Page 331 of Of Empires and Dust

“Lord Captain.” The hands pulled at her again, a dwarf with a crimson cloak appearing at her side. “We need to go. The bersekeers will not stop. It’s not safe here.”

Lumeera clenched her jaw, the pain in her stomach burning. She grabbed the haft of Oleg’s fallen axe and hacked down through the shaft jutting from her torso. The wood splintered and broke, leaving the head buried within her. She dropped the axe and slipped her hands beneath Oleg.

“I’m not leaving you here,” she whispered as she lifted Oleg’s lifeless body into her arms, his shattered arm dangling. “You will be returned to ash under the light of the sun.”

Pankar, one of Lumeera’s Kingsguard, rushed to her and tried to take Oleg’s body, but she snapped at him and carried on, whispering to her dead friend as she hobbled through the street of corpses, the bersekeers still killing and butchering everything that moved behind her.

“I’ll build you your own pyre,” she whispered. “I’ll take some of the ashes and spread them across Haftsfjord.”

He’d spoken often about his love for the lake that glittered in the sunlight below Belduar. It seemed like a good place for him to rest, a gentle place.

Lumeera hobbled the length of the street, many of her Kingsguard and other Belduarans following as they saw whom she carried in her arms. By the time she’d crossed the bridge and entered the structure housing the Portal Heart, she was ready to collapse from the pain in her stomach, but she refused to stop.

The Belduaran refugees were still streaming down from the Wind Tunnels and through the Portal Heart, but they parted before her, whispering and pressing their hands to their hearts.

She walked past the pedestal at the centre of the shattered chamber and stopped before the ring filled with molten gold that rippled like water.

Sweat streaked her brow, and her vision had started to blur. She grunted at a dwarf who stood at the steps that fronted the portal. “I just walk through?”

“Yes,” he said, his gaze never leaving Oleg.

Lumeera nodded in response, unable to muster any more words. She took the steps one at a time, then passed through. A wave of ice washed over her, and then she was on the other side.

People rushed to her, voices dull and distant in the back of her mind. She ignored them all and dropped to her knees, gently placing Oleg’s body on the stone before collapsing, her vision going black.

Kira shiveredas she knelt naked amidst the corpses. Her mind was dull and achey, her body screaming in pain with each movement. The rage that had consumed her still smouldered within. Crushed limbs and bone shards lay amidst pools of blood and innards. The sight was so visceral and raw, her stomach lurched.

Images flashed in her mind: her own hands ripping bodies in half, her hammer crushing and smashing bones and armour. She looked down at her arms and hands. Veins of gold marbled grey skin, bits of which were still cracked and split like rocks, blood coating every inch of her. She turned over her hands, tracing the gold that flowed across her palms and around her fingers.

What had she become?

“What I needed to be,” she whispered to herself. She was not ignorant. She saw the bodies of Belduarans and her own kin, not slain by sword or axe or bow, but by the crushing blows of Hafaesir’s hammer. Many others stood or knelt amidst the bodies, naked as the day they’d been born, grey skin shimmering with marbled veins of gold. Sixty or so, not many more.

“Sister?”

Kira’s heart fluttered at the sound of Erani’s voice. She had feared the worst. She turned to find her sister stumbling through the corpses, arms wrapped tight about herself. Tears streamed down Erani’s cheeks, her eyes raw and red. She shivered, her lip trembling.

“Erani.” Kira stumbled as she got to her feet. She pulled her sister in close, resting her chin on Erani’s shoulder. “You’re all right. Hafaesir bless us.”

“Kira.” Erani’s voice trembled. She squeezed, her hands gripping Kira’s back. “Kira, what have we done?”

Chapter 78

Sacrifice

22ndDay of the Blood Moon

Elkenrim – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

Eltoar stoodwith his arms folded behind his back, looking out the window at the city of Elkenrim, his armour stripped from him and laid out across a table on the far side of the room. In the distance, Helios soared through the skies over the Elkenwood, scales glinting in the light of a rare warm day, Karakes and Seleraine with him. Ever since he had been a child, there had been nothing that settled his mind more than watching dragons fly. There was a devastating beauty in it. These were creatures more powerful than anything else in existence, their fire so devastating the gods had taken it from them. And yet, even with the rage that burned inside them, the purest joy in their hearts came from being free with the air beneath their wings. They did not seek to destroy for the sake of doing so. When a dragon’swrath was unleashed, it was because something they loved was in danger.

His thoughts swirling in his mind, Eltoar reached out to the Spark and drew in threads of Air, Spirit, and Fire, weaving them through the air around himself, then pushing them outwards to create a ward of silence around the room. He turned to face Lyina and Voranur, who stood on either side of a sturdy wooden table, upon which sat a golden chest. The thing was about three feet across and the same in depth, the flaming egg insignia of the Dracårdare worked into each side. That chest had been used to carry dragon eggs once, a long time ago. It seemed fitting. “What would you give to see the eggs hatch again? What would you risk?”

“Anything and everything.” Voranur’s response was immediate.

Eltoar moved to the table’s closest edge, meeting Lyina’s gaze.

“What’s in the chest, Eltoar?” He knew the sound of worry in her voice.

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