Aravell – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Calen pressed himself low against Valerys's scales, the rain sheeting down so thick it was almost a fog. With every beat of the dragon's wings, a vibration drummed through Calen. If it wasn't for the warmth of the Spark flowing through him, he had no doubt his teeth would be chattering and his hands shaking. The months had come and gone, late spring fading into summer then turning to winter, and in that time all Calen had done, day and night, was practice and drill.
As they approached the mouth of the valley, Calen reached his mind out to Valerys's, pulling them together as Chora had taught him instead of allowing them to drift into place. The sensation was instant. The world around him sharpened. The air became crisp, the freshness of the rain breaking on Valerys's scales filling their nostrils. A thrum resonated through their body as the wind crashed over their scales. They were one.
No hesitation.
They folded their wings, dropping, before opening them once more at the touch of a rapid air current. They ripped through the sky towards the valley so fast Calen had to close his own eyes and rely solely on Valerys's. The valley was made up of cliff faces that jutted out like jagged teeth, a river raging hundreds of feet below.
Calen and Valerys angled their wings so they flew parallel to the serrated cliff face, pressed tight to the rock as it jutted out and fell back. They stayed as close as possible without crashing. That was what Chora had asked of them. 'Control, Calen. You must fly until it is as effortless as breathing. Until Valerys can turn and move quicker than his heart can beat.'
The rain crashed over them, the wind tugging them left and right, pushing them closer to the cliff before pulling them back away. As they moved, Calen could feel the fire within Valerys, the primal need to fly. There was something within the dragon's core that yearned to push every boundary, break every limit.
A tingling sensation pulled at the back of their mind, and Valerys reacted in a beat, shifting in the air as a spear of stone shattered against the rock beside them. Four more spears sliced through the rain, one missing Calen's head by a hair's breadth.
Switch sides.
Valerys let out a roar and cracked his wings, spiralling in the air to avoid more stone spears before plummeting downwards and sweeping across the rock face on the opposite side of the valley.
Light shimmered from a cliff on the side of the canyon they had just come from. Calen and Valerys pulled away from the rock face, pressure building within them, fury swelling. A raging pillar of dragonfire poured forth, illuminating the valley and consuming the flurry of ice spheres that had been launched towards them.
From there, they swept forth, executing a myriad of aerial manoeuvres that had been drilled into them over the past months. They climbed, rolled, and dropped, sweeping backwards into inverted loops and plummeting towards the river below at deadly speeds.
As they rounded a jagged cliff and neared the end of the valley, an enormous plateau came into view – the next section. Chora had told Calen and Valerys that in battle they were always stronger together. Their strength was in the bond. The only times she'd said they should separate were when the area they needed to get to was either too small for Valerys, or if Valerys would be too vulnerable or likely to cause unacceptable collateral damage. This task was precisely that situation.
Through Valerys's eyes, Calen could see Tarmon, Vaeril, and Erik waiting on the plateau. Atara, Harken, Aeson, Chora, and Asius stood around them, weapons drawn.
As Valerys approached, Calen drew in a long breath, readying himself. The dragon swept low, picking up speed, then spread his wings, caught the air, and rose, streaking upwards like an arrow.
Chora had taught Calen a number of diving techniques, but the one they were to use today was the catapult. As they neared the plateau, Valerys angled himself upwards, and Calen pulled on threads of air, pushing back, willing the dragon's scales to release him.
His stomach lurched at the sensation of falling, fear clawing at him. But he pushed the fear back and spread the threads out like a canopy behind him. The rushing wind behind Calen crashed against the canopy of Air and launched him forwards.
Calen moved at such speeds his eyes watered and his bones shook. He fortified his body with Earth and Spirit as he soared over the lip of the plateau, Erik, Vaeril, and Tarmon beneath him. He wrapped himself in threads of Air, slowing his descent just enough to not break bones. Fractions of a second before his feet touched the plateau, Calen pushed down with his threads of Air. He felt the white stone crack beneath him as he landed and unleashed an arc of Air, harnessing the momentum behind him as he swept it outwards towards Aeson, Chora, Atara, Harken, and Asius.
The arc caught Harken in the chest, lifting him off his feet. Aeson and Atara leapt over it while Chora split it with her own threads, and Asius took it head on without flinching.
Calen stumbled forwards, trying to keep his balance; he was still working on his landings. Within a matter of seconds, Tarmon, Vaeril, and Erik were at his side, weapons drawn. They pulled tight together.
"That was the best yet," Erik said, nodding towards a number of large cracks in the stone where Calen had previously fumbled his landings.
"Focus!" Tarmon roared as Aeson and the others fell upon them.
Calen turned away a swipe from Atara's curved elven blade, jerking backwards as one of Aeson's swords almost tore straight across his abdomen. Aeson arced his second blade towards Calen's head, only for Erik to block the strike, sweeping his father's blade aside and smashing Aeson in the jaw with his pommel.
The smile was immediately wiped off Erik's face as Chora wheeled around the outside and hammered a ball of Air into Erik's legs, knocking him off his feet. They moved like that, sweeping about the platform, trading blow after blow, holding back nothing but killing strikes. The thrum of the Spark rippled in the air. As steel collided, so too did threads of Fire, Air, and Spirit. Calen and Vaeril did all they could to hold back the onslaught that came from Asius and the Rakina.
Atara had insisted that if they were to march to war, they must train as though war was already upon them. They had plenty of Healers and any wounds could be seen to.
Calen let out a gasp as Atara's blade sliced through the flesh on his left forearm, but he pressed forwards, moving through the forms of svidarya. He forced Atara back, shifting from Howling Wolf, to Raging Tempest, to Striking Dragon, his heart pounding. He had never so much as landed a scratch on Atara. The elf was even quicker than Aeson. But there, on the plateau as his sword collided with hers, he felt Valerys pushing him forwards, felt the dragon's familiar rage burning through him. His mind dulled to a singular focus, the vibrations of each blow jarring his arms.
He brought his sword up, catching Atara's blade in its downward arc. Countering, Calen swept his sword back across his body, hoping to catch the elf in the chest. But Atara was too quick. Her feet moved in a blur as she leaned back, avoiding the strike, swinging her own blade so its tip sliced through Calen's chin. The steel burned like fire.
Calen caught himself on his back foot, then lunged, pushing the pain down. He drove his blade forwards but only met air as Atara sidestepped with ease. He turned back to reengage but found Asius's enormous frame barrelling towards him. Calen only had a second to understand what was happening before the Jotnar lifted his foot and kicked.
Calen dragged threads of Earth and Spirit into his bones. He lifted his arm, using threads of Air to form a shield between himself and Asius. The Jotnar's foot crashed into the shield of Air with the force of a raging bull, sending Calen careening backwards and knocking the air from his lungs. As he hit the stone, Calen rolled backwards, catching himself on his feet.
His lungs heaved, pulling in air with a thirst. He tried to move his left arm, but it hung limp by his side, pain screaming. Before he could think, the sensation of the Spark rippled through him, and arcs of lightning hurtled towards him from Atara, Aeson, and Chora.
Instinctively, Calen pulled Valerys's mind into his, the dragon's fury raging through the bond. He pulled on threads of Fire, Spirit, and Air, weaving them together and encasing himself in a sphere as Therin had taught him – a Sparkward. The drain sapped at Calen as soon as the arcs of lightning collided with the Sparkward, the ward pulling the energy from his body to fuel itself.
Calen dropped to one knee, slowing his breathing, trying to focus on nothing but the bond, Chora's voice echoing in his mind. 'The bond is your strength. A Draleid not only draws the Spark through himself, but also through the dragon to which he is bonded. It is what makes Draleid so powerful in the Spark. The well of strength you draw from is far greater than most mages can dream of.'Calen clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding, the Spark burning through him. A gust of wind swirled around him as Valerys dropped, alighting on the platform behind him. Together, Calen and Valerys unleashed a thunderous roar of defiance, power surging through their shared soul, crackling over skin and scales.
Seeing through Valerys, Calen looked down over himself. Wisps of incandescent purple light misted from his eyes, the glow reflecting in the sheeting rain around him. Across the plateau, Tarmon was down, and Erik and Vaeril stood back to back with Harken and Asius approaching from either side. All the while arcs of lightning from Atara, Chora, and Aeson crashed against Calen's Sparkward, rippling over its surface.
He could feel Valerys's rage swelling, urging to push himself to his feet, demanding he fight back.
'Dragons are fire and fury,' Calen could hear Chora saying in his mind. 'In battle, never fight Valerys's rage, feed on it.'Calen opened himself fully to the Spark, letting it blaze with Valerys's anger, burning in his veins like molten fire. As he did, he clenched his jaw and heaved himself upright. "Draleid n'aldryr."
Calen sent a pulse of Spirit through his ward, surging outwards. Through Valerys's eyes, he watched as the Spirit pulsed through the arcs of lightning, sending Aeson and Atara stumbling backwards and releasing their hold on the Spark.
Keep pushing.
Only Chora remained. She sat forward in her wheelchair, her face contorted in focus, the Spark pulsing from her in rippling waves energy.
A warning from Valerys flashed in the back of Calen's mind. More arcs of lightning crashed against Calen's Sparkward. He cried out, dropping to his knees as the ward pulled the energy from his bones to counteract the renewed attack.
Aeson and Atara had rejoined Chora, along with Asius, while Harken stood and watched.
Calen shook, his body convulsing with the strain of holding the ward in place, his lungs gasping for air. The Spark ignited in his veins, pain searing through him.
"Yield!" Aeson roared.
Calen clenched his jaw, closing his eyes and pulling deeper from the Spark, ignoring the pain that screamed from within.
"Calen! Yield!"
"No," Calen growled through gritted teeth. The pain rose to a point where it felt as though his body had been hollowed out and filled with fire.
As the agony intensified, Calen remembered what Vaeril had said all that time ago in Drifaien: 'When you reach out to the Spark, you open a door… The longer that door stays open, the more of the Spark can flow through. Leave it open too long…' The elf had drawn on Fire, blades of grass disintegrating to charred dust in his hands. 'If you are new to the Spark, you will often simply lose consciousness before you can get to that point. But once you are strong enough to hold more of it, the danger increases. As the drain affects you less and less, the risk of burning out rises… the Spark will not hesitate to consume your soul.'
In a heartbeat, the Valerys's rage turned to icy fear at the thought of Vaeril's words. The dragon's fear pulled at Calen, dragging the last vestiges of strength from his body. He let go of the Spark, slumping forwards onto the white stone. He rolled onto his back, drifting in and out of consciousness as the cold rain drummed against his face. He felt Valerys's snout pushing against his ribs, a low rumble in the dragon's throat.
A hand rested on his chest, and he felt threads of the Spark weaving through him, easing the pain. A warmth spread through his body and his vision settled. Asius knelt over him, a sympathetic smile on his face.
Calen tried to lift himself upright but gasped as a twinge ignited in his left arm. With the all-consuming pain of the Spark burning through him, he had forgotten Asius's kick. "I think it's dislocated again."
"My apologies, Calen Bryer." Asius weaved threads of each elemental strand into Calen's arm, then pushed.
"Fuck!" Calen shouted, feeling his arm click back into place. He dropped his head against the stone, panting.
"Don't apologise for his recklessness, Asius." Atara stood behind Asius, her arms folded, her hair tacked to her face by the rain.
Calen glared at the elf. He let out a sigh, then heaved himself upright, his sword still gripped in his fist. Asius tried to help him to his feet, but Calen pushed away the Jotnar's hand, hauling himself up – much to his body's complaints.
Erik sat on the ground a few feet away, one of the elven Healers tending to a wound in his arm. Tarmon and Vaeril were both on their feet, but Calen could see by the looks on their faces they had taken a similar beating to him. Calen also spotted Valdrin sitting atop a rock on the far side of the plateau, watching – as he always did.
"You were reckless and stupid," Atara said, folding her arms. "If we were Eltoar, Lyina, or Jormun – if we were any of them – you would be dead." She gestured to the others. "All of you."
"I'd be dead a hundred times at this stage, Atara. And I'll keep dying." Calen slid his sword into its scabbard, then ran his hand through his saturated hair. "Go again."
"I don't think you understand," the elf said, meeting Calen's gaze. "It doesn't matter how many times we do this. You die. You will always die."
"Atara, stop." Aeson stepped between Atara and Calen, holding up his hand. "We're all tired. That's enough for today."
"No." Calen shook his head, moving towards Atara. "What is your point, Atara? Do you want me to give up like you did?"
Aeson put his hand on Calen's chest, trying to push him back. His stare was cold and hard. "Calen, stop."
Calen swiped Aeson's hand away, pushing past the man so he stood less than a foot from Atara. He didn't have to look to know Valerys loomed behind him, his neck craned forwards, wings spread wide, anger swelling within their shared soul. "Tell me," he said, glaring into Atara's eyes. "Is that what you want?"
Atara didn't flinch. To Calen's surprise, his own anger wasn't met in kind. Atara's eyes held a deep melancholy, her expression softening. "I don't want you to die. Too many of us have died."
"That's not your choice."
"The Dragonguard will tear you apart, Calen. Piece by piece. They have killed hundreds of our kind. Draleid far older and wiser than you. And now from the reports we're hearing, more Draleid survived in Lynalion. I would hold happiness in my heart were they not joined to the Astyrlína." Atara spit the word out as though it were poison. 'The Faithless', the name the elves of Aravell had given to their kin in Lynalion. "If the Lynalion elves have emerged, it is for nothing but war and death. They despise humans, and they despise us for standing by you. The landscape is changing too quickly, and you're not ready."
Calen's breaths trembled. He had to force his hand to not clench into a fist at his side. He leaned forwards, seeing the incandescent purple glow of his eyes reflecting in Atara's. "You can stay here and keep hiding, but I won't. I've lost too much to keep running and hiding. Not anymore."
"I'm done." Atara shook her head, pursing her lips. She turned to Aeson. "I'm done, Aeson. I thought I could do it, but I can't. I'm not training him only to watch him die. I can't do it."
Atara took one last look at Calen, then turned and left.
Calen looked around the plateau. Aeson was right, everyone did look tired, their chests rising and falling in heavy sweeps as the rain pelted down over them. They could sleep later. He turned to Aeson, the wind sweeping his sopping hair across his face. "Again."
Valerys bowed, dropping low to the ground and splaying out his forelimb as Calen climbed onto his back. As he hauled himself into position at the nape of Valerys's neck, Calen heard his father's voice in his head. 'The sun will set, and it will rise again, and it will do so the next day and the next. The gods are in charge of such things, but it is by our own will that we pick ourselves up when we fall.'Calen filled his lungs with heavy, damp air, pressing his hands against the scales of Valerys's neck. "I will not yield."
Valerys cracked his wings and lifted into the air.