Page 240 of Of Empires and Dust

Luilin was attempting to teach them of the valúr.

“Draleid.” Both Luilin and Undrír bowed – the latter more deeply than the former.

“How are they?” Salara asked, Taran and Indivar moving to stand on either side of her.

“A difficult question to answer, I’m afraid. It is like trying to rebuild a house while it is still burning. They drill well with swords and spears in their hands.” Luilin folded his arms and released a long sigh. “The training focuses them, gives them an outlet, something tangible to hold on to. Though it will take years to bring them to any kind of true skill. For now, what they lack in technique they make up for in rage and savagery – as you saw.”

“We are not teaching them to be warriors,” Salara said, barely more than a whisper. She watched as an elf who looked little more than a child dragged a brush with bristles coated in blue paint over a canvas stretched across the stone and weighted with rocks. “We are teaching them to be Evalien. Something the humans took from them.”

“Of that I am aware, Draleid.”

Salara and Luilin were not friends. Nor were they enemies. Salara had not been the easiest to get along with in the centuries within Lynalion. The Warmarshal had been born after the Cuendyar and had seen no more than two hundred summers. In that time Salara had been cold and distant, caring little for the nurturing of new friendships. “And what part do I play in this, Warmarshal? The queen says you asked for me.”

“I did. Though weaponscraft focuses them, their learnings do the opposite. What does an elf who has spent their life in the darkness of a mine care for the history of a people they never knew? They push against the concept of a valúr, impatient to move forwards. After the taking of this city, they have a taste for battle, a taste for the blood of their former captors. Everythingelse is an obstacle. I believe, as I expressed at the time, we blooded them too early. They were not ready.”

“Perhaps.” Salara clasped her hands behind her back and watched a group of the Onarakina who still stared at Vyrmír, Baerys, and Nymaxes, awestruck. “Or perhaps the path they have been set upon without their own choosing is a complex and painful one, and our task is to guide them along it no matter the difficulty. If I had been born into slavery and then denied my right to fight against those who put me in it, I don’t think I would have taken too kindly to that.”

“We are already bending our ways by teaching them the art of war alongside the valúr instead of after.” A flare of anger simmered in Luilin’s voice. “Theymustcome to heel.”

“To heel, Warmarshal?” Salara asked disappointedly.

Luilin opened his mouth, nothing but a short grunt escaping his lips as he pondered whether Salara’s words were a dent in his honour. Whether they saw eye-to-eye or not, she was a Draleid and her words carried weight, and she knew that. “Yes,” he stammered. “To heel, Draleid. Like we all once did.”

“Would you train a dragon the same way you’d train a wolf?”

“I’d rather not train either, if I’m being honest.”

Salara frowned. “My point, Warmarshal, is that our ways apply to those who have been raisedourway. These elves have been slaves since the day they took their first breaths. The Lorians beat and bent them into submission like raw iron. Doing so again will not yield the results you wish. You must give them a reason, give them a purpose. The hammer will not work here. You must instead be the guiding hand.”

The Warmarshal turned to the side and opened his body to Salara, gesturing towards the Onarakina. “We do not always agree, Draleid. But I am always willing to be wrong if I can learn how to be right. Either way, the Onarakina look to you like they might look to a herald of the gods. They heed your words wherethey do not heed mine. That is why I asked for you. Pride exists to be swallowed.”

Salara inclined her head graciously. She decided in that moment that a friendship with Luilin might be worth nurturing. She looked out over the yard. Most of the Onarakina still stood, staring at her and the others, backs rigid. But some had returned to their various valúrs, frustration evident in the language of their bodies. That same young elf had covered her painting in furious red strokes and snapped her brush in two, which was a slightly easier form of frustration to identify.

Salara looked back at Vyrmír and pressed their minds together. The dragon responded by unleashing a visceral roar that drowned all other sounds and echoed off the high walls that surrounded the yard.

Every elf in the yard ceased what they were doing and looked to the great golden dragon, his crimson frills shaking as he roared.

When silence finally settled, Salara stepped forwards into the crowd of elves and spoke as loud and as clear as she could, her voice carrying through the yard. “You are, each and every one of you, at a juncture in this life. A point where you must make a choice. Face the darkness and the injustice that was done to you, bind it to your will and overcome it… or let it swallow you whole. Let the humans win.”

An elf, almost a head taller than Salara but reed-thin, stepped forwards and bowed, his fingers white as snow as he clenched his hand into a fist at his chest. “Draleid…” He licked his lips, his voice trembling a little. “Respectfully… I… You don’t know what they did to us… It is not as easy… You don’t know.” He shook his head fervently, and others around him agreed, whispers of ‘no’ and ‘they don’t know’ spreading through the crowd.

The elf looked over both shoulders, flustered still, but heartened by the number of voices that joined his. “We are grateful for everything you have done for us. So grateful that I could not find the words to thank you if I lived a hundred lifetimes. My children…” He gestured towards four smaller elves behind him, none looking as though they’d seen more than fifteen summers. “They will not know the darkness like I did. They will live a full life. Afreelife. And that is because of you.”

“That is because of Queen Vandrien and because of all the evalien of Numillíon, not just myself and my kin. We areonepeople. All of us.”

The elf bowed his head, smiling softly, his confidence growing. “And we will forever be in your debt. But how can you ask us to care about these pointless tasks when those who are responsible for our torment await us? Teach me how to use a spear like you do. Teach me to move like a warrior, teach me to defend my people so that we may never be placed in chains again. Do not ask me to care about these songmakers.”

The elf gestured to a harp and a flute that lay on the ground, and it settled in Salara’s mind that the elf had never seen an instrument before.

“My father died in those mines. He was born there, and he died there. He saw thousands upon thousands of candles. He was broken from the moment I met him. I will not spend another moment of my life unable to protect my family as he was.”

A brief silence passed where all eyes seemed to be focused on Salara and the tall elf before her.

Salara looked into his eyes. “What was done to you can never be undone. But you will not gain vengeance at the tip of a sword, nor your freedom. Surely, that is part of it. Wewillburn the Lorian Empire to the ground. But you will never truly be free until you allow yourself to be. Even now, you allow your every thought to be consumed by them. Every dream, everynightmare, every waking moment belongs to them. Your mind and your heart are theirs. They hold you in chains still.”

A murmur spread through the crowd, a few angered shouts.

“Whether you want to kill them or serve them, you are still allowing them to rule your thoughts. Is not your every decision predicated on how you might claim vengeance? I want you to fight. It would bring me great honour to stand by your side in the battles to come. But more than that, I want you to live. I want you to spit in the faces of those who would have kept you in chains until Heraya embraced you. And you do that by becoming what they tried to keep from you. You do that by becoming Evalien. Our ancient elders devised the valúr as a way to teach our young the beauty and value of this life, before we teach them how to wield a weapon. To teach creation before destruction so that we know the cost of the latter. A common flaw is to think a valúr is nothing more than an obstacle, nothing more than a task to be completed. But the true value of a valúr is not in the learning, but in the finding of passion. In the finding of something that sets your heart alight so that you may understand the joy this life can bring.”

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