Page 216 of Of Empires and Dust

He stood in the thirteenth egg chamber, in the vault beneath Ilnaen’s western hatchery tower. The same place he had been standing when the shouts and screams had rung through the chamber.

“What do we do?” Frincisca asked frantically, her hands shaking. She’d been that way since they’d rushed out to the corridor and seen the Uraks swarming into the chamber below, slaughtering everything that moved. “Mirk?”

It had seemed a pretty reasonable reaction to him, but strangely it was not how he himself had reacted. No. He had stood in the chamber, staring about at the eggs without a word leaving his lips.

Frincisca grabbed his shoulders, her short brown hair hanging down over her bloodshot, tear-filled eyes. “Mirk… what do we do? What… where do we even…” She stared into his eyes, her grip growing tighter, then loosening all of a sudden. “We’re going to die here, aren’t we?” Her breaths quickened, slicing through her words. “We’re… go-going to die in this place… Who will tell Olban? If I don’t come home… he’ll… my children… Tua still needs milk… She’s not seen a summer… Olban told me I needed to step down, but I couldn’t. I…”

Calen didn’t have the heart to tell her that if the Uraks had come this deep below Ilnaen, Olban and her children were likely dead, dying, or close. If they were this deep, in those numbers, then the whole city was likely dead. He didn’t know how it had happened, or why, but those two questions mattered little in the face of the fact that itwashappening.

He rushed to the door and slammed both bolts across, pressing the flat of his back against the wood. Sweat rolled down his forehead, screams and shouts echoing up from the lower levels.

Frincisca still stood in the middle of the vault, muttering to herself, shivering.

Calen’s throat was dry as dust, and he couldn’t for the life of him seem to find even the slightest dribble of spit. He’d never been in a fight before, much less a battle. He’d joined the Dracårdare when he’d seen but ten summers. He wasn’t a fighter, but he’d always wanted to be a part of The Order, be a part of something greater than himself. And to care for dragons?Dragons?What man wouldn’t jump at a chance like that. An idiot, that’s who.

He drew slow breaths, trying to think. There had to be something he could do. There just had to be. Even if the city had fallen, The Order had a hundred strongholds across the continent. Ilnaen was only one place. They just needed to stay calm, take as many eggs as they could, and get free of the vault. If they could do that, the Draleid would see them safe to Caelduin, or Anadine, or Thurinsil. There was nothing in this world that could stand against Draleid.

With one last long breath, Calen pulled himself from the door and sprinted to where the leather sacks lay in a heap by the wall. They used the sacks for moving tools and books and all sorts of whatever they needed. They never used them for eggs. The eggs were always carried by hand or mounted in golden chests. But there was a first time for everything.

He snatched an egg off the nearest shelf – orange scales and spots of blue – and shoved it into the bag with such haste the Prime Keeper would have slapped him back into the Age of War had he witnessed it.

“What… what are you doing?” Frincisca stared at him, seeming to have regained some semblance of composure.

He stuffed another egg into the sack – muddled brown, dark at the roots, light along the scale edges.

“Something,” Calen muttered as he tried and failed to shove a third egg in with the other two. The damned sack was too small.He pushed the sack into Frincisca’s arms. “Take it. Keep them safe.”

“Mirk. What are you doing?” she repeated, incredulous, looking down at the worn leather in her hands.

“I’m doingsomething,” he snapped. He regretted that the minute he’d done it. She was a kind soul, if a little dull. He slowed for a moment. “I’m doing something, Frinny. Anything. These eggs are ours to protect. We can’t protect them all. But if we can take some and climb to the upper levels, then maybe we can escape through the ventilation tunnels. There has to be a way. I’m not just going to stand here and die. I’m not. I am a Dracårdare, and I have a duty –wehave a duty. Now either you help me or get out of my way.”

Calen stuffed two more eggs into a second satchel that he then laid at his feet. He made to fill a third when he realised he’d only grabbed two.

He plucked an egg, ruby-red, from the shelf, then turned back to Frincisca, who was still staring at him in bemusement. “Well? What’ll it be?”

“I’m not… I… Mirk. Mirk, I’m scared.”

Calen sighed softly. He often forgot the woman had seen but twenty-six summers to his forty. “I’m scared too, Frinny. I’m so terrified that if something catches me by surprise, I’m afraid I might shit myself. And I wore my white trousers today. Not ideal.”

That broke her, a laugh escaping her throat, a smile cracking her lips. Neither lasted long, but she’d calmed a little. Jokes always calmed her.

Calen placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll not lie to you. We might die this night. But if we have any chance, we need to take these eggs and get out of herenow. Are you with me?”

Frincisca sniffled as she nodded, clutching the leather sack close to her chest.

“Say it.”

“I’m with you.”

“Good.” Calen brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Tua and Rin need their mother.”

Calen turned back to the shelf and took one last egg – sapphire streaked with deep crimson. He would have given a hundred gold to see the beauty of the creature that would hatch from that egg. “All right. Let’s?—”

A clap of thunder boomed through the vault, accompanied by a light so bright it blinded him. Calen slammed back against the shelves, his head ringing, shrieks and screams and wails flooding into his ears. A pain shot through his spine as though he’d been trampled by a horse.

“Frinny?” He clambered upright and peeled his eyes open but saw only rays of lanternlight piercing a cloud of dust. The ringing noise still echoed in his ears, unceasing. He dragged in a sharp breath, hacking a cough as the dust filled his lungs.

“No Frinny,” a harsh voice answered, cold and deep.

---