21. It Begins #2
“I have given so much to you,” he said, a rage burning between him and Helios. “I poured my love into you. I trained you, I held you when you wept, I picked you up when you fell. I stood by you always, and yet you cannot stand by me now.”
Salara slapped at Eltoar’s arm, but with the Essence flowing through him, he was set like stone.
“You… are… wrong,” she choked. “Cuh…coward.”
“You know nothing!” Eltoar roared, squeezing Salara’s throat. As he did, he heard her choking breath and watched as tears streamed down her cheeks, her eyes red.
He let go, stumbling backwards at the realisation of what he had come so close to doing.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
But even as Salara fell on her hands and knees, coughing violently, he could still feel that rage burning away beneath the surface.
“You will be safe here,” he said, reaching into the satchel that hung at his side and producing a pair of Fane’s rune-marked manacles. He snapped them shut around Salara’s wrists, and she screamed as though he had flayed the skin from her bones.
“Vyrmír?” Thrashing, wailing, she tried desperately to look at Vyrmír as Eltoar bound her to the ground with Essence.
Her rage only succumbed to relief when she set her eyes upon her soulkin.
That relief was supplanted just as quickly when she glared up at Eltoar, pure hatred in her eyes.
“Why are you doing this? I love you… I…”
Eltoar drove threads of Earth into the ground, pulling roots through the clay and wrapping them around Salara’s body.
Vyrmír roared like an unchained god, throwing himself upwards so hard he knocked Helios off balance. The young dragon kicked back his head and poured a pillar of fire over Helios.
Eltoar tapped into the gemstone once more, pulling deeply on the Essence within.
He wrapped Essence around Vyrmír and slammed the dragon to the ground, turning him to face Salara.
Eltoar pulled and stretched out Vyrmír’s neck, his chin flat against the Earth.
And just as he had done with Salara, he pulled roots from the ground and bound the dragon so tightly that Vyrmír couldn’t move an inch. He pulled tighter still.
“You will be safe here,” he said, looking down at Salara and Vyrmír. “I never wanted it to be like this, but I can see no other way. I will return when it is done. You will see in time, Salara. You will see.”
As Eltoar turned and walked towards his soulkin, Salara’s screams pierced the night.
“Please!” she roared. “Master! Don’t leave us here!”
Eltoar climbed to the nape of Helios’s neck.
“Please, no! Don’t do this! Master! I can’t feel him – please, no!”
Eltoar hardened his heart, and Helios lifted himself into the air.
“And now it begins.”
By the time Eltoar and Helios reached Ilnaen, the rain was so thick Eltoar could barely see ahead of himself.
A flicker of doubt ignited in his heart at the sight of the city he called home.
It looked so peaceful beneath the light of the crimson moon, the white stone glowing with a pink hue, the torches flickering upon poles and in windows.
His mind wandered to Salara bound on Driftstone. He had made his choices. The wheels were set in motion. There was no turning back now. But there was one last thing he needed to do.
Helios swept downwards, angling his wings on a current of air.
Two other dragons emerged from a cloud bank to his left, luminescent pink clouds swirling around them.
Essence pulsed from the two Draleid, marking them as allies.
That had been Fane’s idea. If everything were to turn to chaos, they would need a simple way of identifying friend from foe.
And without having drawn from Essence, a person could not sense it in another.
Eltoar reluctantly tapped into the stone beneath his breastplate. He had felt something back on Driftstone, felt the gemstone whispering to him, felt it fuelling the anger in his heart, the rage. He could feel his hand tightening around Salara’s throat, feel how close he had come…
He shook the thoughts from his head and pulled in a breath of winter air as Helios descended. The dragon alighted just north-west of the city walls, where an enormous hall stood near the river.
The great shape of Nasthrix shifted in the darkness beside the hall, the grey scales blending into the night. The dragon greeted Helios with a warm rumble, lifting his head from his slumber.
Eltoar dismounted and walked to the hall’s oak doors that stood three times as tall as he, large bands of iron holding the timbers together.
He rapped his fist against the wood. It wasn’t long before the door creaked open and Thalumas stood in its place.
The Jotnar wore nothing but linen trousers, white hair flowing over slabs of pale blue muscle.
“Eltoar Daethana, son of Loh?ran Daethana? What brings you to my door in the middle of night?” He squinted. “And in full armour? Has there been an attack.”
“No, old friend. I am… I’m simply in need of urgent counsel.”
Thalumas smiled. He clapped a hand on Eltoar’s pauldron. “Come in then. Step out of the rain. I will boil a pot of tea and help in any way I can.” He paused a moment, his gaze lingering on Eltoar. “It is good to see you. It is always good to see you.”
The Jotnar turned and walked off into the dark of the hall, gesturing for Eltoar to follow.
“Close the door behind you. The night is wicked, and the cold is worse.”
Eltoar stepped in, gently closing the door. He followed Thalumas to the hearthfire that blazed on the eastern face of the hall. The Jotnar fetched a pot from a nearby counter.
“What matter is so pressing that you come to me at this hour?” The Jotnar looked back at him for a moment, scooping water from a nearby bucket into the pot. He turned and walked towards the fire. “I’ve not seen you in months. This must be something of great import.”
“Indeed.” Eltoar stared at the Jotnar’s back, feeling droplets of water tumble down his face. “I have suffered a great betrayal. And I am at a loss on what should be done.”
Thalumas set a stand over the fire, preparing a hook for the pot. “What has happened my friend?”
“It appears someone I thought a friend was never so. You remember Vastillion?”
Thalumas paused a moment, then carried on, hooking the pot over the fire. “I do. A tragedy. I will always wish we had learned why our brothers and sisters turned their backs on us that day.”
“And I.” Eltoar walked closer as Thalumas stood and fetched tea leaves and a metal infuser from a drawer opposite the fire. “That is a truth I am still chasing, but it appears Antiloch did not act alone.”
Thalumas dropped the infuser, and it struck with ground with a clank.
“Surely not?” He said, kneeling to fetch the infuser. The Jotnar gathered himself and set the bag of leaves and the infuser down by the fire. He dared a glance at Eltoar, then back to the flames. “From where did this come? A hundred years later?”
“Letters. Old letters it appears the prince of Antiloch had copied to use against his father.” He gave a short laugh. “It was by chance, really.”
Thalumas stood with his back to Eltoar, and outside, Nasthrix shifted, his head looking towards the hall.
A low rumble sounded in Helios’s chest, and the great dragon rose, his frills shivering.
“Why did you do it?”
“Eltoar? What are you—”
“Don’t lie. I know it was you and Loik. I know you met with King Mallas. Just tell me why.”
Silence spread its wings across the room, drowning out all but the crackling of the hearthfire.
“That is a complex question, Eltoar.”
“Simplify it for me.”
Thalumas remained staring at the fire, his back to Eltoar.
“The coffers were dry, Eltoar. The outbreak of consumption four summers past had decimated our reserves. Without the coin, many would have starved and more again taken by the disease. Being Archon is understanding that there are sacrifices that must be made for the greater good.”
“For the greater good? Maquil died that day. He was ripped in half. He died defending innocent people in a war you orchestrated. There were a thousand other options. You could have come to me…”