by Ryan Cahill
“Go ahead,” Dann said, “I’m just going to skin these and get them prepped to set up over the fire before I sit down. My stomach is rumbling. I’ll be able to hear fine.”
Calen nodded and sat on the ground beside Erik.
“Interesting?” Erik said. Aeson and Therin exchanged a flash of recognition.
“Rist is connected to the Spark,” Therin replied. “He has the power to wield magic. And if what I sensed initially is anything to go by, he has to potential to be quite powerful.”
Calen stared at him in disbelief, unable to stop his mouth from opening wide. Rist? Rist is…
“Rist is a mage?” Dann said, dumbstruck, halfway through skinning one of the rabbits.
Calen wasn’t sure what to say or even what to think. Rist had been one of his closest friends ever since he could remember. They did everything together. He was not a mage. Mages – or at least, people who could use magic – they were fairy tales. They were the heroes and villains of Therin’s stories. Therin. There was somebody else who wasn’t who Calen thought he was.
“How are we getting him back?” Dann’s voice cut through the silent echoes in Calen’s mind.
“I’m not sure that will be possible,” Aeson replied, his tone flat. “If that Fade was working with Lorian soldiers, then he will be taking Rist to the High Tower in Berona. That is where the inquisitors bring all young men who can wield the Spark. And if he is strong enough, he will be inducted into the Circle of Magii. The empire would not let a wielder with his potential roam free. And unless I am mistaken, nobody here is in the position to march into the High Tower and demand they release him.”
“But…” Calen’s voice was brittle, even to his own ears. Helplessness permeated his entire body. He couldn’t let that feeling consume him. He would not. “No.”
“Calen, I truly am sorry, but Aeson is right. We simply don’t have the ability to help him. Not yet, at least.” Therin’s eyes showed genuine concern.
“I can’t just leave him!” shouted Calen. The burning in his veins caused his voice to rise a touch louder than he intended. “I… I can’t just leave him. He would never leave me. Dann, your bags. Make sure you have everything.”
Dann had fallen silent for the last few minutes, which was unlike him. He looked up from his feet when Calen spoke. “What? Why?”
“We’re going to Berona. We’re going after Rist.”
CHAPTER 19
Bound
Aeson and Erik spent the majority of the next hour trying to explain to Calen why it was madness to go after Rist.
“Even making it to Berona is a near impossibility,” Aeson said, “The empire keeps a strict hold on the travel between the north and the south of the continent. Only two ports in Illyanara make the journey to Loria, and neither of them are an option. Sailing from Gisa is impossible unless you have more coin than common sense, not to mention that you and Dann would stick out like sore thumbs in that crowd. Falstide is worse. It’s cheaper to travel, for sure, but it’s cheaper for a reason. It’s a den of smugglers, thieves, and murderers.”
Therin had been silent for a while. He had produced a small notebook and a short tin box of charcoal sticks from his bag and had been sketching something. He looked up from his notebook, folding it over as he did. “Even then,” he sighed, “the journey across the province would take nearly two months. The journey by ship would be another few days, and then you would have to travel through the Burnt Lands or brave the Lightning Coast to make it to Berona. The Darkwood is not even an option. It would be suicide.”
“We’re going after Rist. We leave at first light.”
It didn’t take long for Calen’s mind to drift into the world of dreams. His body ached in places he never thought possible, and his head beat like a drum. Aeson had insisted on continuing their sword practice that night, regardless of whether Calen left in the morning. He did not take it easy on him either. Calen lost count of the new bumps and bruises that sprang up long before they had even stopped practicing. It seemed like Aeson was trying to make a point of how helpless they would be if they left to go after Rist.
He longed for some respite from the physical world. His mind melted away.
Draleid.
Calen’s eyes shot open. He bolted upright, sweat glistening as it streamed down his face. He felt warmer than the heat from the crumbling embers of the fire should have made him. He wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand and tried in vain to steady his breathing.
His dreams did not provide him the relief he had hoped they would. As soon as his eyes shut, a voice tormented him. Words echoed in his head, reverberating down every corridor in his mind.
Draleid n’aldryr.
Again and again, the voice rose to a crescendo. The only image was of the egg. The dragon egg. Its bone-white scales faded to a shadowy black at their roots. It was wreathed in plumes of billowing fire, but somehow Calen knew that it would be cold to the touch. He sensed it calling to him, like a heartbeat pounding in the darkness, his ears its only destination.
Everybody else was sound asleep. The dim glow from the fire illuminated the rise and fall of their chests as they slept. The satchel sat beside Aeson, the egg within. Calen heard it echoing.
Draleid.
Was he losing his mind? What would someone say if he told them that an egg was calling to him? It called out words that he did not understand, and only he could hear it.
He stared across the makeshift campsite. He stared at the large leather satchel, beaten and travel worn. He stared at its iron buckles, rusted and tarnished from the salty sea air of the journey from Valacia. More than anything, he stared at what it held within.
On a passing glance, nobody would have thought that such a worn vessel would carry something so important. It was legend that when Fane defeated The Order, he hoarded every surviving dragon egg in the vaults beneath Al’Nasla. None had ever hatched. The empire still had the Dragonguard and their dragons, of course, but not one new hatchling in all that time. It was one of the few things all the bards agreed on.
Calen hadn’t thought about what it might mean to Epheria – a dragon. A dragon not controlled by the Lorian Empire. It could change everything.
Draleid.
Draleid n’aldryr.
The voice was incessant, blocking out all other sounds. The embers of the fire should have crackled, slowly, like a rumbling river. The trees blowing back and forth in the night’s breeze should have rustled as they brushed against each other, and whistled as the wind swept through them. He should have heard the insects. But he heard nothing – except for the voice.
Draleid.
Calen buried his face in his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh. His head pounded, like somebody was beating it with a stick from the inside out. He pulled himself to his feet. The ache in his muscles and the raw skin on his thighs felt dull compared to the hammering in his head – it was a silver lining; he supposed. It was impossible to tell if he made much noise as he walked through the camp. The voice consumed all sounds.
Draleid.
Nobody moved in their sleep, but it was only a matter of time before he woke them. He could not focus on anything other than the egg.
He stopped a foot from where Aeson lay. He seemed to still be fast asleep, but that didn’t comfort Calen much. He saw how quickly Aeson leapt to his feet when Dahlen had stumbled into the camp.
Calen crouched down onto his haunches and inched his way closer to the satchel. The voice got louder the closer he moved to it. What would he say if Aeson woke up? He let the question float in his mind. He had no answer. He just hoped that it wouldn’t come to that.
The voice was so loud now that Calen found it hard to focus at all. He felt the vibrations of each heartbeat pulsating through his body. He felt so hot that if he didn’t know better, he would have sworn that he was on fire.
“You hear it, don’t you?”
Calen’s heart stopped. The sound of the voice calling to him w
as gone. His skin rolled in a cold sweat.
Aeson’s eyes were open. He sat up with his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes staring directly into Calen’s. Searching.
There was a lump in Calen’s throat. Every hair on his body stood on end as fear soaked into his bones “I… what…”
“You hear it calling you. The voice. What does it say?” Aeson’s voice was calm and level, as if he hadn’t just found Calen reaching across him in the night, his arms outstretched towards a satchel that contained the egg of a dragon. How did he know about the voice?
“It… I just… How can I hear you? It…” Calen mumbled. His brain was not capable of forming coherent sentences. Even breathing normally was difficult. The voice that called to him had been so all-consuming that simply hearing Aeson’s words had surprised him.
Aeson smirked. “Calm yourself, my boy. No harm will come to you. I am not angry. As for you being able to hear me, that is a little trick of mine. It is called a ward. I will explain it some other time. For now, all you need to know is that nobody outside of this circle,” he said, gesturing his hand in an imaginary circle two feet in diameter, “can hear anything that either of us say. It also has the added side effect of blocking out that voice you have been hearing, which is why you can now hear me speaking.”
Calen sat there, dumbstruck.
“I’m not angry, but if you just sit there, staring at me with your mouth open, then I might become angry fairly quickly.”
Calen’s throat felt dry. He gulped. “I… I don’t know what it is. It just keeps saying words that I don’t understand. I… I think it’s the egg?”
If that meant anything to Aeson, he did not let it show. His face remained as stony as ever. “What does it say?”
“It says ‘Draleid,’ and um… ‘n’aldryr?’” Calen’s nerves began to settle.
“I see.”
“Do you know what those words mean?”
“I do.” Aeson nodded slowly. “They are words of the Old Tongue, Calen. Aldryr means fire. ‘Draleid,’ well… that word is something you should recognise. You have heard enough of Therin’s stories, have you not?”
Calen nodded, tilting his head. The word did ring a bell, but he couldn’t quite place it. It was like there was a block in his mind.
“Calen, the word ‘Draleid’ is one that you should know quite well. It means ‘Dragonbound.’ It was the name given to those whose souls were bound to that of a dragon by a magic older than time itself. The Dragonguard of the empire were once known as Draleid, but they bring shame to that name. Together, roughly translated, ‘Draleid n’aldryr’ means ‘Dragonbound by fire.’”
“Yes…” Calen whispered, his memories flooding back to him. He couldn’t understand how the word had not registered with him. All Therin’s stories about the fall of The Order, Fane Mortem’s betrayal, and the rise of the empire – the Draleid were part of it all.
“Sometimes the Calling can dull your mind. It often happens.”
“I remember now. Alvira Serris, she was a Draleid.”
“Yes, she was. One of the greatest to have ever lived.”
“But… wait. What does any of this have to do with me?”
Aeson paused, his eyes locking on Calen’s. He twisted and grabbed the satchel with both hands, moving it between himself and Calen. “Calen, I’m going to lower the ward. Therin is awake, and I feel him probing at it.”
“Therin? What do you mean?”
“Therin is a mage, Calen. A powerful one. From a time long before that title was claimed by the Circle of Magii.”
Calen wasn’t sure what to say. He should probably have expected it. His entire world had been turned upside-down in a matter of days. What was one more thing? Therin is a mage. “I—”
Therin’s voice cut straight across Calen. “I see you finally decided to let us in.”
Calen twisted his head around to look at Therin. Just a foot or so behind him were Dahlen, Erik, and Dann. Dann looked about as confused as Calen felt. Erik and Dahlen were unreadable. They stared past Calen at their father, an impassive look in their eyes. Although, for a second, Calen thought he saw an irritated frown flash across Dahlen’s face.
“I did. I believe it to be time.”
“Time for what?” Calen asked. “What are you talking about?”
Aeson looked at Therin, then back at Calen. He pushed the satchel towards him. “Calen, I believe that you are to be a Draleid.”
Dann and Erik gasped. Every hair on Calen’s body stood on end. A knot twisted in the pit of his stomach. Has he gone mad?
“You have heard the Calling, the ancient magic that binds the souls. It can mean nothing else.”
A lump caught in Calen’s throat. “How… that can’t be possible. There is a mistake. You’ve gotten it wrong.”
“I do not believe so.” Aeson pushed the satchel along the soil, closer to Calen. “Open the satchel and hold the egg. If I am wrong, then that will be that.”
Calen stared back at the man. Hold the egg? A dragon egg? He has gone mad. “How do you even know—”
“Just touch the egg,” Therin interjected. There was a firmness in his voice that Calen hadn’t heard before. Calen hesitated for a moment, unsure. But in the end, as had seemed to always be the case recently, he didn’t have many options. With more care than was necessary, Calen undid the two rusted iron buckles that kept the satchel sealed. They were stiff, and they creaked, but they gave way to his fingers.
The glare from the egg wasn’t as blinding as it had been the other night. The light from the fire was a far cry dimmer, and the canopy overhead was thicker, blocking out a lot of the moonlight. Even so, the egg gave off a glow of incandescent white light, just enough to make Calen squint. It was a strange kind of beautiful. The flowing snow-white scales, fading to black at the roots, were sleek and pleasing to the eye, but there was something about it. Something made it seem harsh – dangerous. Calen dragged his eyes away from the egg. “What do I do?”
“Touch it.”
Calen puffed his cheeks out, taking a deep breath inward. How did I end up here?
His fingers hovered inches from the surface of the scales. He could feel something. A steady thrum, something unseen that pulsed through the air. He steadied himself and extended his fingers. As soon as he touched the egg, everything flooded back. The voice boomed like thunder. Resounding cracks of sound that echoed through every chamber in his mind.
DRALEID N’ALDRYR.
Everything else melted away. It was just him, the voice, and the egg. Even his own heartbeat felt as though it belonged to somebody else. The surface of the egg felt cool to the touch, as if it had been left to sit in the snow for hours. That sensation spread up along Calen’s arms, washing through his body, filling him from head to toe. The voice etched itself into the back of his mind.
DRALEID N’ALDRYR, it boomed.
The words repeated, again and again. Each time, it was louder than the last. Every time he thought it would not be possible, it got louder, beating his brain like a war drum. The cool sensation built up in his body, like steam trapped inside a kettle, unable to escape. He felt like he was turning to ice.
DRALEID N’ALDRYR, it repeated, cracking like thunder.
DRALEID N’ALDRYR.
The cool sensation turned to pain. The voice was like a hammer, his mind the anvil. He screamed. “DRALEID N’ALDRYR!”
The egg erupted in swirling plumes of orange-red fire that snaked around its exterior, covering Calen’s hands. The flowing tendrils of flame thickened as they moved, encasing the egg in a shell of roaring fire. In his head, Calen screamed at the top of his lungs, but nothing escaped his mouth.
Suddenly, it hit him. His hands weren’t burning. He did not feel the pain that he should have felt. His skin wasn’t peeling from his body, charring and crackling in the flames. Instead, the cool, icy sensation that had permeated his body was replaced with a warm feeling, as if lightning pulsed through him. He felt strong, full of energ
y, like he had been asleep for a lifetime but finally awoken. And he was oddly aware of… something. Something that wasn’t there before. A feeling that scratched at the back of his mind.
As suddenly as the flames had appeared, they were gone. The world snapped back to reality as Calen dropped from balancing on his haunches. His knees crashed into the ground. The egg sat there, just as it had been, except now it sat in a small, charred crater. The ground around it was as black as night, the twigs and leaves burnt to a crisp. The smell of charred ash wafted in the air. What just happened?
The voices flooded in. Dann’s was the first to reach his ears.
“Calen! Are you okay? What in the gods just happened?” Dann knelt beside Calen and grabbed his hands to assess the damage. A look of utter confusion spread across his face when he saw that there wasn’t a mark anywhere. “How in The Father…”
“It is done,” Aeson said.
“The first free Draleid in four hundred years.” There was a warmth in Therin’s voice.
Calen did not know what to say. His brain felt fuzzy, and his eyes were hazy, as if he had drunk one too many meads in The Gilded Dragon.
Out of nowhere, that sensation that had scratched at the back of his mind erupted to the fore. It was like a second voice in his head, but… it wasn’t a voice, not really. It was more of a feeling – or an emotion. He felt it so deeply, but at the same time, he knew it wasn’t his own. It was a need to escape – not a panicked or a frantic need, but a determined one.
He heard Dann and Erik talking to him, asking him questions, but he couldn’t make out the words. His brain just wasn’t interested. That feeling required all his attention.
Then he heard it – a sharp crack, followed by another and another.
Calen looked down at the egg, his eyes snapping into focus. A series of deep fissures marred its pearlescent scales. It was breaking.
Calen’s heart skipped a beat.
Dann leapt to his feet. “Is it me, or is that egg… hatching?”
Calen didn’t hear anyone respond. He wasn’t listening. All his attention was focused on the egg and that feeling in the back of his mind. That determined need to escape.