed tears, all those tears she had not cried for hours, maybe days. Her body shook with them.
"Come, my love," Deramon said softly. "You've not slept in three days. Sister Caela will tend to these men for a few hours."
They left the armory, this place of death and blood and screams. They walked down a tunnel, moving between soldiers who ran and survivors who huddled and prayed. Darkness, stench, and whispers of fear swirled around them. Adia's head spun. Three days. Had it truly been that long? Only several lamps lined the tunnels, casting shadows like dark phoenixes. From above came hammering and cries of battle.
"How are the defenses?" she asked.
Deramon clenched his jaw. "Holding. Barely. The Tirans broke through one blockade—the entrance at the temple. Many died. We raised more boulders and are holding them back. For now." He looked at her. "We will not hold out for long, Adia. But we will hold out for the night."
She realized that Deramon too had not slept for three days. His face was haggard. New lines creased his face, and more white streaked his red beard. His clothes and armor were covered in dust and blood.
"You look like you've been to the Abyss and back," Adia said. She shivered, realizing the grimness of the phrase she'd chosen. No, he had not been to the Abyss, but Lyana now delves into that place. Our daughter. Our sweet, brave light.
Deramon seemed to read her thoughts. He held her hand tight.
"I trust Lyana," he said, voice a low growl. "She is the finest swordswoman I know. She is wise and strong and fast. If anyone can survive down there, it's our girl. She'll return to us with the Starlit Demon. I promise you."
Adia looked at him, and she wanted to believe, but she saw the fear in his eyes. She knew that he himself did not believe those words.
Lyana will die, she thought. We will die. Requiem will fall. But if we are doomed, we will go down fighting, and we will not give up until death's grasp pulls us to the stars. Does my Noela wait for me there?
Survivors covered every corner of these tunnels, sleeping on the floors, standing against the walls, huddling into nooks. Adia made her way between them, until she entered the wine cellar which had become their war room. She and Deramon stepped in, and the chamber seemed so bare to her. This was Requiem's new center of power, but where was their king? He was gone into darkness. Where was their princess? She had flown into the night. Where were Olasar and Orin? Their bodies lay burnt in the inferno of the world.
Who will lead us now? Adia thought. How could this lost, hunted people survive underground with no father or mother? She would be that mother, she knew. She was a priestess, a leader, a healer. Let me lead and heal as best I can until my king returns.
Deramon moved about the room and found them mugs of wine, old cheese, and bread, but Adia could not eat nor drink. She huddled on the floor by a casket, pulled her knees to her chest, and wept.
"My love," Deramon whispered. He sat by her, wrapped his arms around her, and held her. She trembled against him. He was all cold steel and rough flesh; he seemed so strong to her, forever her lord and soldier.
"I'm so scared," she whispered to him. "I'm so scared, Deramon. I'm so scared for Bayrin, for Lyana, for everyone." Her tears claimed her.
He kissed her head and held her close, his arms so wide and strong; when she was younger, Adia used to think he could lift the world with those arms.
Finally she slept, held in his embrace, her cheek against his shoulder. She dreamed of gaping wounds and burning flesh and haunted, bloody eyes.
MORI
She could not breathe. She could see nothing but clouds and stinging snow. Her fear gushed through her, she blew fire, her wings beat madly, and it was all she could do to keep flying.
I'm suffocating, she thought. Her head spun and her lungs ached. I can't breathe. Help, stars, help.