Page 318 of Of Empires and Dust

A series of roars sounded behind them, and Calen twisted in place to see Avandeer launch herself over the edge. The dragon dropped like a gleaming gem, the mixture of the yellow morning sun and the crimson moon sparkling in the falling water around her.

In that moment, a truly unique warmth flowed from Valerys to Calen. A warmth that filled the dragon’s heart and spread through their shared soul. Valerys was no longer alone.Theywere no longer alone.

As Avandeer unfurled her wings and entered the valley, another roar erupted from the ledge above.

Varthear stood in the waters of the river, her winged forelimbs spread wide, the hulking frame of Sardakes beside her. With a mighty roar, the dragon leapt. Calen’s heart stopped for a moment as Varthear fell, only continuing to beat when the dragon spread her great vermillion wings and swept forwards.

Avandeer and Varthear swirled through the air around Valerys and Calen, moving like leaves in the wind. And with a surge of elation, Valerys joined them, and Calen smiled in a way he had not done in such a long time.

When Sardakes, who stood alone on the cliff’s edge, unleashed a roar that shook the air, Valerys, Avandeer, and Varthear joined him. He could not fly – that had been taken from him when he had lost his soulkin – but his roar was not all sorrow and loss. Through Valerys, Calen could feel the triumph in it, the pride, as Varthear soared alongside the others.

While they flew to fight at Tarhelm, Sardakes would remain as Aravell’s sole guardian. Something within him was awakened, and he would protect the place that had protected him.

Chapter 75

The Cost of Freedom

22ndDay of the Blood Moon

Achyron’s Keep, western Valtara – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

The windat the top of the hill was sharp as a spear, cutting into the bare skin of Dayne’s chest. Cold sweat dripped from his nose, the dirt-tacked cuts on his elbows and legs stinging. Loren had allowed him to ride the mare the entirety of the first day and again the next until they were a few hours’ march from Achyron’s Keep.

Once they’d drawn close, Dayne had been unceremoniously dismounted, the ground catching him in its embrace. Loren had proceeded to cut every shred of clothing from him, followed by his sandals.

The following ten miles they had all but dragged him behind the horses at a pace just faster than a walk, never allowinghim to slow or catch his breath and pulling him across the dirt whenever he stumbled.

“Thirsty, Dayne?” Loren sat in the saddle to Dayne’s right, a waterskin in his hand. The man didn’t await Dayne’s answer. He tipped the dregs into the dirt, then let the skin hang by his side. He gestured to the murky puddle. “Please, drink up. I wouldn’t want you to pass out before the procession.”

Dayne stared back at the man but didn’t speak. Nor did he move to drink.

“Please, Dayne,” Loren persisted. “The wind may be bitter, but the sun is high. I wouldn’t have you go thirsty.”

“You heard the High Lord.” The Koraklon guard who held the rope tied to Dayne’s shackles gave it a yank and hauled Dayne forwards, cutting at his wrists. “Drink up.”

Dayne kept his gaze on Loren, stepped back, and pulled his shackles towards himself as hard as he could, ripping the guard from his saddle.

Before the others could respond, Dayne lunged forwards and planted his knee into the man’s mouth as he tried to rise. Teeth chipped and shattered and sliced into the skin of Dayne’s knee.

As the guard pulled his hands to his bleeding face, Dayne swung himself around and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck in an iron grip, dropping to the ground. He twisted so the chains drew tight across the guard’s throat and pulled with every fibre of his being while the guard flailed and thrashed.

Most men lasted ten heartbeats before passing out. This one lasted seven.

When the guard’s legs finally stopped kicking and his hands stopped slapping at Dayne’s arms, Dayne stared up at Loren, who sat unmoving in his saddle, his right hand raised to stop the other guards and the mages from intervening.

Dayne’s muscles burned as the life drained from the guard’s body, and still Loren made no motion to stop him.

Loren shrugged. “Any personal guard overpowered so easily is not one worth having.”

Dayne squeezed tighter, clenching his jaw. After a few more moments, he let out a roar and tossed the man’s limp body into the dirt beside him, face pressed into the sodden earth where Loren had spilled the water. The guard’s back rose and fell slowly.

Dayne pressed his manacled hands into the dirt and pushed himself to his feet.

“Do you think me weak, Dayne?” Loren asked as he dropped from his saddle. He closed the distance between himself and Dayne in a breath, throwing a fist into Dayne’s gut and then a second into the side of his head.

Dayne dropped to one knee, his vision blurring. He spat blood into the dirt, then rose.

Loren grabbed Dayne’s face, fingernails clawing into his skin.

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