74. Rise
Chapter 74
Rise
21 st Day of the Blood Moon
Aravell – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Calen sat astride Valerys as the dragon stood on a cliff edge that overlooked the sprawling valley ahead. The light of the sun and moon glistened in the spray of the waterfall that tumbled over the ledge on the opposite side of the vast chasm.
He replayed the conversation with Chora over and over in his mind. And each time he did, he remembered the flames consuming his home, remembered his mother’s screams, remembered Farda’s words.
“None of them had to die, but you had to play the hero, and fate made its choice.”
There had not been even the slightest hint of guilt in the man’s voice. He had killed her as though it cost him little more than the breath in his lungs. And Calen had agreed to spare Farda’s life. He did not think a day would pass where he wouldn’t question that decision. But he needed Tivar and Avandeer at his side if he was to have any hope of breaking the siege at Tarhelm.
Even as he thought of it, his mind shifted to Dann, and Vaeril, and Tarmon, and Erik, and all those who marched for Salme.
No matter what decision Calen made, he abandoned someone. But without him, Tarhelm would burn. With Queen Tessara and her army marching alongside them, Calen had to trust that Tarmon and the others could do what needed to be done. As this war spread and grew, he knew that he would not be able to protect everyone. He couldn’t be everywhere. But that didn’t make the choices any easier.
A warmth spread from Valerys, and the dragon’s mind wrapped around his, settling his heart. They would fly to Tarhelm, and they would burn the Lorians to the ground. Then they would fly straight to Salme.
Calen closed his eyes and leaned forwards so that his head rested against the scales of Valerys’s neck. “La’verkanet vidim dar la v?i aver ata’du.”
I don’t know what I would do without you.
The heavy drum of footfalls drew Calen from his thoughts. He turned to see Gaeleron and the five Dracur?n the elf had selected as Calen’s personal guard leading Castor Kai and his retinue up the winding path towards the cliff edge. Even then, two standard-bearers walked behind the High Lord, both holding banners bearing the six black stars of Illyanara on a yellow field.
Valerys let out a low rumble and lowered himself to the ground so that Calen could slide from his back. Dirt crunched beneath the weight of Calen’s armoured boots as he landed. He looked down at the runes marked into his armour and whispered, “Dreskyr mit huartan. Dreskyr mit hnokle. Bante er vi, measter og osvarthe.”
Protect my heart. Protect my bones. Bound are we, master and oath.
The runes ignited with a purple light, and the joints of the armour melded together as power flowed through him. He turned to where Aneera waited with Nuada and gave the Angan a sharp nod.
Aneera pressed her palm to her forehead, then folded her legs beneath her and closed her eyes.
“What is the meaning of this?” Castor Kai said, as the procession stopped before Calen and the others. The man was far taller than Calen had imagined he would be. “It had been arranged that we would meet at sunrise, and yet that is long past, and now I am ‘summoned’ to you without a word of explanation?”
“You will watch your tongue,” Gaeleron snapped before Calen could say a word. The five other Dracur?n walked past the procession and formed up on either side of Calen.
Calen raised a hand and stepped forwards. Valerys stretched his neck out, allowing a deep growl to rumble in his chest. “My apologies, High Lord Kai. It appears that the war did not allow for our plans. How inconsiderate. We received word this morning that the Lorians lay siege to our allies in the North. I am called to give aid. Valerys and I fly within the hour.”
Castor narrowed his gaze as though trying to discern whether Calen was joking or not. “You asked us here to discuss an alliance, then left us waiting for days while my army sits in the marshes, and now you are to traipse off across the continent once again and leave us waiting?”
Calen stared at the man for a moment, studying him, watching how he held himself, how his body shifted with the unfamiliar weight of the sword at his hip, and yet he stood with a wide base and the readiness of someone who knew battle. Castor could wield a sword, but it had been some time since he had worn one.
“I never said I would leave you waiting. I asked you to Aravell so that we could broker an alliance. Here we are.”
“Where are the others?” A hint of trepidation crept into Castor’s voice, and a murmur spread through his retinue of about fifty strong.
“I have already sent word to Aryana Torval and the other faction leaders. But I thought it best if we spoke face to face, given our history.”
“Our history?”
Calen gave the man a soft smile but ignored the question. “I have little time, so I will be as direct as I can. What would it take for you to pledge your sword to me, High Lord Kai? What promise must I give?”
Castor’s back straightened at that, and he lifted his chin a little higher. “You must support my claim to the crown of Illyanara.”
“You wish to be a king?”
“I already am a king in all but name.” He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, though he had to look down to find it. “All across the province know it. If you support my claim, pledge your sword to me, then Illyanara will be united within a moon.”
“Ah,” Calen said with a half-smile. “You wish me to pledge my sword to you. ”
“You are from Illyanara, are you not? I have watched over you your entire life.”
Again, Calen ignored him. “What would you have me do with Aryana and Tukul and all the others?”
Castor stepped closer, boldness in his voice. “They are traitors, Calen Bryer. I am the rightful High Lord of Illyanara. I am its natural king. And they have seized this moment, this strife, this darkness, to grab power for themselves. How do we trust people who do such things?”
“That does not answer my question, High Lord Kai.”
“I would have their heads. That is the cost of treachery. Give me their heads, support my claim for the crown, and you will have a united Illyanara.”
“I thought that might be your answer.” Calen turned away for a moment and looked up at Valerys. The dragon was magnificent, the blended light of the moon and the sun glistening against his scales. A low rumble resonated in Valerys’s chest as he lowered his head, eyes fixed on Castor Kai. Slowly, controlling its flow, Calen allowed the dragon’s fury to seep into him.
Calen reached for his sword and pulled it free of its scabbard as he turned back to face the High Lord and his retinue.
A number of Castor’s warriors stepped forwards and made to draw their swords, but Gaeleron and the Dracur?n moved like the wind, blades pressing into the leather that protected their chests.
“If the steel leaves your scabbard, your head leaves your shoulders,” Gaeleron said, not so much as a tremble in his outstretched sword.
“What is this?” Castor demanded. The man pulled his hand away from his sword and looked about at the Dracur?n.
“Do you recognise this sword?” Calen held his sword in the air, his right hand on the hilt, his left balancing the flat of the blade. He couldn’t help but admire it himself. The gleam of the steel, the swirls ornamenting the blade, the star crossguard, the coin pommel.
“Why would I recognise it?” Castor scoffed.
“It belonged to my father.” Calen drew a long breath, allowing his memories to flow back to the day that Vars had handed him the sword wrapped in a bundle of cloth.
“It was given to me a long time ago,” Vars had said as he’d gazed down at the sword. “And now it’s time that I pass it on to you.”
“He was a great man,” Calen continued, passing his gaze along the length of the curved blade. “Greater than even I knew. More importantly, he was a good man. A man of principles.”
“I’m afraid I did not know your father.” The initial panic faded from the High Lord’s voice. “You said he fought in the Varsund War? I’m sure he was a fine warrior, but I knew no man by the name Bryer.”
Calen lifted his stare and smiled at Castor Kai. “He didn’t go by that name.”
Calen gestured towards the copse of trees that stood tall on the right of the cliff.
“You knew my father,” Calen said, as the High Lord looked towards the copse, his gaze narrowing at the sound of shifting feet and murmurs coming from within.
“I did not know your father,” the man reiterated. “I have had enough of these games. Whatever this is,” he said, gesturing towards the trees, “be done with it. Pledge yourself to me, support my claim. We will make Illyanara whole.”
“He slew Durin Longfang with this blade,” Calen held his father’s sword a little higher, savouring the look of shock on Castor Kai’s face. “And Taran Shadesmire, and Rayce Garrin. He ended the Varsund War with this blade. My father’s name, High Lord Kai, was Cassian Tal. He was the greatest swordsman Illyanara has ever seen. You knew him well. You betrayed him.”
“I… That’s not possible. How could you…”
Fenryr and a score of his Angan emerged from the trees, alongside Aryana Torval, Tukul Unger, and the other leaders of the Illyanaran factions. A clutch of Dracur?n walked among them.
“Your father murdered my son.” Castor reached for his blade, fingers wrapping around the pommel.
“Please, do me the favour of drawing that sword.” Calen’s stare didn’t falter as he looked into Castor’s eyes. “I beg you.”
Castor hesitated, his stare fixing on the sword in Calen’s hand before shifting to Valerys, whose head now hovered just over Calen’s.
“Let me introduce you to another name you know, High Lord Kai.” Calen gestured towards Fenryr, who had stopped a few feet from the High Lord’s retinue on the right. “This is Fenryr, Wolf God, blood of my blood, and the one you were willing to kill my father to chain.”
Fenryr stepped forwards, armoured in that same black steel he had worn the other night, roaring wolf-head pauldrons adorning his shoulders. Castor Kai’s retinue parted before the wolf god, shrinking at the sight of him.
A moment passed in which Fenryr stood over Castor Kai, seeming to grow before Calen’s eyes. “You wanted to place a collar around my neck,” the god said. “I can smell the fear in you, the greed. Such a small man.”
Aryana Torval and the others approached Calen, each staring at the High Lord and his retinue.
“You heard his words?” Calen asked. “Heard the cost of his allegiance?”
“We are the traitors,” Aryana said. “Our heads are to be taken from our shoulders, while a crown is to be placed upon his.”
“That is not?—”
“Speak when spoken to,” Fenryr snapped, a dark claw pressing into Castor’s neck, blood trickling.
“You have received my messages then?” Calen asked.
“We have,” Tukul Unger responded.
“And what is your answer?”
One by one, in a semi-circle facing Calen, each of the leaders dropped to a knee and placed a closed fist across their chest. Aryana Torval was the last standing. She drew her sword slowly, then knelt, driving the blade into the ground as she did.
Calen gave a soft nod, then mimicked the gesture, his armour clinking against the hard earth. Behind him, Valerys dipped his head in a bow and extended his right forelimb. Calen looked to Gaeleron, who nodded.
“I hereby swear oath,” Calen said, his voice loud and clear, “by witness of those here and the six who watch over us, to protect those before me with all my strength. To bleed for them, to fight by their side, and, if needs be, to die by it.”
Aryana and the others repeated the words.
“It is with honour that your oath has been witnessed by those here and by the six who watch over us,” Gaeleron said, pressing his fist to his chest and giving a slight bow.
Calen rose, leveraging his sword before pulling it from the earth and wiping it clean with his cloak. “I will lead you into the fires of war,” he said, looking out at the leaders. “But I swear to always lead from the front and to never ask you to lay your life where I would not lay mine. This war encompasses more than just Illyanara, and so we must stray further from home to ensure that home is safe. And we will do so together.”
Calen sheathed his sword but kept his left hand resting on the pommel. He turned his attention back to Castor Kai. The men and women in the High Lord’s retinue shifted uneasily, watching as the other leaders stood.
“It appears, High Lord Kai, that we are at an impasse.”
The man flicked his gaze to Calen, Fenryr’s claw still pressed to his throat. “This was all some ploy.”
Calen shook his head. “You give me too much credit. But you see, you yourself declared that the cost of treachery is death. You said you wanted their heads.” Calen pointed at the other leaders. “What say you all?”
“I would have his head,” a man called.
“Aye, stick it in the ashes of Argona!” another shouted.
Tukul Unger stepped forwards and spat on the ground. “A traitor pays the traitor’s price.”
“Agreed,” Aryana Torval said.
“You cannot do this – you cannot!”
Calen gestured for Fenryr to lower his claw, then stepped closer. Gaeleron and those of the personal guard matched his step, swords still drawn.
The purple glow from Calen’s eyes shone on the man’s bronzed skin as they stood eye to eye. “And what would I do with a man I cannot trust? A man who betrayed my father and tried to put a god in chains? A man who would smile to my face and take my head from my shoulders when I turned?”
“You can trust me. I swear it.”
“That army you have, High Lord Kai. Where was it you said?”
“In the marshes. Near sixteen thousand.”
“That is strange,” Calen said, turning down his bottom lip. “You see, I flew over the marshes. Twice. It is a large place, but from dragonback, an army of that size would have been quite a sight. So either you are lying about the numbers that follow you, or they have already abandoned you.”
Castor took a step back as Calen reached forwards and pressed a gauntleted finger against one of the six black stars on his breastplate. “You wear the sigil of Illyanara, and yet, even now, as the empire crumbles, you still call yourself ‘High Lord’. Your loyalty does not lie with the people of Illyanara but with whoever is most likely to grant you power.”
Calen took a few steps away, then called back to the men and women of Castor’s retinue. “If you wish to be judged by your High Lord’s honour, stay where you are. If you would rather fight for your home, for Illyanara, and for Epheria, if you would rather join the songs our descendants will sing, step forwards.”
To the last, each and every man and woman left Castor Kai’s side and knelt in the patchy grass.
“You cowards!” Castor Kai roared. “The lot of you, rotten bastards!”
Calen turned back to Castor Kai, staring into the man’s panicked eyes. “Our lives can be boiled down to a series of key choices, Castor. Choices that shape us, choices that mould our paths, choices that dictate how we will be remembered.” Calen’s mind flashed back to the night he’d followed Erik from The Two Barges, the night he’d taken his first life. He thought back to his decision to return to The Glade, a decision that had caused his parents’ deaths. His decision to leave Rist in Camylin and then to cross the Burnt Lands in search of him. More memories washed through his mind until he finally settled on that moment when he’d looked down from dragonback at the army attacking Aravell. He could still hear the screams of the men and women he and Valerys had burned alive. “I’ve made many of my choices already, and I’ve had to live with them. I suggest you make your next choice carefully.”
“You’re just as arrogant as he was,” Castor growled, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of his sword. “I will not die like some pig.”
The man drew his sword and lunged at Calen.
This time it was not Gaeleron who drew steel quickest. Calen swept his blade across the lower part of Castor’s abdomen, where the breastplate stopped and only leather protected. The leather yielded to the steel, and the steel bit into flesh.
“It’s an elven blade,” Vars’s voice rang in his head. “Better than anything I could make myself. The curve in the blade allows for smoother, cleaner strikes. Not as good at punching through armour, but if you’re quick enough, that won’t matter.”
One step had taken Calen past Castor Kai, and as the man stumbled, pressing a hand to his wound, Calen pivoted and, with a second swing, relieved the High Lord of his head.
He looked down at the corpse, blood pouring into the grass. That was not how he’d intended this to go, but neither would he mourn the man.
Gaeleron handed Calen a cloth.
“Take these warriors to the barracks.” He gestured to Castor’s former retinue and the faction leaders as he wiped the blood from his blade. “Give them as much food as they can eat and as much mead as they can drink.”
“It will be done, Draleid.”
As Gaeleron turned to leave, Calen grabbed his arm and met his gaze. “La uvahar du val myia vi?l, Mahatirín Athis.”
I trust you with my life, Warmarshal Athis.
Gaeleron straightened at the words, or more so at the new title Calen had just bestowed upon him. The title of Mahatirín was an ancient one amongst the elves, particularly those of Lunithír. It was given to one of unshaking faith and loyalty, to one whose honour was without question, to one who held no fear in the face of death.
Gaeleron stared into Calen’s eyes and clenched his fingers into so tight a fist against his breastplate the blood drained, skin going pale. “Ar du val myialí… Calen.”
And you with mine… Calen.
Calen turned to Aryana and Tukul, who both stared down at Castor Kai’s headless body. “When you are fed and ready, I would have you gather your forces – along with Castor’s retinue – and march to the Argonan Marshes and see to it that any remnants of the High Lord’s support know that he is no longer with us.”
“I thought you said you saw nothing in the marshes?” Aryana asked.
Calen smiled. “That’s what I said. You will find them near the southeastern edge, near Fearsall. I will send Dracur?n with you. With Cardend and Stonehelm razed in Arkalen, Fearsall will be the first line against the Uraks and any who threaten Illyanara from the south. Ensure the city is held, then push south to Drifaien as agreed. Chora Sarn and two other Rakina will travel with you. When this war is over, Aryana, you will hold Fearsall and Tukul will hold Baylomon. All I ask is that you stop slaughtering each other.”
“I will hold you to that promise,” Aryana said.
“I expect you to.”
Before mounting Valerys, Calen looked to Fenryr. “You are ready?”
The wolf god nodded. “We have remained in the shadows too long. It is time to teach this empire to fear the howl of the wolf. I am sure my brother waits for you.”
“I’m sure he does too.”
Calen mounted Valerys, casting one look over his shoulder as the Dracur?n collected Castor Kai’s body, then let his mind drift into Valerys’s as the dragon took flight.
Calen found Kaygan – or Rokka, or whatever name he chose to go by – precisely where he had said he would: in the courtyard by the empty barracks, the third on the right.
He slid from Valerys’s back before the dragon alighted, softening his landing with the Spark.
The god stood alone, leaning on a long stick with grey robes over his shoulders. His lips twisted into a toothy grin as Calen approached. “What a surprise. How can I help you, Draleid?”
Calen didn’t bother to answer. “When you said we would need you, this is what you meant, wasn’t it?”
The god gave a shrug. “I knew there would be a choice and we would be needed either way.”
Calen couldn’t help but ask the question that had lingered in his mind. “If we go north, what happens to Salme?”
“That is not how the paths work, I’m afraid,” Kaygan answered, moving the stick in circles, its butt pressed into the stone.
Anger flared in Valerys, and Calen did his best to keep it at bay as he took a step closer to the god. In the shadowed doorway of the barracks, he spotted Tamzin, her hand dropping to the head of the axe at her hip, that strange kat-like creature – Kerith – standing tall at her side.
That was good. It meant the god still didn’t know whether he was safe or not.
“Does it weigh on you at all?” Calen asked, turning his gaze away from Tamzin. “All the lives lost because you choose to play games, choose to twist and turn everything so as to steer us along your path.”
“All war is a game played with people’s lives, Calen Bryer. I’m sure High Lord Castor Kai can tell you that.” The god pulled back his upper lip and flicked his tongue against a sharp fang, giving Calen a knowing look. “As I said before, the path you are on will bring death beyond your wildest dreams. I simply wish to ensure that I and my kind are not amongst the bodies – that includes you, by the way.”
“Well,” Calen said, “seeing as you know everything before it happens. What is your answer to my question?”
The kat god’s smile widened, his pupils sharpening to thin lines. It was still strange for Calen to look upon Kaygan’s youthful features and broad shoulders and know this was the same old druid he’d met near the Burnt Lands. “Una will do as you ask,” Kaygan said. “Or rather, will ask or were going to ask… She will carry a number of your warriors to Tarhelm. Consider it a show of faith. She cannot send any to Salme.”
“Why not?”
“Because that path is not the correct path. You cannot have both things, Calen Bryer. You will not succeed at Tarhelm without us, and we cannot spare bodies for Salme. We can send twelve at most, perhaps fewer, or Una risks death. Passage through the aether comes with a price.”
“Again with the games.” Calen sighed. He had hoped for more. Fenryr had told him that some Aetherdruids, or Starchasers, could carry a much larger number through the aether, but some could move nothing more than themselves.
“I know you don’t like when I talk of the paths, but I would suggest you bring the tall blue ones.” He swirled his finger in the air. “The Jotnar, yes. There are four, if I remember correctly. And that sour-faced brother of mine, along with your sister and keeper, Tamzin and Kerith, of course myself, and Boud here.”
Kaygan gestured to the doorway where Tamzin stood, and a dark-haired woman stepped forwards, red marks winding around her neck. She tilted her head ever so slightly. Calen didn’t recognise her. She’d not been there the night before when Kaygan had come to the Eyrie.
“Who are you?” Calen asked, opening himself to the Spark just in case.
“I have heard much about you, Calen Bryer.” The woman gave a half-smile and inclined her head but didn’t answer his question.
“Boud is a Stormcaller. You will need her. Trust me. She has many Gifts.”
“Trust is earned.” It was difficult for Calen to argue with Kaygan’s choices. He had already promised Ella. She had spent time in Tarhelm, fought alongside Coren and Farwen. And the Jotnar were powerful Spark users in their own right and mighty warriors. But Calen was wary of any advice the kat god gave. “I will leave behind Aelmar and take Therin Eiltris in his place.” Calen looked at Tamzin. “You and your keeper will stay also. Two Fenryr Angan will go instead.”
The frown on Kaygan’s face let Calen know he had made the right choices. For better or worse, he trusted Fenryr more than he did Kaygan, and being outnumbered by the kat god’s druids in the middle of Tarhelm didn’t seem a wise move.
“It is decided then,” Calen said, returning Kaygan’s eternal grin. “With good wind, Valerys and I will reach the Firnin Mountains by daybreak tomorrow.”
“We will be there.”
Calen wanted to ask where he would see them. But he knew the question was pointless. Kaygan would answer in a riddle, as he always did. Calen would see them where he was meant to see them.
“Before I leave, I brought this for you.” Calen reached into the pouch that hung from his shoulder and produced a bundle of cloths that he placed into Kaygan’s hand.
The god stared down at the bundle, his thumb brushing over the outermost cloth. That usual sense of knowing was absent from his eyes.
“You do not see every path then.”
Kaygan pulled open the bundle to reveal the two shattered segments of the metal disc the god had given Calen under the guise of Rokka in the hut near the Burnt Lands. “You play a dangerous game, Wolfchild.”
“You began it,” Calen answered. The god had given him that disc for a reason and, whatever that reason, Calen wanted nothing to do with it. “I am simply doing what I can.”
As Calen walked towards Valerys, Kaygan called after him. “This disc was a gift. It was to save a life.”
Calen staggered in his stride but continued walking as though he had not. He refused to give Kaygan the satisfaction of turning around. What was done was done. He had no choice but to believe the god was lying once more, trying to sow seeds of doubt into Calen’s mind.
“That life is on your head now, Wolfchild. One more added to the scales.”
Valerys leaned forwards and let out a roar, that familiar pressure building within him.
We have bigger battles to fight. Calen brushed his gauntlet-clad hand along a horn that framed Valerys’s neck, the dragon bowing. Myia nithír til diar, Myia’ldryr.
My soul to yours, my fire.
“To the Eyrie.”
The silence in the Eyrie was such that Calen could hear the beating of his own heart. The other Rakina had not said a word when he and Valerys had alighted on the stone, but Imala could have burned a hole through him with her stare. He had known the cost of asking Chora to change her vote and understood it, but he had seen no other way. He needed Tivar and Avandeer next to him in the battles to come.
And so he waited in the silence, counting the passing moments in heartbeats, Valerys standing over him, Varthear and Sardakes to his left. The enormous frames of the three dragons cast long shadows, strands of morning light streaming through in yellow and red. It was as though both of the Rakina dragons knew precisely what was about to happen.
Calen glanced over to Ella, who stood with Faenir and Therin. Her eyes were molten gold, and she refused to look at him. He didn’t blame her. Farda had not only killed their mam, but he had been the cause of Rhett’s death as well. Calen had hated asking her to allow him to live, but he’d not wanted to do it without her agreement.
In truth, Calen cared little for what Imala, or Danveer, or any of the other Rakina thought of him. His concern was for his sister.
The sound of deep wingbeats broke the silence, followed by a screeching roar. Avandeer surged upwards from the courtyard within the holding quarters. She swirled through the air before coming to land in the space between Calen and the arched passageway carved into the rock. Her eyes, yellow as the morning sun, looked to Valerys, a soft purr in her throat.
Valerys shook his head, frills raising on his neck, and mimicked the sound.
Moments later, four figures emerged from the passage, framed on both sides by a score of Dracur?n in gleaming plate.
Tivar walked at the front, garbed in the same white steel she had worn when Avandeer had fallen from the sky, but the black flame that had once adorned her breast was now gone, cut clean with the Spark.
Ella jerked forwards as Farda came into view, Faenir growling at her side. Therin rested a hand on her shoulder and whispered something Calen couldn’t hear. She seemed to calm a little, but not much.
When Tivar and the others stopped in place, Chora looked to Calen and inclined her head.
Tivar lifted her gaze as Calen moved forwards. She glanced down at her armour, then tentatively at those around her, and whispered, “What is happening?”
“Tivar Savinír, I ask you again, will you fight by my side? Will you protect your brothers and sisters, protect the people of Epheria, until time takes you or a blade ends your watch? Will you forsake forgiveness and swear your dying breath to me and to everyone here?”
Calen turned and gestured towards Therin, who handed him an elven blade set into its scabbard.
“I offer you this last chance. Die by this blade, or wear it. Which do you choose?”
Tivar’s lips moved, but no words came. Her eyes shifted from the sword in Calen’s hands to the Rakina who watched her. “I…” She looked back to Calen, lowering her voice. “I do not understand. Have Coren and Farwen come?”
Calen shook his head. “Coren and Farwen sent word from the North. They are under siege and have called for aid. Chora Sarn has changed her mind and decided instead to grant you and Avandeer the chance to do something honourable with what is left of your life.” Calen drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “If you accept, your life will not be your own. You and Avandeer will be sworn, by your honour, by your soul, by the blood in your veins, to spend every moment standing guard over this world. You will be Onuvrín. Unforgiven. From this day until your last day.”
Slowly, Tivar’s lips cracked into a soft smile, and she looked up at Avandeer, whose head was craned over her. The dragon twisted her neck so that her eyes met those of her soulkin, a deep rumble resonating in her chest.
Tivar dropped to her knees. “By The Father and The Mother, The Warrior and The Sailor, The Maiden and The Smith, we pledge the same vow to you that we did when I first knelt in this eyrie. We give you our dying breaths and every beat of our hearts until that moment. We will be both your sword and your shield. On the bond, we swear it.”
“Then rise, Tivar Savinír, Onuvrín, Unforgiven. Take this sword, and with it be a guardian once more.”
Calen held out the sword and scabbard. Tears welled in Tivar’s eyes as she took it, her hand lingering on Calen’s for just a moment. “You will never know what you have given me,” she whispered, the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Vrail du nur haryníl asatrú en mír.”
Thank you for having faith in me.
“Aver kanet nakil mír olkiran det,” Calen replied. Do not make me regret it.
“Never.” Tivar clipped the scabbard onto her belt and tugged on it firmly. Drawing a deep breath, she turned to face the other Rakina. “I know there is nothing I can do that will turn back the things I have already done. And it is you who have paid the price for my mistakes. I also know there are many who would rather take my head from my shoulders here and now. And I thank you for not bowing to the same darkness that took me.”
A brief silence was followed by the sound of dirt crunching beneath wheels as Chora Sarn moved forwards. “I did not change my mind as Calen said. In my heart I would still rather have you dead. Protect him with your life, Onuvrín. Do not waste the chance we have given you.”
Tivar pressed a fist to her chest and inclined her head.
With that, Chora looked to Calen and nodded once more.
Calen stepped past Tivar and stood before Farda, Hala, and Ilyain.
The elf and white-haired woman returned Calen’s gaze, but Farda stared at the ground.
“Look at me.” The words were barely louder than a whisper, but they were sharp and harsh.
Farda lifted his gaze. His eyes were as green as Ithrax’s scales had been, the scars on his face now pale and pink.
This was the closest Calen had stood to the man since the day Farda had killed Freis. It took every drop of his strength to hold back the fury that swelled in Valerys.
The dragon ignored Calen’s attempt at restraint and moved so that he loomed over his soulkin. Slowly, Valerys lowered his head, bringing his snout barely an arm’s length from Farda’s face. A puff of warm air swept back Farda’s hair as Valerys bared his enormous teeth, a growl resonating in his throat.
Farda looked up at the dragon and did not flinch.
Calen reached down to the patch of red silk he’d tied to his belt loops, twisting it in his armoured fingers. It would never replace his mother’s scarf; nothing could. But it gave him the slightest of reliefs. That was until her screams sounded in his mind.
“Farda Kyrana, Hala N?ri, and Ilyain Altair. You, too, are offered the same choice that has been offered to Tivar.”
Therin and a Dracur?n moved to Calen’s side, Therin handing him another sword and scabbard.
“Die by these blades,” Calen said. “Or wear them. Forsake forgiveness and the lives you once led, and swear yourself to me, swear yourself to the brothers and sisters you betrayed, to the lives you destroyed. You will not be offered this chance again.”
Calen’s heart was a hammer in his chest, resounding thump after resounding thump, the sounds of his father’s forge filling his mind, his mother’s screams echoing. With those sounds, Valerys wrapped his soul around Calen, filling the cracks in his heart, warming the cold depths of his mind with a burning fury.
Farda stared at Calen for a moment, then turned his head to look at Ella.
Calen’s sister had come a few steps closer, Faenir at her side. He wasn’t sure which of the pair looked more savage. Ella’s face twisted in an unnatural snarl, eyes glimmering gold, a pair of fangs jutting from her upper and lower jaws, and dark black claws extending from her fingers. There was none gathered there that day who would ever deny the wolf in her blood.
“I accept,” Farda said, clear and loud. He dropped to one knee. “However long I have left in this world, I wish to spend it trying to reclaim the man I once was. I have no honour left to swear upon, only half a soul to give, cracked and broken as it is, and the blood in my veins is dark and worthless. I swear upon Shinyara’s memory, upon the only piece of me that is good. If I betray that oath, she will never look upon me again, in this life or the next.”
To Farda’s right, Ilyain followed suit, his knees crunching in the dirt. “I am blind, and I am Broken. But I will give all that I am.” He looked to where the Rakina stood, his milky eyes seeming to see. “It means nothing to you, but I have waited a long time to say that I am truly sorry for what was done to this world and for my part in it. My life is yours for as long as you will allow me to walk the mortal plane.”
“Have you ever taken a life with your blood cold?” Hala said once Ilyain grew quiet. “While they knelt before you? Hands empty, neck stretched?” When Calen didn’t respond, she continued. “I am tempted to die by the blade you offer, if only to know if you have the steel in your heart to do it. It’s not much of a choice, is it? Kneel and swear oath, or die.”
“You would have us set you free after all you’ve done?”
“You don’t know the half of what I’ve done. You’ve barely been alive for a breath.”
Calen stared down at the fingers of Hala’s left hand. They were bunched into a fist, as they had been every time he’d laid eyes on her. A result of being Rakina, most likely. He let his breath out slowly. “We offer you more choices than you offered the brothers and sisters you slaughtered the night Ilnaen fell. The night hatchlings were broken like twigs, eggs shattered like glass, and honourable Draleid died defending them.” Calen set his stance and pulled the sword from its scabbard just enough to show glinting steel. “If you do not feel sorrow for those actions, then you have lived a long enough life already.”
Hala returned his stare with an unsettling intensity, then nodded slowly, puffing out her bottom lip. She dropped to one knee. “I will swear oath.”
Calen closed his eyes for just a moment, attempting to stop his hands from shaking as he slid the steel back into the scabbard. He gestured for Therin and the Dracur?n to step forwards. He would have asked two of the Rakina to stand in their place, but that had felt like an ask too far.
“Rise,” Calen said, the word like poison on his tongue. “Farda Kyrana, Hala N?ri, and Ilyain Altair. Onuvrín. Unforgiven.”
As Farda stood, Calen pressed the sword and scabbard into the man’s arms and stared into his eyes.
“If you betray us,” Calen whispered, leaning in closer, “if you so much as think of doing harm to anyone here, I will burn the Spark from your body myself. I will burn it, and I will cut out your tongue and I will drop you in a hole to rot.”
“I cannot give back the things I’ve taken away,” Farda said. “And?—”
“No.” Calen pushed the sword and scabbard harder so Farda leaned back on his heels. “No words. You do not deserve words, and I will not hear them.” Calen started to pull away, then stopped. “You burned my mother alive. I hope I get the chance to do the same to you one day. But I will keep this oath as long as you do.”
Calen pulled back from Farda and grasped Tivar’s shoulder. “Are you ready to fly?”
“Whenever you call,” she said, rolling her shoulders back and standing tall.
Calen nodded, looking at the other three. “You will remain here under the eyes of Chora Sarn and Warmarshal Gaeleron Athis. You will do as they say and nothing less.”
Calen turned to Ella and could see by the tightness in her jaw that she did not find it easy to hold his gaze in that moment. “I will see you when the sun rises tomorrow. Be ready.”
“I am.”
Therin grasped Calen’s forearm. “Fly well.”
“I will see you there.”
Chora wheeled herself to Calen’s side, reaching up to grasp his forearm. “I’ldryr viel asatar. I sanv?r viel baralun. Iralíse alaith, akar.”
In fire we are forged. In blood we are tempered. Fly well, brother.
“Du haryn myia vrai, vésani. Nur luienil.”
You have my thanks, sister. For everything.
“I will continue to have the Drac?rdare test the eggs you saved from Ilnaen for the Calling,” Chora said. “Day and night. Every soul within the city will be tested.”
Calen squeezed Chora’s forearm a little tighter, inclining his head in thanks, then took his helmet from a nearby Dracur?n and mounted Valerys, the dragon bowing low. He waited as Tivar climbed to the nape of Avandeer’s neck, then leaned closer to Valerys, the warmth of the dragon’s scales flowing through him. “Nur il varsa v?et, vir aver kanet iralíse untau.”
For the first time, we do not fly alone.
A low rumble of recognition swept through the dragon, and he let out a roar, frills shaking on either side of Calen.
“Uora, Valerys.”
Rise, Valerys.
Valerys’s lungs and chest swelled, and the dragon shifted forwards, cracking his wings against the air. He moved towards the great ledge over which the river flowed and dove into the valley beyond.
The air ripped past Calen as Valerys plummeted, the tumbling river spraying over them. Calen pressed himself as tightly as he could to the dragon’s neck, feeling Valerys’s scales mould to his body. He felt Valerys’s wings begin to unfurl, and he braced himself, pulling on threads of Air.
Valerys’s wings caught the air, and the dragon’s fall halted in an instant. He whipped forwards like a crack of lightning, the valley open before him.
A series of roars sounded behind them, and Calen twisted in place to see Avandeer launch herself over the edge. The dragon dropped like a gleaming gem, the mixture of the yellow morning sun and the crimson moon sparkling in the falling water around her.
In that moment, a truly unique warmth flowed from Valerys to Calen. A warmth that filled the dragon’s heart and spread through their shared soul. Valerys was no longer alone. They were no longer alone.
As Avandeer unfurled her wings and entered the valley, another roar erupted from the ledge above.
Varthear stood in the waters of the river, her winged forelimbs spread wide, the hulking frame of Sardakes beside her. With a mighty roar, the dragon leapt. Calen’s heart stopped for a moment as Varthear fell, only continuing to beat when the dragon spread her great vermillion wings and swept forwards.
Avandeer and Varthear swirled through the air around Valerys and Calen, moving like leaves in the wind. And with a surge of elation, Valerys joined them, and Calen smiled in a way he had not done in such a long time.
When Sardakes, who stood alone on the cliff’s edge, unleashed a roar that shook the air, Valerys, Avandeer, and Varthear joined him. He could not fly – that had been taken from him when he had lost his soulkin – but his roar was not all sorrow and loss. Through Valerys, Calen could feel the triumph in it, the pride, as Varthear soared alongside the others.
While they flew to fight at Tarhelm, Sardakes would remain as Aravell’s sole guardian. Something within him was awakened, and he would protect the place that had protected him.