Page 356 of Of Empires and Dust

“A breath,” Eltoar said, watching as the surface of the fog shifted and three dragons rose.

Tendrils of grey swirled around them as they burst upwards, wings cracking against the air. Avandeer emerged first, and the sight of her lightened Eltoar’s heart. The dragon was a beauty like no other. As she rose, a smaller white dragon with black-veined wings followed. Eltoar had seen the creature from atop Helios when he had first arrived, but he was closer now and through Helios’s gaze he could see the dragon’s pale lavender eyes and the thick horns that framed his skull. The dragon was much larger than he should have been, having hatched barely a summer or two ago.

A smile graced Eltoar’s lips as he stared at the white dragon. He had seen many a hatchling in his time. Over a thousand. And he could tell by the structure of this one’s shoulders, the depth of his chest, and width of his wings that he would one day be a force to be reckoned with. Eltoar only hoped that this was the first of many to come and not the last of what was.

A third dragon broke free of the fog’s grasp, scales of deep blue with bright red wings and horns black as onyx.

“I know that dragon,” Voranur said, taking a step forwards.

“Varthear.” Eltoar followed Varthear’s flight as she soared after Avandeer and the white dragon.

“Jormun and Hrothmundar killed her and Ilmirín centuries ago…” Voranur looked as though he was witnessing a ghost. “At least, I thought they did.”

“There is no Draleid on her back,” Lyina said. “She is Rakina.”

“That’s not possible.”

Eltoar thought back to the many Rakina dragons he had known across the centuries. Far too many for his heart to ever feel true rest. Each of them had unleashed a fury like no other when their soulkin were torn from them. But in the time after, they were, each of them, lost, empty husks waiting for death. He had seen many Draleid carry on after such losses, find purpose and strength despite the shattered souls they were left with. But the dragons had never done so. It was as though when a soul shattered, the dragon always took less and suffered more. As it was in life, it was in death: the dragon took the pain to save their soulkin.

As the three dragons soared towards them, Eltoar felt something in his heart, something he hadn’t realised until that moment he had not felt in a long time: hope. That feeling resonated within Helios and a warmth spread through the greatdragon. It had been so many years since Helios had laid eyes on one so young.

Eltoar lifted his hand to his face, pressed the cold steel of his gauntlet against his cheek, then pulled it away to see a small drop of moisture. The sight of it surprised him. He had not shed many tears in his life. The last time he remembered was when he’d knelt in the hatchery tower over Dylain’s body all those years ago. It was not his own sadness that brought the tears forth as he stood there staring into the sky at the white dragon, but that of Helios.

The sorrow and loss and agony crept into Helios slowly as he admired how the young dragon felt the currents of air and how he always moved to best protect his Draleid.

The white dragon never let his head drop lower than needed, always gave a subtle shift before changes of speed or sharp turns, and, crucially, always looked up. Most dragons never looked up. The greatest predators in the sky never needed to fear what came from above. A dragon that looked up cared more for its Draleid than for itself, always readying to turn and fight, leaving its own belly exposed.

Such a sight would have brought him joy in times past. But now, the only images that crossed Helios’s mind were of the world they had ripped from this young dragon. A world they had sought to make better but instead had torn asunder.

“We can make it right,” Eltoar whispered. “We can make it right.”

Salara ranher hands along Vyrmír’s golden scales, a fury burning within her as she looked through the dragon’s eyes atEltoar Daethana and the others stood upon the open plains at the base of the mountain.

“What is your command?” Taran called from the nape of Nymaxes’s neck.

They stood upon a ledge hidden high in the mountain range, clouds circling. They had been there for some time, concealed by wards of sight and spirit. Warding a dragon was not a simple thing, near impossible. But high in the mountains, bolstered by the cloud cover, it was enough. They had flown by the cover of night, soaring silently through the dark clouds over the Lorian camp, careful to avoid the many beacons Eltoar had placed, setting their trap.

Salara turned her gaze to the thick grey fog and the three dragons that emerged from within. She flicked her tongue off the back of her teeth, squeezing her right hand into a fist.

“In two days, look to the Firnin Mountains. The path you wish to walk lies there.” Those were the words that strange man had spoken the night he and his companions had taken Boud. Salara and Vandrien had agreed there was something deeper happening, that the man was weaving them into threads of his own making. Boud’s fog confirmed this.

It was all far too coincidental for her liking and confirmed suspicions she had long held: Boud had allowed herself to be captured. Why and to what end, Salara could not work out. But a warrior with Boud’s talents and strength did not simply find themselves wandering the depths of Lynalion, and they most certainly did not allow a collar to be placed around their neck so easily.

“Narvír?” Taran called again. “Dar er din narvan?”

Commander? What is your command?

Salara stared down at the three dragons that soared towards Eltoar and the others. Vandrien’s plan had been for Salara and her kin to wreak havoc on the Lorian forces besieging the FirninMountains in hope of drawing Eltoar and the Dragonguard away from Elkenrim. But then they’d seen the Lorian beacons light, and they’d sat back and waited.

At that very moment, Vandrien and Warmarshal Luilin led a force of sixty thousand through the Elkenwood towards Anaduin – or Merchant’s Reach as the human’s had renamed it. All the while, the forces that had gathered in the east – over a hundred thousand strong – marched for Elkenrim.

By the time the sun left The Traitor’s moon alone in the sky that night, two more cities would be reclaimed. And the human empire that had covered the continent in blood would be little more than ashes.

The astute course of action would have been to let the Dragonguard and these other dragons tear each other to pieces while Salara split forces and assisted with the reclamations of Anaduin and Elkenrim. She could hear Vandrien’s voice in her mind.“Patience, Salara, is an attribute all predators share.”

But Salara had been patient. She had waited centuries. She had let Eltoar and Voranur live at Darnírin’s Hill.The time for patience was done. Salara wanted blood.

She reached down and collected her helm from where it sat between her legs and slid it into place. “What do you say, my light?”

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