Dann's heart pounded, and his legs burned. He would never admit it to Ella, but as he ran for his life with Lorian archers and mages hurling arrows and lightning after him, he truly did regret wearing the white cloak.
He heaved out a breath as he leapt over the trunk of a fallen tree, landing heavy. Ahead, the elves slowed, pulling arrows from their quivers and stopping. It took Dann a moment to realise why, but then he saw the hulking shapes of two Nithrandír.
The enormous figures were ten or eleven feet tall, vines and roots forming their bodies. They had no heads, and their chests were broad and deep. Thick plates of silver armour covered their vine-wrought shapes.
'The souls of old elves who gave themselves to protect their descendants.'
Baldon and Faenir bounded past him on his right, Ella on his left. Dann heaved air into his burning lungs, his legs feeling as though they were going to give way. One downside to wearing plates of armour was how damn heavy they were.
The only light that reached him as he passed the enormous shapes of the Nithrandír was that of the torches and the Blood Moon behind him.
"Down!" Alea roared, standing at the front of the line of elves.
Dann didn't need any convincing. He grabbed Ella's arm and heaved her to the ground with him. They slammed into the dirt and leaves as hundreds of arrows ripped through the air over their heads.
Dann grabbed at the dirt, lifting his gaze in time to see the flurry of steel and wood hammer into the Lorians like a wave. But even as the soldiers fell in their tens, more charged onwards, some on foot, some on horseback.
As two riders moved close together, racing through a clear patch in the wood, a brilliant blue light burst into life on both Dann's left and his right. He watched in awe as the light traced over the vines and roots that composed the Nithrandír bodies. It washed over the legs, glowing and shimmering, then swept up through the chest and arms. Runes glowed across the thick plates of silver that coated the vines, igniting with the same blue light. Then, a tremor ran through the ground, and both Nithrandír before him ripped their legs free of the forest floor. As the three riders drew closer, the Nithrandír on Dann's left drew back its enormous arms, and strands of pure blue light burst from its hands, twisting and turning over themselves until they formed the shape of an axe larger than Dann's entire body. The Nithrandír heaved the axe backwards, then swung, cleaving both riders in half with a single swipe.
Tremors shook the earth again, and Dann watched as more bursts of blue light ignited in the darkness of the forest.
In the dark of the woodland, the faint purple light of the runes in Calen's armour washed over the forest floor and glowed off the tree trunk he leaned against. He watched as Lorian soldiers flooded through the trees before him. Torches flickered in the darkness as they chased the rangers into the forest towards the Nithrandír. The column of torchlight, stretched off into the distance on the right, howls, screams, and clinking steel echoing. He gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly he could feel the pressure building in his knuckles. His mind drifted to Ella, Dann, Alea, Lyrei, and Faenir. Please be all right.All he wanted to do was charge in and keep them safe. But they needed to wait until the rangers reached the Nithrandír, until the Lorians had committed. And so he waited, his heart beating like a hammer, his nerves fraying.
He stood on the western flank of the charging Lorian forces. Tarmon, Vaeril, and Erik were on his right, while Haem, Lyrin, Varlin, Asius, and Senas stood to Calen's left; the two Jotnar towered over even the knights in their green Sentinel armour. Crucially, two and a half thousand warriors stood at their back, one thousand humans and one and a half thousand elves. Ingvat, Surin, and an elf by the name of Narthil – all three of whom were now officially captains of the newly formed rebellion – were spread out along the lines, each assigned their warriors. Along with those sworn to the rebellion, another twenty thousand Triarchy elves in smooth silver plate, curved blades gripped in their fists, were lined out through the forest, parallel to the Lorians who charged after the rangers. They'd spread their lines thin, to prevent clusters forming for the Dragonguard to target.
The same number waited on the eastern flank, with Therin, Aeson, and the other Rakina at the head of the rebellion forces. Some of the Rakina who had refused to train Calen, including Atara, had stepped forwards to fight.
A further thirty thousand elves led by the three rulers of Aravell waited to meet the Lorians head on. This was different to anything Calen had faced before. It wasn't just him, Erik, Tarmon, and Vaeril anymore. This was a true battle – one in which thousands looked to him.
"Together," Erik whispered, clinking his vambrace off Calen's. It was strange to see the man in steel armour, evens stranger to see the white dragon emblazoned across his chest.
Screams and shouts rang out, horses snorting and squealing, and Calen lifted his gaze to see torches soaring through the air and setting foliage alight as elven arrows sliced into the charging Lorians. Horses reared and collapsed backwards, arrows shredding them.
"Hold," Tarmon called out, his voice hushed. He'd left his greatsword in Aravell in favour of a short sword and shield due to the confined space in the woods. "Wait until the Nithrandír form."
"What did Aeson say it looked like again?" Calen whispered.
"He said we'd know it when we saw it."
"That sounds like my father," Erik muttered.
As Erik spoke, a series of blue lights burst into life before the Lorian charge, one after the next, stretching into the distance. Calen watched in awe as the Nithrandír took shape, the blue light scattering through the trees, sending shadows dancing across the woodland. Within seconds, the enormous statue-like shapes of the Nithrandír had come to life, thick silver armour covering limbs of blue light. In much the way Calen had seen nithrál form, axes, swords, and spears took shape in the Nithrandírs' hands, cleaving through the charging soldiers.
Calen's heartbeat rose to a deafening drum. He drew in a long breath, letting it swell in his chest before releasing it. This was it. This was the start of everything. This was where he stopped running. Aravell will not fall.Calen reached out to Valerys, pulling their minds together. The dragon could not fight in the forest, but Calen needed him nonetheless. Even as Calen called to Valerys, he could feel the dragon unleash a visceral roar from where he stood in the Eyrie. Calen let out a gasp as Valerys's mind and soul collided with his, power surging through his veins. They were one – as it always should be. All doubt and fear flooded from him, supplanted by the dragon's rage. These people had come to kill their family, to burn their new home to the ground, to end their bond. The empire would find nothing but blood and fire. Calen opened himself to the fury, to the fire, allowing the lightning to crackle through his veins. There was no holding back, not anymore. Aeson wanted a symbol, and Calen would give him one. Draleid n'aldryr, Valerys. Ayar nithír. Dragonbound by fire, Valerys. One soul.
He pulled in a lungful of air, imbued it with every drop of his and Valerys's rage, and bellowed, "Forwards!"
Calen reached out to the Spark, pushing Spirit into his legs, willing himself to move faster. Behind him, roars and shouts thundered. Ahead, Lorians turned, the fear on their faces illuminated by torchlight as Calen and his army charged towards them.
More roars rang out on the other side of the Lorian lines and again near the Nithrandír.
Death cannot be beautiful. Vibrations jarred Calen's legs with each pounding step. But sometimes it is necessary.
He pulled on threads of Air, wrapping them around a clutch of Lorian soldiers who stood closest to him. He pulled, launching the Lorians through the air. As he did, a Dvalin Angan charged past him in the shape of an enormous stag, twice the size of any Calen had ever seen. The Angan's white fur glistened in the purple light of Calen's eyes and armour, seeming almost ethereal. The creature leapt and threw its head forwards, impaling two soaring Lorians with its black antlers. Bones snapped, and blood sprayed as the antlers burst through the two bodies, piercing legs, arms, and chests at the same time, blood splattering the Angan's white fur. In the same motion, Calen pulled back his sword and swung, funnelling threads of Earth into his bones as his sword sliced through the ribs of one of the soldiers he'd launched into the air. The blade cut clean through, and the soldier crumpled as they hit the ground. Calen kept charging forwards, Vaeril, Tarmon, and Erik at his side.
The Spark thrummed, setting all Calen's hairs on end, as whips of Fire and Air stretched outwards from the Lorian lines. Somewhere to his right he heard the cry, "Dragon's Maw!"
Within moments, a pillar of fire illuminated the woodland like a beacon. Calen let himself stare in awe for just a moment as his gaze passed over the line of charging elves that stretched off endlessly into the forest, their silver armour scintillating in the light of the fire.
This night would be spoken of for centuries. It would be sung in taverns and told around fires. It would be legend. All he needed to do was be around to hear it told.
Calen looked towards the Lorian lines, pulling in threads of Spirit, Fire, and Air, knotting them together, swirling them in his hand. He shifted his shoulder as an arrow sliced past, a second skittering off his pauldron. Power pulsed through him as he held the threads in his palm, Valerys's fury – their fury – blazing in his heart. He separated out thin threads of Air and Spirit, weaving them into his voice as he had in Kingspass. "For Aravell! For Epheria!"
The words left his lips without thought, the fire inside him calling them forth. And as he spoke, he reached out his hand and unleashed the threads of Fire, Air, and Spirit, sending arcs of blue lightning crashing towards the Lorian lines.
The wolf howled in Ella's blood as she charged, the elves rushing around her like a raging river splitting across a rock. Dann, Tanner, Yana, and the two elves – Alea and Lyrei – ran beside her, steel glinting in the blue light of the enormous Nithrandír, whose light-forged weapons carved through the Lorian forces like scythes through grass. The massive things were like nothing Ella had ever laid eyes on.
The clang of steel on steel filled the woodland, crashing against the screams and howls, blending with the crackling of fire and burning wood. Blood, loam, iron, and the acrid smell of burning flesh and fur filled Ella's nostrils. A shiver ran over her skin, the wolf hungering within. "It will be chaos," Aeson Virandr had said. "But chaos is our best chance."
Ella bounded over a thick gnarled root, then used her momentum to leap atop a large rock. About her, elves and humans tore at each other, steel swinging, blood spraying. Through the firelight she could see both Calen and Aeson's forces had successfully charged the Lorian flanks. In the distance, towards the back end of the Lorian column, she could see where the Blood Moon poured over the path burned through the woods by the dragons, glinting off steel. The sheer number of bodies crashing together pulled Ella momentarily from the fervour that clawed in her mind. More would die this night than the entire population of The Glade hundreds of times over.
The momentary lament was shattered as soldiers crashed into Yana, Tanner, Dann, and the elves. The wolf within snarled and snapped. She set it free and hurled herself from the rock. Ella lifted her knee as she leapt, feeling the crunch of bone and cartilage as it slammed into a soldier's nose. As they both fell, Ella stabbed downwards with one of her swords, driving it between the man's neck and shoulder, twisting and ripping. She landed on the soldier's chest as he hit the ground with a thud, branches and twigs snapping beneath their weight. Blood spurted as she pulled her blade free, the red mist clouding her eyes. Something slammed into her back, and she stumbled, twisting to see a woman staggering with an arrow embedded in her throat. Ella flipped the sword in her left hand to underhand grip and snapped her arm like a viper, plunging the blade into the side of the woman's head.
More soldiers rushed at them, only for Faenir to leap from the crush of battle, his fur soaked in blood. The wolfpine clamped his jaws around the head of the closest soldier, snapping her neck in a single twist, teeth and fangs ripping through flesh. He let the body fall, then grabbed hold of a man's legs, thrashing his head left and right, bones crunching. Faenir's anger and bloodlust only fuelled the wolf within Ella, their bond burning like a signal fire.
A roar sounded behind her, and she spun, knocking aside the flailing swipe of a sword with the blade in her left hand. She drove her second blade through the soldier's gut. The man clasped his hand around the blade in his stomach, pulling it free from Ella's grasp. She swung her hand and raked her claws across his face, feeling flesh come away beneath her nails. The man collapsed, spluttering and gurgling. Ella reached down and pulled the sword free from his gut, snarling as she turned to see a rider on an obsidian mount charging her. The horse's nostrils flared as it reared, kicking its hooves forward, its rider striking down with a spear. Before Ella had the chance to react, the Fenryr Angan, Baldon, crashed into the horse's side with such force the enormous animal floundered, falling sideways with a shriek. The Angan tore through the horse's ribs, his jaws ripping and thrashing. With the wolf flooding Ella's veins, she could taste the iron tang, feel the crunch of bones. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that Fenryr connected her and the Angan.
Then Faenir and Baldon circled her, snapping out at any imperial soldiers that came close, ripping through flesh and armour, soaking the ground in Lorian blood.
"Ella!" Ella lifted her head to see Tanner take an arrow through his leg. She charged forwards, Faenir and Baldon loping at her side, the wolf howling in her blood.
Hot rage poured through Valerys and Calen's shared soul as Calen moved through the forms of the svidarya, flowing from Howling Wolf, into Patient Wind, into Striking Dragon. With each movement, steel split flesh and cleaved bone. Erik, Tarmon, and Vaeril moved beside him, never straying too far in the crush of bodies. Erik and Vaeril moved like wolves, steel glinting in smooth swipes, blood soaking the ground. Tarmon had dropped his short sword and now held two axes decorated with the black lion of Loria. The man was a maelstrom of death; everywhere the axes swung, bones snapped and bodies broke.
Calen brought his blade up, angling the swipe of Lorian steel to his right. He brought his own sword back across, drawing blood as he slashed through the man's leather armour. As the soldier stumbled backwards, Calen drove his sword through their gut, yanked it free, then open their throat. He pulled on threads of Earth as two Varsundi Blackthorns thundered through a clearing, riding straight for them. But as Calen drew in the threads, a green light flashed, and Varlin swirled. Her Soulblade flickered from existence as she dropped her shoulder and charged into the lead horse's ribs, sending the animal careening through the air. She continued her spin, pulling her sword from its sheath and slicing through the second horse's neck. As the horse collapsed to the ground, squealing, the rider scrambled to his feet only to catch a boot in the chest from Lyrin in his Sentinel armour. Calen heard bones snap from feet away.
In the middle of the chaos, Lyrin turned and gripped his sword with both hands. Calen saw him mouth the words, "Heraya embrace you, poor soul," as he drove the blade down through the wailing horse's head.
The knight ripped his sword free, the horse lying lifeless.
"It's never right," Lyrin said, raising his sword to a guard position as he and Varlin joined Calen and the others. "Animals dying in our wars. We destroy everything we touch."
A shriek sounded behind Calen, and he turned to see his brother driving a shimmering green nithrál through the chest of a Fade, the creature's brittle lips twisting in agony as the otherworldly wail left its throat. The world around the creature seemed to ripple as Haem pulled the nithrál free, and the Fade fell lifeless onto the forest floor.
"Calen Bryer." Asius and Senas carved their way through a swathe of Lorian soldiers, both swinging axes forged of shimmering red light. The two Jotnar towered over Calen and the others, a myriad of small cuts lacing the lower halves of their bodies. "The battle goes well, the front of the Lorian column has collapsed beneath the weight of the combined elven armies, but Lorian forces are holding us back further down the line. We must keep pushing lest we lose momentum."
Calen looked around. Just as Aeson had promised, it was chaos. Elves in flowing silver plate mingled with rebels who wore whatever they could get their hands on, all crashing against the black and red of Loria. It was precisely what they wanted. The more chaotic, the more blended everything was, the more protected from dragonfire they were.
"Advance!" Aeson's voice bellowed through the night, augmented by threads of Air and Spirit. There was no need for horns when the Spark could work so easily in their place.
"To me!" Calen called out, weaving threads of Air and Spirit through his voice as Aeson did. "Keep pushing forward!
"We can't let ourselves get separated from the main body," Tarmon said, grabbing Calen's arm.
"You heard the man." Erik spun his twin blades as he walked backwards. Without turning, he swung his left hand back and drove his blade into the gut of a soldier rushing up behind him. He pulled the sword free and let the man fall past him. "Kill with caution. Now come on, he's right. We need to push the advantage."
Tarmon frowned at Erik but nodded. Calen called, urging the army forwards. As they carved their way through the chaos, drawing closer to where the Blood Moon washed down over the path the dragons had burned through the wood, Calen felt an enormous surge of the Spark. It crackled over his skin, tingling on the back of his neck. Threads of Air, Fire, and Spirit wound through the air ahead, whirling and spinning with ferocious speed.
Howls rang out as the threads of Air slammed through Lorian and rebel bodies alike, lifting men, women, and elves off their feet and smashing them off tree trunks and rocks. Ahead, Calen saw a thread slam into an elf's leg, snapping the bone in a spray of blood. Another elf was sent careening through the air, the branch of a fallen tree bursting through his chest. More bones shattered, and blood sprayed as the threads of Air whipped back and forth, the power of the Spark pulsing through the air.
For a brief moment, the wails and groans of the dying filled the air, and the threads stopped whirling. Then a voice bellowed, "Second phase!"
Threads of Fire and Spirit blended with threads of Air. Calen brought his hand to his eyes as the world erupted in a series of blinding flashes. Arcs of lightning ripped roots and dirt from the ground, tearing through bodies and crashing into tree trunks in bursts of flames.
"Calen!" Before Calen could turn at the sound of Erik's voice, something hammered into him. The world spun. He crashed into the trunk of a tree, ringing filling his head.
"Are you all right?" Erik knelt over Calen. His voice was distorted, rising and falling in Calen's ears. Calen's vision shifted, blurring. The harsh smell of charred flesh and burnt earth filled his nostrils. Behind Erik, the ground smouldered where Calen had been standing ..
"No… Erik…" Amidst the smoke and ash, and humans and elves stumbling back and forth, Calen saw the large frame of Senas drop to one knee, her silvery-blonde hair shimmering in the firelight. Smoke drifted from holes in Senas's chest and legs. The Jotnar hauled herself upright and swung her shimmering red nithrál. The axe sliced through the torso of a Lorian Battlemage, stripping the life from his bones. Another swing and two more fell.
Calen pushed Erik off him and scrambled to his feet. More Battlemages were emerging from a mass of bodies, black cloaks billowing behind them. There had to be almost a hundred. They drew so much of the Spark the air around them rippled.
One of the mages unleashed a column of fire from his hand, only for Senas to split it with threads of Air, then use those same threads to haul the man through the air. Senas heaved her axe. The man's torsos swung forward as the axe's head sank into his skull. The Jotnar released the nithrál, the mage's body falling lifeless to the forest floor. But as tendrils of red light began to burst from Senas's hand once more, an arrow slammed into her neck. She stumbled, a second arrow lodging in her gut.
A roar thundered in the air as Asius swept forwards, his red nithrál carving through any Lorian who stepped in his path.
Calen called to Erik, then charged. As he moved, Vaeril and Tarmon fell in it at his side, the white dragon on their breastplates barely visible through the blood.
Calen's heart twisted as he charged towards Asius, Senas, and the Lorian Battlemages. Asius stood over Senas, his axe swinging in a fury, threads of Earth lifting spikes of clay from the ground. Senas had been kind when Calen had first met her in Ölm Forest, gentle even. 'It is a pleasure to share our fire with you this night. I am Senas, daughter of Iliria…'
The sight of her lying in the dirt, arrows jutting from her body, ignited a hot rage in Calen. Valerys roared in the back of his mind, urging him to feed from the fury, to harness it.
Calen drew in a long breath, then opened himself to Valerys, pulling their minds together and letting the dragon's rage pour through him like blazing fire.
Draleid n'aldryr. Ayar elwyn, ayar nithír, ayar ileid. Dragonbound by fire. One heart, one soul, one bond.
Strength flooded Calen's muscles, power crackling over his skin. He surged forwards, Erik, Vaeril, and Tarmon at his back.
The first Battlemage didn't see him coming. The man turned in time to have his stomach opened by Calen's blade, steam wafting as intestines spilled. Calen moved past him, Valerys's strength pushing him forwards. Erik, Vaeril, and Tarmon whirled around him, slicing through Lorian leather and flesh. They had all fought together so long their movements were effortless.
The sensation of the Spark ignited to Calen's left. He pulled on threads of Fire, Spirit, and Air, weaving them together into a minor Sparkward – as Therin had taught him. He held his hand out, catching the lightning with the ward, the drain instantly pulling at him.
Vaeril stepped past Calen. As the elf moved, he wrapped threads of Air around a dropped spear and launched it towards the mage. The spear slammed into the man's face, tearing open his mouth and nose and bursting through the back of his head in an eruption of bone, brain, and blood.
As Calen nodded at the elf, he spotted a mage charging towards Vaeril's back. He pulled on threads of Air and wrapped them around the mage's torso, dragging the man towards him. Calen reached forwards, wrapping his gauntleted hand around the mage's throat while knocking the man's sword free. Calen made to drive his blade through the mage's gut, but the man pulled on threads of Fire and Spirit, pushing them into Calen. Instantly Calen's veins felt like they had been set aflame, burning from the inside out. It was as though the mage was trying to rip Calen's soul from his body.
Calen squeezed his fist with every ounce of strength he had. 'A Draleid not only draws the Spark through himself but also through the dragon to which he is bonded.' Chora's words echoed in Calen's mind as the mage continued to push threads of Fire and Spirit into Calen's body. '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.'
Valerys's roar was thunder in Calen's mind. Power surged through Calen's body. The purple light of his eyes glowed across the mage's face, wisps of incandescent mist rising into the air, the runes on Calen's vambrace and gauntlet shining like stars. He opened himself to the Spark and pushed back. The mage thrashed and howled, slapping at the white plate that covered Calen's arm. But Calen only pushed harder, feeling the pull on his soul evaporate. He understood what was happening. The mage had tried to push Calen to his limits, tried to force him to burn himself out. At the thought of someone trying to harm his soulkin, Valerys's fury redoubled, and the dragon pushed through Calen's mind, the Spark blazing in Calen's veins.
The mage continued to push back with threads of Fire and Spirit, but there came a point when Calen felt something snap in the tug between himself and the mage. The mage's scream was so visceral it sent chills down Calen's spine. His eyes began to glow, a pure white light bursting forth, and smoke rose into the air as the skin around the mage's eyes blackened and bubbled.
Calen let the mage drop to the ground, watching as he writhed and twisted, the light in his eyes fading, leaving behind nothing but sockets of charred flesh. Calen stumbled backwards, his hand shaking. That's what it looks like to be burned out.Calen turned to find Tarmon and Erik rushing towards him, worry etched into their faces.
"What in the gods was that?" Erik looked down at the mage who now lay shaking with his knees curled to his chest, smoke drifting from his eye sockets. Erik looked backed towards Calen, slapping him on the side of the helmet. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?" An arrow whistled through the air and glanced off Erik's pauldron, slicing upwards. "I'm never taking this off."
"The others need us." Tarmon nodded to where Vaeril, Asius, and several elven mages were weaving through the company of Lorian Battlemages, threads of each elemental strand whirling through the air.
Calen nodded, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. He turned, lifted the sword, then drove the blade down through the shaking mage's head. He watched as the body twitched, then went still. There was nothing heroic about battle. There was nothing inspiring about death. As he stood there, Calen decided that if the bards did tell tales of this day, he would have no heart to hear them.
He gave the man's body one last look, then charged towards the Lorian Battlemages. Elves and rebels moved around him, howling as they hacked their steel into the Lorians. Aeson wanted chaos, and he had found it.
Just as the man's name came into Calen's head, Aeson, Therin, Harken, and Thacia came charging through the dense wood on the opposite side of the Battlemages; rebels and silver-armoured elves rushed at their side.
A whip of Fire slammed into Calen's side, knocking him off balance. He caught himself and pivoted, pulling on threads of Earth. He found the mage who had struck at him and pushed the threads into the woman's breastplate. The metal collapsed inwards, blood spraying in a mist as her ribs snapped.
Calen fell into the svidarya, dropping into Crouching Bear. His muscles burned from exertion, but the touch of Valerys's mind kept him warm, ebbing the pain.
A pulse of the Spark rippled through the air, and Calen looked up, his jaw hanging as he watched Chora rise over the battle. Threads of Air moved the wheels of her chair along a bridge of roots that formed before her, created by threads of Earth and Spirit. In a flash, the threads of Earth and Spirit evaporated and the woman's soared. Plumes of fire erupted from her hands, illuminating the forest in an incandescent light. Chora softened her landing with threads of Air, stabilising herself. As soldiers charged her, she snapped bones with Air, ignited flesh with Fire, and pulled roots from the ground with threads of Earth and Spirit.
Erik stopped beside Calen, pointing at Chora with one of his swords. "Did she just… I've seen it all now, and I can die happy. That was beautiful."
Calen looked around him, watching as the elves and rebels cut through the Lorians, pushing them back. The elven and Lorian mages crashed together in explosions of the Spark. But everywhere Calen looked, one thing was clear: they were winning.
To his right, Calen watched as a Nithrandír stepped through a gap in the trees, its thick silver armour shimmering in the blue light that flowed around its root wrought limbs. The Nithrandír's axe carved through two or three soldiers with each swing. Calen could even see the black-smoke-shrouded forms of Aldithmar drifting into the fray wherever Dvalin Angan's presence wasn't felt.
"Calen!"
Calen spun at the sound of Ella's voice. He saw her standing atop the broken body of a Nithrandír about a hundred feet closer to the clearing where the Blood Moon washed down.
A monstrous roar thundered through the sky above the forest. Leaves fell from the canopy, and both humans and elves stopped for a brief moment. Ahead, where the dragonfire had carved a path through the woodland and the crimson light of the Blood Moon washed down, shadows flickered.
A second roar shook the canopy, followed by a third.
"Surely they wouldn't…" Tarmon's voice trailed off as he looked upwards. "They'd torch their own."
Another roar ripped through the night – closer than the last.
Calen's heartbeat slowed, and a wave of fear flowed through him from Valerys. The dragon's panic turned Calen's blood to ice, sending a shiver over his skin and twisting knots in his stomach. He could feel Valerys shifting, moving, cracking his wings against the air. But before he could tell Valerys to stay where he was, a sound like a crashing waterfall filled the forest. Barely a moment passed before a column of dragonfire tore through the canopy overhead, carving a path through the forest battlefield. Lorians, rebels, and elves alike screamed as they burned.
"Calen, Erik!" Aeson sprinted towards Calen and Erik. Therin, Thacia, Harken, and Chora moved with him. "Spiritward, Calen! Now!"
Another column of dragonfire poured down into the forest, followed by a third. The rivers of flame fell with such force that clay was lifted and roots were torn from the ground, the fires illuminating the depths of the Aravell in a blazing light.
"By the gods…" Calen heart slowed to a rhythmic thump as he looked around, sparks and smoke filling the air, warriors burning, screaming and thrashing. The smell of char and ash mixed with the stench of burning flesh and leather. An elf dropped to the ground beside Calen, his armour melted on the left side, his skin bursting into flames as the liquid metal moved across him.
Another roar erupted, and a torrent of dragonfire ripped through the canopy above, carving a path towards Calen and the others. He pulled Erik, Vaeril, and Tarmon close and drew in threads of Fire, Air, and Spirit.
Valerys roared in the back of Calen's mind and took flight.