Page 27 of Of Empires and Dust

Valerys turned his head and looked to Calen, only for a moment, anguish and rage in his eyes. The dragon turned back to the passage and unleashed a roar of his own in answer. Calen’s entire body shook from the vibrations that travelled from Valerys up through his hand and arm. And with Valerys’s roar, two more joined. Sardakes and Varthear now stood tall on the other plateau, their scales sparkling in the crimson light. The entire Eyrie shook, the dragons’ roars sounding like a thunderstorm raged in the basin.

The sight of all three dragons roaring set every hair on Calen’s body on end and caused his pulse to quicken. He clenched his jaws, curling his fingers into fists as Valerys’s fury overwhelmed him.

When the roars died out and the rage ebbed, the sound of crunching dirt reached Calen’s ears. He turned to find Aeson, Chora, Atara, and Harken approaching.

Atara and Harken inclined their heads to Calen, pressing closed fists to their chests, while Aeson gave the shortest of nods and Chora ignored him entirely. They hadn’t spoken since Calen had discovered both Tivar and Avandeer had survived the battle and Chora had insisted on imprisoning them both until a decision could be made on the path forward. Calen understood the choice on a practical level, but it didn’t mean he agreed with it.

Chora’s gaze moved to the three dragons as she wheeled towards Calen, a pensive look in her eyes. She stopped near Valerys, seemingly lost in thought as she blew a strand of straw-blonde hair from her face. “Fascinating.”

“What?”

“I’ve not seen either Sardakes or Varthear show this kind of emotion since before they were Broken. I’ve not seen it from any dragon who has become Rakina. Not even Ithrax.”

Calen took a step towards Chora, allowing some of Valerys’s anger to burn in him. “You have one of their kin in chains – one of ours.”

“A traitor,” Chora snapped, her demeanour shifting in an instant. She glared at Calen. “The both of them.”

Valerys reared behind Calen, fury burning away the pain of his wounds. The plateau shook as the dragon approached and lowered his head over Calen. Calen glared at Chora, his and Valerys’s anger blending.

Both Atara and Harken stared up at Valerys, visibly tensing. Chora, however, returned Calen’s stare without flinching, not even glancing at the looming dragon.

Calen spoke with a level tone, but his voice was ice. “If it weren’t for thosetraitors, we would all be dead. Every one of us.Every elf, every human, every Angan and Jotnar – every soul in this city. And you wouldn’t be here to cast sentence over them. You owe them a debt.”

With an eerie sense of calm, Chora placed her hands on the wheels of her chair and pushed forwards until she was a foot from Calen. “Those traitors and others of their kind are the reason we’ve spent the last four hundred years hiding.” Even with Valerys’s warm breath blowing her hair, Chora did not waver, her eyes cold and hard. “You think Tivar and Avandeer are any different to Farda, or Ilyain, or Hala, or Eltoar Daethana himself? They have slain both dragons and Draleid. They have laid waste to armies and levelled cities. They are the reason my Daiseer lies cold in the ground. They are the reason the ones I loved no longer draw breath.” Chora’s voice grew harsh and dark. “They are the reason my world burned. One noble deed does not balance a lifetime of darkness. I owe themnothing.”

Calen’s breath trembled as he stared back at Chora. Since meeting the woman, he’d found her to be stern, at times harsh, but always with glimpses of levity. That was gone now; her eyes held only fury and loss.

“This is not the time nor the place.” Aeson stepped between the two of them, tilting his head and raising his hand. He locked his gaze on Calen’s for a moment before staring at Chora. “We said we would hold off on the decisions until after King Silmiryn’s successor was announced and the mourning ceremony was held. We still have respect for the dead, do we not?”

Chora ground her teeth, fingers pressing against the bone-white plates at the side of her chair’s wheels. She looked as though she was about to challenge Aeson but instead she gave him a sharp nod.

Aeson looked to Calen, who mimicked Chora’s gesture.

“Good. With the Blood Moon in the sky, the elves of Lynalion burning the North, and the imperial armies marching across the South, decisions must be made swiftly. Fane and the empire will not take this defeat lying down. We must be ready. But before that, we must ensure our house is tidy. After the ceremony, we shall reconvene here along with the others. This is the time we’ve been waiting for.”

“Agreed.” Harken folded his arms, dense muscle bulging through his shirt. The man was so large he looked as though he were part Jotnar. He flashed a glance across the Eyrie towards the passage to where Tivar, Avandeer, and the others were being held. He nodded softly, as though accepting something, then sighed. He looked to Calen. “With that, we must make haste. The mourning ceremony will begin shortly, and our lateness would bring great dishonour. Valerys has recovered enough to attend?”

“He has.” Calen reached up and brushed his fingers against one of the horns that framed the bottom of Valerys’s jaw. “It’ll be a few days before he’s ready to truly take flight, but he is strong enough for this.”

“Let us be gone then,” Harken said, turning as he spoke. “King Galdra is not known for his patience.”

“Give me just a moment,” Calen asked, inclining his head and making his way across the Eyrie to where Sardakes and Varthear occupied a plateau of thick grass.

The two mighty dragons watched Calen approach, a brightness in their eyes that had not been there the first time he’d entered the Eyrie. They shifted as Valerys moved behind Calen. Both dragons were at least twice Valerys’s size, but even still he stood tall, a deep growl in his chest.

Sardakes, with his flight taken from him when his soulkin died, hadn’t fought in the Battle of Aravell. But he had not moved from Varthear’s side from the moment she had returned.His scales were black as polished obsidian, his eyes a vibrant blue.

“Sardakes moves only to eat and drink,”Calen remembered Chora saying when Calen had first come to Alura. Those words had proven true over the months that had followed. Along with the others, Sardakes’s listless despondency had broken Valerys’s heart. The dragon may not have fought in the battle above Aravell, but something had changed in him nonetheless.

Beside the black-scaled dragon, the only survivor of the Rakina dragons who had come to Calen and Valerys’s aid, Varthear, was a canvas of scars and fused scales. The Healers had mended the tears in her brilliant vermillion wings, but the deep wounds of body and flesh would take longer to recover.

As Calen drew closer, Sardakes pushed past Varthear and stood over Calen, lips pulling back to reveal rows of spear-like teeth, the sapphire-tinged frills on his back pricking. The dragon’s warm breath blew over Calen’s face, the familiar smell of ash and char filling the air. With jaws wider than Calen was tall and his dense, scale-covered chest puffed out, Sardakes looked every bit the terrifying creature of legend that Calen had always known dragons to be.

Valerys loomed over Calen, the purple light of his eyes shining against Sardakes’s scales. Both dragons leaned their necks forwards, snouts only feet apart, chests rumbling. Sardakes may have dwarfed Valerys, but Valerys cared little; he would protect his soulkin even if Efialtír himself stood over them.

Calen swallowed hard, staring up at the two dragons. Doubt crept into his mind, but he took another step forward, and as he did, Varthear growled and pushed her head into Sardakes’s neck, knocking the black dragon off balance.

Sardakes snapped tamely at Varthear, but then backed away, bowing his head.

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