Page 399 of Of Empires and Dust
“So it was. And so in three thousand years, I will no longer be foreign, no?” The princess gave Alina a half-smile, looking towards Rynvar, who still loomed over Alina’s shoulder, though the growl was long gone from his throat. “There is a price of blood I am owed. I wish to drain that blood from the heart of the black lion. To put it simply and in a way I believe you will understand, I want vengeance. For too long the Lorian Empire has burned our ships with impunity, killed my people, and hidden behind their dragons. If left unchecked, who is to say they would not turn their eyes on my homeland? I believe it is time to put them to the sword.”
“And your queen or king? I know something of the histories of the Narvonan Kingdoms. Endless war. I cannot imagine they simply let you sail twenty thousand warriors across the Narvonan Sea? For what, vengeance? What do they seek?”
Kayala touched three fingers to her lips and laughed. “Perhaps we might discuss this over some wine and swordfish, but I feel that suggestion might not be one your ears wish for. No, they did not simply let me sail away. I am on what is called Aramuthíer. It is a word in my tongue that means ‘in search of legacy’. I will never sit the throne of Latrak. I am third in line, and my Queen Mother will soon sail the River Trian – Akopa guide her. And as such, I must find my own way. To become Aramuthíer is an old tradition amongst the royal houses of Narvona, to allow the sons and daughters with no crown in their stars to find a glory of their own. And of course, were my mother to hear that the Lorian Empire was in ruins, she would no doubt find happiness in her heart.”
Alina bit at her lip, tucking her thumb inside her right fist. There was more to this. She knew it. But without the warriors on those ships, Valtara would never smell the air of freedom and Dayne would die alone. She would be trading an enemy now and risking another later. But the choice had been taken from her.
She needed this Kayala Latrak and her army.
Alina exhaled slowly, counting her heartbeats and looking back at Mera. She nodded. “Swordfish, you said?”
“Indeed. Much swordfish, caught fresh by our fishermen as we journeyed. In fact, we have brought you hundreds of barrels of sausages, hard Narvonan cheese, salted beef and pork, smoked achkaret, pickled cabbage and beets, fresh apples and plums from the orchards of northern Unair – enough to fill every belly in your army. Consider it a sign of my intentions. Aeson Virandr said food was in short supply. Now it is not. Is your camp far?”
Alina shook her head.
“Trust is earned, Queen Alina. So tonight let us dine like gods. And come the morning, I will earn your trust in the blood of your enemies.”
Chapter 92
Cuts that Bleed the Deepest
25thDay of the Blood Moon
Salme – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
The sun bledover the horizon at Calen’s back as Valerys soared across the tall, harsh peaks of Wolfpine Ridge. He’d not seen those peaks in a long time, and something about them set a warmth within him. Far in the distance, through Valerys’s eyes, he could see the green canopy of Ölm Forest stretching off towards the coast, The Glade somewhere along its edge.
The journey from the Firnin Mountains had taken longer than he’d hoped, but thanks to Therin, Varthear’s deepest wounds were faring well. The elf sat behind Calen, arms wrapped around his waist, Varthear flying on their left, Avandeer and Tivar on their right.
They passed over the blackened remains of Talin as they flew, along with a few spread out homesteads, farms, and holds.Flocks of crows feasted on carrion and picked flesh from rotting severed heads left skewered along the roads.
Nothing had escaped the Urak destruction.
Just as the blend of sorrow and rage had begun to settle in Calen’s stomach, Valerys caught sight of something in the distance: masses of black clouds swirling back and forth along a road that stretched for miles. Calen knew the hill that marked the fork in the road between Talin and Salme. The Oak Road.
Coils of dread slithered in his stomach and through his veins.
Before long, the squawking of crows had drowned out even the beating of the dragons’ wings. The black birds filled the air, swirling around Calen and showing little fear of the three great dragons. It took Calen more than a few heartbeats to look through Valerys’s eyes and see what lay below. Corpses. Hundreds of rotting, mutilated corpses bolted to every tree along the road, the birds picking the strips of decaying flesh.
Calen’s stomach turned, and Valerys’s rage burned so bright Calen could feel it searing his blood. The dragon unleashed a roar like rolling thunder, and Calen had to press himself to Valerys’s scales and pull their minds together to stop him from setting every tree alight. The people of the villages burned their dead from time to time, but they preferred to bury them, to return them to earth, to allow life to grow anew.
Valerys let out another defiant roar, then ripped through the skies, scores of crows too slow to move crashing against his scales and whirling in his wake.
The dragon’s fury was undercut by a fear that shifted between them. Fear of what they might find when they reached Salme.
Plumes of dark smoke came into view, scores of them billowing into the sky, black as onyx. The fear within him only faded when, through Valerys’s eyes, Calen saw purple banners emblazoned with the image of the white dragon flapping in thewind. Some of the smoke came from within the city, but that smoke was grey and dwindling.
A pair of trenches – still half-filled with bodies – and spiked barricades ringed the broken palisade wall. Even further out, Urak bodies were piled high as houses, flames consuming them as more and more were added.
Horns bellowed in the distance. First one, then two, then many.
By the time Valerys, Avandeer, and Varthear alighted a few hundred feet from the closest pile of burning Uraks, a group of riders was already approaching.
Calen slid from Valerys’s back, the dragon bowing low. He scanned the riders through Valerys’s eyes. His heart skipped a beat as he counted Tarmon astride what could only be a Varsundi Blackthorn and again at the sight of Vaeril on the back of a Dvalin Angan. Erik rode with them, and Dahlen Virandr – it had been a long time since Calen had laid eyes on that man. A smile touched his lips at the sight of Atara and Harken jogging alongside the horses. Harken looked to have lost an ear and an eye, but Atara was fresh as a morning rose.
Another man moved alongside them, broad as a mountain, but his long, grey hair and beard covered most of his face.
“That couldn’t be…” Calen whispered, taking a step forwards. “Erdhardt?”
