The Truth of the Order's Fall

1. The Breaking of Things and Beginning of Others

Chapter One

The Breaking of Things and Beginning of Others

The screams echoed across the open plain, clawed their way up the cliff, and scratched like nails on iron at Alvira’s ears.

Her throat was dry as autumn leaves, her heart twisting.

The air vibrated above her as a deep rumble resonated in Vyldrar’s throat.

The dragon loomed over her, their fury coiling together, two hearts raging, a fused soul burning.

Hundreds of feet below, in the distance where the Landuil River met the coast, the city of Vastillion burned like the fires of the void.

A force of some twenty thousand crashed against the walls, washing over the barriers of stone, a wave meeting little opposition.

Above, eight dark figures plunged from the skies as rivers of fire poured from their jaws.

Traitors. Foul-hearted demons who had turned their backs on everything they’d sworn to protect.

Alvira gripped the sword’s pommel so tight she lost the sense of her hand, her jaw trembling.

“This isn’t right,” she whispered. “I will not wait any longer. I will not stand by and watch these people die as though I were a statue doomed to witness and not act.”

To her left, Farda turned his gaze from the carnage below, tilting his head just enough to meet Alvira’s stare.

“I will not do it,” she said. “I would rather die down there than live up here.”

Alvira turned from the scene, and Vyldrar lowered himself to the ground, the obsidian horns that framed his face scraping the dirt. She placed a hand on the scales of his neck as a voice sounded over her shoulder.

“Still yourself.” Eltoar Daethana stood at the cliff edge some twenty feet from Alvira, his arms folded, his voice the measure of calm.

In the light of the spring sun he looked a god, his white steel armour glistening, long hair flowing in the breeze.

At his back stood his soulkin – Helios. The dragon was shadow and fire made flesh, monstrous in size though ever-growing, scales of deep black flecked with crimson, wings the colour of spilled blood.

“Your youth betrays you, Alvira. The Archon instructed us to await reinforcements from the east. Tarast and his wing are not far, nor Galandíl and his. We must have patience.”

“Patience?” Alvira snapped, pulling away from Vyldrar.

A flash of regret flared in her but was swallowed by the fury that poured into her mind from her soulkin.

Eltoar Daethana may be a legend who breathes, but she was still a Draleid, she knew her duty, knew her oaths.

Etiquette could fuck itself, and so too could the fear that reared its head at the sight of Helios.

She would not be a sheep among dragons. “Do you think the people of Vastillion will appreciate that patience while they burn alive and we stand here and watch?”

“Those traitors outnumber us two to one, Alvira.”

The calm on Eltoar’s face ignited a spark of anger in her belly. “If we wait any longer, there will be nothing and nobody left alive down there to save.”

As she made to step closer, a hand pressed against her abdomen, holding her in place. She found herself staring back into Farda’s eyes, green as Vyldrar’s scales. He shook his head.

“Brother, I am with Alvira on this. Her youth does not make her wrong.” Farda stood between the pair, though Eltoar’s gaze still did not shift.

“It is our duty to protect that city from our own. No matter the risk, no matter the odds. Our purpose is not self-preservation but the preservation of others. Every moment we wait we fail in that purpose.”

Eltoar paused for a moment, meeting Farda’s gaze.

The elf had always had an intensity about him, a way of staring at everyone and everything as though they were works of art to be studied and puzzled.

“No, her youth does not make her wrong,” he conceded.

“But it does mean that she has never faced a dragon in the sky. She has never seen the horrors of two dragons colliding, the darkness of shattering a bond, the emptiness that follows.”

When Eltoar had finished speaking, he stared into Alvira’s eyes.

His gaze alone almost froze her blood. The elf had a way of doing that to her, a way of churning her mind, of making her feel as though they were always alone no matter how many souls shared their space.

He never looked at her, always through her and into her, piercing the walls that surrounded her.

“Do not be so eager to charge into battle against those who were your kin, Alvira. No matter where your heart lies on this, breaking a bond, severing a soul in twain, it will carve marks in you, marks that will never heal.”

In that moment, Alvira understood. She could see those marks in the depths of Eltoar’s eyes, hear them in the sound of his voice.

Heavy wingbeats thrummed in the air, growing louder as Alvira turned to see Carasín alight on the dried earth beside Helios, her pale silver wings glittering in the sunlight.

The dragon bowed her head, sharp blue eyes finding Alvira’s gaze.

She looked but a hatchling next to the great black dragon.

Maquil dropped from his soulkin’s back, threads of Air whipping around him.

The young man inclined his head to Farda and Alvira, bowing slightly as he approached Eltoar. “Master.”

“Maquil.”

“The eastern quarter is nothing but flames. The garrison is in full retreat towards the keep, their number halved. Our brothers and siste—”

“They are no brothers or sisters of ours,” Eltoar said, cutting Maquil short. “Not any longer.”

“Apologies, Master. The traitors sweep along the walls and the outskirts of the city methodically, driving the defenders towards the centre.”

“Towards slaughter,” Alvira whispered.

Eltoar simply nodded in response. “What have you gleaned of their intentions?”

“Little. There is no obvious reason why they joined with Antiloch’s army, why they would betray us, or why they would do… this.” Maquil stared down at the city of Vastillion, a deep sadness in his eyes. “Why would they do this? There are so many bodies.”

“It doesn’t matter why,” Alvira said. “What matters is that they have turned on us, and they are slaughtering those we swore to protect.”

“The why of things always matters, Alvira.” Eltoar folded his arms as he looked to her. “If we do not understand why something has happened then we are doomed to watch it happen again. The cause of something is rarely what we see on the surface.”

Those dark eyes held Alvira in place, chaining her thoughts.

Vyldrar rumbled in her mind, a warmth spreading through her.

She stared back at Eltoar, her jaw clenching.

“I understand what you are saying, Eltoar. I know my own ignorance on this, but with respect, I will not stand by and watch people burn simply because I do not understand the why of things. Draleid l’ael. Er myia vay?r. Er v?ría vay?r.”

I am a Draleid. It is my duty. It is our duty.

Eltoar rested a hand on Alvira’s shoulder, his fingers gripping the steel of her pauldron.

“I do not question your devotion to our cause, Alvira. Not for a moment. And the fire that burns within you is something fierce. But we must use both our hearts and our heads. If we do not wait, there is every chance that none of us leave this place alive, that Vastillion will be our grave.”

“Then so be it.” The words left Alvira’s throat in a growl.

Eltoar smiled at that, smothering the beginnings of a laugh, which only served to feed Alvira’s anger. “I cannot allow you to throw yourself upon a spear for courage and duty alone. The life of a Draleid is not something that should be so easily given.”

“My life is not worth ten thousand of theirs, and I will not weigh it so. To die for the people of Epheria is the vow I made. If I am not willing to do so, what would that make me?”

“I did not say you should not be willing to give your life, simply that you should not do so with such little thought. I admire every word that leaves your heart, Alvira. It stirs the fires within us to hear your courage.”

Behind Eltoar, Helios shifted in place. The dragon lifted his head, muscles rippling, blood-hued wings spreading wide. Eltoar’s soulkin was a third again larger than Vyldrar. Even still, a rumble dropped into Vyldrar’s throat, and he pulled back his lips, baring savage teeth.

“But courage is not all that is required of us,” Eltoar continued. “The Archon has bid us wait, and so that is what we do.”

It was Farda who spoke next. The man’s words were low and unshaking. “The darkness of this world needs nothing more to triumph than good souls looking on and doing nothing.”

Eltoar gave him a half smile. “Jon Stilvar Milner. Wise words.”

“Indeed, brother. Words to live by.”

Alvira looked between the two of them. “You both can stand around and quote philosophers while people die. I will not.”

“The Archon himself ordered us to wait,” Eltoar said as she walked to Vyldrar’s side. “You would defy his command?”

“The Archon isn’t here. He doesn’t have to stand and watch while those people are butchered.

Thousands that we swore to protect, slaughtered by our own kin.

I will not stand by any longer, no matter what orders are given.

” Alvira climbed to the nape of Vyldrar’s neck, the warmth of her soulkin’s scales rushing through her body.

“Our Archon wants to wait, wants to ensure a dominant victory so the continent knows our strength. But the cost of that victory will be borne by the people down there. I cannot allow that. We are Draleid. Whatever the price of disobedience, I will pay it.”

“And you?” Eltoar asked, looking to Farda.

Farda gave his friend a smile, then glanced up at Alvira, then to Maquil, and back to Eltoar. “You already know my answer, old friend. I fly with Alvira.”