Page 400 of Of Empires and Dust

Therin moved to stand beside Calen, worry etched into his eyes. Then Calen realised: he didn’t see Dann or Lyrei. His heart plummeted, his arms and legs feeling as though they’d lost all strength.

The group of riders stopped before them, and even as Tarmon slid from his saddle with all the grace of a drunk donkey, Erdhardt pushed past him and moved straight for Calen.

Before a word was said, before even a whisper had dared leave a lip, Erdhardt crashed into Calen and wrapped his arms around him.

“Calen Bryer,” the man said, pulling away and grabbing the sides of Calen’s face. He held him at a distance, a broad smile on his face.

“You’ve got a few more scars since I last saw you.” Calen hadn’t truly realised how scared he was of discovering who had survived the attack on The Glade until that very moment. He’d also never expected to be quite so happy to see Erdhardt Hammersmith.

“And you’ve got a dragon,” Erdhardt said, suddenly tentative as Valerys loomed over Calen. After a moment, the man looked back at Calen, staring into his eyes as though seeing a ghost. “You look exactly like him.” He shook his head. “Your hair, your face, the way you hold yourself… not your eyes. When did that happen?” Erdhardt just smiled and pulled Calen back into the embrace. “It’s so good to see you, my boy.”

“Calen.”

Calen pulled away from Erdhardt to see Tarmon, Vaeril, and Erik walking towards him.

“I’m sorry,” Calen said, shaking his head. “I should have been here. I tried. The North was?—”

“If you could have been here, you would have been.” Tarmon grabbed the back of Calen’s head and pressed their foreheads together. “You’re alive, and Salme stands. That’s what matters.”

“And you brought friends.” Erik looked up at Varthear and Avandeer, then over to Tivar, who stood at Avandeer’s feet.

Erik pushed Tarmon aside and pulled Calen into an embrace. “You’re always late, aren’t you?”

“Ever since he was a child,” Erdhardt said.

Calen laughed at them both, his eyes falling on Vaeril. The elf’s lips held the subtlest of smiles, and he inclined his head. He grasped Calen’s forearm. “Du sier ithnar, Draleid.”

You look horrible, Draleid.

“Du sier mathon, evalír.”

You look worse, elf.

That weak smile cracked into a laugh, and he pulled Calen close. “Det er aldin na vëna du, Calen.”

It is good to see you, Calen.

“Ar du, akar.”

And you, brother.

Calen pulled away from Vaeril. “Lumís é Dann ar Lyrei?”

The smile vanished from Vaeril’s face, and panic flared within Calen.

“Lumís é’aiar, Vaeril?”

Where are they, Vaeril?

Calen steppedonto the covered porch of the small wooden house nestled into a row of similar structures near Salme’s docks. Both Erdhardt and Therin waited for him at the bottom step. Neither had said a word as Erdhardt had led them through the city, heads turning as Calen walked the streets with his gaze down, white armour marred with dried blood and dirt. Some whispered ‘Warden of Varyn’ or ‘Draleid’, but he didn’t lift his gaze. On a different day, perhaps, but not this day.

He’d thought he’d heard voices call his name– more than once – but when he did look up, he saw no faces he knew.

Calen wrapped his knuckles gently on the wooden door but got no response. After a few more knocks, he entered and found the house empty. When he stepped back out onto the porch, Erdhardt gestured towards the closest dock, where a lone man stood staring at the water.

“Give me a moment,” Calen said to Therin and Erdhardt.

His skin itched, and his feet felt like they were filled with stones as he approached the man. “Tharn?”

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