Arden folded his arms as the rain hammered down, the sun barely visible behind the dark thunderclouds overhead. He stood atop a low platform that looked over an enormous courtyard where thousands of men and elves stood together in close formations, moving through the sword forms Aeson Virandr had assigned.
Calen had yet to meet with any of the major rebel leaders, thanks to the elven rulers' refusal until Calen had been properly drilled in the formalities and Valdrin had finished his armour. But even at that, more and more rebels had made their way to Aravell over the passing months, answering the call Calen had sent out through the Angan. On the last count, they numbered over two thousand. Funnily enough, upon seeing the rebels grow in size, each of the elven rulers had also committed warriors specifically to Calen's cause. Arden and Lyrin had found no end of amusement in watching as each ruler attempted to outdo the next by offering an ever increasing number. As it stood, all three Kingdoms had committed a thousand elves, each of them swearing oaths of fealty to Calen. Calen hadn't been particularly happy about the oaths, but he couldn't rightly do as he'd done with Vaeril, Gaeleron, Alea, Lyrei, and the others; he couldn't swear an oath to three thousand elves.
And just like that, fewer than fifty rebels marching across the Burnt Lands had become a veritable army in a matter of months. Two thousand humans. Three thousand elves.
"Not too shabby," Lyrin said, stepping up beside Arden, his arms folded, his hair tacked to his face by the rain. Arden and the other Knights of Achyron had been asked to assist in training and drills – Ruon and Ildris in particular had hundreds upon hundreds of years of experience. Both had fought in a number of wars and knew what it was to lead soldiers into battle.
"Not at all." Arden nodded in agreement, looking down to where Ildris, Ruon, and Varlin strode between the practicing groups. Ingvat and Surin had been chosen as captains of the newly formed forces, along with three elves by the names of Narthil, Allinín, and Sylehna.
The elves had been well drilled from the start; they looked and moved like an army should, equipped with the finest of swords and armour. But the rebels were the opposite. They had arrived broken and disparate from all corners of the South. Some bore weapons and armour that would not have looked out of place in the finest armoury, but most carried old, worn equipment and whatever they had been able to salvage. Each and every one of them looked as though they were well accustomed to fighting, no strangers to death and blood. But they were the furthest thing from an army. Over the months, Arden had taken no small amount of pride in watching that slowly change. Every morning they rose with the sun, trained until they could barely stand, ate, and then slept. He had never seen such a large group so singular in their dedication. Aeson Virandr had picked his allies wisely. "We just need to get them some decent equipment."
"What news from the temple?" Arden asked, knowing Lyrin had just come from giving his report to Kallinvar.
Lyrin let out a long sigh. "Pure, untamed chaos." The man shook his head, clicking his tongue off the roof of his mouth. "The elves of Lynalion still haven't moved any further west than Steeple. Their numbers are impossible to determine with that fog always shrouding them – as are the numbers of their dragons. But the reports are telling us they moved north, taking both Khergan and Highpass, as well as Dead Rock's Hold."
"I've heard things of Dead Rock's Hold…"
"Whatever you've heard is likely true. The hold is built around an enormous iron mine. For the past four centuries, the empire have used elves as forced labour to mine the iron. Not only will finding their kin enslaved in a mine piss off those Lynalion elves to no end, Dead Rock's Hold is also the empire's largest iron mine. You better believe that's going to have a major impact on their weapons production."
Arden's jaw clenched. "Or they'll shift the burden to the South," he said, thinking back on how the empire used to pay his dad half of what his armour and weapons were worth – if they bothered to pay at all. "That's always the way. The North doesn't struggle, it stumbles, then uses the South as a crutch."
"True enough." Lyrin nodded, letting out a soft sigh. Before becoming a knight, Lyrin had been born in Loria in a small town south-west of Catagan. "Should we go and help?" Lyrin gestured to where Ruon, Ildris, and Varlin were walking through the ranks of warriors, elven and human captains marching along beside them.
"Actually, Calen is to meet Valdrin soon. His armour is ready. I told him I'd be there."
A smile touched Lyrin's lips. "I'm happy for you. You're still an arsehole, but I'm happy for you."
Before Arden could respond, a roar rippled through the skies above. He lifted his gaze to see Valerys emerge from behind the dense canopy of trees that framed the training yard, black-veined wings of white spread wide. The dragon swept upwards, soaring over the heads of the practicing warriors below. Cheers and chants rang out from both elves and humans, swords clanging off shields – they did that any time Valerys soared overhead. Arden would have thought they would lose interest after a while, but he had been proven sorely mistaken.
He smiled as he watched the dragon sweep across the sky. Even in the few months that had passed, Valerys had grown further. The dragon's body was almost seventy feet in length, his muscles dense, chest deep. Arden reckoned Valerys was easily big enough to take a second on his back, possibly even a third. As he looked up, Arden dropped his hand to his hip, feeling the soft almost-waxy touch of the scarf Calen had given him. Calen said he'd bought it in the markets at Milltown and that he'd intended to give it to their mam before everything happened. It was now tied between the loops on Arden's sword belt, just as it had been Calen's. His throat clenched as he rubbed the autumn-red scarf between his thumb and forefinger, tracing over the gold and cream leaves that wove through the fabric.
It was strange how such a small thing could pull at Arden so heavily. That scarf was the only thing he had to remind him of his mam; it reminded him of her warmth, her love, her soft, sweet voice… and she'd never even touched it. No words existed in the Common Tongue that could ever explain to Calen how much that meant to him, but somehow he thought Calen already knew.
"You all right?" Lyrin turned his gaze from Calen and Valerys, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Arden said, nodding as he rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye. "Just tired. I need to go to Valdrin's forge. I'll see you in a few hours."
"I see what you're doing," Lyrin called as Arden descended the steps from the platform. "Any excuse to get out of sword forms!"
"You know me too well!"
"Please don't die, please don't die, please don't die." Dann squeezed his arms around Calen's waist, his hands trembling and his head pressed against Calen's back. The wind and rain whipped at him from all sides as the dragon swooped and soared through the many interconnected valleys of Aravell. Walkways, bridges, and platforms of white stone flitted past, barely more than a blur.
From the ground, riding a dragon looked as though it was one of the most incredible things a person could do. It was a thing of legend, a thing of bards' tales and stories told around campfires. But sitting on the dragon's back, clinging on for dear life, damp scales chafing his thighs, and his teeth chattering, Dann decided there were some things best left in stories.
"Stop being such a baby!" Calen called out, his voice muffled by the wind. With his head pressed against Calen's back, Dann could feel the vibrations of his friend's laughter. "You said you wanted to see what it was like. I'm showing you."
"That's easy for you to say!" Dann roared back. "Valerys might be holding you in place, but if I let go I'm dead!"
"Don't let go!"
"I hate you!"
Calen roared laughing. "The forge is up ahead." He turned, the wind whipping his hair back and forth, his eyes misting with an incandescent lavender light. Dann didn't think he would ever get used to that – especially the glowing. "Can you hold on that long?"
Dan interlocked his fingers, clamping his legs tighter to Valerys. Please don't die. Please don't die. "I miss my horse!"
"What did you say?" Calen shouted. "Faster?"
Before Dann could respond, Valerys curled his wings, dropping into a dive. Dann felt himself lift, a weightlessness filling his stomach, his entire body feeling as though it were floating. Then the dragon spread his wings once more, and Dann slammed back down, a splitting pain spreading from his arse to his stones. Never again.
The rain had stopped by the time Valerys alighted on the plateau before Valdrin's forge, his talons depressing into the sodden grass.
Vaeril, Erik, Tarmon, Alea, Lyrei, Haem and Gaeleron all stood to the left of the forge, while Asius, Baldon, Aeson, Therin, Aruni, and a number of the Rakina all waited before the forge's doors.
"Never again," Dann said, releasing his bear hug on Calen's waist. He panted as though he had just run five miles. "Not without a saddle, at least." He let out a groan of relief as he shifted. "I'm not sure I'll be able to have children after that."
"Is that really a bad thing?" Calen laughed, turning to see Dann looking left and right, droplets of water flicking from his hair, a curiosity in his eyes. "Everything all right, Dann?"
"How in the gods do I get down from here?"
"You jump. Watch." Calen tried to keep as straight a face as he could manage. Without another word, he swung his leg over, wrapped himself in threads of Air and leapt from Valerys's back. He was so well practiced at that stage that his feet barely pressed into the sodden grass as he landed, the threads of Air softening his descent. He turned around, looking up at Dann. "You next!"
Dann's eyes widened. "You better be fucking joking."
"Do you want me to catch you?" Therin called up to Dann as he strolled towards Valerys, a beaming smile on his face. He leaned in to Calen, whispering, "You're cruel."
"He'd have done the same to me."
"He'd have done worse," Therin said with a laugh. "Get Valerys to let him down though, Valdrin's waiting, and you know what he's like at this stage."
"Fair enough." Let him down.
Valerys shook his head and neck, spraying water in all directions like Faenir had once done when coming inside after being in the rain. The dragon leaned low to the ground, stretching his neck and angling his forelimbs so Dann could climb down.
Climb, Calen discovered, would be too elegant a word for the method Dann used to dismount from Valerys.
Splat.
Mud and water sprayed up into Calen and Therin's faces as Dann clambered from Valerys's back, then slipped on the dragon's forelimb, dropping down face-first into the sodden grass.
"Ooph." Erik grimaced at Dann in the mud as he, Tarmon, and Vaeril, Alea, and Lyrei walked over. "That's got to hurt. Who had him for face first?"
Lyrei raised a hand, a wicked grin spreading from ear to ear. Erik, Tarmon, Aeson, Vaeril, Chora, and Haem all placed a copper mark in Lyrei's open palm. The elf shook the coppers in her hand, then dropped them into a pocket within her cloak.
Dann wiped the mud from his face as Calen helped him to his feet, but he was still filthy from head to toe. He glared at Erik. "Did you all bet if I'd fall?"
"No." Erik raised his open palm defensively. "We didn't bet if you'd fall. We bet how you would fall. If it's any consolation, I had you landing on your feet."
"It is, actually."
"Well, your feet then your face. The grass is slippery."
"I hate you." Dann narrowed his gaze, turning to Calen. "Never. Again."
"Do you remember the first night in The Proving? When you led us to the cave with the bear. You danced across the stones in the river like a kat while I fell in and got soaked?" Calen clapped Dann and the back, motioning him towards the forge. "Well, this is payback."
"Not your most graceful moment, Pimm." Calen saw Tarmon holding back a laugh as he shook his head at Dann's mud-stained clothes. Since arriving in Aravell, and in the last months in particular, Tarmon, Erik, and Vaeril had treated Dann as though he was a brother. It was something Calen appreciated more than he had the ability to articulate.
"What way did you have me falling?" Dann scraped mud from his cheek as he raised an eyebrow at Tarmon.
"I had you trying to slide down Valerys's wing."
Dann gave an upturn of his bottom lip. "That was actually my next option."
"So close," Tarmon said, clicking his fingers.
They approached the forge, and Calen said his greetings to all who had come. As he made to greet Aruni, the elf pulled him into a warm hug. She squeezed him, then pulled back, pinching his cheek. "Have you been sleeping? Not enough by the looks of it." She examined his eyes. "I have a tea. It should help."
Calen smiled, suppressing a laugh as he nodded his thanks. "That would be lovely."
While Valdrin had been working on Calen's armour, Calen and Haem had come to visit Aruni numerous times with Therin. She reminded him of home, or, more specifically, she reminded him of his mam. She looked nothing like Freis, of course, but she had the same warmth, the same caring eyes. She also had better tea.
"Come!" Valdrin's voice rang out from within the forge.
Erik, Tarmon, Vaeril, and Dann all turned their heads towards the doors of the forge, curious expressions on their faces.
"Did he just summon us like hounds?" Erik asked, laughing.
"I believe so," Tarmon said.
"He summoned you like a hound." Dann shrugged, turning so he walked backwards towards the doors. "I'm going of my own free will." As Dann turned, his foot slipped from under him, and he fell into the muddy grass to a chorus of laughter.
"Come on," Therin said, motioning for the others to move inside the forge. "Before this idiot hurts himself." He reached down and hauled Dann to his feet.
"Don't say it." Dann pursed his lips, then let out a long, heavy sigh. "Don't say a word."
The heat from the forge felt like an age-old friend, washing over Calen as he stepped through the doors. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting his mind drift back to those days in the forge with his dad and Haem.
"Well." Calen opened his eyes at the sound of Valdrin's voice. The elf stood before Calen, a dirty cloth clasped in his hands, his leather apron draped over a deep blue cotton shirt. Valdrin's face, arms, hair, and clothes were covered in a mixture of soot, coal, grease, and sweat. In fact, the only part of him that was in any way clean were his hands, which he had clearly scrubbed meticulously. "What are all these people doing here?" Valdrin raised an eyebrow, looking about the group, his gaze stopping on Therin. "I specifically said Calen, Erik, Tarmon, Arden, Alea, Lyrei, Gaeleron, Vaeril and that one." Valdrin pointed to Dann. "Though…" He scrunched his lips. "He's a bit dirty."
Dann was incredulous. He raised his hands, palms out. "Hold on. I know I'm covered in mud. I fell off a dragon. How many of you can say that? But I mean—" He gestured at Valdrin "—this is the pot calling the kettle black… and in this case, the pot really is black. I mean it's all over you. How do you get coal in your hair?"
Valdrin stared at Dann, his eyes narrowing for a moment. "I like you. You can stay. As for the others, out."
Therin sighed heavily. "Valdrin."
Valdrin stared back at Therin curiously. "Therin?"
"Can we not do this?"
A broad smile crept across Valdrin's face. "All right."
"Thank you."
"You can stay – the others can wait outside. It's too crowded in here, and you know I get anxious when it's crowded."
Chora wheeled forwards, dirt and char crunching beneath her chair. She looked from Therin to Aeson. "He's not serious, is he? It's already started raining again."
"You won't melt," Valdrin said with a shrug. "Now, out."
"He's never not serious." Therin's mouth was a thin line.
"All right, all right." Aruni clasped her hands together, rubbing at the scars around her wrists. "How about I take you all into the house for a cup of tea. Valdrin can call us when they're ready."
Baldon bowed. "It would be my pleasure, Aruni Heartsteel. Do you have any more tea of the Tarveenan Starlet?"
"I do, Baldon, I do. Come, come. Follow me." Aruni placed her hand on Baldon's fur-covered back, herding the Angan out the door, gesturing for the others to follow. Asius, Harken, Atara, and the other Rakina followed after Aruni and Baldon with little complaint, barring a few grumbles.
"This better be some damn good tea." Chora frowned, then began to leave before stopping and raising her eyebrows at Aeson. "You're coming too, young Virandr… well…" She looked to Erik, letting out a laugh. "Not so young Virandr. Not anymore."
As Aeson and Chora left, Valdrin closed the door behind them. He puffed out his cheeks. "Finally. Twenty three is far too many to have in here. It's also not an even number." He looked at something in the corner of the workshop. "I don't like odd numbers. They're just… odd. Ten is perfect."
"But there's eleven of us?" Dann said, counting with his finger.
"Very quick mathematics, but I don't count myself because I can't see myself." Valdrin stared at Dann as though daring Dann to challenge him. Dann looked as though he were going to do just that, but eventually shook his head and shrugged. Valdrin rubbed his hands into the cloth one more time, then stuffed it into the pocket at the top of his apron. "Now that is sorted, follow me. Everything's ready."
Valdrin led Calen and the others through the workshop towards the archway at the far end that divided the building in half – where Valdrin had shown him the armour previously. This time, though, a long black curtain was draped over the arch.
Valdrin stopped before the arch, turning to Calen and folding his arms. He bit his lip, his gaze moving over Calen's body. He held out his hands, moving them closer and further apart as though measuring Calen. After a minute, he gave an downturn of his bottom lip, seemingly satisfied.
"The curtain's a little dramatic, no?" Dann asked, looking behind Valdrin at the black curtain.
"Some would say falling off a dragon is a little dramatic," Valdrin said without missing a beat.
"Fair. Carry on."
Without so much as a smile, Valdrin nodded to Dann and turned back to Calen. "I'll still have to watch you train in it, but I think it's going to be perfect. Your shoulders and arms have grown in the last few months, but I've been accounting for that." Valdrin nodded to himself for a few moments as though doing calculations in his head, then turned on his heels and pulled the curtain across, stepping through.
Just as Calen and Haem had done when they had first walked through the arch months ago, both Dann and Erik let out gasps, looking about at the suits and segments of armour that were mounted on stand and hooks around the room.
"Arn elwyn Hafaesiríl." By Hafaesir's heart. Vaeril looked about, wide-eyed, Alea, Lyrei, and Gaeleron walking at his side. "Your work is truly an art, Valdrin. For years I've heard of the young smith who rivals the weapons and armour crafts of old. I've heard you forge using the Spark?"
"Among other things," Valdrin said as he walked towards the other side of the room.
Calen stopped in his tracks as his gaze fell on a suit of armour suspended on a stand that Valdrin now stood beside. "That can't be…"
"Your armour."
"By the gods…" Dann stepped up beside Calen, speechless for the first time.
The breastplate was pure white, a trim of gold around its edges. Runes were etched around the collar, smooth and sweeping, inlaid with a whitish metal. At first glance there seemed to be no sigil or markings emblazoned across the breastplate's front, but as Calen looked closer, his breath caught in his chest. He reached out and traced his fingers across vines of gold that swept from left to right, delicate etchings of leaves blowing in the wind – the same as the scarf he had bought his mam. The one he had given to Haem. Calen looked to Valdrin, tears wetting his eyes. "How did you…?"
"It seemed important to you," Valdrin said, a genuine smile touching his lips. "Aeson Virandr and the others had asked that I mark the breast with the old symbol of The Order. They were quite insistent. But this seemed more appropriate." He looked back at the armour, then at the floor, before his gaze finally rested on Haem. "When I saw that you had given the scarf to your brother, my decision was made."
"Valdrin…" Calen couldn't take his fingers away from the golden leaves etched into the plate. It was one of the most thoughtful things anyone had ever done for him. "It's beautiful."
"Why thank you. I'm rather proud of it myself. I did it by hand, which is why it took a bit longer. The Spark can do many things, but when it comes to the finer details, it can be a bit clumsy."
Calen took a step back. The breastplate flowed down into thin articulated panels of white steel that protected the stomach and sides, connecting to a pair of ornately carved tassets on either side. Sections of white cloth were pulled up beneath the tassets and pinned in place. Smooth plate covered the legs, flowing seamlessly into armoured boots. As Calen's gaze moved upwards, it fell on the pauldrons. Each pauldron consisted of a base layer of rounded white steel which was then ornamented with overlapping segments of plate that mimicked the peaks of dragon wings. More overlapping plates of white steel flowed outwards from the pauldrons, covering the arms and joining to a pair of vambraces and gauntlets on either side.
"The cloth is for ornamentation," Valdrin said, circling the armour. "I don't see a point in wasting time on something so impractical, but King Galdra insisted, while Queen Uthrían was quite forceful about the gold trim. It was actually King Silmiryn who suggested the pauldrons mimic Valerys's wings. I know you prefer a simple aesthetic, but I think it works quite well." Valdrin traced his hand over the right pauldron, his eyes narrowing as he inspected his craftsmanship. "The armour itself though is made from an alloy of Antherin steel – the metal used to make the armour worn by the old Draleid. This new alloy is light and flexible but can take a hit from a warhammer without caving. It will move with you instead of against you."
Valdrin stepped back, rubbing his chin with his right hand. Therin had told Calen he'd rescued Valdrin, along with Aruni, from a Lorian prison six years ago. The elf had only seen eighteen summers. Calen had never seen such a natural gift.
"You can thank Queen Uthrían for the Antherin steel. She offered her son's old armour to be melted down – which I used to create this new alloy. Luckily Antherin steel has very few impurities. The process was quite simple. I call this new metal Antherium."
Calen listened to Valdrin, but his thoughts drifted to Uthrían and to the vision he had seen when she had touched his arm. Her son's words as he stood before her. 'Myia'nari. Il vyara… myia'kara… é dauva. Il raethír er veinier.' My queen, the princes… my brothers… are dead. The battle is lost.
Calen hadn't seen as much of the elven rulers as he had thought he would, which was a good thing in general – he had little patience for all the back and forth. But for Uthrían to offer her son's armour so that Calen's could be forged was special.
"Oh, I almost forgot." Valdrin scurried back through the arch, disappearing for a minute before remerging with a helmet in his hand. He placed the helmet on top of the armour stand so it rested just above the breastplate. "I was working on the finishing touches. I wasn't sure what style you'd prefer, but I wanted to give you as much visibility as I could while also offering some protection from the wind while you're flying. I've taken inspiration from the Valtaran style, as well as that of the Lunithíran elves and the old Draleid helmets."
The helmet was smooth and sleek, more gold leaves and vines inlaid across its white steel surface. The faceplate held a singular opening, split by a guard that extended down over the nose while two angular side plates covered the cheeks and jawline. The eye slits were narrow but spread wide, allowing for good lateral vision.
"Jotnar runecraft." Calen could hear the awe in Vaeril's voice as the elf dropped to his haunches to examine the legs.
It was only as Vaeril spoke that Calen noticed that the collar of the breastplate wasn't the only piece of the armour inscribed with the rune markings. He looked closer, staring at the runes that ran down the sides of the breastplate and those along the arms and legs.
"You have come a long way in a short time," Therin said, resting his hand on Valdrin's shoulder.
Valdrin shuffled awkwardly, giving Therin a half smile before moving to stand by Calen. He folded his left arm across his body and pointed at a set of runes. "I haven't tested these particular runes before." He glanced at Haem. "I've tried to make them mimic Arden's Sentinel armour. Not in the way it melts and recedes – though give me a few decades – but a more simplified version. When the runesets are activated, the armour should – theoretically – melt the joints together, eliminating the weak points, or at least reducing them. The points where the armour fuses will be softer and more malleable than the faces of the plate. Otherwise you wouldn't be able to move. But it should provide far greater protection than normal plate while being lighter and more flexible."
"Question," Dann said, folding his arms as he stood beside Valdrin.
"Here we go." Therin raised an expectant eyebrow.
Dann glared at Therin before turning back to Valdrin. "You said 'theoretically'. What happens if your theory is wrong?"
"Honestly? I'm not sure." Valdrin scrunched up his lips. "I've never used runes like this before – I don't believe anyone has. They're a bit of an experiment. But given the intention of the runes, the energy required, and potential variance in translation – the ancient Jotnar runic script is older than the Blodvar – the wearer could melt, burst into flames…" Varlin pressed his fingers into his cheeks. "Possibly even be fused to the armour itself."
"Did you say melt?"
"Potentially."
"How do we test it?" Calen swallowed hard, his mouth drier than the dunes of the Burnt Lands.
Valdrin pursed his lips. "You have to try it… There's not really any other way. These kinds of runes can only be activated by the corresponding master binding runes – which can only be inscribed on a single wearer."
Calen made to ask what master binding runes were when the last part of Valdrin's sentence clicked in his head. "Inscribed?"
Valdrin pursed his lips, then folded his arms. "These runes are crafted from a subset of runes known as binding runes. For lack of a deeper explanation, they bind the armour, or whatever you're marking, to one specific master – in this case, you. The master runes would need to be inscribed on your body using ink that's made from the bones of horned Krakalun – a type of mountain goat that was common in the old Jotnar lands. Lucky for you, some Krakalun still live near the peaks of Lodhar, and I already have some ink."
"There's the L word again," Erik said with a laugh.
Calen puffed out his cheeks, nodding. "How long does the inscribing take?"
"You're actually going to do it?" Dann looked at Calen in shock. "What if you melt? That's not a good word, Calen. Melt."
Calen looked to Valdrin. "How confident are you that the runes are right?"
The elf shrugged. "Eighty-three… eighty-four percent? The inscribing will take less than an hour with the Spark."
"All right." Calen let out a heavy sigh, nodding, resigned to what needed to be done. "Let's get it over with."
"Oh." Valdrin straightened his back, his eyes widening as though he'd just remembered something. He stuck his index finger in the air. "One moment. There's one other thing."
Valdrin walked over to the left side of the room, where six stands of armour had been covered by sheets. One by one, Valdrin ripped the sheets off. He looked to Gaeleron. "I will craft one for you when you recover."
"I'm not wearing that." Dann folded his arms, shaking his head with his bottom lip turned out. "There's no way I'm… Is that a hood? Actually, it's not that bad. I could just… Wait, no. Is that mine?"
Haem moved beside Calen, scratching at his stubble. "How long would it take to make five thousand more of those?"
Aeson leaned back against the trunk of the tree, his arms folded. The rain had come back with a vengeance, hammering down against the leaves overhead and forming puddles in the grass.
He didn't like being made to wait outside. But the boy, Valdrin, had been through a lot, and Aeson knew what he was like. He remembered when Therin had come to him six years ago with Dayne and Belina. Aruni and Valdrin had been with them, freshly dragged from the dungeons of Kragsdenford and whatever malicious experiments the empire had been running in those dark depths. Valdrin had only seen about twelve summers at that stage. He'd come a long way since then.
As he stood there, he let his mind wander to the reports they'd received from the battle at Steeple. When rumours had spread about elven dragons, Aeson had dismissed them out of hand. Surely there was no possible way they were true. If the elves of Lynalion had kept Draleid alive this long, why had they hidden? But when more and more news came in, Aeson slowly understood. They had been waiting for this precise moment; waiting for the Dragonguard's numbers to dwindle and the continent to drift into chaos. Had the Draleid come from any other place, Aeson would have rejoiced. But the elves of Lynalion were not friends. In the years before they secluded themselves in the woodland, their hatred of humankind, the elves of Aravell, and the Draleid who had betrayed them had become all consuming. He would need to attempt communication, but he held little hope. The last time the Draleid had flown behind banners of kingdoms and not The Order, the Blodvar had raged for centuries.
A loud puff of air brought Aeson from his thoughts. He looked to the left of the forge where Valerys lay in the damp grass, his bulk taking up most of the platform between the forge and the house. The rain crashed down over the dragon, splattering off his scales. In the past few months alone, the dragon had grown more than twice what any other would have. He was still nothing but a plaything compared to the likes of Helios, but he was a devastating creature nonetheless. Aeson had no doubt that if Valerys had flown the skies four centuries ago, he would have been a jewel of The Order.
"How long does it take to try on armour?" Harken let out a sigh. The mountain of a man scratched at the back of his head.
"Patience is a virtue." Chora's eyes were fixed on the forge door as she spoke.
"I have enough virtues," Harken said. "I don't need another one."
Aeson looked to his left, just outside the cover of the tree's branches. Asius sat cross-legged in the rain, his elbows on his knees. Even seated, the Jotnar's head still reached Aeson's shoulders. Asius had spent many a day over the past few months visiting Valdrin in the forge. Apparently the boy was a prodigy when it came to runecraft. Even amongst the Jotnar, rune crafting had been a rare and sought-after skill. Before The Fall, Asius had been one of only six Jotnar Aeson had known to be proficient at the craft, and Asius would never have considered himself particularly adept. But from everything Aeson had heard since arriving back in Aravell, Valdrin was proving to be a prodigy with pretty much everything that involved his hands. As he was not born under the banners of Lunithír, Ardurän, or Vaelen, none of the three Inari claimed him as their own, but many seemed to consider him a multi-generational talent.
"Here we are." Aruni fixed her rain-damp dress as the doors to the forge opened. With the rain weighing the fabric down, Aeson could see the outlines of the rune markings the imperial mages in Kragsdenford had carved into her chest. The elf had barely survived. She wouldn't have if it hadn't been for Therin.
Erik and Tarmon were the first to step from the forge. Each wore flowing suits of burnished plate. Their steel breastplates were smooth, ornamented with delicate gold leaves blowing from left to right and white dragons emblazoned across the front. White pauldrons, gilded along the edges, protected their shoulders while tassets of white steel scales covered their hips and groins. They both held sharp, fitted helmets in the crooks of their arms.
Vaeril and Dann came next, with Alea and Lyrei walking behind them. Vaeril wore the same style armour as the others, but Dann, Alea, and Lyrei's armour was lighter, half-plate. Their breastplates were similar to the others, though sleeker. Smooth pauldrons armoured their left shoulders, smaller less obtrusive spaulders protecting their right, with sets of vambraces on their forearms. But what drew Aeson's attention was the white wood bow slung over Dann's back. Shit. He's never going to shut up about that.
"I thought the Triarchy had only arranged for Calen's armour?" Harken asked, looking from Chora to Aeson.
"They did," Chora answered.
"Valdrin's been working night and day. He used the steel from other projects." Aruni gave Aeson a soft smile. "He won't ever tell you, but he was honoured to be asked."
"Well, fuck…" Chora's eyes widened, her lips pursing.
Aeson stared at Chora in shock but then realised what she had seen. Calen strode from the forge, a helmet gripped in his hands, Valdrin, Arden, Gaeleron, and Therin walking behind him.
Aeson had never seen anything like the armour that Calen wore. It was impossibly smooth and flowing, seeming to have no splits or gaps whatsoever. It looked more like the Sentinel armour the Knights of Achyron wore.
"Il nära un'il Enkara vírnae ove'ae." The light of the Enkara shines upon us. Asius unfolded his legs and stood, a rare smile touching his lips.
It was then that Aeson saw the soft glow of purple light that drifted from the rune markings on Calen's armour. Those markings must have been how the plate flowed so seamlessly. Rumours of Valdrin's skills had not been exaggerated.
Valerys rose from where he lay, a deep rumble resonating in his throat. The dragon moved forwards, leaning his neck down. Calen rested his hand on Valerys's scaled snout, rain crashing down over them.
"He looks…" Atara shook her head as she tried to find the words.
"He looks like a Draleid."