Page 37 of Of Empires and Dust

“He’s in charge.” Erik inclined his head at Tarmon as they started off once more, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Dann mouthed the words back at Erik, twisting his face in a mock impression. To his surprise, he found Lyrei laughing. He didn’t care that it was him she was laughing at. He was just happy she was laughing.

Lyrei held Dann’s gaze for a second, her laughter fading, her golden eyes seeming to stare into his soul. She gave him a soft smile before turning and following Tarmon.

The sound of thousands of boots clipping against stone echoed through the passage beneath the arch, the crashing of water at its back.

“Blessed be Hafaesir,” Tarmon said as they marched into the enormous basin on the other side of the archway. The basin was cut from the rock itself, flowing outwards in a series of perfectly smooth circular terraces. Thousands upon thousands of elves made their way up ornately carved staircases of hewn rock, cloaks of gold, silver, and green adding colour to the grey. Dann had heard of the great stadiums in Ardan where tens of thousands gathered to watch warriors fight for glory and coin; this seemed grander than any tale he had heard.

Five waterfalls cascaded over the ledge at the top of the basin, flowing into streams that fed a circular moat surrounding a central island at the heart of the ‘stadium’.

Four bridges of white stone traversed the moat, providing access to the island. Upon the island itself stood five massive statues about half as tall as the two dragons by the arch.

Each of the statues was built from grey rock, not a seam or crack in sight. One stood taller than the others, its body comprised of thick slabs of muscle, its face smooth and angular, its hair tied in a single braid: a giant – a Jotnar.

The other four were those of an elf, a human, a Dvalin Angan, and a Fenryr Angan. The statues all faced out towards the terraces, their hands clasped at their fronts.

“Well,” Dann said, staring upwards, his eyes tracing the stone antlers of the Dvalin Angan. “I can see why the Craftsmages were busy.”

Elves in white robes directed Dann and the others up a staircase to the left that led to one of the many terraces.

Elven Highguard in their gleaming silver plate occupied the central island below. The armoured warriors stood at either ends of the bridges and around the island’s perimeter, with what looked to be an enormous pit nestled in the island’s centre.

“Excuse me.”

Dann looked up to see Therin approaching, Aruni and Valdrin at his side.

Valdrin wore the same stiff white tunic as Dann, but, as per usual, he was covered in dirt, soot, and grease. Dann couldn’t hold back his laugh at the sight of black fingerprints all along the collar of Valdrin’s tunic.Well, at least I'm not the only one who doesn’t like the top button.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it,” Dann said, inclining his head to Therin.

“You try getting Valdrin to leave the forge while he’s working,” Therin said as he took a spot beside Dann.

Lyrei inclined her head to the elf, stepping aside so Valdrin and Aruni could find space.

“There is a lot of armour to craft and little time to do so.” Valdrin pulled at his collar again, leaving fresh black fingerprints. “And everything’s slower when you have to tell others what to do. I don’t like it.”

Aruni frowned at Valdrin, then stepped into line beside Therin, smiling at Dann. “It is good to see you well, Dann Pimm.”

“And you.” Dann had only met Aruni once or twice. She had the same motherly demeanour as Elia Havel, but Dann couldn’t help but feel unsettled around her. Whenever she looked at him with those red-ringed black eyes, it sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t her eyes themselves that unsettled him, but more the idea of what must have been done to her. The night Valdrin had given them their armour, it had been raining, and the damp had caused Aruni’s dress to cling to her skin. Dann had seen the scarred rune markings carved into her chest.

He drew a breath, pushing the image from his mind, and leaned into Therin while looking out over the thousands of gathering elves. “Have you seen Calen? He said he was to arrive with Aeson and the others, but I saw them down near the island and he and Valerys weren’t there.”

“He’ll be here.” After a moment, Therin leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Dann…”

“Please don’t.” Dann shook his head, a knot twisting in his stomach. He knew what Therin was going to say. And he wasn’t quite sure why, but the sincerity in the elf’s voice had somehow cut straight through him.

“Baldon thought very highly of you, Dann.”

“Therin, I said please.”

Therin nodded gently, letting out a soft sigh.

After a while, the flow of souls into the basin waned and ceased. Tens of thousands occupied the terraces, the sounds of their low chatter and shuffling feat echoing in the natural acoustics. Those sounds dropped to nothing though when a voice thundered through the gathering.

“My people.” The voice was so loud it sounded as though it boomed from the mouth of a god. Dann had seen the trick many a time from Calen and others. “Din närvarvin gryr haydria t’il valana.”

Dann didn’t understand the elf tongue – or the ‘Old Tongue’, as Calen was fond of correcting him – but he had recognised the word ‘valana’.Lost.

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