Page 153 of Of Empires and Dust
Through the dragon’s eyes, Calen watched as the deluge obscured the night, an ocean of dark forest sweeping past below. He could see the warmth radiating from the birds that bravedthe raging storm and the creatures sheltering in the trees, smell the char of burning where lightning had struck wood, hear the rain drumming like a thousand hammers.
The dragon cracked his mighty wings and rolled to the right, sweeping into a dive, then catching a current of air that carried them forwards. With each twist and turn, Aeson pulled tighter on Calen’s belt, pressing against his back. Had it been anyone else flying with him, they would have fallen to their death hundreds of miles back. Even with Valerys’s scales moulded to him, even with the bond, Calen often struggled to stay in place when his soulkin manoeuvred at such speeds. The simple fact that Aeson still clung on was a testament to the man – his kin.
Ahead, the forest opened to a plain of hills and craggy, moss-covered rocks. Hundreds of feet below the enormous, jagged cliffs, dark waves raged against the rock face, harsh and brutal. Flashes of lightning illuminated the night, pink moonlight diffusing through heavy charcoal clouds that made the sky seem starless.
A few miles from the edge of the plain, a formation of serrated rock nestled within an enormous basin fed by seven streams jutted from the unforgiving landscape. Flickering lights decorated the rock as the stars might decorate the sky, hundreds of golden specks – windows.
“That’s it,” Calen whispered to himself, the wind swallowing his words. Aeson had told him what to look for, but he hadn’t quite expected something so monstrous. The fortress was not built from or on the rock, but into it. As Calen looked closer through Valerys’s eyes, he saw towers, their peaks twisting with the rock. Staircases and walkways wound around the formation, blending seamlessly.
A single gargantuan bridge carved from stone as black as night traversed the dark waters of the basin, connecting thefortress to the mainland. If Calen listened with Valerys’s ears, he could hear the flags flapping angrily in the wind.
The fortress itself may as well have been an island at sea. The place seemed nigh-on impregnable.
“There’s a plateau on the southern face of the fort!” Aeson’s voice sounded in Calen’s ears, amplified by threads of Air and Spirit.
Valerys swooped lower as they approached, the rain battering off his scales. He skirted the rim of the basin, angling his right wing towards the water. For a moment, Calen pulled his mind apart from Valerys’s, seeing through his own eyes as the dragon’s reflection stared back at him, the white stark against the dark waters.
Calen could feel the roar building before it erupted from the dragon’s jaws, so loud it may as well have been a slap of Hafaesir’s hammer. The roar resonated through the basin, resounding off the stone and crashing against the waves. If the fortress’s garrison hadn’t known they were there, they did now.
Valerys dropped lower, the spearhead tip of his tail slicing through the water’s surface. Waves crashed against the rocks, the spray tickling Calen’s exposed skin. Valerys surged upwards as he reached the southern face of the fortress, the shift in momentum pulling Calen backwards, Aeson’s arm wrapping around his waist.
The plateau was rimmed by a high wall carved straight from the rock, large enough to hold Valerys twice over. A group of armoured guards stood at the far side, arranged in a semi-circle before a set of iron-banded gates, torches flickering in their hands.
Valerys dove, spreading his wings wide and cracking them against the air as he alighted on the stone.
Verma Tallisair lowered her hood,the raging storm saturating her hair in seconds. A thunderclap erupted in the distance, the wind howling. She stared through the deluge, her gaze fixed on the white-scaled dragon that tore across the sky, its wings veined with black.
The creature was enormous for one so young. Some of the horns around its jaw and face were easily as long as her arm, its wingspan well over a hundred feet. The sight of the creature brought back memories of old.
“Al’il nära un Varyn,” Pylvír whispered as he, too, lowered his hood and stared up at the sky.By the light of Varyn.The look in the elf’s eyes was both awe and wonder. “He has grown like a seed planted by Heraya’s own hand.”
Pylvír’s daughter, Andira, stood at his side, over a head taller than her father. In the near two years they had been at Fort Saldar, not a day had passed where the elf hadn’t spent every waking hour training and preparing for Aeson’s call. And now that he was here and the time had come, she stood silently, staring into the storm.
“It’s nice to see one of those things and not worry it’s going to set me on fire – or eat me.” Ildur folded his arms. The old Stormguard watched the dragon with grey eyes as it swept upwards across the basin’s rock face.
Aurelian Animar, High Mantle of the Arkalen Stormguard and leader of the newly formed Free Nation of Olmiron, folded his arms to Ildur’s left. The man was rock personified. Verma hadn’t seen much of him, but from what she had seen, he was harsh, cold, honest, and honourable. A man with those traits and the wrong ideals was more often called a tyrant, but Aurelianseemed a decent man and one who wished for his nation to be free of Lorian control. He had arrived from Seaside three days prior to ensure he would be there for Aeson and the Draleid’s arrival, leaving his generals to carry on the war with Syrene Linas.
A chorus of gasps sounded as the dragon plummeted towards them, its massive wings spreading so wide the shadow consumed the entire plateau.
“Keep your heads,” Ildur called to the dozen Stormguard spread out around them. Verma could feel the tension in the air. None of these guardsmen had ever laid eyes on a dragon that wasn’t intent on slaughtering everything they knew. Over half of them rested their hands on their swords’ pommels. The sight caused Verma to laugh to herself. What good was a sword against a dragon? If this creature wanted them dead, their places would be laid in Achyron’s halls. Better to jump from Saldar’s walls than to charge that beast with a sword.
A vicious crack of the dragon’s wings set a gust in the air and a spiral in the sheeting rain. The plateau trembled as the dragon alighted, its legs touching the stone first, followed by its winged forelimbs. The creature shook its head like a hound trying to loose the rain from its fur. Black and white frills stood on end, a deep rumble coming from the dragon’s throat.
The clink of metal on stone sounded to Verma’s left as one of the Stormguard staggered backwards, steel rasping as he reflexively pulled at his sword.
The dragon’s head snapped to focus at the sound, its cold lavender eyes fixing on the guardsman. It shifted in place, lips pulling back to bare alabaster teeth the size of daggers. It threw its head forwards and unleashed a roar so visceral that Verma could see the rain shake.
“I said keep your head!” Ildur roared. He grabbed the guard by the pauldron and used his free hand to shove the sword back into its scabbard.
The dragon glared at the man, its breath heavy, its lips curling back. It had only been two years, but Verma had almost forgotten just how terrifyingly monstrous dragons were. They were creatures totally outside the natural order of things, capable of destruction beyond all measure. The size of the largest ships, capable of melting steel with a breath, and covered from head to tail in scale armour.
By all measures, the creature was magnificent. But the sheer power it radiated set the hairs on her neck on end.
After a few moments, the dragon bowed, extending out its right forelimb. The sensation of the Spark tickled the back of Verma’s neck, and two figures dropped from the dragon’s back, their landings cushioned by threads of Air.
“Move,” Ildur called to the waiting guards as he strode towards the two figures.
“To attention.” Aurelian followed Ildur, the guards spreading out on either side of them, framing a path, the flames of their torches whipping wildly in the wind.
