by Ryan Cahill
The conversation left a sour taste in Calen’s mouth. Everything Therin said made sense, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. They sat in silence. The only sound was the snapping and crackling of the wood as it was consumed by the flames.
Dann’s eyes darted from side to side at the clip-clop sound of horse hooves approaching the campsite.
“No,” Therin said when Dann reached for his bow. Dann shot him a questioning look, but Therin did not respond. After a few tense moments, Aeson and Erik strode into the clearing. The light from the fire illuminated their faces. “What news?” Therin tossed Aeson a hunk of now-cold rabbit meat as he hopped down off his horse.
“Not good,” Aeson replied as he sank his teeth into the meat. “The talk in the taverns is that a Lorian force began a blockade of Belduar not more than four days ago. The numbers range from two thousand to fifty thousand strong, depending on who you ask. I’d wager somewhere closer to ten thousand.”
Erik dropped himself down beside Calen, his eyes transfixed on the now-sleeping dragon. “That really is all it does, isn’t it?” he laughed. “Eat, sleep, eat, sleep.”
“More or less,” Calen replied. “But your father said that will change in a few days. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing.”
“Have you thought of a name?”
“A name? What do you mean?”
“I mean a name. As in, what are you going to call him?”
The thought of naming it – him – hadn’t even crossed Calen’s mind. It had not dawned on him that he would be the one to choose the dragon’s name. “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea. What do you call a dragon?”
“Don’t look at me,” Erik said. “Maybe ask Therin or my dad. I’m sure they might have an idea.” Calen nodded, his mind already pondering it. What kind of names do dragons have?
“How about ‘lazy pile of scales?’” said Dann. He poked at the sleeping dragon with a small stick, almost leaping out of his skin when it gave a short shriek in response, its eyes never opening. Both Calen and Erik threw their heads back in laughter.
Aeson sat himself down on a log beside the fire. “Dahlen has not returned yet?”
“He has not,” Therin answered.
Aeson shifted uncomfortably. “I see. I thought he would have returned sooner than us.”
“I wasn’t far behind you, in fairness.”
Calen twisted his head around, a frown setting into his face as Dahlen dismounted from his horse. He couldn’t help it. Every time he looked at Dahlen, a ball of anger knotted in his chest.
“The news isn’t good, I’m afraid,” Dahlen said. “There is a blockade. The campfires are spread for miles. I would say maybe ten or eleven thousand men. Difficult to tell from that distance at night, but I wouldn’t think I’m far off. They must have been signalled when they found our ship at sea. There is no other way they would have gotten here so fast. Is there any of that left for me?” He gestured towards the rabbit leg that the dragon had half-devoured. Dann tossed him the last scrap that had been resting by the fire. Dahlen thanked him as he sat down beside Erik.
“We know,” Aeson said. “That was the talk in the city. We just needed you to confirm.” There was a pensive look on the warrior’s face.
“How did they know we were going to Belduar?” Dann said, leaning forward.
“Maybe they don’t,” Aeson replied. “The empire has tried to take Belduar more times than I can count. This could simply be another attempt. But it is more likely that Farda has worked out where we are going.”
“What now?” Dahlen asked as he stripped the bone clean of meat.
Aeson did not speak but looked at Therin, who shifted uncomfortably.
“I do not know, old friend. It would not be my choice.”
“Choices are not something we have many of right now,” Aeson said.
Therin furrowed his brow. Calen had not seen him take it from anywhere, but Therin flipped a small silver knife between the fingers of his right hand as he stared into the fire. “Okay.”
The reluctance in Therin’s voice was difficult for Calen to ignore. “Can someone please explain what is going on?”
The towers of Midhaven were even more impressive from up close. Ella weaved her way through the passing strangers who shuffled about the city. Her eyes moved between the path ahead of her and the skies above her. If the towers were any higher, they might pierce the clouds.
Their colouring was striking. Whatever had been done to cast the stone in such a white hue, she did not know, but the way the orange glow of the rising sun bounced off the buildings created such a soothing, warm light in the city streets. It was almost as if whoever built the city had painted it instead of constructed it. It was a masterpiece on a canvas of stone. When she saw it from a distance, it was spectacular enough, with the red slate rooves striking against the snow-white buildings. But up close… it was breath-taking.
“Oh! Sorry!” Ella dragged her eyes from the sky and swerved out of the way of an on-rushing peddler.
“Fool girl!” he shouted back, shaking his hand at her as he dragged a small cart behind him, filled with odd bits and trinkets.
“Maybe we should keep our eyes ahead of us instead of in the clouds?” Rhett said, laughter touching the edge of his words.
Ella smiled, a slight blush spreading on her cheeks. He always did that to her, no matter where they were. It was his eyes, she thought. Or it could be his smile.
Rhett narrowed his eyes. “Stop looking at me like that.” He laughed.
The merchant who brought them to Midhaven gave them the name of an inn that was “both cheap and cheerful.” The Golden Bow. Not that Ella was in any rush to find it. She could have wandered the streets all day without a care in the world. They weren’t as busy as the streets in Camylin, but that was probably because the day had barely even begun. Even then, as the morning sun sprayed down over the cobbled stone streets, Ella could almost feel the day’s excitement in the air.
The magical plethora of aromas that wafted through the air added an entirely different dimension to the city. Midhaven was famous for four things: its high towers, white walls, flowers, and bakeries. The first two made it a visual spectacle; the second two allowed you to float around the streets on the waves of aroma.
Her eyes almost jumped out of her head as she passed the window of the largest bakery she had ever seen in her life. It was at least ten times the size of Madame Gourna’s in Milltown. There was everything she could think of. Loaves, cakes, tarts, pies – the list went on and on. It pained her to continue walking.
Rhett wanted to get to the inn first and make sure that there was room. Summer was one of the busiest seasons in Illyanara for travellers and merchants, but in Midhaven especially, as it was commonly used as a midway point for all travel in the province. “There, up ahead. By the butchers.”
Sure enough, about twenty feet ahead, on the right-hand side, was the butcher. Next-door, a large sign hung over the building with ‘The Golden Bow’ printed above the intricately painted image of a bow in gold and silver.
Just as the merchant had promised, the inn was a lovely little place. It was smaller than the inn in Camylin but had a much nicer atmosphere, and there wasn’t mould growing on the walls, which was a positive. The innkeeper was an upbeat fellow, slightly plump with a balding head and a beaming smile. His bleached white apron was immaculate; not a speck of dirt could be seen from top to bottom. That definitely won’t last the day.
To Ella’s pleasant surprise, not only did they have rooms available, but the room that he offered them was so lovely and quaint. A comfy-looking double bed lay nestled into a nook at the far end, just below a slanted wooden roof. A small antique mirror hung on the wall in front of an ornate wooden desk. Perfect.
Ella threw herself onto the bed, closing her eyes as she sunk into the soft mattress. She exhaled contently, then let her eyes open again. Rhett stood two feet away with a letter in his hand and a concerned look on his face.
>
“I have something to show you.”
CHAPTER 22
Valerys
So, just one more time. Why is it exactly that we’re going to the most ominous-sounding place in all Epheria? The Darkwood. I mean, besides the legends, it just doesn’t sound very welcoming, does it?”
Dann, as expected, hadn’t stopped talking to take a breath for more than five minutes over the past few days. It was at the point where Calen thought Therin might just kill him in his sleep and drag the body away. The elf glared at the back of Dann’s head. His lips moved, but he was too far away for Calen to hear what he was saying. Calen wagered that it wasn’t anything pleasant.
For the fourth time, Aeson answered Dann’s question with more patience than Calen would have been able to muster himself. “There is an old mountain pass in the Darkwood, at the foot of the Lodhar Mountains. It is not a pleasant journey, but it should see us to Belduar safely and allow us to skirt the blockade.”
Dann was silent for a moment, pondering. “I see. And why is it that Therin is so opposed to going this way?”
Therin did not even acknowledge the question.
“He has his reasons,” Aeson said. “Now if you can stay quiet until we reach the Darkwood, I will answer three questions that Therin has refused to answer for you, but only if you don’t speak from now until we arrive.”
Dann went to open his mouth almost immediately, but paused when Aeson cocked his head and tilted one eyebrow upwards. He gestured as if he were tying his mouth closed with string.
I don’t see that lasting.
Therin and Aeson had not had any verbal disagreements about their new path, but it was clear to everyone that Therin did not approve. His mood had deteriorated since the Darkwood was mentioned. Calen wasn’t too keen on the idea either. There was not a story he had heard that involved anyone walking into the Darkwood – and then walking back out again.
Calen felt a burst of excitement coming from the dragon, combined with a rather loud shriek as it spread its snow-white wings. It leapt from the back of the saddle and up onto his right shoulder. Calen couldn’t help but smile. It had been sleeping a lot less over the past few days and nights, and its appetite had increased twofold. It had also grown by almost half its original size, which Calen felt as its claws dug into his shoulder. “I think you might be getting a bit big to be standing on my shoulder.” Calen felt a rumble of disagreement as the dragon chirped harshly. It understood him, he knew it did. Just as he understood it.
He still hadn’t given it a name. He had talked to Aeson and Therin to find out what kinds of names were usually given to dragons. It hadn’t helped. They just kept rattling off names of past dragons, lost in the nostalgia of days long gone. “Well, Vyldrar was the name of the dragon to which Alvira Serris was bound. Tinua, Xarden, Anaia, Salina, Purlon…” The list just went on and on. He had hoped to narrow it down a little.
“We will settle here for the night,” Aeson said. They approached a small alcove set into the side of a rock face, beside a slow-running stream. “Bathe, eat, and then sleep. We will set off as soon as my eyes are open again. We will not wait for the sun.”
They hoped to reach the Darkwood by nightfall of the next day, and at the pace they were going, that was a certainty. Aeson had been running them ragged. Calen figured they had to have covered at least fifty miles a day. The horses were close to collapse. They marched each day relentlessly, stopping only once for food and water. Then they set up camp. Dann hunted, Dahlen built the fire, and Dann and Calen practiced the sword with Aeson. It was routine. Regimented.
At first, when they practiced, Aeson only allowed them to run through the different forms. They had to do it, he said, “until moving between them was as effortless as breathing.” Calen had felt silly the first time; they were more intricate than the forms his father had taught him, and he kept tripping over his own feet. But that changed over time. He felt more powerful, confident in his movements. He quite enjoyed it now. It was relaxing; it reminded him of being in the field with his father and Haem.
After a while, Erik joined them. Despite how flawlessly he flowed from one form to next, Aeson always found something wrong. A misstep, a sword held too high, a slight hesitation. Even so, Erik never complained. He simply nodded and continued. Aeson never had to make the same criticism twice.
Calen felt the dragon watching him as he practiced. Its pale lavender eyes were awash with interest. Sometimes, when they sparred, he swore he felt a warning right before a strike landed. It confused him at first, putting him off balance, but when he listened to the feeling, he realised that it was always true to its word. More than once, he had drawn strange looks from Aeson when he pivoted and blocked a strike that he had no right to know was coming. He couldn’t help but smirk as he glanced at the dragon, who simply tilted its head from side to side, watching.
Calen ambled down to the stream. He had bathed already, before they ate, but his throat was dry and his waterskin empty.
He found Therin sitting on the edge of the bank, his eyes closed and his shoes off, with his feet dipped into the gelid water. “Mind if I sit?”
“Not at all.”
Calen dropped down beside Therin, pulling his knees up to his chest. He stared out over the water. “What you said, outside Camylin… How did you know my father?”
Therin sighed. He opened his eyes but didn’t turn to look at Calen. “I met your father many years ago. At the start of a war.”
“The Varsund war?”
Therin nodded.
“Why… why did I not know this? Why only now?”
It didn’t make sense. Therin had been coming to The Glade for as long as Calen could remember. He had never been anything more than friendly with Vars.
“We all have our secrets, Calen. Even your father. He made a choice, and I honoured that choice.”
“But—”
“There will come a time. But that time is not now.”
Calen felt the anger rising at the back of his mind. It wasn’t only his. It was shared. He didn’t have to look to know the dragon was staring at Therin. Calen took a breath.
Fine. For now.
There was a silence that held in the air as they sat there. Its only opposition was the sound of the stream as it meandered its way through the land. Therin broke the silence. “Have you thought any more on the young one’s name?”
Calen nodded. “I have… But I still am not sure.” Calen looked back at the dragon, who was now curled up by the fire. The anger had dissipated. The mixture of pale moonlight and warm firelight caused its scales to shimmer in an incandescent glow. “It is a Valacian dragon, you said?”
“Yes, he is from Valacia. The Icelands.”
Calen nodded, dipping his waterskin back into the stream. “Is that how you say ‘ice’ in the Old Tongue?”
“Not quite,” Therin replied. “Valacia means ‘Icelands.’ It comes from the words valerys, meaning ‘ice,’ and cia, meaning ‘land.’” Therin reached down into the stream, touching his fingertips to its surface. “Valerys,” he whispered.
Calen’s eyes opened wide as the water around Therin’s hand began to freeze. Tendrils of icy white spread slowly outward in a circle, thickening as they travelled, until it was as if clouds began to form beneath the water’s surface. Then it stopped. Therin removed his hand from the water, a warm smile on his face.
“How…” Calen let out a delayed sigh of relief. “I don’t think there will ever be a point where that will seem normal to me.”
“You should try,” Therin said. There was no hint of a joke in his expression.
Calen just stared back at him with incredulity. “Me? What would be the point? I’m no mage.”
A wry smile spread across Therin’s face. “That is correct. You are not, but you are a Draleid. Calen, some people are born with the ability to touch the Spark and to wield its power in this world. Others are not. Many people will go their entire lifetimes, never knowing what they are capable of.
When things happen around us that we can’t explain, most people just put it down to chance. This is not always the case. Rist did not have an inkling as to his strength, yet he has the potential to be one of the most powerful mages I have encountered for a long time.
“Dragons are magical creatures, to the core of their being. The Spark is in the very fire that they breathe. When someone becomes bonded to a dragon the way that you have, it changes them. The bond created transcends everything that you can see and touch. Pieces of who you are become bonded to each other. You will see. Both Draleid and dragons gain many things from the bond; the most important of these gifts for a Draleid is the ability to touch the Spark.”
It took Calen a moment to understand. “You mean…me?”
“Yes.” Therin laughed softly. “You, Calen. Don’t question. Just do. You will see.”
“What do I do? I just… touch the water and say the word?”
Therin scrunched up his mouth and tilted his head to the side. “The words are not necessary. Often, when a young mage begins their training, speaking the word is helpful. It allows them to focus. The power of the Spark is not in the words we speak, nor is it in your fingertips. It is in your head and your heart, it is… everywhere.
“It is difficult for people, especially your kind, to understand what they cannot see and feel. This is why using your hands is helpful. It’s like a totem – a conduit. Touch your fingers off the surface of the water. Take the heat from the water and push it outward. Picture it freezing, slowly moving, like the roots of a tree.”