Page 136 of Of Empires and Dust

Well met, Great One.

Varthear gave an almost imperceptible inclination of her head, a low rumble in her throat. The simple act was enough to send a smile to Vaeril’s lips.

The dragon lowered her neck and pressed her snout into Calen’s body. Her lower jaw scraped the ground at Calen’s feet,her nostrils rising past Calen’s head. Varthear was so large Calen could have walked into her open jaws without a need to crouch. She was twice Valerys’s size and radiated power. But even while Calen stared at her in awe, a knot coiled within him at the thought of how large Helios must be. Legends were told of Eltoar and his soulkin Helios, The Black Sun, The Shadow of Death. It was said that no dragon in living memory had ever come close to matching Helios in size.

He placed his right hand over a scar of fused scales that ran just under Varthear’s right nostril, warmth spreading through his skin. The wound felt like rough stone beneath Calen’s fingertips.

Varthear held herself there a moment, the smell of ash and char wafting from her jaws, then lifted her head and made her way towards where Sardakes lay by the stream.

Calen and Vaeril continued on to the passage on the western edge of the Eyrie.

The two guards pressed closed fists to the white dragon emblazoned on their chests and bowed deeply. Calen had seen neither of them before. He inclined his head, pressing his hand to his heart. “Your names?”

The first, an elf, straightened, her fingers tightening around the pommel of the sword at her hip. “Aneir, Draleid.”

“Tordan.” The other guard’s voice was deep and rough. Through the gaps in his helm, Calen could see the marks of many summers on his skin, along with blue eyes that had seen their fair share of pain and loss.

“Well met, Aneir and Tordan. I am Calen and this is Vaeril.” He gestured toward Vaeril. Calen looked to Tordan. “Where have you come from?”

“Kingspass, my lord. I was part of the garrison the night the Uraks breached the walls. When word came in through the network that you were mustering forces, I made for the nextship to Falstide and marched from there. Better not to make it obvious.” Tordan stood straighter, raising his chin. “I saw what you did at Kingspass. It’s an honour to wear the white dragon.”

Tordan looked down at the sigil emblazoned across his breastplate. Valdrin and his veritable army of smiths had not sacrificed quality of work in their haste to produce so many pieces.

The man glanced to Aneir. The elf nodded and inclined his head towards Calen.

“I’ldryr viel asatar.” It was clear by the way he stumbled over the words that Tordan was not familiar with the Old Tongue. But his attempt was certainly better than Calen’s first.In fire we are forged.Calen thought he had heard the phrase before, but he couldn’t quite remember where.

“I sanvîr viel baralun,” Vaeril replied, a broad smile stretching his mouth.In blood we are tempered.“You speak the Old Tongue well, Tordan…”

“Tordan Falmor,Narvír.”

If it were possible, Vaeril’s smile grew even wider. “You speak the Old Tongue well, Tordan Falmor. Du gryr haydria til ourín elwynar.”

The man’s eyes widened and he glanced at Aneir, who stifled a laugh.

“You bring honour to our hearts,” Calen translated, allowing the slightest of smiles to touch his lips as he looked to Vaeril. “Forgive Vaeril. He often gets carried away when it comes to the Old Tongue. He is honoured by your effort.”

A look of pride brightened Tordan’s face and he gave a sharp nod.

“As you were,” Calen said, stepping past the two guards and into the long passageway carved into the rock. He would never stop being astounded at the sheer scale of everything the elves built. The ceiling must have been a hundred feet high, highereven, and the passage itself maybe a hundred and fifty across. It seemed everything was built with dragons in mind.

“What was that back at the entrance?” Calen asked Vaeril. “In fire we are forged? In blood we are tempered?”

“It’s an old saying of the first elves bound to dragons, long before The Order. At least, that’s what I was told as a child. It’s become somewhat of a motto amongst Dracurïn.”

“The what?”

“The Dracurïn. The White Dragons. Tarmon and I thought it would be wise to give them a name, something to bond them. We asked the elves to teach the humans some of the Old Tongue and the humans to teach their songs and stories in return. If they are to fight together, they need to learn to see each other as worth dying for.”

Calen shook his head. “I’ve been absent.”

“You’ve been with Ella,” Vaeril corrected. “And dealing with politics, as a Draleid must. You can’t do everything, as hard as you try.”

Calen nodded, giving Vaeril a half-smile.

It wasn’t long before they reached an arch at the end of the corridor that led out into a central courtyard.

Avandeer lay curled in the yard’s centre, soft light spilling in through the opening above. The dragon lifted her head and peered at Calen and Vaeril, her deep yellow eyes striking against the white and purple scales that decorated her face. A series of clicks resonated in her throat, accompanied by a low rumble.

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