by N. M. Howell
“I told you, he’s not dead. We just need to get there as soon as we can.”
“Even if you’re right, he’s as good as dead. He’s been gone for weeks. All I’m trying to say is that we’re wasting valuable and limited resources on him and we don’t even fully understand what they can even do for him if we get there.”
“What they’re going to do is save him. They’ll put him back together, and between their magic and the power of his suit, we’ll save our greatest weapon. He’s our leader. And if there’s even the slightest chance that we can save him then it’s a chance worth taking. And we can always scavenge or take more supplies when we need them.”
“He wouldn’t want us to be this careless. We’re supposed to move every night, but we can’t do that and drag him around with us at the same time. So, we move every three nights and that puts the entire group in danger. They’ve got dragonborn, Council fighters, and who knows who else out looking for us. You really want to try to save a guy who could die from too much motion?”
“If you’re so sure he’s dead, then why don’t you just dump his body and be done with it? But if you’re wrong and he does wake up, and he finds out you tried to ditch him, do you think I’m going to stick up for you?”
The other man shut his mouth and looked around himself peevishly. The entire battalion was watching.
“Now, I think you’ll agree that it’s best to give him a chance. Even if his body is broken and his breath has left him, we saw what their strange magic did to the people of Noelle. It’s not impossible to bring someone back from the dead. We need to get him up north where the forces are, or else we have no hope of defeating them and taking back the world. We’re done talking about this. Everybody listen up. Get your gear together and let’s get on with it. We have a long journey ahead of us if we’re going to make it north and have any hope of defeating these damn barbarians and their dragons. I need three guys to help me carry the bed.”
“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe we’re risking our lives dragging his dead body with us.”
“He’s not dead, I tell ya. Even if his body is, we’ll bring him back. We have to. Without him—without our greatest weapon—we have no chance at destroying those beasts once and for all. We have to try.”
“I still think we’re wasting our time. That suit can only do so much, and his body is barely in one piece. He’s gone. We’ve lost. It’s done. The bloody dragonborn have won.”
“Shut up and lift the damn bed. Alright everybody, move.”
As the group moved onward in the darkness, the form lay wrapped tightly in bandages, his suit barely clinging to what was left of his body. The battalion marched in silence, the echo of their footsteps the only sound in the dark night. On and on they marched, barely stopping to regain their breath and fill their water canisters.
Throughout the entire night, the men pressed on, determined to get their one final weapon to safety. They would bring Ashur’s destroyed body to their allies in the north. Their hopes had faded, but not necessarily lost. If they could only make it in time to have him brought back, they had a chance. If anything, they could salvage the suit and create a new weapon, perhaps, although most had already given up that hope.
But as they marched, a shadow stirred. Under the tightly-wrapped linens, the power from the suit reached Ashur’s very core. His heart began to beat again, and the silence of the night was pierced with his scream.
Their weapon was alive.
Called by Dragon’s Song
Prologue
Six joyful yet trying months had passed since Chancellor Myamar Mharú and his enhanced battalion nearly wiped out Arvall. The city had since been in a state of complete overhaul after learning the truth about the dragonborn and slowly welcoming them. Elections were held and new leaders and officials put in office all over the region. Trials had taken place daily, resulting in a wide range of sentences and revealing just how evil and cruel the University had truly been.
The destruction to the city was unimaginable, and the escaped members of the Chancellor’s battalion periodically set off bombs around the city to inspire fear. But things were slowly beginning to improve. Delegations comprised of both Arvall citizens and dragonborn ambassadors were sent out on regular diplomatic assignments to spread the truth about the dragonborn and win people to the cause. Arvall had spent millions of dollars in promoting tourism, inviting people to the city and the region to experience firsthand the magic and kindness of the dragonborn. Though some found it hard or impossible to stop a lifetime’s worth of hatred, many hearts were changing. Thousands of hearts were changing. Perhaps even more.
The University was soon to be reopened. Lymir and his entire staff worked tirelessly since their appointments. They were making every effort to make the University a welcoming place to both magical and nonmagical people. New courses and professors were added, and while they’ve ensured that the University’s cruelty will never be forgotten and that future generations will always be taught about the atrocities that the University committed, all courses propagating hate of the dragonborn and dragons were removed. The damage to the building was repaired and the halls were alive with excitement and comradery. The hideous murals celebrating the bloodbath of the dragonborn slaughter had been removed and a new mural celebrating the feats and power of the dragonborn had been painted.
Most promising of all was the integration of the dragonborn into modern society. Since the revelation of the University’s lies, the citizens of Arvall had gone out of their way to make the dragonborn feel safe and welcome. Though the home of the dragonborn was still in the Hot Salts of Mithraldia, they frequently came down and sojourned among the citizens to learn and grow. Many dragonborn live temporarily in the caves along Brie Mountain. The citizens have also learned a tremendous amount of knowledge and wisdom from the dragonborn. There had been skirmishes when visitors balked at the idea of the dragonborn coexisting in the modern world; several small factions from other parts of Noelle had come to Arvall City to attack or otherwise provoke the dragonborn and prove that they truly are evil. Yet, for the first time in nearly a thousand years, dragons and dragonborn lived among everyone else and could do so freely. Happily.
It was widely known as “The Great Peace,” the first time in the history of Noelle that so many cities and regions have ceased competition and came under one banner of understanding.
Chapter One
A battalion soldier held him under either arm as Ashur took his first steps since that fateful night six months prior. He grew furious with each step, knowing that the soldiers at his sides were doing most of the work, but he could barely hold his own head. His legs felt like lead weights and the pain was indescribable. He only had the strength not to scream; the last thing he could afford was to look even weaker. The battalion was incredibly loyal to him, but he didn’t want to test that. It had already been months since they’d had a decent meal, shelter fit for human beings, and even longer since they’d been able to lead normal lives.
“Great work, my leader,” a soldier said. “You’ll be doing this unaided soon.”
“Yes, very admirable, my leader,” said another.
Their praise made Ashur angrier because he knew they were lying. He shoved them both off and fell to the ground. They tried to pick him up, but he held up his hand to stop them. Then he began the slow process of standing up, which he hadn’t done in months. The pain was agonizing and his head ached so much he thought it might split. His arms and legs shook under the strain of trying to raise himself and already he sweated heavily. But, one thing he could not allow himself to do was quit. He focused his mind, drawing a picture to himself of his goal, his most desperate desire. He let that picture fuel his body. He pushed himself up and with a final furious heave, he stood on his legs by his own power.
“Incredible!” someone said. “The doc said he wouldn’t be able to stand on his own for weeks!”
“No doctor has a clue what our leader is capable of,” sai
d Lucas. “He is the future.”
The battalion saluted Ashur as he trembled on his feet. He felt some small amount of pride return to him as he balanced there, thinking that this weakened state was not him, but Tarven. It reminded him of who and what he used to be. But he focused again, envisioning the picture in his mind that had driven him since he first opened his eyes on the operating table. A field covered in the bloody corpses of the dragonborn, Andie Rogers’ head in his hand.
Andie stood in the May Cave, high in the mountains in the Hot Salts of Mithraldia. The day of the ceremony finally arrived and she was more nervous than she thought she’d be. She lived among her own people for a while, but still felt like an outsider. They had welcomed her with open arms, but their experiences had been so different she still found it hard to relate to them sometimes. That aside, she felt more at home than ever. She opened herself to every aspect of their way of life and she learned and grew so much among them. On this day they honored her, again, for her actions the night of the confrontation in Arvall, which most of Noelle now called the “Night of Revelation.” All she knew about the ceremony was that the dragonborn presented her with a very great, very precious gift. Apparently, it was extremely rare and an honor of the highest degree. As Andie stood, waiting, she saw Saeryn coming toward her.
“Saeryn,” Andie called, giving a low bow.
“Princess Andie,” Saeryn responded with a smile.
They hugged and Saeryn led Andie through the crowd, toward the center of the cave where a dais had been set up.
“I’m sure you must have a lot of questions,” Saeryn said.
“I always have questions about everything the dragonborn do, but what I’m really wondering is why I’m being honored... again.”
“I know it must seem a bit... overzealous of us, but you quite literally saved our lives, Andie. Again. There’s no amount of gifts or honors or ceremonies that could repay that debt, though I assure you this is the last. At least until you save our lives again. The dragonborn are a respectful and thankful people. Admittedly, we do tend to overexert ourselves in our gratefulness. But I want you to know that no matter how uncomfortable you feel and no matter what you may think of the ceremony or your own worth, you have earned this honor. It is rightfully yours and you should embrace it.”
“I’ll do my best. To be honest, I wish I could honor you and our people. You’re telling me about unpayable debts, but you and the dragonborn have finally given me a home, finally made me feel like I belong. For years I lived in fear, in a world that hated me and would have executed me if they knew what I was. When you and our people came, you saved me. So as far as incredible debts go, I think we’re even.”
The two of them arrived at the dais just as the elders did. All around them were the dragonborn who gathered with smiles of joy to see their princess honored. Many had come back from Arvall just for this occasion. A buzz of expectation and low chatter hung over the setting. While she waited, Andie glanced around the cave.
When a person heard of the dragonborn living in a cave, their first reaction is bafflement. No one understood how a people as powerful and beautiful as the dragonborn could allow themselves to live in caves. But the caves were just the beginning. Not only do the dragonborn spend countless hours making perfect networks of tunnels, they also improved the caves; it wasn’t quite decorating, but a dragonborn cave was no dank, dark cubby.
The dragonborn used their magic and traditions to smooth and shape the walls, level the floors, and purify the air. They spent countless days casting spells against cold, sickness, insects, weak foundation, and more. The dragonborn were also gifted craftsmen and artisans, and could make the most beautiful fixtures, ornaments, and furniture. One of the greatest tools they had was the fire of their dragons. They brought the dragons into the caves and had them breathe fire against the walls while they cast magic at the same time. They called it “waking,” literally bringing the cave to life. Waking left the cave walls pearlescent and color-changing. The first time Andie saw it she nearly cried from the beauty.
The May Cave was the central cave, the largest and highest in the network, and the only cave that could hold all of the dragonborn at once. It was used for ceremonies, meetings, and other important events. Andie gazed at its shimmering walls and perfectly smooth surfaces. Its absolutely clear air and the brilliant, yet soft light that emanated from the walls. It seemed a crime to call it a cave.
“I believe we’re all here,” Saeryn said. “Perhaps we should get started.”
Silence followed her voice as if she had released a command. Every eye looked up at the Queen, who looked as beautiful and regal as ever. Saeryn turned to Andie and gestured for her to join her at the front of the dais. Andie went over, nervous. A vigorous applause sounded as she took her place beside the Queen.
“We have gathered this afternoon to pay homage, yet again, to our princess and hero, Andryne Rogers. She’s lived among us for a while now and I believe I speak for every soul here when I say we are proud and humbled to have her. Today the elders and I would like to bestow a gift, one of the rarest and most powerful we could ever give. This is one of our most sacred and heartfelt gifts. Elders, if you will.”
The elders moved forward, carrying a chest between them. Regardless of their age, they seemed to handle the large chest with minimal effort. They sat it down beside the feet of the Queen and opened it. They lifted the gift out and held it. Andie couldn’t take her eyes off it. A collective gasp made its way through the cave.
“Yes, it is quite extraordinary, if I do say so myself. Such beauty.” Saeryn’s voice echoed through the cave, overwhelming the silence that fell upon the room. “This is the Aethrailaer. Armor that has not been seen or made in many centuries. This kind of armor is made by taking a few scales from every living dragon and combining them on a gold and iron frame. Only scales that have naturally fallen can be used. As you can imagine, in the old times all the dragons were hardly ever in the same place and scales disintegrate so easily if they are not quickly preserved. We started on this as soon as we landed in the Hot Salts after leaving the portal and now it’s finally ready. Andryne, this is from all of us.”
The elders presented the armor to Andie. She reached out to take it, her face a reflection of pure awe and joy. It was heavier than it looked. The scales had been tightly, seamlessly woven together over a golden frame. It was clearly magical craftmanship, unlike anything Andie had ever seen. The gold frame had been enchanted and was not only flexible, but also shimmered in response to Andie’s touch. The scales themselves were the same beautiful, iridescent sheen as when they were on the dragons’ backs. The working and design of the armor was flawless, the most exquisite she’d ever seen.
“Thank you for this,” Andie whispered through a clenched throat. She was speechless. Tears threatened to spill from her lids as she stared down at the remarkable beauty of the armor. It took her a long moment to collect her thoughts enough to speak. “I know you all want to congratulate me and praise me for bringing peace to our world. And maybe I did. But I owe you just as much, and I plan to repay that debt by being worthy of this armor and never failing you. It’ll be a dark day if I ever need this, but it’s a beautiful and peerless gift. I’m going to display it near my office at the University. Thank you.”
Everyone applauded. Andie did, too. She had never felt prouder. Saeryn hugged her again and then each of the ten elders shook her hand.
“Alright, everyone. I promised Andie this would be a brief, yet sincere ceremony and I believe we’ve thanked her enough for today. Thank you all for coming out and please go in peace.”
The dragonborn gave their last smiles to Andie and drifted out of the room. The elders offered her some encouraging words and they left, too. Andie and Saeryn turned and descended the dais, heading into the tunnel that led out high onto the west side of the mountain. They came out into the open air. Dragons swooped above them and below was a field of clouds hiding the raging storms that ceaselessly p
lagued the region.
“Now that we’re alone, we need to talk about Arvall,” Andie said. “I just got another letter from Marcus. He said ‘Fhealltóir Fola’ is beginning to show up a lot more around the city and its outlying districts. The more they look into it, the less sure they are about who’s really setting off these bombs. It might be the battalion or it might be the ancient enemy of our people. The Beautiful Dead. I think it’s safe to assume that they’re still around and still angry.”
“Yes, it seems that for all our kindness and patient ways, we dragonborn cannot help making the worst enemies imaginable. Make no mistake, though the name of this group may sound attractive, there is nothing gentle in their methods. They are a darker enemy than anyone should have to face.”
“Why do they call you blood traitors?”
“We share a common ancestor.”
“Another ancient people?”
“Dragons. You see the University became so obsessed with rewriting history in order to eradicate our people that they left out the other half of our origin story. A second group of people were descended from the great dragons. The Beautiful Dead are actually somewhat older than us. When their people came into existence, they had no magic. They were incredibly strong, fast, agile. They had heightened senses and hunting abilities. While we obtained our magic from the dragons, the Beautiful Dead acquired physical attributes. They are absolutely lethal.
“Then the dragonborn came along and were given the gift of magic. This drove our older brothers insane with jealousy. They didn’t just want physical abilities, they wanted the power to cast spells as well. It wasn’t long before they discovered that by drinking our blood they could obtain our magic. The Beautiful Dead are aggressive and belligerent by nature, and we knew that if they ever obtained our power there would be no stopping them. They would consume the world. So, we fought them. For centuries. It wasn’t until my great grandfather came along that we finally defeated them. He was a powerful sorcerer and he devised a spell that would bind their blood, so that even if they drank from us they would never obtain our magic. And that spell is never-ending so long as the corresponding bloodline in our people is protected.”