by Ryan Cahill
“Faenir!” she shouted, overwhelmed by shock and surprise. “What are you doing here?” She immediately dragged the wolfpine into a tight embrace, ignoring the blood that matted his ashen grey fur. “Wait, if you’re here… Where’s Dad and Calen? Did you all come after me?”
All she got was a nuzzle in response.
Ella looked around, scanning the landscape, hoping to catch sight of her brother or father. Her heart skipped every second beat at the idea of seeing them, but all she saw was emptiness. Swirls of dust whipped across the ground, and there was the occasional cluster of trees.
She pulled Faenir in close. His warmth comforted her as she sobbed uncontrollably.
CHAPTER 26
Fading Light
Calen let out a heavy sigh as he rested his elbows on his knees. His arms burned. His legs burned. And if he were left alone, he could easily sleep for an entire week. The training and the journey had begun to take their toll.
Every night, when they broke for camp, Calen was the last to eat. First, he went through forms with Aeson. Then they sparred. Aeson did not take it easy – not that Calen had expected him to. Sometimes he sparred with Erik instead, but that was not any easier on his body. They were not allowed to draw blood intentionally, but that did not stop the bruises.
With a groan, Calen dragged air into his lungs, rubbing his hand across his ribs where Aeson had hit him with a particularly nasty side kick. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the elves approaching.
Gaeleron had watched Calen’s sparring sessions every night, as had all five of the elves. But Gaeleron was different. It wasn’t simply curiosity in his eyes. It was as though he were analysing and judging every movement he made. Calen felt heavy under his gaze. More than once, he was on the end of a particularly vicious strike from Aeson or Erik because he allowed his attention to drift to Gaeleron.
“Spar with me,” the elf said. He unclipped the latch that held his cloak around his shoulders, allowing it to drop to the ground, revealing the thick layers of overlapping leather armour that covered his torso. A set of heavy spaulders protected his shoulders, and his arms hung free.
Calen couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. The elf’s blank stare was unnerving. He unsheathed his blade before Calen could respond.
Gaeleron sometimes sparred with the other elves after they ate. It wasn’t every night, but it was enough for Calen to see that it would be a short fight. Gaeleron was as skilled a swordsman as Calen had seen. He moved like the wind. Each step he took, every swing of his blade, flowed into the next effortlessly. He never hesitated or faltered, at least not while Calen’s eyes were on him. He was not small either; his frame was dense with lean muscle, and square shoulders to rival any blacksmith’s.
“I would,” Calen said, not exactly eager for another sparring session that would leave him limping, “but unfortunately, my training must continue with Therin now.”
Ever since the Urak attack, after sword forms and sparring, Therin began taking Calen for lessons in controlling the Spark. They were not any less tiring. He taught him to control the threads as he pulled at them, how to control their flow and their strength, how to twist them and weave them together in the exact ways that he had wished. He was getting better. With each passing day, it tired him less. Therin said that it was like a muscle; the more he used it, the stronger it would become.
Therin showed him how to create the orb that Aeson had used to light the tunnel – the baldír. It surprised Calen how simple it was. Small amounts of Fire and Air weaved carefully together with Spirit. The hardest part was learning how to sustain them without constant attention and a drain on Calen’s energy. He hadn’t quite gotten there yet, but he was determined.
Without responding to Calen, Gaeleron sought out Therin with his eyes, finding him by the fire with a rabbit leg in his hands. Gaeleron simply raised an eyebrow, opening his arms out towards Calen.
Calen let out a resigned sigh when he saw Therin nod, not even bothering to speak as he returned to his food.
“Right then,” he puffed as he dragged himself to his feet. “First to yield?”
Best just to get on with it.
Gaeleron nodded, raising his blade up in front of himself. With no warning, he sprung off his back legs, launching himself at Calen.
Calen was immediately on the defensive. Twisting and pivoting, he swung his blade wildly to try to stop the elf’s barrage of ferocious blows.
One got through: a back swing with the pommel of his sword. Calen saw stars as it cracked him in the side of the head. He fell forward and dropped to one knee. He attempted to spring back to his feet, only to feel a boot catch him in the ribs. He coughed as he gasped for air, spinning onto his back. It was only a warning in the back of his mind from Valerys that allowed Calen to sling his sword up into the air in time to stop Gaeleron’s downstroke.
What if I hadn’t stopped that?
Calen rolled to his side, then bounded to his feet. Without time to take a breath, he was back-stepping again. Gaeleron probed his defences. In the middle of a forward step, the elf lunged. Another warning from Valerys allowed Calen to deflect the blow downward. He slid his sword up and caught Gaeleron on the chin with its hilt. The elf looked jarred.
Everybody was watching them now. Even Therin cast a sideways eye as he feigned disinterest. Dann was perched atop a large stone, an excited grin on his face. Calen certainly didn’t feel as confident as Dann looked.
Gaeleron recovered from that surprise blow and redoubled his barrage. His sword flashed, far too quick for Calen. The empty feeling in Calen’s hand was shortly followed by a metallic ringing as his sword crashed against the stones at his feet. The tip of Gaeleron’s blade pressed against his neck.
The elf tilted his head curiously at Calen, as if measuring him, weighing him up. The blade did not move. Calen felt a slight sting as it pressed into his skin. He breathed a sigh of relief when the elf finally lowered the tip of the sword from his neck, sheathing it in one motion.
“From now on,” Gaeleron said, “you will spar with me. I will talk with Aeson. You can still practice your forms with him, but when it comes time to spar, it will be with me.”
Calen raised his eyebrows, not quite sure what to say.
Gaeleron must have read his mind. “If you are going to carry an elven blade at your hip, you will learn how to use it.” The elf did not wait for a response before returning to his seat by the fire.
“Don’t worry,” Dann said as Calen sat down beside him, grabbing his waterskin. “You’ll get him next time.” Calen wasn’t sure whether Dann’s wink was meant to be mocking or reassuring; it was almost certainly mocking.
As expected, it did not take Calen long to get to sleep. His lack of energy overrode the aches and pains that plagued his body. He wondered if that was what life was going to feel like from now on – constant pain followed by the loving embrace of dreams. He hoped his body would get used to all this training, eventually.
It was the chill that woke him. The hairs all over his body stood up as a shiver ran from his head to his toes. It seemed a darker night than usual. Even with the fire still spitting embers, Calen struggled to see more than two feet past his face. In his mind, he knew Valerys was still fast asleep at his side, a slight rumbling noise escaping his mouth as he dreamed.
Calen wasn’t quite sure what it was, but something wasn’t quite right. Slowly getting to his feet, he reached out to the Spark. He saw the elemental strands. Pulsing, twisting, forming the spiralling ball of energy that was the Spark. It radiated power. The warmth licked his skin as he drew on thin threads of Fire and Air, shrouding them in Spirit as Therin had taught him. He formed the baldír just in front of him, careful to control its glow. He didn’t want to wake everybody up.
He let out a sigh of frustration. No matter how much energy he pushed into the baldír, it didn’t get any brighter. It was as if everything he pushed into it was drawn into something else. It should have been bright enough to
light up the whole campsite, but it barely gave off a glow to rival a dying flame.
“Interesting…” hissed a voice, like nails dragged across stone. It did not seem to come from any one fixed place.
Calen almost leapt out of his skin. “Who’s there?” he whispered, a little louder than intended. The darkness pulled back, revealing the outline of someone standing only a few feet away, in the middle of the path they had come down that day.
“Who are you?” Calen whispered, stepping towards the figure.
As he got closer, he saw the silhouette of a black cloak adorned with pale blue spirals and shapes. A step closer and the man’s face came into view. It was as pale as the porcelain from Vaerleon, almost as white as Valerys’s scales, but as thin as the finest paper. Calen stopped in his tracks as it clicked into place. Set in the middle of the man’s sickly pale face were two bottomless wells of black.
The Fade!
Panic set in. Calen screamed at the top of his lungs. “Wake up! Therin! Aeson!”
His shouts were met with silence.
A wicked laugh echoed through the cavernous space. “They cannot hear you,” it cackled. “You must be very raw if you cannot detect the warding. Peculiar to find two so connected to the Spark in one place, both so unlearned.” The Fade paused, considering. “He talks about you, you know. Your friend. You left him. Left him to die.”
A knot formed in Calen’s stomach. “Rist? Where is he?”
A low, mocking laugh rumbled from the Fade’s throat. “I will make you a deal, boy. I do like deals. Those treacherous outlaws you travel with, the ones who got you wrapped up in this, the ones who caused the death of your family…” The Fade gave a twisted grin when he saw the pain on Calen’s face. Its thin, pale lips looked terrifying in the fading light. “Well, they have something I want. An egg. A large, scaled egg. If you bring it to me, I will release your friend.”
Valerys’s egg…
Calen was frozen on the spot. He didn’t know what to say. Even if he wanted to betray Aeson, Therin, everyone… He couldn’t. There was no more egg.
But Rist…
“I… I can’t do that. Please… please just let him go. He has done nothing to you.”
A flicker of irritation crossed the Fade’s face. It stepped closer to Calen. His pitch-black eyes were like caverns. “Bring it to me, boy. Now,” it hissed.
“I can’t!” said Calen, his voice rising. He stepped backwards.
The Fade wrapped him in threads of Air, fixing him in place. Everything in his body began to panic. He reached out to the Spark, but there was nothing. He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t see the strands. Panic set in. He was helpless.
The Fade stepped closer again. “Oh, You are quite strong. But you most certainly do have a lot to learn. I will take you with me once I find the egg. He will be pleased to have found two of you with this kind of strength.”
The Fade reached out to touch the side of Calen’s face. A piercing shriek sliced through the air. The creature clapped its hands to its ears, writhing in pain. Calen felt a fury rising as Valerys leapt into the space between him and the Fade. A sound halfway between a shriek and a roar cascaded from his mouth. The frills on the back of his neck stood at full height, with his wings spread as wide as they could go. Even at that size, the dragon looked ferocious.
“No!” hissed the Fade. His eyes flitted back and forth between Valerys and Calen. “You are bound…”
Calen shuddered at the sound of its voice, scratching at his ears. The Fade took another step back, hissing at Valerys. The dragon continued his shriek, baring rows of razor-sharp teeth.
“Your friend will suffer pain, the likes of which you could not conjure in your nightmares.” The black wells for eyes narrowed as he glared at Calen. “We will meet again.”
Calen felt the threads of Air holding him in place tighten, then he was launched through the air, crashing to the ground with a thump. Ignoring the new pain in his lower back, he leapt to his feet, immediately drawing threads of Fire into his hand.
The Fade was gone. Valerys still screeched into the night sky, but Calen knew it was gone. Something just felt different. And he could see properly again, almost blinding himself with the baldír before he extinguished it.
“Calen, what’s going on?”
Calen hadn’t noticed Therin stepping up beside him, his bow drawn and an arrow nocked. Everybody in the group was there. Valerys’s screeching must have woken them.
“Valerys, stop. It’s gone.”
Calen felt a rumble of disagreement from the dragon as it halted its screeching. A slight growl still emanated from its chest.
“Calen, what is gone?”
“The Fade,” Calen replied, allowing himself a breath of relief. “It was here. It came for Valerys’s egg.”
“It was here?” There was a hint of panic in Therin’s voice.
Aeson was suddenly standing at Calen’s side as well, framed by Erik and Dahlen.
“I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s okay. You’re all right, Valerys is all right, and it’s gone. To say you were lucky is an understatement. I just don’t know why it left so easily. I’ve not known a Fade to leave without what it came for.”
“Valerys!” said Aeson, an urgency in his voice. “Calen, did he see Valerys?”
Calen did not need to answer.
“We need to move, now. If he saw Valerys, then he knows the egg is hatched, which means Fane will soon know.” Aeson turned to the elves, who had already fanned out across the campsite, bows in hand. “We will need you to scout ahead and behind. Gather your things and begin as soon as you can.”
The elves nodded in response, flitting about as they gathered their sparse possessions into their satchels. The twins and Vaeril headed west to ensure the path up ahead was clear, while Gaeleron and Ellisar moved to make sure that nobody followed them. It took fifteen minutes for the rest of the group to be on the road. The sun would not replace the crescent moon in the sky for at least a few hours, but Aeson did not plan on waiting for it.
“We are to be in Belduar in three days. We rest only for sleep and to refill our waterskins. During the day, we will eat in our saddles.”
He did not wait for an acknowledgment. Instead, he snapped on his reins, and his bay broke into a trot.
Farda had just about gotten to sleep when the Fade’s voice scratched at his ears. “The egg has hatched.”
“Must you always come when I’m trying to sleep?” Farda let out a sigh as he sat up in the cot. If the egg had hatched, it would change everything.
The Fade stood at the opening to his tent. It had its back to him and was staring out at the camp, its black cloak draped around its shoulders.
The way the creature seemed to swallow the light irritated Farda.
“I come when I please,” it hissed, turning back into the tent. Even in the dim light, the creature’s cavernous black eyes were clear to see.
“What do you want?”
“I need soldiers.”
“For what?”
What Farda could only describe as a growl emanated from the Fade’s throat. “You were right.” The words left its mouth like chains dragged across stone. Farda couldn’t help but grin. They must be heading to Belduar.
“And what, may I ask, was I right about?”
“Enough games. I grow tired of them,” the Fade said, dropping into the chair opposite Farda’s cot.
Farda didn’t reply immediately. He reached over to the bowl of water at his feet, placed it on his lap, and then splashed its contents on to his face. “I thought you enjoy games?” he said, wiping the water up his face and through his hair.
The Fade didn’t reply. It simply stared at him. Its attenuated lips were drawn into a brittle line. Its near translucent fingers tapped on the arm of the chair.
“Okay,” Farda sighed. He needed sleep, and he’d had his fun. “I don’t have enough soldiers for you to take Belduar. The empire hasn’t been able to break thro
ugh its gates in four hundred years.”
“I don’t intend on taking the gates. I only need a thousand men.”
Farda raised a curious eyebrow.
The Fade’s thin lips pulled into a wicked grin that set an uneasy feeling into Farda’s stomach.
CHAPTER 27
Worlds Apart
Calen shook his head as he did his best to stay upright in the saddle. He stifled a yawn. His eyelids began to lose their fight against gravity. Ever since the Fade showed up that night, Aeson pushed them harder and harder to reach Belduar. They barely slept four hours a night, and every waking moment was spent in the saddle. Calen was certain that there were entire stretches of the journey where he was completely unconscious while riding his horse. How the horses kept up the pace was a mystery, although Calen suspected the Spark was involved. He had seen Vaeril and Therin tending to the horses each night before they ate.
Every part of his body ached. His back and his legs were stiff from all the riding, while his inner thighs felt like they had been stripped bare, and the muscles in his stomach burned with a fury. Over the last few weeks, his body had begun to get used to the pains of the saddle, but the last few days had taken that to a whole new level.
Even at Aeson’s new rapid pace, he still managed to find time for Calen to practice his sword forms. Calen also continued his lessons with Therin and sparred with Gaeleron each night. He was not sure what he had done to make Gaeleron hate him so much, but the elf seemed to take pleasure in leaving Calen to nurse new bruises and cuts. It was the only time Calen saw him smile.
“How’s the head?” Erik asked, yawning as he pulled his horse up alongside Calen’s. There were dark, drooping circles under Erik’s usually alert and vibrant eyes.
“Yeah,” Calen replied, twisting his mouth. He absently rubbed at the lump on the back of his head where he had taken a nasty blow from Gaeleron the night before. Even then, it throbbed. He felt a puff of annoyance from Valerys at the mention of Gaeleron’s name. A growl came from the young dragon’s chest as he padded along beside the horses. “I think it will feel better after a good night’s sleep.”