by Ryan Cahill
“Calen…” Rist’s voice was tentative, probing. “I…”
Calen sighed. “It’s okay, Rist. You don’t need to say anything.”
“To hell we don’t,” Dann scoffed, sitting up straight. “Calen, you can’t just bury it deep down and never speak about it. It will eat you from the inside out until there is nothing left of you.” His shoulders sank a little, the flash of temper subsiding. “Remember what Rist said – family.”
Calen sighed and gave a feeble smile. He said nothing, fiddling with a small twig. His emotions washed through him in waves. They flipped from anger to sadness to a hollow emptiness as quickly as the flames of the fire flickered through the air; the embers swallowed by the night. He hadn’t even thought about any of the others. How many others died in The Glade because he had to be a hero? It was his fault. Mother… Father… Ella…
“Faenir…” Calen suddenly snapped upright; his eyes open wide. The empty hole in his chest filled with an urgent fire. He grabbed Dann by the shoulders. “Dann! Did you see Faenir? He wasn’t outside the house. At least, I didn’t see him there. He has to be okay…” His words trailed off as the emptiness took hold once more.
Dann sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t see him, Calen…”
Calen nodded absently. The image of the blazing fire consumed his thoughts. I’m sorry.
Therin leaned against a towering oak tree, deftly flipping a small steel knife across his fingers. The hood of his mottled cloak was drawn up, covering the usual coruscating glow of his silvery hair. He was set on first watch. Calen intended to talk to him, ask him why he was there. Why he saved him. He just couldn’t, not yet.
Aeson, Erik, and Dahlen sat at the opposite side of the fire, resting after the hard ride into Ölm Forest. Only a few occasional words passed between them. Calen couldn’t help but think that everything started when they appeared. The empire was looking for them. The empire was in The Glade because of them. If they hadn’t been there, none of this would have happened. His family would still be alive. “Why is the empire after you?” Calen surprised himself by the firmness in his tone.
Erik and Dahlen’s faces twisted in confusion. Aeson raised his eyebrow, his expression contrasting with those of his two sons. He didn’t offer any response.
That ignited a fire in Calen. He pushed himself to his feet. “My family were just killed by men who were looking for you! Now you answer my damned question!” The fire had completely consumed him. His heart raced. Blood drained from his fingers as he clenched his hands into fists. He wanted to explode and shrivel up all in one moment.
“Just calm down a second, and we can talk. We’re all friends here.” Dahlen’s voice was calm and measured. He got to his feet and reached his arm out to Calen.
“Don’t touch me!” Calen roared, swatting Dahlen’s arm away. “We are not friends. They are dead because of you!” Calen lashed out, shoving Dahlen backwards. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword, which hung from his hip.
Erik leapt to his feet.
Dann rushed to Calen’s side and grabbed him from behind by both shoulders. “Calen, stop.”
Calen’s entire body shook. A ringing noise sounded in his ears, shrouding all other sounds in a dull haze. He tugged hard against Dann’s grip, but his friend didn’t budge.
“This is not the way to do this,” Rist said in his usual level voice, his eyes locked on Calen’s.
Just as quickly as it had appeared, the fire ebbed away from Calen’s body. Exhaustion took over. He let out a long breath, and his shoulders sagged. The anger was gone, slowly replaced by that familiar emptiness. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes.
Dahlen’s face suggested that his anger, however, was only beginning. Before he could say anything, Aeson was standing next to him with his hand across his chest, a stern expression on his face.
“You have suffered a great loss today, Calen, and that is not to be taken lightly. I will look past this outburst, as I have felt the type of pain that is currently washing over you.” Aeson directed a soft look towards Erik and Dahlen. They backed away with reluctant expressions, returning to their seats beside the fire.
“With that,” Aeson said, “you are also correct. You are owed an explanation as to why they died and why you have been dragged from your home. Please, sit back down. I will tell you everything.”
Dahlen and Erik exchanged a sideways glance, uncertainty painted on their faces, but Aeson ignored them.
Once Calen, Rist, and Dann sat on the hard-packed dirt around the fire, Aeson returned to his position atop the tree stump. He reached behind himself and produced the worn leather satchel that had been the cause of everything. Calen still felt something emanating from within.
Therin now stood only a few feet away, leaning against another tree. His eyes were fixed on Aeson and the satchel.
Aeson ran his hands over the satchel, hesitation flitting across his face. “In this satchel is the cause of all of this,” he whispered. “I’m sure, as you have been raised on Therin’s stories, you know how the empire came to power – not the lies the empire spread across the rest of Epheria.” Aeson paused for a moment and sighed deeply. “In the four hundred years since the rise of the empire, some of us have sought its downfall. We have aided in uprisings, incited rebellions, and fought in many wars. Unfortunately, we have been beaten back at every turn. Every time it appeared that a victory had been won, the Dragonguard would appear, or Fane himself. Though, in the past few decades, he has not been seen outside of Al’Nasla.”
Aeson clutched the satchel a little tighter.
“We could not stand up against the Lorian Empire, with their Dragonguard and their mages, not while the lands stood fractured and divided. They hunted the giants to near extinction. The elves scattered, retreating into the woodlands of Lynalion. The dwarves shut the doors into their mountain kingdoms. And the Lorian Empire ruled over the lands of men with an iron fist. Those remain who would oppose the empire, but most of us hide in the shadows – waiting. We needed something to unite the old alliances, something to rally behind. Finally, after everything, we have found it.”
Calen felt the anticipation burning in everyone around the fire. Even Therin tilted his head up to glimpse what was inside the satchel. The flames of the fire flickered across his sharp cheekbones as he feigned disinterest.
Aeson held the satchel between his knees and undid the buckles. He hesitated for a moment before his hands disappeared into its depths. What was it that could cause such pain and misery?
Calen’s breath caught in his throat. He turned his face away sharply, bringing his hand up to protect his eyes from the sudden glare that emanated from the satchel. The others in the group did the same.
He pulled his hand away from his face as his eyes adjusted to the shimmering light. The answer he had been craving only resulted in more questions.
It was around a foot long and about half as much wide. Layers of overlapping scales washed over it from top to bottom. The bone-white tips of each scale reflected the blinding light from the fire. The white faded into jet-black at the base of each scale. It looked like an egg. An armoured egg.
Therin stared unashamedly now. The reflected light illuminated his eyes and caused his hair to shimmer, even beneath his hood. “Never in my days…” he whispered; his voice was barely audible amidst the gasps of awe from the others.
Aeson stared straight at Calen. There was something in his expression that unsettled Calen. It wasn’t malice or ill intentions, but almost… expectation. Calen shuffled uncomfortably under Aeson’s unwavering eye contact. He desperately wanted to break the silence. Fortunately, he had many questions. “What… what is it?”
“It is a dragon egg,” Therin said, startling Calen. He stepped closer to the group. He seemed to get taller. Light drew inward around him as the fire dimmed, making him seem almost ethereal. “More specifically, it is a dragon egg from Valacia, the northern icelands across the Antigan Ocean. We were never even sure that they
existed. They were just legend.” There was a sense of awe in his voice. As he spoke, it seemed to Calen that even the insects in the undergrowth ceased their noisy night-time rituals just to hear his voice.
Therin hunkered down in front of Aeson, his hands hovering inches away from the egg. “Nomadic dragons of the Valacian icelands, with scales as white as snow and as black as the darkest night, able to grow as large as any dragon in Epheria. It is said that their connection to the Spark of magic is as raw and as old as the light from the sun. No elf, human, or giant has ever been bound to a Valacian dragon. I don’t believe one has ever even been seen in this part of the world – until now.” His eyes momentarily shifted from the egg to Aeson. A smile crept across his face as he clasped Aeson’s shoulders in his hands. “You did it, old friend. You actually did it.”
The sounds of the forest crept back into Calen’s ears, and the firelight once again filled the camp. Therin sat in front of Aeson and the egg, his legs splayed out in front of him. A beaming smile perched upon his face, his eyes now back on the shimmering black and white egg.
“How the hell does he do that?” Dann whispered into Calen’s ear. “Is it me, or did he actually glow a little?”
Calen nodded. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from the egg. It was beautiful. Harsh – but beautiful.
“What good will one dragon do against the empire? They have the Dragonguard,” Rist said abruptly. “How is one dragon to stand against a dozen?”
Aeson sighed, running his hand along the outside of the egg. “It is not what one dragon can do, Rist. It is the symbol it creates. It is what it represents. Hope. Give people hope, and they will fight.” Rist’s expression twisted into a frown. Calen knew that face. It was the face that Rist pulled every time an answer didn’t satisfy him.
Draleid.
A shiver ran up Calen’s spine at the voice. It was an echo in the back of his mind. It wasn’t his own voice, but it was. He didn’t recognise it, but it was familiar. A whisper. He tried to ignore it.
Draleid.
The voice drowned out all the sounds around him. The rustle of the leaves, the incessant buzz of the insects, and the occasional nocturnal birdsong all ebbed and faded away. He tried desperately to snap himself back into the real world, but all he could focus on was the voice.
Draleid n’aldryr.
Draleid.
The voice grew louder, echoing throughout Calen’s mind. Every hair on his body stood on end. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It felt like seconds, but it was hard to tell. Everything around him seemed almost a blur.
Draleid.
“Draleid…”
“What did you say? Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Rist said apologetically. His eyes searched Calen’s. Calen didn’t even realise he had spoken out loud.
“Nothing. Sorry. Just lost in my own thoughts.” The fuzz in his head started to clear, the voice faded.
He looked around the group and found Aeson and Therin peering over at him, curiosity in their eyes. They looked away as he made eye contact. Did they hear me? What is happening?
The shimmering light from the egg disappeared as Aeson placed it back into the satchel. He pushed it to one side and stood up. “Okay, okay. Everybody quiet down. It is time we laid out our plans. In the morning, we ride for Camylin, then onward to Belduar.” He looked at the young men from The Glade, breathing in deeply as he did. “I think it best that you come with us.”
Dahlen tried to interject. “But—”
“This is not a debate, Dahlen. Now remain quiet.” Aeson turned his eyes expectantly towards Calen, Dann, and Rist.
Dahlen's face twisted into a scowl. Erik gave him a look as if to say, “Calm down.”
Rist was the first to respond. “The Glade is all we know. All we have ever known. How can we leave the people who raised us after what has just happened?”
“I’m afraid, young Master Rist, that staying is not an option. What I have just shown you is the reason why. The empire knows that we have it; that is why they followed us to Milltown. And they will kill you where you stand without so much as a conversation, and that is nobody’s fault but mine. I am sorry that you are involved in this. It was not my wish, but the gods intervened, and here we are.” Aeson’s eyes softened as he looked at Calen, whose gaze had not left the crackling fire. “Calen has lost a great deal today, more than any young man should. By returning, all you do is put your own families in the same danger. The empire will surely remain in and around the villages for some time. You must use your heads. I’m not saying that you join our cause, but for now, at least come with us. Let us take you safely to somewhere else. We have friends in Belduar who can help you.”
“I… I don’t know,” Rist said.
Aeson did not move from where he stood, his eyes fixed on the young men from The Glade. The fire crackled in the night as a wordless silence filled the air.
“I’m going with them.” Calen no longer gazed absently into the fire. He turned towards Aeson, a fixed look on his face. “I’m going with them,” he repeated, “on one condition.”
“Which is?” Aeson raised his eyebrow.
Therin’s interest was also piqued as he sat up to listen.
“I want you to train me in the sword. I never want to be as helpless as I was…” His trembling hands twisted into fists. “I’m going to make them pay for what they did. I want you to promise me I will get my chance at revenge.”
A smile flitted across Aeson’s face. He extended his arm to Calen, grasped his forearm, and pulled him to his feet. “That, my boy, I can promise you.”
“Me too,” Dann said. “I’m coming too.”
“And you too.” Aeson nodded. “And you, young Master Rist?”
Rist twisted his face left to right as he mulled things over. He gently patted the dust from his trousers and stood up. “I guess I’m coming too. These two won’t last two days without me.” He shot Calen and Dann a weak smile.
“It is decided, then. We leave at first light. It’s four days’ hard ride to Camylin, so get your rest.”
Rhett let his shoulders drop. He slouched back into the soft-packed leather couch, sighing heavily. The Riverside Inn was reasonably small as inns went, about half the size of The Gilded Dragon. Circular tables dotted the airy lounge atop thick wooden floorboards. Most of the tables were empty; the merchants and traders having continued on their way at the break of dawn.
The innkeeper was a stout man, with a bald head and a soft welcoming face. He smiled at Rhett as he cleaned out a tankard with a large cloth. Rhett smiled back at him, giving a slight nod, as you do to somebody you don’t know particularly well, but still want to appear friendly towards. He fidgeted absently with the cold handle of his tankard of mead.
Ella had gone up to their room to change and would probably be an hour at the least. She took a while getting herself ready, but it was always worth the wait. She was almost as beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside. He allowed himself a deep smile at the thought of her.
It had been two days and nights since they left The Glade. They had slept under the stars those nights. They dared not stop in the village of Ölm. Their families were too well known there. They were not so well known in Pirn. Still, he was nervous. He was nervous about leaving his home and his family. He was nervous about what a new life in Berona might bring. The journey would be long. With the Darkwood and the Burnt Lands bisecting the continent, boat was the only real way to travel from the South to the North. There were only two main ports that docked ships large enough to make that journey from Illyanara: Gisa and Falstide.
Only the wealthy travelled from Gisa – merchants and traders, lords and ladies travelling to the island city of Antiquar or the capital, Al’Nasla. In all his life, Rhett had not seen enough coin to afford a single ticket from that city. He most likely never would.
Everybody else journeyed from the port of Falstide. It was a longer journey, more dangerous, but it was all they could afford. It would be
two months by horseback, at least, to reach Falstide. It would be tough, a lot of rough nights, with cutthroats and purse-snatchers. Then they would either have to face the Burnt Lands or find a captain stupid enough to sail along the Lightning Coast. He knew he did not need to worry about Ella. She was a lady, all right, but her strength of will outstripped his own on many occasions.
“Hello there, stranger.”
She was a vision in a floral cream dress, her hair flowing down over her shoulders in a waterfall of gold. Her ocean-blue eyes looked down over him, searching. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. They would make it to Berona.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore and tired eyes?” He gazed up at her, a warm smile on his face. “Come on, take a seat. Have a drink with me. We have the place to ourselves.”
Ella laughed and sat down next to him, then shoved his shoulder playfully. “Oh, shut up, you.”
They gestured to the innkeeper for two more meads. They sat there, talking about the next few days, steering conversation away from their long journey across the plains of Illyanara.
Ella took a timid drink of her mead, then bounced in her seat and turned towards Rhett, her eyes full of excitement. “I’m excited to see Camylin. I’ve never been. Calen went with Dad when he was younger, but I didn’t get to go. I hear the markets are amazing.”
Rhett heard the jubilance in her voice. She was incredibly cute when she got excited. He reached into his travel bag beside him and pulled out a small purse. It made a clinking sound when he dropped it on the table. “Well, I’ve set aside a little bit of coin. We can’t pass through Camylin and not shop in the markets.”
Ella’s eyes lit up. “Really? Are you sure we can afford that?”
“Of course,” Rhett replied. “I made sure to set it aside.”
Ella placed a small kiss on his cheek.