The elemental strands pulsated in the back of Calen's mind, twisting and turning in on each other, radiating power. They were one, and they were many, a blend of colours, emotions, and sensations. Since he had first touched the Spark, the distinction of the strands had grown sharper and clearer. The colours were barely noticeable, faint and faded, only visible when Calen truly searched for them. Water pulsed with a sky-blue hue, Fire burned a muted red, Earth transitioned between a faded green and a sand-brown, Air was near translucent, perceptible only by its occupation of space, while Spirit held a faint white. The strand of Fire called to Calen. No, 'called' was too unsubstantial a word – it roared and howled, yearning to be set free. Calen pushed it away. It was not Fire he needed.
Reaching out, Calen touched the strand of Spirit with his mind, just as Vaeril had instructed. He drew threads from it, letting them seep into his body and sink into his blood. Then he felt it – the ward of Spirit Vaeril was attempting to construct. In a fraction of a second, Calen's grasp on the Spark flickered and vanished, his body feeling empty, the Spark's warmth gone. "Gods dammit!"
"You need to focus," Vaeril said, his tone curt. "Protecting against a ward is reactive. If you set your guard too early, your attacker can account for its presence. Too late and… same outcome." The elf let out a tired sigh, pulling the hood of his cloak so it shaded more of his pale face from the blazing sun. Slowly, Calen felt the familiar sensation of the Spark begin to return as Vaeril lowered the ward he had erected around Calen. "That's enough. We are wasting our energy when it is already in short supply."
"But surely there is a way to—"
"I said it's enough!" Vaeril stopped, leaning towards Calen, his face shrouded in shadow. For a moment Calen thought he saw a faint reddish glow emanating from the elf's eyes, but then it was gone. Vaeril's chest was trembling, and his teeth were grinding. The elf shook his head as though trying to calm something within himself. "I'm tired, Calen. That's enough."
"É dir mære?" Are you well?
Vaeril held Calen's gaze for a moment, then let out an irritated sigh and stormed off, his cloak billowing in the wind, sand whipping into the air.
Days had passed since Erik and Tarmon had come moments from tearing each other apart. But since then, neither Erik nor Tarmon had spoken more than a few words, and Vaeril hadn't been much better.
Overhead, Valerys drifted on the currents of air, saving as much of his energy as possible. With each passing day Calen had hoped beyond hope that, through the dragon's eyes, he would be able to see mountains or cities appear on the horizon, but instead each morning all he saw was sand, rock, and the bones of the dead. Not two days past, they had come across the broken skeletons of dragons jutting through the ocean of sand, weathered and bleached by the sun. The agony had nearly consumed Valerys. Were it not for the looming possibility of meeting the same fate, they would be mourning still.
As Calen looked through Valerys's eyes and saw nothing but the endless wastes, he prayed to all the gods that he had not led his friends to die in this dark place. He had never been a true believer in the gods. He had been raised with their names on his lips and their virtues in his ears, and he had hoped for their existence, but he had never held the unwavering faith that some did. Since finding Valerys, that had changed. The luminescent plants that gave light to the dwarven cities were surely a gift from Heraya, her light granting the gift of life in the darkest of places. The Portal Heart in Vindakur had carried them across the continent in the blink of an eye, from the Lodhar Mountains to Drifaien. If that had not been the work of a god – of Hafaesir – then Calen was not sure what was.
Hours passed as they trekked across the sand, over rock formations and dunes, through graveyards of bone and rusted steel, the sun slowly sinking beyond the horizon. The further they walked through the vast wasteland, the more remains they found. Men, horses, dragons — some isolated and alone, others in mass graves spread across the sand. The sight of bleached bone and rusted steel had become so frequent the group no longer stopped to see what might have happened.
As the light of the setting sun sprayed a warm glow over the eastern horizon, Valerys alighted beside Calen. The dragon's massive wings lifted clouds of sand into the air, his scales glowing with an incandescent orange-red hue. Valerys had made a habit of landing whenever the sun began to set. The N'aka kept a greater distance from the group whenever Valerys was on the ground, and as they were still some five miles from the rock formation to the north-east that they had spotted earlier, the sun would be long set by the time they reached it.
"Come here." Calen patted his hand on the scales of Valerys's jaw, touching his forehead against the dragon's snout. He could feel the tiredness that ached through the dragon's body. Food had been harder to come by for Valerys than Calen had hoped. The N'aka had proven incredibly difficult to hunt, and the other creatures Valerys had found had been small, chitinous things and lizards no bigger than rabbits. If they didn't find a way through soon… We will find a way. Calen moved towards Valerys's side, dipping under his wing. "Let me take a look." He brushed his hand over the long scar that ran across Valerys's side where the Fade had struck him with lightning. Vaeril had attempted to heal the wound many times, but he had said it was 'resistant'. Whatever magic the Fade had used left wounds deeper than the physical. It was just like the scar that twisted the flesh on Dann's shoulder. Still, it was healing, just slowly. The scar was hardening, fusing like scales. Whether it would ever heal fully, Calen wasn't sure, but as long as it ceased to cause Valerys pain, he would be happy.
Warmth touched his mind, a reassuring pressure from Valerys, insisting he would be fine. The feeling was followed by a second, a longing. Images of blue skies and clouds filled Calen's mind, the sensation of wind brushing against his scales.
Calen rested his hand on the scar. Since feeling Valerys's scales beneath him when the dragon had taken him from Arisfall, Calen had felt a deep yearning – the same yearning that pushed at him now from Valerys's mind. He wanted to fly, to truly be as one. "Once you're healed."
An irritated rumble resonated both in the dragon's throat and his thoughts, defiant, insistent.
"You might feel all right, but you're not. You're tired, and you're hungry, and we have no telling how many days are ahead of us." Or weeks. "Besides, we can't leave the others down here alone, not with the N'aka stalking us."
Calen had expected Valerys to push back again, but instead he felt an acquiescence in the dragon as Valerys shifted, craning his neck around and nuzzling his snout into Calen's chest. A protective feeling radiated from Valerys's mind.
"Calen, move!" Erik called out from up ahead, turning, his arms spread out wide, his breath misting as the temperature began to drop. "We don't have the time for that shit. We need to get to shelter!"
"Come on," Calen whispered to Valerys, letting his hand soak up the warmth of Valerys's scales for just another moment. Myia nithír til diar. I denír viël ar altinua. My soul to yours. In this life and always.A low rumble resonated from the dragon's throat, a touch of pride in the back of his mind as he followed Calen up the gradual hill of sand before them towards where Vaeril, Erik, and Tarmon waited.
"I'm not a performing dog," Vaeril snapped at Erik as Calen approached. The elf let out something akin to a hiss, then stormed past Erik.
Erik reached out and grabbed Vaeril's shoulder, pulling. "I just want—"
Vaeril turned and shoved Erik in one fluid motion, the force of the shove sending him tumbling backwards into the sand. "You humans always want something. And if you want it, you take it. No matter how much blood needs to be spilled. Your kind are the reason we hide in the trees. Your greed, your hunger."
Erik scrambled to his feet, clawing at the sand, shock turning to fury. He rammed his palms into Vaeril's chest, but the elf stayed firm and leaned his neck forwards. Vaeril and Erik stood there, foreheads squared, eyes full of fire.
"Will you two stop acting like children? We need to keep moving or we'll be like sitting ducks out here, ripe for the hunt."
"I just wanted some fucking water," Erik growled, his eyes not leaving Vaeril's, his teeth grinding, an unnatural edge to his voice.
"Here." Calen pulled his waterskin from his pack, hearing the dregs sloshing around at the bottom. "Finish this. I'll search for water deposits once we reach shelter. Vaeril has been showing me how. We're all tired, Erik. But we can't be far from Copperstille now."
Erik shifted, something flashing across his face. He pulled his head away from Vaeril's, turning towards Calen, the light of the new moon glinting in his eyes. "What did you say?"
"I said you can have my water. I'll draw more from the ground once we've reached the rocks."
"No." Erik shook his head, moving towards Calen, his eyes cold and piercing, an unsettling calm sweeping over him. "Not that." Erik grasped the collar of Calen's cloak, twisting it in his fists. "'We can't be far from Copperstille now.' How do you not know? Valerys can see the edge of the Burnt Lands, can't he?"
A ripple of anxiety swept through Calen. He still hadn't told them that the horizon had shifted, even for Valerys, since they had entered the Burnt Lands. He had hoped it wouldn't come up, that they would reach the edge of the waste within the time that Captain Kiron had suggested, but it had been far longer. A rumble deepened to a low growl, reverberating in Valerys's throat as the dragon loomed over Calen. The dragon's lip pulled back in a snarl, baring his teeth. Family or not, nothing and nobody would harm the bond.
"Erik, let go."
"Answer me." Cold fury shook Erik's voice.
"I will answer," Calen said, trying his best to keep his voice calm. He could feel the fire burning through Valerys. No matter how strong their bond, after everything that had happened, Calen would be powerless to stop Valerys from striking Erik down. "But let go."
Erik glanced towards Valerys, whose scale covered jaws now hovered over Calen's head, his eyes glaring down at Erik, warm breath wafting. "I can put a blade in you before he even blinks."
"Put a blade in me? Erik, listen to yourself! What's wrong with you?"
"Answer his question." Calen glanced to his right to see Tarmon standing beside them, his hand resting over the pommel of his sword.
"All right." Calen reached up and put his hands on top of Erik's fists, pushing them down. He felt a resistance, but eventually Erik relented and let go of Calen, though the cold look in his eyes remained. Vaeril stood to Calen's right, his eyes shifting between Erik and Calen, his expression unreadable. The hairs on Calen's arms stood on end – part from worry and part from the fast-descending chill of the cold night air. He drew a deep breath through his nostrils, attempting to calm himself, then exhaled, his breath misting in front of him. "I don't know how far the edge is. As soon as we entered the Burnt Lands, the horizon changed. The mountains vanished. All Valerys can see in any direction is sand and rocks. But I'm absolutely sure if—"
"Why didn't you tell us?" Tarmon's voice was low and gruff as he took a step closer to Erik and Calen.
"Because we still have the compass, and we know the Burnt Lands end. There is another side, whether we can see it or not. I didn't think there was a need to worry. But I should have told you. I should have."
"Of course." Erik gave a deep, rumbling laugh, pulling back from Calen. He turned towards the vast emptiness of never-ending wasteland. "You must think you're so important now, don't you?" Erik turned back, holding Calen's gaze, that deep laugh still rumbling in his chest. "You must think you're so special. The Draleid." He dipped his shoulders into a mocking bow, venom dripping from his voice. "But you're the biggest joke of all. One hope, one spark to ignite the fires of rebellion. That's what my father said. That's what we trained to become, Dahlen and I. Then you come along. The son of a blacksmith who fancied himself a hero." Erik stepped closer to Calen, their eyes level. "What kind of cruel trick are the gods playing on us? You let your family die. You went back there after my father told you not to. Your pride and your ego were unmatched even then. You needed to be there, needed to absolve yourself. And because of that, they all died. You let Ellisar die as well. Korik. Lopir. Falmin. And now you risk our lives. You drag us across this gods forsaken wasteland to try and save the friend you left behind. You allow us to walk through this ocean of sand to our deaths, not even deeming us worthy to know that you can't see the other side? How fucking dare you. Rist is dead, Calen. You left him to die, and now you lead us to the same fate." Erik squared up to Calen, so close Calen could feel the warmth of his breath. "I should gut you right now and leave you here as carrion."
Calen clenched his fist, pushing Erik's words to the back of his mind. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. "Erik, listen to—"
Erik rammed his hands into Calen's chest, his eyes cold with fury. "We needed a symbol, but all we got was a coward who thinks of nobody but himself. We should be with my father, fighting, bleeding. There are people out there who need us. We should be making a difference. We should be—" Erik made to step closer to Calen again, but the edge of Vaeril's curved sword now rested against his neck. "The dog bares his teeth."
"Move any closer to the Draleid, and I'll slit your throat. You have been warned."
Erik pressed his neck against Vaeril's blade, a thin stream of blood trickling. "Let's see how fast you are, elf."
Calen opened himself to the Spark. He felt Valerys pull their minds together as the dragon moved his wings across Calen. Fear and fury pulsed from the dragon's heart. Something was wrong with his family. He could feel it in his bones. If any of them tried to harm his soulkin, he would rip them from the world. As Valerys lowered his head to the ground, a deep rumble resonating from his body, threads of Spirit twisted around Calen, winding and weaving, knotting together with thin threads of Air. The threads packed on top of each other, the force of their power pushing outward until Calen could no longer contain it. A shockwave erupted through Calen's body, and the threads of Air and Spirit erupted outwards, like a rock dropped in a lake. The force of the blast sent Erik, Tarmon, and Vaeril crashing backwards into the sand.
"Stay down!" Calen shouted. "Listen to me. Something is wrong! You're not thinking straight!"
Erik was the first to rise, one of his swords gripped in his fist. He made to lunge towards Calen, but Valerys reared onto his hind legs and slammed Erik to the ground with his forelimb, unleashing a visceral roar that resonated through Calen's bones.
"Stay down!" Calen roared, his heart hammering against his ribs, beating them as though they were an anvil. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Vaeril and Tarmon rising to their knees, but neither of them stood any higher.
"You're right." Vaeril clutched the side of his head as he spoke. "Something is wrong. I can feel it clawing at me." The elf's fingers clenched into a fist at the side of his head. Even as he spoke, his chest rose and fell in heavy sweeps, the effort of his restraint evident. "The thoughts in my head… they're not my own." Vaeril lifted his head. His irises were tarnished with a dull red hue.
A chirping pulse sounded behind Calen, mimicked by a second, and then a third, more and more rising spreading around them.
The sand shifted to Calen's left, eyes gleaming as an N'aka erupted from a sandbank, hurtling towards Calen. Before Calen could even draw his sword, Valerys pulled himself from Erik and spun, his spearhead tail slicing into the N'aka's skull in mid-air with a wet slap. The creature's body flopped over itself, dangling, blood flowing, the tip of Valerys's tail embedded in its skull.
More shapes shifted around them, only part-obscured in the perpetual twilight, scavengers sensing weakness in their prey.
Valerys snapped his tail outwards, sending the limp body of the N'aka hurtling away. Then all hell broke loose.
Calen slid his sword from its scabbard, sweeping it across his body, cleaving the jaw of an N'aka that had come upon him with impossible speed. All around, he saw glints of steel and flashes of obsidian claws.
Valerys lunged forwards, cracking his wings against the air for extra lift. He smashed into two N'aka who were lunging towards Calen, his talons rending their flesh. A swipe of his tail split one of the beasts along the side, shattered bones, blood, and entrails spilling into the sand, steam wafting in the cold air. But even as the dragon tore through the creatures, more spilled from the darkness. Three N'aka leapt onto Valerys's back, the scythe-like talons of the third limbs slicing into his scales. A cry sounded to Calen's left. He spun to see Tarmon on his back, two of the creatures tearing at him, his sword in the sand a few feet away.
Vaeril stood a few feet from Tarmon, sweeping his blade in an even stroke, slicing through leathered hide, opening chests, severing limbs. The elf moved fluidly, but Calen could see the exhaustion that gripped him, blood streaming from a nasty cut on the side of his head.
Where's Erik?
A warning flashed from Valerys's mind, and Calen swept his swords upwards, a metallic clang sounding as his blade collided with one of Erik's. Erik swept his second sword low, aiming for Calen's gut. It was only by sheer luck that Calen stepped backwards fast enough to avoid his intestines being spilled out into the sand.
"You did this!" Erik roared, lunging forward. His eyes had turned to a near-black, his irises a vibrant red.
Calen moved backwards, frantically trying to block Erik's swings. There was no world where Calen could stand toe-to-toe with Erik. He dropped into Crouching Bear, letting the forms of the fellensír – the lonely mountain – flow through him. Vibrations jarred his arms as he caught Erik's ferocious strikes, turning them away as best as he could. Searing pain burned through his left quad, then across his forearm, steel slicing through flesh.
"Erik, stop!"
Erik lunged forward, feinting high then striking low, his blade slicing through the flesh of Calen's left calf. Calen dropped to one knee, the strength in his left leg momentarily giving way.
"Erik!"
A flash movement and Tarmon was charging, crashing into Erik with a dropped shoulder. Erik tumbled backwards into the sand, colliding with two N'aka who had been charging towards him.
Calen looked to Tarmon, who stood before him, chest heaving, eyes blackened with red irises just as Erik's had been, greatsword gripped firmly in his fists. Tarmon held Calen's gaze, and Calen could see the conflict warring within the man: his jaw twitched, clenching and unclenching; his hand shook; veins bulged in his head and neck, straining.
With an almighty roar, Tarmon turned away, cleaving an N'aka in half as it leapt through the air, its body slopping to the ground.
I need to do something, and I need to do it now. I can't let this happen. Not like this.
Calen opened himself to the Spark, feeling the cool touch of Air, the rough grate of Earth, and the calming touch of Spirit as he pulled the threads into him. Something thrummed in the back of his mind: Fire, calling to him.
Calen reached out to Valerys, feeling the dragon's consciousness roar in fury, blazing like a raging inferno. He let their minds slide together, let Valerys's strength become his, Valerys's power fill his bones. Draleid n'aldryr. The words in his mind ignited a surge that swept through him. The power of the Spark flooded his veins, rippling, pulsing, yearning to be free. It was all Calen could do to hold the power at bay, to contain it, to harness it. His body trembling, he separated the threads into three cores, one consisting of Spirit, Air, and Fire; the second, Fire and Earth; the last simply Spirit.
I need to protect them. Protect my family.
"Close your eyes!" He roared, screaming so loudly his throat felt as though it would crack and bleed. Closing his own eyes, Calen pushed the threads of Fire, Air, and Spirit together, forming a baldír, flooding it with more power than he had ever pushed into a baldír before. Even through his eyelids, he could see the flash of bright light. Pulsing shrieks tore through the night as the baldírlight burned the N'akas' eyes.
Calen reached out with thin threads of Spirit, weaving them like tendrils through the air, searching for the N'aka around him, surprised to find almost a hundred of the creatures. Once his threads of Spirit were tethered to the N'aka, Calen pushed threads of Earth into the sand below him, feeling the ground ripple in waves. He could feel the N'aka fleeing, scrambling from the blinding light of the baldír. Part of him wanted to let them go, to let them run. But that part of him paled in comparison to the burning, furious rage that surged through the soul he shared with Valerys. The rage of a dragon was a thing like no other. And so Calen let go. He answered the call of the Fire, letting it burn through him.
He pushed that energy into the threads of Fire and Earth, lifting the sand, moulding it into spikes, heating it with the rage of a dragon's heart. With his eyes still closed, Calen let out a scream that tore at his chest, hearing Valerys's roar match his own.
Valerys's rage consumed him, power burning through his veins, energy crackling over his skin like lightning erupting outwards.
Tarmon lay trembling in the sand, his right hand grasped around the hilt of his greatsword, his left hand clasped over his closed eyes, his lungs burning, blood seeping from the plethora of cuts that laced his body. His mind was chaos. Voices whispered at the edges of his consciousness. Whatever Calen had done had pushed them back, but they were still there, calling to him, clawing at his mind. What's happening?The blinding light began to dissipate through the gaps in his fingers, pulling away. Slowly, he took his hand from his face and peeled one eye open, flinching as the fading baldírlight burned.
What in the name of Varyn and all the gods…
All around, N'aka hung suspended in the air, their bodies pierced by spikes of glass that seemed to almost glow, illumined by the light of the moon overhead. There had to be nearly a hundred of the creatures hanging lifeless, their crimson blood streaming down the long glass spikes, dripping and pooling in the sand.
Erik and Vaeril lay on their backs, their hands over the faces.
At the centre of all the death stood Calen and Valerys. The ground beneath Calen's feet had turned to glass, glittering in the purple light that misted from his eyes, drifting both outwards and upwards, just as at Kingspass. He stood with his feet shoulder width apart, his curved sword gripped tight in his right fist, his chest heaving as he dragged in long breaths. Valerys rose behind Calen, towering, his black-veined wings spread wide, his white scales gleaming in the moonlight despite the blend of sand and crimson blood that coated his body, dripping from his tail and jaws. Just as Calen's, the dragon's eyes misted with a purple light, scanning the battlefield, watching for signs of movement, a deep rumble resonating from his chest.
The pair looked as though they had been sent by the gods.
His chest heaving, his arms trembling, Calen dropped to his knees, letting out a gasp as he hit something solid where he had expected sand. He looked down to see he knelt on what appeared to be glass, illuminated by the purple glow from his eyes. The glass spread outward, with him at its centre. It rose at random points, jutting upwards into flicks and spikes. All about him, N'aka hung dead, their bodies perforated by glass, limbs hanging loose, blood flowing in thin streams held back by the glass.
He felt Valerys's mind wrapped around his own, cradling it. He didn't have to look to know the dragon stood over him, wings spread wide, rage still smouldering in his heart.
Calen let his arms droop to his side, his fingers still loosely gripped around the hilt of his father's sword. Though his bones were weary, Calen's veins burned with energy. It rippled through him. At any other time, drawing so much from the Spark would have knocked him to the point of passing out. How is this possible? Did I do this? He tried to release his hold on the Spark to find he had already let it go, and yet he could still feel the same warmth. The glass beneath his feet shimmered, reflecting the purple light that glowed from his eyes. But more than that, he saw a second source of light in the glass – another pair of eyes.
Calen heaved himself to his feet, at the same turning towards Valerys, who was standing behind him. The dragon was beautiful. Twice as large as a bear, wings even larger, dense muscle rippling beneath his blood-splattered scales. A glowing purple mist drifted from the dragon's eyes, like steam rising from frozen steel. The power that Calen felt was the bond. There was nothing to explain it, but he knew. The energy thrummed through both him and Valerys, yet it seemed to come from somewhere unseen, a core that was both separate and together. Calen could feel it in his mind as he could the elemental strands of the Spark. What he felt now was something entirely different to anything he had felt before. This was balance – a harmony of two souls.
"Calen."
Calen turned at the sound of Tarmon's voice. Energy crackled through him, lightning in his veins. He clenched his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Valerys leaned his head forward, blood dripping from his jaws.
The big man shook his head, stumbling forwards. His left hand clasped to a wound over his right breast. He limped, favouring his left leg. Blood and dust marred his face, streaked by sweat. "My mind is my own. Whatever you did pushed the voices back."
Whatever I did?What did I do? The memory was hazy. A blinding light, power surging. At the last minute, he had pushed threads of Spirit outwards to amplify the Fire and Earth… Had that done something?
"But I'm not sure for how long." Tarmon stumbled and Calen stepped forwards to catch him. Somehow, the hulking man felt light in Calen's grip. "I can still hear the voices scratching at the back of my mind, pushing to get back in."
"It's all right," Calen whispered, lowering Tarmon to a patch of sand where the glass hadn't spread. "The others…"
Both Erik and Vaeril were slowly rising to their feet. The left side of the elf's face was coated in blood, his blond hair matted to the side of his head with thick globs of dark red. He sheathed his sword as he rose, casting his eyes at the suspended bodies of the N'aka.
Erik didn't so much as glance at the bodies hanging from the glass spikes. He stared at Calen wordlessly. As though only just realising he still held both his swords, Erik slid them into the scabbards on his back.
"Tarmon is right," Vaeril said, groaning as he touched his hand to the side of his head. "I can hear it too… It's like whispers, echoing faintly. But they're growing stronger. I hadn't noticed them before. They're like a slow-acting poison."
As Calen stood there, the pieces slowly began to slip into place in his mind. "It isn't the N'aka that kill whatever enters the Burnt Lands. It isn't the N'aka, and it isn't the heat, or the endlessness. It's themselves."
Both Tarmon and Vaeril looked at Calen as though he were mad.
"I… don't… follow." A grunt broke up each word that left Tarmon's mouth. The man clasped the wound in his chest, his muscles tensing and slackening as he forced himself to stay standing.
Erik finally spoke. "The soldiers on the plateau. They were all Lorian. But their wounds weren't all caused by claw and talon… They were made by steel. They killed each other… The N'aka just picked at the scraps."
Calen nodded sombrely. The realisation was a dark one.
Vaeril's head tilted upwards, an acknowledgement in his eyes. "They were on the same side. Of course."
"You need to go." Erik stepped towards Calen, a look of hesitancy in his eyes – and guilt. "Take Valerys and fly. Whatever is causing these voices doesn't seem to affect you. If… if you stay, we'll…." Erik looked at his blood-covered hands, then back up towards Calen. "I won't let that happen, Calen. I refuse." Erik let out a gasp, clasping both his hands to the sides of his head. He stopped, shaking his head and settling himself. "No," he whispered, swallowing hard. He pulled his hands away from his head. "I can feel it, like a weight pressing down on me, whispering. You need to go now."
"I'm not leaving you."
"Calen, I—"
"I'm not leaving you!" The anger in Calen's voice was part his own, part Valerys's. He hadn't noticed his hand clenching into a fist or the deepening of his breaths. "There has to be a way."
"No one has found a way through in four hundred years."
"Nothing has ever been done, until the day it is," Tarmon grunted, leaning on a thick spike of glass that jutted upwards from the sand. "And there hasn't been a Draleid in four hundred years either. Likely no-one else has ever had this chance inside this deathscape. We need to use it. What did you do, Calen?"
"I'm not sure…" Calen trailed off, trying to think. "Something took over… The bond. The bond between me and Valerys. I tethered threads of Spirit to the N'aka—" A realisation struck "—and to you! I tethered threads of Spirit to the three of you to make sure you weren't struck. Then I pushed threads outwards in a wave… I…" Black spots filled Calen's memory. The bond had taken over. "I'm not entirely sure what I did…"
Erik and Tarmon's faces dropped, a darkness looming over them. But Vaeril barely even reacted. He had seemed deep in contemplation since Calen had mentioned Spirit. "Vaeril, is there anything you can…"
He felt Vaeril reach for the Spark, pulling on threads of Spirit. The threads drifted on the air, weaving around Vaeril's body like ribbons attached to strings before encasing him from head to toe, each thread wrapping around the next in a dedicated pattern, spinning a latticed web. A ward of Spirit. The elf let out a sudden gasp, dropping forward onto his hands. Calen moved towards him, but Vaeril held up an open palm.
"I'm all right."
Whatever the elf had tried hadn't worked.
Vaeril drew in a series of deep breaths, steadying himself, then once more pulled on threads of Spirit, drawing them into himself, weaving them around and through his body. The threads expanded, layering over each other, constantly in motion, shifting, whirling. After a few moments, a visible shiver ran through Vaeril, and his shoulders drooped, his head hanging back, a relieved smile on his lips. The elf rose to his feet, a weary look in his eyes.
Calen rested his hand on Vaeril's shoulder. "Did it work?"
The elf nodded. "I think so. The voices aren't completely gone, but they're holding in the back of my mind, and they aren't pushing any closer." The elf stopped for a moment, taking a breath. "You feel nothing? Hear nothing? No whispering voices or oily sensations snaking through your thoughts?"
Calen shook his head. "Nothing."
"Your bond with Valerys must protect you. That has to be it. If you hadn't been here, we would've slit each other's throats. It goes a long way towards explaining why nobody has ever left this place. Can you follow what I'm doing?"
"I think so." Calen nodded hesitantly. If he focused, he could see the elf's threads of Spirit weaving through his body, see the patterns as Vaeril had been teaching him.
"The darkness is a tangible thing," Vaeril said. "As soon as you try to push it away, it will push back. Don't try to attack it, deflect it. If you try to push against it, it will drain you faster than you can blink. Don't be a wall, be a rock in a river. It's not as complex as a true ward of Spirit. You're not blocking me from the Spark, you're deflecting the darkness. Redirecting it. When you're ready, lay your threads over mine. Use them as a guide. Mimic them. Then I will let go of my own."
Calen nodded. He felt Valerys's hesitancy, his lavender eyes focused on Calen. Drawing in a deep breath, Calen reached out to the Spark. He could feel it pulsing in his mind, the elemental strands twisting and turning. Carefully, he pulled on threads of Spirit, just as Vaeril had done.
"Good, push them through me and around me. Wrap them around my core. Keep them in constant motion – that's the hardest part."
Calen drew in another breath, then did as Vaeril instructed, pushing the threads through the elf's body and wrapping them around, never allowing them to stay still, keeping them in constant motion, tracing them over the threads Vaeril had already laid. A force pushed back, hard and fast, like a wall of steel closing in around Calen.
"Don't fight it," the elf said, looking into Calen's eyes. "Redirect it."
"I'm trying," Calen said through gritted teeth. He tried to steady his breathing, to focus. The energy that had thrummed through him was slowly fading. He could feel it evaporating as Valerys's rage calmed.
"Good," the elf said as Calen's threads began to move over his own. "That's it. Let it break over you, wash around you."
After a few moments, Calen felt the force pushing against him lessen. It didn't vanish entirely, but it faded to the edges of his consciousness. He felt Vaeril release his own threads.
"Very good," Vaeril said, panting, reaching out and resting his hand on Calen's shoulder. The elf's eyes were dark and sunken, like someone who had just woken up from the night after drinking their bodyweight in ale.
It took a while for Vaeril to catch his breath before he was able to cast shields around Tarmon's and Erik's minds. But when he did, the relief was visible on their faces. The elf folded his arms across his chest, then let out a sigh. "A ward like this one doesn't take much energy to maintain, but with this darkness pushing against it, neither of us will be able to hold in place for longer than half a day. Even at that, it's near impossible to be sure."
Coils of dread twisted in Calen's stomach.
"What, so that's just it?" Erik said. "Come nightfall, we kill each other?"
"No." Vaeril moved his tongue across his teeth, pondering. He let out a sigh. "We have two choices. Either Calen and I can alternate, one resting while the other shields the whole group, or we work together and segment our shielding."
"How long can you hold the shields if you alternate?" Tarmon asked, wiping the blood from his greatsword with a cloth from his pack and sheathing the blade.
"If I gave you a number, I'd be telling you a lie. But far less than if we split the burden."
"That's not the real problem though," Calen said, his mouth a grim line as he looked to Vaeril.
Realisation set into Tarmon's face. "You're going to have to sleep sometime."
"And if I sleep and something happens to Vaeril…"
"We kill each other." Erik stared at two N'aka who had been skewered by a single spike of glass that stood almost six feet in length and was almost half a foot across.
"Then, we have one option." Tarmon folded his arms. "We move forward to shelter, we bind mine, Erik, and Vaeril's hands and feet, and strap the weapons to Valerys. Calen can rest while Valerys watches over us, and our feet and hands will be bound. When we wake, Calen can shield Vaeril, untie him, then move to myself and Erik."
Vaeril turned his lip down in a satisfied pout. "And I'll be too drained at night to draw from the Spark so I won't be a danger that way."
"So we make ourselves bait for the N'aka?" Erik puffed out his cheeks and shook his head. "Fantastic."
"Doing it this way will ensure we cover the most ground possible during the day. And I say the quicker we leave this place, the better." Tarmon rested his palm on one of the bloodied glass spikes. "Besides, I think the N'aka might look for easier prey now."
That night, as Calen sat beneath the cover of an arched rock, his back against the side of a sleeping Valerys, his breath misting in the air, he felt something. A low resounding beat, slow and rhythmic. It wasn't a sound or a vibration; it didn't ripple through the air. It was a pulse. The beating heart of the waste, calling to him. Thump. He could feel it in his bones. The pull was so strong it took everything Calen had to stay where he was. Behind him, in the full cover of the rock, the others lay sleeping, hands and feet bound.
'What kind of cruel trick do the gods play on us? You let your family die… You let Ellisar die as well. Korik. Lopir. Falmin. And now you risk our lives. You drag us across this gods forsaken wasteland to try and save the friend you left behind.' Erik's words echoed in Calen's mind. Whether Erik had meant them or not, they still held truth. His family had died because he had brought the empire to The Glade. That had been his doing. There was no way around it. Ellisar, Korik, Lopir, Falmin. In one way or another, they had all died because of Calen. No matter the path forward, more would die. Hundreds. Thousands. The thought threatened to consume him. It gnawed at his mind. He hadn't asked for this, yet here he was.
I cannot bring back those who are gone. But I can fight for those who are left.
He tightened his fingers around the hilt of his sword, which sat on his lap. Subconsciously, he traced the fingers of his left hand along the intricate spiral patterns of the blade his father given him while he held his gaze on the ever-shifting sand of the dunes.
Thump.
Calen drew in a deep breath, casting his gaze towards the star-framed horizon. He knew what called him. He had seen it in his dreams. Ilnaen. The heart of all the darkness that had destroyed this place.
Thump.
Wind crashed against Calen as he tore through the sky. Above him, a pinkish-red moon hung low, illuminating charcoal clouds. Below him, a city burned. Flames raging, white stone tarnished with black soot.
What is this place?
Power surged through him as his wings beat against the sky, shimmering an emerald green in the eerie moonlight. Dread and panic consumed his heart. Every fibre of his being cried out, desperate to reach wherever he was going.
It's another dream.
Ahead, an enormous tower rose from the city, so tall it scraped the clouds. A white stone chamber stood at the tower's top, connected by a stone walkway to a building that looked to be a larger version of the Belduaran keep. But he wasn't concerned about the walkway or the keep. What he wanted was in the top of that tower.
No, not what he wanted – what he needed.
Reaching deep inside, he unleashed a roar so primal, so visceral it shook his bones. Then, a familiar feeling coursed through Calen. Pressure building. Something he had come to know so well. But this was different. Raw power. It burned through him like a river of lightning, surging through his veins, through his soul. Then, when the power built to a point that he could no longer hold it within, he opened his jaws and unleashed a torrent of dragonfire on the outer wall of the tower, crashing against the stone. The wall of the tower exploded inwards under the force of the blast, consuming the inner chamber in a cloud of stone and dust.
Following the path of his flames, Calen cracked his wings against the air, burying the claws at the end of his forelimbs into the stone on either side of the newly created opening, anchoring himself with his talons.
There, standing beneath him, her blue níthral radiating light across the white stone, was who he had come for: his soulkin. His beating heart. Everything that was anything in the world. Alvira.
Two hooded figures stood before Alvira, rippling black fire blades in their hands. Fades. Once more, lightning rippled through Calen's body, the pressure building, burning. Those creatures needed to die. He could not let them harm Alvira. That could never happen. He would not let it happen. Just as the pressure built to a head, Calen opened his jaws, and a raging river of dragonfire poured forth. The creatures howled and screamed as their dark souls were ripped from the shells of flesh they had stolen.
Within the chamber was another. A traitor. A murderer of both Draleid and dragon. Eltoar.
An earth-shattering roar tore through the sky, giving Calen only a moment's warning before Helios, the black-scaled dragon that was bound to Eltoar crashed into his side with such immense force it ripped him free of the tower, his talons raking long furrows through the stone.
Vyldrar! Alvira's words thundered through Calen's mind. Grief. Sorrow.
He clawed and snapped at the other dragon as they plummeted. He needed to break free. He couldn't leave Alvira alone. She needed him. He roared as Helios's talons raked along his side, and he shrieked as Helios tore at his neck.
He needed to protect Alvira. But he could see the void. Hear it calling to him. Fear gripped Calen's mind. Not fear for his own life, but for Alvira's. Fear of leaving her alone in the world. He thrashed, raking his talons down Helios's side, ripping away scale and flesh, bathing him in dragonfire. But it wasn't enough. Helios had always been his better. Always been larger, stronger. But he had once been a friend. Even then, he could feel the regret, the sadness, radiating from Helios's mind.
Every part of him howled in pain as the bigger dragon ripped at him with its claws and tore at him with his teeth. Helios's jaws clamped around his neck. He pulled his mind as far from Alvira's as he could – he didn't want her to feel him die.
Calen closed his eyes.
Calen gasped as he jolted upright, a chill sweeping through him. His heart pounded, his chest trembled, and his body dripped with a cold sweat. He reached out for Valerys, aching to feel the warmth of the dragon's mind. He turned, his body shaking, the night's chill evaporating as he laid his hand on the scales of Valerys's side, and he felt the dragon's mind touch his.
Concern radiated from Valerys at the feeling of Calen's panic. The dragon, who had stayed awake to guard the group while Calen slept, brought his head around, a deep rumble resonating from his chest.
Calen got to his knees, resting his forehead against Valerys's snout, running his palms along the ridges of horns that framed the dragon's face as he tried to process what he had just seen. Every hair on his body still stood on end, pure, unbridled grief ripping at his heart, tearing strips from him. That had been Alvira Serris, the Archon of the Draleid, and the dragon to which she had been bound, Vyldrar. Calen knew without having to question. He had seen through Vyldrar's eyes, felt his heart. Even as the more logical half of his brain told him it had only been a dream, he knew it had been real. No dream could have felt like that. No dream could have held such pain. He had felt Vyldrar's fear as he died, his loss, his heartache. Even when Vyldrar had died, his only thought had been of Alvira. Calen lifted his head, looking into the shimmering lavender of Valerys's eyes, black slits running through their centre.
"My soul to yours."
A deep rumble reverberated in Valerys's throat as the dragon pushed his head against Calen's hands. Valerys couldn't speak, not in the way Calen could, but the pure warmth that spilled over from the dragon's mind said more than words ever could.
Soulkin.