Calen focused his breathing, exhaling slowly as he moved from Charging Boar into Patient Wind, sweeping through into Striking Dragon, keeping his eyes closed.
Sweat streaked down his face, stinging at his eyes and dripping off his chin. His muscles burned, but he had no intention of stopping. Moving through the sword forms felt like home, like The Glade was wrapped around him. He could hear his dad's voice. Focus, Calen. Concentration won't keep you alive, but lack of it will kill you. Keep your balance. Balance beats speed. Speed beats strength.
It had been so long since he'd felt the calm that came with the forms, the peace. He'd not found the time to go through the forms since before Kingspass. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed it until now.
"Into Rising Dawn," Aeson said, his voice nothing more than a dull whisper at the edges of Calen's mind.
Calen moved into Rising Dawn, letting his muscle memory take over. They had been there for hours, since before the sun had crested the mountains, while the courtyard was lit only with the residual glow of the erinian stone inlaid into the ground. Aeson and two of the other Rakina – Harken and an elf named Atara – had begun taking Calen through the forms and sword movements each morning since the celebration. Erik, Vaeril, Dann, Tarmon, and Haem had joined them while many of the Rakina and the rebels sat about the courtyard, some watching, some not. The other Knights of Achyron stood about in their full suits of Sentinel armour as though standing guard in the middle of a viper's nest.
The day after the celebration, Baldon and Aneera had reached out to the others of Clan Fenryr, passing on the message that was to be relayed. An Angan envoy was to be sent to each of the major leaders across the continent that might be sympathetic to their cause – identified by Aeson – along with those to whom Aeson had long been allied. Each would be invited to enter the Darkwood, to come and meet Calen personally. If there was a hint of deception, they would be left for the forest to claim, for the Aldithmar – the spirits. But if they came in good faith, they would be led through the wood by Dvalin Angan and rangers. It wasn't a plan without risk, but the Rakina, the Triarchy, and the elven Ephorí had all agreed it was the safest and most efficient method – they had even let Calen feel as though he actually had a say in the matter.
Calen, though, had gotten his first taste of what the politicking between the rulers was truly like when King Galdra had suggested no meetings should be arranged with any outside forces until a suit of armour had been made for Calen. He had insisted that if Calen was to be taken seriously as a new Draleid, he would have to look the part. But it was when King Silmiryn had suggested one of his smiths craft the armour that the debate truly began. Silmiryn, Galdra, and Uthrían had argued for hours on end, wired barbs hidden beneath overly pleasant words. It wasn't until Therin suggested an alternative armourer who bore no allegiance to any of the three kingdoms that the arguing stopped. Even then it had taken an unnatural amount of time for the three rulers to agree.
But they still insisted nothing be done until the armour was ready and Calen had been taught how to present himself. That had started a whole new argument between Aeson and Galdra, which, to Calen's surprise, Aeson eventually conceded.
Even then, as Calen moved through the forms from Crouching Bear into Howling Wolf, Calen cared little for the games and arguments. All he could think of was that he would eventually have to come face to face with the High Lord of Illyanara, Castor Kai. The thought filled him with cold fury. Castor Kai had betrayed Vars and tried to get him to chain a god, and now Aeson and the others expected Calen to put a smile on his face and convince the man to throw his strength behind their cause.
Calen focused. He would deal with that when it came. And while the Angan were passing on messages and decisions were being made, Calen would train, as he had done each day since the night Therin had told Vars's story. While Aeson, Harken, and Atara had been training him in the sword, Therin and Thacia – the blood-haired Jotnar – had been instructing him in the Spark. Chora was to guide him on the art of riding dragonback as well, but as of yet that hadn't started.
There was something comforting about the familiarity of it all, the regiment and repetition. It reminded him not only of practicing the sword with his dad but of the weeks spent travelling with Rist, Dann and the others – the last time Rist, Calen, and Dann had all been together.
"Eye of the Storm into Charging Boar, then back to Patient Wind."
Calen did as instructed, his eyes still closed. Aeson's voice melted into the back of his mind. The motions within the fellensír movement were more precise than the svidarya, more controlled and rhythmic. Where svidarya swept like fire, moving with the changing winds of battle, fellensír was like water, shifting and flowing, steady and unbroken.
"Break."
Calen drew in short breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth, settling himself before slowly opening his eyes. He winced, the sun glaring. Aeson, Erik, Harken, Atara, Vaeril, Dann, and Haem stood around him, evenly spaced, sweat glistening on all their faces bar Vaeril's. Tarmon had dropped to his haunches, his sword resting on the ground in front of him. The man tilted his head back and puffed out his cheeks, looking towards the sky.
"You all right there, big man?" Erik smiled. "Need me to fetch you some water?"
"I'll strangle you while you sleep," Tarmon said, dropping back onto his arse.
"Is that a promise or a threat?" Erik gave Tarmon a wink then slapped him playfully on the back of the head. He grabbed some waterskins that rested by one of the white stone benches, tossing one to Tarmon. "You're always trying to get into my bed."
"You'd be so lucky. Little shit." Tarmon snatched the waterskin out of the air, pulling the stopper free and taking a mouthful of water. "It's just all these forms. Hours and hours. The same thing again and again. Give me a greatsword any day, and point me in the direction you need me."
"Spoken like a true human battering ram," Erik said with a laugh.
"You'll get better." Vaeril slid his sword into his weapons belt, which sat by a bench to his left.
"See," Erik said with a pout. "Even Vaeril thinks you'll get better. And he's not great with compliments."
"I was talking about you," the elf said, snatching the waterskin from Erik.
Erik said nothing but glared at Vaeril, his lips curling into a subtle smile.
Calen took a waterskin from Dann, looking around the courtyard as the cold water granted his cracked lips some relief. Some Rakina sat on benches, talking or watching the sword forms, while others were sprawled on the grass at the yard's centre, shaded by the thicket of trees. Thacia and Chora were deep in conversation a few feet away. Thacia, standing over twice Calen's height, towered over the woman in the wheelchair, but somehow Chora still seemed to be the one in control. Only ten of the Rakina had agreed to participate in Calen's training. The idea that some of them might not have wanted to fight the empire wasn't something he'd contemplated. But once he'd thought about it, he understood. There was only so long someone could fight.
"You still need to raise your guard," a familiar voice croaked.
Calen turned to see Gaeleron walking across one of the many stone bridges that connected to Alura's central courtyard, his dark hair tied back, a walking stick in his right hand. His left arm was draped around Therin's shoulder as he walked. A mixture of joy, guilt, and sorrow filled Calen, who had to force himself to hold his gaze on Gaeleron. The elf had once been broad-shouldered and layered with dense muscle, his movements smooth and graceful. But now he was more skin than muscle, and his gait was slow and unsteady as he leaned on both Therin and the walking stick for support. The elf had been given an endless supply of food since arriving in Aravell, as had Lasch and Elia, but Calen knew what it was like after being starved for so long. It had taken him days to be able to eat properly after being freed from Drifaien, and even with that his appetite had always been larger than most.
"Alea, Lyrei," Dann whispered.
And sure enough, walking behind Gaeleron and Therin, their heads lowered, their hands clasped before their stomachs, were Alea and Lyrei. Something about the way the twins walked, as though towards a funeral pyre, pulled at the back of Calen's mind. He'd not seen either of them since arriving back in Aravell. Both he and Dann had asked after them multiple times, but Therin had simply told them that Alea and Lyrei would return when they were ready. Which seemed more than a little ominous to Calen, but elves had strange traditions.
Calen slid his sword into his scabbard and walked towards the group, looking from Gaeleron to Therin. "Should he be out of bed?"
"Yes, I should." Gaeleron pulled his arm from around Therin's neck, leaning heavily on his walking stick. "And don't talk about me as if I'm not here." The elf grimaced, leaning down harder on his stick. "The Healers say I need to build back my strength, among other things. Therin was helping me." Gaeleron looked at Therin, a soft smile touching his face. It was the first time Calen had seen any of the elves, bar Vaeril, show Therin anything other than derision.
"I was merely heading in the same direction." Therin gave Calen a nod of acknowledgement.
"He's been by my bedside each day. The others, too." A moment passed where Therin and Gaeleron held each other's gaze. Gaeleron turned back towards Calen. "Vaeril has been teaching you fellensír?"
"He has. How can you tell?"
"Because Vaeril was never strong in fellensír."
"You'll get better," Calen heard Erik say behind him, mimicking Vaeril's voice as well as he could, then laughing with Tarmon.
"When I am stronger, I will correct the mistakes he has drilled into you, and we will start on the valathír – the Frozen Soul."
"We don't need a swordsman, we need a Draleid." Chora Sarn's voice rang out across the courtyard, and Calen looked to his left to see her wheeling her way towards him, Thacia striding at her side. They stopped beside Calen and the others, giving their greetings. "While I don't doubt Calen's swordsmanship needs improving."
"Harsh," Calen heard Dann whisper from behind him.
Chora leaned over in her chair, making a point of staring at Dann until the silence became uncomfortable. "While I don't doubt Calen's swordsmanship needs improving," she repeated, "it is not on the ground, in the crunch of bone and steel, that we will need him most. It is in the air, on dragonback. He needs more time flying and more time strengthening the bond between him and Valerys."
Even as Chora spoke, Calen could feel Valerys in the back of his mind. The dragon had spent much of his time in the eyrie with the other dragons. Valerys discovering he was no longer alone should have brought a warmth to his and Calen's shared heart, but instead, the emotion that now hung over Valerys was grief. The other dragons were despondent and listless. And no matter what Valerys did, only Ithrax, the enormous green dragon who had been bound to Prince Athír Ardurän, paid him any heed and, on occasion, flew with him.
"There is time in the day to both fly and spar," Harken said, folding his arms across his broad chest. "And he must also learn to control the Spark."
"What about sleep?" Calen suggested. "Sleep is good."
"You can sleep when you're dead." Atara stepped forwards so she stood at Calen's side. She was only an inch or so shorter than he was, with silvery hair tied into a ponytail. "Which will be sooner rather than later if you don't train. Helios is five times Valerys's size and Eltoar Daethana is one of the single greatest blademasters to have ever graced Epheria. Jormun and Hrothmundar are merciless – souls bred for killing. Each and every one of the Dragonguard have honed their skills for centuries. You do not have time to sleep, lest you wish to see your own blood feed the earth."
"Well," Dann whispered on Calen's other side, "that was cheery. Maybe we should take her off the motivational speeches though."
Atara glanced at Dann, then looked back to Calen. "I speak only the truth."
Nobody spoke as Calen looked back at Atara. This was not the first time Atara had reminded him of the likelihood of his death. She seemed to find at least one opportunity a day.
"Draleid." Calen turned to see Alea and Lyrei stepping towards him, their heads still bowed.
"Alea, Lyrei. It's so good to see you both. How are you feeling?"
Neither elf responded, but to Calen's surprise, they both dropped to one knee, each resting one hand atop their standing knee, the other across their chest.
"We have come to ask your forgiveness, Draleid." Alea lifted her head, her golden eyes shimmering. She was crying. Calen couldn't think of another time he'd seen an elf cry.
"What's wrong? Forgiveness for what?"
"Forgiveness for failing you and for failing our oath." Lyrei didn't lift her head as she spoke. "We wish to swear again, to bring honour back to our hearts. We wish to protect you and Valerys, as we promised."
Alea looked to Lyrei for a moment, then back to Calen. "As punishment, our oaths were stripped. Our honour shorn. We would take our oaths again and regain our honour. If you would have us."
Calen's words caught in his throat. He looked around at the others, finding all eyes focused on him. He turned his gaze to Therin for help, but the elf simply looked back at him with a blank stare, his mouth a thin line.
Calen let his gaze flit between Alea and Lyrei. "On one condition."
"Whatever it is, we accept."
He drew in a short breath, then reached down, holding his hands out to Alea and Lyrei. Alea looked at him tentatively, while Lyrei kept her head bowed. "Nakar myia lär ar anwê."
Take my hands and rise.
Lyrei lifted her gaze. The last time he had seen them both, his command of the Old Tongue had not been as strong. Calen gestured once more for them to take his hands, which they did. Gently, he pulled them to their feet. He bit at his lip, weighing up what he was about to say. It was something he'd been considering for quite a while, but he wasn't sure how it would be taken. He gestured towards Vaeril, Erik, and Tarmon, who walked over. Once Erik, Tarmon, and all four of the surviving elves who had sworn oaths to him stood together, he spoke. "Vaeril, Gaeleron, Alea, Lyrei. Your oaths have brought me great honour. Elissar gave his life to protect mine, and there is no way I could ever repay him for that. But now I tell you that you are each free of the oaths you swore. Your honour is intact, and you owe me nothing."
Gaeleron and Vaeril remained still and silent, their gaze fixed on Calen. But Alea and Lyrei began to protest. Calen raised his hand and they ceased.
"Each of you—" He looked from the elves to Tarmon and Erik "—have risked your lives for me more times than I am comfortable with." He slid his sword into his scabbard and dropped to one knee. "I will allow you to swear an oath to me, if you allow me to do the same."
"This is a bit dramatic, Calen. Even for you." Erik smiled broadly, shaking his head. "But I like it." He lowered himself to one knee in front of Calen.
Tarmon followed close behind, grunting as his knee hit the stone. He nodded to Calen. Tarmon always was a man of few words.
Calen looked back up to Vaeril, Gaeleron, Alea, and Lyrei. The elves' oath to him had always been something that made him uncomfortable. It had always scratched at the back of his mind. His life was not worth more than theirs – it simply wasn't. But from Therin's teachings, he'd learned that if he was to deny their oaths, it would bring harm to their honour in a way he never wished to do. This was the only balance he'd been satisfied with.
Vaeril was the first to kneel. He inclined his head towards, Calen, smiling softly.
Calen lifted his gaze to Alea, Lyrei, and Gaeleron. "You do not have to swear an oath, but if you insist, then so do I. Your lives are as important to me as mine is to you. To deny me this would do great harm to my honour."
Both Alea and Lyrei knelt, nodding.
"I would, Draleid." Gaeleron leaned on his walking stick, looking down. "But if I kneel I'm not sure I could rise again." A smile touched his lips. "I will stand. Repeat after me." He drew in a short breath, grimacing as he shifted his weight. "I hereby swear oath."
"I hereby swear oath," Calen and the others repeated.
Dann dropped down beside Calen, resting his hand on one knee.
"What are you doing?"
"I felt left out," Dann said with a shrug. He looked up to Gaeleron. "Carry on."
"I'm not swearing oath to him," Erik said, nodding at Dann. He let the words hang for a moment, then nodded to Gaeleron, smiling.
"I hereby swear oath," Gaeleron repeated, "by witness of those here and the six who watch over us, to protect those before me with all my strength. To bleed for them, to fight by their side, and if needs be, to die by it."
Calen, Erik, Vaeril, Dann, Alea, Tarmon, and Lyrei all repeated the oath.
"It is with honour that your oath has been witnessed by those here and by the six who watch over us," Therin said, moving closer. Therin reached out his hand and helped Calen to his feet. The elf had an unreadable expression on his face. "Calen, come with me. We are to meet Valdrin shortly."
Less than an hour later, Calen and Therin walked in silence across the bridge that connected Alura to the sprawling city of Aravell. Ruon had insisted that Haem come with them.
Calen cast his gaze about the smooth white buildings, walkways, and bridges that swept through the valley and blended seamlessly with the nature around them. He traced his finger across the surface of erinian stone inlaid into the parapet of the bridge they walked across, its soft azure glow now gone as it absorbed the light of the sun.
"You have learned much of our ways and our culture, and I believe I have Vaeril to thank for that as much as I do myself." Therin stared over the edge of the bridge as he spoke. "What you did was clever. I am aware you were not comfortable with the oaths sworn to you, but had you simply removed them, Gaeleron and Vaeril might have accepted it, Alea and Lyrei I'm not so sure. Gaeleron endured pain that would break most souls, and Vaeril has protected you selflessly. They would both have been free of their oaths with the understanding their honour was intact. But Alea and Lyrei believe they have failed you. Their oath was stripped from them as a punishment. They came to you looking for redemption. What you did was clever, but to swear an oath like that to someone is no small thing among elves, Calen. "
"It's not a small thing to me either, Therin." Calen glanced at the elf, letting out a sigh. "I don't want people standing beside me simply because of what I am. I want them to stand there because of who I am. If they are willing to bleed for me, then I am willing to bleed for them."
Therin gave Calen a weak smile, letting out a sigh. "You are your father's son." He turned to look at Haem, who walked a few feet behind them. "You both are. He would be proud beyond measure." Therin looked down at Calen's hip, smiling once more. "I gave your father that sword after he saved my life in Ballmar. The blade you carry at your hip was forged in the late First Age, over a thousand years ago. It was given to me by my father, and his mother before him, and before that it belonged to an elven Draleid by the name of Mythara. It has seen more war and bloodshed than you could begin to imagine. And in your father's hands, it was the blade that slew Durin Longfang, Taran Shadesmire, Rayce Garrin, and many other names you have heard in the bards' tales."
Calen dropped his hand to the coin-shaped pommel of the sword his father had given him.
"That was Dad's?" Haem asked, looking down at Calen's sword. It was then Calen realised that Haem likely had nothing to remember their parents by.
"It was. He gave it to me after The Proving." Calen gripped the pommel tighter, then stopped. He reached down and undid his sword belt. "It should be yours," he said, offering the sword, scabbard, and belt to Haem.
Haem smiled but shook his head, pushing the gift back. "If he had meant it for me, I would have been wearing it that night in Ölm Forest. No, that's yours, Calen. Besides," he said, patting the sword at his hip. "I already have mine."
Calen didn't doubt the sincerity of Haem's words, but he saw his brother's gaze linger on the sword as Calen strapped his belt back on.
Elves stopped and watched as Therin, Calen, and Haem walked through the streets of white stone. Many of them bowed their heads, greeting Calen with, "Draleid."
Therin led them through the city, across walkways, up stairs, and over long bridges, until they approached a long pathway of grass that led upwards towards a plateau upon which stood two large white buildings and an enormous, broad-leafed tree. The building on the left of the plateau had two storeys, its outside covered in green vines that bloomed purple flowers. The building on the right was smaller and backed against a river that emerged from the mountainside, crashing its way down the cliff. A large white wheel was connected to the back of the building, dipping into the river, turning as the water flowed.
A warm smile spread across Therin's face, his stare fixed on something at the top of the path. Calen looked to see an elf emerging from the building on the left. She wore a long green dress that held tight around her waist, then flowed outwards. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders. Her wrists were scarred and raw, fresh scabs ringing her flesh as though she had recently been held in shackles.
She pulled Therin into a tight embrace, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing, her head nestling into the crook of his neck. Calen had never seen an elf so emotional before. "It's been too long, Therin."
"I'm sorry, my child." Therin pulled the elf in tighter, drawing in a long breath. "There have been others who've needed my help, just as you once did."
"Just as I always will."
Therin held her close then pulled away, smiling. "Calen, Haem—Arden – whatever you prefer."
"Arden, please." It felt strange for Calen to hear the name leave Haem's lips.
"Well then, Calen, Arden. This is Aruni."
"Du gryr haydria til myia elwyn, Aruni. Laël Calen Bryer." You bring honour to my heart, Aruni. I am Calen Bryer.
"The Draleid." Aruni held Calen's gaze, and as she did, he saw her irises were black, ringed with a pale red. He'd never seen anything like it. "You speak the Old Tongue well," she said, inclining her head. "Let er du vol gryrr haydria til myialí, Draleid." It is you who brings honour to mine, Draleid.
"I don't speak the Old Tongue," Haem said, inclining his head towards Aruni. "So I can't show off like he can, but it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Arden of the Knights of Achyron."
"The pleasure is mine, Arden."
Therin looked towards the building on the right, which Calen assumed was the forge. "Valdrin?"
Aruni nodded. "He's inside. Though, he's working. You know how he gets when he's working."
"I do." Therin let out a soft laugh. "Still, best to let him know we're here."
Aruni led Therin, Calen, and Aeson to the front of the white-stone forge, but as soon as he pushed open the door, a voice called out from within.
"No."
"Valdrin, it's me," Therin called back.
Calen had never thought he'd miss the forge. He'd always loved the time spent there with his dad and Haem, but smithing had never been something that pulled at his heart. But now as he looked through the sliver of open door to see the burning orange glow against the walls, feel the familiar heat on his skin, and smell the metallic tinge in the air, a melancholy-touched nostalgia swept over him.
"And I'm me," Valdrin called back. "But still, no. I'm working."
"I know you are, Valdrin, but we had arranged this time already. If you could—"
"No."
Therin drew in a long breath and let it out in an irritated sigh, shaking his head. He closed the door over.
"Come," Aruni said with a laugh. "You know what he's like. I'll make some tea, and you can tell me stories while we wait."
The sun moved from the east to the west as Calen, Haem, Therin, and Aruni sat in the grass-covered clearing between the house and the forge. After a while, Valerys had flown from the Eyrie, eliciting calls and shouts from within the city as his white scales shimmered in the light of the sun. The dragon now sat curled up on the grass, with Calen sitting back against his long tail.
On any other occasion Calen might have been irritated at the idea of being made to sit and wait like a child, but not now, for the hours spent sitting on that grass would forever be a memory Calen would look back on to keep warm. Sitting with Haem, listening to Therin tell stories to Aruni while the sound of crashing water and chirping birds filled the background, the soft glow of erinian stone slowly emerging as more clouds passed overhead. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined himself there. In the chaos that consumed his life, these moments of peace were a rare thing. And Calen found himself thinking on the words Falmin had spoken when they were trapped in tunnels below the Lodhar Mountains: 'There is nothing more important in the darkness than a ray of light.'The thought brought a smile to Calen's lips. He missed Falmin dearly. The man had a way of seeing through the darkness of the world. Calen's thoughts turned to his memory of Falmin trudging through the snow in Drifaien, using the Spark to funnel more and more snow into Korik and Lopir's paths, and tossing snowballs at the back of Tarmon's head.
Calen pulled his mind back before he got lost in memories, as he had a tendency of doing. He looked over at Aruni, who was listening intently to Therin telling a story of how he found Dann starting his valúr – which she found beyond hilarious. As he looked closer he saw scars rising from the neck of her dress that hadn't been visible while she was standing. He could only see the faint ends of the scars, but the flesh seemed to be almost black in colour, standing in enmity against her pale complexion. The scars were different to the ones on her wrists, of that Calen was sure. And even now as he looked at the elf's wrists, he could see the fresh scabs had cracked, blood trickling.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Aruni said in a fluster, her gaze flashing from Calen to her wrists. She pulled a cloth from a pocket in her dress and dabbed at the blood.
A flood of guilt washed through Calen. "No, I didn't mean to stare."
"It's all right," Therin said calmly. He reached over and gently pulled Aruni's hands together, resting his on top. Calen felt Therin pull from the Spark, threads of each elemental strand weaving about him, pulling together in several separate combinations and funnelling into his and Aruni's hands. After a moment, he pulled his hands away. Dried blood still remained, but the scabs had fallen off, new skin now in their place.
"Thank you." Aruni's voice grew even softer than it had been before.
"The night terrors haven't eased then, I take it?"
Aruni shook her head, rubbing the trembling fingers of her right hand against the old scars on her left wrist. "They still scare Valdrin. He's grown so much, but they bring him back to that place…"
Therin rested his hands over Aruni's once more, giving her a soft smile.
"Come," a voice called from within the forge behind them.
As they stood, Calen moved around to Valerys's head. The dragon's left eyelid opened, revealing one pale lavender eye that watched Calen intensely. Valerys lifted his head, pressing the tip of his snout into Calen's chest.
"I'll be back shortly." Calen rested his palms on either side of Valerys's snout, rubbing his fingertips over the smooth scales. "And we can fly back to the Eyrie. I'll stay there with you tonight."
A low rumble emanated from Valerys's throat, and the dragon let out a warm puff of air that caused Calen's shirt to ripple, then lowered his head back onto the grass.
Therin paused with his hand on the door, drew in a short breath, then pushed.
Both Calen and Haem gasped as they entered. The workshop was enormous, easily four times larger than their dad's had been. A forge built from white stone occupied the right-hand wall, two enormous bellows working in tandem to feed the blazing heat. A number of benches, grinding wheels, and anvils were set about the floor while the entire left wall was covered in tools: ball-peen hammers, straight-peen hammers, flatters, lump hammers, sledgehammers, a vast variety of chisels and tongs, punch and drifts, fullers, swages… The list went on and on. Calen's dad would have thought he was dreaming if he'd seen it all.
"Therin." An elf emerged from the back of the workshop, his gaze fixed on Therin. He was tall and lean, his hair short and black. His face was coated in dirt and grime, and he wore a pair of leather trousers and a thick leather apron over a short-sleeved cotton shirt. It was often difficult for Calen to tell the age of an elf, but this particular one appeared even younger than Calen.
"Valdrin, you look even stronger than the last time I saw you."
"I am stronger," the elf said matter-of-factly.
Both Valdrin and Therin leaned forwards, pressing their foreheads together and resting their right thumbs on the other's temple. There was something in the moment that felt warm to Calen, gentle.
Therin gestured to Calen and Haem. "This is—"
"The Draleid," Valdrin said before Therin could finish his sentence. The elf moved towards Calen, a strange intensity in his gaze. He turned his head sideways, and studied Calen. "I've watched you train these past few days. You are shorter up close – shorter than expected."
"I'm taller than you are."
"I'm not sure what my height has to do with your height." Valdrin passed a glance over Haem, a curiosity adorning his face at the green Sentinel armour. "Interesting," he said before turning his focus back to Calen.
The elf circled Calen, whispering to himself. He grabbed Calen's left arm, lifting it and bending over to look up at Calen's armpit and side.
"I…" Calen tried to protest, or at least to speak, but Valdrin just kept circling.
"Impressive," Valdrin said, stepping back and holding his hand to his chin as he looked Calen over.
"Ehm… thank you?"
Valdrin looked up at Calen, confused. "Oh, not you. Me."
"You?"
"Yes, me. Therin, could you take a look at his ears? I don't think they're working."
Calen turned to see a broad smile on Therin's face, and by the time he turned back to Valdrin the elf was already walking away.
"Follow me," the elf called over his shoulder as he walked towards an archway set into a wall that divided the workshop.
Therin's smile spread wider, and he gestured for Calen and the others to follow Valdrin.
"He's a little…" Calen searched for the word.
"He's himself," Therin said. "Unapologetically so. There is no net in his brain that filters the words before they touch his lips, and he sees things as they are. Come."
Calen, Haem, and Aruni followed Therin, stepping through the archway at the end of the room.
Suits and segments of armour stood all about the room, mounted on stands and hooks. They seemed more works of art than armour. Elaborate ornamentation decorated each one, while some helmets were wrought in the depiction of animal heads – stags, hawks, wolves. One suit looked as though the steel had been grown like roots rather than forged and hammered into shape. Swords, axes, spears, and all manner of weapons hung on the walls behind the armour, blades curved and delicate, veins of gold wrought through the handles.
"All the gold in the villages couldn't pay for a fraction of this armour," Haem whispered, just loud enough for Calen to hear.
"No gold could buy it," Valdrin said, turning to look at Haem.
"What do you mean?"
"They're not for sale," the elf responded plainly. Valdrin turned back towards the armour he'd been standing beside. It wasn't a full suit, just chest and back plates suspended on a stand, with pauldrons at the shoulders, but the beauty of it took Calen's breath away.
The breastplate was sleek and smooth, slightly raised at the centre of the chest to turn away stabbing blows, with four articulated panels that guarded the stomach area. The pauldrons were a touch ostentatious for Calen's taste – wrought into the shape of roaring dragon heads – but he couldn't deny the almost otherworldly craftsmanship that had gone into them.
"I've gotten most of your measurements right," Valdrin said as he moved around the armour, turning his head this way and that, glancing back and forth between Calen and the armour without ever meeting Calen's gaze. "But I think I need to go a bit wider on the shoulders and chest." He looked back at Calen. "Yes."
"What are you talking about?" Calen moved closer to the armour, looking it over.
Valdrin looked at him as though he had three heads. "Your armour. What else would I be talking about? This is just the base, and aesthetically it will be changed, but I believe I have the shape right. I've been watching you practice, seeing how you move, how you fight. It should suit you."
"Wait… no. You couldn't have crafted this from seeing me practice. I've only been here a matter of days – something like this would take months. Even with all the tools you have here." Calen ran his hand across the tiny scales that had been etched into the pauldrons. "Even the detailing alone."
"Valdrin is one of few elven smiths who forges and shapes with the Spark as an aid," Therin said, moving beside Calen, examining the breastplate. "And of them all, I dare say he is the most gifted still drawing breath. He is also the only practitioner of rune-smithing – courtesy of Thacia's teaching."
An uncomfortable look flashed across Aruni's face at the mention of rune-smithing, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
"It's incredible," Haem said from behind Calen.
"It's a template." Valdrin knocked three times on the back plate, as though checking it were indeed made of steel.
"A template?"
Once more, Valdrin looked at Calen with a curious gaze. "Yes, a template." He walked over to Haem, touching the breastplate of Haem's Sentinel armour.
Haem looked to Therin, then back at Valdrin, his eyes asking what he should do. Therin simply smiled and shrugged.
"This is Sentinel armour, isn't it? You're a Knight of Achyron."
"It is, and I am." Haem raised his eyebrows as he looked down at the elf, who continued to touch different segments of Haem's armour.
"In one of Scholar Harthyr's books, it said the armour can move like a liquid and that you can control it with your own will. Is that true, or is it another one of those half-truths historians are so fond of?"
"I'm not entirely sure how it functions, but yes, it can—"
"Show me." The elf stood back, looking at Haem expectantly.
Haem looked back at the elf, more than a touch of hesitation in his expression. But he held out his hand, and Calen watched as the green gauntlet turned to liquid metal and receded, pulling back over Haem's fingers and rolling over his knuckles until his entire hand was free.
"Fascinating." Valdrin snatched Haem's hand, pursing his lips appraisingly. The elf let go of Haem's hand, then moved back to the armour. "I will make you a full suit," he said, looking at Calen but never meeting his gaze. "It will take about two months, I think. Maybe three." He looked towards the roof, as though counting something on the ceiling. "I would like to observe you more. Not just while sparring, but while you are flying too." Valdrin's eyebrows shot up. "May I meet the dragon?"