Chasing Rumours

"Good. Deflect the blow, don't take the weight of it," Coren called, her voice muffled by the drumming in Ella's ears as she shuffled her feet, trying her best to turn Tanner's blows away, which, even with him still recovering from his injuries, was no easy feat.

Ella still wasn't used to the full suit of armour Coren insisted she wear when they did their morning treks to the peak. It was heavy and barely allowed for any movement. It felt like moving inside an oven. Sweat slicked Ella's body, soaking through the shirt and trousers she wore beneath the armour, coating her brow and stinging her eyes. She was in better condition than she'd been the first few times Coren had brought Tanner up with them to spar, but not by much.

Tanner moved in, swinging his blunted practice blade to Ella's left. The force of his swing shook her arms, but she held tight. Then in a blur of motion, he twisted his wrist and forced Ella's sword down, her wrists giving way. Ella heard Tanner's heavy breaths as his sword rested against the mail that covered her neck.

Faenir snarled, rising to a position somewhere between sitting and standing, his nose crinkling, hackles rising. Ella shook her head, and Faenir sat down, rolling onto his side, tongue hanging out as though nothing had happened.

"You're getting better every day," Tanner said, pulling the sword away from her neck and removing his helmet. Sweat rolled down Tanner's brow, dripping off the edge of his nose. A broad smile adorned his face, soft wrinkles creasing at the corners. Ella knew she would never get over the fact Tanner smiled with his eyes. Just like Rhett. Those creases at the corners of his eyes were all Ella needed to believe Tanner was Rhett's family.

"You just took my head off," Ella said, before removing her helmet and throwing her head back, blowing out a puff of air as the cold wind tickled her face. Above them, the sun blazed, bathing them in a heat that felt entirely unnatural to Ella for this time of year.

"I didn't say you were good. I just said you were better," Tanner said with a laugh, taking a waterskin from Coren, who also handed one to Ella. He sat on a rock beside Faenir, throwing the wolfpine a cursory glance. "You said your father trained you when you were younger?"

Ella nodded, taking a swig from the waterskin. "He used to train Calen and me in sword forms. I stopped practising as much when I got older, but I still kept it up."

Tanner nodded and rolled his head, eliciting cracks from his neck. "I never met your father. But my brother told me stories about him. Vars Bryer. Said he was a good man. One of the best with a sword he'd ever seen. Said he fought in the Varsund War."

Ella gave Tanner a weak smile, staring absently at a piece of cracked earth near the man's feet. She knew he was only trying to make her feel at home, but as she was, any thoughts of her parents cut straight at her heart. The wound was still fresh, and she had a feeling it always would be.

As though sensing Ella's discomfort, Faenir let out a rumble and stood. The wolfpine padded over to Ella, nuzzling the side of his face against her shoulder.

"He's gotten bigger," Coren said matter-of-factly, examining Faenir.

"A lot bigger." Tanner took another mouthful of water, then tilted his head to look at Faenir.

Ella took a step back from Faenir, much to the wolfpine's irritation. He was bigger. So much so that Ella couldn't believe she hadn't noticed. His chest had deepened, his shoulders and neck were wider, the muscles on his legs looked denser, and the crown of his head now rose over Ella's shoulders. When did that happen? Ella reached out and rested the palm of her hand against Faenir's right cheek, the coarse outer fur prickling her skin. The wolfpine let out a low whine and leaned his head into Ella's hand.

"Just as Galveer said." Coren folded her arms, a satisfied smile on her face.

Tanner raised a curious eyebrow, and Ella repeated what Coren had told her about the druid, Galveer, and his hawk, Kurak. About how some druids could bond with specific animals and how those animals in turn would become larger, stronger, and smarter.

"Makes sense," Tanner said with a shrug.

"Does it?"

"No." Tanner let out a deep laugh, spluttering as he choked on a mouthful of water. "But after the things I've seen, you learn to accept what doesn't make sense. I mean, I've seen dragons, and Coren here is a four-hundred-year-old elf."

"Fair point," Ella turned her bottom lip in a pout. "You don't look a day over three hundred though."

"Thank you." Ella could tell Coren was trying her best to keep a straight face but a chuckle crept through, curling the corners of her mouth into a smile. "Come, it's best we make our way back down. Juro and the scouts will have returned by now."

They found Farwen at the centre of Tarhelm's main plaza talking to two men. Ella recognised one of them — Juro, head of the Tarhelm scouts. He was a lithe man with a narrow jaw. His face was sharp and angular, and his dark, greasy hair hung just short of his shoulders. If Ella had run into him while travelling she would've hidden in a bush, but he seemed a decent man from the few interactions she'd had with him.

She didn't recognise the other man, though. He stood a head taller than Juro, with a flat nose, short black hair, and a thick beard that looked as though it had been carved with a chisel. He held himself like a warrior, back straight and shoulders square. He wore dark leather armour with a brown cloak.

"What news?" Coren asked as they drew closer.

Juro and the other man turned, casting a glance over Ella, Coren, Faenir, and Tanner. They both took a step backwards at the sight of Faenir but composed themselves quickly and nodded their welcomes before giving a slight bow to Coren.

"Juro's scouts have caught wind that the Lorian First Army has left Al'Nasla and is approaching Fort Harken. They'll be there in a few days. They've also got news that the Second Army has left Arginwatch and is heading towards Steeple."

Coren nodded, her face twisting into an unreadable expression. "Do we know where the First Army are headed after Fort Harken?"

"My scouts' guess is the Fourth Army is joining them and they're moving on to Steeple together," Juro said.

"Guess? We need more than guesses, Juro."

The man shrugged. "Guesses are all we have, Coren. The soldiers haven't been told much, only to march. The Lorians are keeping tight-lipped on this one."

"The letters," Ella blurted, then stopped as the others stared at her.

"What letters?" the flat-nosed man asked, his eyes narrowing.

Ella watched as the look of curiosity on Coren's face slowly shifted to understanding. "The communications we've been intercepting from the eastern cities."

"What of them?" Farwen asked.

Ella looked around the group. Each of them was staring at her expectantly. All of a sudden she wasn't sure if she should have said anything, but then she felt Faenir brush against her shoulder, a soft rumble in his chest. Fuck it. "They were all talking about attacks on the eastern cities. Of armies raiding. But one in particular was sent by a commander near Gildor — Giana… something?"

"Giana Karta?" Juro suggested, his hand cupping his chin, fingers pressing into his cheeks in thought.

"Yes! That's her. She sent the letter to her brother."

"Olivan," Juro chimed in.

Ella nodded.

"Can you please get to the point?" Flat Nose said with a sigh.

Faenir took a step forward, moving past Ella, and turned his head towards the man, nose crinkled, teeth bared and dripping with saliva. The rumble that previously held in the wolfpine's chest rose into his throat, sharpening to a growl. Faenir's hackles rose, the hairs on Ella's arms rising with them.

Flat Nose met Faenir's gaze, turning out his bottom lip. "Please, continue."

Ella glared at him. "Giana Karta wrote her brother, who was stationed in Arginwatch, asking for aid. She said they'd lost contact with Easterlock and Ravensgate and that their scouts had disappeared. She also said that there were stories of armies sweeping across the east, razing everything."

"Stories are no better than guesses, Ella," Coren said. "But either way. If we intercepted that letter, then it never reached Arginwatch as intended."

"It didn't, but Giana said she also sent letters to both Berona and Al'Nasla and who knows where else. If any of them got through, that could be exactly why the armies are moving and where they are going. But even if the letters never arrived, surely there would have been survivors from the attacks. Some of them must have reached this side of the pass."

"The empire wouldn't move three entire armies for stories." Tanner frowned. "What Ella says adds up. If the empire are mobilising three armies at the same time, and they are all meeting at Steeple, then that means whatever whispers are coming out of the east are more than just stories. And, from memory, there were six armies stationed on the eastern side of the pass. Three around Easterlock, one at Ravensgate, one at Gildor — Giana and the Sixth Army — and one at Khergan. Before I left Berona, the Twelfth Army was to be moved from Khergan and sent to watch over Berona's western border with the Lodhar Mountains. That would make Olivan's Second Army at Arginwatch the closest. The pieces fit. It looks like one of her letters got through."

"Agreed," Coren said, her brow furrowed. "Farwen?"

"A group of Juro's scouts didn't report back. They were stationed a few days ride from here, southwest of Elkenrim. Juro, Varik, and I can go see what happened to them, then while we're there, we'll move on to the main road past Elkenrim and wait for the Lorian armies. We'll follow them, see what we find, cause some havoc along the way."

"Sounds like a plan. Take twenty with you. Whoever you like and Ella."

Ella froze, a lump forming in her throat. "Me?"

Coren nodded. "There's only so many times I can drag you up and down that hill. And we don't have the years to train you slowly. Go with Farwen and the others. Use your head. Watch and learn. You'll learn more in the field than you ever will swinging a blunt sword."

"But… I…" Part of Ella wanted to go. She was quickly growing sick of waiting around, repeating the same tasks every day. One of the reasons she'd wanted to leave The Glade was to break free of the monotony. But this felt a little like running before she learned how to walk. And what if Coren heard back from Calen while Ella was gone?

"If Ella is going then I'm going with her." Tanner's expression was flat, his arms still folded. He met Coren with a cold stare that said he expected her to argue.

"No." Coren shook her head. "You still need to recover."

"I'm going. It wasn't a request."

"Tanner you shouldn't…" Ella let her words fade away as the man gave her a flat stare, a hardness in his eyes.

"Don't be an idiot, Tanner. You know you still have healing yet to do. I'm not a true healer. I can only do so much at a time. Besides, Yana will slit my throat when I sleep if I let you go like this."

"Let me go?" Tanner scoffed, raised an eyebrow. "I've given everything for this cause. I will go where I damn well please." He turned to Juro. "When are you heading out?"

Juro looked like a half-drunk teenager caught taking a piss in the middle of the street by his own mother. He gulped, glancing at Coren, then back to Tanner. "We…" Juro swallowed hard as Tanner shifted, his teeth visibly grinding. "We'll be leaving within the hour, I'd say."

"Come get me when you're saddling the horses. I'll deal with Yana." Tanner turned and stalked off towards the tunnel that led to the living quarters.

Ella stared after him, unsure of what to do or say. She'd be lying if she said she didn't want him to come. Tanner was one of the only people Ella actually trusted — Tanner and Yana. Farwen and Coren had treated her well, but Ella just couldn't bring herself to trust them entirely. There were a few others within Tarhelm who she'd spent time with. Juro had been kind to her, she supposed. And Ardle and Keela, two of Juro's scouts had made the point of joining Ella while she ate on one of her first nights, and they'd joined her every night since — when they weren't out on an assignment. But still, she didn't truly trust any of them. Only Tanner and Yana. But Tanner was in no shape to leave Tarhelm. Sure, he was able to best Ella in sparring, but that wasn't exactly an impressive feat.

Coren folded her arms and glared at Tanner's back as the man stepped into the tunnel on the other side of the chamber. If looks could kill, Tanner would have been lying in a pool of his own blood. Coren sucked her cheeks in, then let them out, turning to Ella. "Get your things ready. Some clothes, your sword, and your journal. Juro will sort you out with a blanket roll and general supplies. I'll come see you before you go."

With that, Coren turned and stormed off in the opposite direction to Tanner.

The rest stood in silence, men and women moving through the plaza around them, going about their daily tasks. In the heat of the argument Ella had forgotten they weren't alone.

"Well." Varik pursed his lips. "I guess I'll see you all at the northern gate in an hour."

When Varik left, Farwen turned to Ella, her usual serious expression on her face. "I'll come for you once I've everything arranged. Make sure you're ready."

Juro reached up and ran his hands through his greasy hair, his fingers carving thick furrows. He leaned his head back and let out a sigh. "Why am I always in the middle of these things?" The question was more posed to the world itself than to Ella. He looked across the chamber, then shook his head as though resigning himself to fate. "I'm going to get some rum. Something tells me I'm going to need it."

Ella sat on the cool stone floor of her chambers, Faenir splayed out in front her, his enormous head resting in her lap. A continuous rumble emanated from the wolfpine's throat as she scratched behind his left ear and under his chin. She still couldn't get over how big he'd gotten. He was more like a horse than a wolfpine. A horse with claws, razor-sharp teeth, and a diet that consisted purely of meat — which was a terrifying thought.

The longer Ella looked at Faenir, the more she felt his mind bleeding into hers. The lingering smell of smoke from the candle she had snuffed out grew sharper, mixing with the handful of lavender Ella had found just outside the eastern gate and now kept by her bedside. Judging by the sense of calm that washed over Faenir, the smell of lavender meant the same thing to him as it did to her — home. As Ella breathed in the smell, she could see herself standing outside her home in The Glade, her mam tending the garden, the vibrant purple of the lavender petals sticking out amongst the green.

"I can't believe they're gone," Ella whispered as she scratched Faenir. As soon as the words left her mouth, Faenir's head shot up, his ears pricked, eyes of molten amber fixed on hers. He let out a high-pitched whine and nuzzled his snout into Ella's hand. Loss, sympathy, kinships – all three bristled at the edge of Ella's consciousness, followed by images of Ella holding Faenir when he was only a pup, a feeling of comfort as he fell asleep in her arms. Memories followed the images, Freis feeding Faenir raw cuts of deer or rabbit before she cooked, even when food was scarce. Vars coming home from The Gilded Dragon after more than his fair share of meads and rolling around with Faenir on the kitchen floor.

Ella wrapped her arms around Faenir's thick neck and pulled the wolfpine close. He didn't shuffle or pull away, instead, he leaned in, letting out a low whimper. Ella tangled her fingers in Faenir's fur, pulling him tighter. Still, she didn't cry. She wanted to. She really and truly wanted to. Coils of grief twisted in her chest at the thought of her parents, her stomach twisting, but the tears didn't come. This had happened a number of times since Tanner had told Ella about her parents. The grief seemed to come in waves for both her and Faenir. One moment she was fine, having come home after spending the day practising and shadowing Coren, then a memory would slip into her mind and grief would consume her. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it would vanish. But no matter what, she couldn't find the tears to cry.

"I know you miss them too," Ella said, pressing her cheek against Faenir's before placing a kiss on the top of his furry head and standing, much to the wolfpine's dismay. Ella ruffled the top of Faenir's head, letting out a short laugh. "Sometimes you're like a puppy pretending to be a wolfpine, you know that?"

Faenir let out a whine, resting his head on his paws, his ears flattening.

"You're not helping your case." Ella gave Faenir a weak smile then set about double checking her pack. What did a person bring on a scouting mission? She'd packed an extra shirt and trousers, some smallclothes, a tin of brimlock sap, her coin purse — not that she thought she'd be needing it — and some other bits and pieces, including the journal Coren had given her.

Ella reached inside the pack and pulled out the journal, flicking through the pages. She'd tried 'Shifting' with Faenir every day since the first attempt, but it had never worked the way Coren had described. From what Coren had said, Ella should have been able to truly push herself inside Faenir's mind — see through his eyes, move his limbs. But that hadn't happened. She'd been able to feel his emotions, see images of what he saw, watch flashes of memory, but it hadn't felt anything like what Coren had said. Maybe I just don't have that gift? Or maybe I'm not a druid at all.

Ella stuffed the journal back into the bag and moved over to the chest by her bed where she'd stored everything she'd brought with her from home. She pulled out the long, brown, hooded cloak that lay folded at the top of the chest, then made to close the lid when her eyes fell on a cream dress with a maroon floral pattern worked into it. She hadn't worn that dress since Pirn — Rhett's eyes had always lit up when he'd seen her in it. Ella's jaw clenched reflexively, another touch of anger and guilt brushing against her mind from Faenir as the wolfpine felt her sadness.

A knock sounded at the door, and Coren stepped through, not waiting for Ella to answer. "Farwen and the others will be ready to go soon. I'll take you to them."

Ella's gaze lingered on the cream floral dress. She smiled, letting out a sigh as she closed the lid of the chest, turning to Coren.

The woman wore a sleeveless dark blue tunic, her black hair tied back with a string, and a stack of leathers in her hands that rose to her chin, a helmet at the top. "I brought you these," Coren said, smiling at Faenir as she crossed the room, laying the leathers on Ella's bed.

Ella ran her gaze across the pieces of armour, assessing the craftsmanship by force of habit — something her dad had drilled into her. The cuirass was made of boiled leather, connected by straps to articulated spaulders. A pair of vambraces lay next to a set of greaves, tassets, and a leather helmet.

The leatherwork looked top notch; definitely something even Tharn Pimm would be proud of. "Thank you," Ella said, tugging at the straps. "I'm not sure what to say."

Coren shrugged. "Well, I need you to protect yourself out there, and as good a training tool as that plate armour is, I don't think you'd last too long lugging it around in a fight. We can look at having some smaller segments of plate made for you when you get back, but for now this will let you move with a lot more freedom while still keeping you protected."

"I…" Ella ran her finger along the metal rim of the helmet.

"Come on. I'll help you put it on, then we need to get you to the northern gate. Best not keep them waiting."

"Are you fucking stupid?" Yana stood, the knuckles of her closed fists leaning on the wooden counter that sat in the middle of her and Tanner's quarters. Her coal-black hair fell in soft curls, a sleeveless tunic showing the lean muscles of her arms. She glared at Tanner with a fury that burned holes through him. But by the gods you're beautiful. "Absolutely not. Not a hope. Efialtír will grow daisies on his head before I let you walk out of here in this state."

Tanner smiled, motioning to move closer.

"If you take another fucking step, I'll cut your balls off and feed them to the pigs." Yana held up a hand, a finger pointed at Tanner in warning. "And wipe that damn smile off your face. You're not cuddling your way out of this one you handsome oaf. Where is she? I'll just kill the bitch and be done with it. Then you'll have no honour to go protecting."

Tanner let out a sigh, unable to keep himself from smiling. Yana's anger didn't scare him. She was fierce. That was part of why he loved her. In fact, he adored when she was angry. That burning look in her eyes, the way she stood, the way she clenched her jaw. She looked invincible. "It's not about honour, Yana. You know that."

Yana raised an eyebrow and let out a mocking laugh. "It's always about honour with you. All men are the same." Tanner reached forward, but Yana slapped his hands away. "Don't fucking touch me, Tanner. I'm not joking. I will not let you march out of here to throw your neck on the line for some stray girl you hardly know."

Tanner stepped closer, but Yana pushed him in the chest. He smiled again. She was half his size, but by the gods did she have strength in those arms. "My heart—"

"Don't you dare." Yana tilted her head to the side, her lip curling.

"Rhett is dead, Yana." Tanner let the sadness touch his smile. "My nephew is dead. I'm the one who asked them to go through Gisa. I put them on the merchant road. That girl out there is to him what you are to me. She is family, and I will not let her be alone here. I won't do it. I'm not going with her to protect my honour – I'm going with her because she needs me."

Yana stood there, motionless, staring at Tanner with an unreadable expression. Then she turned and stormed off towards the other side of the room.

"Yana, please." Tanner threw his arms out. "What are you doing?"

She snatched up a satchel from the ground, dropped it on a table, and undid the buckle. She didn't even turn her head as she began stuffing it with supplies: bandages, a tin of brimlock sap, needle and thread. "I'm coming with you, you fucking idiot."

Tanner let out a laugh and rushed across the room, wrapping his arms around Yana from the side. He pulled her in tight, resting the side of his head on the top of hers. "You are the fire in my heart."

Yana shuffled in Tanner's embrace, continuing to pack the satchel. "I'll fucking set you on fire if you don't let go of me."

Tanner laughed and brushed Yana's cheek with his hand, yelping when she bit his finger — not hard, but harder than he would have liked.

She tilted her head. "I warned you."

Tanner ignored her, touching his forehead against hers. "I would say I would die for you, but dying for you would do you no good. Yana Aleera, I will love you every second of every minute I draw breath. I will love you with my whole heart and nothing less." Tanner lifted Yana's chin and she kissed him.

After a moment, Yana pulled away shaking her head. "You really do talk too much, you know that? Now go and pack before I change my mind."

Tanner placed a kiss on Yana's forehead and turned to fetch his satchel from the bed chambers. By the time he'd reached the doorway, Yana called to him. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I love you too. Idiot."

Farda let out a sigh, his breath misting out in front of him and rising towards the night sky where the crescent moon sat, cold and pale. Dirt crunched beneath his boots as he walked through the Fourth Army's camp that sat atop the hill near the main gates of Fort Harken. The clinking sound of his coin rang out methodically as he flicked it into the air again and again, casting his gaze over the camp.

Tents and campfires were spread about the landscape, sparks and embers spitting into the night. The only sounds were those of the crackling fires, buzzing insects, whinnying horses, and the occasional hum of subdued chatter.

He passed a group of soldiers sitting around a fire, barely a word passing between them as they stared absently into the flames while chewing on slices of pork and bread sent from the fort.

The camp had been sombre since the battle only two weeks past. They'd lost a third of their number that day. Almost two thousand souls claimed by the Uraks before Lyina and the others had appeared. Just over three hundred injured, half of who would never fight again. If Lyina hadn't arrived, those numbers would have been far greater.

Farda truly was happy to set his eyes on Lyina and Karakes again. It had even been good to see Jormun, Voranur, and Ilkya, though their demeanours were far darker than Lyina's. Each Draleid who had sided with Eltoar and followed Fane had dealt with the centuries differently. Each faced their own struggles in coming to terms with what had happened that night in Ilnaen and in the years that followed.

Where Lyina had clung to her kin, searching for solace in the hearts of those she cared for, Jormun, Voranur, and Ilkya had leaned into the darkness, letting it drown them. Of the three, Voranur was closest to the person he once was, but still even he had grown cold and apathetic to the lives of others.

Eltoar had thrown himself into the preservation of the Draleid, all but consumed by trying to understand why the eggs had stopped hatching. He'd spent many years scouring Epheria, gathering every dragon egg he could find, doing all within his power to find a Draleid who could form a bond. But when days turned to weeks, turned to years, turned to a century, it became clear that the laws of probability had failed him; if the eggs were going to hatch, they would have done so.

After Aeson had killed Shinyara, Farda himself had contemplated taking his own life many a time just to be with her again, just to feel the touch of her mind. Sheer stubbornness was the only thing that had swayed his decision, that and a nagging feeling that there was still more for him to do — still something he was needed for before he could finally rest. Six hundred years was a long time. He would welcome the rest when it finally came.

Turning the corner around a red and cream canvas tent, he stifled a laugh at the thought of his title: Justicar. On paper it was a title of some renown. Justicar of the Imperial Battlemages. Mighty warriors, free from the tethers of The Circle to enact the emperor's will across the land as they saw fit. In truth, Justicar was simply the title given to a Dragonguard who had lost their soulkin and still retained the ability to fight. It was a meaningless platitude. Farda was nothing more than half a soul floating on the whims of fate.

Clink.

The coin rang as it flicked through the air, landing with a thud in Farda's open palm. He looked down, seeing a crown staring back at him from the surface of the tarnished gold coin. "Not yet, then."

As Farda continued to stroll through the camp, two figures emerged from behind a tent to his left, their faces obscured by shadow.

"Still not sleeping?" Commander Talvare said as she approached Farda, the warm glow of a nearby fire illuminating her weary face, the streaks of grey in her hair shimmering as they caught the light. General Guthrin Vandimire stood at her right, almost a head shorter than the commander, his beady eyes glaring at Farda, his thick moustache twitching. Three generals had fallen in the battle at Fort Harken; Farda had been upset to hear one of them wasn't Guthrin. Weasel of a man.Two soldiers in steel breastplates and black and red leathers stood on either side of Guthrin and Talvare, their backs straightening as they recognised Farda.

"Not in a few hundred years," Farda said with a half-smile. "And you?"

"I'm a grandmother. We never sleep. Don't have the hours to waste. Better spent checking these idiots aren't sleeping on watch. You and your Battlemages are ready to leave when the First Army arrives?"

Farda nodded. He'd lost thirty-seven mages in the battle, along with four Healers. "We'll be ready when we're needed, Commander Talvare, rest assured. I'll not keep you from your checks. Sleep well with the few hours you can spare." Farda flicked his coin as he moved off, snatching it out of the air and flicking it again.

"What in The Saviour's name are you doing with that coin?" Guthrin asked as Farda passed him. "I always see you playing with it like a child with a toy."

Farda stopped, clicking his tongue off the roof of his mouth. Clink. The coin dropped into his open palm. Crowns. Not today, then. Farda turned to Guthrin, putting in the most inauthentic smile he could muster. "It's for deciding whether you live or die."

Taking a moment to savour the look of pure horror on Guthrin's face and the sound of Talvare's laughter, Farda turned and continued on his way, flicking the coin into the air.

After a while, he found himself approaching the tent he'd always known he was walking towards: the Dragonguard command tent. It was set at the top of a slight rise, near the western edge of the camp. It stretched around fifty feet by fifty feet, its canopy as white as snow, ornamented with gold, a black flame emblazoned on each side. At the tent's peak, a rectangular flag that bore both the black lion of Loria and the flame of the Dragonguard flapped languidly in the breeze.

As Farda approached the tent, a shape shifted to his right, shadows bending, light reflecting off a mass of flowing scales that Farda had mistaken for a shadowed hill. The longer Farda looked, the clearer the tint of crimson at the edges of the scales became. A low rumble resonated from the shape, deep and powerful. The dragon lifted its enormous head from where it had been lying on the ground, its shifting ocean of black scales glinting in the moonlight. Eyelids pulled back, and Farda found himself staring into dark red, smouldering eyes bisected by black slits.

"Helios…"

Not bothering to lift himself to his full height, Helios extended his neck, moving his enormous head closer to Farda, horns as long as Farda's legs framing his face and jaws, scars cleaving through scales where centuries of battle had left their mark. In the darkness it was near impossible to see Helios's full size, but even before the fall of The Order, Helios had been the largest of all Epherian dragons. According to the historians, there were only three or four dragons in all recorded history that were said to have grown larger than Eltoar's soulkin. Helios was hundreds of feet from head to tail, his wings spreading twice that again. And even then as Farda stood before him, the dragon's chin scraped the ground at Farda's feet, the crest of his snout rising far above Farda's head. He could have walked into the dragon's mouth without bowing his head. Helios's rumble rose into his throat, mouth opening to show rows of snow-white teeth as long as swords, warm breath smelling of blood and ash.

Farda placed his hand on the tip of the dragon's snout. "Det er aldin na vëna dir, yíar'ydil. Du vier mæra mielír val dun dier del går." It is good to see you, old friend. You look more powerful with each day that passes.

Helios pressed back against Farda's hand, giving a rumble of recognition before returning his head to where it had previously lain. It was then Farda noticed the glint of more scales beside Helios, a shape two-thirds the size of the great black dragon, scales deep red. Karakes didn't lift his head, which lay still across Helios's tail.

Farda took a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness without the campfires to dull his night vision. He looked over the two dragons, and warmth wrapped around his melancholy heart. For as beautiful as the two magnificent creatures were, they were not Shinyara. They were not the fire of his heart, the best half of his soul. She was gone, waiting for him.

He could have stood there for hours watching over the dragons. Centuries ago he would not have gone a day without gazing upon skies filled with the beautiful creatures, but now it had been years since he'd laid eyes on a dragon that still drew breath. He could have spent more time with Eltoar, Lyina, and Pellenor; they would have welcomed it. But he had not been able to bring himself to face his own loss each and every day.

"Farda!"

Farda looked up to see Eltoar Daethana striding towards him from the command tent. The elf wore a black tunic with a pair of baggy trousers, his snow-white hair drifting behind him. Even dressed as he was, Eltoar looked every bit the warrior of old, his shoulders broad, his chest built like plate armour, his gait strong and confident. After four hundred years, he still very much looked like the First Sword of the Draleid.

A crack of light pierced through the tent's canopy behind Eltoar as Lyina emerged, dressed much the same as her commander, dark blonde hair tied up, lips curled in a smile. She nodded to Farda as she approached.

"Brother." Eltoar wrapped his arms around Farda, pulling him into an embrace that verged on breaking bones. He pulled back, then clasped his hands around Farda's head, pulling their foreheads together.

Farda placed his hands on top of Eltoar's. "It's good to see you, Eltoar. I wasn't aware you were here. Lyina told me you had gone to Dracaldryr to speak with Tivar."

Eltoar recoiled at that, pulling his hands away, his gaze turning to the ground momentarily. "I arrived a few hours gone. Lyina told me you were here. I was waiting until the morning to come find you. But I should have remembered you sleep as little as I do."

Farda gave Eltoar a weak smile. "Tivar?"

"She remains at the temple."

Farda nodded. That was what he'd expected. He hadn't seen Tivar in decades. Lyina and Karakes had flown him to the temple to speak with her some forty years ago, but she'd been so consumed in sorrow she'd barely spoken a word to him.

In the silence, Lyina stepped past Eltoar and hugged Farda, kissing him on the cheek.

"What is your plan, then?" Farda asked, looking to Eltoar.

"We will move east with the Fourth Army once the First Army arrives. Pellenor will join us shortly. What have you been told?"

Farda pouted, shrugging. "Not enough. All we know is that we've lost contact with the eastern cities, but survivors have been reported, only a handful, elderly and children. They've shown up in Berona, Steeple, and Elkenrim, telling of great armies, some whispering of elves and dragons. Is it possible? Do you know more, brother?"

Eltoar nodded, a sombre look on his face. "After Dracaldryr, I flew to the eastern cities. Fane had sent scouts, but none reported back. Then, as you say, survivors began to appear."

Farda looked to Lyina, who stood with her arms folded, her eyes fixed on the ground. "What did you find?"

"Death." Eltoar sighed. "Easterlock, Ravensgate, Gildor, and Bromis. All gone. Nothing but charred husks, walls broken and shattered, fields burned. The handful of survivors that reached Steeple and beyond were the only ones." Eltoar lifted his gaze to meet Farda's "Mounds of bodies as high as the city walls were stacked outside the gates, burned to nothing but bones and ash."

"There's hundreds of thousands of souls across those cities, they can't all be—"

"Gone," Eltoar said, finishing Farda's sentence. "Whatever happened along the eastern coast, it wasn't an attack, it was an extermination."

"Who? The Karvosi? The Ardanians?"

"I'm not sure." Eltoar seemed as displeased with that answer as Farda was. "I flew along the coast to track the army, but about fifty miles north of Bromis a dense fog-covered the lands for miles in all directions. It lifted a few hundred feet off the ground, like the clouds had fallen to the earth. I've never seen anything like it."

"The children and the elderly," Farda said, contemplating. "Could it be possible?"

Farda could see in Eltoar's eyes that he understood. It could not be a coincidence that the only survivors were those either too young or too old to fight. The elves' code of honour would have demanded they be left alive.

"I've come to the same conclusion. And if we're right, and the elves of Lynalion have finally left the shelter of the woodland, then we will need far more than the three armies. And if more of our kin survived…"

"If they have, they won't see us as kin anymore. They'll see us as demons."