Dann wiped the sweat from his brow and drew a long breath in through his nostrils, holding it in his chest, allowing it to swell and grow before exhaling it in a single, "donkeyballs."
He shook his head, looking down at the small wooden carving in his hand. He'd been working on this particular carving since before the sun had risen that morning. And now, as the sun sat just above the western horizon, what was supposed to be a carving of a kat resting atop a thick branch instead looked like a dead, beaten cow that had collapsed on a barn door – and even that was being generous. He shrugged, puffing out his cheeks in exasperation. If he told Therin he had always been intending to carve a cow, maybe the elf might be impressed. But he could already hear Therin's voice in his head. 'A valúr is not for the admiration of others, Dann. It is to understand creation so that we may better appreciate the loss that comes with destruction. Blah, blah, blah…'
It was only when Dann saw Therin shifting where he sat – a few feet to Dann's right – that Dann realised he had said the inside part out loud.
The elf stared back at Dann, an eyebrow raised, a tin of charcoal sticks resting precariously on his knee and a small sketchbook in his hand.
Dann pursed his lips and gave Therin an acknowledging nod, holding eye contact until Therin frowned, shook his head, and went back to working away on his sketchbook. The elf's hand moved across the page with a level of unconscious thought that Dann could never have replicated in his wildest dreams. Sketching seemed as effortless to Therin as breathing.
Dann let out a sigh, leaning forwards so his forearms rested on his knees, shifting his arse in an attempt to relieve some of the natural irritation that came with sitting atop the dried out husk of a fallen tree. He tossed his lump of mutilated wood from one hand to the other, then stood, patting the small shavings from his trousers. He made his way across the camp towards where Drunir stood with Aeson and Therin's horses, tethered to a post, drinking from a heavy wooden barrel. The heat that came with being so close to the Burnt Lands meant that the three horses had spent so much time with their muzzles plunged in water, Dann was beginning think they had given up and decided to become fish – a decision he envied.
As he made his way to Drunir, the dried and cracked earth snapping beneath his boots, Dann cast his gaze across the rest of the camp. It had been weeks since Baldon had brought news that Calen had not only emerged on the other side of the Burnt Lands but had also re-entered with a large party at his back. In the wake of that news, more elves had been sent from Aravell to stand watch along the edges of the Burnt Lands in case Calen and the others emerged from somewhere other than where they had first entered. Most were currently performing that task, but some still lingered around the camp, cooking food over spits, sharpening steel, resting, and, in general, looking more regal in their flowing green cloaks than any living thing had a right to.
For Dann, having so many elves around only served to highlight Alea and Lyrei's absence. The pair had not returned after Lyrei had been taken to the healers in Aravell. When Dann had asked the other elves how Lyrei was recovering, most had simply ignored the question, while others had given nothing more than short answers saying that she was well. He had thought to ask Therin, but he already knew the answer would be heavily skewed towards some babble about honour, as it almost always was. When they did finally return to Aravell, he would make a point of finding Alea and Lyrei himself.
A snort from Drunir pulled Dann's attention away from the elves and back towards the horse. He couldn't help but smile as the horse lifted his head from the barrel and shook it side to side, whinnying, water dripping from his muzzle. "Come here, you."
He patted Drunir on the cheek, the horse's hair soft against his fingers, then touched his forehead against Drunir's muzzle. "How are you feeling? You can't still be thirsty. You've drunk your body weight today."
The horse snorted, leaning his head against Dann's. There was something about Drunir that gave Dann a sense of calm he'd never truly experienced before – a peacefulness. Letting out a short laugh, he scratched at Drunir's cheek with his left hand, while extending his right hand along the horse's neck and shoulders, checking him over. "You really are a handsome bastard, aren't you?"
Drunir snorted, and Dann continued to stroke the horse's neck and muzzle while looking towards the edge of the camp, near the tents, where Aeson and Baldon stood alongside the newcomers who had arrived only a couple of days before – two of which, Dann had already met: Asius and Senas.
The two giants stood either side of Aeson, half again taller than he was, making him look as though he were nothing more than a child at their side. Dann had forgotten quite how massive the pair were. He'd also forgotten their skin was blue. Which, in hindsight, should have been a difficult thing to forget. But given everything that happened since meeting the giants in Ölm Forest, he figured he'd cut himself some slack. Though in truth, their skin was more a pale icy blue than it was the deep blue of the oceans or the sky – he wasn't sure if that made a difference, but it made him feel better to think it did.
The other newcomers were more Angan. There were five in total – and Baldon, who made six. One of the Angan was from Baldon's clan, Fenryr. Aneera was her name. The other four looked as though they were from a different species entirely. Therin had said they were part of a clan called Dvalin. They stood a measure for Baldon and Aneera in height, they had faces and fur, and when in their human-like shape, they walked on two legs – but that was about all the similarity they shared. Fur as white as snow covered their bodies, and their faces were soft and broad. Their eyes were like those of deer: reddish brown with a black pupil in the shape of an oval that ran laterally. Coal-black antlers veined with gold grew from the front of their heads, folding backwards and rising just slightly. Their legs were double hinged, like a goat's or a deer's, which meant they walked awkwardly on two feet, which were actually hooves. Now that he looked more closely, he was sure that the enormous white stag ridden by the elven captain that night in the Darkwood during the Urak attack had been one of these creatures in their more animal form. Shapeshifting wolves and stags… how in Elyara's name did I get here?Apparently Aneera and Asius had helped Calen escape from the High Lord in Drifaien. Even the thought of that twisted in Dann's chest a little. He let out a sigh through his nose, resting his forehead against Drunir's neck. Dann, Calen, and Rist had been friends since as long as Dann could remember. Brothers, more than friends. He couldn't think of a time in his life he had not been able to turn to Calen and Rist. They were the only people who put up with his endless questions, his inability to ever make the right decision, the fact he somehow always ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, and his tendency to rub people in every wrong way imaginable. They had always been there for him – always. And what had he done to repay them? Nothing but let them down when they needed him. It was he who had gotten so drunk he couldn't fight back that night Fritz and the others jumped him and Calen. It was he who had led Rist and Calen to the bear's den in Ölm. It was always him. Ever since they were young, it had always been Dann who had gotten them all in trouble.
And then he had allowed Aeson and the others to convince him to leave Rist with Dahlen in Camylin. Now Rist was gone, and if Dann was being honest with himself, he knew that Rist was likely dead. And all this time, since Belduar had fallen, Calen had been on his own: lost, running, and imprisoned. And now all Dann could do was stand around like a spare thumb, waiting, useless, hoping that Calen would come charging over the ridge that fronted the Burnt Lands. He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life. He was a fuckup – he knew that. He always had been, and likely always would be. But he had always worked damn hard to make sure he would be able to help those around him when they needed him. How many hours had he spent learning the bow? Learning to hunt and track, to cook and forage? Thousands.
Dann shook his head, allowing himself a weak half-smile as Drunir snorted again, nuzzling him. "I'm all right," he said, scratching at Drunir's neck, much to the horse's contentment. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. "I'll be all right."
Sighing must have been the only thing his body knew how to do that day, for once again Dann found himself tilting his head back and letting out a long drawn-out sigh, the blazing sun warm against his cheeks.
"How is he?"
Dann turned to see Therin walking towards him, green cloak trailing just above the dusty ground. The elf lifted a waterskin to his lips, drinking deep before handing it to Dann.
"Still has a better sense of humour than you, if that's what you're asking." Dann laughed as he took the waterskin from Therin, smiling to let the elf know he was only joking. Though, he wasn't joking entirely; for a horse, Drunir had a surprisingly good sense of humour.
"And he's still better looking than you," Therin said, cupping his hand at the side of Drunir's left cheek. Drunir snorted, shaking his head side to side.
Dann pulled the opening of the waterskin from his mouth, narrowing his eyes at Drunir. "Traitor."
Drunir shifted – not at Dann's words, but at something else. The horse stepped backwards, snorting loudly, bracing his neck upwards, eyes widening and nostrils flaring. It was the first time Dann had seen Drunir truly startled. The other horses followed suit, stamping and snorting, attempting to pull free from their tethers.
"Whoa, boy. Easy," Dann reached out a hand, but Drunir shook his head taking another step back. "Easy," Dann repeated. "What in the gods has gotten into you?"
Drunir snorted again but seemed to calm a little, allowing Dann's hand to rest on his cheek, but the other horses continued as they were. Dann turned to Therin but saw the elf was staring in the direction of the setting sun. He made to speak only to notice that Aeson and the others had moved and were looking at the sky in the same direction as Therin. The elves who had stayed in the camp had also all stopped what they were doing.
Therin reached to his hip, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of his sword, which set a knot in Dann's stomach. He'd left his own sword, along with his bow and arrows, in his tent – something he now vowed he would never do again.
"Therin, what is it?" As Dann spoke, he heard what the others must already have: the beating of wings.
"A dragon."
Dann didn't have to be told to know Therin was using the Spark. The elf always tended to have a look of singular focus on his face every time he did.
Dann swallowed hard, stepping closer to Drunir, running his hand along the horse's muzzle. Then he saw it. A dark shape rose from behind a cracked hill to the west, sweeping towards the sky, the sun at its back casting it in shadow. The dragon twisted, turning in the air and diving, spreading its wings as it drew closer to the ground. It was coming straight for them.
"Therin?" Dann's pulse quickened, his chest tightening. Drunir shuffled beside him, snorting.
"It might be Calen and Valerys." Therin didn't take his eyes from the dragon.
"That? That thing up there might be Valerys?" Dann stared at Therin with a look of incredulity, then turned back towards the sky. The last time Dann had laid eyes on Valerys, the dragon had been no bigger than a small horse – a fire-breathing, scale-covered horse with wings, razor-sharp teeth, and a proclivity for killing things, but a horse, nonetheless. The dragon that soared towards them was massive; not that Dann knew what constituted massive when it came to dragons.
The dragon soared across the sky, wings spread wide, the glow of the sun still making it difficult to determine anything other than the creature's shape.
"Therin…?" Dann shifted back another step. The closer the creature drew, the larger it became.
A smile spread across Therin's face, and the elf shook his head, bringing his hand away from the hilt of his sword.
It took Dann a few moments to see what Therin had seen, but as the dragon shifted in the air, the sun caught its scales at just the right angle to reveal a colouring of pure white fading to black. "… Valerys."
The dragon dropped low, then rose and swept overhead, disappearing over the ridge at Dann's back, spirals of dust whipping into the air in its wake. All eyes in the camp followed Valerys's flight, and silence descended. Seconds passed where the only thing Dann could hear was the beating of his own heart. Then another wingbeat sounded.
Thump.
A gust of wind swept overhead as Valerys came back into view, wings angled as he circled around the camp. The dragon cracked his wings once more, then dropped to the ground only twenty or so paces from Dann, brittle earth snapping beneath his weight, dust spiralling.
If Dann hadn't been sure the dragon was Valerys up to that point, he was certain once the dragon turned towards him, pale lavender eyes regarding him with curiosity. "It is you…"
Dann took a few steps forwards, doing nothing to hide his awe. The dragon had to have been at least forty feet from head to tail, with a wingspan over twice that. He was easily three times larger than last Dann had laid eyes on him. His chest deeper and broader, his neck thicker. The horns that framed his face were as long as Dann's feet, and about half as wide as his forearm.
Valerys let out a low rumble, lowering his head towards Dann and pulling back his lips to reveal rows of sharp teeth as big as knives. Even the dragon's head was now wider than Dann's shoulders. Valerys looked as though he could tear a horse in half with a single bite. Somehow the dragon managed to look more ferocious and feral than Dann remembered, while at the same time developing a sense of violent grace and beauty that all large predators seemed to possess.
This was not the small creature that had crawled from the egg all that time ago. This was a creature of immense power, strange nobility, and deep intelligence. This was a dragon of old. A dragon of legend.
Before Dann could get any closer, shouts rang out, some of the elves pointing in the direction Valerys had come.
"Calen." Dann's heart stopped.
Valerys lifted his head at the sound of Calen's name, turning his neck towards the setting sun. There, in the distance, cresting a small hill, were the shapes of people.
Dann hadn't realised he was running before he heard the sound of the dry earth cracking beneath his feet. He'd dropped Therin's waterskin. His pulse drummed in his ears. His lungs burned.
As he drew closer, the figures had crested the top of the hill and were now coming down the other side. There had to be at least fifty of them. Had they all crossed the Burnt Lands? How? For the first time in his life, Dann pushed the questions to the back of his mind. He just kept running.
"Calen?"
Those in the group had already been staring at Dann as he ran at them, but as his voice echoed out, the group stopped entirely. A voice called back, "Dann?"
A moment passed, and then a man stepped to the front of the group, a hooded cloak draped around his shoulders and up over his head. Then he was running, his hood blowing back.
Dann crashed into Calen with all the caution of a blind bull, the collision knocking the air from his lungs. He wrapped his arms around his friend, squeezing as hard as he could, feeling Calen do the same. "I thought I'd lost you."
Calen pulled Dann in tighter, held the embrace, then pulled away. The face that Dann looked upon was familiar yet different. It was leaner, tarnished by exposure to the elements and more than a few thin, new scars. But more than that, there was something different in Calen's stare – it was harder, colder. Then, as Dann held Calen's gaze, he realised something else was different: Calen's eyes had changed colour.
The corners of Calen's mouth pulled upwards into a weak smile, then fell back to a thin line, sadness touching his face. "I tried, Dann."
"You tried what?" Dann shook his head a little, his hands clasped on Calen's shoulders. He knew he looked at Calen as though he were looking at a ghost, but there was nothing he could do to help it.
"When I got free, I went looking for him." Calen looked at his feet, then back up, his eyes pleading. "I'm sorry I didn't come to you first. I knew Aeson never would have let me leave if I did. It was my only chance to try and find him. I needed to try."
"Rist…" Every muscle in Dann's body tightened, and he held his breath. He pulled his gaze from Calen and frantically searched the faces of those who stood at his friend's back. He saw two of the elves who had been set to watch the Burnt Lands, as well as Vaeril and Erik, along with another man he recognised but couldn't put a name to. They looked a bit worse for wear, but they were alive. That was what mattered. More than a handful of those gathered looked as though they'd just crawled free from the void, hooded cloaks drawn up over their heads. "Is he…"
Calen shook his head before Dann could finish the sentence. "He wasn't there." Calen looked down again. "He wasn't in Berona. He wasn't…" Calen's words caught in his throat, and Dann could see a tear glistening as it rolled down his friend's cheek.
Dann's heart sank as the sliver of hope was snatched from him, but he grasped Calen's head and brought their foreheads together. "It's all right. You're here. Now. We will find him, Calen. I know we will."
Aeson's voice sounded over Dann's left shoulder. "Erik, my boy!"
Dann pulled his gaze from Calen to see Aeson stride past him and pull Erik into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around his son.
"Det er aldin na vëna du." Dann turned to see Therin standing to his right. Asius and Senas stood about a foot behind the elf, their hands clasped at their backs. A warm smile rested on Therin's face, and he looked at Calen as a father might.
"It is good to see you too, Therin." Calen brushed the heel of his palm across his face.
"Come here, my boy." Therin leaned forwards and embraced Calen, clasping his hand at the back of Calen's neck. "You're a sight for sore eyes."
"Why don't you ever hug me like that?" Dann raised an eyebrow.
"Because you're already too needy," Therin answered with a wry smile.
Calen pulled away from Therin, a laugh catching in his throat, turning to a cough. "It feels like nothing's changed."
"Not entirely true," Therin said, nodding towards Dann. "He's more irritating now than he was before, if you can believe it."
"I can believe it."
"Easy now," Dann said, clapping Calen on the back.
As they stood there, at the edge of the Burnt Lands, the soft glow of the setting sun spraying over the hills and mountains to the west, Dann waited and watched as Asius, Senas, and the elves who had remained at the camp greeted Calen and the others. It was all he could do to stop a silly grin from spreading across his face. Calen was here. He was safe. He was alive. There was a time when none of those things had seemed a possibility.
"How could you have been so selfish?"
The sound of Aeson's voice caused Dann to clench his jaw involuntarily. Silence filled the air, the sound of chatter and shuffling feet fading as those gathered turned to look at Aeson. The man stood only a few feet from Calen, Erik at his side, his face twisted into a hard stare.
"He wasn't—"
"I'll deal with you later," Aeson snapped, cutting off Erik. The man fixed his gaze on Calen's. "How could you traipse across the continent while knowing how many lives hung in the balance? Knowing how much had been sacrificed, how many lives given, so that Valerys's egg could be brought here. You owe a debt—"
"I owe nothing." Calen words were more a growl than anything else. He stepped closer to Aeson, meeting the man's gaze with an iron stare. Wingbeats sounded, and Valerys dropped to the ground behind Dann, his neck stretched out over Calen, teeth bared, a deep rumble resonating from his chest. The dragon postured in much the way a wolf would when watching over a cub. Calen shook his head. "I'm not doing this."
"Yes you are." Dann saw the muscles twitching in Aeson's jaw. "You're not a child anymore, Calen. You're a Draleid. That means something. There are people relying on you now. People who need you. Not only was crossing the Burnt Lands stupid and selfish, you put Erik's life in danger, and Tarmon's, and Vaeril's. All for what? To find one man?" Aeson shook his head, scoffing. "The arrogance of youth."
Aeson stared at Calen, who remained silent, staring back. Out of the corner of his eye, Dann noticed some of those who had come with Calen, Vaeril included, stepping closer, a tension in their movements.
"Are you done?" Calen asked, breaking the silence. When Aeson didn't answer, Calen moved closer, their faces only inches apart. The rumble in Valerys's chest grew louder, and the dragon's neck dropped lower, hovering above Dann's head. "You came to my home." Calen paused, exhaling through his nostrils. His voice was level, but Dann knew the anger that simmered below the false calm – he could feel it. "You brought the empire to my doorstep. My parents and my sister are dead. Do you even care? Were they anything to you?" Calen pursed his lips in disgust. "No, they weren't. They were just another necessary casualty in your war – in your quest." As Calen spoke, a purple glow began to emanate from his eyes, light misting in wisps. The only reason Dann didn't think he was hallucinating was the look on Therin's face. "You would see all Epheria burn so long as Fane and the Dragonguard lay dead. But you don't understand, this world doesn't care about you or me, or revenge. We are nothing. So yes, when I saw a chance to find Rist, I took it. I went after one man because if we forget about the ones we love, everything loses meaning. You might have forgotten that, but I haven't. I am not your puppet, and I never will be. I'll fight this war, but not for you. For them."
The low whistle of the wind was the only sound that broke the silence, spirals of dust sweeping into the air.
After a few long moments, Aeson stepped back. "There's food and water at the camp," he called, his stare holding on Calen for a second before moving about the newcomers. "Eat, drink, and rest. This large a number will draw attention, but there is no sense travelling in the dark. We will leave for Aravell at dawn."
Without another word, Aeson turned and strode towards the camp. But even with Aeson gone, the tension still hung thick in the air. Calen hadn't moved, his jaw was clenched, his body tense. Valerys still stood behind Dann, looming over the gathering. Even Erik had not walked after his father and instead kept his gaze focused on Calen. After a moment, Calen gave Erik a nod, and the man called out to the others, ushering them onwards to the camp.
Calen let out a long breath as he turned to Dann, his anger still evident in the language of his body. He gave Dann a half-hearted smile.
"The eyes are new." Dann shrugged, giving Calen a pout that slowly turned to a smile.
A genuine happiness touched Calen's short laugh, and he pulled Dann into an embrace so tight it risked popping a lung.
"If you leave without me again, I swear to the gods."
"I won't." Calen pulled tighter. "I promise."
"He didn't stop moaning for even a day," Therin chimed in.
Dann was about to snap back at Therin, when he heard a voice that seemed strangely familiar.
"Dann Pimm. You look taller since the last time I saw you."
Every hair on Dann's body stood on end as he looked over Calen's shoulder at the source of the voice. "You're dead…"
Haem Bryer pulled the hood of his cloak down, smiling softly. He looked almost identical to the last time Dann had seen him – the night he died. He was still a mountain of a man, legs built from tree trunks, shoulders as broad as an ox, and a surety in the way he held himself, but most of all, he looked very much alive.
"So I've heard."
"How?" Dann looked from Haem to Calen. He could tell by Calen's expression that it was still a topic that held more than a touch of sensitivity – not that that ever bothered him.
"It's a… It's a long story. Why don't I tell you over some food?" Haem smiled at Dann, the smile weakening a touch as he looked towards Calen.
"You know what?" Dann stared at Haem, his mind still feeling as though his eyes were playing a trick. "Fuck it. It's not like I've understood anything that's happened in the last year anyway. Come on, let's get you some food, and you can explain how you've returned from the dead." Dann let out a laugh of disbelief, shaking his head. That wasn't a sentence he had ever expected to say.
As Dann turned to lead Calen and the others back towards the camp, he saw Baldon and the other Angan – Aneera – walking towards them, their long, willowy legs carrying them with a strange grace. Dann didn't think he would ever get used to the shapeshifters; to the way they looked 'almost human'.
As the two Angan drew closer, their gazes fixed on Calen. Vaeril, Haem, Erik, and the other man whom Dann vaguely recognised tensed, a deep growl rumbling in Valerys's throat as the dragon turned his head towards Aneera and Baldon. Before Dann could say anything, the two Angan both dropped to one knee before Calen.
"Son of the Chainbreaker."