Page 193 of Of Empires and Dust

But even in ruins, broken and shattered, Ilnaen surpassed them all. It had to have been three times the size of Berona, perhaps more. Past the sundered remnants of the old walls – sections of which still stood higher than Midhaven’s tallest towers – the ruins of old structures spread into the distance as far as the eye could see. Their damage was too great, and too much time had passed to tell what most of the buildings had one day been.

Thump.

The heartbeat of the lost city resounded in Calen’s mind, and the familiar ringing noise filled his ears, low but rising. His vision flicked, blurring, colours shifting. He didn’t fight it this time, he leaned into it. If he truly was a druid, if he trulycould see glimpses of the past, maybe, just maybe he could see something that might help the present.

The sound of the rushing wind dulled until all Calen could hear was the low, rising noise and the beating of three hearts: his own, Valerys’s, and that of the city itself.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

On the third beat, the light of the world blinked and darkness consumed him. A moment of panic flared in Calen’s heart. He exhaled slowly, calming himself.

The ringing stopped.

Light spilled from the edges of Calen’s vision, pure and golden. It rolled over the mountains to the east, flowing like a river across the land, illuminating the world itself.

The city of Ilnaen was whole. Its white walls stood tall as mountains, glistening as though polished. Towers broke the walls at regular intervals, each almost fifty feet wide and topped with platforms large enough for even Avandeer to land. Enormous banners hung just below the battlements, white-backed with the symbol of The Order displayed in black and ornamented with elaborate patterns of gold that wound into roaring dragon heads.

Four towers in the city stood above all. One at the northern edge, one to the east, one to the west, and one near its centre, attached by a bridge to a fortified keep that was larger than Belduar’s entire Inner Circle. He allowed his gaze to linger a little longer on the western tower. That must have been the tower Aeson spoke of: the western hatchery. The place where Alvira had first met Eluna.

The outer towers stood at least four hundred feet tall, maybe taller. But the tower at the city’s centre rose higher again, with a domed golden roof that sparkled like glass in the sun. The Towerof Faith, the tower where Alvira and the council had died. Therin had spoken of it often in his teachings. And Calen remembered viscerally the dream in which he’d seen through Vyldrar’s eyes. He could still feel the dragon’s fear as Helios tore him from the side of the tower, the fear of not being able to protect her, of leaving her alone in the world. And he remembered the moment the dragon had died, the moment his soul had shattered. That moment would stay with him for the rest of his life.

The land around the city was lush and vibrant, rivers flowing through dense vegetation and woodland, wide-open plains of grass crawling towards the mountains.

A roar sounded above Calen, followed by a dragon twice Valerys’s size with scales of polished silver flecked with ruby. The creature’s wings were a pale red, its horns the colour of sun-bleached bone.

The dragon soared past Calen and Valerys, sweeping a gust in its wake. Three more roars sounded, each belonging to another dragon that streaked past Valerys on the right and left. The dragons varied in size and colour, one not much larger than Valerys himself with ochre-brown scales, black wings, and long spindly limbs. The four dragons twisted and turned in the air, weaving about each other with abandon.

Something about the way the dragons moved spoke of pure joy. As he watched, he began to notice that even more dragons flew above the city and in the sky beyond. And just as many lazed about atop the platforms, deep in sleep. So many. Maybe a hundred, maybe more. The sight of such a number in one place sent a feeling of elation through the bond, so strong that Calen wasn’t sure if it originated in himself or Valerys.

A blood-chilling, earth-rending scream erupted, followed by another, and another, and another. The world flashed and shifted before his eyes. The sky bled red light, rain sheeted, and arcs of lightning tore through dark clouds and crashed intothe buildings below. Columns of fire plumed across the night, crashing over scales and melting steel. Below, the city burned, flames consuming everything.

A crack sounded, and a tower fell, collapsing inwards and sinking into the flames.

Calen’s heart stopped as a shriek rang out and an enormous grey dragon buried its claws into another less than half its size and ripped its neck clean from its body, blood spraying. While the two halves of the smaller creature fell towards the city, the grey dragon rained fire over a stretch of wall.

Everywhere Calen looked, dragons ripped each other apart, fire and lightning flashing.

And then, for a moment, it all stopped. The Blood Moon was gone, the golden sun returned. The roars and shrieks quieted, the wails of the dying fading. The city was as it had been minutes before: pristine, peaceful, and full of wonder. The banners flapped in the wind, and dragons soared on the breeze.

Calen’s heart had just enough time to find hope when the world shifted and the city was ablaze once more. Four dragons ripped through the air, tearing strips from each other, rending scales and slashing wings. Jaws wrapped around necks, legs, and tails. Talons sliced into bellies. All the while, the Draleid who sat on the dragons’ backs wove tapestries of the Spark, whips of Air and Fire, arcs of lightning, shards of rain frozen into missiles.

A rush of wind gusted past Calen’s face, and he looked down to see the same beautiful silver-scaled dragon he’d seen earlier. The creature thrashed and shrieked as three others fell upon it with tooth and talon. Its pale red wings flapped helplessly, wet with blood, the membrane shredded. The other dragons tore at its belly, slicing the wondrous creature open, innards spilling into the sky. It unleashed a blood-chilling screech as another tore its wing from its body and buried a talon in the wound.

Calen pulled his gaze away, unable to watch, his stomach turning.

Once more the world blinked, and the red sky turned to warm marigold, birdsong replacing dying shrieks, the soft glow of lanterns supplanting the blazing flames.

A dragon soared past, scales and wings like a painting of the night sky, savage horns dark as stone. The scales along its snout and chest were lighter in colour, pale as the bellflowers in Verna Gritten’s garden. The creature was equal parts power and beauty, devastating and regal. When it angled its wings and swooped back around, Calen finally saw the face of the Draleid on its back.

Aeson Virandr.

The man couldn’t have seen much more than his twentieth summer, his skin smooth and unmarked by time, not a trace of grey in his hair. He wore the white plate of The Order, twin swords with ball pommels on his back.

A sudden realisation touched Calen that the dragon upon which Aeson rode was Lyara. The sight of her twisted in Calen’s chest. She was beautiful, truly beautiful.

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