Page 278 of Of Empires and Dust

A roar erupted from Ella’s left, drawing gasps and panicked shouts. It had not come from the sky, nor the city, but from the mouth of the valley to the east, where the trees had all been burned by dragonfire. Minutes passed, heavy thumps drumming the ground, a deep rumble resonating.

Sardakes emerged from the valley, his neck craned low, his head hovering just above the ground like a prowling wolf. The dragon’s tail rose high in the air, the spearhead tip shaking. The talons of his winged forelimbs sank into the earth as he stalked forwards, a trembling click in his throat. Even hunched over, the creature’s back reached over half the height of the towers,his sapphire frills standing on end. This seemed like an entirely different beast to the one Ella knew. This Sardakes set fear in her veins.

As all eyes turned to the black dragon, two more roars thundered overhead, followed by a high-pitched shriek.

Both Valerys and Varthear broke through the clouds, rays of sunlight spraying behind them. The two dragons soared forwards, their massive wings casting shadows across the yard. As one, they dropped and hurtled towards the ground at such a rapid pace that even Ella took a step backwards.

The only ones who didn’t look terrified were the Rakina. Each of them had a broad smile on their lips, eyes wide. Even Chora, who seemed to have a permanent scowl etched into her face, appeared completely awestruck.

Both King Galdra and Queen Uthrían, along with their guards, were sent scattering as Valerys cracked his mighty wings and alighted upon the stone precisely where the elven Inari had been standing.

Varthear landed to Valerys’s left with a crack of her vermillion wings, her long, slender neck shaking as she let out a series of sharp shrieks.

Just as the elven rulers and the leaders of the Illyanaran factions regathered themselves, the sound of steel on stone rang out as every one of the Dracurïn slammed an armoured boot against the stone, then pivoted on the spot in near-perfect unison and began a slow march towards Calen.

Even Ella would be hard-pressed not to admit she was impressed at the sight of both columns of Dracurïn marching as though a hidden tether connected them all, their cloaks driven behind them, banners rippling in the wind.

The two columns stopped once they stood in line with Calen, pivoted again, and marched inwards. All the while, Calen satat the nape of Valerys’s neck in his white steel armour, purple runes shimmering.

The ranks of Dracurïn formed up on either side of Valerys and Varthear, and turned to face outwards. As they did, Valerys lowered his belly to the ground and bowed, allowing Calen to slide from his neck.

Calen inclined his head towards the Rakina, bowing at the waist. He walked to where Castor Kai and the other leaders stood, his stare unyielding as he surveyed those before him. His gaze settled on the High Lord of Illyanara, a cold look in his eyes.

Valerys puffed out his chest and spread his wings before lifting his head and unleashing a roar that rattled the entire courtyard. Both Sardakes and Varthear added their voices, sending rolling thunder out across Aravell. When the roars finally faded, a pin could have been heard dropping on the stone.

Ella could tell by the mix of fear and awe on the faces of Castor Kai, Aryana Torval, and the other visitors that the display had elicited the desired result. That was when Ella realised how much the world had changed since the day she’d left The Glade. Three dragons, monstrous creatures with horns as big as her legs, teeth that could tear through her in seconds, and breath that could melt the skin from her bones, stood over her – and still her heartbeat remained slow and steady, her mind calm.

She had watched her love die, felt the shattered soul of a dragon, wandered the vast expanse of Níthianelle, and stared into the eyes of a god. The world had changed but so had she.

Calen stepped away from Valerys, the dragon still looming over him, and bowed at the waist, his hand pressed to his chest.

A still silence spread through the courtyard, and even the birds in the woodland seemed to quieten so as to better hear the words that would be spoken.

“I know each of you has travelled a long way at my request, and I am honoured that you chose to come.” Calen’s voicereverberated in the air, sweeping all around the courtyard as though he stood in an empty hall, and Ella’s skin goosefleshed, the wolf within her feeling a shift in the air. “I apologise for leaving you to wait. War rages across Epheria and Valerys and I were needed. As I speak, our army marches to the western villages without me. It marches to defend my home, and I am not there because I am here. I was born and raised in Illyanara, far to the west in a place called The Glade, a small village at the edge of Ölm Forest. My father fought in the Varsund War. A part of him died there.” Calen’s gaze once more fixed on Castor Kai as those words left his lips. “My blood is your blood. Illyanara is my home, and I will give everything I am to see it free. Tomorrow, when the sun rises over the Veloran Ocean, I will ask you to make a choice that will define your entire lives. The choice to stand alone while the Lorians and the Uraks burn our home to the ground, to fight amongst each other for the ashes of what is left –ifthere is anything left. Or the choice to stand together.”

Ella’s hackles rose, the wolf within her sensing another shift around Calen – much more powerful. She could almostseea ripple about him, as though the air itself were swirling water.

Calen raised his right arm, and a purple light burst from his hand, slowly forming into the shape of a sword that flickered with wisps of purples flames. A murmur spread through crowd, whispers of ‘Warden of Varyn’ and ‘by the gods’. Beside her, Fenryr’s smile spread from ear to ear, sharp fangs showing.

“This war is greater than all of us,” Calen called, holding that glowing sword in the air, Valerys looming over him like a mountain. “It is a war of gods, and demons, and darkness, and if we do not, each of us, stand and fight for what we love, there will be nothing left. I promise you one thing – I will fight until my last breath, until I have given all the blood I have to give. And if we fail, if the sky falls, I will stand beneath it and hold it up for as long as I can.”

Calen lowered the glowing sword and looked about him at Varthear and Sardakes, then Valerys above him. “Nur temen vie’ryn valana, ar nur temen vi maklar til valahír. Vir væra anataier aldryr ar orimyn!” Calen waited a moment, then translated, “For those we have lost, and for those we refuse to lose. We will give them fire and fury!”

The dragons roared, and the crowd answered with clattering steel and fervorous shouts.

Chapter 65

Bind to Me

20thDay of the Blood Moon

Berona – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

Fane drewdeep slow breaths as he sliced through the skin of his forearm with threads of Spirit. He tapped into the gemstone clutched in his fist and bound the threads with a weave of Essence. Power surged through every fibre of his being, each heartbeat sounding like the thump of a drum, each breath like a roaring storm.

He watched closely as the interwoven threads of Spirit and Essence delicately parted the flesh, carving in the rune of binding. Blood flowed, dripping onto the stone. A moment passed. The rune glowed with a bright red light, veins of pearlescent white striped throughout it. And as the light poured from the rune, the strength emptied from his bones like a cut wineskin. He dropped to his knees, holding himself upright by gripping the edge of the table at his side.

His eyes drooped, heartbeat slowing. He squeezed the edge of the stone table, feeling the blood flow over his arm. There was no other way to test these runes, and without them, everything was for nothing. Fane had always found that to be the way of things. There was always a weak link in the strongest of chains, the most elaborate of plans hinging on the most fragile of things, the greatest of deeds requiring the unlikeliest of occurrences. Everything he had done, every life he had taken, every line he had sworn he’d never cross… It had all hinged on what happened next. It would all have been for nothing if the workings of these runes had not been deciphered. Kiralla Holflower and Drakus Pirnil, two of the most inconsequential mages to cross his path, and yet the necessary links in his chain. In their command of the Spark they had been entirely unremarkable. And yet, their research would save the world.

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