24. 2
“Now I know you all see Calen as ‘The Draleid’,” Dann said in as dramatic a voice as he could before taking a deep draught of mead. “But back then he was just Calen, and the three of us hid behind a stack of crates while my dad screamed and roared, chickens swarming him as an enormous wolfpine squeezed his way through the coop’s door – which he had no right to fit through. And Calen will probably argue…” Dann gestured towards Calen, receiving a raucous applause. “But I’d say the entire thing was more or less his fault.”
Calen frowned at that, shaking his head but holding up his cup of mead in mock salute to Dann.
“Ah, great idea.” Dann lifted his cup in the air and hundreds more followed from those who sat around listening. Hundreds that Calen could see at least. As the revelry had gone on, more and more of the warriors had huddled closer around the fire where Calen and Valerys sat. The dragon currently lay curled up a few feet behind Calen, his snout resting on his tail. Calen wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had told him over a thousand pairs of ears listened to Dann at that precise moment.
“I propose a toast,” Dann bellowed. “To Calen Bryer, the Butcher of Chicken’s Coop!”
Again, the crowd erupted in laughter. Many voices hollered, “The Butcher of Chicken’s Coop!”
Haem was laughing so hard his face had gone red and mead spilled over his lips.
A hand rested on Calen’s shoulder, and he turned to see Tarmon with a cup in his hand, shaking his head at Dann. Erik, Vaeril, and Gaeleron were a few paces behind, pushing their way through the crowd.
“Well, he’s certainly helping to build your legend. Just maybe not the legend we’d been hoping to build.” He rolled his eyes, then tipped his cup against Calen’s as he sat. “To the Butcher of Chicken’s Coop.”
“To the Butcher of Chicken’s Coop,” Calen repeated with a laugh, drinking deeply.
After soaking in the applause, Dann dropped himself in front of Calen, grinning ear to ear.
“You’re a fucking arsehole.” Calen tried to stop himself from smiling but failed horrendously.
“I think I was quite good,” Dann said with a shrug. “Perhaps I should talk to Therin. Maybe being a bard is my true valúr.”
“Not another one.” Erik dropped his head into his hands. “For the love of the gods, please not another one.” He looked to Vaeril. “This madness needs to stop.”
Even the elf laughed before taking a sip of his mead. He opened his arms as if to say ‘leave me out of it’.
“Fine, fine, fine. I’ll stick to the poetry for now.”
Erik looked at the ground for a moment, then tilted his head sideways.
“What’s wrong?” Calen asked.
“Well…” Erik puffed out his upper lip. “I’m actually not sure who won that argument.”
Dann leaned over, keeping his face as serious as he could. “I’m going to write a poem about you.”
“I definitely didn’t win that one.” Erik pressed his fingers into his cheeks, then took a deep mouthful of mead.
As the night pressed on and the singing and dancing grew louder, Dann sipped slowly at the mead, just allowing himself to drink in the joy around him. Though he tried not to think too much on what came after. Every soul in this army was marching to war. Many of them might not live to once again see a sky without a crimson moon tainting its hue.
Dann pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He wet his lips with Lasch Havel’s mead, allowing the sweetness to sit on his tongue. If home had a taste, it was Lasch’s mead. Even just the look on Calen’s face had been worth the innumerable bee stings Dann had suffered when trying to help Lasch collect the honey. What it said about Calen that he’d never noticed the red dots all over Dann’s legs was another story.
After a moment, he found his gaze wandering to Lyrei, who sat on the other side of the fire, talking with Sylehna, Narthil, and some of the other elves. Neither of them had said anything about the Eleswea un’il Valana. About how she’d grabbed his hand, about how she’d squeezed it.
Dann shook his head, laughing at himself. Those around him were drinking and dancing and singing, readying themselves to march to war, and there he was overthinking the squeeze of a hand. He wasn’t even marching to war. He was staying with Calen.
As he laughed to himself, he found his gaze meeting Lyrei’s, the flames causing her golden eyes to shimmer. His heart stopped, the air catching in his lungs, and then she smiled.
“Dann,” Calen said.
“Hmmm?” Dann stared into Lyrei’s eyes, returning her smile.
“I want you to go with the army tomorrow to Salme.”
“Sorry, you what?” Dann snapped his head around in disbelief. “I thought I was staying here with you? Tarmon is leading the army. I couldn’t lead a fish to water.”
“He is.” Calen leaned forwards and inclined his head to Tarmon, who returned the gesture. “But I want you to go as well. It’s our home, Dann. And what’s more, your mam and dad are there. With any luck I’ll be able to join you before you reach Salme, but if I can’t, you should be there.”
“Mam and Dad…” A realisation set in along with a pang of guilt. All he’d thought about was staying with Calen. Any other choice had seemed pointless. Dann had all but given up on seeing home again anytime soon. He wanted to see his parents. He wanted to hear his mother’s voice, wanted to see his father’s eyes, wanted to let them both know he was all right. But he couldn’t leave Calen alone. Calen already carried so much weight. Dann could see it night and day. He was always tired, always bore dark rings beneath his eyes and resignation in his voice. “I don’t know, Calen. I want to go home, but not without you.”
A weak smile touched Calen’s lips. “I’ll be fine, Dann. Gaeleron will stay with me. As soon as we’ve met with the faction leaders, Valerys and I will fly to join you. But in the meantime, I want you, Erik, and Lyrei to join Tarmon.”
Dann looked over towards Erik, but the man was lying on his back, staring up at the stars, lost in thought.
“Tarmon will be in command,” Calen continued. “But he’s going to need you with him.” He paused as though trying to find the words. “These people,” he said, looking at the men, women, and elves dancing and drinking around them. “They came here from all across Epheria. They came to fight for a reason. As much as it pains me to admit it, Aeson is right. I need to be here for when Aryana Torval and the other leaders arrive. They need to see me and see Valerys. But that doesn’t mean I don’t hate the idea of sending the army off to fight for our home while I sit here and play these games. They look to you, and Tarmon, and Erik, and Vaeril, and Lyrei. Whether you see it yourself or not, to them you are a hero. You charged down a Fade with nothing but your bow. Gods, you killed it. Without a dragon at your side, without the Spark.”
“Well, it did sort of have me by the throat before you showed up.”
“Dann.”
Dann drew a long breath. “I’ll go.”
“Thank you.” Calen leaned across and tipped his cup against Dann’s. “I want you to take Elia and Lasch back with you. This isn’t their home. It’s not fair to keep them here.”
“Ah-hem.”
Both Calen and Dann looked over to where Elia and Lasch sat beside Haem.
“Do we get a say in the matter?” Lasch raised an eyebrow.
“Of course. I…” Calen stammered. “I just thought you’d been here so long you’d want to go home. You’re both stronger now. You…”
Calen stopped talking as Lasch raised a hand in the air.
“There is no home, Calen. The Glade is gone.”
“But the others, they’re in Salme. The Glade might be gone, but the people aren’t.”
Elia’s head twitched, her shoulders clenching. After a moment, she looked past Calen into the night. “Our Rist isn’t there, Calen. You’re not there. Dann isn’t there. Ella and Haem aren’t there. If something had happened to us, we’d have always hoped that Vars and Freis would care for our boy. All we’d be going back to is a place we care nothing for when the people we care everything about are here. Rist is alive. I know, I know.” She held up an open palm as though cutting Calen off when he hadn’t even opened his mouth. “It sounds crazy, but I can just feel it. A mother knows… a mother knows. And if we ever have a hope of finding him again, it will be here, with you. So if you don’t mind, we’d like to stay.”
Calen looked from Lasch to Elia. Both stared at him unwaveringly. Something in him cracked just a little bit, just enough for a tear to fall. “I’d like that.”
“Oh, come here.” Elia leaned across on her knees and pulled Calen in tight, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head into his neck. “Let nobody ever say you’re not your father’s son – all steel on the outside, soft as mud within.”
Aeson leaned back, his elbows resting on a twice-folded blanket, a cup of Lasch Havel’s mead in his right hand. After all Calen and Dann had said about Lasch’s mead, he’d had high expectations, expectations that were exceeded.
Campfires roared all about the courtyard, humans, elves, Jotnar, and Angan alike all talking, dancing, and singing. Across the way, Erik, Calen, Dann, and the others drank and laughed, the enormous silhouette of Valerys visible behind them only by the glints of reflected firelight.
Four hundred years he’d waited. And finally, the time had come. All his plans, all his promises, all his hopes had finally come to a head. When he awoke the next day, Calen and Valerys would fly him to Arkalen, and from there he would finally fulfil his promise to Arkin and Ilya Ateres. Valtara would be free.
And with the army marching to the western villages and Calen securing the loyalty of the Illyanaran leaders, the rebellion would be in a position to completely sever the empire’s hold on the South. And from there, they would take the fight north.
He’d expected to feel… something. But his heart would not allow such a thing. It was not done until it was done. And not until then would he feel any kind of peace.
In truth, his heart was torn. One half wanted to fly to Arkalen and hold to his promise, but the other demanded he ride with Erik to Salme. Dahlen was there. Aeson hadn’t seen his son in months. It was the longest they’d been apart since the moment Dahlen had taken his first breath. Deep down, Aeson knew Dahlen needed that space, that freedom to be his own man, but that didn’t make it any easier. He couldn’t protect his son if he wasn’t there. And if something were to happen…
He pushed the thought from his head. The decision was made. Dahlen was strong, stronger than Aeson could have ever hoped. And soon Erik would be with him, and the two of them together were a force of nature.
Aeson pulled himself from his own head, turning to look at Therin, who sat cross-legged beside him. The elf stared into the heart of the fire, his sketchbook on his right knee, a tin of charcoal sticks on his left. It didn’t take Aeson long to realise why Therin was lost in the flames: the left page of the sketchbook held a life-perfect image of his daughter, Faelen, in charcoal, the right page given to Líra.
Therin had not been himself since the confrontation in Mythníril. All Aeson had wanted to do was stand by his friend, but perhaps he had crossed a line. The honour of elves was a precarious thing, and anytime Aeson thought he understood it, he was proven very much wrong.
“It’s not you,” Therin said without turning his head. Shadows danced across his face, welling in the bags beneath his eyes. He turned his head to look at Aeson and gave him a weak smile. “What you did… what you said to Galdra and Thuriv?r… I will remember it until my dying day. I fear it will come with a cost, but still, I will never find words to explain what it meant to me.”
Aeson shook his head with a sigh, taking a deep draught of his mead. “I should have said something long ago.”
“No.” Therin turned his head back towards the fire. “It was my choice to make, my battle to fight. I just… I can’t help but think…”
“Think what?” Aeson pulled himself upright, wrapping one hand around his knee. “Therin, talk to me.”
“That maybe I made the wrong choices, Aeson.”
“We could both spend a lifetime questioning our choices, old friend, and not a second of it would do us any good.”
Therin let a short breath out through his nostrils, vapor rising in the cold night air.
“Is that all that’s on your mind?”
Therin nodded. He folded over his sketchbook and placed the lid on his charcoal tin before sliding them both into a satchel at his feet. “I need to walk.”
As Therin made to rise, Aeson leaned over and grasped his wrist. “There is more. I can see it in you.”
Therin allowed the most insincere of smiles to adorn his lips, then pulled away and left, pushing through the crowd.
Aeson stared after him a moment before setting his cup down and hauling himself to his feet.
“Where are you going?”
Aeson turned around to see Chora sitting there in her wheelchair, one eyebrow raised.
“I need to find someone.”
Calen watched from across the fire as Therin and Aeson stood and left, both moving in different directions through the crowd. Therin had been out of sorts since Mythníril. Calen had chosen not to say anything, thinking it best to leave him be. But the look on Therin’s face as he left had Calen questioning that decision.
“Heart of Blood!” Erik bolted upright, his eyes wide and everyone staring at him.
Erik had spent the past hour or so gazing up at the stars, lost in thought. He’d been so quiet Calen had actually forgotten he was there.
“How many drinks have you had?” Dann asked.
“Shut up.” Erik waved Dann away, then stared into Calen’s eyes, his gaze so intense Calen wasn’t sure what to make of it. One hand hovered between them, aimless at first until it sharpened into a finger jabbing towards Calen’s chest. “The riddle.”
“What riddle?”
“The one the old seer told you. What was his name? Rokka?”
“What about it?”
“How did it go?” Erik rolled his hand. “I think I have it right, but I need to be sure.”
“Ehm… I can’t remember. He wrote it down. ‘A city once lost’…”
“‘Found it needs to be’,” Dann continued. “‘A gem, a jewel, a trinket of sorts, but truly more a key. Not a door that it unlocks, a secret to be revealed. A trick, a mask, a painting over truth, thought forever sealed.’”
“Yes.” Erik nodded frantically. “That’s it, that’s it! Wait, you weren’t even there. How do you remember it?”
“Because you’ve been muttering it for days. You’re worse than I am.”
Tarmon rolled his eyes at them both. “‘There is a stone, a heart of?—’”
“A heart of blood!” Erik shouted, excited now, his hand waving frantically. “That’s what Kallinvar said! ‘There is a stone, a heart of blood, cast into the sea. The essence of life, drawn from birth, stolen, taken, seized. The moon of blood, of death and life, linked the two may be. For connections made will rise once more when the moon you can see.’ Right?”
“Right.” Tarmon shifted so he faced Erik face on. “What is it?”
Erik folded his legs beneath himself and then opened his hands wide. “I’ve not stopped thinking about this since the old man said it. But something was missing. There’s no way it’s a coincidence that what Kallinvar is looking for is called the ‘Heart of Blood’ and then that’s the same thing as in the riddle.”
“Well…” Vaeril shrugged, pulling a face that Calen knew meant he disagreed.
“All right, yes, it’s possible, but bear with me.”
Vaeril inclined his head.
“Let’s assume it’s not a coincidence.”
“You know what they say about assuming,” Dann chimed in.
“Dann.” Erik gave Dann a flat stare. “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to kill you – slowly, with a spoon.”
Dann closed his mouth, turning his lips inwards and leaning back.
“Good. Now, can everyone please stop interrupting me?" Erik waited a moment before continuing. “I think I’ve figured it out – well, most of it. Like I said before, ‘A city once lost, found it needs to be’ must be either Vindakur or Ilnaen. One lost in time, the other lost both in battle and perhaps lost in a moral sense. So with that, we have a place we need to go. Either Vindakur or Ilnaen.”
“There were a lot of cities lost by those means during The Fall,” Vaeril noted.
“Vaeril, stop killing my ideas.”
“I’m not going anywhere near those fucking stone spiders from now until the day Heraya takes me.” Tarmon folded his arms. “Not a fucking chance. I would rather drag my stones across a mile of broken glass.”
“Nor me.” Vaeril rubbed at his calf where the kerathlin claw had torn through the flesh.
“What did I miss?” Dann asked.
“Honestly?” Erik said. “You don’t want to know. And with that, let’s just hope the riddle means Ilnaen and not Vindakur. I think the focus on the Blood Moon leans heavily towards Ilnaen anyway. ‘For connections made will rise once more when the moon you can see.’ It has to be Ilnaen. ‘There is a stone, a heart of blood, cast into the sea’,” Erik repeated. “What if the sea is not a sea?”
“You’re going to have to explain that one,” Calen said.
“What did we call the Burnt Lands? We said it was like an ocean of sand… or perhaps a sea of sand?”
Calen’s jaw wasn’t the only one that opened wide.
“Ilnaen is a city once lost, connected to the Blood Moon, and set in a sea of sand.”
“That actually makes sense.” Dann looked a little irritated. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”
Erik glared at Dann.
“Don’t mind him,” Tarmon said, patting Erik on the back. “I think you’re just as stupid as you look.”
Calen ignored them and leaned forwards. He grabbed Erik by the shoulders. “I think I know the last part.”
The door to Calen’s chambers smacked against the wall with a resounding crack . He rushed into the room, searching frantically for his satchel, tossing aside sheets and old clothes.
“By Elyara,” Dann said as he walked into the room behind Calen. “You haven’t cleaned in a while then?”
Calen just ignored him, tossing aside a pile of linen towels that had been sitting there for far too long.
Rushed footsteps sounded as Erik, Vaeril, and Tarmon stumbled into the room behind him.
“Here.” Calen snatched up the satchel from beneath a pile of clothes and upended the contents on his bed.
The metal disc Rokka had given him sank into the mess of sheets, the pendant he’d found in Vindakur falling next to it, followed by Alvira’s letter.
“What is all this?” Dann picked up the metal disc, turning it over in his hand.
“I don’t have a clue what that is.” Calen held out the letter. “But this is a letter written by Alvira Serris that we found in Vindakur beneath the Lodhar Mountains.”
Dann was about to ask more questions, but Calen started reading.
My dearest Eluna,
I have left more. The pendant is the key.
Always remember, even in the shadow of what was lost, we can find light anew.
Your Archon, and your friend.
Alvira Serris
“The pendant is the key…” Erik whispered.
“The pendant is the key .” Calen grabbed the pendant from the bed, its brass back cool against his palm. The symbol of The Order was marked in white against the obsidian glass.
“All right.” Dann held out his hands. “I’m completely fucking lost.”
“The riddle,” Erik said, taking the pendant from Calen and staring at the black glass front. “‘A gem, a jewel, a trinket of sorts, but truly more a key .’” He looked up at Calen, a broad smile on his lips, more excitement seeping into his voice with each word. “‘Not a door that it unlocks, a secret to be revealed. A trick, a mask, a painting over truth, thought forever sealed.’ Calen, you’re a genius.”
“I’m… I’m still completely lost.”
“It’s a glamour key.” Vaeril’s eyes opened wide, his jaw slackening. “How did I not realise it before?” Vaeril took the pendant from Erik, who handed it over reluctantly, then explained to Dann, “Do you remember when we brought you to Belduar?”
Dann nodded, his mouth scrunched in thought. “The passage in the rock – the glamour. The old magic Therin talked about, the same thing that kept Aravell hidden.”
“Precisely. This isn’t a key to a door. It’s the key to unlocking secrets, unlocking truth…” Vaeril’s expression shifted, and he gestured for Calen to hand him Alvira’s letter. He held the pendant over the page. “The pendant is the key.”
Calen felt Vaeril drawing from the Spark, pulling threads of each element into himself and weaving them through the pendant. His threads of Spirit were the thickest, but he probed with thin slivers of Fire, Earth, and Water, as though trying to pick a lock. Barely a few heartbeats had passed when the obsidian glass glowed, veins of white light rippling through. The symbol of The Order pulsed – once, twice, three times – and then the words on the letter faded, slowly replaced by blurry black ink that reformed into new letters and words.
Vaeril handed the letter to Calen.
My dearest Eluna,
I apologise for the secrecy, but it is needed. I sense what we have feared may come to pass. Fane grows bolder. He has followers within The Order’s ranks. I do not know how many, but it’s only a matter of time.
I have moved everything to the place where we first met. The pendant remains the key. Kollna knows. She cast the runes. Trust nobody else. Eltoar struggles enough already. I would not burden him further.
With hope, this will all be for nothing.
Alvira
Only the sound of breathing broke the silence as Calen read the last word.
“We need to show to this to Aeson… and to Haem.”