Page 434 of Of Empires and Dust

Helios shifted in place, his heart quickening. Memories flooded from the dragon’s mind into Eltoar’s, memories of skies filled with dragons, of tiny hatchlings crawling from eggs, of fledglings finding their fire.

“And how am I to know you are not lying to me, simply because you believe I can give you the Heart?”

Fane grabbed Eltoar’s arm and pulled him so they faced each other head-on. “You and I are brothers, Eltoar Daethana. I have bled for you and you for me. We sacrificed everything –everything– so that this world might see better days. When the eggs stopped hatching, my heart bled. That those gods, those monsters who pretend they care for this world would wreak such pain and horror… They are not fit to be called gods. They left this world to rot, to consume itself.” He leaned closer. “I can bring the dragons back. Efialtír canbringthe dragons back. On my life, on my heart, I swear it. But not without the Heart of Blood.”

Eltoar stared back at Fane, his heart pounding. Helios stood at his full height now, talons raking the dirt, his emotions swirling through their shared soul. There was nothing else in this world worth anything except for the eggs. The eggs were their greatest shame, their greatest guilt… If those unborn souls could be given back the life that had been stolen from them, that was all that mattered.

The young Draleid and his soulkin were not enough. In a single day Eltoar had watched five dragons torn from the world, and he and Helios had been the cause of three. One dragon hatched in four hundred years was not enough to bring a species back from extinction. Fane had done as he had promised. He had reinstated the order of the Dracårdare. They had tested the eggs for the Calling. Day after day, night after night. Tens of thousands had been brought through the vault in Venira. Nothing.

Eltoar could not sit around any longer. He did not share Fane’s faith in Efialtír. But there were no other paths.

“This is it.” A fire burned in Fane’s eyes as he spoke. “This is what we have fought for every day. If you’d not taken the Heart all those years ago, Efialtír would already walk this world and the dragons would fill the skies. But that can still be. You have seen his power, Eltoar. Felt it in your veins. You cannot doubt him. You cannot doubt that which has been proven to you time and time again. The Chosen alone are proof of his strength. Evenwith the veil between worlds fighting against him, he reaches his hand into this world. Stand with me this last time.”

Eltoar held his gaze on Fane, then stepped from the rock. Helios lowered his head as Eltoar approached, tilting to the side so Eltoar could unbuckle the chest from the straps that held it to the dragon’s body.

As he held the chest in his hands, his mind warred on two sides. And then Helios pushed memories into Eltoar: Helios tearing Vyldrar from the side of the Tower of Faith, Alvira, Eltoar killing Dylain, Pellenor and Meranta, Lyina and Karakes. A thousand memories flitted through his vision, a thousand friends dead, a thousand dragons slaughtered. They had caused so much pain. They had made so many wrong choices. This was their chance to do something worthwhile, something good.

Both Helios and Eltoar knew that, despite Fane’s words, the man might very well strike them down as soon as Eltoar handed him the chest. Eltoar had betrayed him, had stolen the Heart from beneath his nose. Fane had trusted him, and Eltoar had spurned that trust.

More than once, Eltoar had thought to use the Heart himself. With a well of Essence that deep, he and Helios could swat Fane aside as though the man were nothing. But could they breathe life back into the eggs? No. To take the Heart for himself would be a selfish choice, one amongst many. To preserve their lives at the cost of so many more.

Fane stepped down from the rock and stared at the chest without a word, his body still, his face expressionless, and yet Eltoar could feel the tension in him.

“I am sorry for not trusting you, old friend.” Eltoar looked from Fane to the chest. “Perhaps if I had done sooner, so much death could have been avoided.”

Fane’s gaze never left the chest. “The past is both a poison and a gift, Eltoar. If we ignore it, we are destined to repeat it. But if we linger there, it will kill us.”

“You’ve always known the right words to say, my friend. Always.”

“It is my curse.” Fane took a step closer, clasping his hands behind his back. “We can still make things right. I want you by my side. Ineedyou by my side. As I always have. I don’t care, Eltoar. I don't care that you took it. I don’t care that you hid it. I understand your reasons. I would have made the same decision. The steps we’ve taken are behind us. All I care about is the next step. Will you take it with me? Will we finish this together?”

Eltoar placed the chest into Fane’s arms, allowing his hands to linger for just a moment.

The thumping of his heart pounded in his ears as he pulled his hands away.

It was done.

Fane wove threads of Air through the chest and cracked open the lid, a red glow washing over him. “Finally.” He turned his gaze up at Eltoar, the light glinting in his eyes. “I will not fail you, my friend. The elves of Lynalion and this new Draleid will pay in blood for what they have taken from you. The dragons will once again fill the skies. And you will see that every sacrifice we have made was worth it. Epheriawillfind peace again. I swear it to you.”

Fane stareddown at the open chest that rested upon the desk in his study, the light of the Heart glowing with an unerring beauty.

Patience was always rewarded.

Eltoar had been a delicate piece of the puzzle. A soul so strong and filled with arrogance and yet burdened by a need to be loved, to be trusted, a need to protect. Such strong yearnings made for a malleable heart. That had always been Eltoar’s weakness.

Alvira had those same needs, but she’d possessed a much stronger sense of self. She could never have been swayed. Fane had tried at first, but it was clear almost immediately that she did not have that same need for validation.

The inner workings of a mind, the strings that pulled at each heart and soul, those were the things Fane found the most fascinating. There was no puzzle more satisfying to complete.

Fane had not suspected Eltoar at first, and in the years following the fall of The Order, there had been other priorities. The veil between worlds wouldn’t thin again for four hundred years. By the time he’d believed the thief to be Eltoar, the Blood Moon had been approaching once more.

Fane had known that all he needed to do was pluck away slowly at the things Eltoar cared for most. Create a sense of doubt within him. Apply an urgency, a need.

Even before The Fall, Vandrien had always walked around with her nose in the air. She was one of those elves who believed in the old days, in the superiority of elven blood. She had always thought herself smarter than every soul in the room. She was predictable, arrogant, and brutal. And all of those things had made her so easy to manipulate.

Fane had known the attack on Elkenrim was a ruse. He’d set scouts in the Elkenwood: Aldruids. Vethnir hunters. The elves had never come close to seeing them. Catagan had been a necessary sacrifice. Eltoar had needed to believe they were losing the war, needed to believe thathewas failing.

The attack on the tower had been a masterstroke, if he dared say so himself. Which he did. He had allowed the Alamantsto live freely for centuries, knowing how useful they could be if given the right push. And for centuries, he had filtered information into their network, tending them like a garden. They had truly believed their instructions had come from the rebels. The attack had served many purposes. It had made the empire look weaker so that Eltoar might be swayed. It had built a fervour within the armies for rebel blood. And it had also dampened Fane’s boredom a little. But most of all, Fane had needed a way to draw the elven dragons from Catagan, a way to bring Eltoar and his old apprentice together. The raw power of dragons was such that when they met in the air, death would always follow. And the more dragons that died, the greater Eltoar’s need would become. The arrival of Aeson Virandr’s new protégé had been unexpected but surprisingly effective.

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