Page 128 of Of Empires and Dust

The other six elves followed suit, each removing their helmets as they knelt, and behind them, the rows of elven warriors did the same.

“Your trust will be honoured. And I shall return Olmaír Moridain’s body to you, so that it may be properly cared for in the ways of the Evalien.”

The elf before him lifted her gaze, blue eyes staring into his. “That is truly how you see us then? Are we no longer your people? Are you no longer one of the Evalien?”

Eltoar tried to speak, but the wound in his abdomen flared, burning with pain, a blinding light flashing in his vision. In his weakened state, the drain sapped at him, the threads of Air and Water that stopped him from bleeding out waning. If he wasn’t tended to soon, he would be joining Olmaír in Heraya’s embrace.

Before he could answer, a warning from Helios flashed in his mind, and through the dragon’s eyes he watched Vyrmír burst from the wall of fog behind the elves, rising ever upwards. The dragon did not fly towards Helios and Seleraine, but instead he moved eastward, back towards Steeple. The two other dragons lifted into the air and fell into formation at Vyrmír’s wings.

“What is the meaning of this?” Eltoar snapped, Helios’s rage seeping into him as he glared at the kneeling elf.

“The great dragons were never participants in this battle. They observed only, with no intention of joining, and therefore are not bound by the laws of Alvadrû.”

Helios tore through the sky after Vyrmír, but the dragon was already too far gone. Through Helios’s eyes, Eltoar saw that it was not Salara who sat at the nape of the dragon’s neck. It was a human woman with dark hair, a rune-marked collar binding her neck.

“What in the gods is happening?” Eltoar whispered.

As Vyrmír faded into the clouds, the wall of fog dissipated, spreading over the ground and thinning. Eltoar stepped past the seven elves kneeling before him and stared out at the empty field of grass where the fog had been.

There was no army. Not even a trace.

“What games do you play?” Voranur roared, dragging the elven captain to her feet, his fingers wrapped around the arm loops in her breastplate.

A smile spread across her face, and she turned away from Voranur to stare at Eltoar. “All great things require sacrifice. Is this not true, Eltoar Daethana?”

Chapter 30

The Spider and the Fly

12thDay of the Blood Moon

Catagan – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

Salara stared at the stars,watching her breath twist lazily upwards.

Olmaír was dead.

The ache in her chest, born from the sorrow that flooded into her from Vyrmír, told her as much. Her old master had taken yet another great soul from this world. She had wanted to go in Olmaír’s place, to be the one to drive the steel through Eltoar’s heart, but Vandrien had forbidden it.

“You and Vyrmír are too important to risk in this,”she had said.“If there is any among us who can best Eltoar with the blade, it is Olmaír. If he falls, he does so with honour and his sacrifice will move our people forwards. If he succeeds, this war will be over swiftly. There will not be a better opportunity to take Eltoar Daethana and Helios from this world.”

Salara drew a breath, holding her gaze on the sparkling broken-glass sky. “Na daui nai din siel væ’ryn von myia haydria, Aeldral. Din imadrû værakanra i’lanír.”

To die by your side would have been my honour, Elderblade. Your sacrifice will not be in vain.

“Ah-hem.”

Salara lowered her gaze to stare across at the two humans who stood before her. Two rows of Lorian cavalry were arranged behind them, the lantern-lit city of Catagan at their backs. Salara sensed four mages amidst the cavalry already filling themselves with the Spark.

“This offer of yours,” the smaller of the two men said, gesturing towards the man at his side. “We accept. Keval here will be our champion. If you kill him, we will cede the city to you as you ask. If he kills you, though, your army will lay down its weapons and submit.”

“This is the way.” Salara glanced at the taller man as she spoke, the crimson light of Efialtír’s moon shining on his polished head. He was at least a foot taller than she, and he looked as though he were raised sucking at a Jotnar’s tit. He didn’t concern her.

“And how do we know your people will obey the rules if you die?”

“Honour demands it,” Salara said, turning away from the man and facing Vandrien and the five captains who stood at her side. Behind them, thousands of golden-armoured warriors of Numillíon were spread across the plain, crimson and gold banners flapping.

While Salara’s soulkin had flown to Elkenrim alongside Barathûr and Andrax, accompanying Olmaír Moridain and the others, Vandrien had led fifty thousand souls behind Lorian lines through the Elkenwood. They had encountered Lorian sentries spread throughout the woodland, but not one had seentheir death coming. The humans had grown arrogant across the centuries.

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