Despite his prior declaration of urgency, as Thurivîr and the other Ephorí led the group through the wide hallways of Mythníril, the elf paused every twenty or so feet to give brief lectures on the many statues, tapestries, and works of art that decorated the walls. Calen also noticed that each time they stopped, they did so only before something that bore significance to the Kingdom of Lunithír.
The main hallway of the great structure of Mythníril was over twenty feet wide and hewn from stone as white as fresh snow. Large latticed openings in the ceiling allowed the light of the moon to drift in, augmenting the soft glow of the lanterns that sat in bronze sconces along the walls. Many doors of ornamented bronze lined the long hallway, likely branching off to the numerous chambers and halls of the great building, but the Ephorí walked past each of them, leading the group forwards and up multiple sets of stairs, walking for as long as it would have taken Calen to cross from one side of The Glade to the other and back again, until they finally came to a set of bronze doors so large Calen thought they must have been built for Jotnar.
The thought gave him pause, and he turned to see Asius and Senas standing beside one of the Knights of Achyron – Sister-Captain Ruon. Calen had not gotten much of a chance to speak to Asius or Senas since emerging from the Burnt Lands – so much had happened all at once – but once they had been given the chance to rest, he would make a point of seeking the Jotnar out to thank him for what he did in Drifaien.
The great bronze doors opened to reveal a vast chamber that spread in a semicircle. The floor was a single enormous slab of white stone that would have been impossible to create without the Spark. Arched windows were set along the far wall, overlooking the valley beyond – walkways, platforms, and bridges sweeping back and forth through the bounds of nature, illuminated by veins of erinian stone. It was only when Calen looked closer he saw that between each arch stood a column Spark-carved from white stone into the likeness of a tree. The columns rose higher and higher, branches spreading out and joining together to support the ceiling above, as though they walked beneath the canopy of a stone forest.
An oculus lay at the very centre of the ceiling, allowing the light of the moon to pour through, illuminating a white stone table in the middle of the chamber. The table was at least twenty feet long and fifteen feet wide, the soft azure glow of erinian stone radiating from its surface.
Three elves stood about the table, delicate crowns of black and gold winding about their heads, each garbed in robes the colours of their kingdoms: crimson and gold for Lunithír, black and silver for Vaelen, green and brown for Ardurän.
With the doors fully open, the elven warriors in silver plate who had escorted Calen and the others through the city marched in and lined themselves along the outer rim of the chamber, the butts of their curved-bladed spears resting on the stone.
There was a beat of silence as the doors closed, and the three elven rulers looked over the new entrants to their chambers. The Ephorí moved to stand between the group and the elven rulers who stood about the table.
Thurivîr stepped forwards and bowed deeply. "Galdra Lunithír, son of Arynil and Luvien Lunithír, King of the Lunithíri, Protector of Aravell."
Marked by his crimson and gold robes, King Galdra was tall and lithe, his jaw and face narrow, his eyes sharp as a hawk's. His silver-white hair was short, falling only to his tapered ears, his eyes the same molten gold as Alea and Lyrei's.
Ithilin and Baralas each stepped forwards and introduced the rulers of their respective kingdoms: Queen Uthrían of Ardurän and King Silmiryn of Vaelen.
Queen Uthrían was a match for Calen in height, with sun-touched skin and long black hair that flowed over robes of green and brown. King Silmiryn was shorter and stockier than Galdra, with hair of pure white and robes of black and silver. His eyes stayed fixed on Calen as Ithilin introduced him.
Each of the three rulers made their way around the table and stood in a line before the Ephorí.
Aeson stepped forwards. "Queen Uthrían, King Galdra, and King Silmiryn, det er aldin na vëna du. Ata mur vået harys veinier sidiel vir sidir talien."
Calen wasn't sure precisely what Aeson's words meant, but he believed it was somewhere along the lines of 'It is good to see you. It has been too long since we last spoke'. He had continued his lessons in the Old Tongue with Vaeril after being separated from Therin, but there was still much he had yet to learn.
"Vir é haydrir al din närvarin, Rakina." They said at once. We are honoured by your presence, Rakina.
Aeson gave a deep bow, holding it for a moment before returning to his full height. "Please accept my apology that I could not have come when we first passed through Aravell or again when we rushed to the Svidar'Cia. And also, please accept my thanks for providing us not only with safe passage through the wood, but with more eyes so that we could better watch for the Draleid's return. On that note, before we begin, allow me to introduce to you the reason we are standing here today. The fruit of centuries of labour. The spark we have been looking for to light the fire. The first free Draleid in four centuries, Calen Bryer, soulkin of Valerys."
Seeing the expectant looks on the faces around him, Calen stepped out of the group, swallowing hard. For some reason, this particular moment was more nerve wracking than staring down one of those Urak Bloodmarked. Each of these people before him wielded immense power, Aeson included. And each of them wanted to tie strings around him and hold him up as a banner for war.
But as the nerves shivered through him, the touch of Valerys's mind brought calm. He could feel the dragon's wings beating, heart thumping, and he let out a short sigh. "Du haryn myia vrai, Inari un Aravell." You have my thanks, rulers of Aravell. Therin had told Calen that 'Inari' could be used for both kings and queens, he just hoped he had used it correctly. "Din atuya gryrr haydria til il Ileid." Your welcome brings honour to the bond.
Calen's breaths trembled as he stood there. He prayed to Elyara that he remembered the greeting as Therin had thought it.
"Your command of the Old Tongue is quite remarkable, Draleid." King Galdra pouted. "For one so new to it. Det er du vol gryrr haydria til Aravell. Du, ar Valerys." It is you who brings honour to Aravell. You, and Valerys.
King Silmiryn mimicked King Galdra's greeting, a broad smile spreading across his face as he did.
"Haydria t'il Ileid," Queen Uthrían corrected, holding her stare on Calen. She stepped forwards, her long black hair drifting back in the slight breeze. She looked as though she had seen no more than thirty summers, but Calen was under no illusions she hadn't seen more than ten times that number. The Queen moved so she was standing directly before Calen, her gaze never leaving his. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, seeming to have no separation between iris and pupil.
She reached out and grasped Calen's forearm, pulling him in closer, and Calen could feel himself subconsciously reaching for the Spark.
As Uthrían's fingers wrapped around Calen's forearm, ringing sounded in his ears, his vision shifting and blurring. Light flashed across his eyes, blue then white. Memories crashed into him, not his own. Images in motion, flashing and flickering. He was in a large chamber, banners of dark green emblazoned with the symbol of a white star. Children were running towards him – elven children. Elves dashed around in a panic, screaming and shouting. Then the walls erupted inwards, stone hurtling, blood spraying.
A flash of light and Calen was standing atop a hill, looking over a battlefield. Everywhere he looked, dragons soared through the skies, crashing into each other with abandon and unleashing rivers of dragonfire down atop the soldiers below. A voice screamed, seeming to come from all around, echoing, "Myia'nari! Myia'nari!" My queen! My queen!The world flickered. Calen still stood atop the hill, but now the battlefield was more fire than earth. A dragon was hurtling towards him, scales of vivid yellow, flames pouring from their maw. An enormous dragon the colour of emeralds dropped from the dark clouds and caught the yellow dragon in their jaws, tearing it from the sky, blood trailing in the wind.
Again, the world shifted and an elven warrior in pristine white plate stood before Calen, the symbol of The Order marked in black across the breast. Calen knew this elf, loved him. A lover… no, a son. "Myia'nari. Il vyara… myia'kara… é dauva. Il raethír er veinier."
My queen, the princes… my brothers… are dead. The battle is lost.
The world shifted, and Calen now knelt on the floor of the great hall, panting, Queen Uthrían's fingers still wrapped around his forearm. Trying his best to slow his breathing, Calen stared into the queen's dark eyes, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt what he had seen: the death of her world, of her sons.
The queen stared back at him, her expression unreadable. Had she relived that moment with him? Did she know what he had seen?
As Calen's senses returned, he felt the thrum of the Spark resonating through the room, vibrating in the air. He felt it from King Galdra and King Silmiryn, but he could also feel it from multiple places behind him.
He grunted, lifting himself to his feet. How long had he been taken by the vision? Was it a vision? Is that what they are?
A shape moved to Calen's left, and Vaeril now stood at his side, helping him to his feet, eyes fixed on Queen Uthrían. Calen could feel the Spark flowing through the elf.
The queen, however, seemed unperturbed. She moved her gaze from Calen to Vaeril. "You are a ranger of Aravell, are you not? Yet you dare grasp the Spark in my presence?"
Vaeril dipped his head. "I am Vandesera, Inari. Sworn to protect Calen Bryer, first by honour, then by heart."
Uthrían gave an upturn of her bottom lip, then turned her attention back to Calen, her black eyes searching his. She held their gaze for a moment, then released her grip on Calen's forearm and turned back towards the table that held the centre of the room. "Come, we must decide the path forward."
Aeson, Therin, Asius, and Senas all glanced towards Calen as they made their way to the table in the centre of the room, more than simple curiosity in their eyes. Therin's gaze in particular lingered longer than the others.
Calen swallowed hard, his heart still pounding like a hammer on an anvil, his breaths still trembling. Only Erik, Tarmon, and Vaeril had seen him taken by a vision of the past before.
"Are you all right?" Tarmon gripped Calen's arm, looking him over. "Was it…?"
Calen nodded, his throat feeling tight. Here he was in a room full of people who wanted to control him, and the first thing he had done was show them a weakness.
Another hand rested on Calen's shoulder, pulling firm.
"Lift your head and stand tall." Calen turned to see Haem giving him a nod. "It is by our own will that we pick ourselves up when we fall." Haem held Calen's gaze for a moment, recognition passing unspoken between them – their father's words. "You are Calen Bryer, Draleid. Don't let them make you feel less." The corners of Haem's mouth turned into a soft smile. "They would be proud. That much I can tell you for certain."
Calen drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, returning Haem's smile. Looking at his brother's face still felt strange. He turned to Vaeril, thanking him, then started off towards the table, Erik, Tarmon, Vaeril, Dann, and the knights walking behind him.
"It's a map," Dann whispered as they approached the white stone table. "Of all the known world. There's Narvona, and Ardan."
Calen looked casting his gaze over the map carved into the white stone table. The mountains rose, and valleys fell, looking as they did from Dragonback, while thin strips of erinian stone were used to mark the rivers and lakes. The names of each region were carved delicately in the Old Tongue, inlaid with more erinian stone, emitting a soft glow.
"Let us speak plainly." King Galdra stood with his arms folded, the gold in his robes shimmering from the light of the erinian stones. "You have come here because there is nowhere else you are safe. And we welcome you with open arms. Rakina." Galdra turned to look at Aeson. "You have long been a friend to our people. Since before Fane Mortem's rise and the fall of The Order. You have spent centuries instigating rebellions across the continent since then, trying, and failing. In those centuries we have helped where we could but have remained within the bounds of Aravell lest we incur the same fate as those before us. But now, everything has changed. A dragon egg has hatched." Galdra extended a hand towards Calen. "For the first time in four hundred years. We do not yet know the extent of this new discovery. Whether this means we have found a new dawn and more eggs will begin to hatch, or whether this is simply an anomaly. You travelled to Valacia to find the egg in the hopes the Valacian eggs might be different to our own. Perhaps that plays a part but we cannot act on what we do not know for certain. For now, we have instructed the Dracårdare to keep warm the eggs we have, and we will soon begin to test for the Calling. But whatever comes from it, we now have a full Draleid who stands against the empire."
King Galdra looked to King Silmiryn, and a silence held for a moment or two before the black-robed king spoke. "The Blood Moon is fast approaching, so say our scholars who study the old texts and the stars. We thought we would have another year perhaps, but it appears the cycle grows shorter. And with the Blood Moon, the Uraks have brought devastation to Epheria." The king looked at the table, moving his hand from Mar Dorul across the main body of Loria. "Their hordes sweep across the land, harvesting Essence, while the armies of the empire scatter to keep hold of the territories they once seized from us. They are more than simply a nuisance. With each passing day, their strength grows. Our reports also tell us that the seeds you have sown across the years, Rakina, are beginning to bear fruit. The southern provinces are rebelling, factions are rising. After all this time, we believe it is finally the moment you have been searching for. But there is much that must be discussed. We cannot walk into this blindly."
Queen Uthrían sighed. "What my kin are trying to say is that they have finally pulled their tails from between their legs and agreed with me." Uthrían leaned across the table, laying her hand flat against a stone depiction of the Antigan Ocean. "The elves of Aravell will fight with you. We are tired of waiting and watching. Sick of being penned in like livestock. When word spread of a new Draleid and a newborn dragon with scales as white as the purest snow, a fire ignited in our people. Then our traders along the edges of the wood heard news of a great battle at the Lorian city of Kingspass. Of a dragon whose roar shook the earth and a Draleid whose eyes misted with a purple light – the Warden of Varyn. That is some title to earn amongst those who should be your enemies. And beside this Warden of Varyn, warriors fell from the sky wielding blades of green light – nithráls. And upon their breasts they bore a sigil not seen by my people in hundreds of years. The Knights of Achyron and a Draleid – both thought long dead." Uthrían looked to Haem, Ruon, and Varlin; the three knights who had entered the chamber. "We found your brothers and sisters roaming the edges of our wood not so long ago, Sister Ruon." The look on Queen Uthrían's face led Calen to believe that she and Ruon had met more than once before. "We left them to deal with the Aldithmar until they fled through your portal. There has long been fractures between my people and your knighthood. But I would speak with Verathin. After we are done here. He owes me that much. Now is not the time to stand divided."
"Grandmaster Verathin was slain at the battle of Kingspass." Ruon did not look away from the queen, but Calen heard the loss in her voice. "His soul was shorn by an Urak Shaman, lost to wander the void. Grandmaster Kallinvar stands in his place."
Uthrían nodded, swallowing. "Verathin will be missed. I will pray to Heraya that she finds his soul in the void." Uthrían slowly turned her gaze towards Calen, her fingers curling on the stone table. "My people are fond of twisting words over words and layering meanings, but as Thurivîr said, today we talk plainly. Rakina Aeson brought you here. I know what he wants. He is a man of singular desire. But what of you?" A tremble crept into her voice. "We stand here, brandishing you like a battle standard, but will you fight with us, Draleid? If we commit to standing, will you bleed with us? In the name of what was lost, for what is, and what may yet be?"
In that moment, Calen knew that Uthrían did know what he had seen in his vision, and her words stirred a fire inside him. In the back of his mind he could feel Valerys, and then a roar echoed through the valley beyond.
"Calen is committed, Your Majesty." Aeson didn't look to Calen as he spoke. "He has lost much to the empire and to the grip of Efialtír. He and Valerys are proven in battle. Their mettle tested. Their training is far from complete, but with my brothers and sisters here, we can ensure that is provided."
Calen clenched his jaw, anger churning in his gut. He could feel the strings pulling at him as Aeson swore Calen's commitment. He made to speak, but King Silmiryn spoke first, leaning over the table, his silver hair shimmering in the azure light of the erinian stone set within. "The Draleid is a start, but we will need more than that. Who else has pledged to your cause?"
Aeson looked from Silmiryn to Uthrían, then across to Therin, Asius, and Senas.
"My people are pledged to Aeson Virandr's cause." Asius's deep voice echoed through the room. "We are few in number, but we will fight till our last."
"Asius, son of Thalm." Queen Uthrían gave Asius a deeper bow than Calen ever would have expected from someone of royalty. "And Senas, daughter of Iliria. My apologies, I should have greeted you sooner. Our peoples were once the gravest of enemies, but since the Blodvar and the Doom at Haedr, we have stood together, trusted in each other. It is a great honour to continue that bond."
Both Asius and Senas responded with slow tilts of their heads.
"Forgive me, Asius, son of Thalm, Senas, daughter of Iliria," King Galdra said. "I, too, have been negligent in my duties. And now I must ask your forgiveness once more. What is your number? How many Jotnar are left to stand?"
"All is forgiven, Galdra, son of Arynil. Even in our years, this life is too fleeting to hold grievances." Asius drew in a long breath. "For hundreds of years, my people were hunted, survivors driven into the wind. After Aeson suspected that Calen might have heard the Calling, Senas, Larion, and I delivered messages to those loyal to our cause. Afterwards we roamed the continent in search of our kin. Even now, Larion still searches. After the battle at Belduar, I sought out Baldon and others of clan Fenryr." Asius gestured to Baldon and Aneera, who stood silently to his left. "With their aid, we have located almost one hundred of my kin who are willing to fight." Asius looked to Calen a smile touching his usually stony face. "We are few, but we pledge our lives to this cause. As I said in Belduar, I say again now, Calen Bryer, son of Vars Bryer. It is with honour that I stand beside the Draleid once more."
Calen had not spent long with Asius, but he had felt a connection with him, something different. Somehow, he felt as though Asius understood him. But what cut into Calen's heart was knowing how few of the Jotnar still drew breath. But once again, as Calen made to speak, Aeson got there first.
"We are honoured to have you, old friend." Aeson leaned forwards, resting his hand on a patch of carved stone that represented Karvos. He reached across and pointed towards the west. "Along with the Jotnar, Dayne Ateres has returned to Valtara. His sister now heads a rebellion that, from my last reports, has already taken back Skyfell, Ironcreek, and the lands surrounding. Dayne and the Valtarans, and their wyverns, will be a powerful ally."
"Wyverns?" A look of genuine shock touched Thurivîr's face, disappearing within moments when King Galdra glared at him. Calen wasn't sure if the Ephorí had spoken out of turn or if Galdra was irritated by his open shock. Either way, the same question rang in Calen's mind. He had heard stories of wyverns and the fabled wyvern riders of Valtara. But from all he knew, the wyverns had died out nearly a decade ago, victims of a vicious disease.
"Yes." Aeson glanced up from the table for only a moment. "I don't know the particulars, but it seems news of the wyverns' demise is much exaggerated."
Aeson continued to point across the map, naming allies who had pledged to their cause: lords, ladies, warriors, courtiers, and in some cases entire factions. Despite Calen's anger, he couldn't help but be in awe at the depth and complexity of the network Aeson had established. But he supposed four hundred years was a long time. One name in particular, however, drew Calen's attention.
"Alleron Helmund, along with another, Baird Kanar, lead a rebellion against High Lord Lothal Helmund in Drifaien. So far, their efforts have borne fruit and almost half the province bears their banner. Within six months, we will have fortified positions across the Southern lands and, with luck, in the North too. There are still many unknowns – rogue factions and claimants to power who are taking this opportunity to carve something of their own. No plan survives the planning, and the hearts of mortals are fickle things. Even in Valtara, Dayne is pledged to us heart and soul, but it his sister, Alina, who leads the rebellion. She will need convincing. We will need to reach out to each of these prospective allies and secure their allegiances once more. I believe that once they see Calen and Valerys, once they have something tangible to stand behind, they will swear to us."
"And how might we reach out to so many?" King Silmiryn folded his arms across his chest, scratching at his chin. "Riders and hawks would not be reliable, not to such a large number across so many miles. Not with the war that ravages the lands."
"No." Aeson pouted, shaking his head. "And riders would not be enough. We need the people to see Calen. We cannot just tell them there is a symbol to rally behind. We must show them. I suggest we utilise the Angan of Clan Fenryr to communicate with those who would join us. Send word that we gather here. If some need to be convinced, we can travel. But if we bring them to us, we can cover more ground in less time. If we select carefully, we can build a strong network, and then the legend of the new Draleid will grow itself."
"It is a wise plan," King Galdra said, surveying the table with his hawk-like gaze. "We would need to be careful not to fully reveal our presence and intent, but it is a prudent course of action. We build while the empire crumbles."
A low growl reverberated through the stone hall, and it took Calen a few moments to understand where it was coming from: Baldon.
The Fenryr Angan stood with his gangly, fur-covered arms folded, his golden eyes gleaming and his lips curling back, exposing sharp teeth. "You forget yourself, Broken One. We are not hounds to be ordered." The Angan's words left his throat in what Calen could only describe as a snarl. His voice was strange, like nothing Calen had ever heard. "We carry great respect for both The Bound and The Broken, but do not think to treat us as pieces in your game of war – your kind have used us enough for that." Baldon's gaze passed from Calen to Therin – who Calen was only now realising had not spoken even a single word. "Our vow to the Chainbreaker and his line is our bond." The growl that emanated from Baldon's throat grew deeper. "We care little for your war or your gods. We are here in the name of Therin Silver Fang and the son of the Chainbreaker. Both of whom have received little respect at this table." Baldon's eyes narrowed as they passed from Therin to the elven rulers and Ephorí.
Beside Baldon, Aneera stirred, raising her clawed hand and resting it on Baldon's shoulder. A soft rumble resonated from her throat. "We will do as the Broken One asks. But only if it is he who asks it of us." Aneera dropped her hand from Baldon's shoulder and rested it against her stomach, inclining her head towards Calen. "Your father wished this day would never come, but we swore that when it did, we would care for you and stand by your side as he stood by ours. Our vow was not one made in debt but in deep respect. My people weep for the death of the Chainbreaker. May the spirits curse he who held the blade."
Calen looked back at Aneera, his mouth dry and chest tight. Who was his dad to these creatures? He wanted to ask the question there and then, but it was neither the place nor the time. Therin had said he would tell Calen everything that night, and Calen would make sure he kept to his word. "The man who killed my dad is dead. I spilled his blood myself." Calen's words caught in his throat, tears threatening him at the memory of the day Rendall had pulled Vars from the world. But he held back the tears, holding the loss deep inside. He clenched his jaw, swallowing. "Though he will never have suffered enough…"
Calen lifted his gaze to Aeson and Therin staring at him. He had not told them of how he had killed Rendall.
"A blood debt has been paid," Aneera said with a nod.
Calen sucked in his cheeks, looking to Aeson. He couldn't help the anger that simmered in the pit of stomach, fanned by Valerys's flames in the back of his mind. He knew that, at least in part, it was not a rational anger. Despite everything, Aeson had done all he had said he would. And not only that, he had kept Dann safe this entire time. Even still, that didn't stop what Calen was about to say from grating at him. "You would do me a great honour, Baldon, Aneera, if you were to aid our cause by communicating with Aeson's contacts in my name." Once again, Calen's throat tightened at the thought of his dad, but he pushed them back, turning to Haem, who stood a few feet to Calen's left. The Angan clearly did not yet know that Haem was also Vars Bryer's son, but Calen didn't think Haem cared. The look in his eyes was not dejection or irritation but one of deep sorrow, of loss, and of regret. He gave Calen the slightest of nods, a glimmer in his eye. Calen looked back to Baldon and Aneera. "I don't know what my dad did to earn your trust so completely, but I know I will do everything I can to honour him and to honour whatever passed between you."
With the sound of Calen's words fading, a sharp-toothed smile spread across Baldon's face, and he inclined his head. "Tell us where to go, and it will be done. The Angan of Clan Fenryr are by your side. I will say this, son of the Chainbreaker – you have his heart and his way with words."
Suddenly, simply by virtue of Baldon's words, it became infinitely harder for Calen to hold back his tears. But he did, because he needed to. Instead, he simply nodded his thanks and looked to Aeson. "You have your messengers."
Aeson stood there for a moment, looking back at Calen, his expression unreadable. He ran his tongue across his lips, nodding softly. He looked towards the elven rulers. "Are my brothers and sisters prepared?"
Brothers and sisters? Calen looked to Therin, who glanced back, offering only a weak smile.
"They are, Rakina." Sadness crept into Queen Uthrían's voice. "They await you both in Alura."
"Du haryn myia vrai, myia'narí." You have my thanks, my queen. Aeson looked to Calen, and where Calen had expected to see anger or irritation from the way Baldon had spoken to him, instead Aeson's stare was soft, a gentle sympathy in his eyes. "Calen, I'm going to need you to come with me. It is time for you to learn who you are."