"Form up! Hold the line while the evacuation is underway!" Tarmon turned his horse, inspecting the wall of Kingsguard that stood across the entrance to the courtyard. Similar lines had formed at each of the six entrances that led from the main city into the courtyard of the Wind Tunnels. It would force the Lorian soldiers to focus their efforts into narrow passageways, where their numbers would count for less.
"My king. Go now, I will stay with the men. When the last of the main army has retreated down the tunnels, we will follow."
A flash of anger touched Daymon's face but was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. "No, Tarmon. I will not allow it. You come with me. That is an order."
"I cannot. You are my king. But they are my men. I cannot ask them to do something that I am unwilling to do myself."
Daymon clapped his hands down on Tarmon's shoulders, looking him in the eye. "Dammit, Tarmon, don't be a fool! I need you!"
"I will follow you, my king. Once the men are to safety."
Daymon held Tarmon's gaze, his jaw clenched. After what seemed like an eternity, he whispered, just loud enough for Calen to hear, "Promise me you will come back. I can't lose you too."
"My king…"
"Promise me."
"You know I can't do that."
Daymon took his hands off Tarmon's shoulders, their eyes still locked. "Very well, Lord Captain. See to it this line does not break."
"It will not break, my king," Tarmon said as Daymon strode away towards the stone landing that fronted the nearest Wind Tunnel, flanked by ten Kingsguard either side.
Tarmon turned towards Calen. "You go too, Draleid. This is all for nothing if you die."
Calen made to object until he realised the man was right. The empire was here for him. They wanted Belduar crushed, but they were here to kill him.
"We will head to the nearest landing, Lord Captain. We will cover your retreat from there." Calen turned on his heels before Tarmon could argue, Valerys and Erik following behind him.
Throngs of archers were stationed along the edge of each of the five landings, the enormous Wind Tunnel openings at their backs. They would be used to cover the retreat of the Kingsguard, no doubt. Or to slow the enemy down if they broke through the line.
"Draleid, over here!"
Calen felt a flash of relief when he saw Vaeril standing on the landing nearest to him. As Calen looked to the elf, it was as though a fist closed around his heart. Images of Ellisar flashed through his mind. Images of the blade sweeping through the air. Of Ellisar's lifeless body slumping to the ground. Calen's breath trembled from his lungs. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind as he scaled the stairs to the landing.
Vaeril wore the same solemn expression that seemed to take permanent residence on his face.
"It's good to see you," Calen said, extending out his arm as they reached the top of the stairs. Vaeril reciprocated the gesture, wrapping his hand around Calen's forearm.
"As it is you, Draleid. And you Erik, and Valerys." Vaeril's formality showed through, with a slight bow as he spoke. "Erik, your father and brother are on the landing at the other end of the yard."
Calen could sense Erik's relief at the elf's words. "Thank you, Vaeril, that's welcome news."
"The others?" Calen asked, afraid to hear the answer. "Have you seen Alea or Lyrei? Gaeleron? Therin?"
"I have not seen any of them since we were separated."
Calen nodded, dread coiling in his stomach.
"I'm sure they've made it to one of the landings." The look in Erik's eyes didn't match the certainty of his voice, but Calen appreciated the words none the less. At least Dann was safe in Durakdur. He hadn't been too happy about being left behind, but he had been in no shape to fight.
Calen would not have seen Daymon approach were it not for the two rows of Kingsguard that marched on either side of him as he strode across the landing. "Calen, can I have a word?" The king waved his guard away as he spoke.
Calen nodded, moving towards the king. He was not sure if he would ever truly grow accustomed to seeing the crown atop Daymon's head. The young man had seen only two more summers than Calen himself. He was not the cocksure, charismatic monarch Calen had met on his arrival to Belduar. He was not Arthur. A melancholy sank into the back of Calen's mind at the thought of the fallen king. "What do you need, Your Majesty?"
"I need you to promise me something."
Calen didn't respond. He fixed his gaze on Daymon's, waiting for the king to continue. Promises were dangerous. And Calen had a feeling that promises to a king were even more so. He felt Valerys at the back of his mind. The dragon was peering over at them, his lavender eyes focused on Daymon, the frills on the back of his neck standing on end. Valerys did not trust Daymon.
"I need you to promise me that you will keep Tarmon alive. The man is too stubborn to do that himself. But… he and Ihvon are all I have left. I've sent Ihvon down the tunnels already, to coordinate the evacuation from that end. But I need Tarmon alive. I… need you to promise me."
There was a vulnerability in Daymon's eyes as he spoke. In that moment, he was not a king. He was a young man who watched his father die. He was Calen.
"I promise." Calen regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. But he had no choice. He understood Daymon. He felt his pain, viscerally.
"Thank you. These archers will stay with you until the last. They will help cover Tarmon's retreat. I'm sorry I cannot stay."
"Nonsense. Your people need their king."
There was a grim look on Daymon's face that told Calen he wasn't lying. He would rather stand there and fight than face the fallout afterwards. Calen thought he would probably feel the same if he were in Daymon's position.
"Captain Konar?"
"Yes, my king," replied a soldier who had suddenly appeared beside the two men.
"The command is yours. Calen, I will see you on the other side."
Calen nodded as the king walked off towards the massive Wind Runner that sat docked in the entrance to the Wind Tunnel.
"Move, move. Make way for the next Wind Runner," Ihvon shouted. He saw the looks on the soldiers' faces as they passed. Desolation. He was fighting it off himself. The battle had been going well… until the dragons appeared. What could they have done in the face of such raw power?
He had watched his men burn alive. Roasted like crabs in their shells of armour. The acrid stench of burning flesh clung to his nostrils, turning his stomach.
Even of the ones who had made it to 'safety', at least half carried some form of injury. Those who could walk on their own hobbled and stumbled their way down the steps that led from the platform. Others were missing limbs entirely, only stumps of knotted flesh where the wound had been cauterised by the medics on the field who had run out of antiseptic salve; they would probably still die, eventually.
Two men passed by carrying a dwarf on a stretcher made of wood and tarp. Even if Ihvon had not looked at the dwarf, her wails would have made Ihvon's skin crawl. She was a mess of charred skin covered in welts and blisters. The dwarf's armour around her chest had melted into her skin, crackling and bubbling as she was carried down the steps. Ihvon had to swallow the vomit that hit the back of his throat.
He had seen battle. He had fought the Uraks many a time. They were beasts of unnatural strength, capable of unfathomable ferocity and cruelty. But he had never seen the aftermath of dragonfire.
A weightlessness settled in his stomach as he took in the scene around him. If he had not been so weak, none of this would have happened. The Bolt Throwers would not have been sabotaged by that Fade. These men would not be dying… Arthur would still be alive.
"Forgive me, old friend…"
Calen watched as the Wind Runner launched down the tunnel.
"That's the last of them," Captain Konar, the man Daymon had called over before he left, said before turning to one of his soldiers. "Signal the retreat!"
The soldier pulled an ornate horn that was strung around his neck, up to his lips. He drew air into his lungs and released a deep bellow that resonated throughout the courtyard.
Nodding to Calen, Captain Konar moved over to the line of archers that stood at the edge of the landing. "Archers, ready!"
Calen looked along the other landings where more horns answered Captain Konar's call. Rows of archers stood on each landing, pulling arrows from their quivers, waiting to cover the retreat of the Kingsguard that had been holding back the tide of Lorian soldiers.
Calen watched as the Kingsguard at each entrance fell back. They were slow and methodical. They allowed the Lorian soldiers to crash off their shields as they inched backward, never giving too much ground at any one time. Their discipline in the face of chaos was incredible. Each group moved as a cohesive unit, never missing a step. But it was only a matter of time before they reached the end of the closed street and were backed fully into the open courtyard. Once that happened, the Lorian soldiers would flood in and swarm them.
So many of them will die. I need to do something.
Calen felt a rumble of recognition from Valerys, sheer defiance radiating from the dragon's mind as he stepped up beside Calen. Valerys's lips pulled back and his wings fanned out, a snarl forming in his throat.
The Kingsguard had reached the open courtyard; their slow, precise retreat was over. They were going to have to break and run now. He couldn't let them die.
"Erik, Vaeril. I need you to stay here."
"What? What are you—"
Without waiting for Erik to finish, Calen pushed past his companion and through the row of archers, bounding from the edge of the landing. He drew on threads of Air, as he had when he had thrown himself and Erik from the wall, and used them to soften his descent, feeling the stone crack under his feet. Valerys's wings beat ferociously as the dragon lifted himself from the landing. They would have to be quick.
The Kingsguard had broken at each of the entrances and now ran at full speed toward the Wind Tunnels, the Lorian soldiers flooding in after them. Calen heard breathing to his left. He turned to see Vaeril matching him stride for stride as they sprinted across the courtyard. The elf simply nodded and fixed his gaze ahead; there wasn't time to argue. They stopped in the centre of the courtyard. Calen wasn't sure if he would have the strength to do it from that distance. But he needed to be able to reach all the entrances. He couldn't leave any of them standing. "I'm going to bring the buildings down over the entrances."
Vaeril nodded. "I'll take the three on the right."
"Are you sure you can?"
"I am not just a healer, Draleid. I will take the ones on the right. Are you sure that you can take the ones on the left?"
Calen gave a shaky nod. He wasn't sure. He had never done anything like it before. Though, something had changed after the battle with the Fade. Ever since Valerys had discovered his fire, Calen felt… stronger. He closed his eyes. Reaching out to the Spark, he let his mind fade to an empty blackness, only illuminated by the interlaced strands of pulsing light that twisted and turned in on each other in the shape of a floating sphere.
He drew on threads of Earth, pulling them inward. They felt solid, rough, as though he were dragging chains of wrought iron through his mind. He would need them to break the stone. Then he pulled at threads of Air. Their cool touch tickled the edge of his consciousness, rippling through his body. He would need them to control the debris, to shift the breaking stone.
The energy of the Spark coursed through him, pulsating through his veins.
Don't take too much.
Opening his eyes, Calen pulled at the threads of Earth and Air, dragging them deeper into himself.
Only what you need.
His body thrummed with the power of the Spark. He felt it in his bones. Tasted it on his tongue. Heard it in every crevice of his mind. More than anything else, he was completely and utterly aware that it might destroy him; but he had no choice.
"Now!" Calen slowed his breathing as he weaved the threads of Earth through the buildings that flanked each of the first three entrances. Please work.
He started with the entrance farthest to the left. The one he had come through; the one where Tarmon Hoard had been. He needed to be careful. He couldn't try to shatter every stone; that might kill him. Instead, he focused on those along the bottom of the buildings, along the outer facing walls, the ones that kept the buildings upright. That still might kill him, but he had to try. He couldn't let all those men die.
As delicately as he could, Calen pushed the threads of Earth through every crack and crevice of the stone supports.
The warmth of the Spark burrowed its way into him, caressing the edges of his consciousness, tempting him to take more, to crush the buildings and drag them to the ground. Valerys roared in the back of his mind, urging him on. He felt the anger in the dragon, the will to crush all those who would harm his friends, his family. Calen blocked it out. No.
Valerys rumbled in disagreement, a fire burning inside the dragon.
As the buildings began to give way, Calen pushed with the threads of Air, forcing their walls to collapse inward, onto the street packed with Lorian soldiers. Once he felt the walls start to fall past the halfway point, he let go. Within seconds, the strength leeched from his body. His legs trembled under the weight of his own bones, and his lungs struggled to drag in air. He watched as giant blocks of stone plummeted down into the packed entrance, crushing the Lorian soldiers. A landslide of crashing stone muffled their screams and howls. Every soldier caught in those streets would be crushed or buried alive in rubble. Calen felt a sudden pang of anguish. So many dead. What have I done?He pushed those thoughts down, dragging them into a dark corner of his mind where they could not reach him. Two more entrances still stood; he could not stop now. With a glance to his right, he saw that Vaeril had succeeded in bringing down his first entrance and had moved onto his second, the howls of dying men muffled by the thunderous crashing of stone.
Steadying himself as much as he could, Calen moved his attention to the second entrance. Some of the empire soldiers had already come through and out into the courtyard, but most of them had not yet pushed through the swell of bodies. He took a deep breath and, once more, wove the threads of Earth through the stone, weakening it everywhere he could, being careful not to draw too much. As the stone began to crumble, he pushed with Air. What had started as a warmth at the edges of his mind was now a searing pain that burned through his body, forcing him to drop down to one knee as the strength in his legs gave way. I can't stop now. Just one more.As the crumbling buildings fell on the second entrance, Calen once again reached for the Spark. As the drain pulled at him, a wave of fear flooded into his mind from Valerys's, urging him to stop. I must. They'll all die if I don't.
Ignoring the pain that rippled through him, Calen kept pushing. He grasped at the threads of Earth, but they seemed to hang just out of reach. Again, he pulled at them only to feel the Spark burn through him, urging him onwards but giving him nothing in return. He threw his gaze towards the third entrance. More and more of the Lorian soldiers rushed through, swarming over the retreating Kingsguard, tearing into them as they ran.
"I have to…" Calen bit down on the inside of his cheeks with such force the coppery taste of blood coated his tongue. The pain had become so excruciating he thought it might steal his consciousness from him. It seared across his skin, as though his body stood bare before a blazing fire.
"Draleid. No, stop!" Vaeril clasped his arms around Calen, dragging him to his feet and causing him to involuntarily let go of the Spark. "You cannot. We need to run."
"I'm not letting them die." Calen shook his head. His vision had grown blurry, clouded by agony. "I—"
"They are already dead, and we need you to live."
Calen looked past Vaeril. The empire soldiers were now in full charge through the third entrance, carving a path through the retreating Belduarans.
"Go." Vaeril turned Calen and pushed him back towards the landing. Calen very nearly went crashing straight to the ground as he commanded his legs to obey him. He had released his hold on the Spark, but the pain subsided slowly, and the energy was already sapped from his bones. "I said go, Draleid!"
Calen looked over his shoulder, a horrific knot twisting in his chest as he watched the advancing Lorians cut down the Kingsguard as though they were blades of grass in a field. I should have saved them…
"Back to the Wind Runner!" Vaeril shouted. The elf tucked his arm under Calen's shoulder and pushed him onward towards the stone landing that fronted the Wind Tunnel. The drain from the Spark exhausted the little energy he had left. But he pushed through. He had been precise. Yet still, it sapped him. He had never drawn so heavily before; his legs felt as though they were made of lead, and his veins burned as though filled with molten fire.
But he still had not been able to save them.
"Almost there," Vaeril grunted, half carrying, half dragging Calen towards the landing.
Rage burned through Calen as they reached the foot of the steps that led to the landing. It wasn't his own, but at the same time, it was, and with it came a surge of energy that jolted him upright. An enormous pressure began to build at the back of his mind, flooding over from Valerys, the thrum of it resonating through him. The last time he had felt that pressure was in the great hall with the Fade.
A red-faced Erik greeted Calen and Vaeril as they reached the top of the steps. "Calen! What in the void was that? You can't just—" Erik stopped mid-sentence, reaching to catch Calen as he stumbled. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"
"I'll be fine. I'm just…" he panted, steadying himself. "That… took a lot out of me."
"Easy," Erik said, reaching his hand around Calen's shoulder, propping him up.
The pressure continued to build at the back of Calen's mind as Valerys circled the courtyard, just below the ceiling of rock, drawing parallel with the far wall. The pressure yielded only to a brief moment of clarity before Valerys opened his jaws. The fire that poured forth paled in comparison to the utter devastation the larger dragons had wrought throughout the city. But neither was it a trickling flame.
The dragon soared through the air, raining orange-red dragonfire down on the Lorian soldiers below. Men and women howled as the flames consumed them, melting steel, scorching leather, stripping skin from bones. The harrowing shrieks sent shivers rippling over Calen's skin. Even the soldiers who were not caught in the flames scattered in all directions, abandoning their chase, scrambling to escape their companions' fate.
The distraction did not last long, though. As soon as Valerys had stopped and turned back towards the landing, the soldiers began to regroup. But the momentary reprieve had given the Kingsguard the time they needed. They were already at the steps.
"Keep moving!" Erik shouted as soon as the Kingsguard reached the top of the landing, ushering them onward to the Wind Runner.
With a nod to Calen, Captain Konar signalled for the archers to cease firing and join the retreat.
Calen let go of Erik's support just as Valerys alighted on the landing in front of them. He dropped to one knee, placing his hands on either side of the dragon's head, his forehead touching Valerys's. A feeling of warmth washed over the back of his consciousness. "Draleid n'aldryr."
Calen hadn't intended to speak the words, but they felt right.
A rumble emanated from the dragon's throat in response.
"Navigator, are we ready to go?" Calen called out as Erik helped him back to his feet.
The Lorian soldiers were over halfway across the yard now.
"Aye, Draleid," came a familiar voice from aboard the Wind Runner, "and it's good t' see you again, too."
Calen turned to see the gangly form of Falmin Tain standing at the edge of the Wind Runner, one hand resting on the rope bridge that connected the Wind Runner platform to the stone landing.
"Falmin, it's good to see you." Calen let a soft smile touch his mouth at the sight of a friendly face, but he didn't let it linger for long. "We need to go. Now."
"I'm ready when you are," the navigator said, giving him a wink before dragging his odd copper-sided glasses down over his eyes and returning to the front of the machine.
There was a whoosh as an arrow flew past Calen's head, cracking off the stone wall behind him. It was followed by several more, each one closer than the last. Some of the Lorian soldiers had stopped mid-chase and had drawn their bows.
Erik grabbed Calen by the shoulders and pushed him towards the rope bridge as Valerys lifted himself into the air and swooped past them towards the Wind Runner.
It was only about halfway across the bridge that it struck Calen. Tarmon.
"Erik, is Tarmon on board? Did he make it?"
"I didn't see him, Calen."
As if saying the man's name had summoned him, the broad frame of Tarmon Hoard came crashing up the steps of the landing.
"Go! Go! Go!" Tarmon bellowed as he dashed across the stone. A look of shock spread across the man's face as an arrow burst through his lower abdomen, sending him crashing to the ground in a heap. "Go!" he shouted again, lifting his head, his hands wrapped around the shaft of the arrow.
More arrows continued to slice through the air, clinking off stone, their shafts snapping. One or two caught the edges of Tarmon's pauldrons, sliding at an angle and bouncing off harmlessly.
Calen made to run back across the bridge towards Tarmon, but Erik held onto him. "Calen, we can't—"
"I'm not leaving here without him, Erik." Calen held Erik's gaze for only a fraction of a second before Erik started pushing him back along the bridge.
The Lorian soldiers crested the top of the steps just as Calen and Erik reached Tarmon. They both clasped their hands in the loops of Tarmon's armour, heaving him to his feet and dragging him towards the Wind Runner.
"You need to run!" Calen yelled without stopping, his own legs close to collapse. He glanced over his shoulder. We're not going to make it.Some of the Lorian soldiers who had made it to the landing dropped to their knees and drew their bows. Calen kept moving, kept pushing Tarmon onward. But in the back of his mind, he waited for the void.
As he looked up, Calen saw Falmin dashing across the rope bridge. Vaeril was at his side, and Valerys swooped through the air towards them.
"Get down!" the navigator yelled, his hand outstretched. Calen felt that tickle at the back of his mind. He could see Falmin drawing from the Spark. He didn't have time to speak. He held onto Tarmon's armour and dragged the three of them to ground. They hit the stone just in time to avoid the vicious blast of Air that left Falmin's outstretched hand and swept across the landing. It crashed into the Lorian archers, lifting them off their feet, throwing them up into the air.
Hands clamped down on Calen's shoulders, pulling him to his feet. The rope bridge shook beneath him. Then, he felt the cold base of the Crested Wave as he dropped to his knees. A collective groan came from the mass of bodies squeezed onto the Wind Runner as Valerys crashed onto the platform beside Calen, not having enough time for a graceful landing. Barely a moment had passed before the vibrations rattled through Calen's bones.
"Hold on t' somethin'!" Falmin yelled, as the giant machine lurched into life and launched down the tunnel.
With more effort than he would have liked, Calen dragged himself to his feet. The Crested Wave was filled to the brim. Everywhere he turned his gaze, men and dwarves leaned on each other for support, their armour battered and stained crimson, their eyes glazed over. The soldiers heaved to and fro as the great machine catapulted through the never-ending system of tunnels beneath the Lodhar Mountains.
Calen watched for a moment as Vaeril removed the arrow from Tarmon's stomach.
"Very unlucky," the elf said, examining the wound. "More times than not, your armour would have taken that hit."
Calen felt the elf drawing from the Spark. A complex mix of threads: Fire, Water, Air, Earth, and Spirit. It pained his mind to even attempt to follow what the elf was doing.
Turning, he pushed his way through the densely packed bodies of exhausted soldiers. He stopped behind Falmin, resting his hand on the navigator's shoulder. "Thank you."
Falmin only grunted in response, stumbling to the left.
What's wrong with him?
Panic shot through Calen as Falmin's knees gave way beneath him, and he fell backwards into Calen's arms.
Dread coiled in Calen's stomach when his eyes fell on the arrow that jutted out through the front of Falmin's stomach, just below his ribs. He didn't have long to let the situation sink in as the Wind Runner lurched, its rings creaking, its momentum slowing. Calen's hair blew back over his face as the rushing wind pierced the protective shell that Falmin had been holding around the Crested Wave.
Without thinking, Calen stood up and reached out for the Spark. He felt Valerys's panic in the back of his mind as he drew threads of Air into himself. He needed to keep the machine going, or they would all die. His body groaned as he pulled at the Spark. He was already too weak, even with Valerys willing him on. But he had no choice.
He funnelled threads of Air into the Wind Runner, pushing it forward, shrouding it in a sphere of air. The rings began to spin at full speed once more. They were moving, but Calen had no idea where he was or where he needed to go. With every fork in the tunnel, he flipped a coin in his mind. Left. Then right. Left again.
He didn't know how much longer he could keep it up. It was taking all his focus simply not to crash.
He saw an opening ahead. I don't know where that is. But it will have to do.
"How do I slow this thing down?" he whispered, panic once again setting in. He pulled back, reversing his threads of Air, pushing against the flow. The giant machine heaved in response, a high-pitched creaking sound reverberating through the tunnel. It wasn't enough. They weren't slowing down fast enough.
"Hold on to something!"