Page 154 of Of Empires and Dust
“Ildur,” Aeson called out, his cloak flapping behind him, water dripping from his hair and nose. He opened his arms wide, pulling Ildur into a bearhug. “It’s good to see that hair isn’t all grey just yet.”
“Aeson Virandr.” Ildur returned the embrace. “You’ve still not aged a day, you bastard.”
Aeson clapped Ildur on the cheek. “My day will come, old friend. My day will come.”
He greeted Pylvír with just as much enthusiasm, then turned to the elf’s daughter.
“Andira, you look even stronger than before.” He clasped her shoulders, a broad grin on his face, then her temples, touchingtheir foreheads together. “What have they been feeding you here?”
“Nadíl,” she replied affectionately.Uncle.“Det er aldin na vëna dir. É dir mære?”
It is good to see you. Are you well?
“I am, thank you. Your mother?”
“She’s in the stores with Fearn, sorting shipments.”
“Is she still mad?”
“Does the grass ever stop being green?”
Aeson laughed at that, finally turning his attention to Verma. “Vésani.”
Sister.
“Akar.”Brother.
Verma grasped Aeson’s forearm, staring into his eyes. They were even more blue than she remembered.
Aeson turned to Aurelian and inclined his head. “It’s good to see you well. I’m sorry for what happened at Yarrin.”
The High Mantle nodded absently. “There was nothing anyone could have done. The Uraks washed over the city like a tidal wave. We were lucky to escape with our lives. It’s an honour to have you here.”
Aeson rested one hand on Aurelian’s shoulder. “It is an honour to be welcome here. And with that, may I introduce you to Calen Bryer, soulkin to Valerys and the first free Draleid in four centuries. Calen, this is Aurelian Animar, High Mantle of the Arkalen Stormguard and leader of the rebellion in Arkalen.”
Aeson gestured for his companion to draw closer. The man was young, twenty or so summers perhaps. Tall and lean-muscled, hair dark, eyes the same piercing shade of purple as the dragon’s. She’d never seen purple eyes. But even all the way down in Land’s End she’d heard the stories of the battles further north. Of how the young man had earned the name ‘Warden of Varyn’. He carried himself like a veteran of a hundred battles, hisgaze measuring and assessing each of the plateau’s occupants. His shoulders were squared, his hand never straying too far from the coin pommel of the sword at his hip – an elven blade, old by the working of the guard and the detailing on the steel. The power of the Spark pulsed from him. Draleid always had a far deeper well to draw from than most mages, but this young man was unique, he was…morethan most.
“Fort Saldar is yours, Draleid.” Aurelian pressed a closed fist to his chest and bowed his head.
“And we are yours.” The Draleid mimicked Aurelian’s gesture, the show of mutual respect clearly pleasing the High Mantle.
“Calen.” Aeson gestured towards Verma. “This is Verma Talissair, one of the last Arcarians and one of my oldest friends.”
Verma grasped the young man’s forearm in greeting, but as she did, his eyes flashed a milky white and the world around her plunged into darkness before exploding with all manner of colours and light. Memories flitted across her vision, battles long fought and lost, friends dead for an age, tender moments of vulnerability kept hidden.
And then she was back on the plateau, the rain cold against her skin, the storm raging overhead, her hand trembling.
Somehow it felt like both hours and only fractions of a second had passed at the same time.
Calen Bryer stared back at her, his eyes returning to their lavender hue. His fingers squeezed her forearm, and she noticed an almost imperceptible shift in his stance, as though he had only just about stopped himself from collapsing to the ground. Behind him, the dragon moved forwards, its head tilted sideways, the rain splattering against its scales.
None of the others seemed to have noticed anything at all.
Calen gave the slightest nod, his gaze staying fixed on Verma. Had he seen the memories she’d seen? How could that even be possible?
Her heart pounded against her ribs, her mouth going dry.
“Alaith anar.”Well met.Calen’s stare never left hers as he spoke.
