DANN WASN'T HAPPY THAT HE could not go with Calen to the dwarves. Nothappy might have been a bit of an understatement; but at the least, he understood. Calen hadn't seen much of him in the past few days either way.
That tended to be the way when Dann was interested in a girl. Although, Dann might be better off chasing a wild goose than Alea or Lyrei. The two of them were more than a match for him, and they seemed to enjoy making him jump through hoops, which wasn't altogether unenjoyable for Calen.
Vaeril and the other elves were a different story altogether.
"We made an oath, Draleid, to go with you wherever you may lead, to the void or beyond. You cannot ask us to disobey that oath." Vaeril was usually a placid person. He and Calen had started to grow close, but Calen saw a touch of anger in his eyes. He knew by the tone in the elf's voice that he would have to be careful with his words.
"Vaeril, I am not asking you to disobey your oath. You left your home and have followed me all the way to Belduar. You saved my life even before that. I am asking you to trust me."
"Trust is earned, Draleid . " Ellisar was the one elf that Calen had spent little time around since they had arrived in Belduar. He spent a lot of time with Dahlen, practicing in the yard. That put an unconscious bad taste in Calen's mouth, but what the elf said was not unfair.
"See that Aeson continues to spar with you while I am not there,"
Gaeleron said. It was not a question.
"Draleid , you do understand that if harm were to come to you while you are with the dwarves, and we were not there to prevent it, that dishonour would follow us." Alea was usually bright-eyed, with a bubbly personality to match her quirky smile. But in this, she was as stony-faced as Aeson.
Calen had made the mistake of thinking that they were worried about him, but it turned out all they were worried about was harming their honour.
It stung. "Look, I am going. The dwarves have not invited you, and from what I have learned in Therin's teachings –" Therin's name drew a twist of contempt from more than one face, but none of them spoke, "– the dwarves are extremely selective about who they allow into their lands. You cannot come. I will make sure not to die so that your honour remains intact."
Calen saw a touch of hurt on some of their faces as he stormed from the room. But he knew they were only hurt because they knew he had figured them out.
Therin had tried to explain the Wind Tunnels to Calen – unsuccessfully. All he remembered was that the dwarves built them a long time ago, and they allowed fast travel between the kingdoms of the Dwarven Freehold and Belduar. "Conal, have you used the Wind Tunnels before?"
The look of confusion on the boy's face told Calen that he should already know the answer, but Conal was quite polite. "No, m'lord. I've seen 'em lots, but I've never used 'em before. Not a lot o' people travel to the dwarven kingdoms, m'lord, and the dwarves never come up 'ere. They say that they helped our ancestors build this place, but I ain't never seen 'em."
Calen still hadn't gotten the boy to stop calling him a lord. He had tried, but Conal was insistent. Calen found it uncomfortable. Most people didn't notice. Dann usually just laughed. "Ooh, m'lord! Can I fetch you some tea,m'lord?"
"'Ere we are, m'lord. The Wind Tunnels."
"Thank you, Conal…" Calen's voice trailed off. In front of him was a massive courtyard, which seemed as though it had been hollowed out of the mountain. The ceiling was part of the mountain itself and stood about two hundred feet above the smooth flagstone floor. Six passageways, framed by buildings on either side, cut through the main city of Belduar, acting as entrances to the Wind Tunnels. It was through one of these passageways that Calen had emerged into the courtyard.
At the opposite side of the courtyard, there were five enormous perfect circles cut into the side of the rock face. Each was easily forty feet across, fronted by a stone landing with a set of stairs at the side. Even from where he stood, Calen could tell that each circular entrance was connected to tunnels that dove into the depths of the mountain.
The others were already waiting for him on the landing that fronted the first tunnel. Therin and Ihvon were there as well, along with a handful of the Kingsguard, in their burnished armour and heavy purple cloaks.
"Come on, Valerys. They're waiting," Calen said as he made his way over to the landing.
Valerys ambled along beside him. The dragon's head pricked up in the air, tilted a little sideways. It was as if he were pressing his ear to the wind,
like he heard something that Calen couldn't. When Calen listened, he heard a low whistling sound, like when he held the seashells he found on the coast at Milltown to his ear. It was soothing. In a way, it felt like home.
Calen reached the top of the stairs and stepped out onto the landing.
Nestled inside the entrance of the tunnel was some kind of machine with three massive golden rings tucked inside each other. The outermost ring was pressed up against the wall of the tunnel, with a series of enormous ball bearings embedded along its outer rim. In the very centre of the concentric rings was a circular platform made of the same golden metal, framed with low metal walls. The platform had an open space at the centre, while the outer areas had seats fixed onto its base.
Calen could have spent years gazing at it without ever understanding a single thing about it. He had never seen anything like it in his life.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" Arthur seemed to glide across the stone towards Calen, such was the languid confidence with which the man moved. "The dwarves call them Wind Runners. The dwarves are capable of all sorts of mechanical wonders, Calen… but these… there is nothing like these anywhere else in the known world. I'm excited to see how you find the ride."
An uneasy lump formed in Calen's stomach. The thought of being inside that thing while it moved made his knees go weak.
Arthur must have noticed the change in expression on his face. A laugh crept into his voice. "Come on, we're setting off in a few. I will introduce you to the navigator." He patted Calen on the back, directing him towards the rest of the group. "Calen Bryer, let me introduce you to Falmin Tain, navigator of the Crested Wave and member of the Wind Runners Guild."
The navigator was a wiry man with black hair slicked back over his head.
He wore a simple cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows and thick cotton trousers tucked into rugged leather boots. He had a strange set of glasses strapped around the top of his head; their lenses were dark, almost black, and they shimmered in an array of colours when the light hit them. A sheet of copper was melded into the frames, covered at the end with padded leather. It was held on his head with a strap of leather that had a buckle for tightening. They were strange indeed.
"'Tis a pleasure, Mister Bryer," Falmin said, shaking Calen's hand. "And to you…" he said, turning his attention towards Valerys, who half-bared his teeth in a snarl. "S'long as you don't take me arm off, you'll be the first
dragon to ever ride a Wind Runner. Good thing you're small. They didn't make 'em with dragons in mind!"
The man had a sort of endearing arrogance about him that Calen couldn't help but admire.
"If y'all will excuse me, I'm gonna make sure that this little lady here is good to go." Falmin didn't wait for any replies. He headed across a rope bridge connected from the landing to the platform of the Crested Wave.
"All set?" Therin asked.
Calen nodded wordlessly.
"Good. Dann didn't mind being left alone then, I take it?" Therin gave a wry smile that implied he already knew the answer.
Calen sighed. "No, he understood. The elves, however… they are not particularly happy with me."
Therin never showed the same contempt towards the Aravell elves that they showed towards him. Instead, there was a twinge of regret in his voice whenever he spoke of them. "They swore an oath of protection, Calen. I know we haven't talked too much on elven culture yet, but honour…
honour is everything to an elf. Without it, we have no trust. How can you trust someone without honour? It tells others who you are."
Calen couldn't help but let a trickle of indignation find his words. "That much I understood. Their honour was all they talked about. What is the point in taking an oath to protect me if they won't even listen to me?"
Calen thought he saw disappointment in Therin's eyes. The elf let out a sigh, resting his hand on Calen's shoulder. "Calen, they swore an oath to protect you, not to obey you. Not only that, but they volunteered to swear that oath. They chose to abandon their home and everything they knew in the Aravell to follow you. They have shown their honour. Now you must show them yours."
Calen found himself searching for something on the ground to trap his gaze. He felt like an idiot.
"Come," Therin said. "The day we stop learning is the day we will be consumed by what we do not know. Do not dally. I have only journeyed on a Wind Runner once before. It is quite an experience."
Therin gave Calen a little push, aiming him towards the rope bridge where Oleg waited for him. The others had already made their way across to the platform of the Crested Wave.
"And Calen," Therin called, "the dwarves are stubborn. They are proud, and their tongues can be sharp, but they have always been loyal to the Draleid and to The Order. They are going to test you, but remember, it is not just you who has to prove yourself to them. They have to prove themselves to you. You are a Draleid now. Don't forget that."
Calen allowed himself a brief smile. I am a Draleid. He couldn't help but look down at Valerys, who waited restlessly by his side.
He felt the dragon's impatience scratching at him. It was his own impatience. Even when they were apart, Calen felt the dragon. His anger.
His hunger. Everything. With each day, the bond between them grew stronger – It was getting increasingly difficult to separate his own emotions from Valerys's.
"I will see you when I'm back, Therin. Thank you."
The elf simply nodded, taking his leave of the landing.
"Master Bryer, if you are ready, we are about to set off." Oleg stood at the edge of the landing, beside the rope bridge, a quirky smile on his face.
"Yes, of course. Sorry." Calen stepped past Oleg and onto the rope bridge. He swallowed a shout and clutched onto the ropes for fear of his life as the bridge swayed unexpectedly under his weight. He snapped his head up to the air as he felt a mocking rumble from Valerys, who glided overhead, then swooped down onto the platform of the Crested Wave. Calen picked up his pace so as to not spend any longer on the bridge than he had to. "They can build a machine like this, but they can't build a proper bridge?"
Calen looked up from his ranting to see everybody on the platform staring at him. Arthur smirked, while Falmin was outright laughing.
"Quite right, Mister Bryer," the navigator cackled. "I do say it all the time. We often forget the little details, so we do." Calen wasn't sure if the man was mocking him. He didn't think he was, but it was hard to tell. His tone seemed to always hold an undercurrent of sarcasm.
"If it helps at all," Oleg panted, wiping the sweat from his brow as he leapt onto the platform, "I travel on these things more than I do horses, and I'm terrified every time. Both, of the Wind Runners and the bridges." The emissary's belly swelled out a bit farther as he let out a sigh of relief, dropping himself into one of the seats that was fastened to the platform.
"I see Valerys has found his wings," Aeson said, as Calen took a seat beside him. "It's a beautiful thing – to see a dragon fly."
Calen turned to look at Valerys, who padded over towards him, his claws clicking on the metal platform. "It was… incredible. I—"
"Okay, okay," Falmin called, who stood at the front of the circular platform, half-swinging off a crossbar that swooped down from the first inner ring. "If e'rybody can please take a seat, make sure to fasten the buckle as tightly as you can, and we'll all have a good old trip. If you feel like vomiting, please aim down." Falmin paused, turning his attention to Asius, who didn't fit in any of the seats. "You might just have to hold on to something…"
The man's ear-to-ear grin was less than comforting, but it didn't bother Asius, who simply nodded and held onto one of the nearby railings.
Falmin's eyes moved over to Valerys, who was curled up on the ground to the side of Calen's feet. He raised his fist to his taut lips. "You… yeah…
I'm not quite sure what you can do with 'im. Does he 'ave a leash?" Valerys lifted his head, pulling his lips back in a slight snarl. A deep growl resonated from his chest. "Okay. No leash. Understood. Maybe just hold on to 'im."
Calen heard Arthur laughing as Valerys dropped his head back onto the ground, and he couldn't help but join him.
Falmin pulled his odd glasses down over his eyes. The copper sheet on the side of the lenses fit neatly around his cheeks and nose. He exhaled, cracking his neck from side to side, and turned to face the inner section of the tunnel. Calen felt that tickle at the back of his mind that he had come to know meant somebody near him was drawing from the Spark. He sat up in his seat, his eyes fixed on Falmin.
The man raised his hands slowly, his palms facing upward. Calen could almost see it. The threads of Air weaved their way around, moving in a hundred directions, encasing the entire machine in a sphere of wind. A metallic creaking noise shuddered through the platform as the rings swung into motion. The Crested Wave began to move as the rings spun around the platform in alternate directions, faster and faster, until they were almost a blur. Only the inner ring seemed to remain stationary. Calen felt the platform shaking, vibrating ferociously.
Then they were gone, shooting through the tunnel at speeds Calen did not even know were possible. The walls of the tunnel never changed, so their speed was hard to gauge. The rotating rings caused an almost constant haze, blurring anything outside the platform. But when Calen looked back, he
saw the dim light of the tunnel mouth, shrinking at a jaw-dropping rate, until it was nothing but a speck.
Calen turned to Aeson, who was seated beside him, the belt buckle fastened tightly across his chest. Something seemed odd, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Aeson turned to find Calen's eyes narrowed, staring at him. He raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"
"There is something…" muttered Calen "Something… Your hair!"
Aeson's brow furrowed. "What about my hair?"
"It's not moving! Even when you ride a horse, the wind blows at your hair, yet now, there is not even a ripple. What… what is he doing?"
Aeson followed Calen's eyes to Falmin, who stood at the front of the platform, his knees slightly bent, his arms spread out wide. Calen felt a drop of irritation when he noticed the smirk on Aeson's face. His face was usually so impassive that a smirk seemed even more mocking than it would on another man.
"Follow the threads, Calen," Aeson said. "Read them. Learn."
Calen focused on Falmin. Even though somebody who drew from the Spark did not need to use their body to direct the threads, it was almost like a reflex. Falmin's left hand twisted left, right, up, and down. It directed the Crested Wavethrough the tunnels.
His right hand, however, was constant. It moved repetitiously around the same space, his fingers contracting and expanding. As if he was smoothing down the surface of a ball.
"He's blocking the wind…" muttered Calen. His gaze moved from the navigator to the threads of Air, whirling around the platform in sync with the spinning rings.
"Precisely," Aeson said. His smirk was almost proud. "You are learning quickly."
Calen couldn't help but smile. He wasn't sure why, but a compliment from Aeson held twice the weight that it did from most others.
Without warning, everything shifted. Calen grabbed onto the frame of his seat, unsure. He felt weightless. Then he looked out, past the blurring rings.
They had left the enclosed tunnel, and they were now hurtling through an open cavern. His heart fell into his stomach. Its thumping made him nauseous. The cavern extended in both directions until the end of Calen's eyeline and farther. He didn't even need to look down. He knew that he
would not see a bottom. It was only for a few seconds, which felt like a lifetime. A heavy thump sent shockwaves through the platform as they entered a new tunnel on the other side of the cavern. Calen closed his eyes for a minute, doing everything in his power to slow his breathing.
We're going to die down here.
Just as he calmed himself to where he felt he could open his eyes again, something slammed into his shoulder, cracking it against the back of his seat. "Fuck…" he muttered. He reached back, jerking forward a bit as his thumb ran over a tender spot just below his shoulder blade.
"Sorry!" shouted Falmin without looking back.
Calen now realised why the man wore his odd glasses. If a gust of wind like that broke through the barrier, he wouldn't be able to see a thing. The thought of colliding with something at that speed put a knot in Calen's stomach.
Finally, Calen felt them slow down. A tiny speck of light in the distance grew larger by the second.
"Don't be nervous," Aeson whispered.
Calen furrowed his brow. "I'm not nervous," he lied.
Aeson nodded, that same smirk on his face.
There was a short jerk as the Crested Wave came to a stop just short of the cave mouth. Falmin spun around on the spot, pulled the glasses from his face, and placed them on top of his head. His face still held an arrogance to it, a slight grin that just twisted the corner of his mouth.
"Well, a little wind aside…" He paused, as if expecting a round of applause for his joke. A look of disappointment crossed his face when he didn't receive one. "Here we are, safe and sound. Durakdur. If you give me a moment, I will extend the bridge, and you can be on your way."
The navigator strode past the group, to the edge of the platform. Drawing on threads of Air, he launched the crumpled-up rope bridge across to another stone landing that lay waiting to receive the vessel's passengers.
Calen felt a hand rest on his shoulder. "Well, my boy, I wish that I could see this through your eyes. I remember the first time I saw this place. It was a good five minutes before I could speak again." Arthur smiled and then moved ahead, making his way onto the bridge. His shoulders swayed as he moved. Reluctantly, Calen followed him. He wasn't looking forward to crossing that bridge again.
"I meant what I said, Mister Bryer." Calen hadn't noticed Falmin approach him at the foot of the bridge. The man had a serious look on his face, at least compared to the grin he usually wore. "It was my pleasure to have you aboard – both you and your dragon. I wish you the best of luck, and so does the guild. Should you ever need us, we are at your service."
The navigator bowed at the hip, just a short bow, but it was enough to convey sincerity. It was a formality that Calen did not expect from the flamboyant man.
"Thank you, Falmin. Your… ship? It's an incredible feat of engineering… as is your skill with Air. It was a pleasure."
There was a touch of recognition in the man's smile. "The pleasure is shared."
Calen extended his arm, grasping his fingers around Falmin's forearm.
Falmin reciprocated the gesture, then walked off across the platform, inspecting every square inch of the Crested Wave. Calen couldn't help but stare after the man in curiosity. Falmin shook a brass connection, a look of surprise on his face when it came unstuck. He pushed it back in, pursed his lips, gave a satisfied shrug, and walked on.
Calen turned back to the bridge, trying his best to look dignified as he scurried across the wooden planks. "Fucking bridge…" he muttered to himself, nearly slipping as he stepped off the last plank of the bridge. He felt a sense of comfort as his foot contacted the solid stone of the tunnel entrance.
When he looked up, it was exactly as Arthur said it would be. It took away his words.
The platform upon which he stood jutted out from the side of the mountain wall, looking down over the breath-taking city of Durakdur. It looked as though the mountain had been hollowed out, and a city was built in its place. Everywhere Calen looked, stone walkways and bridges weaved through the city, connecting innumerable stone courtyards and platforms.
Barely an inch of rock wall had been left untouched. The walkways ran everywhere, with doors and tunnels all along them that led deeper into the mountain.
Lanterns emitting a greenish-blue hue were alight everywhere Calen looked. They were suspended from chains, mounted on walls, and set in doorways. He had never seen a light that colour before. It had a kind of
ethereal beauty. Directly across from the platform, on the other side of the cavernous city, a monstrous waterfall cascaded down to the lower levels.
The low, sonorous bellow of horns filled Calen's ears. He had been so taken away by the sheer beauty of the sprawling city that he had failed to look closer to where he stood.
Just below the platform was a huge stone landing. It was connected to the platform by a double staircase adorned with statues of dwarves in heavy, sharp-cut armour, hefting axes, spears, and swords. The landing was crammed. Two columns of armoured soldiers stood on either side of a small group that waited at the bottom of the staircase.
The dwarves were shorter than the average man of Epheria, but not by the distance that Calen knew from legend. The tallest stood at around five and a half feet. Their faces were as gruff and varied as the stories said, though. Some had thick, squashed noses, while others were sharp and thin.
Some had skin as pale as the winter snow, while others looked charred and ashen.
All the men had beards, which were as varied as their faces. Some were short and red, kept tidy with meticulous care. Others ranged from a hundred different shades of blonde and brown, to the darkest of jet. Some were braided, some were tied in intricate patterns, some reached their knees, and some didn't pass their chest. All of them – even the women – wore bronze, silver, and golden rings tied carefully throughout their hair.
The soldiers at either side of the staircase wore thick plates of armour over coats of shimmering mail. Their helmets were blocky and sharp-cut, leaving space over their eyes, with a bridge of metal that shielded their noses. Each of them held a ferocious, twin-bladed axe hefted over their shoulders.
At the front of both columns of soldiers, the axes were replaced with long brass horns. Four distinct sets of flags hung from the horns. Calen recognised each one from Therin's teaching. The crimson and gold flag, emblazoned with an intricately crafted hammer, and four stars positioned above it in a semi-circle, was the flag of Durakdur. The green and silver flag with an anvil wreathed in flowers belonged to Azmar. The flag that bore black, crossed axes with a white backdrop was Ozryn's. And the yellow and black flag with a horned helmet at the fore was Volkur's.
Four dwarves stood at the foot of the staircase: three women and one man. They didn't wear plates of armour and mail like the soldiers did. All
four wore an odd mixture of leathers and silks. Their shoulders were padded out and a cuirass of leather covered their chests, which flowed down into a silken garment not dissimilar to a skirt. All four heads were adorned with intricate crowns of the finest gold.
The woman at the front of the group stepped forward. Her hair was a flowing straw-blonde, with scattered silver and gold rings laced throughout.
She had a beauty about her. She radiated confidence, and her eyes were fierce.
"Welcome," she said, "to the Dwarven Freehold. I am Queen Kira of Durakdur." The sweetness of her voice surprised Calen. She bowed slightly at the hip, though not deeply enough for it to be born of respect. It was more of formality.
"Your presence here is most welcome. I am King Hoffnar of Volkur." The man wore his dark hair short, only long enough to drop down over his forehead. His face was angular and free of cuts or blemishes, yet he moved like a soldier. Were it not for the friendly smile he wore, Calen might have reached for his blade.
"I am Queen Elenya of the dwarven kingdom of Ozryn. Your swords are welcome under our roof." Elenya was a warrior. If her words did not give that away, she was the only one of the four who carried a weapon; a short throwing axe strapped to her belt. Her hair was like a roaring fire, wild and untamed. It cascaded down over her shoulders and back, reaching near to her elbows. The hardness in her face unsettled Calen.
The last of the four was Pulroan, the queen of Azmar. Her blonde hair was tied back behind her head in braids. She was a stocky woman. The furrows in her skin and lashings of grey through her hair clearly marked her as the senior of the other three.
"Thank you for your kind welcomes," Arthur said, bowing at the hip. "As you know, I bring with me today, esteemed guests. Two, you have met many times before. One has never graced these halls. May I present to you Calen Bryer, the first Draleid free of Lorian influence since the fall of The Order and the first new Draleid in four hundred years."
Arthur stepped aside, waving him forward. Calen was not sure what to do. He wished that he were better at listening. Therin had probably told him precisely what to expect four times over. There was so much to take in, so many customs and traditions. It was as if each new piece of information forced something else back out of his mind to make space. Everybody
stared at him expectantly. He tried to remember the greeting that Therin had told him. It was in his head somewhere.
"Your Majesties, thank you for welcoming us into your halls. From Valerys and I, may your fires never be extinguished and your blades never dull." He tripped over his words a bit, but he was sure he had gotten it right.
Valerys mirrored him with a low rumble. He spread his wings to their fullest.
All the four – except for Kira, who had a twist of impatience on her face
– smiled back at him warmly. "May your fire never be extinguished and your blade never dull," they chorused, though Kira's words lacked the verve that the others possessed.
Calen saw a look of satisfaction on Aeson's face, which was mirrored on Arthur's.
"Please," Hoffnar said, catching Kira with a sideways glance, "let us escort you to the Heart. We have much to discuss. Have you eaten? We can arrange for food to be prepared."
"Food would be—" Oleg clamped his lips shut after a glare from Arthur.
The king seldom chastised those who served him, but Calen was beginning to notice a steeliness to him. Although Oleg was the dwarven emissary, he was now in the company of kings and queens. It was his turn to bite his tongue.
"That is quite all right, Hoffnar," Arthur said. "We left for the Wind Tunnels as soon as we received your message. Our bellies might rumble a touch, but we can wait for supper. As we are all aware, ever since our companions returned from their voyage, the empire has held a blockade some three days' march from Belduar. With their intentions not yet determined, and with the arrival of the Draleid, I'm sure you can appreciate the need for haste."
"That I can," Hoffnar replied.
The route through the city wound from walkway to bridge and through numerous open squares. Most of the squares were completely cleared ahead of time – armoured soldiers stood waiting on each – but Calen could see throngs of dwarves lining the walkways above, staring down over the procession that weaved its way through the city.
A harsh whoosh sound drew Calen's attention to the air above him. A Wind Runner shot from the mouth of a tunnel overhead, soared through the
sky, then flew perfectly into the open mouth of another tunnel. The machines truly were incredible.
He remembered Therin saying that no matter how hard they tried, no mage had ever been able to make themselves fly. Nobody was sure why, but it was the way. To Calen, it looked as though the dwarves had come as close as was possible.
The procession stopped at an enormous set of wooden doors. They could have been the twins of the doors that marked the entrance of the keep in Belduar, were it not for the intricate carvings inlaid in the wood.
One of the soldiers stepped from his column and strode over to the doors.
"Open the gates!" he bellowed. "Queen Kira has returned." Without waiting for a response, he fell back into his column. A stiff creak rumbled through the air as the doors crept open, struggling under their own weight. The doors gave way to a courtyard. It was at least the match of the inner circle in Belduar, except this one was surrounded by buildings. Each was carved from slabs of smooth stone, gilt lacing their edges.
The entrance to the courtyard was framed by a colonnade of pedestals, with one of those strange lanterns placed on top of each one. It was only then that Calen realised the lanterns around the city did not contain candles, but flowers. Inside each lantern were bunches of small flowers, the petals of which glowed with a vivid, bluish-green light.
"Heraya's Ward," the Queen of Azmar, Pulroan, said as she stood beside Calen, a warm smile touching her weary face. "The gods' gift of light in the darkest of places. Little natural light touches the heart of mountains, and although the Wind Tunnels provide air flow, we must reserve open flames for the kitchens and the forges."
"The entire city is lit by—"
"Yes, my child, by flowers. I quite enjoy the notion of it." Before Calen could respond, Pulroan pottered on, joining the other dwarven rulers at the front of the group.
In the very centre of the yard stood a fountain, with a statue of a woman in a long flowing robe, with a circlet atop her head. The woman held a small jug, from which the water flowed. Calen recognised the statue of Heraya – the Mother, the Waters of Life flowing from her jug.
Kira turned to the procession. "The Heart of Durakdur."
The Heart was a city all on its own. On the far side of the square, an armourer hammered away at a piece of mail. The orange glow from the
forge behind him cast an enmity against the bluish-green glow of the lanterns. Beside the armourer was a fruit seller. The colours and shapes of her fruit put even Arthur's feast to shame. They gleamed in vivid oranges, ocean blues, and one of the oblong fruits was even purple. Servants and officials darted around, dressed in crimson and gold livery carrying silks, scrolls, jewellery, and a wide assortment of other trinkets.
"Captain," Kira said, addressing the armoured dwarf who had ordered the doors open, "please disperse the guard. May your fire never be extinguished and your blade never dull."
"At once, my Queen," the soldier replied, mimicking the salutation.
The sound of so many heavily armoured men moving in unison filled the chamber until they moved far enough away that it was only a faint murmur in the background.
"Please, let us continue. The council chamber is just this way." Kira led the group through the many streets and squares of the Heart. She stopped, passing servants in their livery, doling out instructions wherever she went. It seemed to Calen that she was the unofficial leader of the council – or, at the least, she thought herself to be.
Unlike Arthur, she carried herself in the way that Calen had expected of a monarch. Her shoulders were thrown back, and her chin was just a touch higher in the air than anybody else's. Even for one of such a short stature, she managed to make her strides long and purposeful.
As they made their way through the city within a city, Calen noticed that it wasn't just dwarves that resided within Durakdur; there were elves and humans as well. Though there were not many, there were enough to be noticeable. It was not something that Therin had mentioned.
"Mages," Aeson replied when Calen asked who the men and elves were.
"Far more than all other cultures, dwarves value magic above most other things. They cannot touch the Spark themselves, for reasons unknown to even the most voracious of scholars. Despite this, the dwarves have always embraced magic wholeheartedly. I suppose it is their way. They see the value of things, big and small. Mages are held in high esteem here in the Freehold and in dwarven cities beyond. It is where a lot of young mages come when they are shunned by the world or on the run from the empire. If they are lucky."
Perhaps it was because, up until a few weeks ago, Therin was the only elf Calen had ever met – well, the only non-human Calen had ever met – but to
see so many different races in one place seemed odd to him.
Calen had been so engrossed by what was going on around him, he only just realised that everyone they passed in the street stared at them. Not in the way you would expect people to stop and watch a foreign delegation or to admire their queen; they openly gawked, with wide-open mouths and eyes that looked as though they may pop from their heads.
A shriek, growing closer to a deep growl, reminded Calen what they were gawking at. Even there – miles inside a mountain city, surrounded by dwarves, elves, mages, and a particularly hulking giant – Valerys stood apart. They had seen giants before. At least, they had seen Asius. Magic was in their every day. All the things that overawed Calen were normalities to them. Yet, they had never seen a dragon. Calen had to conceal a smile when Valerys shrieked sharply at a dwarf whose eyes had lingered just a touch too long.
It did not take long before they found themselves in front of a large stone building, with a domed roof, set into a sweeping rock face. The building itself stood over fifty feet tall, nearly two hundred feet across, and was cut from smooth grey stone. Two giant square doors, that looked as though they were cast in solid gold, were set into the front of the building. Halfway up the building, on either side of the doors, were a multitude of alcoves. Each housed beautifully carved statues of dwarven men and women in the same dress as the rulers that stood beside Calen.
"The Chamber of the Council," Kira announced matter-of-factly as they entered the enormous building and made their way to a large circular room.
In the centre of the room stood a raised, semi-circular dais with four thrones. Behind each of the thrones hung a massive banner, each bearing the colours and sigils of one of the four kingdoms of the Dwarven Freehold.
Six evenly spaced alcoves were set into the wall behind the dais, in a matching semi-circle. In each of the alcoves stood a statue. Each one was at least ten feet tall by Calen's measure. He recognised them all immediately.
Statues of the gods.
Their placing was interesting. In all depictions of the gods that Calen knew, Varyn and Heraya, the Mother and the Father, always stood beside each other. But here, it was Heraya and Hafaesir, the Smith, who stood side by side, set into the alcoves directly behind the dais. Achyron and Elyara, the Warrior and the Maiden, stood on either side of them. Varyn and Neron, the Sailor, were set into alcoves at the end.
Calen couldn't help but think that the room was designed in such a way as to intimidate whoever had been granted an audience with the council. As much as he tried to fight it, it was working. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was in over his head. Over the past few days, the more he thought about it, the more he couldn't help but think that he was nothing more than a bargaining chip to be passed back and forth between powerful rulers.
That's all he seemed to be to everyone. Arthur, despite his outward friendliness, only wanted him to help convince the dwarves to come to Belduar's aid if the empire attacked. Despite what Therin had said, the elves were only using him to grow their honour. Aeson had manipulated him from the start, steering him to Belduar at every turn. Calen did not know what the dwarves wanted from him, but he was sure they wanted something. Only Dann, Erik, and Rist had not asked anything of him. He had allowed one of them to be taken, and the other two he left in Belduar.
"Now," Elenya said, her fiery hair rippling in the odd light from the lanterns that hung in the chamber. "First, Arthur, King of Belduar. You have come here to ask something of us. Please, what is it you require?"
Arthur stepped forward from the group, his bravado never faltering.
Somehow, even as he stood below the raised dais, the four dwarven rulers looking down over him, he seemed in control. "As you all know, the Lorian Empire has set a blockade less than three days' march from Belduar. This has not happened in over fifty years, and even then, the force was a quarter the size of the current blockade. My scouts report that, in the past few weeks, their numbers have swollen with local levies from Illyanara and now count over twenty thousand strong, with many mages among their number. I believe they are planning to lay siege to the city."
Pulroan and Hoffnar both stifled a gasp. Neither Kira nor Elenya allowed any reaction to touch their faces.
"All I ask," Arthur continued, "is that, should my fears be true, the dwarves of the Freehold aid in the defence of Belduar."
"All that you ask?" Kira remarked in an openly mocking tone. "You know as well as any, Arthur, that no dwarf of the Freehold has left the shelter of these mountains since the fall of The Order. Nearly four hundred years. Why do you think that is?"
"I have my ideas," Aeson muttered.
Kira did not await Arthur's reply. "It is so the empire would not hunt us down and torch our race from these lands, like they did to the giants."
For the first time since they met, Calen saw anger in Asius's eyes.
Kira caught it too. "No offence was meant, Asius, my friend. I am simply trying to be honest."
As quickly as the anger had appeared on Asius's face, it was gone. "None is taken, Kira."
Kira gave a thankful nod. "If we march our armies from these mountains, we open ourselves to the empire's eyes. I am sorry, Arthur, but Durakdur's answer is no. Your city has survived without our soldiers until now. It will continue to do so."
Calen saw a brief flash of anger on Arthur's face, quickly concealed by a furtive grin. His voice raised, not by much but noticeably enough to make the other rulers sit straighter in their thrones. "The empire already knows that you are here, oh, Queen of Durakdur."
Calen couldn't help but wince at the mocking tone in Arthur's voice. He did not know the queen like Arthur did, but from what he did know, she was not the kind of woman he wanted to see angry.
"They do not believe that it was the craftsmen of Belduar who constructed those Bolt Throwers or built the great walls of the city, nor do they forget the past. If Belduar falls, the kingdoms of the Dwarven Freehold will be next." That drew some angry gasps, even from the guards around the outer rim of the chamber.
"I will remind you where you stand, King of Belduar." Elenya's face was fury as the tips of her fingers stroked the head of her axe. Then the fury gave way to a face of calm. "Though, I am inclined to agree. They do not forget our existence, nor do our tunnels and mountain walls protect us. We must simply look to the dwarves of Kolmir to see that is true. May Hafaesir guide them."
"May Hafaesir guide them," the other dwarves chorused.
"Well, what is it you suggest, Elenya? Please, do tell." Kira's taut voice suggested that she and the queen of Ozryn did not see eye-to-eye.
Elenya sat forward in her seat. "Let the Draleid speak."
Calen froze.
Kira stroked her chin absently for a moment, then turned to Calen. "Yes.
What do you say, Draleid?"
Calen's throat was suddenly devoid of moisture. He glanced at Aeson, whose face was a twisted grimace. He was not going to get help there.
There was an expectancy in Arthur's eyes, as though he knew that this is
what it was always going to come down to. Calen should have known it too, but he had been naïve. They planned this. Anger bubbled over in his belly.
If looks could kill, Arthur would be dead where he stood, and judging by the king's face, he understood that.
Calen stepped forward to address the dwarven rulers. He was glad when Valerys moved up beside him, a low rumble emanating from his throat.
That put the dwarves off-kilter. "What is it that you want me to say? Your mind is already made up."
"So, you will say nothing?" Kira's eyes narrowed. She shifted in her throne.
"That is not what I—"
"Is this what you hoped for?" Kira interrupted, turning to the other dwarven rulers. "A child with a dragon that is only the size of a goat?"
"What are you—" Calen felt rage swell inside him as Kira cut him off once more.
"How is he to face the Dragonguard, never mind lead our armies? He would flee at the sight of a fully grown dragon. He is but a spoiled brat pretending to be a hero. Look at him now. Look at the petulance."
Calen bit his lip. He could feel the Spark. Touch it. The warmth of it pulled at the back of his mind, urging him.
Something touched his shoulder. It was Asius's hand. Calen looked up at the giant, who simply shook his head, a knowing look in his eye. Calen let the Spark fade away, but the anger remained.
"Did you just call me here to insult me?" he roared. He felt the anger burning off Valerys; it fed his own. The dragon's lips pulled back in a snarl, baring his razor-sharp teeth. The frills on the back of his neck had grown longer in recent weeks and now stood on end. "Is this the honour of dwarves?"
"Now, now!" shouted Pulroan. It was the first time she had spoken. "You overstep."
A sly smirk spread across Kira's face.
"The both of you," Pulroan sniped. She no longer seemed placid. She looked as though she could shatter stone with a word. "You are both children, and you have much to learn." She turned her glare to Kira, emphasising the point.
"Draleid, understand me. There is a lot that rests on your shoulders. A lot that you do not yet understand. These men that brought you here, they did
so with the hope that simply your existence would inspire the dwarven kingdoms to return to the surface and aid them in the war they have yearned for since the fall of The Order. It is not that simple. There is no prophecy.
Your coming was not foretold, and we will no longer blindly follow those who wield the power you will one day possess.
"It was men and women like you, humans and elves, who brought our civilisation to its knees and drove us from the sun. It was Draleid who turned on their brothers and sisters. It was Draleid who stood behind Fane Mortem. Drove the elves from their cities. Hunted the giants to near extinction. We need to know the depth of your character. We need to know who you are. Although, some among us reveal enough about themselves in the methods they use."
The elder dwarf sat back in her throne, her chest rising and falling heavily. She sighed and pulled a small cloth from her pocket, wiping the sweat from her time-furrowed brow.
There was silence in the hall. All eyes rested on Calen. He took a deep breath. He remembered what his mother once told him. You will only knowyour true friends once they know you truly. "I am sorry," he said, and he was. "I am sorry for what was done by those who came before me. For what happened to your people." Calen turned to Asius. "And to yours."
The giant gave a slight bow of his head.
"The empire took my family as well. They killed my mother, my father, my sister. They took one of my closest friends. The first time I killed a man, I felt sick to my stomach. I counted every life I took. I have stopped counting now, but I haven't forgotten. Until now, all I wanted was revenge.
I wanted the men who took my family from me… I wanted them dead. In honesty, I still do, but now, I want more.
"Still in Belduar, there are five elves who pledged an oath to protect me, without even knowing who I truly was. I want to become a man they are proud to protect. I want their oath to mean something. I want to earn their trust, as I want to earn yours. I might be a child to you, but I promise you one thing: I will bleed for you. I will not stop fighting until my lungs give way, and neither will Valerys." Calen hadn't noticed his voice rising as he spoke, but he couldn't help it. His heart pounded in his chest, and his blood rushed like fire through his veins. The rumble in Valerys's throat reverberated through the hall, a deep growl. "I will stand on the walls of
Belduar if the empire attacks. I will be there. I didn't want this. I certainly didn't ask for it, but it is what fate has given me, and I will not walk away."
Calen paused for a moment, considering. "You want to know my character, show me yours!"