Page 426 of Of Empires and Dust

Every impulse in Calen’s body told him to snap the man’s neck, and in the distance Valerys roared, causing gasps to spread through the street as men and women lifted their heads to the sky.

As Calen stared at Dorman, who hadn’t lifted his gaze, memories of Artim Valdock in that cell flickered in his mind. Nails being ripped from his fingers, ribs broken, blood dripping. A second roar from Valerys brought his mind back, and he steadied his breathing. “How did the Forty-Third Army find itself in Salme?”

“We were detached to aid in the relief of Camylin, but we were caught in an ambush and fell back through the villages.” The man took a step closer, but the moment he did both Tarmon and Vaeril stepped between Dorman and Calen. Tarmon placed a hand on the mage’s chest, and Vaeril’s sword was half-free of its scabbard.

Dorman looked down at Tarmon’s hand and gave a subdued laugh. “We have bled as much as anyone here.”

He attempted to push Tarmon’s hand down, but it stayed planted like a rock.

“And will you be staying here, Exarch Dorman? Or will you be leaving to rejoin the imperial armies?”

The question made Dorman visibly uncomfortable.

Calen gestured for Tarmon and Vaeril to stand down, moving close enough that he could smell the stew on Dorman’s breath. He searched the man’s eyes. “Don’t worry. You fought here and you defended my home, and so while you are within these walls, you are not my enemy.” As Calen spoke, heavy wingbeats thumped in the air, and every head in the street turned to the sky. “If you choose to remain here and defend these people, live off this land, you will remain not my enemy. But as soon as your soldiers march from here, bearing that black lion on your chest, you are a threat to everything I hold dear and I will treat you accordingly.”

Movement behind the Exarch drew Calen’s attention, and he saw a face he never thought he would see again.

“Exarch, I do not have fond memories of Lorian mages. But I will say thank you for protecting my home and the people I love. If you’ll excuse me.”

Calen stepped past Exarch Dorman, Tarmon and Vaeril following close behind as he weaved through the crowd. He stopped when he found himself standing before Anya Gritten.

“You still smell like cherry blossoms.” As soon as the words left his lips, Calen realised how much of an idiot he was. “I didn’t mean… That was creepy, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, I…”

He let his words fade as Anya threw her arms around him and squeezed him so tight he thought she might pop one of his ribs. For a moment, he stood there still as a tree, until a gentle push from Valerys in his mind told him to return the embrace.

When Anya finally released him, tears wet her cheeks. She brushed them aside, laughing. “Sorry… I just never thought…” She stopped herself and shook her head. “It’s really good to see you, Calen.” She gave him a broad smile. “You look taller.”

“It’s the boots.”

Anya laughed, and Calen’s heart suddenly felt lighter. Gods, he had missed her laugh. “This is Tarmon Hoard and Vaeril Ilyin, two of my closest friends.”

Anya scrunched her brow and leaned a little to the left, pulling in her top lip as she laughed. “Are they now?”

“What?” Calen turned to see Vaeril and Tarmon had abandoned him and were looking back with shit-eating grins as they pushed through the crowd.

“Would you like to walk with me?”

“I’d love to.”

Tarmon foldedhis arms and just watched and listened with joy in his heart as Thannon, Origal, Nayce, Torka, and Leon told jokes and stories, ale flowing.

He and Vaeril had left Calen with the woman who clearly needed his time more than they did, and Tarmon brought Vaeril to meet the eight Belduaran Kingsguard who still drew breath within the city. Though it stung to know their number had been much larger only months before, it warmed his heart to see them again.

“You should have seen it, Lord Captain,” Thannon said, puffing out his cheeks, ale sloshing in his cup. “Fellhammer just stood in the centre of them all, and the Uraks faced him one by one as though it were some kind of game. And one by onehe crushed their skulls with that beast of a weapon. I’ve heard rumour he suckled on a bear’s teat as a babe.”

Tarmon had simply watched as Erdhardt Hammersmith had quietly walked up behind Thannon and stood there the entire time while Thannon wove his tale to the crowd around them – the Silver Wolves, he’d heard they were called, named after the cloaks they wore.

“You leave my mother out of this,” Erdhardt said, slamming his hands down onto Thannon’s shoulders and lowering his voice to a whisper. “And I’ll leave this out of your mother.”

Thannon’s eyes bulged, and he leapt forwards. “You fucking son of a donkey-fucker.”

Erdhardt and the others burst out laughing, and the mountain of a man clapped Thannon on the shoulders. Seeing this ‘Fellhammer’, Tarmon understood something of where Calen and Dann’s strength of character came from.

“Have any of you seen Dahlen?” Erdhardt asked.

“He’s at the bloodhouse,” Nayce answered, his tone growing sombre. “An Urak snapped young Conal’s arms. The elven Healers have done what they can but… there’s no certainty he’ll see the next sunrise.”

Erdhardt nodded, then raised his cup. The others did the same and drank deeply.

---