The force of the blow vibrated through Aeson's forearm. He brought his second blade around and sliced through the Urak's arm, severing it at the elbow. The beast howled in pain, charging forward with its head, cracking Aeson on the bridge of his nose. A twinge of pain shot through him, and a flash of stars obscured his vision. Just as Aeson moved to drive his sword through the Urak's belly, he heard a whoosh. In a plume of blood, an arrow plunged into the soft tissue at the side of the Urak's head. The beast stumbled for a moment, then collapsed to the ground, blood seeping into the dirt.
Aeson turned to see Dann nock another arrow before firing it into the belly of a second Urak, following it up with another through the creature's neck. Aeson had underestimated the boy.
A roar to his left drew Aeson out of his thoughts as two Uraks charged him. He reached out to the Spark, praying to the gods that it would answer his call. A flash of relief swept through him as he felt it pulsating in the back of his mind. He grabbed hold without hesitation, pulling on threads of Air. He wove the threads around each other, whipping at the Uraks' legs, then slamming the beasts down onto the cold rock of the cavern floor. He wrapped the threads around a piece of shrapnel from the crashed Wind Runner and flung it through the abdomen of a third.
Around him, the fight seemed to be dying down. The two elves – Alea and Lyrei – fought like raging tempests. Wherever their blades swung, blood followed and Uraks fell. Calen had done well to have them oathbound to him; they were some of the finest warriors Aeson had seen since The Fall.
To the left side of the cavern, Aeson watched as Therin impaled a number of the beasts with threads of Earth, piercing their thick hides with long shards of sharpened rock. Nimara and her dwarves fared much the same. Those who had come with them were seasoned warriors. They had fought Uraks many a time – he could see it in the way they moved – but still, they had taken losses.
The Uraks had come upon them shortly after they discovered the remains of the crashed Wind Runner. The creatures must have smelled the death. The scent of blood, rotting flesh, and dirt clung to the air around the place.
"That's the last of them," Dann said, slinging his bow over his shoulders, the light from the patches of Heraya's Ward around them glistening off the fresh blood on his face. The boy had proven himself time and time again over the course of the weeks they had been searching the tunnels. He seemed a different person than the one Aeson had met in that village all those months ago. Though that should not have surprised him. A lot had happened since that night.
There was something in Dann's eyes, a steely determination that cut through all the usual jokes. Aeson suspected it had a lot to do with Calen and their other friend, Rist. Their bond was clear, and he knew all too well the things a person would do for the people they love.
Finding Calen was critical, but there was nothing in all Epheria that would stop him from getting to Erik. He could still feel him; it was not something he could explain, but he just knew they were both alive. Leaving Dahlen in Durakdur made sense for several reasons. They needed somebody to watch over Daymon, somebody they trusted. But Aeson would be lying to himself if he said he had not done it to keep Dahlen safe. He had already failed to protect one son; he could not let the same thing happen again. Dahlen and Erik were the only true things Aeson had left of his wife, Naia. Just thinking of her name twisted a knot in his stomach.
In the almost four hundred years since the fall of The Order, Aeson had never allowed himself to take a wife. What was the point? He would only have to watch them grow old and fade to dust. He could not have endured that kind of pain again. The death of his dragon, Lyara, still burned in the half-soul he had left.
That was all until he found Naia. Finding Naia was what made Aeson understand there were some people in the world who would walk into your life and just demand your love. Simply by existing, they changed everything.
But Naia's death had been like losing Lyara all over again. If Lyara had taken half of his soul with her to the gods' halls, then Naia had taken half of his heart. His sons were all he had left of her. He would protect them with every drop of blood in his body and every breath of air in his lungs. He would carve through armies and march over molten fire. I will find you, Erik.
"Aeson?" Dann raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.
"They are alive. They moved on from here." Aeson said, running his tongue along the edges of his teeth as he cast his gaze over the crash site.
"You are certain?" Therin asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Aeson nodded. "We should search the dead, but I am certain. There are tracks over by the northern tunnel. I saw them before the Uraks attacked. Boot and claw marks."
"Calen…" Dann whispered, turning towards the northern tunnel without another word. The two elves followed closely behind.
Aeson went to call after him – they needed to stay together – but he felt a hand resting on his shoulder, staying him.
"Leave him," Therin said. "He is hurting, and he is yet too young to understand how to channel that grief."
Aeson let out a sigh. It irritated him how often Therin was right, but it tended to be the case. "If he dies down there, it's on you."
"I'll add it to the list. Let's search this place and get after him."
Aeson felt a pang of guilt as Therin walked off, issuing orders to Nimara and the other dwarves to search through the wreckage. He hadn't meant for his tongue to be sharp; he often forgot that Therin carried as much regret as he did.
"Gods dammit!" Dann slammed his hand against the tunnel wall, ignoring the ripple that jarred down through his arm. "Another dead end!" He threw his bow against the hard ground, flinching at the sound of snapping wood. "Fuck!"
Dropping his back against the wall, Dann slid down until he hit the ground. He drew in a deep breath and blew it back out as he ran his fingers through his dirt and dust matted hair, digging them into his scalp. He closed his eyes. He was sick to death of the blue glow from those damned dwarven flowers. Had the dwarves never heard of candles?
What was he going to do now? He couldn't stop. He would find Calen, and they would find Rist. Then maybe they could go home? He laughed a little at the idea, choking on the dust that lined his throat. The idea of Calen walking back into The Glade as if nothing had happened, a gleaming white dragon by his side. It would definitely be a sight.
He puffed out his cheeks, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers, then digging them into the corner of his eyes, trying to dislodge the dirt that stuck there. He would love to see his father, though, and his mother. He had never thought missing home would be a factor for him. He was never a 'home bird'. But right then, at that moment, he would have given anything to go back.
Dann allowed his face to crack into a smile at the thought of him, Calen, and Rist drinking tankards of Lasch's mead on the steps of The Gilded Dragon a couple of summers back. There was nothing special about the memory. It was a normal day. The sun stayed high and shone bright, as it always did during the summer. They drank, they talked, and they stumbled home. It was one of his favourite memories, marred a little by the tongue-lashing his mother had given him when she found him half-asleep in his own vomit the next morning, but still good. He had never been so happy waking up in his own vomit. "I am coming for you. I promise…"
"Are you well?"
Dann opened his eyes to find Alea hunched down in front of him, her blonde hair hanging to the left side of her face and her golden eyes glittering in the blue light of the flowers. The elf's gaze was soft, full of concern. But the last thing Dann wanted to do was talk. Telling someone how scared he was of losing his friends would not change anything.
"I am," Dann said, tilting his head to the side, letting out a huff.
"We will find the Draleid."
Something inside Dann snapped. He lifted his head, matching Alea's gaze, his fists clenched by his side. "His name is Calen, Alea. I do not call you 'the elf', do I?" Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, Dann regretted them. His anger was not meant for her. It was meant for himself. "Alea, I'm…"
Dann would have preferred if the elf had stormed off in a rage. But no, instead, she looked him in the eye, and all he saw was hurt. He held his breath as she walked away towards the other side of the tunnel.
"… sorry." Dann sighed, rolling his eyes to the roof, and resting the back of his head against the cave wall. He saw Lyrei eyeing him askance out of the corner of his eye. He ignored her. He knew he was wrong; it would do him no good to start another argument.
The sound of footfalls echoed down the tunnel.
"About time we caught up with you. What are you doing on the…" Aeson's voice trailed off as he noticed the dead end. He drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, tilted his head back, and let out a deep regretful sigh. "Well, that's not what we wanted to find."
"Are you well, Dann?" Somehow, even in the dimly lit tunnel, covered in dirt and stone dust, Therin's silver hair still managed to look as pristine as ever. He glided over towards Dann, reaching down with his hand. With a huff, Dann grabbed Therin's hand and heaved himself to his feet.
"Yeah, I'm all right." Dann threw a sideways glance over toward Alea, which he was sure Therin caught, but the elf ignored it. "What do we do now, Therin?" Dann couldn't help the slight note of desperation that crept into his voice.
Therin looked at him, the picture of calm. "We will find a way. On my honour."
Dann noticed Alea and Lyrei turn sharply at Therin's words, their eyes wide in surprise. Calen had mentioned something to him about elves and honour before, when they were in Belduar, but he couldn't remember exactly what he had said. He could tell by the look in Therin's eyes, though, that the promise was as binding as a blood oath, maybe more so.
"These tunnels are like a spider's web." Nimara said, running her fingers through her braid laden with gold and silver rings. "It could take weeks to find the right path."
Twenty-five kills for a gold ring, ten for a silver, and one for a bronze. Dann had asked one of Nimara's soldiers about the rings on the first night. Nimara looked every bit the warrior in her sharp-cut plate armour, and that double-bladed axe hefted across her shoulder. But Dann had still thought twice before believing the dwarf. Most of the dwarves had two or three silver rings with a few bronze – some a bit more, some a bit less. But Nimara's braid held so many that she would not be hard pressed to open a jewellery shop in Camylin. Despite Dann's doubts, though, over the course of the past few weeks, Nimara had doubly lived up to the promise those rings gave.
"We don't have weeks," Aeson said, folding his arms. "We barely have enough food to see us back to Durakdur."
"Then we better start moving," Dann said, rolling up his sleeves. "There are nearly fifty of us here, and you and Therin have that magic of yours – it has to be good for something. If we split up, we can cover twice as much ground."
Aeson clamped his hand down on Dann's shoulder, holding him in place. "Patience. We will go after them, but first we have to come up with a real plan. We can't just keep pushing headfirst through these tunnels."
"I'm not waiting," Dann said, shrugging off Aeson's hand. "He would not wait to go after me. He's down here, and I'm going to find him."
"Dann." Therin stepped between Dann and Aeson, a level expression on his face. "We are low on food, there is very little water down here, and we need to rest. We are no good to Calen if we are dead. We can't just charge forward."
"It took us weeks to find this!" Dann roared, gesturing towards the wreckage of the Wind Runner. "They can't afford for us to waste time. He doesn't have weeks, Therin. He doesn't have weeks…"
Therin ran his hand across his chin and bit the corner of his bottom lip; Dann noticed he did that when thinking particularly hard on something. "We know where the wreckage is now. Nimara, how long would it take us to get back to Durakdur now that we know the way?"
"Four days at most," Nimara said. "And I'd reckon we could get a navigator as well. The chaos in the Freehold has likely died down by now. We will be able to move a lot quicker with a Wind Runner."
"Four days out and four days back," Dann corrected. "We can't afford it, Therin."
"We don't have a choice," Therin responded, a sombre look on his face.
"Of course, we have a damn choice!"
"Do you not think we want to just push through?" Dann hadn't seen Aeson move, but the man was in front of him, a fire in his eyes. Dann may have stood level with him in Durakdur, but that was different. He had never seen Aeson lose his cool, not in all the months they had travelled together. But the man that stood in front of him now was touching that line. His jaw was clenched, his right foot twisted in the dirt, and his breathing was long and drawn out with a slight tremble, like that of a man who was trying to stop himself from doing something he knew he shouldn't. "Calen isn't the only one we are tracking. My son is out there too. As are Gaeleron and Vaeril. You are not the only one who hurts."
A pang of guilt flashed through Dann as he glanced towards Alea and Lyrei. He was such an idiot. Alea had only tried to reassure him. Her friends were out there too, and he had been so lost in finding Calen that he had forgotten.
"You are not the only one who is chasing something. If you plan on coming with us, you better pull yourself together or all you'll be is a liability. We are going back to Durakdur, consolidating, and coming back here with a clear direction. You stay if you want." Without another word, Aeson stormed off down the tunnel, stopping only for a moment to talk with Nimara, who shouted for her soldiers to follow.
Dann stood where he was, his boots firmly planted on the dust-covered rock. He wasn't angry, and he wasn't upset – in truth, he didn't know what he was. But he just stood there.
"Come, Dann. I promised you on my honour that we would find them, and we will, but you have to trust us." Therin gave Dann a weak smile before he turned to follow Aeson, his greenish-brown cloak drifting behind him.
Dann looked to Alea and Lyrei. Alea mimicked Therin's weak smile, but Lyrei didn't so much as look at him. She just kept walking.
As they all walked away, Dann knelt and picked up his broken bow. He'd had it since he was twelve. It had been a bit big for him back then, but he had insisted on using it – not that he even had the strength to pull the string back at first. He let out a sigh, gripped the two pieces of split wood in his hand, and set off after the group. It wasn't as if he had many options.