(Vasem)
The moment Vasem rounded the top of the mountain, Lavel let out a cry of anguish, and Vasem growled.
Doru Araeba was no more.
"What happened here?"
Many of the buildings, especially those near the center, had sustained devastating damage. Smoke from still-smoldering fires rose in areas where wood was allowed as a building material. Trees leaned away from one particular point, the ones that still stood and resembled the leafy guardians that they were. Most were broken and twisted and leafless from some tremendous blast. What was once bright and clean and full of awe and glory now sat broken, charred, and full of sorrow.
But what squeezed Vasem's heart the most were the lifeless, dull, mutilated bodies of dragons everywhere. Dragons with broken wings. Dragons lying in pools of dried blood. Dragons with deep gashes in their chests, in their throats, in their wing membranes, and in their backs.
"This is no war zone. This is a mass killing zone," Vasem said softly. Among the dragon bodies, he did see a few two-legs, mostly elves, also dead.
"This is a place of death... one of the wards Mother placed on us is taking more of my strength. I do not know what, but something dangerous lurks here. We must tread carefully, lest we join those below..." Throughout Lavel's voice wavered and threatened to break, even in his mind.
Up ahead, Vasem spotted movement. A single red dragon walking with a limp, and an elf standing nearby. The elf bowed his head and stood with his shoulders hunched. No one had to tell Vasem that this Rider and dragon were not traitors. The pain was evident.
"Land by them," Lavel said. "The elf is Lundaraë and the dragon is Golundír. Both are friendly and relieved to see us. Lundaraë told me he knows where Mother's body is."
Locking his wings, Vasem slowly descended and landed gently. He bowed his head and quickly folded his wings, showing he was no threat. Lavel dismounted and walked over to the elf.
While the two greeted each other in the style of the elves, Vasem noted that Lundaraë had at some point lost his left hand. The skin at the end of his arm was poorly healed and a bit swollen. The wound must have been during the conflict. And Golundír had lost a great deal of muscle in one hind leg, hence the limp.
"I had witnessed the flight of you two, guarded by Nierya, during the battle. I was unable to gather the forethought to wonder if you had escaped. It gladdens me to see you whole and healthy. A horrendous battle this was, and a tragedy the likes of which Alagaësia has never seen," said Lundaraë.
"If I may, what exactly happened here?" Lavel asked softly.
The battered dragon shook his head and spoke. "The enemy swept in with the strength of a thousand dragons and the abilities of the vilest of spell casters. We fought valiantly, as did everyone else, and Vrael himself nearly succeeded in defeating Galbatorix. But alas he failed, and the elf Thuviel, in a stroke of panic I believe, killed himself with the explosion that wrought much of the destruction you see here. Unfortunately, he only managed to kill one enemy Rider, Glaerun, and killed many more of the Order. When it was evident we had lost, many, including us, hid in the mountains or offshore until the Wyrdfell departed."
"Wyrdfell and Forsworn. These are the names for the traitors that other survivors have given them. Rather fitting, I think," said Lundaraë.
"It is, unfortunately," said Vasem. "They are gone, right? They just came here, killed as many as possible, and left? Why?"
"It is not so simple, Vasem Blackstripe. So many died as an act of revenge for imagined wrongs. But their goal was more than just death. They pillaged the library, sacked the stores of treasures, and broke into the many vaults holding our most precious and sacred objects, many of which are incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands. So much knowledge and technology, stolen or lost for their personal gain. They have set themselves to become the undisputed rulers of Alagaësia should the elves and dwarves and humans fail as we did. And I fear they may."
"Lavel-vodhr, I have tried my best to provide proper rites to the dead left on this island. I have come across Nierya's body and planted a spruce sapling, her favorite tree, where she is buried. However, I have too little strength to sing it into something befitting an elder. I must save what I have to help as many as I can. I hope you understand."
"I do. I shall do what I can," he murmured. "Vasem already breathed his flames over Sharjarth's body, and somehow turned her bones to purple stone."
Lundaraë nodded sadly and faced Vasem. "Dragon magic can do amazing things. Sharjarth was one of our wisest dragons and deserves every honor you give her. Come, let me guide you to Nierya."
Lavel elected to walk, and Vasem followed, head bowed. He still made an effort to see every detail of the destruction as they traveled. Unpleasant as it was, Vasem wanted to commit everything to memory; this is the final resting place for so many, including their mothers, and he would never forget that. The heavy smell of death that hung in the air, piles of rubble lying everywhere, remnants of the living, grey and lifeless. Buildings covered in soot and dust, ground stained with dried blood. Fires burning in the distance, smelling of burning wood and flesh. Even the sun refused to come out of hiding, obscured by an overcast sky.
Doru Araeba was not a city they knew very well. There were many buildings he could not identify whole, let alone crumbling. Still early in their training, and with Lavel being one of the youngest elves to bond to a dragon, they had mostly been kept in Ilirea with other young students. He did not have much of a fondness for this city, its unique accommodating architecture that blended many styles, its grand size, or its stores of treasure and knowledge.
No, in Vasem's mind he did not pay much attention to the material cost. He mourned those who died more than the city itself. Though young, he and Lavel had met many dragons and Riders, and he knew many were somewhere here, dead.
Vasem's attention shifted when he heard Lavel choke out a cry. Lundaraë stopped before a small spruce sapling surrounded by churned-up earth. They stood in a clearing that had likely been a piece of undisturbed land, a natural space to retreat to within the city for those who yearned not for marble and granite but grass and trees.
Lavel kneeled at the edge of the dug-up dirt, and Vasem placed his snout on his Rider's back. Lundaraë and Golundír stood back a short distance, granting them some privacy. Quietly, sorrowfully, Lavel began to sing, weaving spells of grief, of loss, of protection, and of growth to the tree. As the tree grew taller, glyphs appeared near its base, marking for every passerby that this tree was planted for elder Rider Nierya, mated into House Flianí of minor nobility, wielder of the sword Domia, third in line to succeed Vrael as leader of the Riders.
Elven rites mixed with Dosjoryan traditions. They went well together, Vasem thought, and he added his strength to Lavel's, further feeding the tree. The idea of this spruce tree, now taller than a two-leg, forever bearing these glyphs helped to comfort him, and he shared his feelings with Lavel.
Placing his right hand, the one with his gëdway ignasia, on one visible tree root, Lavel gave the tree wards of protection against the coming winter and against the ravages of time. He gave the tree a blessing that it would never find itself in dire need of water or nutrients, and he fed as much of his and Vasem's strength that could be spared into his spell. Vasem backed away, glancing up at the leafy cover.
"You honored me by giving me life. Mother, let me honor you in your death. I promise your loss will not be in vain."
When the two of them fell silent for a while, Lundaraë walked closer and observed the scene. He gave a few words, as did Golundír, and he walked away. Vasem nudged Lavel to follow when he knew his Rider was ready to leave. "One day, Lavel, we will return. Nierya and Sharjarth will be waiting for us."
After walking a long way, Lundaraë stopped in the middle of a large avenue in front of what looked to be a storehouse. "It is not safe for you two to remain here," said the older elf. "Most of the survivors, the ones who suffered fewer injuries, have already left for various places, including Ellesméra and Ilirea. Any who lost a dragon or Rider are already gone, seeking death or revenge. Another group is set to leave soon, bound for Ilirea, that you would do well to join."
"We are destined for Ellesméra. Nierya wished for us to continue our training there with Oromis and Glaedr," said Lavel.
"Join them at least to the mainland. It is safer. They wait at the eastern shore. Once the dragons among them are ready to fly, they will leave."
"Thank you, Lundaraë-elda."
"You are most welcome. But if you may, can you carry a message for me to Oromis?"
"We shall."
Lundaraë looked away for several moments. "Tell them what we have told you about the battle. Tell them we are diminished as a group and that our arrogance has come to bite us. So many who have not died might become enslaved. He and his dragon might hear of this from other sources before you arrive, but regardless give them the news of what happened."
"We promise."
"I expect no less. Now go, before the dangers of the island strike. May the stars watch over you, Lavel-vodhr, Vasem Blackstripe."
The old elf, followed by his maimed dragon, slowly walked down the road, on their way to continue the morbid task that needed to be done. Vasem kneeled down to let Lavel climb up into the saddle, then took to the skies.
Taking a leisurely pace, Vasem observed the destruction from above, noting the emptiness of the buildings that now lacked a roof. He left his mind completely open to Lavel, hoping the closeness would ease their sorrow. No sane dragon or Rider can look upon the scene before them and not be moved to tears.
The sun was beginning to descend by the time Vasem landed among the group Lundaraë mentioned. Vasem's mood soured further when he saw that only four dragons and Riders comprised the group and that they had many festering wounds. He had hoped to ask another Rider to double-check Lavel's healing, but he had no doubt that he was in better shape than any of the present dragons, and if these dragons were still very hurt, then their Riders had no strength left to check him.
The largest dragon present, a storm grey half the size of Sharjarth, had enough chunks missing from its wing membranes that flying looked impossible. Its Rider ran her hands around many of the missing pieces of flesh, but little happened. The sad faces on both said even more.
Lavel introduced them and explained their situation while Vasem watched the waves coming ashore. Not that he was very fond of the wordless expressions and communication of dragons, especially wild ones, but the sensation of cold-unyielding-powerful-indifferent fit the ocean. Always had, even in Dosjorya. And it fit, to some degree, the Riders that attacked Doru Araeba. Cold enough to kill or maim hundreds, maybe even thousands. No doubt someone tried to reason with them in all of this, even if it was just Brom and Saphira trying to save their friend Morzan. Unyielding from their path, if Lundaraë's words were true. Only those indifferent to the lives of others would cause so much destruction and death. The very island bore scars from their power.
In Dosjorya, Lavel had subdued the gods through lots of help, including from that one powerful and caring being. Even with all of that, he could not kill the gods, though he probably wanted to. But the Wyrdfell, to do what they did, might have the strength to kill many gods. That thought, coupled with the fact that they could attack any other city on the mainland, sent dread through him.
"Vasem, lend me what strength you have left," said Lavel, interrupting his thoughts. Without question, he let all of his spare energy pour into his Rider, and through their connection, he knew Lavel was doing what he could to heal the other dragons.
Between the emotional toll and the physical toll of feeding Lavel's spells, Vasem felt ready to sleep. To wake up in an alternate reality where all of this was just a bad dream and they would continue their training as normal. But that was wishful thinking. It all was real. This is reality, and he had to remain awake. At least to the mainland, but likely farther. Hopefully, the draw of their homeland would banish the fatigue during flight.
Lavel slowly healed the dragon, just as he had with his wings. When the healing was done, the storm grey dragon and its Rider both thanked Lavel. Everyone else was getting strapped into their saddles, indicating it was time to leave. Vasem watched the storm grey dragon stand up, and realized one of its front paws was in serious pain.
"Are you okay to fly?" Vasem asked the dragon.
"I am, thanks to your Rider," said a deep male voice.
"You have a limp."
"It shall only bother me when landing. I can fly, and that is most important. Already the poison on this island sickens my Rider. It would take more time and energy than we have to heal me further."
Nodding his head in acknowledgement, Vasem turned back to the ocean, preparing to leap into the air. He was in no position to tell another dragon what they should or should not do.
One by one the other dragons began their flight to the mainland. The healthiest dragon besides Vasem indicated it would take the lead in their small V formation. Vasem followed behind everyone, settling at the back of the right side.
Rising higher, they entered the wind river that would help to speed up their flight. The other dragons closed their minds to him, so he only opened his mind to Lavel. His Rider was all the company he truly needed, though the lack of conversation with the others made him lonely. It reminded him that dragons and Riders are very diminished.
For many hours they crossed the open ocean, still rough from recent storms. All alone they flew, for the few ships had reason to sail this far north before the battle, and almost no reason now. Most of Vroengard's inhabitants, permanent or otherwise, had already abandoned the island. No one had any reason to fly back now that the city of Doru Araeba, the very heart of the Order since humans were added to the pact, had crumbled. No one had any reason to visit the heart of so much sorrow.
The sun had sunk entirely below the horizon when Vasem took the lead. It was odd for a young dragon like him to lead a formation. Usually the biggest and strongest lead, with the youngest staying in the back. But these were no longer normal times. Lavel patted him on his back, encouraging him.
Just before all light had disappeared, he sighted land. "We are north of Narda," Vasem said to Lavel. "Perhaps even with the villages of Palancar Valley. Now might be a good time to leave the others."
"Are you sure? They will likely make camp for the night here."
"Yes. After everything the last few days, I am eager to return to Du Weldenvarden. I can fly through the night."
"Your wings are still okay? Your strength is not liable to fail you? We used a lot of our energy on Vroengard."
"Of course, Lavel. I would not risk falling out of the sky with you on my back." That he said with such conviction, even though he already was speaking the language of truths, that Lavel had to believe him. And it was true. The easy flight so far allowed some of his weariness to melt away.
When the others began their descent to the foothills of the Spine, Vasem only briefly stopped for water before he carried on. Through the dark and the chill with only the moon and stars as guides. Lavel quickly fell asleep, leaving Vasem to himself.
Mountains grew in height as they traveled deeper, and then the mountains descended. Vasem aimed for the general direction of the watchtower Edoc'sil to gather his bearings. From there he could orient himself with Palancar Valley and the Anora River and thus to their homeland.
Forest capped monoliths with uncharted secrets, wild animals, and scarce habitation. The Spine had a more wild feel than the steep, primarily bare mountains of Dosjorya, more sinister and perhaps more deadly. Vasem shuttered, knowing it was a mountainous landslide that killed him in his first life. The catalyst for so many bad events for Lavel.
Before the sky began to lighten, Vasem sighted the ancient watchtower built to look over the mad human king Palancar. Even in the darkest part of the night, he spied a lone dragon, possibly dark blue, green, or purple, and moderate-sized, taking refuge. Its scales reflected the tiniest bit of light from the moon.
Though it would jostle Lavel, Vasem pitched left and right slightly to acknowledge and greet the dragon from afar. But he got no response. The dragon was probably asleep anyway.
Lavel shifted but remained asleep. Vasem lightly touched his Rider's mind, relieved to see that he was dreaming of nothing interesting or terrifying, then ended the contact. Lavel needed a night void of the nightmares that sometimes plagued him. They both did.
Deep down, Vasem was very grateful that this conflict, yet another one they both have had to deal with, had not separated them. No matter what came next, they still had each other.