Page 156 of Of Empires and Dust

Aurelian Animar gave the man a half-smile. “I do not fight this war for Aeson Virandr. I do it because I want my people to be free of imperial bonds, to be free of a tyrant like Syrene Linas, who holds no loyalty but to those that fill her coffers. She treats the Stormguard like her personal handmaids, and she would take food from a child’s mouth even if her belly were full. I fight not because I have no food at my table but because there are others who go without.”

“Very noble of you.” The Draleid winced after he spoke. “Apologies. It was a long journey.”

Aurelian waved him away, laughing. “You truly do prefer to do away with the pleasantries.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time with elves,” Calen said, shaking his head absently. “Have you ever met an elf?”

“My experience has been somewhat limited. Why do you ask?”

“I owe my life to more elves than I could begin to count. But amongst their rulers, the politicking and the games and the wordplay… it’s endless.”

Aurelian gave a gruff laugh and warmed his hands by the fire. “You are still young then.”

The Draleid raised a curious eyebrow.

“That is not elves, Draleid. That is all who seek power. Very well, I will be straight as a razor. I consider myself a man of honour. A man of principles and logic. A man of duty. Duty to my people, duty to my brothers and sisters of the Stormguard, duty to Arkalen. I align myself with Aeson Virandr and Verma here because their cause aids my duty, which is to Arkalen, not to Epheria. I couldn’t care less if Valtara burns or if Drifaien is drowned in snow. Their plight is their own. Ildur and his followers sail for Valtara in the morning, some four thousand and a handful of former Stormguard. Ildur is a good man, keeps his word. There are another three thousand Stormguard in FortSaldar who have come from across the province to fight for Arkalen. I cannot spare many, but I would send some with Ildur and Aeson if I had a reason. Do I have one? Why would I send my warriors to fight in your name for some foreign land?”

The Draleid’s lip curled, forming a flicker of a smile. “Don’t.”

“What?” Aurelian was genuinely surprised at that.

“Don’t send your warriors to fight in my name.” Calen drew a long breath, clasping his hands behind his back. He let it out slowly. “I may be young, High Mantle, but I’ve watched a lot of people die. I’ve heard the names they call as the blood pours from their veins, seen the light fade from their eyes as they die hundreds of miles from everywhere they know and everything they love. I don’t want people dying in my name. If you’re going to fight or die, do it for something you believe in. On that, I must wish you goodnight. It’s a long way back. I appreciate the chambers, but I will sleep on the plateau with Valerys.”

The Draleid inclined his head and made to leave.

“You can’t be serious?” Aurelian looked at the Draleid as though the man had ten heads. “There’s a storm out there.”

“There is.” The Draleid met Aurelian’s gaze, and for the first time since Verma had met the young man, his smile was no longer cracked or brittle. He turned again to leave, then stopped. “Fight the battles you think worth fighting, Lord Animar. Just remember that if we call and you don’t answer, there might not be anyone there to hear your screams when the Lorians bring the dragonfire.”

Without waiting to hear a response, the Draleid ambled across the room, stopping to talk with Aeson for a moment before the two of them left through the main doors.

Aurelian stared after Calen Bryer, one hand hovering, his index finger extended as though he were about to make a counterpoint. If looks could kill, the scowl on Aurelian’s facewould have decapitated a horse. To Verma’s surprise, the man clenched his hand into a fist and snorted. “I like him.”

“I do too…” Verma answered in a whisper, staring at the doorway Calen Bryer and Aeson had just walked through. Only two years past she had left Aeson Virandr at Milltown’s port with a dragon egg that had been paid for in blood. It seemed that it had been blood well spent. “I do too.”

Chapter 36

Death Becomes You

14thDay of the Blood Moon

Salme – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

Erdhardt sat forwardson the steps of his porch, stretching out his chest and pulling his head back. His spine and neck cracked, the muscles in his back spasming. He grimaced and held himself in that position until the spasms petered out and faded to a dull ache, his muscles loosening once more.

He let out a long, exhausted sigh, then dipped the rag in his right hand back into the bucket at his side and continued to clean the blood from his hammer. His original warhammer had been crushed by a Bloodmarked some time ago, and one of Salme’s weaponsmiths had crafted him the weapon that currently lay across his lap. The head bore a hammer on one side, spread into nine points like a butcher’s meat pounder, with a hefty spike occupying the other side. It was nothing fancy, but it killed Uraks, and that was all he needed it to do. Someof the children had taken to calling the weapon ‘Bonebreaker’, but Erdhardt cared little for the name. Naming a weapon was a pointless thing.

He squinted as he looked up at the morning sun, picking a strip of grey flesh from the hammer’s teeth. That night’s Urak attack had been the bloodiest in a while, and he’d not yet slept. Not that he slept much anyway. The beasts had been quieter the past few days, but he was under no illusions. All that meant was that they were busy either killing more travellers along the roads or adding their numbers to the siege of Camylin. And once that city fell, Salme would be next.

He set his hammer down beside him, grabbed a clean rag, dipped it in the water, and wiped the dried blood and dirt from his face and neck. Keeping himself clean was a task in and of itself. He couldn’t bathe every day, that simply wasn’t feasible, and yet every night he painted himself in fresh Urak blood. A wet rag was the best way for him to keep from looking as though he’d crawled from a pile of corpses.

As he wiped a piece of gore from behind his ear, young Lina Styr and her mam, Mara, appeared around the corner. Lina carried an armful of baskets so high they rose above her head while Mara held a massive iron pot.

“You’re meant to be sleeping.” Mara frowned at Erdhardt, shaking her head. “And you could do with a hot bath.”

“I could do with a great many things, Mara.”

The woman’s frown turned to a sympathetic gaze. She’d lost her husband four summers gone in the same battle that had taken Haem Bryer and many others. She understood Erdhardt’s loss. He softened, giving Mara a half-smile and looking to young Lina. “And what do you have there, young lady?”

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