Bending down, Nissilât gently lowered the child slumbering in her arms to the ground. She froze as he stirred, clutching possessively at her arm, but he hadn't truly awoken. After a few beats, he'd settled back into his slumber, and she managed to pry his arm free as she stood up to greet the handful of soldiers clustered around her.

Eleven men. Of the soldiers that had followed her through the tunnels, just eleven had survived. The numbers had been slightly higher for the civilians, as they'd been closer to the sanctum when the tunnels began to collapse, but the numbers were still depressingly low. Thirty-seven villagers had survived, seventeen of whom had already been working in the castle when the attack began, so her efforts had saved just twenty.

It was just enough failure on her conscience, another dark blot on a list of mistakes growing far too long, and the worst of it was that Nissilat wasn't sure if she had even managed to save these people, or had simply led them to a different doom. At least being sacrificed was quick, but starvation was a slow, agonizing death.

But she knew morale was important, so she buried all her fears beneath a false veneer of confidence as she greeted the men. "Any luck finding a path through the rubble?"

The four who had been sent to scout out the collapsed tunnels shook their heads glumly. "It's completely sealed up fifty feet in," the only man of any rank, a sergeant, replied. "Depending on how deep the blockage is, we might be able to tunnel our way out, but…." From his grim expression, Nissilât could tell he didn't have much confidence in that idea.

"And what about you?" She turned to the remaining men, who had been sent to scout out the fringes of the massive sanctum. Although Tōrîl's map had only shown one passage leading in and out of the sanctum, she found it hard to believe that the builders hadn't included a backup in case of a cave-in. At a bare minimum, there have to be ventilation shafts, don't there?

"I found nothing, my lady." "Nothing." "Only a collapsed shaft."

Each shake of the head hit her heart like a dagger, especially when the soldier mentioned finding a collapsed shaft. Maybe we won't have to worry about starving after all; we'll suffocate instead. But just as she was about to give up hope, the last soldier returned, out of breath as he jogged over from the farthest corner of the unfinished sanctum.

"Find something, soldier?" She asked, hardly daring to let herself hope until the man slowly nodded his head.

"The ventilation shaft I found was partially collapsed, my lady, but, even though it was too tight near the entrance for me to squeeze through, I could feel a strong breeze when I stuck my face into it. I suspect it's mostly unblocked."

Nissilât allowed herself a small smile as she ordered the soldier to lead her there.

"Do you want us to come along, my lady?" the sergeant asked. "We can dig out the entrance for you."

But she shook her head. "There's no point in wasting your energy until I've confirmed the passage is usable, and I can get past the rubble on my own. In the meantime, have your men help the wounded; I don't think there's anyone in critical condition, but there's no point in letting a small wound fester into something dangerous."

As the soldiers dispersed to carry out her orders, she followed the man back toward the shaft he had found. The entrance was blocked as he'd described, by a large stone slab that had fallen out of the ceiling diagonally across the entrance. Dirt and gravel had flowed in around the fallen block, sealing off all but about a foot of space, but as she peeked her head through the gap, a brisk, cool breeze met her face. "I'll be back," she said, before blurring into the shadows, leaving the astonished soldier behind.

This far below the ground, the darkness was so nearly absolute that even with her night vision, she could barely see five paces ahead of her. Afraid she might try to leap into an unseen blockage, her progress was slow and halting, but with each jump she took, her hopes continued to rise.

It was obvious the ventilation shaft was never intended to serve as an escape tunnel. There was enough room for her to pass comfortably, but she knew she was on the smaller side; it would be a tight squeeze indeed for the larger men among the soldiers and villagers, but she was pretty sure it would be passable. A bigger problem was the steepness, a slope so sharp that she knew no one at lower levels would be able to climb up it without the aid of footholds, but that, too, was a fixable problem. It might take a few hours, but they could carve out a series of ledges for the villagers to climb.

The biggest obstacle would be any blockages in the tunnel, but despite the many cracks and fissures that covered the once immaculate walls of the shaft, the passage remained nearly clear until she reached the top. There, she was forced to jump through the shadows past a second pile of rubble, but like the one near the entrance, it was a small enough section she felt confident they could clear it out.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

With one final jump, she reached the top, pausing beneath the grate barring the exit as cold rain began to beat against her face. Nissilât had spent weeks cursing the rain, the constant storms that plagued the area, but as the realization finally sank in that they weren't going to die buried alive, the cold kiss of the rain felt like a lover's tender embrace. We're going to make it.

If there was one skill Ardûl prided himself on, it was his ability to plan for every eventuality. From the moment he'd heard that Turzu had been appointed the commander of the army, he'd known it was only a matter of time before he'd be dismissed. Oh, the man was a warrior through and through, but he was as much of a terror off the field as he was on it, and Ardul knew that the favor of the southern tribes would not be enough to keep him in power.

By the time the first sabotage attempts had started, Ardul had already assembled most of his command staff, ready to take over as soon as Turzu inevitably did something stupid enough to be dismissed. His prescience was a trait that had served him well, allowing him to advance far beyond the ranks usually allowed a hornless Moon-kissed like himself, but as he stared at the monstrosity crawling out of the gate, he realized he'd miscalculated. I should have brought the whole kruvas̆-cursed army.

Back in Abāya, haste had seemed the most pressing concern, so he'd left with considerably less than a third of the forces available to him, gambling on the hope that they could reach the fort before the mage struck.

Strategically, he knew it was still a sound decision. If he'd waited to assemble more troops or allowed their progress to be slowed by the siege corps, they would have arrived long after the portal had already opened. By now, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the strange chimeras would have scattered in every direction, and with the advantage of flight, they could have terrorized the countryside for months before they were hunted down.

His speed had prevented that from happening, and yet his planning was nonetheless perhaps in vain - for he certainly hadn't foreseen a bloody wyrm crawling out of the bloody veil.

Even if I had the whole army here, would it help? He watched glumly as the massive beast crouched low to squeeze its monstrously large wings through the three-story-tall portal.

In the days of the Desolyton, his army would have an entire battalion of mages more than equal to the task of fighting such a monster, but those days were long behind them. These days, all he had was a squad of firebirds and his own two hands. The rest of the men, he knew, would be little more than fodder.

Magically reinforced with essence, his voice boomed like thunder over the battlefield as he called for his men to retreat. Harried relentlessly by the few chimeras still alive, it was only thanks to his presence that the ranks held as they pulled back from the portal. "Red to the front," he yelled again, ordering those with flame immunity to take the front row, "Firebirds to me!"

Ardûl leapt as the black tsussim swept low over the ranks and, though his aim was true, he nearly knocked the rider out of her saddle as he grasped her waist. With a startled yelp, she yanked herself back up and shot him a scolding glance. "A little warning would be nice, Commander."

"Next time, I'll be sure to send you formal notice before requisitioning your mount," he replied wryly.

"See that you do," Anôrra replied sarcastically, but she quickly snapped into focus as the wyrm, still struggling to pull itself out of the portal, belched fire. "So what's the plan here? 'Cause somehow I have a feeling that kruvas-cursed beast isn't going to be too fussed by our little fire magic.""Keep the beast occupied as best you can, its focus on you and not on the ranks," he grunted. "I'd like to still have an army when I meet the Emperor."

"We'll do our best, my lord, but a distraction alone isn't going to kill that thing. Surely you aren't intending to kill it on your own?"

He eyed the beast speculatively as she nudged her tsussim in a tight spiral, narrowly avoiding a wave of flames that suddenly came in their direction as the wyrm turned its head. Unlike most of the Djinn, as a Moon-kissed, his spells weren't restricted to fire, so he probably had something in his arsenal that could actually hurt the wyrm. Under normal circumstances, he doubted he had a chance, but despite being hidden beneath thick layers of storm clouds, he could feel Selene's presence in the heavens above and the heavy weight of her gaze upon his shoulders. Perhaps with her aid…he shook his head, dismissing the prideful thought. The beast was above him, of that he was sure, but in the absence of anyone stronger, Ardûl would do whatever it took to save his troops.

"Someone killed the first wyrm," he jerked his head toward the massive body crumpled atop the ruined walls of Dūr-Sūqerbettû. "And unless Lord Yas̆peh is a master of disguise, I'm pretty sure he wasn't the one to kill it. Maybe our mysterious saviour has stuck around."

"And if not?"

"I'll do my best to give you an opening. You'll know what to do." Anôrra grimaced as she met his eyes, seeing through the facade of confidence he was trying to project.

"Don't get yourself killed, Commander. I might just have to desert if that windbag Turzu gets the command again."

Despite himself, Ardûl snorted with amusement. "Don't worry, Captain. I don't think that will happen even over my dead body."

As he spoke, the tsussîm soared over the wyrm's head, and Ardul kicked his legs free of the saddle. "Steady."

Sensing his intentions, the firebird captain slowed down as they passed over the creature's enormous, violet eyes and Ardŭl flung himself off the tsussim's back.

He pulled on the Lady's power as he fell, his own essence bolstered by the favor of the Celestial Queen, into a halo of silver light around him. The creature blinked slowly, fire and claws reaching for him as he plummeted toward it. Ana Ilat-Yarḫa! Ana Damqa Maras̆s̆amîm!

And, for a moment, night was banished as he struck its eye.

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