Page 350 of Of Empires and Dust

The man who stood over Kalder’s body was garbed entirely in blood-stained white steel plate marked with glowing purple runes. Golden leaves and vines were worked delicately into the breast in a pattern that struck Rist’s mind… He knew it from somewhere. He could see it in his mind.

Rist understood why the Draleid had earned the name ‘Warden of Varyn’. Even his eyes shimmered with a purple light, a luminescent mist drifting upwards. The man looked like the champion of a god.

Another warrior fought alongside him, but this one wore the same armour as Eltoar Daethana and the Dragonguard, except the sigil of the black flame had been carved from the breast.

Had one of them defected? Rist had watched what those elven Draleid had done at the Three Sisters, he’d seen Eltoar and the other Dragonguard’s strength. There was no way they could stand against two of them.

In a blur of motion, the Draleid spun, his purple níthral crashing against another formed from a deep crimson light, sparks bursting.

Magnus.

Even with one arm, the man was a raging storm. He weaved between the two Draleid like a warrior half his size, turning awayprobing swords and spears from the surrounding rebels, the Spark pulsing from him.

Before Rist could think, his feet were moving, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword, his mind unconsciously reaching for the Spark. He would not let Magnus stand alone, no matter what. Both Garramon and Neera charged with him, the air thrumming with power.

Calen shiftedfrom svidarya to valathír, then into fellensír and back again. The Burning Winds, the Frozen Soul, the Lonely Mountain, it mattered little. This Lorian Battlemage moved like a man possessed. Even with Tivar by his side, the beast of a man held his ground, the gemstone around his neck glittering with crimson light. Each swing of his blade fell like a hammer, and he moved with a speed no man should have. But Calen could see the lethargy creeping into his motions, the drain sapping at him, the light in the stone fading.

With each arc of lightning and whip of fire Calen smashed against the man’s Sparkwards, with each thread he sliced, the mage grew weaker. No matter how strong this man was, he was no Draleid, and the well from which he drew was emptying.

Valerys’s roar thundered in Calen’s mind as the dragon once more swept over the battlefield below, raking fire across the Lorian remnants that had not fled into the mountain for cover or routed in all directions.

Calen drew a breath and pulled Valerys’s strength into his. With the dragon’s fury burning in his veins, he unleashed an unrelenting stream of lightning. The arcs of blue light smashed against an unseen shield, breaking like waves against a cliff.Calen roared as Valerys did, the dragon’s power flowing through him.

The mage pushed out his left hand and sent a concussive wave slamming into Tivar. She careened backwards, crashing into a tangle of rebels and soldiers. Even still, Calen could feel the ward failing.

Something slammed into him hard, knocking the wind from his lungs and causing him to release his níthral. He barely had a chance to collect his thoughts when another mage charged at him, sword drawn.

Calen took a step back, his foot slamming into a mound of earth he’d sworn had not been there before. He twisted as he fell, forcing a thread of Air between himself and the ground. In that brief moment before he pushed himself back upright, he looked down at a spike jutting up from the rock barely a foot from his face. That had most definitely not been there.

Calen sent a pulse through the thread of Air and forced himself back to his feet, summoning his níthral in the same motion and blocking the swing of the mage’s blade before it carved into his neck.

This man was different than the other, less fluid. Calen pushed onto the front foot, allowing the forms of the svidarya to flow through him. He struck high, meeting steel, then again, and again, pressing the man back.

He opened himself, waiting for the mage to strike, and when he did, Calen pounced, driving the tip of his níthral towards the man’s gut.

Before the blade sliced into the mage’s flesh, invisible coils wrapped around Calen, squeezing his body in a crunch.

Valerys’s fury poured into him, liquid fire filling his veins, and he unleashed a pulse of Air that swept outwards in a wave of concussive force. The Blood Magic holding him in place evaporated, and he staggered forwards.

In a heartbeat, Tivar was at his side, and four mages pressed in around them. He could feel them probing with threads of Air and Spirit, see the gemstones around their necks glowing. Calen settled himself into fellensír, and just as he did, Valerys’s mind crashed into his, urgent, panicking, the dragon’s vision supplanting his own.

Through Valerys’s eyes, a section of clouds whirled inwards, strands of red light piercing the dense canopy like the first light of dawn. And through the whirl of clouds came an enormous head covered in black and crimson scales, jaws large enough to swallow a wagon whole, eyes of smouldering red. Neck and shoulders followed, dense and broad, then deep crimson wings.

The enormous black dragon burst from the clouds like a god breaking through the veil, unleashing a roar that forced the world itself to tremble. Two more dragons broke through the clouds after him, scales deep blue and muted red.

“Helios,” Tivar whispered beside him. “They have come.”

The four mages surged forwards, and Calen pulled his mind back to his own body, the sword forms flowing through him as effortlessly as his lungs drew in breath. Tivar moved with him, her níthral ignited.

This ended now.

The first mage lunged, and Calen stepped into the space between them. He feigned a swing of his níthral, then released it as the man made to block. Tivar swept past him and sliced her blade along the man’s side, causing him to cry out and stumble. Calen dropped his hand down onto the mage’s shoulder and grabbed tight. With Valerys roaring in his mind, Calen unleashed a wreath of fire from his palm over the man’s helmet-clad face.

The mage screamed and let out an eruption of Spirit and Air, knocking Calen back. Calen anchored threads of Air into the rock and stopped himself from careening through the air.

Again he moved forwards, turning aside each blade as it came, slicing through threads with his own, Tivar always beside him. An arc of lightning ignited to his left, and she threw herself in front of it. The lightning crashed into Tivar’s pauldron and sent her to the ground, a crack in her plate, but she was on her feet in heartbeats.

The one-armed Battlemage rushed him with that crimson níthral in his fist, but the man was exhausted now. The drain had pulled the energy from his bones. And while the mage struggled to carry on, Valerys’s fire still burned with a fury.

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