by Ryan Cahill
“Okay, be off with you all. We have preparations to make and only an hour to do so.”
As the group were saying their goodbyes, Calen felt a hand drop down on his shoulder. He turned to see Asius looking down at him.
“Calen, it would warm my heart if I could meet the one who shares your life.”
It took a moment for Calen to remember that was how the Jotnar referred to the dragons. “Of course, Asius. To warm your heart would be my honour.”
Asius seemed to know his way around the city far better than Calen did, which was a relief. Calen did not have a doubt in his mind that he would have gotten completely lost on his own. It didn’t take long for them to make their way through the maze-like corridors of the Inner Circle, to the courtyard where Valerys lay sleeping on the smooth stone ground, the warm sunlight shimmering off his scales – it appeared the earlier flight had taken a lot out of him.
“He is beautiful,” Asius said, dropping to one knee beside Valerys, a slight tremble in his voice. The giant didn’t move as Valerys’s eyelids peeled open, revealing a pair of pale lavender eyes.
“Asius, son of Thalm. Meet Valerys.” Calen felt a rumble of recognition from Valerys as the dragon lifted its head and extended it towards Asius’s now outstretched hand. Asius’s pale, whiteish-blue hand hovered just inches from Valerys’s scales, as though he feared they might burn him.
“Asius, are you okay?”
A single tear rolled down the giant's face as he ran his hand along the scales on Valerys’s head. Calen didn’t know what to do. He felt like he was intruding on an intensely personal moment. Asius turned his head towards Calen. The giant took in a deep breath before speaking, allowing the tear to roll freely down his cheek. “Four hundred years, we have waited. My people have been hunted to the edge of extinction. Senas and Larion are all I have left. I have not seen others of my kind in that time. It is safer for us to stay hidden.” Asius ran his hand back along Valerys’s scaled neck, then stood to his full height, his massive frame making Calen feel as though he were a child.
Taking a deep sigh, Asius stretched out his hand and grasped Calen’s forearm. “Thank you, Calen Bryer, son of Vars Bryer. And thank you, Valerys, son of Valacia. For giving me the gift of hope. It is with honour that I stand beside the Draleid once more.”
Shards of ceramic sprayed around the room in a crash as Dahlen flung the pot against the far wall. He slammed his two fists down onto the writing desk with enough force to leave two shallow indents in the soft wood.
He tried to slow his breathing. He took deep breaths in, holding them and allowing them to release slowly.
“Fuck!”
He swept his hand across the table, sending its contents crashing to the ground. He stood in the middle of the room, his chest heaving. He and Erik had dedicated every waking moment to his father’s cause. Given everything. And Calen had simply fallen into their path and taken what should have been his. He should be by his father’s side, going to Durakdur. He had fought for that right. He had bled for it.
Dahlen collapsed onto the bed. He rested his elbows on his knees, running his hands back up through his hair.
CHAPTER 30
Pawn in a Game
Dann wasn’t happy that he could not go with Calen to the dwarves. Not happy might have been a bit of an understatement; but at the least, he understood. Calen hadn’t seen much of him in the past few days either way. That tended to be the way when Dann was interested in a girl. Although, Dann might be better off chasing a wild goose than Alea or Lyrei. The two of them were more than a match for him, and they seemed to enjoy making him jump through hoops, which wasn’t altogether unenjoyable for Calen.
Vaeril and the other elves were a different story altogether.
“We made an oath, Draleid, to go with you wherever you may lead, to the void or beyond. You cannot ask us to disobey that oath.” Vaeril was usually a placid person. He and Calen had started to grow close, but Calen saw a touch of anger in his eyes. He knew by the tone in the elf’s voice that he would have to be careful with his words.
“Vaeril, I am not asking you to disobey your oath. You left your home and have followed me all the way to Belduar. You saved my life even before that. I am asking you to trust me.”
“Trust is earned, Draleid.” Ellisar was the one elf that Calen had spent little time around since they had arrived in Belduar. He spent a lot of time with Dahlen, practicing in the yard. That put an unconscious bad taste in Calen’s mouth, but what the elf said was not unfair.
“See that Aeson continues to spar with you while I am not there,” Gaeleron said. It was not a question.
“Draleid, you do understand that if harm were to come to you while you are with the dwarves, and we were not there to prevent it, that dishonour would follow us.” Alea was usually bright-eyed, with a bubbly personality to match her quirky smile. But in this, she was as stony-faced as Aeson.
Calen had made the mistake of thinking that they were worried about him, but it turned out all they were worried about was harming their honour. It stung. “Look, I am going. The dwarves have not invited you, and from what I have learned in Therin’s teachings –” Therin’s name drew a twist of contempt from more than one face, but none of them spoke, “– the dwarves are extremely selective about who they allow into their lands. You cannot come. I will make sure not to die so that your honour remains intact.”
Calen saw a touch of hurt on some of their faces as he stormed from the room. But he knew they were only hurt because they knew he had figured them out.
Therin had tried to explain the Wind Tunnels to Calen – unsuccessfully. All he remembered was that the dwarves built them a long time ago, and they allowed fast travel between the kingdoms of the Dwarven Freehold and Belduar. “Conal, have you used the Wind Tunnels before?”
The look of confusion on the boy’s face told Calen that he should already know the answer, but Conal was quite polite. “No, m’lord. I’ve seen ‘em lots, but I’ve never used ‘em before. Not a lot o’ people travel to the dwarven kingdoms, m’lord, and the dwarves never come up ‘ere. They say that they helped our ancestors build this place, but I ain’t never seen ‘em.”
Calen still hadn’t gotten the boy to stop calling him a lord. He had tried, but Conal was insistent. Calen found it uncomfortable. Most people didn’t notice. Dann usually just laughed. “Ooh, m’lord! Can I fetch you some tea, m’lord?”
“’Ere we are, m’lord. The Wind Tunnels.”
“Thank you, Conal…” Calen’s voice trailed off. In front of him was a massive courtyard, which seemed as though it had been hollowed out of the mountain. The ceiling was part of the mountain itself and stood about two hundred feet above the smooth flagstone floor. Six passageways, framed by buildings on either side, cut through the main city of Belduar, acting as entrances to the Wind Tunnels. It was through one of these passageways that Calen had emerged into the courtyard.
At the opposite side of the courtyard, there were five enormous perfect circles cut into the side of the rock face. Each was easily forty feet across, fronted by a stone landing with a set of stairs at the side. Even from where he stood, Calen could tell that each circular entrance was connected to tunnels that dove into the depths of the mountain.
The others were already waiting for him on the landing that fronted the first tunnel. Therin and Ihvon were there as well, along with a handful of the Kingsguard, in their burnished armour and heavy purple cloaks.
“Come on, Valerys. They’re waiting,” Calen said as he made his way over to the landing.
Valerys ambled along beside him. The dragon’s head pricked up in the air, tilted a little sideways. It was as if he were pressing his ear to the wind, like he heard something that Calen couldn’t. When Calen listened, he heard a low whistling sound, like when he held the seashells he found on the coast at Milltown to his ear. It was soothing. In a way, it felt like home.
Calen reached the top of the stairs and stepped out onto the landing. N
estled inside the entrance of the tunnel was some kind of machine with three massive golden rings tucked inside each other. The outermost ring was pressed up against the wall of the tunnel, with a series of enormous ball bearings embedded along its outer rim. In the very centre of the concentric rings was a circular platform made of the same golden metal, framed with low metal walls. The platform had an open space at the centre, while the outer areas had seats fixed onto its base.
Calen could have spent years gazing at it without ever understanding a single thing about it. He had never seen anything like it in his life.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Arthur seemed to glide across the stone towards Calen, such was the languid confidence with which the man moved. “The dwarves call them Wind Runners. The dwarves are capable of all sorts of mechanical wonders, Calen… but these… there is nothing like these anywhere else in the known world. I’m excited to see how you find the ride.”
An uneasy lump formed in Calen’s stomach. The thought of being inside that thing while it moved made his knees go weak.
Arthur must have noticed the change in expression on his face. A laugh crept into his voice. “Come on, we’re setting off in a few. I will introduce you to the navigator.” He patted Calen on the back, directing him towards the rest of the group. “Calen Bryer, let me introduce you to Falmin Tain, navigator of the Crested Wave and member of the Wind Runners Guild.”
The navigator was a wiry man with black hair slicked back over his head. He wore a simple cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows and thick cotton trousers tucked into rugged leather boots. He had a strange set of glasses strapped around the top of his head; their lenses were dark, almost black, and they shimmered in an array of colours when the light hit them. A sheet of copper was melded into the frames, covered at the end with padded leather. It was held on his head with a strap of leather that had a buckle for tightening. They were strange indeed.
“‘Tis a pleasure, Mister Bryer,” Falmin said, shaking Calen’s hand. “And to you…” he said, turning his attention towards Valerys, who half-bared his teeth in a snarl. “S’long as you don’t take me arm off, you’ll be the first dragon to ever ride a Wind Runner. Good thing you’re small. They didn’t make ‘em with dragons in mind!”
The man had a sort of endearing arrogance about him that Calen couldn’t help but admire.
“If y’all will excuse me, I’m gonna make sure that this little lady here is good to go.” Falmin didn’t wait for any replies. He headed across a rope bridge connected from the landing to the platform of the Crested Wave.
“All set?” Therin asked.
Calen nodded wordlessly.
“Good. Dann didn’t mind being left alone then, I take it?” Therin gave a wry smile that implied he already knew the answer.
Calen sighed. “No, he understood. The elves, however… they are not particularly happy with me.”
Therin never showed the same contempt towards the Aravell elves that they showed towards him. Instead, there was a twinge of regret in his voice whenever he spoke of them. “They swore an oath of protection, Calen. I know we haven’t talked too much on elven culture yet, but honour… honour is everything to an elf. Without it, we have no trust. How can you trust someone without honour? It tells others who you are.”
Calen couldn’t help but let a trickle of indignation find his words. “That much I understood. Their honour was all they talked about. What is the point in taking an oath to protect me if they won’t even listen to me?”
Calen thought he saw disappointment in Therin’s eyes. The elf let out a sigh, resting his hand on Calen’s shoulder. “Calen, they swore an oath to protect you, not to obey you. Not only that, but they volunteered to swear that oath. They chose to abandon their home and everything they knew in the Aravell to follow you. They have shown their honour. Now you must show them yours.”
Calen found himself searching for something on the ground to trap his gaze. He felt like an idiot.
“Come,” Therin said. “The day we stop learning is the day we will be consumed by what we do not know. Do not dally. I have only journeyed on a Wind Runner once before. It is quite an experience.”
Therin gave Calen a little push, aiming him towards the rope bridge where Oleg waited for him. The others had already made their way across to the platform of the Crested Wave.
“And Calen,” Therin called, “the dwarves are stubborn. They are proud, and their tongues can be sharp, but they have always been loyal to the Draleid and to The Order. They are going to test you, but remember, it is not just you who has to prove yourself to them. They have to prove themselves to you. You are a Draleid now. Don’t forget that.”
Calen allowed himself a brief smile. I am a Draleid. He couldn’t help but look down at Valerys, who waited restlessly by his side.
He felt the dragon’s impatience scratching at him. It was his own impatience. Even when they were apart, Calen felt the dragon. His anger. His hunger. Everything. With each day, the bond between them grew stronger – It was getting increasingly difficult to separate his own emotions from Valerys’s.
“I will see you when I’m back, Therin. Thank you.”
The elf simply nodded, taking his leave of the landing.
“Master Bryer, if you are ready, we are about to set off.” Oleg stood at the edge of the landing, beside the rope bridge, a quirky smile on his face.
“Yes, of course. Sorry.” Calen stepped past Oleg and onto the rope bridge. He swallowed a shout and clutched onto the ropes for fear of his life as the bridge swayed unexpectedly under his weight. He snapped his head up to the air as he felt a mocking rumble from Valerys, who glided overhead, then swooped down onto the platform of the Crested Wave. Calen picked up his pace so as to not spend any longer on the bridge than he had to. “They can build a machine like this, but they can’t build a proper bridge?”
Calen looked up from his ranting to see everybody on the platform staring at him. Arthur smirked, while Falmin was outright laughing.
“Quite right, Mister Bryer,” the navigator cackled. “I do say it all the time. We often forget the little details, so we do.” Calen wasn’t sure if the man was mocking him. He didn’t think he was, but it was hard to tell. His tone seemed to always hold an undercurrent of sarcasm.
“If it helps at all,” Oleg panted, wiping the sweat from his brow as he leapt onto the platform, “I travel on these things more than I do horses, and I’m terrified every time. Both, of the Wind Runners and the bridges.” The emissary’s belly swelled out a bit farther as he let out a sigh of relief, dropping himself into one of the seats that was fastened to the platform.
“I see Valerys has found his wings,” Aeson said, as Calen took a seat beside him. “It’s a beautiful thing – to see a dragon fly.”
Calen turned to look at Valerys, who padded over towards him, his claws clicking on the metal platform. “It was… incredible. I—”
“Okay, okay,” Falmin called, who stood at the front of the circular platform, half-swinging off a crossbar that swooped down from the first inner ring. “If e’rybody can please take a seat, make sure to fasten the buckle as tightly as you can, and we’ll all have a good old trip. If you feel like vomiting, please aim down.” Falmin paused, turning his attention to Asius, who didn’t fit in any of the seats. “You might just have to hold on to something…”
The man’s ear-to-ear grin was less than comforting, but it didn’t bother Asius, who simply nodded and held onto one of the nearby railings.
Falmin’s eyes moved over to Valerys, who was curled up on the ground to the side of Calen’s feet. He raised his fist to his taut lips. “You… yeah… I’m not quite sure what you can do with ‘im. Does he ‘ave a leash?” Valerys lifted his head, pulling his lips back in a slight snarl. A deep growl resonated from his chest. “Okay. No leash. Understood. Maybe just hold on to ‘im.”
Calen heard Arthur laughing as Valerys dropped his head back onto the ground, and he couldn’t help but
join him.
Falmin pulled his odd glasses down over his eyes. The copper sheet on the side of the lenses fit neatly around his cheeks and nose. He exhaled, cracking his neck from side to side, and turned to face the inner section of the tunnel. Calen felt that tickle at the back of his mind that he had come to know meant somebody near him was drawing from the Spark. He sat up in his seat, his eyes fixed on Falmin.
The man raised his hands slowly, his palms facing upward. Calen could almost see it. The threads of Air weaved their way around, moving in a hundred directions, encasing the entire machine in a sphere of wind. A metallic creaking noise shuddered through the platform as the rings swung into motion. The Crested Wave began to move as the rings spun around the platform in alternate directions, faster and faster, until they were almost a blur. Only the inner ring seemed to remain stationary. Calen felt the platform shaking, vibrating ferociously.
Then they were gone, shooting through the tunnel at speeds Calen did not even know were possible. The walls of the tunnel never changed, so their speed was hard to gauge. The rotating rings caused an almost constant haze, blurring anything outside the platform. But when Calen looked back, he saw the dim light of the tunnel mouth, shrinking at a jaw-dropping rate, until it was nothing but a speck.
Calen turned to Aeson, who was seated beside him, the belt buckle fastened tightly across his chest. Something seemed odd, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Aeson turned to find Calen’s eyes narrowed, staring at him. He raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
“There is something…” muttered Calen “Something… Your hair!”
Aeson’s brow furrowed. “What about my hair?”
“It’s not moving! Even when you ride a horse, the wind blows at your hair, yet now, there is not even a ripple. What… what is he doing?”
Aeson followed Calen’s eyes to Falmin, who stood at the front of the platform, his knees slightly bent, his arms spread out wide. Calen felt a drop of irritation when he noticed the smirk on Aeson’s face. His face was usually so impassive that a smirk seemed even more mocking than it would on another man.