DAYNE SHIFTED HIS KNEES, steadying himself as the ship rocked from side to side, moving with the ebb and flow of the waves. His parents knelt on either side of him, hands bound, heads bowed. His mother stared vacantly at the ground, expressionless.
Ahead, a sheer rock face rose from the ocean, sprawling right and left, blending into the night. Nestled in the rockface, thousands of feet above the ocean, with walls twice the size of Skyfell's and towers that loomed over the dark waters, was the fortress city of Stormwatch – the focal point of Valtaran naval control across the Antigan ocean.
Hundreds of orange lights illuminated the city, burning in the night: candles sitting in windows, lanterns hanging along the battlements, the flame of the lighthouse burning at the very top of the keep. Even though he could not make them out at that distance, Dayne had no doubts that the city's battlements were teeming with soldiers who, at that moment, were staring out at the fleet of lion-bannered Lorian ships that approached.
Dayne tugged at the ropes that bound his hands behind his back and cut into his wrists. He could have reached out to the Spark and removed them in a matter of seconds, but the Dragonguard who had captured them stood at the bow, her helmet in the crook of her arm, her dark hair whipping out behind her. She would sense him the very second he touched the Spark. And then she would most likely kill him, or worse, take him. It was better to wait and bide his time. They would get out of this. They had to.
Dayne slowed his breathing. In through his nose, out through his mouth, his chest rising and falling in measured sweeps. He could hear Marlin speaking in his mind. A panicked mind is a useless one. Take a moment, settle yourself, then watch.
Three figures stood beside the Dragonguard. One wore a dark hooded mantle, another wore the long black cloak of a Battlemage, while the last was garbed in red and black leather armour, a steel breastplate strapped across their chest.
Besides those three and the Dragonguard, the ship was teeming with imperial soldiers and sailors. The sounds of feet clattering against wood mixed with shouts and commands, all of it fighting against the thumping crash of the waves against the hull of the ship. Two men stood behind Dayne and his parents, their swords drawn. Dayne didn't have to look to know they were there; they hadn't moved since the ship had set sail.
"Are you all right?" Dayne's father whispered, his voice hoarse and tired. He knelt on Dayne's right, blood streaming from a cut above his left eye and his hair matted to his forehead by a mixture of dirt, sweat, and dried gore.
"I'm fine." Dayne gave the slightest of nods. He was tired, his muscles ached, and a litany of fresh cuts laced his body – but he was nowhere near death. "Are you—"
A burst of pain pierced Dayne's head, stars and sunspots flitting across his eyes.
"Keep your mouth shut." The soldier's voice was more akin to a growl than anything else.
Dayne shook his head, attempting to ease the dizziness that had set in from the blow. It was easier said than done with his hands tied behind his back, but he just about managed to keep himself from falling over. He could feel a stream of blood running from the side of his head, down his neck, and into his shirt.
"Get your hands off him!" Dayne's father roared, attempting to get to his feet, only to receive a pommel across the face. Dayne could see the blood drain from the imperial soldier's face when Arkin Ateres barely flinched. The blow was strong enough to draw a stream of blood from Arkin's cheek, but Dayne's father acted as though he had been hit by an angry child. He simply stared at the soldier, his jaw clenched, his eyes cold.
"Easy now, easy now." The voice belonged to the Dragonguard who had taken them in the gardens of Redstone. Her words flowed with an effortless grace, slow and purposeful, as though she were trying to calm a tavern drunk. "You have lost, Lord Ateres. What use is there in causing yourself more pain?"
Dayne lifted his head. The newly forming lump where the soldier had struck him throbbed. Knots of pressure pulsed behind his eyes, causing him to groan. The Dragonguard stood only a few feet away with each of the three figures at her side.
The man who wore the coat of a Battlemage had the look of someone who had earned that name. His stance was strong, his shoulders were broad, and his eyes looked void of all empathy. A thin scar ran over his right eye, and the bottom half of his face was covered by a close-cut beard. Dayne couldn't help but notice the man's hand constantly tapping on his trouser pocket.
The man in the red and black leathers stood no more than five and a half feet tall, with short blonde hair, two axes hanging from his belt, and an array of knives slotted through a weapons belt that ran over his steel breastplate.
The Dragonguard's eyes fixed on Dayne's father. She looked no older than thirty or forty summers at most, but Dayne knew better. None of the Dragonguard had seen less than four centuries pass before their eyes. It was they who razed the city of Ilnaen, crushed The Order, and brought the continent to its knees. Fane Mortem might sit on the throne in Al'Nasla, but it was the Dragonguard who put him there.
The woman's hair was black as the night sky, her skin a deep brown. Had Dayne not known who and what she was, he would almost have thought her handsome. But he did know, and his blood boiled. She and her dragon had slaughtered tens, maybe hundreds of wyverns. They butchered Thandril. In an instant, Dayne's boiling blood froze, a chill sweeping over him. She was staring straight at him, her eyes so dark they were almost black.
She took a few steps forward until she was almost close enough to touch. "So young," she said, reaching her hand down and tilting Dayne's chin up with her finger. The woman kept her gaze locked on Dayne's for a few moments, her unwavering stare causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. The corner of her mouth twisted into an almost apologetic smile before she let Dayne's chin drop.
"I was sent here, along with my wing, on personal request from High-Commander Eltoar Daethana. It's not often the Dragonguard are asked to assist in imperial business. Not in a long time." She walked past Dayne's mother, who didn't so much as lift her head. "But you betrayed the graces of Emperor Mortem, and in doing so, you forfeited the lives of every man and woman who died here today. I believe you Valtarans have a saying, do you not? 'By blade and by blood?' How appropriate, for today it was your blades that shed their blood." The woman lifted her arm, pointing toward the city of Stormwatch.
"We will not continue with an imperial boot on our necks!" Dayne's father spat a mixture of saliva and blood onto the deck of the ship, veins pulsing at the side of his head. "The empire takes our children, our food, our way of life. We will never bow down."
"Their blood is on your hands, Arkin." The hooded figure drew down his hood as he spoke. Dayne recognised him immediately as Loren Koraklon, head of House Koraklon – one of the two Houses who had been holding out to pledge their allegiance. The traitor.
"Loren!" Rage seethed in Dayne's father's voice as he lifted himself to his feet, only to be struck again by one of the soldiers. He spun, slamming his forehead into the man's nose, blood spurting. Then he went completely rigid, his limbs suspended as though frozen in ice. The sudden look of fear in his father's eyes reminded Dayne that his father could not see what Dayne could: the threads of Air wrapped around his body.
"You're not a smart man, are you?" The Dragonguard tilted her head sideways, an amused laugh escaping her throat. "You must enjoy pain."
"May the gods burn your blood!" Dayne's father shouted at Loren, ignoring the Dragonguard as though she didn't still have him wrapped in threads of Air. "You would betray your own? You are no Valtaran. You are a worm!"
Dayne turned his head, glancing towards his mother who knelt on his right. Despite everything that was happening, she had not said a word. She hadn't even lifted her head. "Mother," he whispered, trying his best not to attract attention. She didn't respond.
"It is you who betrays our people," Loren hissed, stepping forward, his eyes burning with fury. "You cling to the past, desperate for Valtara to bathe in the glory that it once had. And you are willing to throw away Valtaran lives to do it. How many have died here today, Arkin? How many have felt the warm embrace of The Mother years before their time? All you have done is fertilise the soil with the blood of our people. I will not stand by and watch you thrust Valtara into a war it cannot win."
"They died because of you!"
"Lies!" Loren lashed out, catching Dayne's father with a sharp strike across the jaw. "The arrogance! Were you not looked after? Did you not have food on your table and gold in your coffers? They died for no reason save your pride and greed."
"Sometimes gold and food aren't enough, Loren. They just aren't enough."
"Silence!" The man in the red and black leathers roared. "We do not have time for this measuring of dicks." He glared at Loren before turning to Dayne's parents, his chest puffed out, his chin raised. "Arkin and Ilya Ateres, my name is Harsted Arnim, commander of the Fifth Army. I am here to inform you that you have been found guilty of treason. You have incited rebellion against the empire and have left us with no choice. You must pay the price, and so must those who stood by you." The man turned to the Dragonguard. "Burn them all."
A sombre expression on her face, the Dragonguard held the man's gaze, a silent exchange passing between them. Neither the Dragonguard nor the commander backed away, cold stares passing between them as though each was challenging the other's authority.
It was the Dragonguard who spoke first, cold fury in her eyes. "So be it."
Dayne's father dropped to the ground, the threads holding him in place evaporating as the Dragonguard turned on her heels, muttering as she walked back towards the bow of the ship, the others following in tow.
"No. No! Loren, don't let them do this!" Dayne's father's voice cracked as he screamed, pleading. Dayne had never heard his father beg. Not once in his life. "These are your people! Do not do this. Whatever you think of me, this is not the answer. Your soul will never be clean."
Loren hesitated for a moment, his gaze tracking the wooden boards of the deck, shadows covering most of his face. But then, with one last look towards Dayne's father, he turned and joined the others at the bow, the boards creaking beneath him.
Before Dayne could ask what was happening a blood-chilling roar erupted overhead, followed by a gust of wind so powerful it seemed to pull at the air, almost knocking Dayne to the deck. For a brief moment, the pale light of the moon disappeared, swallowed by a shape that flew low overhead, shrouding the world in darkness. Dragon.
"No!" Dayne's father leapt to his feet once more, deftly avoiding another pommel strike from the soldier who thought to teach him a lesson. His hands still tied behind his back, Arkin Ateres slammed his forehead into the soldier's face before knocking him overboard with a shoulder charge. The other soldiers moved to restrain Dayne's father, but every soul on the ship stopped as the first roar was met by two others, and the sky lit up as though lightning had spewed from the clouds above.
But it wasn't lightning. It was dragonfire. Three flowing columns of flame that poured down over the fortress city, crashing against the walls in breaking waves of orange and red. Again and again the dragons dove, bathing the city in fire. Screams filled the air, echoing down the cliff, rolling over the water's surface. Cries of men and women as their skin melted from their bones. The spluttering moans of the dying as they choked on dust and ash. The wails of children as the fortress was slowly turned into an oven, and they were cooked alive.
Dayne's father dropped to his knees, his shoulders slumping. "No… please no…"
Tears streamed down Dayne's face. His heart twisted in his chest. "Why would anyone do this?"
Dayne turned to his mother. Her eyes were open now, her head lifted. Tears had carved paths through the dirt and blood that coated her face; claw marks of sorrow. Dayne could see the twitch in her jaw as she ground her teeth, her stare fixed on those who stood at the bow of the ship.
After a few moments, she shifted her gaze, turning to Dayne. Her eyes were red and raw from crying, but within them Dayne saw two things clear as day: insurmountable loss and pure fury.
"Be ready to run," she whispered, her eyes still locked on his, her voice barely audible against the screams of the dying and the crashing of the waves.
"But, I—"
"Dayne, be quiet and listen. Run for the rail, and jump. Swim back to shore. Find Alina and Baren. Take them to the farm at Myrefall. Keep them safe."
"But… No, I can't leave you."
The slightest hint of a smile touched the corner of his mother's mouth, and then it was gone. She touched her forehead to his. "You, your brothers, and your sister are the best things I ever did with my life. Look after each other, Dayne."
"I—"
"Shut up." One of the soldiers barked.
"Do as I say," Dayne's mother continued, ignoring the soldier.
Dayne nodded, not breaking from his mother's gaze. "I love you."
"Oi! I said shut the fuck up!" The soldier reached down, tugging at Ilya's shoulder.
"I will never stop loving you, my son." It was only at that moment Dayne realised his mother's hands were no longer bound. Cut ropes lay on the deck beside her, a glint of steel flashed in her hand. She reached behind him, slicing through his bonds, then held his gaze for only a fraction of a moment before turning.
"Get back on your—" The soldier's voice cut out as Ilya rose to her feet and rammed her long, thin blade through his eye, blood sluicing from the wound. Dayne recognised the blade in an instant. It was the one his mother always strapped to the inside of her thigh. "You can never have too many blades," he remembered her saying to him on more than one occasion. "And most men have too much decency to check a woman's thigh. The ones that don't? Well, they're only more reason for the blade to exist."
Leaving the blade embedded in the man's skull, Ilya pried his sword free from his hands as he collapsed to the deck, his body limp and lifeless. Using her own momentum to carry her forward, she spun, avoiding the swing of a second imperial soldier, slicing through the ribs of another.
"Father!" Dayne roared.
All it took was a glance, and Arkin Ateres rose to his feet, charging into the soldiers who attacked Ilya, sending them sprawling to the deck, and freeing his bound hands on a soldier's blade.
"Dayne, run!" Dayne's mother screamed, sliding her sword across a soldier's throat before ramming the pommel into another woman's cheek.
Holding his fear at bay, Dayne lifted himself to his feet, his body aching, joints stiff. The sores around his wrists pulled and tore, blood trickling into his palms. His head wanted him to do as his mother had told him – urged him to run. But it wasn't that simple. His heart twisted as he watched his mother and father fight tooth and nail. For every blade that touched their skin, two soldiers fell, then two more.
"Dayne, ru—" Blood trickled over Arkin's lip as his eyes met Dayne's. His hands dropped to his chest, where a long steel blade had punched through his sternum.
"No!" Dayne screamed, taking a step towards his parents.
His father dropped to his knees as the blade was pulled free. He clasped his hands to his chest, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood that seeped through his fingers. The light in his eyes fading, he collapsed on his side, his chest rapidly rising and falling, desperately dragging in his last breaths of air.
In his father's place stood the Dragonguard. Blood ran down the length of the woman's sword, pooling at the tip, dripping onto Dayne's father's now lifeless body.
Something inside Dayne snapped. He charged, reaching out to the Spark, feeling its warmth calling to him. This woman would die. Her ribs would cave in and crush her black heart. Her skin would peel from her body.
Just as Dayne began to pull on the threads of Earth, Water, and Spirit, something slammed into him, knocking him off balance, sending him crashing to the ground. The force threw him down, pinning him in place. He tried to move, tried to thrash his arms and legs, but nothing worked. He was trapped. How is she doing this?
As though the woman had read his thoughts, whatever force had been pinning him lifted him, pulling him into the air like strings dragging a puppet.
The Dragonguard stood before him, a glowing, red gemstone in one hand, her sword in the other. Dayne's mother knelt at her feet, likely held by the same force that suspended Dayne in the air. Blood streamed from the many cuts that laced her body, and the muscle and tissue surrounding her left eye had swollen to the size of an orange.
"What do we do with you?" the Dragonguard said, tilting her head sideways as she ran her gaze over Dayne.
"He must die," Loren said, stepping forward, his jaw set, his brow furrowed. "We can control the younger two, but this one cannot live."
"No!" Dayne's mother shouted, the struggle evident on her face as she pushed against the invisible bonds that held her.
"You don't like that idea then?" the Dragonguard said, slowly making her way around so she stood between Dayne and his mother. The Battlemage and the Lorian commander moved with her, standing only a foot or so away. Loren stood opposite, inches from Dayne's father's body.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dayne noticed the Battlemage staring at him, the man's green eyes piercing right through him.
"Spare him, please."
The Dragonguard knelt, resting the tip of her blade against the deck of the ship, her eyes level with Dayne's mother's. For a long moment they just stared at each other, but then the woman spoke. "Rakina"—She turned her head, looking towards the Battlemage who stood a foot or so away, his cloak billowing in the ocean wind—"will you allow fate to choose?"
Silence. Then, the Battlemage nodded, slipped his hand into his trouser pocket, and produced a thick, golden coin.
"What is this? You can't be serious." Loren stepped forward, his hand grasped around the pommel of his sword.
"If you take one step closer," the Battlemage said, shifting his gaze to Loren, "I will gut you like a pig."
Dayne could see the look of hesitation on Loren's face. Four black rings bisected by a thick black line were inked on Loren's left forearm, accompanied by two rings on his left arm. The man was a blademaster. One of the most renowned in all Valtara. But this Rakina was a Battlemage. Loren would be dead before he could draw his sword.
In the end, Loren didn't move another inch. He clenched his jaw and glared, his hand not straying from the pommel of his sword.
"Good boy." A satisfied smile spread across the Battlemage's face. He flicked the coin into the air, the sound of its movements masked by the crashing of the waves and the creaking of the ship.
But to Dayne, those sounds yielded to the thundering beat of his heart as the golden coin flipped through the air. Tears streamed down his mother's face, her eyes never leaving his. Kneeling there, battered and bleeding, she mouthed the words, "I love you."
The coin landed soundlessly in the Battlemage's outstretched hand. He took one look, then gave a short nod. "The boy lives."
The invisible bonds that held Dayne disappeared, fading from existence as though they never were. He dropped to the deck, stumbling slightly as his feet connected with the wood. Relief flooded his body, an icy river filling his veins, washing over his skin. He could hear Loren shouting, fury in his voice. But Dayne didn't look at the head of House Koraklon. He looked at his mother, allowing their shared relief to bring a fleeting moment of happiness.
"Your wish is granted, Ilya of House Ateres." Moving as she spoke, the Dragonguard swung her blade. Dayne's heart twisted, and a hollow formed in his chest as the steel sliced through his mother's neck and took her head from her shoulders.
"No! No! Mother!" He leaped forward, every hair on his body tingling, numbness smothering his mind. A hand clapped him in the chest, shoving him back.
"She had to die." It was the Battlemage, the one the Dragonguard had called Rakina. "Don't be stupid."
"I'll kill you!" Dayne screamed. Not at the Battlemage, but at all of them. His throat burned as he roared, the numbness being supplanted by soul-rending pain. He had broken bones and taken steel, but those wounds were nothing.
"No, you won't, boy." The invisible force returned, wrapping around his body, tethering him in place. The Dragonguard stood beside the Battlemage, the red gemstone in her hand glowing with renewed vigour. "You are hereby banished from these lands by order of both the Dragonguard and the Lorian Empire. Should you return, you will hang in the central plaza of Skyfell. Your sister and brother will watch your neck break, and then they will be hung with the same noose. I will personally strip your bloodline from this world. Your life is spared by the grace of The Saviour and the will of fate. You are now, and will forever remain, an exile."
With that, she turned, the invisible bonds fading as she walked away.
An uncontrollable shiver set itself in Dayne's bones. His chest trembled, a tremor ran through his hands, and his legs felt like reeds in the wind. He wasn't cold; he was empty. The sight of his father's and mother's bodies, their blood seeping into wood of the deck, turned his stomach. Tears burned his eyes, streaking down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. Slowly, in the dark caverns of his empty soul, a fire ignited. His fingers twisted into a fist and his chest heaved. He reached out to the Spark.
"Don't be an idiot." The Battlemage stepped in front of Dayne, their eyes locked.
Startled, Dayne let go of the Spark. If any of them found out he could wield the Spark, he wouldn't leave that boat alive. The empire was ruthless when it came to any mages who had slipped through their 'testing' as children. Dayne had seen enough men and women hung to know that to be true.
"Fate gave you a second chance. Don't waste it."
Before Dayne could even think, the man reached out to the Spark, pulled in threads of Air, and rammed them into Dayne's chest.
Dayne careened backwards, slamming into the rail of the ship, the force of the threads launching him over the edge. In seconds, the icy embrace of the water swept over him as he broke the surface and plunged into the ocean.
Every muscle in Dayne's body burned, screaming at him to stop. He reached up, resting his forearm on the rockface to his left. His salt-crusted skin cracked with every movement. His legs were raw and chafed. It had taken him an hour or so to swim back to the Abaddian cliffs upon which Redstone stood. Alina, Baren, and Marlin hadn't been in the caves when Dayne had gotten there. They must have been forced to move on.
He needed to keep looking.
Turning so the flat of his back pressed against the rock, Dayne looked out over the ocean, shifting his gaze to Stormwatch. He felt a stomach-churning weightlessness at the sight of the blazing inferno. Dayne clenched his jaw, forcing the tears down. The flames might still be raging, but anyone left within the city was no longer drawing breath. He could mourn later.
"Alina," he whispered as he reached the familiar cave mouth that sat into the cliff. From the ocean, the cave would barely have been visible, but Dayne knew better. Decades before the rebellion, his great-great-grandfather had a passage constructed behind a bookcase in his study in Redstone, leading to the cave mouth that now stood before Dayne. "Baren? Marlin?"
The cave was empty.
"Please be all right. By the light of Varyn," Dayne whispered.
Dayne allowed himself a few moments of rest before making his way through the cave and into the darkness of the chamber on the other side. His father always kept a torch wrapped in a fat-soaked rag sitting in a sconce in the chamber. But Dayne had no means of lighting it, and he dared not use the Spark lest any nearby imperial mages sense him. Instead, he reached out with his fingertips, running them against the walls to find his way in the darkness. Putting one foot in front of the other, he stepped into the tunnel that led from the chamber and climbed the staircase to his father's office, dust and dirt crunching beneath his bare feet. By the time he felt the touch of wood, his brow was slicked with sweat, and his legs burned with renewed vigour.
Drawing a deep breath, Dayne pressed his ear against the wood of the bookcase that covered the entrance to the tunnel. He listened for any sounds on the other side, any subtle vibrations or voices. Once he was reasonably sure the room was empty, he reached down and undid the latch that held the bookcase in place.
Eerie silence greeted him as the hidden doorway slid open, and he stepped into his father's study. It looked just the same as it had earlier that night. Not a single thing was out of place. Part of him expected his father to stroll through the door at any moment. But that wouldn't happen. He would never see his father again. He would never feel his mother's embrace or hear the sweet sound of her voice. Those things were gone now. Dayne cast a mournful glance over the study, running his hand along the top of the leather couch nearest to him, before setting off down the hall. He needed to get to his chambers, gather supplies, and find Alina, Baren, and Mera.
Dayne kept to the shadows as he moved through the keep. The hallways were mostly empty except for the occasional patrol of Lorian soldiers, sharp steel in their fists. But even those patrols were few and far between. Most of the soldiers must have still been fighting in the streets, just enough left behind to hold Redstone. By the time Dayne reached his chambers, his heart was beating out of his chest, sweat slicking his brow.
No candles were alight in the room. The only source of illumination was the glow of the moon as it washed in through the window by the bed, bathing the stone in a cold white.
Moving as quickly as he could, Dayne set about gathering anything he might need. Sitting atop his bed was a slightly worn leather satchel his mother had given him when he saw his sixteenth summer. The finest of Valtaran leather, made from the hide of the Andruvin Deer of the Rolling Mountains. He sighed as he ran his hands over the smooth leather, then undid the brass buckle, tossing in a waterskin, a length of rope, a blanket, firestarter, an inkwell, and a pen. His touch lingered on the well-worn edges of a leatherbound book that sat by his bedside – another present from his mother. He tossed it into the bag.
Once the satchel was full, he slung it over his shoulder and pulled his weapons belt from the chest in the corner of the room, buckling it around his hip, sliding his sword and knives into place.
Lightning jolted him at the sound of the door creaking open. He leapt into motion. Ripping a knife from his belt, he darted for the door, reaching out and clasping his left hand over the intruder's mouth, holding the man up against the wall with the blade of the knife pressed against his neck.
"Don't say a word," Dayne whispered, squinting in the dim moonlight. As his eyes adjusted, he realised it wasn't a man he held against the wall, but a boy. One he recognised. "Iloen, it's me, Dayne."
The boy gulped, his eyes widening as he examined Dayne's face.
"I'm going to let you go now. Stay quiet."
The boy nodded.
Dayne pulled his hand from over Iloen's mouth then closed the door, sliding his knife back into place. "Are you all right?"
Iloen nodded again. The boy had seen no more than twelve summers, the same as Alina. He worked as a porter in the kitchens with his mother, Sora. His father, Aren, was one of the Redstone guard – Dayne knew them well. "What are you doing here, Iloen? It's not safe. You need to stay in your quarters."
No sooner had the words left Dayne's mouth than Iloen began to sob, holding his hand over his nose and mouth. "My mother… she…" The boy shook his head, trying his best to stifle his sobs. "I was looking for my father when I saw you leaving your father's study, my lord. I heard you were dead."
Dayne lowered himself to one knee so his eyes were level with Iloen's. "It's all right," he whispered, placing his hand on Iloen's shoulder. Dayne knew his words were lies. The likelihood was that Aren was dead, and judging by the tears that streamed down Iloen's face, so was Sora. "I need you to be strong for me, Iloen. Do you understand?"
Iloen nodded, sniffling as he tried to regain composure.
"Good lad. Now, have you seen my sister, or my brother? Alina and Baren."
Iloen shook his head. "No, my lord. Not since this morning. But the soldiers have been looking for them for hours. I could hear them shouting."
"What of Mera? You know Mera, don't you? The beautiful lady with bright blue eyes."
"I… I'm not sure."
"Come on Iloen, you know her. You watched her put me on my back not two weeks gone, in the training yard."
Iloen's eyes lit up. "I do know her!"
Of course, that's how he remembers. "Good. This is very important, Iloen. Have you seen her? Do you know if she's all right?"
Iloen nodded, a brightness returning to his eyes. "I did! She and the others were locked in their chambers when the soldiers came. Some died…" Iloen's voice trailed off for a moment. "But Mera didn't. I'm sure of it!"
A wave of relief washed over Dayne, a weightless knot twisting in his stomach. "Thank you, Iloen. Thank you." Dayne clasped his hands down on the boy's shoulders. "All right, you can't stay here. It's not safe. I need you to go back to your quarters. Stay there until someone comes for you."
"But I want to stay with you, I—"
"Iloen, I need you to do what I say." Dayne pulled a knife from his belt and pushed it into Iloen's hands. "Take this. Hopefully you won't need it."
"Y-yes, my lord," the boy stuttered.
"All right. Go now, and be quick about it. Don't let anyone see you." As Iloen turned, another thought touched Dayne's mind. What if he couldn't find Baren or Alina? "Iloen, if you see Baren or Alina, tell them I survived. Tell them I will come for them."
"Yes, my lord. I promise." Iloen nodded before stepping out of the room and darting off down the hallway.
Dayne hated himself for letting Iloen go on his own, but the boy was quick, and Dayne simply didn't have the time.
He stripped off his salt-crusted clothes, replacing them with a fresh tunic, trousers, and a pair of sandals, then crept from the room.
If Alina and Baren were not in the cave, and if the empire hadn't found them yet, then Marlin had likely taken them and made for the farm at Myrefall. That's where Dayne needed to go. He would take the passage in his father's office. But first, he needed to find Mera.
Even with the keep teeming with Lorian soldiers, it wasn't long before Dayne found himself at the doors to Mera's chambers. As his palm rested against the rough grain of the wood, he heard sobs from within.
"It's all right, Mera," Dayne heard Mera's mother, Aeyrin, say.
"If anything happens to him, Mother…"
Hearing Mera's voice caused Dayne's breath to catch in his throat. A slight tremble set into his hand as he pressed his fingers against the door. All he wanted to do was push open that door, wrap his arms around Mera, and never let go. He wanted to feel the comfort of her touch as he wept and the love of her heart as she held him. But he knew that if he walked through that door, he would be damning her to the same fate as his own. He couldn't stay in Valtara. If the empire found him, he'd be strung up by a noose, and Mera would never let him leave alone; he knew that in his heart.
Dayne rested his forehead against the wooden door, letting out a sigh, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. "I can't do that to you," he whispered. His chest ached as though his ribs were closing in around his heart. Dayne drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did, then let it out slowly. "I love you, Mera." He spoke the words as though she could hear him. "I'm sorry."
Dayne lifted his palm from the door and stepped back. It took every ounce of strength within him to walk away. Each step like a knife stabbing at his chest. But he kept walking. Forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other. I'll come back. I promise.
He made his way back through the keep, sticking to the shadows, taking the servants' passageways and narrowly avoiding at least three patrols. It wasn't long before he, once again, found himself standing before the large, stained doors to his father's study, his gaze resting on a rough-cut groove that sat below the topmost brass hinge on the left door. He had only been a child when he had made that groove. Marlin had set him to a week in the orchard because of it, but his mother had simply complimented him on his strength. To say that Dayne would miss her would be the gravest of understatements. For a parent is to a child what sun is to a flower.
Letting out a suppressed sigh, Dayne pushed open the door, only just enough for him to slip through, closing it behind him.
"Something in your eyes told me you wouldn't leave so easily."
Dayne froze, the air catching in his lungs, his muscles tensing.
The Dragonguard stood with her back to him, her dark hair blowing gently in the breeze, her white plate armour glistening as she looked out the window behind his father's desk. "I admire it, truly." The woman turned to face Dayne, her hands spread out, her sword strapped to her hip. "Tonight was not something I wanted to do. My hand was forced."
The sound of metal on stone alerted Dayne to the presence of two Lorian soldiers standing either side of the doors, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords.
This is my chance. She's right there.
Three couches and Dayne's father's desk stood between him and the Dragonguard. The couches occupied the centre of the study, two facing each other, with the third facing away from Dayne.
Dayne pulled two knives from his belt and leaped, the sound of metal boots following behind him. He kicked off the back of the couch and dropped to the ground on the other side, twisting and driving a knife through the skull of the soldier who was scrambling after him. Leaving the knife wedged in the man's skull, Dayne shoved him backwards into his companion, sending them both sprawling to the floor. He turned to face the Dragonguard, drawing his sword as he did.
"Oh, the arrogance of youth." Dayne felt the woman reach out to the Spark, and then he was lifted off his feet, careening through the room, thick threads of Air wrapped around him. He gasped for breath, his throat slamming into the Dragonguard's outstretched hand, his sword skittering off the stone as it was pulled from his grasp.
He tried to move, tried to slip a knife from his belt, but his limbs wouldn't obey; the Dragonguard had pinned them in place with threads of Air. He reached out to the Spark, desperate, pulling with everything he had. But he found nothing.
"Did you really think I had not sensed you on the ship? I felt you the moment you reached for the Spark, but I am no Inquisitor. I am not part of their Circle, and I do not subscribe to their beliefs. If Fane wants the empire to round up all those who can touch the Spark, that is his business, but it is not ours."
The Dragonguard released her hold on Dayne's throat.
"Do not mistake this for weakness." The Dragonguard reached into a pouch tied to her weapons belt, producing a pendant on a leather string, a gleaming sapphire bound with gold – Alina's pendant.
"Alina…" The word left Dayne's mouth of its own volition.
"She is alive," the woman said, holding the pendant in front of Dayne for a few moments before placing it back into the pouch. "We found them an hour or so ago, huddled in a cave at the base of the cliffs. Their guardian fought well. I spared him." Dayne felt himself being lowered to the ground, his feet touching the stone, his eyes drawing level with the Dragonguard's.
"I need you to understand me, Dayne Ateres. Think of me what you will. I am a woman of my word. Before I took your mother's head, I promised her I would let you and your siblings live. But I also swore that you were to be exiled, and should you step foot in these lands again, I would erase your bloodline."
Dayne struggled against the threads that held him, fire burning in his veins. "If you touch a hair on their heads, I'll—"
"You'll what?" The woman stepped closer to Dayne, close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin. Her gaze pierced him. She shook her head, stepping away. "They will be raised under the tutelage of your steward to lead House Ateres."
"As pawns!"
"Yes," the Dragonguard said, her tone flat. "As pawns, but alive. No harm will come to them so long as you stay away. You have my word."
"Your word means nothing! Why should I trust your word?" Fury seared Dayne's body, his head pounding, his jaw clenched. She was so close.
"Because I kept my word to your mother. I let you live."
The threads of Air that were wrapped around Dayne's body pulled tighter, and then he was moving, hurtling towards the open window. The cool rush of air hit him, the threads evaporating around him. He looked back, glimpsing the Dragonguard standing in the window. And then he was falling.
Pure terror blended seamlessly with an odd sense of calm as the rockface of the Abaddian cliffs flashed passed him. His pulse quickened, a sense of weightlessness overcoming him. He drew in a deep breath, letting his body relax, then he reached out to the Spark, drawing on threads of Air and Water, bracing himself.
I will come back for you.