Page 196 of Of Empires and Dust
“Sister-Captain Arlena and The First will start in the yard,” Kallinvar said. “They’ll look for anything that seems out of place, anything that stands out. They’ll move outwards in closed sections until Arlena deems they’ve strayed too far from the tower. I and my knights will stay at your side.”
Calen nodded his thanks, glad for Kallinvar’s aid. Now that he was here, he had no idea what the next step should be.
“The pendant is still the key,” he whispered, repeating Alvira’s words as he reached beneath his breastplate and produced the brass-backed pendant he’d found with her letter in Vindakur. Calen turned the pendant over, looking down at the white symbol of The Order set into the black obsidian.
He opened himself to the Spark and pulled on threads of each element. He mimicked what he’d seen Vaeril do back in Aravell, probing through the pendant with threads as though it were a lock to pick. He pushed and pulled, winding the threads over each other and trying every conceivable combination he could think of. For a moment, he thought he saw a light flicker within the black glass, but if it did, it’d only been for a fraction of a second.
He sighed. He should have known it would never be that simple. Alvira hadn’t been leaving clues for Eluna to find something. She had been leaving clues for Eluna to open whatever she had hidden. Eluna already knew where it was.
Calen drew one last long breath and looked from the top of the tower – at least, what was left of it – to the bottom, his gaze settling on the arched opening that looked as though it had once held a door. Now, it was more a gaping hole in the stone, blocks at the side ripped away as though the hinges had been torn free.
Calen started for the arch, but Haem caught his arm. “That thing looks like it’s ready to collapse.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t,” Calen said, stepping through the arch. The doors that had been torn from the archway lay ten feet inside the tower’s antechamber. The wooden frames were charred and splintered, the steel twisted. Large golden plates that had clearly once been affixed to the door’s front were scattered on the ground, depictions of dragons and scaled eggs worked into the metal.
The ground floor of the tower was enormous, large enough to fit a few hundred souls with ease. The chamber was flooded with sand and armoured bones. Staircases, some broken, some intact, led to the upper levels. Corridors spouted off in all directions, moving deeper into the tower.
Calen dropped to one knee beside a bleached skeleton covered in the white plate of the Draleid. Four enormous holespunctured the steel from the right breast down to the navel. The Order’s sigil was set into the breast in now-shattered obsidian, glinting in the light that flowed through the arch. Calen brushed his gauntleted hand against the shards of black glass.
Once more, the visions flooded over him.
Screams reverberated through the antechamber, high-pitched and wailing. Uraks charged through the doors, monstrous Bloodmarked rampaging amidst the swarm.
Calen looked down to see the shimmering black sigil of The Order on his chest. About him, his brothers and sisters of the Draleid fought like demons, carving paths through the Uraks with blade and Spark, some wielding níthrals of brilliant light. Elven Praetorians and Order Highguard fought alongside the Draleid. And they fought valiantly, as mighty as the stories had named them, but the Uraks kept coming, hacking with black steel, tearing flesh with tooth and claw. The Bloodmarked ripped through the Praetorians and the Highguard like wolves would sheep.
Calen found the largest of the beasts with his gaze, then charged. He cut down two Uraks as he moved, taking a head with a mighty sweep, then cleaving a jaw with the backswing. No matter the cost, he could not let them get to the eggs. He would not.
He opened himself to the Spark and pulled on threads of Earth and Fire, weaving them through the stone at the Bloodmarked’s feet.
The creature spotted him. It slammed its two hands together, unleashing a shockwave of fire and air that tore through two elves in a burst of gore, their innards spraying in clouds. Calen pulled threads of Air and Fire into a wedge before him, breaking the shockwave in two as he leapt forwards. He hit the ground and rolled, keeping his sword tight. As he rose, he carved through the Bloodmarked’s knee in a single swipe. The creaturecollapsed, and Calen pulled on those threads of Earth and Fire he’d woven into the stone. The ground beneath the Bloodmarked rippled, the stone turning to liquid then surging upwards into a polished spike that burst through the falling Urak’s neck. The creature’s runes ignited in a blaze of crimson light, black smoke billowing. And then it went still, the runelight dying.
A shriek sounded, and a fledgling flew overhead. The dragon couldn’t have been more than a month old, no larger than a dog. Its golden scales shimmered in the light of the lanterns. The tiny creature shrieked and wailed, swooping onto an Urak’s back and ripping out the side of its throat.
Calen’s heart broke as he watched the small golden dragon. Judging by the agony and rage, the creature’s soulkin had died. To see one so young feel a pain of that measure… It wasn’t right. The thought alone made Calen reach out to his own soulkin, feeling her as she soared over the courtyard outside, raining fire on the Uraks.
Stay strong. This day will not be our last.
A warmth spread from Antala to Calen, filling him. But with the warmth came a rage, an unyielding fury that burned in his bones. Their brothers and sisters had betrayed them this night, slaughtered their own in their sleep. So many dragons dead. So many Draleid… and for what?
Only the chilling shriek of the fledgling pulled Calen’s attention back to the fighting, the rage still simmering in him.
“No…” Calen watched in horror as a Bloodmarked snatched the fledgling from the air and crushed it in an iron grip, snapped bones bursting through scales, blood pouring over leathered fingers.
The beast bit down on the dragon’s tiny skull and crushed it in its jaws. The shrieks of the young fledgling cracked shards from Calen’s heart. About him, his brothers and sisters were falling, the tide of Uraks too strong.
He pulled his and Antala’s minds together, wrapping them tight around each other. He could feel the strength of her wings, the power of her heart, the fury in her flames.
“Draleid n’aldryr, myia’niassa Na solian nai din siel harys von myia thranuk ilumel. Ayar elwyn. Ayar nithír.” Calen raised his blade and set himself for the svidarya, pulling deeper from the Spark. “Uthikar.”
Dragonbound by fire, my love. To live by your side has been my greatest privilege. One heart. One soul. Together.
He charged, carving through the Uraks like a god unleashed, threads of each elemental strand whipping about him. Lightning streaked from the tip of his blade, and fire poured from his open palm. With threads of Earth, he crushed Uraks in their own armour, bones snapping like brittle twigs. With Air and Spirit, he pulled the breath from their lungs and the hope from their hearts.
With every swing of his steel, he felt Antala’s claws slice through leathery flesh in the yard, felt her flames devour and her jaws destroy.
If these voidspawn would destroy everything Calen loved, he would take them with him into the darkness. He set his sights on the Bloodmarked that had killed the fledgling and wrought a path of death and blood.
One of the beasts stepped before him and roared, a black-steel axe in its fist. Calen didn’t stop or slow. He grabbed the Urak’s neck with a thread of Air as he moved and snapped it, charging over the body as it fell, his gaze set on the Bloodmarked.
