SWEAT DRIPPED FROM CALEN'S BROW as he parried a downward strike from Erik.
"Good. Keep your guard up," Gaeleron said. Since they had arrived in Belduar, the elf had stopped sparring with Calen and instead had taken to observing him spar with others. It would be easier for him to assess Calen's progress that way.
A metallic ringing chimed through the courtyard of the Inner Circle as Calen and Erik's blades met in a flurry of blows. On the surface, they seemed evenly matched, but Calen knew that he was always only one mistake away from a new bruise.
There was a knowing grin on Erik's face as the two men circled each other.
In a flash of movement, Erik lunged, like a viper who had cornered a hare. Calen dropped back into Patient Wolf.
Erik's blows came in hard and fast; as they always did. Calen counted his heartbeats, waiting for an opening.
One.
Erik struck high, twice. The vibrations jolted up Calen's arm as he parried both.
Two.
Calen just about brought his sword down in time to block the understroke that followed. It really should have landed; only a warning in the back of his mind from Valerys had allowed him to stop it.
Three.
He leapt backwards, willing Erik to follow.
Four.
Erik dove after him.
Five.
Calen saw his opening. He lunged.
It happened too fast for him to see. Erik turned with the speed of a kat, and brought his blade down on top of Calen's, knocking it to the ground with a crash. A roaring pain burst through Calen's face as Erik's elbow flew
backwards and slammed into his nose, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"You must be aware!" shouted Gaeleron as Calen hit the stone. Calen didn't even move to get up. He just lay there, staring up at the sky above.
His head pounded, there was a ringing noise in his ears, and he could taste blood on his tongue. If he lay there a little longer, maybe he wouldn't have to do another round.
A shadow blocked out the light from the sun. "Do not strike only to leave yourself open. That is enough for the day," Gaeleron sighed, standing over Calen's sprawled body. "I will not have Therin complaining again that you are too exhausted to listen to his spells and stories."
It had been two weeks since Oleg left for the Dwarven Freehold. In the meantime, Therin had decided to not only instruct Calen on the ways of magic but also to educate him on the history of Epheria. He taught him the customs and cultures of the many races that inhabited Epheria and what the land was like before the rise of the empire. He insisted that if Calen were to be of use to anyone as a Draleid, he would need to understand more than just the people of the villages in western Illyanara.
Gaeleron's humour deteriorated whenever Therin was mentioned. He took on a mocking tone every time he spoke of Therin's teachings – 'spells and stories', as he called them. Calen did not feel right to bring it up with Therin directly, but there was a strange tension between him and the elves from Aravell – all but Vaeril, who was almost the opposite. His attitude towards Therin stopped just short of reverence. Calen had no idea what to make of it all.
Calen propped himself up on his elbows. He blew the air from his lungs up over his face in exhaustion and let the sweat roll down his forehead. Erik hunched down beside him in much the same state.
"That was good," he panted, resting his elbows on his knees. "Sorry about the nose. Just try not to over-extend yourself. Gaeleron seems to be warming to you, at least. He's a bit stiff, isn't he?"
Gaeleron raised an eyebrow.
"I think he may have heard you," Calen whispered, ignoring the pain that throbbed in his nose as he tried to laugh.
"Ah, he's fine. Good lesson, Gaeleron!" Erik gave Calen a cheeky wink as he stood up from his haunches. "I'm going to get some water. Want some?"
"Please."
Just as Erik walked away, Calen felt something stir in the back of his mind. He turned his head to see Valerys stand up from where he had spent most of the afternoon bathing in the sun. Calen wasn't sure if it was because Arthur had been letting him take his pick of whatever goats or sheep he wanted each day, or if it was just the way dragons grew, but Valerys had nearly doubled in size in the last few weeks.
He was easily the size of Faenir; at least seven feet from snout to tail. His jaw had widened, his snout had elongated, and his chest was deeper. The ridges of horns that framed his neck and face were longer and sharper. His neck was thicker, more muscular, and the frills that ran the length of his body were more pronounced. Where his forelimbs had once been weak and spindly compared to his hind legs, they had grown strong and powerful. As Calen watched Valerys approach, his white scales glistening in the sun, he couldn't help but stare in awe. He was still a far cry from the dragons of legend, but he was no longer the vulnerable creature that had crawled from that egg.
Valerys's pale lavender eyes drew level with Calen's as the dragon stopped in front of him. Warmth flooded the back of Calen's mind, a conscious recognition. Comfort. Calen closed his eyes and placed his hands either side of Valerys's head, touching his forehead against the tip of the dragon's snout.
"Draleid n'aldryr," Calen whispered. He wasn't sure why he said it, the words had touched his tongue without ever passing his mind; but they felt right. Dragonbound by fire. He felt an acknowledgement from Valerys, a mix of emotions and colours that somehow mimicked the words. Then there was something else – a longing. For something that Calen didn't recognise.
But then he felt a sudden flash in the back of his mind – he understood.
Calen opened his eyes. "Go."
Without waiting for another word, Valerys shook his body from side to side as if throwing off imaginary chains that held him down. The frills on the back of his neck stood on end as he moved forward, towards the walls of the inner circle that looked out over the city below. Calen felt it as if it were his own – the urge, the need.
Valerys spread out his wings. If he had doubled in size, they had grown even more so. They were as white as the purest snow, with veins of black that streaked from Valerys's forelimbs, giving them shape.
There was a thump as Valerys cracked his wings against the air. A gust of wind swept across the courtyard. The need that Calen felt at the back of his mind only grew stronger. It burned through him, as it did Valerys. Another thump carried Valerys forward, lifting him off the ground. Calen felt his feet moving, following Valerys as his wingbeats carried him higher – towards the walls. Thump. Valerys's powerful wings lifted him into the air.
Gasps of shock came from the precisely one hundred armoured men who stood guard along the outer rim of the courtyard. Arthur had insisted upon their presence anytime that Calen practiced there, as though the empire would suddenly swarm the Inner Circle if he were alone.
He ignored their open-mouthed stares. His feet moved faster, bounding over the stone of the courtyard, towards the stairs that led to the ramparts.
Valerys was almost twenty feet above him and had almost reached the walls. His heart hammered in his chest as his feet pounded against the stone steps. Then it lurched as he watched Valerys lift higher into the air, clear the wall, and then plummet over the other side. Gone from sight.
Left foot. Right foot. The vibrations shot through his body as he scaled the stairs. Just as he reached the top and threw his hands onto the parapet, a white blur shot past him, followed by an immense gust of wind. The noise that tore through the sky was like nothing Calen had ever heard before. It was a visceral roar that rippled through the air, like a howling clap of thunder booming forth from Valerys's jaws.
Something pulsed inside Calen as Valerys soared through the air. He felt Valerys's mind in a way that he never had before. He closed his eyes; he didn't need them. The emotions, the thoughts, feelings, sensations – he felt everything. The power that flowed through Valerys's wings as they hammered against the sky. The cool air as it swept over his scales. The soft susurrations of the wind with every slight movement of his wings. The warmth of the afternoon sun on his back. The raw, primal emotion as it coursed through both of their minds at once.
Every hair on Calen's body stood on end. It was the most intensely free feeling he had ever experienced. Even with his eyes closed, he could see every movement Valerys made.
He stood there for what felt like hours before he eventually forced himself to open his eyes. Reluctantly, he pulled himself back into his own thoughts. He still felt Valerys, as he always did, but the overwhelming intensity was gone.
He almost jumped when he saw that Dann and Erik were beside him. He hadn't heard them approach, they must have heard Valerys's roar.
"Incredible…" Erik's hand rested against the parapet and his eyes were fixed on the swooping figure of the glistening white dragon above.
Dann stood beside him, wordless.
Calen watched as Valerys twisted and turned in the sky. It was a thing of beauty the likes of which Calen never imagined he would see. A dragon soaring through the skies above the city of Belduar. He felt as though he were right in the middle of one of Therin's stories.
A feeling of tired satisfaction scratched at the back of Calen's mind as Valerys looped back towards the Inner Circle.
"He's coming back." Calen's sudden announcement startled both Dann and Erik, who hadn't noticed him open his eyes.
Without waiting for a response, Calen made his way down the stone staircase to the courtyard of the Inner Circle.
A shadow spread over the ground in front of Calen as Valerys swooped down into the courtyard, his powerful wingbeats whipping spirals of dust into the air as he alighted on the cool stone ground. The dragon craned his neck from side to side and walked over to Calen, spreading his wings wide in what felt like a celebration.
"Show-off," Calen said. A warm smile spread across his face as he reached out and rested his hand on Valerys's snout. A sense of pride emanated from the dragon.
"That was amazing," Dann said, breaking his silence. "I never thought…"
"Never thought I'd see the day when you were speechless," Erik laughed, nudging Dann in the ribs as he stepped up beside him. "But I agree. That was something else."
The heavy sounds of Ihvon's footsteps echoed across the empty courtyard. At least, the courtyard could be considered empty if not for Calen, Erik, Valerys, and the guards who stood, staring in awe at Valerys, their purple cloaks billowing in the wind.
"Calen, Erik, Dann. It is time. Oleg has returned. The king requests your presence in the drawing room."
By the time they entered the drawing room, it was already tight for space. It was not Therin, Aeson, Oleg, Dahlen, or Arthur who sucked the space from the room. It was the hulking form of Asius, who most likely dared not sit on any of the furniture for fear of breaking it. Instead, he leaned lackadaisically against the wall at the back of the room. Were he to stand at full height, he would have to take care not to crack his head off the low-hanging chandelier that hung in the middle of the room.
Considering the sheer vastness of everything else in the city, it surprised Calen that the king's drawing room was so quaint. The small space was decorated simply. The room itself was centred around a low, solid wooden table that was framed on all four sides with plush couches of red velvet. The eastern wall was occupied entirely by an impressive bookshelf that stretched from floor to ceiling. Rist would love this. It was Asius who spoke first. He shifted his weight off the wall and closed the distance between himself and Calen in four long strides.
"Calen Bryer, son of Vars Bryer." The giant's enormous hand wrapped around Calen's arm with unsettling ease. "It pleases me to see you again and to hear that you are now bonded. It would warm my heart if I could meet the one who shares your life – as soon as we are done here, of course."
"Asius, son of Thalm," Calen responded. He bowed his head, which was reciprocated by Asius. "To warm your heart would be my honour."
Calen's response earned him a wide grin from the giant. The giants, or the Jotnar, were a race layered in formality and cultural complexity. It had taken Calen an irritating amount of time to memorise their multitudes of greetings and customs, along with their various responses.
Without looking, Calen could tell that Therin was grinning from ear to ear. The elf had insisted that Calen not sleep until he could repeat every one back to him without hesitation. He could almost feel the "I told you so"
from across the room.
"Where are Senas and Larion? Did they not travel with you?" Calen asked.
"They had other journeys to travel, but our paths will join again soon."
Erik, Dann, and Ihvon briefly exchanged greetings with Asius, then the giant returned to his position, leaning against the far wall, and the four men took their seats on the couches.
"Asius, I assure you, we can have this meeting in a room that is more considerate to your needs. I simply had not anticipated you arriving with
Oleg."
By the tone in Arthur's voice, Calen had a feeling that this was not the first time that this topic had been broached. The giant simply waved him away.
With a light shrug, Arthur turned his attention back towards the rest of the group. "Oleg, please," he said, opening his arms.
Oleg cleared his throat. "The Freehold have convened, and all four kingdoms have agreed that a meeting should take place in the Heart Chamber of Durakdur. They wish us to leave for the Wind Tunnels as soon as is possible."
"Fantastic," Arthur said, clapping his hands together. "We shall leave for the tunnels before the day is through."
Calen saw a look of distaste on Ihvon's face. "Typical dwarves. Take two weeks to make a decision and then expect us to snap to attention at their call." Ihvon's tone disappeared with a sharp look from Arthur.
"If I may, my king. There is more." Oleg shifted in his seat.
"Please," Arthur said, rolling his hands over each other.
"The invite for the meeting extends only to the Draleid, Aeson Virandr, and Asius." Oleg had to crane his neck upwards to look at the giant. "And yourself, my king, of course—"
"Absolutely not," Ihvon interrupted. With his mouth covered by that beard, it was Ihvon's eyes that let Calen know he was scowling. His face softened under Arthur's glare. "You cannot go down there without a guard, Arthur."
"I can go where I please, Lord Arnell. The dwarves of the Lodhar Freehold have been good to our people, in case you have forgotten. Besides, I do not believe a guard could protect me from anything that a Draleid and a Jotnar could not."
Ihvon grunted in disapproval, but he did not argue. He folded his arms and sat back into the red velvet couch.
"Aeson, Asius?"
"We can be ready to leave within the hour, Your Maje – Arthur."
"It would warm my heart, King Arthur Bryne, son of Thuram Bryne."
Arthur almost leapt from his seat in enthusiasm. "Fantastic. It is settled, then. Oleg, please inform the Wind Runners Guild that we will be at the tunnels within the hour, requiring transport to Durakdur."
"It will be done, my king," Oleg said. He rose from his seat and made his way to the door.
"Okay. Those of you who will be joining me, please gather what you may need. We will meet at the Wind Tunnels in an hour's time. Calen, I will send Conal to guide you."
Calen had to hold back a sigh of relief. He would have felt silly asking for Conal himself, but he did not have even a notion as to where the Wind Tunnels were. He still needed Conal's help to find his way from his chambers to the courtyard. The boy never complained, though. He seemed eager to walk with Calen whenever the opportunity arose. Especially when Valerys came with them. Once or twice, Conal had taken the wrong turn, too preoccupied with asking questions and staring at the dragon's shimmering scales. He was rather disappointed when he found out that Valerys could not yet breathe fire.
"Thank you, Your Maje – Thank you, Arthur."
A smile crept onto the king's face when Calen corrected himself.
"Okay, be off with you all. We have preparations to make and only an hour to do so."
As the group were saying their goodbyes, Calen felt a hand drop down on his shoulder. He turned to see Asius looking down at him.
"Calen, it would warm my heart if I could meet the one who shares your life."
It took a moment for Calen to remember that was how the Jotnar referred to the dragons. "Of course, Asius. To warm your heart would be my honour."
Asius seemed to know his way around the city far better than Calen did, which was a relief. Calen did not have a doubt in his mind that he would have gotten completely lost on his own. It didn't take long for them to make their way through the maze-like corridors of the Inner Circle, to the courtyard where Valerys lay sleeping on the smooth stone ground, the warm sunlight shimmering off his scales – it appeared the earlier flight had taken a lot out of him.
"He is beautiful," Asius said, dropping to one knee beside Valerys, a slight tremble in his voice. The giant didn't move as Valerys's eyelids peeled open, revealing a pair of pale lavender eyes.
"Asius, son of Thalm. Meet Valerys." Calen felt a rumble of recognition from Valerys as the dragon lifted its head and extended it towards Asius's
now outstretched hand. Asius's pale, whiteish-blue hand hovered just inches from Valerys's scales, as though he feared they might burn him.
"Asius, are you okay?"
A single tear rolled down the giant's face as he ran his hand along the scales on Valerys's head. Calen didn't know what to do. He felt like he was intruding on an intensely personal moment. Asius turned his head towards Calen. The giant took in a deep breath before speaking, allowing the tear to roll freely down his cheek. "Four hundred years, we have waited. My people have been hunted to the edge of extinction. Senas and Larion are all I have left. I have not seen others of my kind in that time. It is safer for us to stay hidden." Asius ran his hand back along Valerys's scaled neck, then stood to his full height, his massive frame making Calen feel as though he were a child.
Taking a deep sigh, Asius stretched out his hand and grasped Calen's forearm. "Thank you, Calen Bryer, son of Vars Bryer. And thank you, Valerys, son of Valacia. For giving me the gift of hope. It is with honour that I stand beside the Draleid once more."
Shards of ceramic sprayed around the room in a crash as Dahlen flung the pot against the far wall. He slammed his two fists down onto the writing desk with enough force to leave two shallow indents in the soft wood.
He tried to slow his breathing. He took deep breaths in, holding them and allowing them to release slowly.
"Fuck!"
He swept his hand across the table, sending its contents crashing to the ground. He stood in the middle of the room, his chest heaving. He and Erik had dedicated every waking moment to his father's cause. Given everything. And Calen had simply fallen into their path and taken what should have been his. He should be by his father's side, going to Durakdur.
He had fought for that right. He had bled for it.
Dahlen collapsed onto the bed. He rested his elbows on his knees, running his hands back up through his hair.