Page 348 of Of Empires and Dust

He let his mind drift into Valerys’s, let their hearts beat together. The dragon swept around the face of the mountain,twirled in the air as lightning streaked past, then dropped and poured fire over a force of Lorian cavalry that were moving around the foot of the mountain.

The horses split and scattered, only for Avandeer to drop low across them and set the ground alight, Varthear plunging through the flames to rip four of the mounted warriors to pieces with her talons. The three dragons soared back over the plains below, fires raging amidst the Lorian ranks. In the distance, through Valerys’s eyes, he saw the army’s tents and wagons. Valerys let out a roar and cracked his wings, surging forwards. No matter what happened within the mountain, these Lorians would pay for coming here. And without their supplies, they would not be hunting down any survivors.

Another quake shook the rock, and this time the pulse of the Spark was closer. Calen could feel it thrumming in the air. He pulled on threads of Air and Spirit, following the drift as Falmin had taught him. Sounds vibrated through the threads: clattering steel, screams, crackling fire.

“What’s that way?” Calen asked, pointing to a tunnel on the opposite side of the chamber they’d just entered. He noticed a small green circle marked onto the rock.

“Many things,” Yandira said, stopping. She licked her lips in thought. “The mushroom cellars, the grain stores, a section of living quarters…” She pointed towards a tunnel mouth on the right side of the cavern with a small orange square marked onto the rock beside it. “The gates are that way.”

More screams vibrated along Calen’s threads of Air, more pulses of the Spark thrumming. Something else called to him, something he could not explain… something familiar. It echoed in the Spark, like a shadow of a memory. He moved towards that echo, drawing his sword. “We go this way.”

Neither Yandira nor Tivar argued, the latter sliding her sword from its scabbard.

Calen followed the shouts and screams, his feet pounding against the rock, his heart thumping, that familiar echo pulling at him. He stepped through into a new chamber, where rebels were gathering and readying themselves to enter the fray. Fifty or so, no more. “Fall back to the sally port!”

For a moment, they looked at him dumbstruck, then eyes widened and whispers spread.

He ignored them and looked to Yandira. “Get them to the sally port. Gather any you find along the way.”

Calen didn’t wait for her reply. He charged through the tunnel on the opposite side, releasing the threads of Air and Spirit, the clash of steel and shouts of battle carrying on their own now.

Tivar matched him stride for stride, her gaze forward.

The tunnel opened up to a ledge that overlooked an enormous cavern filled with rock-hewn buildings that rose two and three storeys. The fighting raged across the cavern, rebels loosing arrows from high ledges and rooves while others fought in the streets against Lorian soldiers. The rebels outnumbered the Lorians three to one at least, but the Battlemages were quickly evening out that discrepancy. In his periphery Calen caught the glimmer of red runes in silver steel, and he watched as one of the Chosen brought its crimson níthral down atop a man’s head and split him from skull to groin, the two halves slopping to the ground.

“I’m with you,” Tivar said, looking down at the pitched fighting below. She slid her sword into her scabbard and extended her arm. Calen felt her open to the Spark, threads of each elemental strand swirling around her. A moment passed, and then a sword of gleaming yellow light formed in her hand. Tivar let out a shivering sigh, staring down at the níthral in awe. “For almost four centuries, I was lost… and my níthral hadignored my call. Until you gave me purpose once more. I am yours.”

“Uthikar, vésani,” Calen said, turning back towards the fighting, his purple níthral igniting in his fist.Together, sister.

Pulling in threads of Air, Calen leapt from the ledge. He hit the ground hard, not softening his landing any more than he needed to.

The Lorian soldiers around him hesitated for just a moment. That was all he needed.

Calen swept forwards, dropping into Striking Dragon and allowing the svidarya to flow through him, the light of his níthral glowing across the rock. He cut down two men in red and black leather in quick succession. The third blocked his first swing in a burst of purple light, but the impact staggered him backwards and he tripped over a corpse. Calen was upon him in moments. He stared down into the Lorian’s fear-filled eyes, steeled himself, then watched the man’s light go out as he drove his níthral into his chest.

“To us!” Calen called out, moving through the forms of svidarya, carving the Lorians apart.

Tivar surged past, her níthral shimmering with yellow light as she sliced through a Lorian chest, then spun on her heels and extended a hand, threads of Air snapping outwards.

Calen turned to see a spear curve in the air and whip past his head, the blade grazing the side of his helmet with a rasping scrape. Within a heartbeat, Tivar had already wrapped the threads of Air around the soldier who had thrown the spear, his bones snapping in spurts of blood. As she moved to stand by Calen’s side, the rebels rallied to them, snatching up dropped Lorian shields.

Lorian soldiers flooded from the side streets, and Calen could feel the Spark pulsing within their numbers.

Murmurs spread through the rebels about Calen, followed by shouts and pointed fingers as a Chosen leapt from a rooftop above, silver armour glinting in the light that poured through the thin shafts in the rock. The ground shook beneath Calen’s feet as the Chosen crashed down, cracks spreading beneath its armoured boots.

The Chosen stood to its full height, towering over the Lorian soldiers, a burning red níthral forming in its hand. It charged, roaring in a voice that made Calen’s skin crawl, “For The Saviour!”

The soldiers roared in response, clattering swords against shields, and charged after the monstrosity in silver plate.

“Stay together,” Tivar called, the Spark crackling around her, níthral gleaming. “Today is not the day we die.”

Calen’s heart thumped against his ribs as the Chosen drew closer, its runes blazing.

“For those we’ve lost,” Calen said, steadying himself. He reached out to Valerys, their minds blending. In the skies above the mountain, Valerys roared, and the dragon’s strength flowed into Calen. Fire burned in his veins, and lightning crackled over his skin. This was his purpose. This was what it meant to be a Draleid, to be a guardian, to be a warrior. “With me!”

He broke into a charge, not needing to look to know that Tivar and the rebels charged alongside him.

The Chosen swung its crimson blade in a wide arc, trying to cleave Calen’s head from his body. Calen fell into Howling Wolf, sliding beneath the glowing blade. As he twisted and struck down at the creature’s knee, it threw its arm back and blocked the strike in a flash of purple and red.

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