by Ryan Cahill
“He is okay,” Aeson said. “The spear missed anything important, and one of Thalanil’s rangers is an excellent healer. His shoulder will likely be stiff for days, but he will be okay.”
Relief washed over Calen. “Thank you.”
“Excuse me.” Faelen had returned. Five elves stood behind her, each wrapped in their moss-green cloaks, with their hoods pulled down onto their shoulders. “These are five of our best, High Captain. They all expressed a desire to swear the oath. This is Vaeril,” Faelen said, gesturing towards a youthful warrior with shoulder-length blonde hair and a serious look in his eye. “He is young, but his connection to the Spark runs deep, and he is particularly adept at healing.”
Did she say oath?
The young elf gave a short bow from the waist. “Draleid, Valerys, Rakina, High Captain.”
“Vaeril.” Thalanil nodded. “All of you, you are willing to swear the oath?”
“Yes, High Captain,” the group of elves chorused.
“With honour,” Vaeril added.
“Then you may do so now. We will not keep the Draleid and the Rakina. They must make haste.”
Without hesitation, all five of the elves dropped to one knee. They placed one hand atop their standing leg and the other across their chest.
“Wait. Aeson, what—”
“I hereby swear oath, by witness of those here and the six who watch over us, to protect the Draleid, Calen Bryer, and the dragon, Valerys. To go with him wherever he may lead, to the void or beyond.”
With the completion of their oath, the five elves rose to their feet and turned expectantly to Thalanil.
“It is with honour that your oath has been witnessed by those here and by the six who watch over us,” Thalanil replied. “It is done. Draleid, these rangers will protect you with their lives. Your bond is not that of blood or magic but of honour, and it is stronger than steel.”
Calen couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if Thalanil glanced at Therin as he spoke. The elf had been keeping his distance.
“Thank you for everything. If you had not found us, then I fear we may not have lasted the night,” Aeson said. He reached out his arm and wrapped his fingers around Thalanil’s forearm in a tight grasp, which Thalanil reciprocated.
“Aeson Virandr, it is always a pleasure to set eyes upon you, old friend, but to see that you bring hope with you.” Thalanil paused, directing a warm smile towards Calen. “The first free Draleid in four centuries. If I am to be honest, I had given up on that hope a long time ago. If I could, I would march all of Aravell out of these woods alongside you.”
“That day may well come,” Aeson responded sombrely. Thalanil twisted his mouth, nodding his head in agreement. “For now, we thank you for your aid and your oath, but we must be on our way. It is a long journey to Belduar through the mountains.”
Thalanil made to bow towards Calen. Instead, Calen mimicked Aeson’s gesture, extending his arm out towards the elf. “I owe my life to you and your elves, as does Valerys and everyone here. Thank you.”
The look of shock on the elf’s face gave way to one of appreciation. He grasped Calen’s arm. “It was my honour, Draleid, as I hope it will be again.”
With a quick nod, Thalanil rounded and walked back towards his men. Faelen followed him, though Calen couldn’t help but notice her mouth turn as she glanced sideways at Therin. Her gaze lingered, but he seemed to do his best to pretend he didn’t see her.
Erik, Dahlen, and Dann approached, with Dann clutching his arm close to his chest.
“You okay?” Calen asked.
“Yeah, just a scratch, really.” Dann shrugged, a wry smile on his face. He winced as his attempted shrug pulled at the healing wound in his shoulder. “We got new friends?” Dann’s head tilted towards the five elves who still stood in a straight line, their stances rigid. “Wait, I know you,” he said, nodding towards Vaeril. “You’re the one who fixed my shoulder. Thank you.”
“It was my honour,” Vaeril replied. A satisfied smile spread across his face.
“Okay,” Aeson said, looking around the group. “It is time that we are on our way. We will march towards the pass, breaking only when we catch first sight of the moon. It is impossible to tell the cycles of day and night in this place.” Aeson turned towards the elves, addressing them alone. “Do any of you need to gather anything before we leave?”
It was Vaeril who replied, speaking for the group. “No, Rakina. We have everything we will need.” He gestured to a satchel slung across his back, with a blanket roll tied to its side. Each of the elves carried similar.
“Horses?” Calen asked, unsure himself whether he had intended to speak aloud. “Do you not need horses?”
“No, we will keep up just fine,” one of the elves replied, whose name Calen did not yet know. His response seemed unnecessarily curt to Calen.
Calen nodded. “Before we leave, your names. You cannot swear oaths to protect me without me even knowing your names.”
“Oaths to protect you?” Calen was convinced that Dann would have laughed at him if it would not have caused him so much pain.
Vaeril was the first to step forward, “As you know, Draleid, I am Vaeril. Vaeril Ilyin, ranger of Aravell.”
The other elves stepped forward in turn, presenting themselves in the same way.
The firmness in Ellisar’s eyes led Calen to believe that he had seen many a summer, which belied his youthful face. If they could look past his tapered ears, many women in the villages would have considered him incredibly handsome. His short black hair was similar to Rhett Fjorn’s, as was his build, and women often swooned over Rhett.
Alea and Lyrei were twins. At least, in Calen’s mind, that was the only explanation. Even if he had hours to examine their faces down to the most minute detail, he did not think he would have the slightest chance of telling them apart. They were both beautiful – perhaps not in the conventional sense, but they were most certainly beautiful in Calen’s eyes. Both had short blonde hair with fringes that hung to one side and shimmering golden eyes. He had never seen golden eyes before; it must be a uniquely elven trait.
The last was Gaeleron, the elf who was curt to Calen. His long brown hair was tied up at the back of his head, giving his face a harsh appearance. A thin scar on his right cheek ran horizontally, just under his eye. Calen couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something about the way the elf spoke and looked at him that made him uneasy. There was contempt in his eyes.
Therin approached the group, already on horseback, eying the elven rangers uneasily. “Are we ready?”
“We are,” Aeson replied.
“Wait, what about the bodies?” Calen asked.
“The forest will take them.”
By the time they reached the edge of the treeline, the crescent moon was shining like a beacon in the night sky. They had marched through the entire day. Calen was sure he had fallen asleep in the saddle. Whatever Therin had done to him had eased the pain of his wounds and relieved some of his fatigue, but it certainly hadn’t cured him of sleep deprivation.
The elves, true to Gaeleron’s word, kept pace with the horses without breaking a sweat. In fact, the twins had remained in front of the group for the entire journey, insisting on scouting ahead. Their cloaks allowed them to fade into the forest, almost at will.
The first night at the mouth of the mountain pass was rather uneventful. They went through their usual routine. Calen complained at first when Aeson had told him to grab his sword, but the man had a way of staring wordlessly until he yielded. There was no sparring that night, just forms. There had been enough fighting already.
Calen couldn’t help but notice that all the elves stopped eating to watch. Their eyes followed him with every movement, every swing of the blade and twist of his body. It made him feel uneasy.
There were few words exchanged when Aeson and Calen sat down for their supper. Dann lay unconscious by the fire, his empty bowl of broth on his stomach, moving up and down with hi
s breathing. The elves did not allow the hunting of deer, for whatever reasons they had. The broth of rabbit and potatoes was perfect for Calen, who smiled ear to ear when Vaeril revealed a loaf of fresh bread from his satchel. It had been so long since Calen had eaten bread that didn’t have the consistency of stone.
Vaeril also healed Valerys’s wounds as much as was possible. The dragon was still in a bit of pain, but the whimpering had stopped, and he was strong enough to go searching for his own rabbits.
“So, have elves always lived in the Darkwood?” Calen asked as he held his palms over the open fire. “I didn’t think that anyone could live here.”
Vaeril looked up and held a short silence before answering. It was only the two of them. “No. We came to the Aravell about four hundred years ago. After the Fall, we tried to fight back, to resist the Empire. We failed. It was before my time.”
“Why do you call it the Aravell? Is it’s name not the Darkwood?”
“That is what it has always been known to my people. The Darkwood is a name that was given to it by your people.”
“Why did you come here? I’ve always heard that the elves retreated into Lynalion when The Order fell. But never anything about the Darkwood – the Aravell.”
A melancholy smile touched the corners of Vaeril’s mouth. “We believed different things. So, we followed different paths. Does every human always think the same way?”
“No. I don’t suppose they do.” Calen sighed. He fiddled with a piece of long grass that he plucked from the ground. “What is it they believe? The elves of Lynalion.”
“That the troubles of men and dwarves do not belong to them. That the empire was born from human arrogance. And that the blight on these lands is naught to do with elves.”
“And what do you believe?”
Vaeril pondered for a moment. There was a softness in his eyes beyond his serious expression. “That this world is all of our responsibility. That all races were involved in The Fall. We occupied the Aravell to act as a wall between Loria and the rest of Epheria. To do everything we could to weaken the Empire’s grip. We make sure that nothing that enters the forest ever leaves. Either we take them, or the forest does.”
“The forest?”
There was a loud pop as part of the fire collapsed, sending Sparks spiralling through the air.
“There is old magic in the woodland,” Vaeril said. “Older than stone in the mountains and the songs in the wind. Even we elves thread lightly when we roam its depths. You were lucky to have only found Uraks last night.”
Calen nodded, letting out a short sigh. “Vaeril, why did you swear an oath to protect me? You don’t know me. You owe me nothing.”
The elf gave a weak smile as he leaned towards the fire. “My people didn’t always live in the Aravell. We used to live in sprawling cities of beautiful white stone. With sweeping walls, breath-taking towers, and domes of gold that would shimmer in the sun’s light. My elders told me stories of these cities. I have never seen them for myself. Maybe with your help, what once was, might be again, and I may see for myself. It is a dream that I am willing to give my life for.”
The group had already packed up their things and were over an hour in their saddles by the time the sun rose the next morning. Aeson was determined to reach Belduar within two weeks’ time, which meant marching during every second of light that the sun gave them.
As the sun rose over the crest of the mountains, splashing light into the valley, Calen could see the truly epic scale of the Lodhar mountains that was impossible to see the night before. The group walked along a small dirt track, framed on either side by sheer rock faces that disappeared into the clouds. In the distance, Calen saw nothing but mountains and clouds, stretching far off into the horizon. Up. That seemed to be the only direction the path could lead – up and then up again. Calen had no idea how the elves were still standing. He even felt his horse struggling, but the elves loped through the pass like wolves, not a hint of fatigue on their faces.
They had to have been walking for six or seven hours before they reached the first flat. They stopped for no more than fifteen minutes to eat and drink. Therin used the Spark to draw pools of water up from the ground for the horses. Calen thought he could almost see how he did it. The threads of Water mingled with threads of Earth.
“Therin.” Calen drew his horse closer to Therin’s. “I’m sorry.” The elf hadn’t spoken to Calen since he had stormed off in the forest.
“It is okay. I, too, apologise… for my anger.” Therin paused for a moment, staring off into the sky above. “You nearly died, Calen. You would have if I hadn’t been there. Drawing so heavily from the Spark with as little experience as you have is dangerous beyond words. With Valerys at your side, you have the potential to be powerful, but right now, you are not. It is my fault. I should not have shown you the path without first teaching you how to walk. From now on, after your training with Aeson, you will train with me. Understood?”
“Yes,” Calen replied with all the enthusiasm of a pig facing slaughter. Just the thought of touching the Spark again made his knees quiver. He had never felt a weakness like that before, as if his body were too weak to keep a hold on his soul. “Therin, can I ask you a question?”
Therin’s eyes narrowed. He nodded reluctantly.
“What does ‘Rakina’ mean?”
Therin sighed. He seemed uncomfortable at the very mention of the word. “Why do you ask?” Calen got the impression that he already knew.
“The elves all refer to Aeson as ‘Rakina.’ What does it mean?”
Therin hesitated, leaving Calen uncertain whether he should have asked at all. “‘Rakina’ is a word of the Old Tongue. It means ‘broken,’ or more correctly, ‘one who is broken.’”
Therin’s answer only led to more questions in Calen’s mind. “Why would they—”
Therin interrupted Calen with a hand in the air. “It is Aeson’s story to tell, but I feel it is something he may never do. It may anger him for me to tell it, but so be it. You deserve to know the people to whom you have given your trust.”
Therin pulled his horse in closer to Calen’s. He watched as Therin drew from the Spark, but he was too quick for Calen to follow what he did.
“A ward of silence,” Therin explained when he saw Calen’s curious face.
Aeson and Vaeril’s heads spun as soon as Therin erected the ward. When he realised that it was Therin, Vaeril flicked his head back to the road ahead of him, not wishing to pry. Aeson was not as quick to ignore the ward. His gaze lingered on Therin and Calen for longer than was comfortable before feigning disinterest. It was apparent to Calen that they felt when Therin drew magic from the Spark. He felt something too, just a tickle at the back of his mind, but it was there.
“Now we can talk,” Therin said. “I will likely have to explain to Aeson why we are warded, but I will deal with that later.” There was a moment’s pause. “A long time ago, Aeson was a Draleid.”
Calen felt like his heart had stopped beating.
“Aeson is a Draleid?” He couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth. He hadn’t realised it until that point, but even surrounded by friends, he felt alone. He had Valerys, who gave a rumble of objection at the thought of Calen feeling alone, but it was not the same. He needed someone who could talk to him, guide him. Tell him what to do next. Ever since Valerys hatched, people looked at him differently. Not Dann – he was still the same – but everyone else did. Therin, Erik, Dahlen. These elves, whom he had never met before, swore an oath to protect him with their lives. It was as if when people looked at him, they saw someone different than he did when he looked in a mirror.
“He was a Draleid, Calen.” Loss consumed Therin’s eyes. “Aeson’s dragon, Lyara, was killed in the years following the collapse of The Order. She was hunted by Fane and his Dragonguard.” Therin spat out that word, as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. “Aeson barely escaped with his life. Even then, parts of him died with her. That’s what it
means to be Rakina, Calen. To be broken.” Therin wiped a tear from his left cheek. “The bond between a dragon and their Draleid runs far deeper than could ever be explained. I’m sure you feel it by now, Calen, but your souls are not just entwined; they are as one. Who you are as a person changes Valerys, and who he is changes you. At your very core. I see it in you already. But when you blend something so completely, it is impossible for it to return to what it once was. Two souls blended together are not the sum of their parts, but something new entirely.”
Calen couldn’t help but look back at Valerys, who sat behind him, curled up in a ball, his head resting against Calen’s back. Had Valerys changed him?
“When a Draleid loses their dragon,” Therin continued, “or a dragon loses their Draleid, they lose parts of themselves. They can lose the ability to draw from the Spark. They can lose fragments of their personality, emotions, connections. They can lose the will to live.” Therin exhaled deeply. “Rakina may mean ‘one who is broken’, but among the elves, it is a mark of respect. It also means, ‘one who survived’.”
CHAPTER 25
A Deep Cut
A shock bolted up Ella’s back as the wagon hit yet another stone. She rubbed her back, attempting to provide herself with some kind of relief. Rhett smiled at her. She jolted forward as he dug his thumb into the aching muscle, arching her back in a mixture of pain and relief.
“Not long now,” he laughed. Whenever he laughed or smiled, he did it with his eyes.
When Rhett showed her Tanner’s letter in Midhaven, she had no idea what to think at first. They didn’t have the money. They had talked about it before. That was why they chose Falstide; tickets from Gisa would cost an arm and a leg. Or more.
The idea of arriving in a new city already indebted to someone was not an idea that she liked to think about. This was meant to be a new start for them, somewhere to build their lives. How could they do that if they always had money looming over their heads?