64. Sweet Boy
Chapter 64
Sweet Boy
20 th Day of the Blood Moon
Aravell – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
By the time Ella had charged through the passage that led to Mythníril, Faenir bounding beside her, Valerys was already visible across on the eastern side of the basin.
The sight of the white dragon standing on the plateau above drove her to sprint even harder, her lungs burning. Two guards who walked along the grass path jerked out of the way as Ella charged between them without breaking stride.
As she reached the plateau, Valerys shifted and turned his head to face her and Faenir. The dragon bowed slightly, but Ella flitted past, the door of the house ahead opening.
Calen emerged in his full suit of armour, runes glowing purple, cloak trailing behind him. Ella collided with her brother so hard it knocked the wind from her lungs. She jumped onto his chest, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, pressing the side of her head against his.
He stumbled backwards, catching himself on his back foot, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, his hand pulling her head in closer. “I thought you were gone.”
“I’m here.” Ella leaned back and looked into her brother’s eyes, the lavender hue of his irises still catching her off guard. She cupped her hands to his cheeks. “I’m here.”
Ella pressed herself in close once more, her arms still around her brother’s neck. They stayed like that for quite a while, neither wanting to let go. When Calen finally put her down, Elia, Lasch, Tanner, and Yana all stood behind him.
He lowered her to the ground, seeming almost as tall as Haem in his plate.
“You saved my life.” Calen rested his gauntlet-clad hand on Ella’s right cheek. “I know what you did. And if you hadn’t, both Valerys and I would be dead and this city nothing but embers. You saved everyone.”
“You’re my little brother. Watching over you is my duty. Mam would kill me otherwise.”
Faenir bolted past Ella and slammed into Calen’s chest with all the weight and force of a battering ram.
And in that moment, as Calen floundered to the ground, the clang of his armour drowned only by the laughter on his lips, Ella saw the boy within the man. That sweet boy. That sweet boy who had been forced to grow older before his time. That sweet boy who had lost his brother, his father, his mother… his sister. That sweet boy who had become what was needed. She would do anything to protect that piece of him.
Something nudged Ella’s shoulder. She turned around just in time to receive a puff of warm air rolling over her face.
Valerys’s head hovered over the ground before her, his lavender eyes staring intently. In one sense, the dragon felt like a part of Calen, like family. And in another, it was a monstrous beast that could rip her in half with little effort.
The dragon leaned forwards and pressed the warm scales of his snout into her cheek, hot air wafting over her neck and shoulders. A rumble resonated in his throat, soft enough to be a purr.
“Faenir, for the love of the gods, get off me.” Calen was trying to add a serious tone to his voice, but he failed in between Faenir’s onslaught of licks. “I’ve not been gone that long!”
For the first time since before Rhett’s death, Ella felt a warm fullness in her heart. Faenir’s love, his loyalty, his dedication… all of it flowed through her. All the wolfpine needed in this world was a full belly, a good night’s sleep, and his family - his pack.
“You’ve gotten far too big to keep doing that.” Calen knelt on one knee, scratching both sides of Faenir’s head. He stopped for a moment and ran his hands back over the wolfpine’s ears, pressing his nose to Faenir’s snout. “It’s good to see you back to yourself. You did a good job watching over her.”
Something moved in the corner of Ella’s vision, and Aneera stepped forwards. She inclined her head to Ella and placed her palm against her forehead. “You move swift as the wind.”
Ella returned the Angan’s gesture.
Aneera repeated the greeting to Calen. “Son of the Chainbreaker.”
“You brought her back to us.” Calen pressed his palm to his forehead and reached out his hand. “That is a debt I can never repay.”
Aneera stared down at Calen’s hand as though it were a red-hot poker. But after a few moments, she wrapped a clawed hand around his forearm, and he did the same with hers.
“I did not do it alone.” Aneera looked over Calen’s shoulder, first to the right, then the left, then all about. Fenryr Angan stalked from the shadows around the white homes on the plateau. Fifteen in total.
“Another wolfchild returns.” The voice was deep and measured, and Ella knew it instantly.
Fenryr walked up the path behind Ella, Sennik and the four other druids at his back, their keepers strolling beside them. The god walked slowly, a black tunic clinging tight to his body.
Calen rose to his feet, eyes narrowing at Fenryr. He didn’t speak, but Ella knew the feeling she could see in his eyes, his mouth slightly ajar, lips searching for words. Calen could feel Fenryr’s presence in the same way she could.
Fenryr pressed his hand to his forehead as he passed Ella. He reached out to place his hands on Calen’s shoulders, but Calen stepped backwards and lifted a hand.
In the span of a heartbeat, everything shifted. Valerys let out a screech of sorts, a clicking sound coming from his throat, and the dragon moved to stand over Calen, lips pulling back in a snarl. Valerys’s spearhead tail whipped back and forth in the air before going rigid.
“Who are you, and how are you in my head?” Calen held his left hand between himself and the god, his right hovering near his sword.
“Do not fear, young one. There is much?—”
“There is much I don’t know. Yes, I’m aware. But one thing I will know is your name.” Calen’s eyes shimmered with a faint purple light, and his stare grew hard.
Fenryr nodded. “There is not a doubt in this world of the wolf in your blood. I would have it no other way. I am Fenryr.”
Calen stared back, wordless, as rigid and wary as Valerys.
“I can feel your doubt, feel it creeping through your blood – my blood. Wolf blood. You are of the Pathfinders, seeker of the paths once walked. A rare Gift, particularly in these times. Your mother was Gifted as such. Though she saw the paths yet to be walked, the paths that may yet be or may fade from the light. The last of my blood with such a Gift.”
“My mother?”
“As I tried to say, there is much you do not know, but nothing I will keep from you.”
Calen continued to stare into Fenryr’s eyes, his chest rising and falling slowly. “The things I’ve seen… the visions… are they real?”
“Seeing the paths is not straight forward, young one. Though the paths once walked are more so than those yet to be. The events are real, for a certainty. But they are coloured by the lenses you look through. I will let you settle, but tonight I will answer every question you ask of me. At least those that are within my capacity to answer.”
“Tonight.” Calen nodded. “But first I would eat with my sister and drink,” he said, looking to Ella. “If Lasch still has mead?”
“Well, you and Dann haven’t been around to drink it all.”
Calen smiled, turning back to Ella. “Have you seen Haem?”
Ella shook her head. None of the knights had been to Aravell since she’d woken. She’d hoped that when Calen returned, he’d do so with their brother at his side.
The smile evaporated from Calen’s lips, supplanted by a sombre line.
Footfalls echoed through the basin from the archway that led back to the city. Images of Therin, Gaeleron, Chora, and several Dracur?n marching along the path drifted from Faenir’s mind.
The Dracur?n lined up in two rows of five, pressing their hands to their breastplates, their backs straight and stiff, their chins raised. They all stared at Calen like some hero of old.
Gaeleron walked to Calen and pressed his fist to his chest before grasping Calen’s forearm. “Draleid. It is good to see you return.”
“And it’s good to see you not walking around with that stick. Valdrin must have finished your armour before he left then?” A warm smile adorned her brother’s lips, his gaze moving from Gaeleron’s smooth, gleaming boots to his pristine white cloak ornamented with golden leaves. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now that she looked closely, she realised she’d never seen even a speck of dirt on Gaeleron’s armour, never so much as a stain or a mark on his cloak. The steel was always so polished she could have used it as a mirror.
“He did,” Gaeleron answered. “Det er myia haydria ar myia thranuk to b?re denír amiar. Il?n denír g?r indil myia sidir.”
“It is my honour and my privilege to wear this crest. From this day until my last,” Therin whispered in Ella’s ear. She had heard the elf approach but was too focused on Gaeleron to turn and meet his gaze.
“It is mine to see you wear it.” Calen grasped Gaeleron’s pauldron. “Du gryr haydria til myia elwyn, myia yíar.”
Chora wheeled herself forwards. “It’s good to see you, Calen.”
Calen held Gaeleron’s gaze for a few long moments before turning to meet Chora’s. When he did look at her, Ella saw something cold in his eyes, and she thought sharp words weren’t far from his tongue. But then something shifted within him. “We found something.”
He didn’t wait for Chora to reply. Instead, he walked back to the doorway of the house and pulled something from a satchel left there. When he walked back to face Chora, he held a scaled egg larger than his head, cream with streaks of emerald running through it like lightning.
“There were nine.” Calen placed the egg into Chora’s hands, a smile beaming on his lips. “Kollna hid them in a chamber below the western tower.”
Chora took the egg and nestled it on her lap. She gave a soft smile, but the scents of sorrow and loss wafted from the woman, filling Ella’s nostrils, the wolf within her whining. “You did well, Calen. You did well.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She drew a long breath in through her nose, exhaling in a deep sigh. “The Epherian eggs do not hatch.” Genuine sympathy entered the woman’s voice, a thing Ella hadn’t thought Chora capable of. “I fear your hopes are far too high. We will have the Drac?rdare begin warming them and testing them for the Calling. What of Kallinvar and the knights? Did they find this ‘Heart of Blood’ they were looking for?”
Calen looked genuinely dejected by Chora’s change of topic, his gaze fixed on the egg, his lips forming unspoken words. “I… No.” He shook his head. “No, they didn’t. At least, I don’t think so. The chamber contained many of Alvira’s possessions – weapons, armour, journals, chests. The knights took them to have their Watchers search through everything for a clue or a hint or something. Anything that might set them on the right path.”
“You just let them take everything?”
“It was that or the eggs.”
“You let them take Alvira’s journals, her chests, her… you… for eggs? We have eggs, Calen. Hundreds. There are thousands of eggs across Epheria. Eggs that haven’t hatched in four hundred years. You have no idea what might have been in those journals, in those chests.”
“They will return everything once they are done.”
“And what if they choose to keep something? We’ll never know what might be missing.”
Valerys craned his neck over Calen, baring his teeth, a deep growl in his chest.
“Oh, fucking eat me then!” Chora roared up at the dragon, her eyes wild. She clasped her hand to her forehead. “Fuck.”
Ella watched the dejection in Calen’s eyes shift to rage, then fade away to something far colder. Her brother stood straight. “Unlike you, I have not lost my ability to trust. I did what I thought was right. I’d do it again. Master Kollna died for those eggs. She bled out on the floor before them. It was the last thing she did, and I chose to honour that.” Without waiting for Chora to respond, Calen took the egg from her lap. He turned to Gaeleron. “Send word to Yan?r and his Drac?rdare. Tell him that we have new eggs that are to be warmed immediately, and that any soul brought to test the Calling is to be brought to those eggs first.”
A soft whisper sounded behind Ella, so soft even the wolf in her blood barely heard it.
“Mother…” Ella looked over her shoulder to see the giant, Asius, standing at the edge of the plateau, watching from a distance. He smelled of sadness.
“At once, Draleid.” Gaeleron signalled to two of the Dracur?n, issued their commands, and sent them off back down the path that led to the plateau, heading for the Eyrie.
“Was there something else you needed, Chora?” Calen asked, the cold anger still radiating from him.
The look on Chora’s face shifted from one of shock to one of uncertainty and eventually settled on something Ella thought was – strangely – pride. “The leaders of the varying factions across Illyanara have arrived, bar two or three. Some are rather impatient to meet you. And I use the word ‘impatient’ lightly.”
“It’s been a long journey, Chora. Valerys and I are exhausted. He has injuries that need to be seen to. We will meet them come the morning in Mythníril.”
“Calen.” Therin raised an open hand. “Castor Kai is among them.”
“He’s alive?”
“He is. He left Argona before the Dragonguard burned it. But he has taken these past weeks to rally his forces. He arrived barely two days after you left.”
Calen pursed his lips. Purple light misted from his eyes, and above him Valerys let out a deep growl.
How did Calen know the High Lord of Illyanara?
“How many warriors do we have within Aravell?” Calen said, turning to Gaeleron.
“Two hundred and twenty-four, armoured and trained. One hundred and forty-seven fresh recruits who have arrived since you left for Arkalen – though they are not fit and ready.”
Calen nodded. “Go to King Galdra and Queen Uthrían. Tell them that I have requested two thousand warriors from each of them – armoured and ready – to take part in welcoming these leaders properly. I’m sure they’ll jump at the opportunity. Have the leaders escorted to the southern gates, and make sure our warriors are in formation and ready. Get banners, sigils, whatever we have. It’s time we give them the welcome they’ve been waiting for.”
Chora frowned. “Calen, we can do this tomorrow. It’s all right. I didn’t mean?—”
“No. We do this now.”
An hour later, Ella stood on the stone of the courtyard that fronted the southern gates of Aravell. The white stone was smooth and clean, veins of the glowing erinian rippling through it. Several watchtowers now stood about the courtyard’s perimeter, each capped with a domed top, swooping arches open to each cardinal direction.
Faenir waited at her side, along with all fifteen of the Fenryr Angan, the other druids and their keepers, and Fenryr himself. The god was now clad in a mix of impossibly burnished steel plate and black leather. The pauldrons were worked in the shape of snarling wolf heads, their eyes set with obsidian. The other druids wore similar armour, silver steel and black leather, depictions of wolves on gorgets and breastplates.
Ella herself was garbed in the same tunic and trousers she’d worn all day. She’d lost the leather armour Coren had gifted her when she’d been captured by the Lorians, something she regretted deeply. The woman had pushed Ella to breaking, but the things she had taught her had kept her alive. She truly hoped she would see Coren again, and Farwen, and even Varik.
Beside her, Faenir let out a high-pitched whine, which was echoed by the wolves who sat beside their druids. All five of the creatures were far larger than any wolf had a right to be, but smaller than Faenir by some distance – with the exception of Sennik’s keeper, Balmyras.
Ella turned her attention away and back to the open courtyard before her. The speed at which Gaeleron had assembled the mass of armoured humans and elves was rather impressive.
Two formations stood before her, split by a direct line from the open gates.
Thousands of elves stood on each side of the path closest to the gates, various banners rippling above them.
The green banners of the Triarchy emblazoned with three white trees flew closest to the gates, hundreds of Highguard beneath them.
The star of Vaelen was next, the number of elves in black cloaks barely more than the Highguard as Queen Tessara had taken most of their numbers west. The green tree of Ardur?n and the golden stag of Lunithír followed, on banners of brown and red respectively. Both King Galdra and Queen Uthrían had mustered far more than the two thousand each Calen had requested. If Ella was to hazard a guess, the monarchs had arranged five thousand at least, two and a half on each side of the path, all standing in perfect rank, armour gleaming.
Calen’s Dracur?n stood furthest from the gates – and closest to Ella – a hundred and twenty or so on each side. Above them purple banners with golden leaves fluttered in the breeze, the white dragon at their centre.
Both Galdra and Uthrían had insisted on being present and now stood to Ella’s left, at the very centre of the courtyard at the end of the path created by the two formations.
Chora and the other Rakina, along with Varthon, the matriarch of the Dvalin Angan, and the giant, Asius, all waited on the opposite side to Ella.
“Quite a sight,” Therin whispered. The elf clasped his hands behind his back, a soft smile on his lips. A younger elf stood beside him, leather armour across her chest, arms, and legs, a green cloak at her back. Her hair was dark where his was silver, but her face held many of the same features. A daughter maybe? It seemed strange to think of Therin as having a daughter.
As Ella stared at the elf, trumpets bellowed, the rhythmic thumping of drums joining. Images of the procession reached her mind through Faenir’s eyes before she turned her head.
Even more elves marched at the procession’s head, led by ranks of Highguard with Triarchy banners flapping over their heads, followed by soldiers of each kingdom aligned side by side in columns of two.
The elves certainly had a flare for the dramatic – something Calen had apparently taken to heart. All of this, simply to make an impression on the leaders of the various factions, who now walked with their retinues just behind the marching elves. Some groups were almost a hundred in number and held banners high, their armour donned, the colours all matching. The six black stars of Illyanara on a yellow sky and Aryana Torval’s white gryphon against red stuck out above them all, along with that of a black bull on dark green cloth. Other groups numbered no more than five or six, with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
The elves fanned out to the sides as they reached the end of the long path. Halmír and a group of elves in white robes directed the leaders and their parties to Galdra and Uthrían, performing their typically long-winded and over-elaborate greetings.
Once they were done, Castor Kai stepped forwards. The man was as tall as Haem, if a little narrower in the shoulder, and despite having likely seen his sixtieth summer come and go, his black hair wasn’t marred by even a single strand of grey. But for all that, his armour didn’t have so much as a scratch, and it had been polished to within an inch of its life, the six stars of Illyanara set into the breast in gold.
“Great Inari .” Castor bowed deeply, bringing one hand across his belly. It was clear by the way he over emphasised the word ‘Inari’ that he had spent many hours stumbling over its pronunciation. ‘Ruler’, Gaeleron had explained it meant.
The man continued. “You honour us with this procession, as you have done with your hospitality from the day my soldiers and I arrived. But my army waits some hundred miles south, entrenched in the Argonan Marshes, awaiting my return. And yet I have been here for days as my enemies crowd in around me.” He glanced at Aryana Torval and the other leaders. “And now I have been told that this Draleid has finally arrived after leaving us waiting, and he is nowhere to be seen. I’m assuming there is an explanation for this? I travelled a long way at your request while my city was burned to ash.”
“Your presence brings honour to our hearts, High Lord Castor Kai.” Queen Uthrían took a few steps closer, her brown and green robes trailing on the stone, her guards moving with her. “It has long been our hope for our two peoples to one day fight alongside each other on the field of battle. Your hardship must have been severe across the years, waiting so close to the lion’s den for your chance to finally strike. Surely your bravery is without equal.”
Ella couldn’t help but smirk at that.
The sound of heavy wingbeats reached Ella’s ears before they did most at the gathering, the wolf’s hackles raised in her blood. And before the High Lord could answer, a murmur swept through the crowd. Hands lifted from the leaders’ retinues, pointing towards the sky.
A low clicking shriek echoed, and the silhouettes of two shapes moved through a bank of clouds above. The murmurs slowly faded to an unerring silence as the two shapes drifted from sight, anticipation holding the crowd in its grasp.
Fenryr turned his head, following something even Ella couldn’t see. “Not once since our people landed on these shores has a soul of druidic blood joined with a dragon. It is a beautiful sight.”
A roar erupted from Ella’s left, drawing gasps and panicked shouts. It had not come from the sky, nor the city, but from the mouth of the valley to the east, where the trees had all been burned by dragonfire. Minutes passed, heavy thumps drumming the ground, a deep rumble resonating.
Sardakes emerged from the valley, his neck craned low, his head hovering just above the ground like a prowling wolf. The dragon’s tail rose high in the air, the spearhead tip shaking. The talons of his winged forelimbs sank into the earth as he stalked forwards, a trembling click in his throat. Even hunched over, the creature’s back reached over half the height of the towers, his sapphire frills standing on end. This seemed like an entirely different beast to the one Ella knew. This Sardakes set fear in her veins.
As all eyes turned to the black dragon, two more roars thundered overhead, followed by a high-pitched shriek.
Both Valerys and Varthear broke through the clouds, rays of sunlight spraying behind them. The two dragons soared forwards, their massive wings casting shadows across the yard. As one, they dropped and hurtled towards the ground at such a rapid pace that even Ella took a step backwards.
The only ones who didn’t look terrified were the Rakina. Each of them had a broad smile on their lips, eyes wide. Even Chora, who seemed to have a permanent scowl etched into her face, appeared completely awestruck.
Both King Galdra and Queen Uthrían, along with their guards, were sent scattering as Valerys cracked his mighty wings and alighted upon the stone precisely where the elven Inari had been standing.
Varthear landed to Valerys’s left with a crack of her vermillion wings, her long, slender neck shaking as she let out a series of sharp shrieks.
Just as the elven rulers and the leaders of the Illyanaran factions regathered themselves, the sound of steel on stone rang out as every one of the Dracur?n slammed an armoured boot against the stone, then pivoted on the spot in near-perfect unison and began a slow march towards Calen.
Even Ella would be hard-pressed not to admit she was impressed at the sight of both columns of Dracur?n marching as though a hidden tether connected them all, their cloaks driven behind them, banners rippling in the wind.
The two columns stopped once they stood in line with Calen, pivoted again, and marched inwards. All the while, Calen sat at the nape of Valerys’s neck in his white steel armour, purple runes shimmering.
The ranks of Dracur?n formed up on either side of Valerys and Varthear, and turned to face outwards. As they did, Valerys lowered his belly to the ground and bowed, allowing Calen to slide from his neck.
Calen inclined his head towards the Rakina, bowing at the waist. He walked to where Castor Kai and the other leaders stood, his stare unyielding as he surveyed those before him. His gaze settled on the High Lord of Illyanara, a cold look in his eyes.
Valerys puffed out his chest and spread his wings before lifting his head and unleashing a roar that rattled the entire courtyard. Both Sardakes and Varthear added their voices, sending rolling thunder out across Aravell. When the roars finally faded, a pin could have been heard dropping on the stone.
Ella could tell by the mix of fear and awe on the faces of Castor Kai, Aryana Torval, and the other visitors that the display had elicited the desired result. That was when Ella realised how much the world had changed since the day she’d left The Glade. Three dragons, monstrous creatures with horns as big as her legs, teeth that could tear through her in seconds, and breath that could melt the skin from her bones, stood over her – and still her heartbeat remained slow and steady, her mind calm.
She had watched her love die, felt the shattered soul of a dragon, wandered the vast expanse of Níthianelle, and stared into the eyes of a god. The world had changed but so had she.
Calen stepped away from Valerys, the dragon still looming over him, and bowed at the waist, his hand pressed to his chest.
A still silence spread through the courtyard, and even the birds in the woodland seemed to quieten so as to better hear the words that would be spoken.
“I know each of you has travelled a long way at my request, and I am honoured that you chose to come.” Calen’s voice reverberated in the air, sweeping all around the courtyard as though he stood in an empty hall, and Ella’s skin goosefleshed, the wolf within her feeling a shift in the air. “I apologise for leaving you to wait. War rages across Epheria and Valerys and I were needed. As I speak, our army marches to the western villages without me. It marches to defend my home, and I am not there because I am here. I was born and raised in Illyanara, far to the west in a place called The Glade, a small village at the edge of ?lm Forest. My father fought in the Varsund War. A part of him died there.” Calen’s gaze once more fixed on Castor Kai as those words left his lips. “My blood is your blood. Illyanara is my home, and I will give everything I am to see it free. Tomorrow, when the sun rises over the Veloran Ocean, I will ask you to make a choice that will define your entire lives. The choice to stand alone while the Lorians and the Uraks burn our home to the ground, to fight amongst each other for the ashes of what is left – if there is anything left. Or the choice to stand together.”
Ella’s hackles rose, the wolf within her sensing another shift around Calen – much more powerful. She could almost see a ripple about him, as though the air itself were swirling water.
Calen raised his right arm, and a purple light burst from his hand, slowly forming into the shape of a sword that flickered with wisps of purples flames. A murmur spread through crowd, whispers of ‘Warden of Varyn’ and ‘by the gods’. Beside her, Fenryr’s smile spread from ear to ear, sharp fangs showing.
“This war is greater than all of us,” Calen called, holding that glowing sword in the air, Valerys looming over him like a mountain. “It is a war of gods, and demons, and darkness, and if we do not, each of us, stand and fight for what we love, there will be nothing left. I promise you one thing – I will fight until my last breath, until I have given all the blood I have to give. And if we fail, if the sky falls, I will stand beneath it and hold it up for as long as I can.”
Calen lowered the glowing sword and looked about him at Varthear and Sardakes, then Valerys above him. “Nur temen vie’ryn valana, ar nur temen vi maklar til valahír. Vir v?ra anataier aldryr ar orimyn!” Calen waited a moment, then translated, “For those we have lost, and for those we refuse to lose. We will give them fire and fury!”
The dragons roared, and the crowd answered with clattering steel and fervorous shouts.