FALMIN WAS TRUE TO HIS word. The Crested Wave was ready to launch in five minutes, not a minute less or a minute more. The man knew his craft.
Kira had brought all one thousand of the Queensguard with her. To bring more would have required the agreement of the other council members, and that was something they didn't have time for. She had also sent for more navigators, but that was something else that they didn't have time to wait for.
The Crested Wave could fit two hundred at the most, as long as everyone was standing and didn't mind a few bruises along the way. Even that number sent Falmin into a flustered temper. He flounced onto the vessel, muttering to himself, "They always think they know everything… Never listen… 'Just do it, Falmin.' I'll show you where to…"
Kira, Aeson, Calen, Valerys, and Asius went first, piling in as many of the Queensguard as was practical. Asius's size meant a few less dwarves.
The others would follow when the rest of the navigators arrived.
Oleg stayed behind to "coordinate."
The trip back up to Belduar was far less comfortable than the trip down.
It was impossible to tell whether they were going faster or not, but it certainly felt like they were. More than once, Calen was lucky to avoid the nick of a loosely held axe as the Crested Wave jostled from side to side, bouncing off the smooth tunnels. Valerys nearly tore strips from the platform as he attempted to keep himself steady.
As they approached the landing in Belduar, the din of fighting echoed down the tunnel. Calen felt the atmosphere around him change as everyone on the Crested Wave readied their heads for what was to come.
Chaos.
The attacks in Durakdur were quiet and calculated. Belduar was under siege. The courtyard that fronted the Wind Tunnels was a meat grinder full of bodies, dead and alive. Calen couldn't tell Belduaran from Lorian. All he saw was steel and blood. Men howled battle cries, screamed in pain, wailed in death. Calen saw threads of Fire, Wind, and Earth everywhere he looked as mages on both sides reaped maelstroms of destruction.
The dwarves leapt from the platform as soon as the rings ceased spinning. Their short legs belied their speed as they bounded across the rope bridge and onto the landing, leaping into the frenzy of the courtyard below.
"This is madness…" Aeson said, furrowing his brow. "How is it even possible? How did they get past the walls?"
"We can ask them that when they're dead," Kira replied as she bounded off the platform. She sliced through an imperial soldier as she landed, as if he were made of dry paper.
She is insane.
Except for a passing glance, Aeson paid her no heed. "We need to get to the Inner Circle."
Calen was incredulous. "What about here? We can't just leave them!"
"We need to get to the king. If we don't, then these people die for nothing." Aeson held Calen's gaze for a long moment, as if daring him to challenge. When he didn't, Aeson nodded across the courtyard, to one of the six entrances that lined the southern edge of the yard. "That passageway leads to the main street. We can get to the bridge from there and cross to the Inner Circle."
He didn't wait for a response but leapt down from the platform into the yard, expecting the rest to follow. The group cut their way through the fighting, never stopping. But if a blade could be raked across someone, it was. About halfway across the yard, Calen caught Kira's eye as she heaved her axe from the chest of a behemoth of a man. He didn't need to say anything.
"Go!" she roared, separating head from shoulders as she spun her axe in a sideways arc.
They got to the other side of the yard and into the passageway relatively unscathed. Asius was the only one who seemed to earn any new marks. A thin slice trickled blood down his left thigh. He didn't seem to notice.
The passage opened into the double-sided street they had come down a few days before on their way to the tunnels. It had looked a lot different then. Not tainted by the blood of the dead, and the screams of the dying.
Calen sidestepped a frenzied strike, slicing the man across the back as he slipped past him. Something itched at him. Something wasn't right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. "Aeson!" Calen roared over the shouts and screams of the pitched battle. "The walls!"
Aeson looked at him as if he had lost his mind, shrugging wordlessly.
A heavy shield to the chest knocked stars into Calen's eyes. He shook his head as he steadied himself for the second blow. A shimmering white blur took the man by the neck. Calen frowned as he leapt over the man's body.
Fury pulsated from Valerys.
"The walls, Aeson! There's nobody on the walls!" Calen grabbed Aeson's shoulder, shoving him into place, so he could look down to the lowest tier of the outer circle. The walls were empty, the gates barred and locked shut. There had been no fighting there. The empire had not fought their way into the city; they had been let in.
Calen saw the moment when it clicked. The man nodded, a coldness in his eyes. "Come on."
Asius carried on, carving his way up the street. His glowing red níthral pulsated in the shape of an axe in his hand. Most stepped out of his way.
They had never seen a giant before, but they knew well enough to steer clear.
As they cut their way through the street, Calen's joints ached, and his muscles groaned. Even with his training, he still felt the drain from the Spark. He hadn't thought earlier. It was the first thing that came to his head.
He was growing stronger, though. He could feel it.
Up ahead, two figures stood amidst a mass of soldiers. Dahlen and Erik were unmistakable. The two brothers stood back-to-back, their twin blades drawn, whirling in and out of pockets of Lorian soldiers before slotting back together. They looked tired, though. Calen saw it in the way they stood. They would not last much longer.
One nod from Aeson, and Asius waved his hands, whipping swathes of Lorian soldiers off their feet with threads of Air, clearing the way to the brothers.
"It's about time you got here." There was a cheeky smirk on Erik's face.
Even then, with a deep gash along his side, and his face painted in blood, he seemed unphased. It seemed unnatural to Calen. Though, he remembered a time when the idea of taking a man's life turned his stomach. Now…
"What happened?" The coldness didn't leave Aeson's eyes.
Erik shrugged. "We were in our chambers when we heard the bells ringing. By the time we got to the courtyard in the inner circle, it was already consumed. It was like they crept in from the sewers. The others are still up there. We fought our way down with some soldiers to try and clear the Wind Tunnels." Erik panted when he finished.
The fighting around them had begun to die down as the Belduarans gained the upper hand.
"Kira and the dwarves are down by the Wind Tunnels. They need help.
Gather these men and go. We're heading up to the Inner Circle. Have you seen the king?"
Dahlen pursed his lips, a frown creasing his brow, but he did not argue.
"He must be in the hall." He and Erik turned back to the remaining soldiers.
"To the Wind Tunnels! For the king!" Shouts and cries rang out in response.
The fighting had thinned out by the time they reached the stone bridge that separated the Inner and Outer circles. It was gargantuan – two hundred feet across and wide enough for four carts to ride side-by-side. Calen couldn't bring himself to look over the edge the last time he had crossed it, and that hadn't changed. It was deep enough that if he stumbled off, nobody would hear him hit the bottom.
For the most part, the bridge was empty. Anyone unfortunate enough to be standing in Asius's way, though, was wrapped in threads of Air and tossed off the side. Calen didn't hear them hit the bottom, but their screams echoed all the way to the other side of the bridge.
The sound of fighting poured through the half-open gate as they reached the walls of the Inner Circle. The harsh ringing of metal melded with the howls and screams of men who stared death in the face. The waft of air was putrid; sweat and dirt mixed with the metallic twinge of blood.
Calen took a minute to steady himself before he followed Aeson and Asius through to the gate. In the heat of everything, he had pushed it to the back of his mind – the fear of death, the urge to vomit – but standing at the gates, his stomach felt as though it might tear itself from his body. His knees shook. He took a deep breath before he strode through the gate.
Valerys was quick on his heels.
The yard was madness. Were it not for the purple cloaks of the Kingsguard, he would not have been able to tell friend from foe in the mass of bodies that consumed the wide-open space. The Bolt Throwers atop the towers were blazing infernos of orange and red, smoke billowing into the night sky.
Calen arched his head down as he avoided a swinging blade, taking the man's legs from under him as he followed through. He couldn't move five feet without having to swing his blade. He saw the towering figure of Asius
about twenty feet ahead. His shimmering red axe swung through the air, slicing limb from limb as if it were the will of the gods itself.
Calen felt the drain in his muscles, the lethargy that soaked into his shoulders with every swing of his blade. Drawing on the Spark, even as little as he did, was taking its toll. Yet, the giant seemed unaffected as he weaved through the mass of men like a maelstrom of death. There was no doubt in Calen's mind that Aeson was right there beside him.
They needed to get to the other side of the yard. The king would be in the hall. Though, it seemed strange that he was not in the yard, bellowing at the top of his lungs, spurring his men on in the battle's heart. Arthur did not seem the type to shy away from battle.
There was a ringing noise in Calen's ears. He yanked his head backwards, but were it not for Ellisar's blade, his head would no longer be fixed to his shoulders. The elf whirled around him. Using his momentum, he sliced through the arm of the man who had nearly closed Calen's eyes.
A nod between the two was enough. The elf had looked better. His silvery hair was mottled with a mixture of dry and wet blood. Two long cuts raked his right arm, just above his leather greaves, and he carried a limp, though it didn't seem to impede him much.
"The others?" Calen shouted, despite his mouth being almost pressed into Ellisar's ear. The cacophony of the fighting would have swallowed any sound less than a roar.
Ellisar gave a quick tilt of his head, nodding toward the centre of the yard. It was the same direction as the great hall. Calen immediately chastised himself for even considering the idea that he might not have gone to his companions had they not been in that direction. He needed to get to Aeson and Asius – he needed to get to Arthur – but there were certain costs he was not willing to pay.
With Ellisar at his side, making ground was a lot easier. Despite his limp, the elf glided through the madness. His long, slightly curved sword swept death with every stroke. It was strange to see a blade that looked like his own. He hadn't really thought about it until Gaeleron had mentioned it. He had not understood what Gaeleron meant when he said that he needed to learn how to fight with an elven blade. To Calen, a sword was a sword.
Even sparring with Gaeleron, he saw little difference. But watching Ellisar, he understood. There was an elegance to the way he moved. If death could be beautiful, this was as close as it could come.
Calen felt a shiver of disdain at his own thoughts. Death could not be beautiful. As he looked around the courtyard, past the contorted faces and howling battle cries, past the whirs of steel and cracking of bodies colliding, the ground was littered with the dead. Some were missing arms or legs, some… more. The stone was stained so thoroughly with blood that no amount of scrubbing could ever wipe it clean. One man dragged himself across the ground by his fingertips, his entrails leaking from his stomach.
Spurts of blood muffled his screams, but Calen saw the pain etched into his face.
Death cannot be beautiful.
Calen hardened himself and pushed it down – the sickness, the nausea, the sadness. Death could not be beautiful, but sometimes, it was necessary.
He swung his blade in a parry, whirling around and separating arm from shoulder. Sometimes, it is necessary.
By the time they caught up to Aeson and Asius, Dann was standing at the giant's side. He looked as though he had been beaten within an inch of his life. Even so, Calen was beyond happy to see him. The idea that something could have happened to Dann hadn't really come into Calen's mind until he saw his friend alive. His clothes were in tatters, there was an open gash on the side of his head, and a reddish stain had spread through his shirt, but he was alive.
He greeted Calen with a tight grimace and a nod.
Calen didn't have to ask.
"The twins are somewhere over there," Dann shouted, tilting his head towards the western side of the yard. "They went after Therin. I haven't seen Gaeleron or Vaeril."
There was a grim look on Dann's face. It was the same look that Calen knew was on his own. The blood on Dann's shirt hadn't stopped spreading.
Aeson caught Calen's gaze. "He'll live. The hall."
"He's hurt! I'm not letting—"
"Calen! Now is not the time for this." Aeson glared at Calen, his cold eyes unwavering. He turned his attention to Dann. "Can you keep going?"
Dann gave a half-hearted nod. Calen wanted to argue again, but his words got stuck in his throat as a Lorian soldier charged him with a spear outstretched. Calen's feet were planted, and he knew he wouldn't be able to move quickly enough. He took in a deep breath.
In a crimson flash, the man's body split in two from shoulder to hip, slopping to the ground mid-run. Calen looked up to see an acknowledging nod from Asius. "You go to the hall. I am needed here. The battle teeters on the edge." The giant did not wait for a response. He waded through the thick of the bodies, swinging his axe in measured strokes.
"I'm glad he's on our side," Dann said, wincing as he puffed out his cheeks.
Calen held Dann's gaze. "Dann, are you sure you can—"
"Calen. I'll be okay."
Slow and steady, the four of them cut their way to the foot of the steps that led up to the great hall. Valerys loped along beside them, clawing at legs and tearing through men who were unfortunate enough to have fallen in his path.
With each foot gained, Calen grew to appreciate Ellisar's presence. The elf was stuck to him, never allowing him to drift more than two or three feet away. At any other time, Calen would have complained; not now. Ellisar had kept Calen's heart beating more than once, where otherwise he would have been lying on the cold stone, having never seen the blow coming.
Bodies littered the steps that led up to the keep. The acrid smell of death was more pungent when it wasn't mingled with the heat of battle. An involuntary heave made Calen catch vomit in his mouth, but he choked it back down.
He twisted his body sideways as a warning flashed in his head from Valerys. A searing pain burned through his side as the blade bit into his skin. Calen stumbled backwards from the shock. His fingers fumbled for purchase on the handle of his sword as he moved to block the next strike. A whoosh passed his head as an arrow plunged into his attacker's eye, spurting blood as he fell to the floor. He shook for a moment, then lay still.
Calen's heart hammered against his chest so hard that it hurt. Valerys stood beside the man's head. A deep growl bubbled in his throat as he watched for signs of movement.
Therin bounded up the steps. He pulled another arrow from his quiver and nocked it as his eyes swept the landing. He lowered it ever so slightly when he was satisfied. "Are we going in?"
Aeson nodded.
Calen felt a hand on his shoulder. "What's in there, Calen?" There was a look on Dann's face that Calen hadn't seen before. Fear. His eyes were
sunken, his shoulders were drooped, and his hand was clasped against his ribcage.
"The king." Calen tried to sound as confident as he could, but inside, his heart beat like a horse at a gallop, and his sword hand shook every time he lost focus. He needed to be strong for Dann.
The hall looked much the same, except the purple and gold banners fell flat, drooping down from their mounts. The torches seemed dimmer in their sconces. Everywhere he looked, his eyes fell on the bodies of slain Kingsguard. A chill ran through Calen's body. The farther they walked into the hall, the deeper the light retreated.
"There is a dark magic here," Therin muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
The sound of their footsteps and the click-clack of Valerys's claws on the smooth stone echoed through the halls, piercing the otherwise eerie silence.
Calen knew that at the end of the hall was Arthur's throne, perched on its raised dais, even if, at that moment, it was shrouded in the absence of light.
"It is about time."
The voice carried through the empty hall, scratching at the air. It hissed from all sides, but Calen knew where it came from. He didn't have to look at Dann to see the fear on his face. It was the same fear that Calen felt when he heard that voice for the first time in the mountain pass.
Even as they drew closer to the dais, it became no clearer. Blackness enveloped everything outside arm's reach. Calen waved away his mind's idea to create a baldír; it was less than useless the last time. They pressed on, but the voice didn't stop.
"You're too late… Far too late."
The dais couldn't have been more than twenty feet away, though it was impossible to tell. There was an unfamiliar nervousness in Dann's voice as he whispered, "Calen… that doesn't sound like the king…"
Calen didn't reply; he didn't get the chance. Without warning, the darkness peeled back, as if it were a shroud of fog retreating with the dawn.
Calen gasped as the dissipating darkness revealed even more corpses. The entire hall was covered in the bodies of Belduaran soldiers, those who had come to protect their king.
The Fade stood at the foot of the dais, its black hooded cloak draped over its shoulders. The blue swirls that adorned the cloak shimmered in the firelight, dancing with the flickers from the sconces. Beside the Fade was a
young man, suspended by threads of Air that were twisted around his arms and legs. His mouth was forced shut, but his eyes were screaming. Fear muddled with sadness. Tears streamed down his cheeks. It was Daymon, the king's son.
"By the gods…" There was a tremor in Aeson's voice, a weakness that sounded alien coming from that man's lips. Calen's eyes settled on the throne. It was Arthur.
The king sat in his throne. Even in death, he looked every bit the king he was. His golden crown rested on his head, just above the white wings that streaked through his blackish-grey hair. His coat was a deep purple, the edges trimmed with gilt. On the left side of Arthur's chest, where his heart should have been, was a gaping wound the size of a man's fist. The blood that stained the front of the king's coat and trousers was dry.
The Fade stepped closer, drawing his hood back. Its shoulder length-hair was as black as its cloak, as black as its soul-drinking eyes. Its near-translucent skin sent a shiver down the back of Calen's neck. Its brittle lips cracked as they moved. "It seems the Hand could not carry out their task."
Irritation flashed across the Fade's face as its black pools cast their gaze across the group. "No matter," it said, flicking its tongue across its teeth. "It is more satisfying to do these things yourself."
Calen couldn't take his eyes off Arthur. His mind was awash with guilt.
The man came to him earlier that night, and Calen had ignored him. Arthur had treated him well, and Calen all but spat his apology back in his face.
Now he was dead.
"He died quickly," the Fade hissed, a wicked grin on it's face. "I can't say I will do the same with his offspring, though."
The Fade clicked its tongue off the roof of its mouth as it surveyed the scene. "I can give you a chance to save him, though," the Fade said, looking straight at Calen. "What do you say, Draleid? " It spat out the word , as if the taste of it was bitter on its tongue. "Do you think you can save the son, like you failed to save the father ?"
"Don't listen to a word it says, Calen." Therin didn't look at Calen. His bow was slung over his back, but Calen felt him touching the Spark. He felt that familiar shiver at this back of his neck.
Aeson stood there, a grim expression on his face, each hand fastened tightly around the hilts of his swords. Fear was etched into Dann's face, but still, he held his bow, and his hands did not shake.
Ellisar stepped closer to Calen, both hands wrapped around the handle of his sword. "Stay behind me, Draleid. Do not let it goad you."
"Quiet, elf!" The Fade's voice seemed to rise and fall like the wind, booming throughout the hall on demand. "I grow bored of talking. Which of you is to die first?"
Calen felt the anger rolling over inside him as he looked towards Arthur's lifeless body. He was done letting the Fade decide everything. He bounded forward, swinging his sword over his head in a downward arc. It came to a jarring halt as the creature spun and reacted with inhuman speed, a sword wrought of black, pulsing fire held in his grasp.
Calen felt it. It was the same type of weapon that Asius used, a níthral. It looked different though. Asius's axe was smooth, more controlled, as if forged like steel. The Fade's blade was chaos incarnate. The flickers of black flame seemed to blow in a non-existent wind, twisting and spiralling of their own volition.
The creature's brittle lips twisted into a grin. Calen had to fight himself to drag his gaze away from its eyes. Those cavernous wells of black seemed intent on pulling his soul from his body.
Calen felt the Fade pull on threads of Air as he was hit by an invisible battering ram, thrown backwards in the air, then hammered into the ground.
A roaring pain erupted through his body. He shook the stars from his eyes just in time to see Valerys launch himself at the Fade.
A single swipe of the Fade's hand, sent Valerys crashing through a nearby pillar. Pain shot through Calen's head.
"No!" He couldn't stop the scream. It was part his own, part Valerys's.
He felt it; Valerys was alive, but his body ached in pain.
Before Calen could get to his feet, Aeson and Ellisar flashed past him.
They charged straight towards the Fade. The creature moved like a snake in long grass, its flickering blade snapping at them in a maelstrom of ferocious blows. Aeson and Ellisar were two of the most incredible swordsmen that Calen had ever seen – and even they did not have the time to consider going on the offensive. It was all they could do to keep the creature at bay.
Dann dropped to one knee, nocked an arrow, and sent it soaring through the air, where it plunged into the Fade's chest. Two more arrows followed, sinking into the Fade's belly and neck. But they didn't slow the creature; they only irritated it. While deflecting a strike from Therin, it pulled the
arrows from its body with threads of Air, then it reached out its hand. Arcs of purple lightning shot from its fingertips, crashing into Dann and launching him into the air. Fragments of stone flew in all directions as the lightning ripped through the ground.
"Go, help them!" roared Therin as he ran to where Dann's body had been thrown.
Calen dragged himself to his feet. His head and his heart pulled him in two directions. His heart urged him to run to Dann, but his head commanded him to help the others. He felt Valerys at the back of his mind, his pain and his anger. He felt his own heart beating – not racing, like it had been, but slow, purposeful. Calen steeled himself and charged at the Fade.
Even with the three of them throwing everything at it, the Fade continued to toy with them, striking them with hammer blows of Air and whips of Fire, turning their bodies into canvases of cuts and gashes. For every two strikes Calen deflected, three fresh cuts appeared on his arms or legs. Each one burned as well as sliced. He didn't want to give the Fade the satisfaction of his pain. But his body held no such grudge. He howled out more than once when the fiery black blade sliced through his skin like molten steel. Ellisar and Aeson did not fare any better. Numerous times, their blades sank into what should have been flesh, only to emerge without a drop of blood on their edge.
How?
Calen tried to strike back. He tried to draw from the Spark, but his mind could not focus. When it could, the Fade sliced at his threads with something unseen, cutting him off as if snipping the strings from a puppet.
How is that possible?
Without warning, the Fade drew on thick threads of Air and sent both Aeson and Ellisar hurtling in different directions. The creature snapped its neck around, its gaze fixed on Calen. "Fane wants you alive." The Fade's voice slithered off its tongue as it circled Calen. Its blade trailed along the ground, smoke rising where it cut into the stone. "But I think I would prefer you dead. It is cleaner. I have not yet decided."
I need to do something. I can't keep going like this.
Calen took a breath in, focusing his mind. He moved into the svidarya, dropping his legs into the wide stance of the Crouching Bear. As the Fade swung at him with his black-fire blade, Calen pounced. The creature was taken aback by the aggression. It immediately took a back step, sweeping
its blade across its chest to block Calen's strikes. Calen moved fluidly through the forms, losing himself in them.
"Keep pushing!" Ellisar leapt up from behind Calen, swinging his sword in a downward arc. Just as his sword collided with the Fade's black-fire blade, Aeson came charging from the other direction. The three of them redoubled their efforts, pushing harder and harder at the creature, not letting up. Maybe…just maybe.
"Enough!" The Fade twisted its hand into a fist before slamming it into the stone floor, sending a shockwave in all directions. Calen didn't feel it draw from the Spark, but somehow he was thrown backwards, crashing into one of the sprawling columns that lined the hall. He heaved himself to his feet, pushing the pain to the back of his head. But Ellisar had risen quicker.
Calen's heart sank into his stomach as he watched the black-fire blade arc through the air. He watched as Ellisar parried the first strike, and he dropped to his knees as the second swing separated the elf's head from his shoulders.
Ellisar's body dropped, lifeless, to the floor. He had given an oath to protect Calen. To follow him to the void or beyond. And that was exactly where Calen led him.
Calen's stomach lurched. He lifted himself to his feet. A mix of fury and fear burned through him as his feet carried him towards the Fade. He didn't even move to react as thick threads of Air pummelled into his chest. He hit the ground with an agonising crack.
"I might keep you," the Fade said as it stood over him. It cocked its head to the side, staring down at him with its dark eyes. "You could be an interesting… project. "
The Fade carried on muttering to itself, as if Calen weren't even there.
When Calen tried to get to his feet, he was slammed back to the floor.
Threads of Air pushed down against his chest and shoulders. The Fade barely gave a hint that it had noticed – just an irritated flash of its eyes – but the invisible weight that bore down on Calen's body was evidence enough.
Amidst the chaos, Calen remembered Daymon. The prince still floated in front of the throne, as he had since the darkness had peeled back, but his eyes were no longer filled with fear. They were following something by the corner of the throne.
Valerys.
The young dragon skulked around the dais, its head held low against the floor, like a wolfpine hunting its prey. Calen felt his pain. Every step sent fire through him. Fear filled every crack in Calen's mind. He couldn't lose Valerys. He couldn't lose anyone else, but especially not him. He cried out in his mind, urging the dragon to hide, but Valerys heeded no warnings. He moved closer to the Fade, every purposeful step like a burning knife, but Valerys didn't stop.
Just as the Fade began to turn, it howled in pain as a bolt of blue lightning slammed into its chest. Calen watched as Aeson charged at the Fade, his twin blades spinning in his hands. The two of them exchanged a flurry of blows. If the Fade had been a man, it would have died twice over.
But it wasn't. The mortal wounds that Aeson inflicted did nothing more than slow it down. Aeson, on the other hand, was a man. And his wounds were taking their toll on his already weary body.
Calen knew he needed to do something… anything. He reached out for the Spark. His energy was already fading, and his muscles burned, but there was nothing else he could do. The Fade spun on his heels. Even in that cold, dead face, Calen saw the anger. The outrage. As if he were disgusted that Calen would not simply resign himself to his fate.
The threads of Air holding him down pushed even harder. He felt his bones stressing under the weight. They felt as though they would shatter.
Valerys was behind the Fade now, and the creature didn't notice. He was too focused on Aeson and Calen.
Calen felt something in Valerys, something that he had not felt before. It was building, steadily. An enormous pressure. Without thinking, Calen kept reaching for the Spark. He focused his mind. Closing his eyes, he reached out. That ball of ever-moving energy. Its five elemental strands weaving around each other, twisting and pulsating, radiating power, like they had since the dawn of time. Calen reached. He pulled at the strands of Spirit and Fire. He didn't know why, but that was what he needed. He pulled at them, dragging threads into him, then funnelled them into Valerys. Even as the Fade pushed harder and harder, crushing Calen into the stone floor. He kept drawing from the Spark. He felt consciousness slipping from his grasp – his soul drifting away.
He couldn't take much more. Aeson needed to move. Calen screamed at the top of his lungs. "Aeson!"
Aeson didn't hesitate. He threw himself to the ground.
The pressure at the back of Calen's mind stopped. Valerys's head kicked back, and his chest expanded. A river of fire poured forth from the dragon's mouth, a torrent of flickering orange and red flame that consumed the Fade in its entirety. It howled, a piercing shriek like nothing else Calen had ever heard. It was as though its soul was being torn from its body. A feeling of intense power coursed through Calen as the fire cascaded from Valerys's jaws. In that moment, they were one. Calen pushed everything he had into Valerys, feeling the dragon's rage burn through him.
There was no way that anything could have survived, but still, the fear didn't seep from Calen's bones until he watched Daymon fall to the ground.
Until the flames lost their vigour and flickered out of existence, leaving only a pile of char and ash in their wake.
Therin's voice drummed on the edge of Calen's consciousness, as if the elf's head were underwater. He had drawn too deeply from the Spark. He knew it. He felt himself slipping away. His vision blurred. Calen felt a hand rest on his chest. A warm glow flooded his body, but Calen knew that he might be too far gone. Either he knew it, or he heard someone say it. It was hard to tell. His thoughts were scattered, wrapped around themselves a thousand ways, muddled and mashed together.
He heard Therin calling, his voice fading in and out. "You are an idiot, boy… a fool…"