Page 255 of Of Empires and Dust

Blood of my Blood

19thDay of the Blood Moon

North of Aravell, where the Darkwood meets the Burnt Lands – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

Calen driftedin and out of sleep, the vibrations of Valerys’s wingbeats thrumming in his bones. They had flown through the night and into the next day and so on even when the sun sank once more, Valerys ignoring the pain in his hind leg. Calen had done his best to hold sleep at bay, but his eyelids refused him, exhaustion firmly rooted in his bones.

Whether awake or asleep, Ilnaen plagued his mind. He’d experienced those visions before, but they had been few and far between, seconds at a time, splashes of emotion and shifting images. He had no idea if Ilnaen itself had been the cause of the shift or if the strange power in his blood was pushing itself forwards. But no matter the cause, he needed to find a way to control it.

The visions he had experienced at Ilnaen had deeper roots than any he’d seen before, ones that felt as though they clung to him still, as though they were a part of him now. Tarast and Kollna were a part of him, their defiance, their refusal to be anything other than guardians. They had lived as Draleid, and they had died as Draleid, protecting those who could not protect themselves.

And if he was not thinking of Ilnaen, worry for Haem plagued him. He could only hope the knights had all made it through the Rift.

Valerys swooped low across the Burnt Lands, dropping from the clouds, that familiar weightless feeling twisting in Calen’s stomach. The dragon tracked a group of N’aka across the dunes, following the heat of their bodies as they moved.

He spread his wings wide and rode the air currents, staying as silent as he could – one of the tricks he had learned when hunting N’aka the first time they had crossed the wasteland. The creatures had astoundingly keen hearing, vanishing into the sand at the beat of Valerys’s wings. As the dragon gradually dropped lower, Calen pulled their minds together, allowing the thrill of the hunt to take him.

Even in the sky, they could smell the surprisingly sweet scent of the N’aka’s fur against the dry earthy aroma of the dunes. Fifteen heartbeats thumped in almost perfect unison.

They angled their wings and dropped quicker, watching the warmth of the N’aka’s bodies flit back and forth, tracing their heartbeats.

One deep breath, filling their lungs, and they swooped, the air crashing against their scales and rushing over their skin. They dropped and snapped their jaws around the largest of the creatures before it had any idea what was happening. Blood filled their mouth, bones snapping.

Two of the N’aka leapt into the air, lunging for Valerys’s throat. The dragon threw the dying catch from his mouth and snatched it into his right talon. In the same motion, he twisted and whipped his tail across the two leaping N’aka. The spearhead tip sliced open the belly of the first creature, then collided with the second, hurling it up through the air.

While the N’aka careened upwards, a pressure swept through Calen and Valerys’s joint body, and the dragon unleashed a pillar of fire that consumed the soaring creature. Valerys snatched the smoking carcass from the air, his jaws wrapping around the charred flesh, then lifted and flew upwards, away from the reach of the other N’aka.

Calen pulled back, just a touch, drawing a cold breath into his lungs, the hairs on his arms and neck standing on end, his heart racing, a feeling of euphoria permeating his shared soul.

The thrill of the hunt was something unique and singular. Something that Valerys relished.

The dragon threw his head forwards and launched the charred N’aka corpse into the air, toying with it, then snatched it back into his jaws and devoured it in a crunch of bone and blackened flesh.

He kept the second kill clutched in his talon as they flew towards the edge of the Burnt Lands. It was close enough to see now – the place where the sand gave way to the cracked and dried rocks that would eventually yield to the dark green canopy of the Aravell.

They soared, the wind carrying them, allowing Valerys’s wings the break they so desperately deserved. And as they did, Calen reached back to the satchels that still hung from his shoulders, pulling at him. He’d thought to have Valerys land and to load the eggs into the packs strapped to the dragon’s chest. But aside from not wanting to stop, Calen felt a deep urge to keep the eggs as close as possible, to feel them near him.

A warning flashed from Valerys’s mind to Calen’s, and Calen jolted upright, the force of the wind dragging at him. He looked through the dragon’s eyes, searching.

Miles ahead, where the dunes yielded to the ridge of broken rock, four figures stood atop a flat, still as statues. Three on two legs, one on four.

A familiar scent touched Valerys’s nostrils. He couldn’t quite place it, but he knew it.

Calen pressed himself to Valerys’s scales as the dragon cracked his wings and ripped across the sky. They swept over the ridge, turning and alighting on a patch of rock behind the four figures, who turned to face them.

Three were human – or at least they looked to be – while the fourth was some kind of monstrous kat, at least the size of Faenir, its fur white as snow over a body of dense muscle. Black glass-like scales jutted from the creature’s chest and neck, as well as patches along its side, legs, and back. It hugged tight to the figure on the left – a short woman with two axes at her belt.

Valerys’s leaned forwards and lowered his head, a hissing rattle escaping his throat, his frills standing on end. Calen sat up straight, holding the Spark just out of reach.

“My my, how you’ve grown.” The figure in the middle stepped forwards, lowering his hood.

Calen stiffened. “Rokka?”

The old druid smiled, the lines around his face and eyes creasing even further. He looked somehow taller than the last time Calen had seen him in his hut between Kingspass and the Burnt Lands, his shoulders a little broader, his back a little straighter. “Calen Bryer. You walk the path I had hoped, though even that path leads many ways.”

Valerys leaned lower, and Calen slid from his back, softening his landing with threads of Air. The dragon moved so his headhovered over Calen protectively. Valerys had little trust for the druid.

Calen stared at Rokka without speaking a word, studying his two companions and the kat-like creature. He was not as naive as he had been the last time he and Rokka had crossed paths. This man was all riddles and clever words, all games and secrets. Whatever path Rokka wished for Calen to walk, it was to Rokka’s benefit, not Calen’s. Calen needed to take care with his words.

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