Despite the cold, sweat dripped from every inch of Calen's body as he moved through the forms of fellensír. He dipped under Tarmon's sweeping strike, moving into Eye of the Storm, bringing his sword up, just barely deflecting Erik's downward swing. A flash in the back of his mind from Valerys was the only thing that allowed him to catch Tarmon's backswing. The man hit like a hammer, each blow sending jarring vibrations through Calen's arms.
Even Valerys had not been able to warn him of the sweeping foot that took his legs from under him. Calen hit the ground like a stone dropped from a height. He lay there for a moment, ignoring the pain that ran through his back. Just a few minutes' break. Calen opened his eyes as he felt a set of fingers wrap around his hand. He sighed as Erik pulled him to his feet. "Thanks," he said, sarcasm oozing from his voice.
Erik let out a deep laugh. "Hey, don't give me that look. It's Vaeril who insists you spar with both of us at the same time."
"In battle," Vaeril said as he stepped up beside Calen, Erik, and Tarmon, "you will rarely fight against a single opponent at one time. Although practising alone is beneficial for developing technique, it is ultimately flawed. It does not teach you to be aware of your surroundings. Practising against multiple opponents is more practical."
"The elf speaks true," Tarmon said, leaning over the crossguard of his sword, the tip buried in the ground.
Calen let out a sigh and tightened his grip on his sword. "Again?"
"Again," Vaeril said with a nod.
Calen took a few steps backwards and dropped into Crouching Bear. He gave a nod to Erik and Tarmon. Both men charged at him without hesitation.
Calen took a deep breath, settling his heartbeat. He watched as the two men rushed him. Their fighting styles could not have been further apart. Erik was quicker; he struck like a two headed viper, always nipping and slicing, moving his blades in a whir of steel. Tarmon, on the other hand, was slower and more purposeful but not a fraction less deadly. He was always aware, he never overexposed himself, and he never let his guard slip. To make things worse, the man struck with the force of an avalanche.
Erik reached him first. Calen followed two quick blocks with a sweeping strike that forced Erik to leap backwards. But Tarmon wasn't far behind. His strike sent Calen stumbling backward, and he followed it up with a jab that Calen only just managed to evade.
They went at it like that for two or three minutes, exchanging blows back and forth as Calen moved into Rising Dawn, then Howling Wolf, before an unceremonious pommel to the side of the head sent him reeling.
"Fuck it!" Calen fell to his haunches, throwing his sword to the ground. He reached his hand to where the throbbing pain ached at the side of his head, pulling it away to find his fingers stained with blood. He stayed like that for a moment before closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. "Sorry," he said, snatching up his sword and rising to his feet. "That is enough for now. Thank you."
Tarmon slid his greatsword into its scabbard as he watched Calen walk away, the young man's frustration evident in his stride. Just as the young man reached the edge of the camp, the sound of wingbeats rang through the air, and the dragon dropped to the ground in front of him, sending spirals of snow pluming in all directions.
Tarmon couldn't help but think of Daymon when he looked at the Draleid. Such young men, to have lost so much, and to hold the expectation of so many on their shoulders. He could not be there for Daymon now, but he could be for Calen – and so he would be.
"He is coming along well, master elf," Tarmon said, turning to Vaeril who had stood silently by his side, also watching the Draleid.
"He is," Vaeril replied. "Though he does not see it himself. Anger and loss dominate him."
Tarmon bit the edge of his lip, pondering. He watched as Calen sat himself on a large stone beside the dragon, running his hand along the creature's neck with such tenderness you would think Valerys were made of glass. "They fuel him. I do not believe they dominate him."
"True enough. You would follow him?" The elf didn't turn to look at Tarmon as he spoke, he instead held his gaze on the Draleid.
"I already do."
"But would you follow him if you had the choice?"
"To the void," Tarmon replied without hesitation. And he spoke the truth. The Draleid alone would not win the coming war. The empire had the Dragonguard. Nine fully grown dragons, along with the warriors bound to them. Warriors who themselves were once known as Draleid. Warriors with centuries' more experience than Calen.
No, the Draleid would not win the coming war, not simply by existing. But the South was primed to explode. That much had been obvious long before Belduar had fallen. In the centuries since The Fall, there had been no fewer than seven rebellions – the Valtaran Rebellion being the largest. The empire had quashed each one without mercy. And with each rebellion buried under the imperial boot, the resentment had grown. But if the nations had something, or someone, to rally behind, to bring them together, then it might be different. Tarmon figured himself a good judge of character. And by his measure, Calen Bryer was a man worth following. Or at least, he had the makings of one. "Would you follow him, master elf, if you had a choice?"
"I made my choice already, Lord Captain."
Calen pulled the heavy fur coat tighter around himself, doing all he could to keep the heat in.
"We should camp soon, my lord," one of the soldiers, Alwen, said, addressing Alleron as he made his way through the snow. "The horses grow tired, and it is becoming difficult to see with the snow."
"Agreed, Alwen. As soon as you see somewhere suitable, make camp."
"Aye, my lord."
With that, the soldier strode off through the knee-high snow that was only getting higher. Calen wasn't sure how any of them had been able to see at all up to this point. Between the night and the implacable blanket of snow that drifted down all around them, he could barely see ten feet in front of his nose.
Calen grunted, shifting his weight side to side on the saddle. After all the weeks in the tunnels and the time spent in Belduar, he had forgotten just how hard riding was on the body. The insides of his thighs chafed, his back ached, and the muscles in his stomach burned from trying to keep himself stable. But even with the pain, he had to stifle a laugh as he looked down at Korik and Lopir. The two dwarves had refused horses and had instead chosen to trudge through the snow that came up to near their hips.
It wasn't that which made him laugh, though. The dwarves had been trying as best they could to follow in the trails that were left by the men ahead of them, making their journey a little less arduous. But for the past hour or so, Falmin had been using threads of Air to funnel more and more snow into Korik and Lopir's path, much to their confusion.
Calen raised an eyebrow at Falmin as he managed to catch the navigator's eye, trying his best to hold a stern expression. But Falmin just shrugged, throwing a sly smile back at Calen before wrapping a small ball of snow in threads of air and launching it at Tarmon Hoard's back. Calen couldn't help but laugh as the Lord Captain of the Kingsguard stopped in his tracks and glared straight at Falmin, who ducked, pretending he didn't see Tarmon glaring.
Calen had not spoken much to Tarmon Hoard before the battle of Belduar, but he saw why Daymon valued him so highly. The man was a behemoth, both in his stature and his skill with a blade. But he was more than that. He was a leader to his very core. In truth, Calen wasn't sure any of them would have made it out of the tunnels if it were not for Tarmon. He just knew how to handle the hearts and minds of men. Calen would be sad to see the back of him when they returned to Belduar.
A silence fell over the group as they marched. The further they pushed, the heavier the snow fell, as though it were trying its best to stop their advance. It had grown so fierce that Calen could no longer see anything past two feet, and even then, he saw mostly nothing but white. They could not keep going as they were. Sooner or later they would simply have to give in and stop for the night.
More than once, Calen had let his mind drift into Valerys's, just to reassure himself the dragon was all right. Each time, he was reminded that the Valacian Icelands were Valerys's home. Though he had not been born there, he knew it like it was a part of him. Even as winter's touch crept into Calen's bones, he wore a smile at the sense of unbridled joy that radiated from Valerys's mind as the dragon soared through the sea of snow that fell languidly from the sky.
A blood-chilling inhuman shriek pierced through the blanket of snow, drawing Calen from Valerys's mind. Even before he could ask the question, the answer echoed in the night.
"Wyrms!"
The emotion in Valerys's mind shifted in a heartbeat. The ferocity with which the dragon plummeted from the sky set fear into Calen's heart. Something in Valerys's mind knew these creatures, and the images he saw screamed only one thing: danger.
Calen ripped his sword from his scabbard, trying desperately to see anything through the never-ending snowfall. Other shrieks began to ring out through the night, harsh, piercing sounds that set the hairs on the back of Calen's neck on end.
"To me," Calen heard Alleron shouting. "Follow my voice. To me!"
Calen tapped his horse to move towards Alleron, but panic had already begun to set in. The animal shook its head from side to side, neighing wildly. Calen tried his best to calm it down, running his hand along the hair on its neck, but it paid no heed to him. Just as he thought it would throw him from its back, the world started to spin.
The snow broke Calen's fall, but it also surrounded him, almost encasing him. Get up. The howls and wails of men accompanied the wyrm's horrible shrieks as Calen tried to lift himself to his feet. He stumbled, losing his footing with every movement, his feet disappearing into the snow.
It didn't take him long to understand what had happened to the horse once the white snow around him shifted to a deep crimson. His stomach lurched as his hand rested on something warm. He didn't want to look, but he did.
The horse's body lay on its side, pressed into the snow, a gaping hole torn through its belly, steam drifting into the air from its shredded intestines. The wyrm had ripped straight through the creature with one strike. Had it hit a little to the left, it would have taken Calen's leg as well.
Calen's heart pounded the blood through his veins, fuelling the fear in his bones. With the blanket of snowfall obscuring his vision and the chill setting into his skin, he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and reached out to the Spark, drawing on threads of Fire, Spirit, and Air. The warmth of the Fire radiated through his body, calming him instantly. The snow was falling too heavily for him to try and use Air to clear it, but he hoped that if he weaved the threads of Air together with the threads of Spirit, then maybe he would be able to hear the wyrms coming before they struck – maybe. But before he could do anything, a piercing shriek rang through his ears, and he saw something move, just ahead of him, a shimmer of blue against a blanket of white.
Calen set his feet and clenched his jaw, readying himself, time passing with the beats of his heart. Then he saw it. Two gleaming yellow eyes, staring at him through the snowfall, set into a serpent-like head covered in armoured scales of deep blue. He couldn't tell how large it was, but its head was only a fraction smaller than Valerys's. Either way, it didn't matter how large it was; he saw what it did to that horse.
The creature held his gaze for a moment, its yellow eyes watching him as its head drifted slightly from side to side. Then, like a coiled spring, the wyrm launched itself towards Calen, opening its mouth mid-air to expose a set of razor-sharp fangs that made Calen understand how it had torn straight through the horse's body. Just as Calen braced himself for what was to come, Valerys plunged from the sky.
The dragon crashed straight into the pouncing wyrm, driving the talons on his hind legs through the serpent's scales and down into the soft flesh beneath. The ground around Calen shook, and snow erupted into the air as Valerys slammed the wyrm into the hard-packed dirt that lay beneath the snow. The wyrm shrieked, its cries laced with fury and pain.
Valerys's rage poured into Calen, seeping into every crack and crevice of his mind. As one, they tore through the wyrm's scales, ripping it in half with their jaws and tossing its limp body to the side. Calen didn't fight it. He pushed harder, letting his mind sink into Valerys's. He let his fear fall to the back of his consciousness, a distant memory. Draleid n'aldryr. The connection was like nothing he had ever felt before. Every movement was his own, and at the same time, it was not. He knew where his body ended and where Valerys's began, but he did not care for the distinction. He felt the ache in his own muscles and the power in Valerys's.
Another shriek sounded to Calen's left, and a flash of blue tore through the night, moving like a bolt of lightning, too fast for Calen's eyes. But not too fast for Valerys's. The dragon's gaze pierced through the falling snow, feeling the heat that radiated from the armoured serpent's body. Calen pulled on threads of Water, Fire, and Air. In one motion, he melted a length of snow, pulled it through the air, and forced it into the shape of a spear, using the threads of Fire to draw the heat into the air, freezing the spear into solid ice. Then, just as the creature erupted from the snowbank to Calen's left, he launched the spear of ice straight into its open jaws. The wyrm's blood sprayed across the snow in a fine mist as the ice spear burst through the back of the creature's head. With an audible thump, the wyrm's body crashed to the ground.
The others.
In a plume of snow, Valerys leapt into the air. Calen moved after him and with him, feeling every wingbeat as his own. He could see the others, feel their warmth. Fewer than thirty remained, and they were surrounded. Five wyrms weaved their way through the snow, lunging out at the surviving warriors, who had managed to gather themselves. Calen tried not to think about how many of those warriors were his own companions. It would do him no good.
Drawing on threads of Fire, he melted the snow that lay in his path, heating it until it turned to steam and drifted into the air. As he ran, his feet hammering against the earth and his pulse pounding, he felt a familiar pressure building in his mind.
Valerys had spotted two wyrms moving together to the left of the group. The dragon swooped down, the pressure building from deep within. A sudden surge of power burned in Calen. It seared through Calen's entire body. His legs felt stronger, the ache in his back subsided, and the drain from the Spark that had begun to seep into him faded. Then Valerys opened his jaws, and the night erupted in a blazing light as dragonfire crashed down on the two wyrms. Their shrieks rang through the dark as the flames washed over the creatures' hardened scales only to melt the soft flesh underneath.
Three more.
Calen could see the other three, feel their heat. They circled the group, weaving in and out. He watched as one of the armoured serpents lunged, snapping its jaws around a Drifaienin soldier and dragging him back down into the snow. The wyrm doubled back, again lunging towards the group. Pulling in threads of Fire, Water, and Air, Calen launched another spear of ice. But the creature twisted mid-air, and the side of the spear simply bounced off its scales.
"Now!"
At Alleron's call, two Drifaienin tossed a massive net up into the air, directly in the path of the lunging wyrm. The creature had no way to avoid it; it dove straight into the net, crashing to the ground in a plume of snow. Before it had a chance to move, the soldiers fell on it with swords and axes, and within seconds, the snow was stained crimson.
A wave of relief flooded through Calen as he spotted Erik, Vaeril, and Falmin huddled together at the edge of the group. Falmin was wreathed in threads of Air, while Vaeril and Erik were stained in blood from head to toe, but each of them seemed to move without any major injuries. Calen scanned the remaining survivors, but he couldn't make out any other faces through the snowfall.
"Korik, Lopir?" Calen called as he reached Erik.
"Don't know. These things don't stop."
"There's only two of them left," Calen said, following the two remaining heat sources with his eyes.
"How do you…" Erik tilted his head sideways but didn't finish his question as Valerys plunged from the sky and crashed down into the ground, sending a slight tremor through the earth. Only a second or two passed before a scaled serpent-like wyrm head, along with about two feet of its neck, flew through the air and landed in the snow just a foot or two in front of Erik. "One left," Erik said with a shrug.
Calen followed the last heat source as it weaved its way through the snow, drawing ever closer as it moved. "It's coming!" he shouted, ensuring everyone could hear. Snow plumed up into the air as the wyrm leapt from its depths. Two of the Drifaienin threw up a large net, but they were too late. The weights attached to the end of the net bounced harmlessly off the wyrm's scales. Ripping through the air, the creature crashed into one of the soldiers, tearing through the man's chest in a spray of blood and bone.
Three more times the creature leapt from beneath the snow, and three more times it took a man or a woman with it, howling and screaming. It was clever. It stayed close to the group, weaving in and out of the snow, making it difficult for Calen to distinguish its heat from the others.
It leapt again, but this time Calen caught it out of the corner of his eye. It was coming straight for him. Reaching out to the Spark, Calen pulled on threads of Fire, Air, and Water, launching two spears of ice straight at the creature that twisted and turned in the air. One spear bounced off its scaled hide before disappearing into the night, while the second spear crashed into its side, gouging a deep furrow that fountained blood. Shrieking, the creature reeled to the side, plunging itself back into the snow, but not before catching Calen clean in the chest with its tail.
The force of the blow knocked Calen off his feet, and before he could get his bearings, the wyrm leapt from the snow again. Coiling upwards like a snake, it stood over him, its fangs bared and its forked tongue flicking back and forth. But before it could strike, Tarmon lunged, swinging his enormous greatsword over his head. The blade sliced deep into the wyrm's side, splitting its scales and driving into the flesh beneath. The creature shrieked, writhing in pain as it reeled away, sending Tarmon crashing to the snow.
Calen heaved himself to his feet. Calls and shouts rang out through the night as the survivors surrounded the wounded wyrm. The creature hissed and shrieked, flailing its tail. One of the Drifaienin howled as the creature's tail whipped against the side of her leg, snapping the bone in two at the knee.
Calen reached for the Spark, but as he did, the drain hit him like a battering ram, and he stumbled, dropping to one knee. The sensation was terrifying. It was as though he could feel his soul being pulled from his body. He watched as the wyrm dove underneath one of the Drifaienin nets before tearing through two more men and plunging back into the snow.
Valerys. Calen pushed his mind further, letting it fall into Valerys's entirely. He could see the wyrm through a haze of snowfall, feel the heat that radiated from its body. Wind rippled as it crashed against his scales, but it did not slow him. Valerys dove from the sky, crashing into the wyrm. The world spun as Valerys and the wyrm tumbled through the snow, tearing at each other with fang and claw. As they came to a stop, Valerys sunk his jaws into the creature's back, feeling its scales crack, tasting the metallic warmth of the blood that pumped from the wound.
Lifting the wyrm into the air, Valerys slammed it back to the ground with incredible force. Then pressure flooded through Calen and Valerys's shared mind. It rippled through them like lightning unleashed from the void. With a surge of energy, Valerys kicked back his head before unleashing a column of roaring dragonfire down on top of the wounded wyrm. The creature hissed and shrieked as the flames consumed it. For a moment, a pang of guilt burst into Calen's mind as the creature wailed, but then Valerys's rage took over again. This creature had tried to harm his Draleid, had tried to harm those he travelled with, his family, and for that, it would die; it would burn in his fire.
Valerys's fire raged like a blazing inferno until the wyrm's shrieks faded to nothing, and even then, the flames poured forth from his jaws like a river unleashed.
It's gone. It's all right, it's gone.
Slowly, the pressure and the rage subsided from Calen's mind. With the energy seeping from his already tired body, he let his shoulders sag, his mind drifting back into itself. The air around him whipped up, crashing against his face as Valerys landed in front of him.
Concern flooded from Valerys's mind into his own as the dragon craned its neck down, nudging the side of Calen's head.
"It's all right. I'm all right," Calen said, reaching up and running his hand along the ridges of horns that framed Valerys's jaws.
Using Valerys's neck for leverage, Calen pulled himself to his feet and made his way over to where Vaeril knelt beside Tarmon in the snow. "How is he?"
Tarmon's face and arms were covered in cuts, and there was a deep gouge along his left leg.
"He will live," Vaeril said, running his fingers along the edge of the wound in Tarmon's leg. "It didn't cut any of the major blood vessels. I can heal him."
Erik stepped up beside Calen, blood dripping from the ends of his swords. "You've looked better," he said to Tarmon with a half-smile.
"I still look better than you," Tarmon replied, grunting as he lifted himself up to a seated position. "Though I could use some of that Drifaienin whiskey."
Calen knelt beside Vaeril. "Are you sure you're strong enough?"
"I am. I can get him on his feet at the least. Go check on the others."
Begrudgingly, Calen pulled himself to his feet, giving a slight nod to Tarmon as he did.
"Draleid."
Calen turned to see two figures standing in front of him, half obscured by the fading snowfall. But he didn't need to see their faces to know who they were – their short stature and their long beards gave them away. "Korik, Lopir, by the gods, I thought you were dead."
"We were close enough," Lopir said, stepping closer so that Calen could see his face. Blood seeped from an enormous gash that ran from his forehead to his upper lip, and his left eye was now just a knot of blood and torn flesh. "It's dead," the dwarf said when he saw the shocked expression on Calen's face. A twisted grin spread across Lopir's face. "I took its eye too." The dwarf held out his hand to show a gleaming yellow eye, dripping with blood, stringy bits of flesh dangling from its back. "An eye for an eye."
"Shit, Lopir, put that away!" The acidic taste of vomit hit the back of Calen's tongue once more.
The dwarf only laughed. "Humans are so squeamish. Do you not keep trophies?"
Lopir stopped as Korik threw him a disapproving look.
"My apologies, Draleid."
"I'm just glad you're all right," Calen said, resting his hand on Lopir's shoulder. "Go see if Vaeril or any of the others have bandages."
Calen's heart bled as he turned away from the dwarves and cast his eyes over the scene around him. As the snowfall finally began to abate, it only showed the depths of devastation the wyrms had wreaked.
Everywhere Calen looked, steam drifted languidly from mutilated corpses, and pools of blood melted the snow. So many dead. They had started out with nearly fifty, and now he counted no more than eleven. Calen trudged through the snow, scanning the faces of the survivors and the dead. He had been travelling with them all, yet he never even knew most of their names.
Calen knelt beside a body that lay prone in the snow, hesitating for a moment before turning it over. He turned away at the sight of the dead woman's mangled face, retching. He took a moment, taking a deep breath before turning back to look at the woman. Gently, he lay her back into the snow. "May Heraya take you in her arms."
Settling the tremble that had set into his legs, Calen pushed himself to his feet. He didn't think he would ever get used to death, no matter how much of it he saw. Growing up, he had always adored the stories of noble heroes going off to war and hearing of the incredible feats of heroism achieved by one man against all odds. Every time the bards told those stories, Calen had hung on every word they said. But now he knew there was a difference between hearing the stories and living them. When you heard the stories of war and heroes, you couldn't smell the death, the scent of crackling flesh, the stench of voided bowels. You couldn't see the utter devastation, taste the blood on your tongue, feel the fear and horror in your bones. Stories were beautiful. They were words that painted a canvas in your mind. But death could not be beautiful. He had come to that decision in Belduar, and it echoed again in his mind, here.