Of Darkness and Light (The Bound and the Broken, #2)

by Ryan Cahill

Kallinvar grimaced at the thought. It had been four hundred years since the last Blood Moon, a time when the power of blood magic was heightened and when the traitor god could cast his hand into the world and grant terrible power to his followers. That was when The Order fell, the empire rose, and when his brothers and sisters died.

“May their fires never be extinguished and their blades never dull,”

a symbol that was engraved just above the door: a triangle, pointing upward, with three smaller triangles set at each of its edges. “The symbol of The Order,” Vaeril said, his eyes following Calen’s gaze. “And of the Draleid. The central triangle represents the dragons, and each of the smaller triangles signify the elves, the Jotnar, and the humans.”

He cast one final glance at the faces of those around him, the people who were prepared to die beside him. The people who had trusted him to lead them out of this labyrinth. Their expressions were grim – as they should be. He had failed them.

There was something about the young man. Something Tarmon did not see in many men with his kind of power. Despite the death and despite all the loss and pain, he cared.

‘You cannot win a war when you are fighting enemies from the outside and from within.’

“Besides, there is nothing more important in the darkness than a ray of light.”

Valerys lifted his head so his eyes were looking into Calen’s. Calen felt the shame, like a blanket of misery, that wrapped itself around the dragon. Shame at allowing himself to lose control, and for putting Calen and the others in danger.

“You do not take your steps alone. Wherever we are now, we are all strangers here. But at least we are together.”

“He’s a good man.” “That’s it? I thought I was about to get some inspirational speech.” Falmin chuckled, taking another mouthful of the burning brown liquid. The liquor definitely added a second layer of warmth. Tipping his head back, Tarmon downed the remainder of his cup and leaned back in his chair. “There aren’t many good men left.”

A man could endure excruciating pain as long as they held hope in their heart. That was something not all people realised. Interrogation was not about inflicting pain. It was about eradicating hope.

“What do we do now, Therin?” Dann couldn’t help the slight note of desperation that crept into his voice. Therin looked at him, the picture of calm. “We will find a way. On my honour.” Dann noticed Alea and Lyrei turn sharply at Therin’s words, their eyes wide in surprise.

“You fought to win a sword fight. I fought to make you bleed. You didn’t play to the rules. You must always be aware of why you are fighting, who you are fighting, and the minimum it will take to win that fight.”

“Draleid n’aldryr, Valerys. Myia nithír til diar.” My soul to yours.

I have watched you risk your life for others, time and time again. I have seen you lead when you would have rathered follow, just so others had a beacon to look to.

You might have been the trigger, Calen. But you are not the cause. I am proud to follow someone who would lay down their life for those who stand beside them.”

Spirit is… unique. It is said that one of the greatest limits of the Spark, apart from a person’s raw power, is that person’s own mind. You cannot do what you believe you cannot do. You are limited by your own imagination.

“You see this heart? It is the heart of House Ateres. It beats in you, it beats in me, in your mother, in your sister, and your brother. No matter what happens, you protect them, protect the heart of House Ateres, and together, you will break the chains. Valtara will be free. By blade and by blood.”

The Draleid alone would not win the coming war. The empire had the Dragonguard. Nine fully grown dragons, along with the warriors bound to them. Warriors who themselves were once known as Draleid. Warriors with centuries’ more experience than Calen.

Valerys’s rage took over again. This creature had tried to harm his Draleid, had tried to harm those he travelled with, his family, and for that, it would die; it would burn in his fire.

Stories were beautiful. They were words that painted a canvas in your mind. But death could not be beautiful. He had come to that decision in Belduar, and it echoed again in his mind, here.

In his panic, Valerys had lost control, and with that, so had Calen. That was how simple it was. If they lost control for even a moment, they could bring everything crashing down.

“There is merit in both approaches,” he said, to mumbles of annoyance. “But neither is the correct one.”

“That’s not true. Somebody would have recorded it somewhere.” “It is true, brother. Books are not a complete history. They are only the history people chose to record.”

Our failure was in not seeing the binding of things, and it still is. It is not enough to simply hold up the sky as it falls, when we always knew it was going to collapse.

“We did, and clan Fenryr thanks you, Silver Fang. Asius sent me to tell you that we have found the son of the Chainbreaker. Though our people weep for the death of the Chainbreaker himself.

“Those words will haunt that young girl.” There was no anger in Therin’s voice, just simple fact.

“Your honour is forfeit? Aeson, you know what that means to her. She respects you. If you say her honour is forfeit, then it is.”

“You are like him,” the man said, nodding towards Dayne. He reached up with his wrinkled, bony fingers and softly pulled Mera’s hand from her face. “You both hide what you should not. You need not smile, nor frown. Those are the whims of emotions, usually born to satisfy the expectations of others. But wear your markings with pride. You have earned them.”

“Do you regret it?” A flicker of a smile touched the old man’s face. “Not for a second. It is better to die with a sword in your hand than to kneel with a chain around your neck. Go, do what we could not.”

“I will stand by your side until my lungs take their last breath and my heart ceases to beat. In darkness, and in light, by blade and by blood, I am yours. Let me be your sword.”

A group huddled together in the snow, and riders heading towards them from the city. A pressure began to build within him. Those riders would burn. As would all those who had harmed the bond. Harmed his soulkin. They would all burn.

“Do not hold the weight of it on your shoulders,” Tarmon said, as though reading Calen’s mind. “More men, women, elves, and dwarves will die in what is to come. It is the way of things. We are born, we live, and we die. Those three things cannot be changed. The only thing within our control is what we choose to do with the short time we have – the things we fight for, the people we love, the things we hold dear. Good men stand even when it is against all odds. They were, each of them, good men.” Calen sighed, feeling the frustration swell within him. “That doesn’t make it any easier.” “It wasn’t meant to,” Tarmon said, shrugging slightly. “Things that matter are rarely easy.”

“I have a soft spot for lost causes. It’s kind of a kink of mine.” Erik tilted his head back, scrunching his face. “Don’t you mean flaw? It’s kind of a flaw of yours?” “I meant what I said.”

You might be a king, but you are not my king.” Daymon held Dahlen’s gaze, his eyes still filled with tears. “Pulroan. She said with Elenya and Hoffnar gone, she and Kira would help us retake Belduar. I’m sorry…”

“They are not my kind,” Vaeril said, cutting across Kiron, his hand still held against his stomach. The captain looked over at Vaeril, his eyebrow raised in confusion. “Well, ignoring that strange denial of his elven heritage, my advice remains the same.

Images of Erik, Tarmon, and Vaeril, accompanied by the same protective feeling that Valerys always held for Calen. Valerys’s intention was clear: ‘Protect our family’.

Their lives hang on the tip of our courage. And in that, I do not mean you cannot hold fear in your hearts, for courage is not the absence of fear. It is the will to act in spite of fear.”

“The duty of the strong is to protect the weak,”

Feeling tears burn at the corner of his eyes, Calen only managed to push one word past his lips. “Haem?” “Little brother…”

The Uraks were pushing harder than he had expected, and Efialtír was aiding their charge.