Page 273 of Of Empires and Dust

“Neron,” he whispered, “I kneel before you as a man who has no right to ask anything of anyone, let alone a god. And yet here I am. I do not kneel at Achyron’s feet, for it is not strength I need. It is guidance. You have watched over Valtara for millennia, guided us to safe shores when the storms threatened to swallow us whole, kept us from oblivion when greater powers crumbled. And now I come to ask of you a smaller deed, one far below you. I ask that you keep my family safe, that you show them a safe path through this storm. I will pay whatever price you seek. Just keep them safe, I beg of you.”

When Dayne was finished, he pulled a long, aching breath into his lungs and exhaled slowly, dragging himself to his feet. The gods seldom dealt with the minor happenings of men. Buton the off chance The Sailor was listening, Dayne had thought it worth speaking.

He left the horse tethered where it was grazing on tufts of grass that sprouted from the cracks in the stone, and climbed to the top of the closest tower he thought wouldn’t collapse on him. Once there, he perched atop a merlon, folded his legs beneath him, and rested his spear across his lap.

Dayne slid his hand into his pocket, allowing his fingers to rest on the smooth stone within. Power radiated from it even then, calling to him, demanding he open himself to it. Dayne closed his eyes and drew his breaths slowly, listening to his beating heart. He needed to show himself that he had the will to resist, that he was strong enough to do what needed to be done. He would not abandon Baren.

He stayed like that for quite some time, the gemstone whispering in the back of his mind, until he eventually pulled his fingers away and opened his eyes.

Hours passed,shadows bending and shifting as the sun moved across the sky. Midday had just passed when Dayne spotted the cloud of dust ripping towards him in the distance.

Ten riders approached the fort from the east, slowing as they drew closer. Seven wore the pale blue skirts of House Koraklon, the Oranak squid worked into their silver cuirasses. Loren was easy to spot with his head of short white hair, his armour gilded, his mount covered in blue and gold barding. The other three wore the black cloaks and markings of the Lorian Battlemages, and the power of the Spark pulsed from them.

Dayne smiled at that. His tactics had been working if Lorian Battlemages wouldn’t even approach him without the Spark firmly held in their grasps.

The riders came to a halt near the base of the fort’s walls. Shouts rang out, and four of those in armoured skirts galloped towards the river, spreading out along the banks. Dayne watched for a while, taking a small pleasure in knowing that he could snuff out Loren’s life in a heartbeat if he so wished. But that death would have been too quick. And if Loren died now, Dayne was absolutely certain that all he would find of his brother would be a corpse.

It seemed a fitting thing to him. All those years ago, Dayne had been forced to run to save his family, and now he was forced to do precisely the opposite. He had tried running, and all it had brought his House was ruin. He would not run again.

“I could snap your neck right now,” Dayne called down.

Even before the heads turned, the Spark rippled from the Battlemages. All three of the mages turned their horses about, eyes fixing on Dayne. So too did Loren’s guard, but Loren himself kept his mount steady.

“Dayne Ateres. It’s been a very long time. You might snap my neck, but you won’t live to draw another breath if you do. And your brother will have the skin peeled from his bones. And your sister? Well, I’ll make sure that crown is melted and poured over her head. Why don’t you come down here and we’ll talk face to face?”

“Why don’t you come up here? It’s a lovely day. You can see for miles in all directions.”

When silence answered, Dayne climbed down from his perch and descended the tower. The horse waited for him where he’d left it, still munching on tufts of grass. It snorted as he approached, lifting its head and pressing its muzzle into his chest.

“Good girl.” He ran his hand along the far side of the horse’s neck and rested his head against her soft coat for a moment. Then, giving two shortclickswith his tongue, he led the animalback through the ruined fort and out to where Loren had now dismounted along with his guard, the three Battlemages remaining on horseback.

Well into his fifth decade, Loren was still densely muscled, his frame broad and lean. Full markings of the spear adorned his right forearm, four black rings on his left.

“You’ve been busy.” Loren stood with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “The whispers in the keep call you voidspawn, a demon sent to tear us limb from limb in the night. But I am familiar with your work, Dayne. I have not sat by blindly all these years. I heard of what you did to Harsted Arnim. Setting a man on fire is a harsh kind of vengeance, don’t you think? For someone of the noble House Ateres. I thought you were the honourable sort?”

“I’ve never claimed such a thing. Though Harsted didn’t scream nearly as much as the thousands you let burn at Stormwatch.”

Loren’s lips curled downwards before he gave Dayne a fleeting smile. “I’ve no idea what you did with that Draleid – Sylvan Anura. She just vanished. The dragon’s corpse was found south of Catagan with a spear formed entirely of stone jutting from its right eye. That was you, I presume? I’ve watched and listened through the eyes and ears of others for the past decade or so. You leave patterns, you know? Markers. A trail to follow. And what a trail you’ve left in your wake, you and that companion of yours – the Narvonan.”

Dayne tightened his grip on his spear.

“Did you think I would be so naive as to think you would never come back here? You are your father’s blood. All arrogance and pride. You would never let the honourable House Ateres collapse, no matter how many need die. Once I heard of Harsted’s death, I knew. And now here you are. I’ll give it to you, Dayne. You came close. You did more than your motherand father ever did, and even those before them. But how many Valtarans have died for your words of freedom? Tens of thousands. At Myrefall, and Skyfell, and let’s not forget the Lost Hills. There is not a soul beneath the banners of House Thebal who would follow you after that act of butchery.”

“You talk a lot, Loren. When I kill you, it’s your tongue I’ll take first.”

Loren smiled. “And when I melt that crown over your sister’s severed head after she is executed for treason, I’ll hang her body next to yours in Skyfell’s plaza, right where they hung. It would be poetic, don’t you think?”

Loren walked closer until Dayne could smell the scent of oranges on his breath. “I bet you’ve dreamt of this. Of being so close you could drive a dagger into my heart. How does it feel now, knowing that if you do, if you take the vengeance you seek, it will cost not only your life, but that of your brother and your sister…” He leaned closer. “And your sister’s child.”

Dayne froze, almost dropping the spear from his grasp, his stomach sinking.

“I thought that might get your attention. How do you think I came by your brother?”

“Every word that leaves your mouth is a lie.”

“When have I ever told you a lie, Dayne? Not once. I admit, I can be short tempered, stubborn, unforgiving, and at times cruel if there is a need for it. But I am not a liar.” He turned and gestured to his guard. “Whether you believe me or not is irrelevant. You will see soon. You have come this far, Dayne. Won’t you come a little further?”

The guard stepped forwards with a pair of iron shackles. As he did, Dayne felt the mages pulling on threads of Spirit, preparing to ward him.

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