TWO WEEKS LATER
THE EMPTINESS OF TIME AND BLOOD
An island twenty miles east of Driftstone, Veloran Ocean
Year 3075 After Doom
DAYNE STOOD AT THE bow of the ship, his hands resting on the rail, fingers curling around the rough, damp wood. The familiar ocean spray was cool against his cheeks and the setting sun warm on his back, painting the waters ahead with brush strokes of vibrant orange. An island sat amidst the incandescent waters, a blotch of green and grey against the coruscating blues and oranges. The island was only a few miles wide, shaped like a three-quarter moon with hills that rose around the edges, descending towards the centre. Dayne could already see languid streaks of grey smoke rising from a house that sat atop the easternmost hill. At the foot of the hill, where the land tapered towards the water, a long pier jutted from a beach of grey sand and stones, the waves gently beating at its wooden legs.
"Are you all right?"
Dayne hadn't heard Belina approach. But then again, he never did; the woman moved like a whisper in the wind. "No." Dayne dug his fingernails into the damp rail, closing his eyes for a moment. Blotched colour painted the darkness behind his eyelids as though he had stared too long at the sun. "No, I'm not."
"You've waited five years for this, Dayne." Belina rested her hand on Dayne's shoulder.
"I've waited seven years, Belina."
"But did your life truly start before you met me? I mean, look at me."
Dayne lifted his head, unable to stop the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. Against his better judgment, he laughed. "You are a curse I can't seem to get rid of."
"I'm the curse that brought you here."
"That you are…" Dayne looked into Belina's dark brown eyes. "That, you are." Dayne pulled Belina into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around her, nestling his chin against the crook of her neck.
"Anything to get close to my tits," she whispered in his ear.
"Fuck off, Belina." Dayne pulled away, still laughing, and leaned across the rail of the ship. "You have to ruin everything, don't you?"
Belina rested her forearms against the rail, rubbing her shoulder against Dayne's, her voice soft and low. "Whatever we find on that island, wherever Aeson tells us we must go to find Sylvan, I'm with you."
Dayne stared ahead, lost in the brilliant lights of the sparkling waves. "Our deal was for you to get me here. You've done that. It might have taken you five years, but you did what you promised."
"And you did what you promised. Now, are you going to make me say it?"
"I sure am."
Belina sighed, shaking her head. Dayne didn't look at her, but he knew she was looking at him. "We're family, Dayne."
Dayne shifted his forearms on the rail, turning to Belina, raising his eyebrows. "Sorry, what did you say? I couldn't hear you. You were whispering."
Belina clasped her hands at the sides of Dayne's head and pulled their foreheads together. "We have spilled blood together. We have sent souls into the void. We have crossed thousands of miles by land and water. I have listened to you pine over Mera like a lovesick puppy, and we have shit in the same hole in the ground more times than I'm comfortable with." Dayne laughed as Belina shrugged, shaking her head as though trying to loose the memory. "You are my brother, Dayne. If not by birth, then by blood. Your fight is my fight."
Dayne's chest tightened at the words. For all her faults – and there were many, so, so many – Belina had been there for him. He lifted his hands to the back of Belina's head. When this was all over, he would bring her to meet Alina and Baren. They were her family now too. "Belina, I—"
A swift punch to the gut knocked the wind from Dayne's lungs, causing him to double over, coughing as he tried to breathe. Belina caught him, wrapping her hand around the back of his head, and whispered into his ear, "That's for making me say it."
Pushing Dayne back against the rail, Belina strode off down the ship, skipping past the oarsmen before throwing him a wink and dropping herself onto a bench that lay across the stern, leaning back to take in the sun. The woman was insane by all measures of the word. She was irrational, brash, completely unpredictable, her perception of what was acceptable was the opposite to any reasonable person's, and she had killed more people than she had eaten warm meals. And yet, he would die for her.
When he was younger, Dayne remembered asking his mother what love was. He had asked because every time Mera was near him, he had felt a tightness in his chest, his mouth went dry, and he stumbled over his words. Surely that had meant he was in love, he thought. But to be sure, he asked his mother, for she knew everything.
"Love, my son, cannot be quantified by how and why. It is the intangible tether that connects your heart to others. It holds no conditions or rules, for if it did, it would not be love, but simply convenience. It is not found in the 'because', it is found in the 'and yet'. Your father is strong, compassionate, and understanding, but it is not because of those things that I love him. Rather, they are why I admire him. He is also foolhardy, pig-headed, and he always says the wrong things. And yet, I love him anyway."
For a long time, Dayne hadn't understood what his mother had meant. He had nodded and smiled, feigning understanding. But through Belina, he had finally learned the meaning of his mother's words. He did not love Belina in the way his mother had loved his father, or in the way that he was now certain he loved Mera, but he did love her.
Pulling his gaze from Belina, Dayne looked to the starboard side of the ship, where Therin sat with his back against the rail, the two elves they had rescued sitting with him. The elder of the two sat to Therin's right, a linen shirt covering the scarred, knotted flesh that marred her chest. She looked brighter with the dirt, grime, and blood cleaned from her skin. But Dayne could still see the darkness in her eyes. Her long, blonde hair was thin and brittle, and her right hand shook with a persistent tremor. The mage hadn't finished the rune carving, and so Therin had been able to heal most of her wounds – at least the ones that could be seen with the naked eye. It had taken a few days, but eventually she spoke. Not to Dayne or Belina, only to Therin, and in a language that Dayne didn't understand, but it was a start.
Sitting across from them, his legs pulled to his chest, the side of his head resting on the tops of his knees, was the child. His face was gaunt, dark circles under his eyes, lips cracked. His body was so starved of food it looked as though his skin had been stretched too thin over fragile bones. He wore a long, linen shirt that was far too big, along with trousers held up by a length of tied rope. Not a single word had passed his lips.
It had been just over two weeks, and images of those cells still plagued Dayne's mind. He could still smell the fetor of death in his nostrils, the putrid aroma of vomit and voided bowls, the metallic tinge of blood, and the acrid stench of charred skin. Of all the elves in that keep, only the two before him could be saved. They had searched every cell and found three hundred and fifty-two elves, along with a pit full of charred bones, likely burned to lessen the stench of decay. Two hundred and sixty-six dead, eighty-six alive, though alive was a strong word. They were broken and twisted, their minds consumed. Dayne had released fourteen from their pain, each one like a knife through his heart. Eight of them had been children younger than Alina had been when he'd left.
The thought of Alina and Baren pricked up the hair on his arms, his chest tightening. He was so close. Once Sylvan Anura was dead, he could go back. He could protect his family, like he had failed to do before.
Exhaling through his nostrils, he turned back to face the ocean ahead only to find that they were approaching the pier, where a figure now stood, a man with short black hair flecked with white and grey, a beard covering most of his face. He wore a plain tunic with dark trousers, the hilts of two swords rising over his shoulders. Dayne recognised him immediately: Aeson Virandr.
As the ship pulled in against the pier and the oarsmen shipped their oars, replacing them with lengths of rope, Dayne's heart picked up its pace, growing louder with each beat until the rush of blood pushed out all other sounds. For a moment, Aeson's eyes locked with his, and Dayne knew that the man recognised him too.
"Aeson Virandr." Therin strode past Dayne, leaping from the deck of the ship onto the creaking wood of the pier.
Aeson stepped towards Therin, and they wrapped their arms around each other. "Therin Eiltris, with each day you look younger."
"It doesn't feel that way, old friend. Thank you for this."
"It's the least I could do. Especially considering the company you have brought." Aeson's eyes narrowed as Belina stepped past Dayne and lifted herself onto the pier. "Weapons stay on the boat."
"Aeson." Belina's voice took on the tone of a child pleading with their parent. "Be reasonable."
"On the boat."
Belina rested her hands on her hips, meeting Aeson's narrowed stare, before finally tilting her head back and sighing. One after another, she removed her sword belt, a knife from her right boot, another from the inside of her shirt, two strapped across her back, and finally one more from her left sleeve, tossing each one back into the boat as she did. "Happy?"
Aeson raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"Ugh, fine." Belina reached back and pulled a deceptively long steel needle from her hair, letting her locks fall down over her shoulders. Shrugging, she tossed it onto the pile of weapons in the ship. "You have trust issues, you know that?"
"You've tried to kill me six times, Belina."
"Seven," Belina corrected, "You're forgetting the bazaar in Vaerleon."
"You tried to kill me in the bazaar in Vaerleon?"
"… no?" Belina pursed her lips, staring towards the sky. "Either way, that was the old me. I don't work for the Hand anymore."
"I know. You have been busy, Belina. You both have." Aeson's gaze shifted to Dayne, who still stood on the deck of the ship, his mouth dry, his feet planted. "You have wreaked havoc on the Hand these last five years. My contacts in Berona say the Hand there calls you the Shadow's Blades. While those in Arkalen know you as the Ghosts of Ilragorn. You've built up quite the reputation. That doesn't mean I trust you."
"Fair," Belina said with a shrug. "I don't trust me either. I'm too unpredictable."
A knot formed in Dayne's throat as Aeson turned towards him. "Dayne Ateres. For a long time, I thought you were dead. It wasn't until I heard of Harsted Arnim's death that I began to suspect otherwise."
Drawing in a deep breath, Dayne stepped from the ship, balancing himself as he adjusted to the steadiness of the pier. He held Aeson's gaze for what felt like minutes but in reality was only seconds. "I blamed you," he said, a weight lifting from his shoulders. "For a long time, I blamed you for my parents' deaths – for all those who died at Stormwatch. You pushed my mother and father to rebel. You promised them the world. You promised us all, and then you weren't there when they needed you."
"What changed?" Aeson asked, his voice steady, his stare unyielding.
"Time passed." Dayne dropped his head, tracing his gaze along the cracks in the wood of the pier, before lifting it once more. "I saw the things the empire does in the South. I saw what they did to that child"—Dayne turned for a moment, looking towards the elven child who still sat with his knees tucked to his chest, his head twitching slightly—"and I asked myself, if you came to me now, the way you came to my parents, and you asked me to do it all again, what would I say?"
A silence hung in the air as Dayne's words lingered.
"What would you say, Dayne?"
"I would say that it is better to die for the ones you love and for what you believe than it is to live knowing that you could have done something but didn't. I would say that you have my sword. I would say that you have my blood. And if you can bring the empire to its knees, then I will gladly give you my life as well." Dayne could feel the tears streaming from his eyes, but he let them roll, feeling them pool at his chin before dripping to the pier below.
"It is never weak to grieve for the ones you love." Dayne's father had said that the day he had found Dayne weeping over the body of his grandmother. Dayne had tried to wipe away his tears, but his father had stayed his hand. "To hide your tears is to do them a disservice. They have earned your love. Let them have it."Reaching out, Aeson grasped Dayne's forearm, meeting his tear-filled eyes. "You remind me so much of your father." The words were a hammer blow in Dayne's heart. "They were my friends, Dayne. And when you live as long as I have, you become very particular about those to whom you grant that title. I am sorry I was not there that night. I truly am. I have done everything in my power to put that right. I promise you."
Dayne nodded, swallowing hard, his throat constricting.
Aeson let go of Dayne's forearm, a weak smile on his face. "Come, the cabin is only a short walk."
"I will stay with the ship," Therin said, a sorrowful look in his eyes as he glanced towards the two elves, the elder cradling the child like a mother. "I will not leave them until I see them safe to Aravell." As though reading something in Aeson's expression, Therin added, "I will fill you in when all is done here."
Aeson nodded in acknowledgement before setting off down the pier.
As Dayne made to follow, Therin grasped his shoulder. He handed Dayne a small round-backed knife – the same one Dayne had seen him flipping across his fingers – and pressed Dayne's hand around the hilt. "I hope you find what you're looking for here, Dayne."
Dayne exhaled through his nostrils, nodding. "Me too, Therin."
With that, Therin climbed back aboard the ship, resting his back against the mast and sliding down to the deck, watching over the two elves who sat opposite him.
"Come on," Belina said, nudging her shoulder against Dayne's. "Let's go find out where this bitch is and how to kill her."
"You've a way with words, Belina. Have I ever told you that?"
"Not explicitly, but I read between the lines."
Despite her madness and penchant for inflicting physical pain, Belina always could make Dayne laugh.
The pier opened out onto a short beach of soft, greyish-white sand that quickly turned to stones before eventually becoming grass as they followed Aeson uphill. There was no path towards the house that sat at the top of the hill, not even so much as a track worn in the grass by footfall. This was not a place that saw many visitors, if any at all.
The house, comprised of stout pine logs and a thatched roof, rose no higher than a single storey. Three steps led to a decked porch with a wooden rail, upon which was a young boy who stood with his arms crossed over the rail.
His hair was a dirty blonde, and he could not have seen any more than fourteen summers, and yet two swords were strapped across his back, and he wore a dark leather jerkin over a linen shirt, two knives strapped to a belt at his hip. He lifted his head as they approached, smiling.
Aeson led Dayne and Belina up the three steps to the deck, turning towards the young boy. "Belina, Dayne, this is my youngest, Erik. I'm not sure where my eldest, Dahlen, is." Aeson raised an eyebrow to his son.
"He's gone to get some more wood," Erik said, rolling his eyes. "He wasn't happy with his carving." The young boy gestured towards a half-carved block of wood that sat in a pile of shavings by the door. Dayne couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship of the carving. While it was only half finished, it was clear to be a dragon, each scale crafted with meticulous care, the frills along the back of its neck, delicate and thin.
"It's a pleasure to meet you both," Erik said, turning his attention towards Dayne and Belina, inclining his head.
"The pleasure is ours," Dayne said, tilting his head in response.
The young man's eyes narrowed as he looked closer at Belina. In a flash, he pulled a knife from his belt, pointing it towards Belina. "You're the one who attacked us in the forest outside Aeling, and you stalked us again in the bazaar in Vaerleon."
Without so much as flinching, Belina laughed, turning to Aeson. "I told you I was at the bazaar! Your child has good eyes."
"Lower the knife, son."
"But she tried to kill you," Erik argued, taking a step closer to Belina, the air changing slightly.
"I said lower the knife." Aeson rested his palm against the back of the blade, pushing it down. "You remember the story I told you of the Ghosts of Ilragorn, two summers past? Belina and Dayne are those ghosts. She walks a different path now."
"You tell your children stories about me? That's adorable."
"Your kills that night were quick and efficient. You used fear as a tool. It was a good lesson."
"Well… that's not so adorable."
Still eyeing Belina askance, Erik lowered his hand, slipping the knife into a sheath at his hip. "She's asked for you," he said, a frown on his face as he turned to his father.
"Who?" Belina tilted her head sideways.
Aeson rested his hand on his son's shoulder. "Stay out here, all right? Tell Dahlen to do the same if he comes back before I'm out."
The young man nodded, throwing one last glance towards Belina and Dayne before resting his arms back across the rail.
"Who was asking for you, Aeson?" Belina repeated.
Aeson sighed, his gaze lingering on Dayne. "Come, it's easier to show you."
The heat hit Dayne like a wall as he stepped into the house after Aeson. The air was thick and heavy, weighed down by the smell of charred wood, cooked meat, and sweat. Across from the doorway, two leather chairs sat before a roaring fireplace. The chair on the right was empty, but the chair on the left was occupied by a woman with long, dark hair staring into the flames, her hands laid against the armrests, trembling.
Another woman with brittle grey hair, time-furrowed skin, and liver-spotted hands stood between the fire and the woman in the chair. She held a thick woollen blanket in her hands, which she lay over the woman in the chair as gently as she would have with a newborn babe. Reaching down, the elderly woman grasped the other woman's hand, her fragile fingers squeezing. A mother.
At the sound of the door closing behind Belina, the elderly woman looked up, casting her gaze over the house's new occupants, gracing them with a smile that was both warm and deeply sorrowful. Dayne thought he had seen a tear rolling down the woman's cheek, glinting in the firelight as she inclined her head towards Aeson, let go of the other woman's hand, and hobbled from the room.
His eyes following the elderly woman as she left, Aeson made his way to the window set into the wall on the left side of the room, folding his arms across his chest as he looked out over the ocean. "After what happened to Stormwatch and your parents, I spent the following years tracking down the Dragonguard involved. In the last century, they have grown lax, thinking themselves gods among mortals. This made them vulnerable. With Therin's aid, and the aid of many others who no longer draw breath, I slew Marek Tarn at Dead Rock's Hold. I put one blade through her heart and another through her gut. The dragon to which she was bound, Nyrnin, lost his sight and his fire when she was taken from him. I freed him of his pain, and the mountains are where their bodies rest."
A knot twisted in Dayne's chest as Aeson spoke, chills running through him.
"Johan Finik sent twelve of my companions from this world when we found him at the foothills of Mar Dorul. But after I drove a spear of stone through his soulkin's skull, he begged me to end his life. I obliged."
Dayne's mouth was as dry as sand, his chest trembling. "What of Sylvan Anura?"
For a long
moment, Aeson said nothing. He continued to stare out the window, allowing the silence to consume the room. "I found Sylvan one year ago, in Catagan. She was visiting her daughter."
Dayne's heart skipped a beat. He had found her. "That's where she is then, in Catagan?"
Aeson shook his head. "She is not."
"Why do you play games?" Dayne could do nothing to stop the anger from rising, the muscles in his neck tensing. He clenched his fingers into a fist, trying to stop his hand from shaking. "Tell me where she is!"
Aeson let out a sigh, turning away from the window. "I followed her for months. Each week she would visit Catagan, and each week she would leave her soulkin, Aramel, on a cliff's edge some twenty miles south. I waited, and I watched. Until four months ago, when I crept to the cliff's edge where the dragon slept."
The rage that had been bubbling in Dayne's blood subsided at the sight of the abject grief in Aeson's eyes.
"I do not know what knowledge you have of the bond between a dragon and a Draleid. It is not simply a kinship. It is an intertwining of souls – a blending of hearts and minds so complete that the loss of one can break the other beyond reckoning." Aeson drew in a deep breath, trying to settle himself. "It took almost seven hours for Sylvan to reach the cliff's edge. She dragged herself over the jagged rock, crawled to her soulkin's lifeless body, and collapsed beside him, quivering. To call the sound that left her mouth a scream would be to call thunder a whisper."
Suddenly, Dayne's chest emptied to a hollow, and his heart sank into the pit of his stomach. A shiver ran the length and breadth of his body, starting in his chest and sweeping outward. He drew a trembling breath, turning away from Aeson, his gaze resting on the woman in the chair. "It can't be…" he whispered, his lips dry as bone.
Belina rested her hand on his shoulder as he took a step towards the fireplace, but he ignored her. He could feel his heart thumping, hammering with every step.
"When Aramel was taken from her," Aeson continued, "she was stripped of the ability to hear, the warmth was dragged from her body, and an unyielding tremble set into her limbs."
Dayne's blood ran cold in his veins as he drew closer to the woman in the chair, the warmth from the fire touching his skin.
"When she finally lifted her head and saw me standing there, Aramel's blood dripping from my blades, she drew so heavily from the Spark that the mountain itself shook, and the rock cracked. She drew on far more than any one person could have handled. I watched as her eyes ignited in a blaze of light and the Spark was burned from her body, taking her sight with it."
Rounding the chair, standing between the woman and the fireplace, Dayne found himself staring down at a face that had been etched in his mind for seven years: Sylvan Anura. Her skin was the same deep brown, her hair black as night, but where dark eyes had once been, now sat two knotted sockets of burned flesh.
"Part of me wanted to end her life right then and there," Aeson continued. "To show her the mercy I showed Johan. But I carried her from that cliff, brought her from Catagan to Kingspass, and chartered a ship to this island."
Dayne almost hadn't noticed his hand drifting to the knife Therin had given him, which was hanging from his belt, his fingers brushing the steel. He let his hand hover there as he stared at Sylvan. The entire time, she hadn't moved. Both her hands trembled against the leather arm rests, her eyeless gaze staring past Dayne. He almost stumbled backwards when she spoke.
"If you're going to kill me, do it. I cannot hear, and I cannot see. But I can feel your footsteps through the floor, and I can feel your breath on my skin."
Dayne pulled the knife from his belt, his hand trembling. He remembered that night as clear as anything. He remembered the feel of the rope against his skin, the touch of the breeze on his face. He remembered the fire and the screams. He remembered Sylvan's blade as it punched through his father's chest, and he remembered the look on his mother's face as her head was taken from her shoulders.
"You took everything from me…" He stepped closer to Sylvan, his fingers tightening on the hilt of the knife, knuckles turning white. All it would take was one motion. One slice of the blade and her blood would stain the leather of the chair. He angled the blade, pressing it against her neck, drawing forth a thin stream of blood. Dayne tightened his grip on the knife as Sylvan turned her head towards him, her eyeless gaze fixing on him for a moment before she tilted her head upwards, exposing her neck.
"You are not Aeson Virandr." Each word lingered on the woman's tongue, slow and purposeful. She pressed her neck harder against the blade of the knife. "Do what you came here to do."
Dayne clenched his jaw, attempting to still the trembling breaths that left his lungs. Seven years he had hunted this woman. Seven years he had wanted to drain the blood from her body. And now here she was, before him, blind, deaf, cut off from the Spark, and her dragon gone. It should have been simple, and yet…
He watched as the light from the fire cast shadows over her face. Her cheeks quivered as though attempting to summon tears from eyes that no longer were. Sylvan Anura. That name had haunted him for so long. The mighty Dragonguard. The woman who took his parents and exiled him from his home. She, who rode astride a beast from legend. But this was not Sylvan Anura. Not anymore. This woman was nothing more than a ghost in a shell.
Slowly, he pulled the blade from her neck, his hand shaking.
"No," the woman growled through gritted teeth before her voice rose to a shout. "No!"
Dayne had expected her to lunge at him, to push him, to strike him, but instead, she leaned back into the chair, pulled her knees to her chest and sobbed. No tears fell down her cheeks, but her shoulders convulsed and her body trembled, harsh whimpers escaping her throat.
Dayne stood for a few moments, watching the architect of his nightmares whimper and sob. Part of him felt pity, but another part enjoyed every second of her misery. He pulled his eyes from the weeping wretch. Belina stood a few feet away, by the door, her eyes wide and her mouth open. But Aeson's face held no such shock; his was that of a man who had seen precisely what he had expected to see.
As Dayne saw the sorrow that pooled in Aeson's eyes, he finally understood. "You brought her here so she would be forced to live."
Aeson turned away, fixing his gaze on something in the corner of the room, giving the slightest nod of his head. "To lose your soulkin… to feel that emptiness, that hollow in the centre of your being. I wanted her to feel that. I wanted her to always feel that."
Leaving the woman sobbing in the chair, Dayne stepped closer to Aeson. "Therin said you used to be one of them… a Draleid."
Aeson bit the corner of his lip. "Lyara was taken from me three hundred and ninety-one winters ago. We were hunted right here to this very spot…" Aeson trailed off as though lost in a living memory. "There were five of them and two of us. The bones of six dragons and five Draleid lay on this island." Tears rolled down Aeson's cheeks as he spoke, his eyes reddening. "In the end, it was only Lyara and I, and Sylvan and Aramel."
"You fought Sylvan? Here?"
Aeson nodded absently. "I felt Lyara die. I…" He lifted his gaze, his bloodshot eyes staring into Dayne's. "I could feel her fear. She was so scared… and then she was gone, and I was alone. Her last gift to me was tearing so deeply into Aramel's chest that he and Sylvan had no choice but to flee. We crashed down right here, on this very spot. It was a valley then, but I built the hill around her. I can still feel her when I'm here… echoes, shadows. I don't know what they are, but I don't feel so broken when I'm here."
Dayne's heart ached. "Why… why did you bring her here? You should have thrown her in a cage and locked her in a pit."
"So she can live broken in the place where she broke me. So she can live every second of her long life and feel every single drop of pain."
"Who is the woman?" Dayne asked, remembering the elderly woman who had been tending to Sylvan when they had entered. Surely, she could not be Sylvan's mother.
"That is Anees. Sylvan's daughter. She cares for her, feeds her, bathes her – keeps her alive. That was part of our deal."
"Daughter… but she's…"
If it was possible, Aeson's eyes seemed to take on an even deeper sadness, a weak smile touching his lips. "Such is the curse of a long life. While the years turn to decades and decades turn to centuries, you watch those you love wither and die, slowly worn away by the passing of time. No parent should live to see their child grow old, but this is the way."
Dayne's chest tightened as he thought of Aeson's two children, one of whom stood on the deck outside the house. That was Dayne's future too. Even if Mera were to welcome him back with open arms after all this time, he would never grow old with her. He would never share that with her. The Spark would not allow it. "What will happen when Anees dies? Who will keep Sylvan alive then?"
"I will arrange something. She will not escape this fate."
Dayne looked back towards the sobbing mess of a woman, the warm fire light casting shifting shadows across her eyeless face, her shoulders convulsing, her whimpers fading to a low sniffle. He nodded, then headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Aeson called after him, but Dayne didn't stop. He walked straight past Belina and stepped through the doorway.
The cold air sent chills through Dayne's body as he stepped from the house. He didn't so much as glance towards Aeson's son, Erik, but he could feel the boy's eyes on him. He stumbled as he stepped off the deck, his legs shaking, his lungs trembling. A storm swept through him as he dropped to his knees. Leaning forwards, he wrapped his fingers around tufts of grass and ripped them from the earth, screaming until his voice cracked and tears streamed from his eyes. Seven years he had hunted Sylvan. All that time, her blood was all he wanted. Vengeance. Vengeance for his mother. Vengeance for his father. Vengeance for everything she had taken from him. But when he had held that blade to her neck and saw the whimpering mess she had become, it had all just felt… empty.
"Dayne…" Belina's voice trailed off. He could hear her feet against the steps of the deck, her arms wrapping around him from behind. For some reason, that meant more to him than anything else she could have said or done.
Kneeling there with Belina's arms around him, he wept, for it was all he could bring himself to do. After a few moments, he steadied himself, drawing in a deep breath and stilling the tears. "I'm going home." The words lingered on his tongue, feeling strange yet welcome. He pulled Belina's arms from around him and turned to her. "Sylvan is as good as dead. I will drive a knife through Loren Koraklon's heart, and I will finish what my parents started."
"I'm coming with you." Belina nodded as she spoke, staring into Dayne's eyes.
"You don't have to—"
"Shut up," Belina interrupted. "Every time you open your mouth, you say something stupid. I'm coming with you, Dayne. I've killed enough people for money and power. It's time I do it for a good reason. Besides, I need to meet this 'Mera'." A smile crept across Belina's face as those last words left her mouth.
Dayne smiled back, wiping away the last of the tears from his cheek he grasped Belina's forearm. "By blade and by blood."
"Does everyone in Valtara say that as much as you? Oh, fine, by blade and by blood." Belina reciprocated the gesture, wrapping her fingers around Dayne's forearm, both of them rising to their feet.
"I would advise against that."
Dayne looked up to find Aeson descending the deck steps towards them. He could feel his blood start to heat, his jaw clenching. "And why is that?" Dayne pushed past Belina, standing in front of Aeson, their eyes level. "Why would I leave my brother and sister to stand alone when I can be by their side? Why would I allow Loren Koraklon to draw any more breaths than I have to? And why would I leave my people under the boot of the empire?"
"Because if you return, it will all be for nothing. Any rebellion now will be crushed, shattered by imperial steel and broken beneath the Dragonguard."
"You don't stop fighting just because someone says you can't win. You fight harder."
"I'm not asking you not to fight. I'm just asking you to wait. Give me time to give you a real chance."
"And how will you do that, Aeson? Your plans failed my parents. I don't blame you, but that doesn't mean I will follow you blindly."
Aeson took a step towards Dayne. "I failed your parents, Dayne, and I'm sorry. I cannot change what has already been done, but if you go back now, if you start this war before you are ready, then you will join them in Achyron's halls, as will your brother and your sister. And Valtara will never be free. That is not what your parents fought for."
You, your brothers, and your sister are the best things I ever did with my life. Look after each other, Dayne. He could hear his mother's words in his mind as though they were both still standing on the deck of that ship.
"Give me the time I need. Let me teach you how to truly use your power. Let me gather those who can light the spark of rebellion across the continent. Do this, and Valtara will be free. I promise you."
For a long moment, Dayne stared into Aeson's eyes. All he wanted was to return home, to hold Baren and Alina in his arms and to break the chains around his people's necks. But there was truth in Aeson's words. Sylvan might not be able to stop him, but if he killed Loren Koraklon and led his people to rebellion, the Dragonguard would simply do as they had done before. And Dayne knew in his heart of hearts that were he to return home, there wasn't a chance he could allow Loren to continue drawing breath. To return home would be to start a war. One they were likely to lose. "What is different about your plan? How will it succeed where mine would fail?"
Aeson took another step closer, clasping his hands onto Dayne's shoulders. "We will light a fire in the hearts of all those who suffer. Not just Valtara. Drifaien, Illyanara, Arkalen, Varsund, Carvahon. We will not simply give the empire one fire to snuff out, we will ignite a rebellion that spans the continent. We will spread them so thin they tear themselves apart."
"That's all well and good, Aeson, but how?"
"We give them a symbol, something to rally behind. Hope," Aeson said, a smile spreading across his face. "Give people hope, and they will fight."
"Pretty words, but you still haven't answered – how?"
"Have you heard of the dragons of Valacia?"