Myia Nithír til Diar

Horns bellowed, their sonorous ringing muffled as though underwater. All Calen could see was darkness as the ringing grew louder, broadening, thumping in his ears. Someone grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him, dragging him into the waking world.

"Calen, wake up."

Calen shot upright, gasping for air as images of Artim Valdock faded from his mind.

Erik stood over him, a serious look in his eyes. In the corner of the room, Tarmon was strapping on his armour. Vaeril stood by the door, his bow across his back, his sword drawn.

"What's going on?" Calen dug his fingers into the creases of his eye, urging his body to wake up faster.

"Not sure," Erik said, turning his head to look out through the cracked glass window. Calen followed Erik's line of sight. More torches had been lit on the walls, and shadows were moving about, back and forth. "It looks like the city is under attack, but whatever it is, we need to get ready."

Calen nodded, pushing his sheets aside and getting dressed, strapping his leather armour across his chest and arms. He held his scabbard out in front of himself, sliding the blade free a few inches, his eyes tracing the intricate pattern of swirls that ornamented the steel. Death could not be beautiful, but sometimes it was necessary.

Taking a deep breath, he slid the sword back into the scabbard and strapped the belt around his waist.

In the back of his mind, Calen could feel Valerys, concern permeating the dragon's consciousness. No. Don't come unless you have to. You need to stay out of sight.

Even though the dragon was a few miles away on the patch of rock just off the coast, Calen could physically feel the vibrations in the air as Valerys let out a thunderous roar, stamping his forelimbs down against the ground, his claws gouging into the stone.

I'll be all right. The others are here. If I'm in danger, then come.

A low, reluctant grumble resonated through Calen's mind.

Draleid n'aldryr.

With Valerys slightly calmed, Calen turned to Tarmon. "What do you think?"

"The city is under attack. That much is clear, but we need to know by whom, or what."

"Agreed," Erik said, unsheathing his swords from across his back.

Vaeril didn't speak. He just looked at Calen, his gaze hard.

Calen nodded. "Let's see if anyone knows anything downstairs."

The common room of the inn was empty save for Madame Olmira, who stood by the far corner of the room in her shift, her face pressed up against the murky glass window, looking out at the city. There was a noticeable tremble in the woman's bony fingers wrapped around the handle of the fox head walking stick.

"They're back," the woman croaked, not turning her head.

Erik leaned towards Calen, his eyes narrowing. "Is she talking to us?"

"Who else would I be talking to?" Madame Olmira snapped, tapping her walking stick off the wood as she turned, shaking her head. "Idiot."

Erik appeared to be so taken off guard by the comment that he just tilted his head and didn't answer, which was not like him at all. The scene made Calen wish he could introduce Madame Olmira to Dann.

The woman hobbled towards Calen, Tarmon, Vaeril, and Erik, her walking stick clicking against the floor the entire way. "Every night for a week, the Uraks attacked without fail. But not once in the past three days. Why do you think that is?"

Walking straight past the group, Madame Olmira stepped behind the bar, took out four mugs, and proceeded to fill each with a black liquid that came from a brown glass bottle.

"They were testing the defences," Tarmon answered, a worried look on his face.

"That they were." Madame Olmira shoved the stopper back into the bottle and dropped it down behind the bar, pushing each of the mugs across the wooden top.

"Now they have decided they are strong enough to take the city." Tarmon reached over, lifted a mug from the table, and downed its contents in one long swallow.

"Right again," Madame Olmira said, following Tarmon's lead. With a frail hand, she pushed the three remaining cups further across the bar top until they were almost touching the edge. "Drink up, boys. Even you, elf. The city will be needin' all the steel it can get, and the least I can do is be givin' ya some courage."

Erik reached across, snatching up his mug, with Calen and Vaeril following suit.

With a deep sigh, Calen tilted his cup up, felt the worn wood touch his lips, then poured the noxious liquid down his throat. It burned going down, but he didn't choke or cough. He barely even flinched. His bones were weary, and his soul was tired. The time spent in that cell had taken more from him than strength. He didn't want to fight again. He didn't want to watch the people around him die. Calen shuddered involuntarily, images flashing across his mind. Artim Valdock's ice spears ripping through Falmin's body. Lopir's neck snapping.

"Calen, are you all right?"

Calen shivered at the sound of Erik's voice, his mind returning to him. "Yeah… I'll be fine."

Nodding their thanks to Madame Olmira, the group stepped out through the shoddy doorway and into the city.

The sound of the horns still bellowed in the night, resounding through the tightly packed streets of Kingspass. The shouts of men and women hollering to each other blended with the crashing sound of hundreds of steel plated boots colliding against stone paths. Every brazier along the length of the walls was burning at full tilt, and it was easy for Calen to see the rows of archers lined along the battlements, each row alternating, one nocking, one loosing, never allowing the flow of arrows to stop.

"To the walls." Tarmon gestured towards the northern edge of the city where the main gates lay. "These men won't turn down anyone with a sword in their hand."

"Do we really want to help?" Calen stopped as he spoke. It had taken him all the strength in his heart to say those words. "These are empire soldiers, Tarmon. Why should we help them? They are better off dead anyway. Why not let them and the Uraks kill each other? There's still a chance that Kiron is at the port."

Tarmon took a step closer to Calen, his eyes narrowing. Calen could tell by the look on the man's face that he was surprised at what Calen had said. "I'm going to hope you didn't mean that."

"They killed my family." Calen moved closer to Tarmon, his eyes threatening tears as he stared at the giant of a man in the eyes. Calen's stomach twisted, pulling at him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Pain ripped its way through his heart and mind. "The empire murdered my father in front of my eyes. They burned my mother alive. They razed Belduar to the ground. They are our enemies. Now you expect me to help them?"

By the time the words had left Calen's mouth, he was seething. His chest trembled as he took in a deep breath, his hands shaking by his sides. In the back of Calen's mind, Valerys's anger mixed with his own. Every drop of loss and anguish Calen felt stoked the fire of fury within the dragon. Vars and Freis were Valerys's parents, too. They were his family. He had never met them, but he knew them intimately. He loved them. The empire killed them.

To Calen's surprise, Tarmon sheathed his sword and clasped his hand around the back of Calen's neck. The man pulled Calen towards him until their eyes were only inches apart. "You are better than this. I've seen it. I'm standing here with you because you are better than this. Tonight, those men and women are not empire soldiers. They are not those who did us harm. They are just people. People who don't want to die. And they need us. They need you. They need a Draleid." Releasing his hand from the back of Calen's neck, Tarmon stepped away, his gaze still fixed on Calen's. "Show them, Calen. Give them something to believe in."

A wave of shame swept through Calen from head to toe, knotting his stomach and making the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. His father had always raised him to believe that if you could help, then you did help. He would have been disgusted if he could see Calen now, as would Haem, as would Arthur.

For a long moment, Calen returned Tarmon's stare. "Thank you." Calen turned to look at Vaeril and Erik. "Thank you all."

"It's been a long road from Belduar," Erik said, a sombre expression on his face. "And it's not going to stop here. We are going to get Rist, we are going to get back to Durakdur, and we are going to fight until our last breaths. For Falmin, and Korik, and Lopir."

"For Ellisar," Vaeril said, his face unchanging.

"For Arthur," Tarmon added.

Calen nodded, feeling his fist tighten around the hilt of his sword. "For all those we have lost."

"For all those we have lost," the others chorused.

Calen slowed his breathing as they made their way towards the city gates. He drew the air in through his nose, held it, then released slowly. His sword felt heavy in his hand, and his leather armour weighed down his shoulders as though it were made of lead. Each time he lifted his leg was a struggle, and each deep breath held a rasp in his chest. His body still needed months more food and rest. But he didn't have months, so he gritted his teeth and kept moving, doing his best not to show any outward signs of struggle. He needed to be strong for the others.

In the back of his mind, Calen could feel Valerys standing on the edge of the rocks, his wings spread wide, the sea spray crashing against his scales. Every muscle in Valerys's body was twitching, ready to leap into the air at a moment's notice and fly towards the city.

If they could get through this without revealing Valerys to the empire, then that's what they needed to do. Not yet. Trust me.

The only response that flowed through Calen's mind was a wave of anger, but Valerys didn't move. The dragon stayed where he was, claws gouging into the patch of rock in frustration.

Before long, they came to the end of a street lined with Lorian soldiers armoured in thick plate, standing side by side, spears drawn. He couldn't help but be surprised at how young most of them looked. Some couldn't have seen more than sixteen summers.

Behind the soldiers was a large, open plaza that must have been used as a forum during the day. Calen looked past the plaza, at the battlements, and watched as an enormous black spear thrown from the other side of the wall burst straight through a man's skull, lifting him off the ramparts and sending him plummeting to the streets below.

"Who goes there?" A voice called from behind the line of soldiers that blocked the entrance to the plaza.

"Travellers," Tarmon called back. "We want to help."

"I've never seen travellers armed as you are. Speak the truth or die where you stand. We don't have the time to waste on you."

"Can you afford to turn away anyone that carries steel?" Tarmon's voice was firm and unyielding, as though he were commanding his own troops. "Point us to where you need us."

A few moments passed without an answer. Calen swallowed hard, loosening and tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. Then, some of the soldiers in the middle of the line pulled back and created an opening for the group to pass through.

"We need men before the gate," the Lorian commander said, stepping forward from the mass of soldiers. The woman was a few inches shorter than Calen and had seen at least fifty summers. Her grey-streaked hair was tied at the back, and her eyes held the same steeliness as Tarmon's, the same calm.

"What of the walls?" Tarmon asked, his voice level, an eyebrow raised.

"The walls will not hold. When they break through, we will slow them in the streets with shield lines and pick them off with archers from the rooftops above. This plaza will be our last hold. Everyone will fall back to here. When the walls fall, any time you can give our soldiers to retreat will give us more of a chance. Then, fall back here with them."

Tarmon gave a short nod.

"May The Warrior guide your hand."

"And yours," Tarmon replied, gesturing for Calen and the others to follow him across the plaza.

The plaza was thronged with soldiers. Some wore thick plate over coats of mail and carried heavy shields and spears, while others in red and black leather armour carried short swords or bows. Each group marched about in formation, ushered by a captain at their head, forming into ranks and lines. Calen couldn't help but be impressed by the discipline of it all.Just as they had neared the other side of the plaza, Calen caught sight of black robes flapping in the night breeze, about twenty feet or so away, near the centre of the plaza. A Battlemage. The man's hood was drawn down over his shoulders, exposing a youthful face and fiery red hair. Calen's mind drifted back to the cell in Arisfall. Images flashed across his mind of Artim Valdock standing over him. He could almost feel the cold steel as the man pulled the knife along his skin, the ripping noise as he tore Calen's fingernails free… the emptiness.

"For now," Vaeril said, leaning in, his eyes following Calen's stare, "don't touch the Spark. Once we are in the heat of it, he will not care. There are likely more of them here on the walls, and it will be impossible for them to tell who is touching the Spark once the fighting truly begins."

Calen nodded, Vaeril's voice pulling him back to the present.

Once they had passed through the soldiers on the opposite side of the plaza and entered the street that led to the main gate, Calen could feel the mages on the wall. He had never quite felt anything like it before. Of course, he had felt the sensation when Aeson had drawn from the Spark, or Therin, or Vaeril. But this was different. He had never felt so many people tapping into the Spark at one time. Even at Belduar, the Belduaran mages were spread thin across the walls, numbering no more than thirty or forty. But here, there had to be more than a hundred Battlemages.

Calen felt a heightened awareness of everything around him as the sensation of the Spark thrummed through the air – like the aftershock of lightning echoing through his skin. Up along the battlements, he could see the threads of Fire, Air, and Spirit. Blinding flashes signalling arcs of lightning being hurled towards the Uraks who besieged the walls. With each passing moment, the sensation grew weaker though, as the imperial mages were torn from the world by bolts of purple lightning or cold black steel.

"If many more of them die, the walls will fall," Vaeril called back to Calen, his eyes fixed on the walls.

"More of who? The soldiers?" Erik looked to Calen, searching for an answer. Calen often forgot the others couldn't sense the Spark like he and Vaeril could, couldn't see the threads of Fire, Air, and Spirit.

"The Battlemages," Calen said. He thought back to Belduar and how the Belduaran mages had manned the battlements, not just to wield the Spark against the imperial soldiers, but also to ensure the imperial mages were not able to bring the walls crashing down.

"There is no sense in worrying about what we can't control," Tarmon said as they reached the end of the long street that opened into a courtyard before the city gates.

The courtyard was mostly built from paved stone. Two rectangular grass areas were set off to the sides, bounded by knee-high walls, stone statues set at each of their corners. Shouts and calls rang out, drowning in the din, as the Lorian forces scrambled to prepare for what was to come. Rows upon rows of soldiers stood in the shadow of the city gates, divided into four columns, each with their shields raised and spears drawn level towards the gates.

Up close, the city walls looked even more gargantuan than they had at first glance. Thick carved stone rising over a hundred feet into the night. Two enormous crenellated bulwarks framed the massive arched gate, which was protected by an interwoven lattice of banded iron.

Calen's heart pounded as he looked over the soldiers, the wails of men and Uraks piercing the air. With every passing moment, the sensation of the Spark grew weaker. It would not be long before the Uraks broke through.

Tarmon turned to look at Vaeril, Erik, and Calen. "No matter what happens. We stay together, understood?"

Calen nodded along with the others.

"If it looks like things—"

A shockwave rippled through the ground, accompanied by an ear-splitting explosion that caused the air itself to tremble. The section of the wall to the left of the gates erupted in a cloud of stone and dust. Massive fragments crashed to the ground, crushing men and women beneath them in plumes of blood mist. All around them, soldiers crashed to the ground, thrown from the top of the walls, their bodies shattering in bursts of blood and bone.

A ringing noise droned through Calen's ears from the explosion, and a thick cloud of dust fell like a blanket over his eyes. The muffled screams of mutilated soldiers drifted through the chaos, accompanied by the rolling and crashing of stone.

Then, a dim red light glowed through the dust that hung in the air. One light became two, then three, turning to many. Calen heard Erik shouting something muffled in his ear, but he couldn't drag his eyes from the red lights. The closer the lights moved, the more they began to take shape, until Calen realised what they were. Uraks.

Only these were not like the ones Calen knew. These monstrosities were easily ten feet tall, with slabs of heavy-set muscle so large it looked as though their skin had been pulled tight across their body to the point of tearing. Sets of glowing red runes covered their flesh, shimmering through the stone dust. A knot of pure dread twisted in Calen's stomach as he stared at the advancing creatures.

"Fall back!" A voice called, piercing through the ringing in Calen's ears. "The walls have fallen! The Uraks have breached the city! Fall back to the plaza!"

Screams and shouts erupted all about the courtyard. Some soldiers broke rank, pushing, shoving, and kicking past anyone who stood in their way, stumbling over the corpses that lay broken on the ground. The more experienced men tightened together, locking their shields, holding their spear arms firm. If only for a second, Calen held a fragile flicker of hope in his chest, but then he watched as one of the enormous, rune-marked Uraks slammed its fists into the ground and sent a shockwave of earth and fire tearing through the ranks of soldiers.

"What in the gods are those creatures?" For the first time, Calen heard fear in Tarmon's voice.

"I… do not know." Vaeril's eyes were wide, his jaw slackened.

"Whatever they are," Erik said. "We can't fight them here. We need to fall back to the plaza where the archers can cover from above."

Erik looked to Calen, expecting a response, but Calen was too focused on these new Uraks tearing through men as though steel were paper and bone were glass. He had seen what had happened in Belduar when men started to break; he had watched the empire cut them down like blades of grass. "We need to hold them here."

"Calen's right," Tarmon said, sliding his great sword from across his back. "If the ranks break here, the rest of the army will rout."

"Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?"

"No," Tarmon said with a shrug. "But it's what we need to do if we want to still be breathing come sunrise. We just need to give the soldiers a chance, then we can fall back."

Calen reached out to Valerys, calling to him. He let their mind flow freely into each other, letting their thoughts, bodies, and spirits become one. He held nothing back. No matter what, we live together, we die together. Come.A surge of energy pulsed through Calen's body as he felt every fibre of Valerys's being burst into life. The dragon kicked his head back and unleashed an earth-shattering roar, so loud and visceral that Calen could hear it from miles away. A thousand thoughts at once cascaded through their mind, colliding, crashing, blending. Every thought, every sensation, and every emotion. The air thrummed around their wings as Valerys lifted into the air. Their heartbeat pulsed through their body. Power flowed through their veins. The weakness in Calen's bones ebbed away, replaced by a strength that felt both alien and familiar. It was all Calen could do not to lose himself in it. Valerys's roar ripped through the night as his powerful wings carried him across the water, towards the city, and his fury ignited within Calen.

"Let's give them something to believe in." Calen tightened his grip on his sword and opened himself to the Spark as he strode towards the rune-marked Uraks that tore through the Lorian soldiers. Two of the creatures spotted him immediately. They snarled and hissed, smoke drifting from the glowing runes etched into their hides. The creatures charged, guttural war cries escaping their throats.

Calen pulled on threads of Fire, Spirit, and Air, knotting them together, feeling the power radiate from them. He had never created lightning before, but he had seen it done enough times. Picking up his pace, he charged towards the nearest of the massive creatures, his sword gripped tightly in his right hand, his heart hammering against his ribs.

The creature unleashed a visceral howl, slamming its fists down against the ground. A spiralling shockwave of fire and stone hurtled through the air. Its magic must have been similar to Artim Valdock's. Calen couldn't sense even the slightest flicker of the Spark from the beast.

With all the strength Calen could muster, he leapt out of the shockwave's path, landing hard, then springing himself back to his feet, unleashing the threads of Fire, Spirit, and Air he had been holding within. Arcs of blue lightning streaked from his fingertips, crashing into the beast's chest, stripping flesh from bone, tearing the creature's torso asunder. The monstrosity collapsed to the ground, howling in pain, blood seeping out onto the stone.

Before Calen could collect his thoughts, the second rune-marked Urak lunged at him, catching him across the shoulder with the back of an outstretched hand. The force of the blow knocked Calen back a few feet, dropping him to one knee. Pulling on threads of Earth and Air, Calen lifted a long fragment of stone from the ground, sharpened its end, then launched it through the beast's gut.

Even with the shard of stone pierced through its stomach, the rune-marked Urak kept moving forward. Stumbling, it swiped out a clawed hand. Valerys's power surging through him, Calen ducked beneath the swipe, slicing his blade across the creature's leg. Crying out, the Urak dropped to its knees. Calen swung. Steel cleaved bone, and the creature's headless body fell to the ground.

Before he could catch his breath, something slammed into Calen's back, sending him hurtling through the air. Instinctively, he wrapped himself in threads of Air, softening the blow as he crashed through a stone statue.

Even with the threads of Air helping break his fall, pain still surged through Calen's body. He coughed and spluttered, dust and blood clinging to his throat as he dragged himself to his feet. He stumbled, catching himself on one knee. His lower back burned in agony, and his ribs pained him with each breath.

Lifting his head, Calen watched as the rune-marked Urak that had thrown him charged towards him with its blood-red eyes shimmering, the light from its runes spraying through the clouds of dust. Calen braced himself, again pulling on threads of Fire, Sprit, and Air. But just as he was ready to strike, an arrow burst through the side of the creature's head. The Urak's body went limp, crashing to the ground with a thud, plumes of dust rising around it.

In seconds, Vaeril was by Calen's side. He clasped Calen's forearm, pulling him to his feet. "Stay closer to me."

Calen nodded, grimacing as he dragged air into his lungs.

"Do you just try your hardest to get yourself killed?" Erik asked, shrugging as he whirled his two blades through the air, slicing through the arm of an Urak before driving cold steel up through its neck and into its head. "Or is it a talent given to you by the gods? By the way, your eyes are glowing purple again. I just thought you should know."

Calen brought his hand up, holding it just in front of his face. A pale purple glow illuminated his palm, shimmering over his blood dappled skin. The sight should have set a panic in his heart, but instead, he smiled. He could feel the blood coursing through Valerys's body, the wind crashing against his scales as the dragon soared towards the city. The light was their bond – Valerys's soul entwined with his. He knew it to be true. "Myia nithír til diar, Valerys." My soul to yours.

"Are you all right?" Tarmon asked, his hand clutching Calen's shoulder, his stare fierce.

Calen barely heard Tarmon's words, his mind lost in the bond. He nodded. "I'm fine…"

"Then we need to go. There will be no holding them here." With a nod, Tarmon gestured towards the walls.

Calen followed Tarmon's eyes, feeling his heart drop into his stomach. As the dust around the collapsed section of wall began to settle, he could see the ocean of Uraks that poured into the city, bounding over rubble and corpses, blackened blades and spear gripped in their fists. There had to be thousands of them.

"Go!" Tarmon shouted, pushing Calen back towards the street that led down into the main plaza. Calen's legs moved of their own volition, carrying him across stone, over mutilated bodies, through rubble and shattered bones.

Cries rang out from the soldiers around them who were also retreating towards the enclosed street that led back to the plaza. "Dragon! It's the Dragonguard!"

A thunderous roar rippled through the sky as Valerys swooped overhead, his white scales shimmering in the moonlight.

"Keep going," Calen shouted at Erik, Tarmon, and Vaeril, who had stopped at the soldiers' shouts, eyes fixed on the sky. As he spoke, he saw the realisation spread across each of their faces that it was not, in fact, the Dragonguard. "Get into the street. Valerys will cover our retreat."

As they ran, that familiar pressure built at the back of Calen's mind. Then, in a light so blinding it was as though the sun had re-emerged from beyond the horizon, Valerys unleashed a pillar of dragonfire that ripped through the charging horde of Uraks. In an instant, the air smelled of boiling blood and charred flesh. As the smell hit Calen's nostrils, a fervour rippled within him, a bloodlust that coursed through his body like molten fire. Above him, Valerys let out a roar that shook the air. Their minds were one.

Blood-chilling screams rang out as the Uraks writhed on the ground in pain, howling and clawing at their own skin. But as Calen looked back over his shoulder, the horde kept coming. Those who had fallen, dead or still yet alive, were trampled by those who came after them. The beasts did not give a moment's pause for their fallen. Their eyes, blood-red and hungry, remained fixed on their targets. They howled deep, visceral war cries as they ran, calling out in a language so harsh Calen did not believe it could ever be spoken by a human tongue.

Three more times, Valerys swept over the charging ranks of Uraks. Three more times, he bathed them in dragonfire. And three more times, they kept coming, charging, dragging themselves over charred corpses and broken stone.

Calen's chest heaved, and his limbs ached as he pushed himself as hard as he could. Up ahead, lines of Lorian soldiers formed across the street that led to the main plaza, waiting to hold back the tide of Uraks. There was still a gap in the middle of the Lorian lines where they were letting the retreating soldiers through, but Calen knew they couldn't keep that gap open for long.

Another surge of pressure swept through Calen's mind, and Valerys unleashed a river of dragonfire down on the onrushing Uraks.

One more look over his shoulder. They weren't going to make it.

Arcs of blue lightning peeled over Calen's head, coming from the rooftops of the buildings above, followed by a hail of arrows that momentarily blocked out the moon's light. The lightning ripped into the ground before the Uraks, tearing the stone asunder, creating a small chasm in front of the charging horde. Then the arrows dropped, shredding through the creatures like acid rain.

Looking to the rooftops, Calen could see several figures draped in black robes standing between the archers, threads of Fire, Spirit, and Air whirling around them. Battlemages. A surge of both elation and fear coursed through Calen's veins as he and the others stumbled through the closing ranks of Lorian soldiers, more arrows falling behind them.

More soldiers rushed past Calen as he collapsed to his knees, dragging air into his lungs.

Erik bent over double, panting. "That was too close."

"Agreed." Tarmon stood to his full height, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths, his eyes sweeping over the charging Uraks who had now regained their momentum, and were again charging.

"Are you all right?" Vaeril reached his hand down to Calen as he spoke.

Calen swallowed hard, grasping Vaeril's hand, pulling himself to his feet. He nodded shakily. "I'll be fine. I just feel weak. My lungs, they just…" Calen's voice trailed off as he closed his eyes, giving his lungs a chance to drag in more air. Even with Valerys's strength, his body was still weak.

"You were imprisoned and starved for over a month. Your lungs will take time to recover." Vaeril rested his hand on Calen's back, and Calen felt a wave of relief flood through him.

"Don't," Calen said, pushing Vaeril away. "You need your energy too. I'll be fine."

"You won't be fine," the elf said, ignoring Calen's feeble swipe. "And I have more to spare than you do."

Calen sighed as a warmth washed over him. He straightened his back, filling his lungs with air. He wished he truly understood healing. For whatever Vaeril had done, Calen's lungs felt as though they had been given a week's rest. He gave Vaeril a feeble smile, resting his hand on the elf's arm. "Thank you."

"Din vrai é atuya sin'vala," Vaeril responded, returning Calen's smile. Your thanks are welcome here.

The sound of steel on steel blended with the shouts and screams of men and beasts as the Uraks crashed into the ranks of Lorian soldiers who held the street. This time, though, the men did not buckle. With walls on either side of them, their shields locked, and arrows raining down from above, they held their ground.

Cries of 'Hold the line!' and 'For the empire!' rang out, one after another as black steel blades bit into bone, hardened claws rent steel, and the massive beasts with the runes carved into their skin sent shockwaves of earth and fire rippling towards the soldiers.

Calen couldn't help but find his heart stir at the soldiers' implacable courage. To hold a line like that against another man was one thing, but to hold it against this horde was something entirely different.

"You are the last person I expected to find here," came a sharp voice from behind Calen. "Draleid."

Calen turned to find himself staring into the azure eyes of a tall woman with hair as black as coal and features as sharp as a knife's edge. Black robes hung from her shoulders, and she held herself with unquestionable authority.

She radiated power.

Calen met the woman's stare, unblinking. His throat felt like parchment, and a coil of dread twisted in his stomach. For a moment, his mind turned back to the cell in Arisfall, a flash of panic in his bones. Calen reached out to the Spark, drawing in threads of Fire. He would not be captured again. He would not let that happen. Out of the corner of his eye, Calen saw Erik take a step towards the Battlemage, his blades held firmly in his fists.

The woman turned her head to look at Erik, her eyes narrowing. "Move and I will crush your heart inside your chest." Pulling her eyes from the now stationary Erik, the woman returned her attention to Calen. "I am Arkana Vardane, imperial Battlemage and commander of the Battlemages of Kingspass. I have no intention of killing you or capturing you."

"I believe you about as far as I could throw you," Erik snapped, a snarl forming in his throat.

Arkana sighed, shaking her head, fixing her gaze on Calen's. "My only concern is surviving this and keeping as many citizens of this city alive as possible. I count my odds as better with a dragon on our side. Have I not already saved you?"

Calen held her gaze for a moment, searching her eyes for something that might betray her true intentions, but he found nothing. Her stare was cold and unyielding. He glanced at Tarmon, who hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"How do we know we can trust you?" The threads of Fire wrapped themselves around Calen, warming him, calling to him.

"If you could not, you would already be dead."

"And if we do survive?" Tarmon asked, his voice calm and level as he stepped towards the woman, towering over her. "What then?"

To her credit, Arkana met Tarmon's stare with as much confidence as she had met Calen's. Her eyes tracked from Tarmon's boots the whole way up his enormous frame, as though evaluating him, then locked with his. "Then you will leave this place unharmed, and I will say that you escaped in the chaos."

"The Circle will kill you if they find out about your lie."

"The Uraks will kill us all if we don't work together."

"Well spoken." Tarmon stepped back and nodded to Calen.

Erik leaned in, whispering in Calen's ear. "I still don't trust her."

"We don't have a choice," Calen whispered back, turning to Arkana. He let out a sigh, feeling the warmth leave him as he reluctantly released the threads of Fire. "Where do you need us?"

"We're going to retreat to the main plaza. We—"

A cacophony of screams and shouts erupted from the ranks of men who had been holding the street. A number of the giant rune-marked Uraks had crashed through the line, shattering armour and bone as they charged.

"Bloodmarked," Arkana hissed. Calen felt the woman reach for the Spark, whirling threads of Fire, Air, and Spirit around herself before forging them into bolts of blue lightning that she hurled towards the rampaging creatures. Two or three of the Bloodmarked fell, lightning punching through their chests and necks. But more flowed through, snapping bones with swipes of their claws, coating the ground in crimson lifeblood.

"Fall back to the plaza, now!" Arkana shouted, yelling commands at nearby soldiers. She sent one youthful-looking man through the doors of a nearby building to give instructions to the archers and Battlemages who held the rooftops. She turned back to Calen. "We need to get to the plaza."

"What about those men?" Calen instinctively moved towards the ranks of soldiers who were being overrun by the Urak horde.

"They are already dead," Arkana said, not a drop of emotion in her voice. "The best they can do now is cover our retreat."

"No, we can't just leave them here to die."

Calen felt Tarmon's hand on his shoulder. "She's right. We must know when to fight and when to fall back. This is when we fall back."