Page 104 of Of Empires and Dust

After a few moments, even Valdrin lifted his gaze from his journal. He looked from the pair to Calen, then to Tarmon. “Should we?—”

“No,” Tarmon said, raising a hand and cutting Valdrin short. “If we play this right, we might get a bit of silence.” He looked to Calen. “Do you remember silence? It’s such a sweet sound.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Calen noticed Lyrei smiling at Dann and Erik. He’d not seen her smile since Alea’s death. Though in truth, he’d not seen much happiness at all since that night.

“We have to allow ourselves the small things,” Calen whispered to himself.

“That we do.” Tarmon rested his hand on Calen’s shoulder, smiling softly.

A thump of wings echoed through the Eyrie, and all of them looked up to see Valerys soaring though the air, white scales glistening in the perpetual crimson twilight. The ground shook as the dragon alighted beside Erik and Dann, towering over them. He stretched his neck down and shoved the wrestling pair with his snout, knocking them free and dropping them onto their arses.

“Calen…” Dann stretched his neck back, swallowing. “Tell him I’m not food.”

Erik burst out laughing as he pulled himself to his feet. “Valerys is only a pup,” he said, brushing his hand across Valerys’s snout, the dragon giving a soft rumble as he leaned into Erik’s hand.

Dann shifted backwards on his elbows, then patted himself down as he stood. “What pup do you know that’s the size of a house, has teeth larger than my hopes and dreams, and survives exclusively on a diet of raw meat?”

Valerys spread his wings and pulled his lips back, exposing rows of alabaster teeth.

“Don’t listen to him,” Erik said mockingly as he scratched at one of Valerys’s scales. Again, Valerys pressed his snout into Erik’s palm, almost knocking him backwards. The dragon’s head alone was larger than Erik’s entire body.

Dann glared at Erik before walking back towards Lyrei and Drunir. “Only a fucking pup…” he muttered. “A pup with shits the size of your head... and it’s not a small head.”

“Children.” Tarmon shook his head, letting out an exasperated sigh. He turned to Calen. “How are you getting on?”

Calen sheathed his sword and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. “Fine. Just needed to clear my head.” He reached up andpressed his fingers into his forehead. “I just hate the idea of sitting here while I send others to fight for my home.”

“I understand. But Aeson is right. Having you here when Aryana Torval and the others arrive is important. They need to see you, need to know you are not just a tale whispered into the wind. Their numbers could be the difference down the road.” Tarmon squeezed Calen’s shoulder. “There are fourteen thousand souls marching to Salme, Calen. You can’t do everything yourself. You just can’t.”

“I know. Doesn’t make it any easier though.”

“No.”

It was only then, at the sight of the forced smile on Tarmon’s face, that Calen realised Tarmon had been in much the same situation after the Wind Runner crash in the evacuation of Belduar. He’d sworn to protect his home – to protect Daymon. And instead, he’d been following Calen across the continent. “Tarmon, I didn’t mean?—”

“It’s all right. I know. That’s all life is, Calen – decisions and consequences. I made my decisions. And as much pain as they might have brought me, I’d make them again.” He looked off into the valley beyond the edge of the Eyrie, then back to Calen. “On that note. Those souls start their march to Salme tomorrow. I’ve arranged for some casks of wine and enough food to fill their bellies twice over. Your brother and Lyrin are there, and Aeson and Therin are going through the supply inventory now. The elven smiths are doing their last check of the new armour. In fact,” he said, looking to Valdrin, who scribbled away in his journal like an elf possessed, “he’s meant to be leading the checks.”

Calen only laughed as Tarmon shook his head. Valdrin was well known for his wandering mind, but his brilliance superseded any shortcomings in that area.

Tarmon looked back to Calen. “Erik and I thought you’d like to join the soldiers for a drink before they go. I know it might not seem like much to you, but it would make all the difference to them. You’re the reason they’re here. They didn’t come here because of Aeson’s words or promises, they came because of you. And they’re marching to war in your name.”

Those last words were like a gut punch. It didn’t seem real. How had it come to this? How had it come to people marching to war in Calen’s name? The last thing he ever wanted was war. But the reality was that it didn’t matter how or why. War was here. That was an inescapable fact.

“It would be my honour.”

Arden loweredthe wooden cask to the stone, the wine sloshing as he laid it down beside one of Calen’s captains – Ingvat.

The woman nodded her thanks, instructing three men to shimmy the cask over closer to a cluster of others. Her head barely reached the crest on the breastplate of Arden’s Sentinel armour, but she had an air of authority around her not dissimilar to his mother. Even Erdhardt Hammersmith had listened when Freis Bryer had talked, whether he wanted to or not.

The thought caused Arden to reach down to his hip where the scarf Calen had given him was tied between his belt loops. He recalled the armour from around his hand, feeling it roll back over his skin as his fingers brushed the soft silk.

Arden drew a long breath through his nose, then looked about.

Rows and rows of wagons lined the courtyard’s edges, stocked to the brim with salted meats, hard cheeses, bread, fruit, and everything else a marching army required. It was there that Aeson, Therin, Harken, and another of Calen’s captains – Narthil – double and triple checked the supplies. This, Arden decided, was a key difference between a battle and a war.

There was an inherent chaos to a battle, a madness within which all reason became lost. Battles were won and lost on the stroke of a sword.

War was the exact opposite. It was meticulous and slow and purposeful. Wars were won and lost on empty stomachs, exhaustion, thirst. And somehow that difference set a much sharper fear in his belly.

---