by Ryan Cahill
“You’re getting better,” Erik said. His tone was not condescending, but sincere. “You could hold your own when we met you, more than I would have guessed. But now you are starting to understand the sword, instead of just holding it. I don’t know if that makes sense, but—”
“It does. Thank you,” Calen interrupted, giving Erik an appreciative smile. Erik had been nothing but friendly to him, even though Calen had a frayed relationship with Dahlen. He was a good man.
Calen, Erik, and Dann chatted for a while, sitting around the fire until the cold was drawn from their bones and their clothes had dried to a point that they no longer sloshed when they walked. It was the first time in what felt like a lifetime that Calen could step out of his own mind and just relax. That was why, when he felt sleep tugging at his eyelids, he tried to fight it as much as he could.
“I’m going to get some sleep now,” Aeson announced. “Dahlen, Erik, you two can take first guard. I will leave the baldír around the perimeter, so you can see better. If anything moves, wake us. There are few things in this forest without sharp teeth. The rest of you, I would advise getting some sleep.”
“I will stand guard with them,” Therin called. “I am not so tired, and an extra pair of eyes will not hurt. Especially in this place.”
Aeson shrugged his shoulders softly. “Okay. Wake us in a few hours, so you can get some sleep yourselves.” With that, he lay himself down by the fire, pulling his blanket roll up around him.
Erik grabbed his swords from atop his saddle bags and slung them over his back, along with his bow and quiver. “I will see you in a few hours,” he said, clapping both Calen and Dann on the shoulders. He moved off to take up position at the edge of the camp.
“I’m going to follow Aeson’s lead,” Dann said. “I get the feeling that this journey isn’t going to get any easier. I, for one, am going to need some sleep to get through it.”
Calen felt a nudge at the side of his leg. “I know, I know. I’ll get some sleep.”
He ran his hand down the spines on Valerys’s back, receiving a rumbling purr in reply.
“Uraks!”
The shout pierced through the night, jolting Calen awake. It took half a second for the grogginess to clear from his mind. His eyes were still in a hazy blur. The ringing shrieks of steel colliding with steel brought him back to the waking world. He leapt to his feet, only just stopping himself from tumbling to the ground as he tripped over a loose tree root. His brain was still in a scattered daze.
Calen saw flashes of fighting everywhere. Erik and Dahlen stood back-to-back twenty feet away. Uraks, their hulking forms illuminated by the light from the baldír, surrounded them.
Aeson weaved through a stream of leathery grey skin, the ground around him wet with blood. Calen couldn’t see Therin, but there were far too many bodies on the ground filled with arrows for Dann alone.
My sword.
Calen ripped his sword from its scabbard just in time to block the first blow that nearly caught him in the head. Only a warning in the back of his mind from Valerys allowed him to spin on his heels and block the blow. The force sent him stumbling backwards, cursing as he tried to stabilise himself.
The Urak turned its attention to Valerys, whose shriek in response was more that of a wolf cub trying to howl than it was a war cry. The young dragon didn’t stand a chance.
Calen launched himself through the air, catching the Urak off its guard when he crashed into its side. There was a moment when he thought the massive creature would not budge. It was like trying to knock over a wall. But luck was on his side. The creature lost its balance, and they both tumbled over Calen’s saddlebags and down onto the damp forest floor.
It took Calen only a moment to react once they hit the floor. He did not wait for the Urak to regain its bearings. Throwing himself up onto his knees, he grasped the hilt of his sword with both hands and drove it down through the creature’s chest. He felt the crunch of bone as the sword found home. He pushed down harder. Blood spluttered from the creature’s mouth.
It’s dead. Get up!
Calen heaved the sword free from the Urak’s limp corpse. His heart boomed claps of thunder. The camp was in chaos. Uraks were everywhere.
Snap.
Calen spun around, not hesitating as he drove his sword straight through the belly of another onrushing Urak. He didn’t wait to see the body drop. Pulling the sword free, he looked down to make sure Valerys was by his side. Hatred pulsated from the dragon.
A guttural roar dragged Calen’s attention to his left, just in time to block the Urak’s thick, blackened blade. Again, twice, three times. The beast kept coming. The strength of its strikes jarred Calen’s arms. He blocked another blow, only to be caught off-guard when the creature planted its leathery grey shoulder into his chest.
He hit the ground faster than he understood what was happening. His head hit off something. Hard. It erupted in a piercing pain. He saw stars. A blurry haze clouded his vision. The only thing he could see were the crimson eyes of the creature as it stood over him, its blade in the air.
“Calen!”
Something plunged into the Urak’s neck. Blood spurted in all directions.
An arrow.
Calen shook his head, blinking furiously as he tried to clear his vision. The Urak coughed and spluttered, choking on its own blood as it staggered forward. Even with the shaft of the arrow buried in its neck, the creature lifted its jagged blade back to full height; its hate-filled stare was fixed on Calen.
A piercing shriek sliced through the air. Calen just about made out Valerys’s silhouette as he leapt at the Urak’s face, rending bone with its claws and tearing away chunks of flesh with its teeth. Fury consumed the dragon.
Calen pushed himself to his knees as his vision cleared. He felt Valerys’s fury pulsing through his veins. The dragon stood on top of the Urak’s now prone body, his claws still tearing away at its torso. The red of the creature’s blood stood stark against Valerys’s white scales.
“Calen.” Dann now stood over him, his arm outstretched. Calen took it, heaving himself to his feet. “Are you okay?” Dann panted as he tried to catch his breath.
“I’m okay. What happened—”
Dann howled as a jagged black spear pierced through his right shoulder, lifting him off his feet. Calen swung himself around Dann, bringing his sword down across the shaft of the spear. He snapped it clean in half, allowing Dann to fall to his knees.
Without hesitating, Calen swung his blade in an upward arc towards the Urak holding the now-broken spear. It deflected the blow with its thick iron vambraces, then stabbed the shattered spear shaft at Calen.
Calen felt himself subconsciously reaching for the Spark. His lungs burned and chest pounded. Sweat streamed down his face. He drew heavily on threads of Fire, embracing the warmth as it flooded his body.
Burn.
A column of flames erupted from Calen’s left hand as he thrust it towards the towering beast. The flames burst forward, consuming the Urak from head to toe. The whole campsite lit up like a signal fire. He felt the Spark flooding through him; it touched every corner of his mind. The Fire called to him, yearned for him to take more. No. Stop!
Calen let go of the threads of Fire as the energy leeched from his bones. His knees shook as they struggled to hold his weight. The putrid aroma of charred flesh filled his nostrils in seconds.
He turned back to Dann, unable to look at the blackened remains of the Urak. The sound of its skin crackling and popping filled his eardrums. Dann was in a heap on the ground, the tip of the spear still jutting from his shoulder. Fear bolted through Calen’s heart. “Dann!” He dropped to his knees beside his friend, hitting the ground far harder than he had intended.
“I’m okay,” Dann coughed, his lips coated in a thin layer of blood. “Go, help the others. I’m not much good right now.” Calen began to protest. “Go! You can’t do anything for me. I’ll be all right.”
Calen nodded reluctantly. He ha
d to try twice before he could drag himself to his feet. His body was not cooperating with him. Therin wasn’t joking when he said using magic could leave him drained. Every movement felt heavy and laboured, as though he had been working in the forge from sunrise to sunset.
By the time he made it over to Erik and Dahlen, his body was littered with small cuts and scrapes. He swung his blade downward, parrying a stabbing strike from an Urak spear, then swung the blade back up the spear shaft to send the creature to the void. Sword forms ran through his mind as he flowed from one to next. Striking Dragon to Charging Boar, falling back into Crouching Bear.
A searing pain ripped through his thigh, forcing him to collapse to one knee. He looked back just in time to watch Valerys’s claws tear through the creature’s neck. Calen was almost scared to see what the dragon could do when he was bigger.
His heart jumped as an Urak caught Valerys in the side with a swinging hammer, sending him soaring through the air. He hit the ground with a thud. He didn’t move.
Something burned in Calen as he leapt to his feet. He pulled on threads of Air, screaming as he catapulted them at the Urak. He sent the unsuspecting monster hurtling through the air, snapping the trunk of a tree clean in half with the impact.
Calen felt the drain again. He dropped to one knee momentarily, fighting to stay conscious. Blood rushed down the inside of his leg, accompanied by a burning pain that ran along the length of the fresh wound. Ignoring it, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to Valerys. He felt the dragon’s heartbeat even before he reached him, but that didn’t stop him from placing a hand on Valerys’s side, just to feel the rise and fall of his lungs. Relief flooded through him.
Another blood-curdling roar burst through the din of battle. He turned and saw a towering Urak with a plate of iron across its chest swinging a wicked double-bladed axe above its head. Calen tried to move, but he barely had the strength to keep his fingers wrapped around the handle of his sword. He sighed and stretched his body across Valerys, closing his eyes.
Calen heard a whoosh and opened his eyes. The Urak stumbled back and forth, an arrow tip jutting from where its left eye had been only moments before. A second arrow exploded from its neck. Calen looked around. Dann was still on the ground. Therin was now in sight, but he was holding his sword, limping heavily as he fended off two Uraks.
Just as Calen saw them, both Uraks dropped, arrows jutting from multiple places on their bodies. Surprise coated Therin’s face. The slicing sound of arrows cutting through the air filled the campsite. Raining death. Calen spun his head around to see where they were coming from, pulling Valerys in closer to shield him.
The largest stag Calen had ever seen burst through the brush at the edge of the camp, the light from the baldír bouncing off its bone-white fur. The stag’s body rippled with muscle. Its powerful neck held up a head adorned with ferocious antlers, black as coal, with veins of gold rippling throughout. A man sat on its back, with a moss-green cloak draped around his shoulders and a hood obscuring his face. The man drew a sleek arrow from his quiver, nocking it and loosing it in a flash. An Urak dropped to the ground.
More warriors in green cloaks burst into the clearing, each wielding massive bows of stained white wood. Uraks dropped wherever their arrows flew. The fighting was over in a matter of moments. Those Uraks not lying motionless on the ground, arrows protruding from them like spines in a hedgehog, stumbled, crawling and limping away into the forest abyss.
The muscles in Calen’s legs seized, and he struggled to hold himself upright. He tried to fight it, but he felt himself drifting in and out of consciousness.
Someone was approaching him. They were running. At least, he thought they were running. It was hard to tell. His vision blurred as if he were underwater. He felt a crack of pain as his other knee gave way. He fell to the flat of his back, hitting his head off something solid. The figure had almost reached him. They were definitely running.
He couldn’t fight it anymore. He let his eyes close.
CHAPTER 24
One Who Survived
Calen’s head pounded as a ringing noise pierced his ears. He felt himself shaking. A pair of hands wrapped around his collar.
“Calen! Calen!”
The voice was familiar. He tried to open his eyes, but the little strength he had was ebbing.
“Calen!” The voice was louder, clearer. “Calen?”
Pulling every drop of strength he had, Calen willed his eyes open. Everything was fuzzy at first, but it began to clear.
“He’s alive!”
Calen tried to form words, but his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. The coppery taste of part-dried blood coated his tongue. “Therin?”
“It’s me, child. Just breathe.”
A hand pressed against his shoulder. A shiver ran the length of his body as a pulsing wave of energy flowed into him. The burning pain from his wounds faded to a dull ache, and the ringing noise in his head cleared. As his eyes focused, he could just make out the sharp features of Therin’s face.
“Therin, I—”
“What in the gods were you thinking, you idiot child?” Therin shouted. His hands shook as he held the collar of Calen’s shirt with one hand. “I told you! I warned you not to take too much. You could have killed yourself! It is only by the miracle of the gods that you didn’t.”
Calen hadn’t seen the elf angry before. Guilt picked at the back of his mind.
Therin let go of Calen’s collar with an exasperated sigh. “Don’t do that again,” he said, shaking his head. He got to his feet and ran his hands through his silver hair, digging his fingers into his scalp in frustration. “Stupid fucking child…”
Calen felt Valerys’s heartbeat, in sync with his own. The dragon whimpered as it licked at a cut on its side. It was not life threatening, but it hurt.
“Come here,” Calen said, as he got to his feet. He reached out his hands, scooping up Valerys into his arms. He rested him on his shoulder, with his tail draped across the back of Calen’s neck. The whimpering did not stop, but Calen felt comfort coming from the dragon.
“Draleid.” The man who rode the stag stood in front of Calen, his hood pulled back. Aeson flanked him on one side, and one of the hooded warriors stood on the other. He was an elf. He stood about the same height as Calen, with short, cropped blonde hair and a motley array of scars etched into his face. He had the same tapered ears as Therin. One of his eyes was a milky white all over, with no iris or pupil. “Draleid, I am Thalanil, High Captain of the Aravell Rangers.”
Calen found it nigh on impossible to determine the age of an elf. They may have seen three hundred summers or twenty. Therin looked youthful but was older than some of the trees in The Glade, while Thalanil looked as if he had lived through a thousand battles but may well be Therin’s junior many times over, were it not for the scars that raked his face.
“I am Calen Bryer of The Glade.” A rumble came from Valerys’s chest. “And this is Valerys of Valacia,” he added.
“It is an honour to meet you, Calen, Valerys. Never in my lifetime did I think that I would be welcoming a Draleid and a dragon to Aravell. It would be an honour if you were to allow us to escort you to the city.”
“The city?” Calen replied. “There is a city… in the Darkwood?”
“I’m sorry, Thalanil, but we can’t,” Aeson interrupted before the elf had a chance to respond. “We are on our way to Belduar, to commune with King Arthur Bryne, and we must move with haste. I’m sure you must understand now that you see who we travel with?”
“I see,” Thalanil said. There was a twinge of hurt in his voice. “Are you sure you cannot come with us? We can provide you safe haven in Aravell. Nobody who wished us harm has even set eyes upon its walls in the three hundred and fifty years that they have stood. It would be our greatest honour to provide sanctuary to the first free Draleid in four centuries. You know this, old friend.”
Aeson sighed. “You know as well as I do, Thalanil, that there is
more to it than that. You have my word that we will return here if we are welcome. But we must go to Belduar first. There are oaths to honour and people awaiting us. Surely, you understand?”
The elf took a moment to respond. “I do. But the Uraks have been acting strangely of late. The Blood Moon is not far away, only a year at most. I would be hard pressed to remember a time where they came this far into the Aravell in such large numbers. I will provide you with an escort of five rangers, as an honour guard for the Draleid. The elves of Aravell have always stood by the Draleid and The Order, even before this place was our home, and that has not changed.”
A smile touched the corners of Aeson’s mouth. “The honour would be ours, High Captain. Calen?”
“Yes,” Calen stuttered, “it would be our honour.”
The warm smile on Thalanil’s face grew wider. “The honour will be shared, Draleid.” The elf turned to the warrior to his left. “Faelen?”
The woman drew down her hood. Calen tried his best not to stare. She would have been considered beautiful in any part of the world. Her long brown hair was tied at the back of her head, pulling it off her face. She looked as youthful as Therin, while somehow also seeming younger. She had the same sharp features and high cheekbones. Her white-wood bow was slung across her back. Calen saw what the elves had done to the Uraks with those bows; it was ruthless. “Yes, High Captain?”
“I will need you to select five rangers, at least one of whom must have a connection to the Spark. Do not dally.”
Faelen nodded. “Yes, High Captain.” Before she left, she turned to Calen, bending one knee slightly as she tilted her head. “Draleid, Valerys.”
Did she just bow to me? Before Calen could ask her to please not do that again, she took her leave, marching over to a group of rangers that were sorting through the Uraks’ bodies. Aeson must have seen the surprise on Calen’s face. He smirked.
Suddenly, a thought struck Calen. “Aeson! Dann… Where is Dann? Is he okay?”