PROLOGUE

Sundas, the 20th of Sun's Dawn, the 206th year of the 4th Era


The knock came at the door, loud and unexpected, in the hours before the dawn, when the world was still dull and grey.

Groaning, Azzias opened his eyes and made to sit up on the edge of his large canopy bed, the silken sheets tangling. "What is it?" He called out, groaning as he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

The raven-haired woman that opened the door, all but a crack, just far enough to fit her head inside, was Lydia, first and most loyal of his housecarls, and the captain of his household guard, said, "Pardons my lord, but it seems Umaroth is begging an audience. The Eldunarí would speak with you, they say the matter is urgent. I thought you would wish to know."

"If he really must, then I will require a moment bathe and to change into something presentable," he yawned, rising nude from his bed to stretch his arms and legs, the stone floor warm beneath his feet from the pipes of dwarven metal they'd constructed—with spells and pickaxes—to pump the natural hot spring's scalding waters from far beneath the ground, and throughout the entirety of the citadel, like blood rushing through a man's body, driving the chill from the stone, and filling the air with a moist humidity that kept the soil beneath from freezing.

Moving across the bedchamber over to the nightstand, he splashed and washed his face in its marble basin, shivering as the water ran down his neck. Refreshed, he then looked into the mirror as he tried to arrange his ebony locks into place, before moving over to a small door on the far side of the room. Entering the washroom, he slowly eased himself into its hot waters, then with a brush and bar of soap, began scrubbing himself. Afterwards, when he was clean, he floated with his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth, the pool's water mildly salty, but soothing and calm, and scented with fragrant oils.

After a while, he emerged from the water, dripping, and made his way back into his quarters, where he toweled himself dry, before walking over to the wardrobe, pulling from it; a tunic of white silk with ties at the cuffs, black breeches, and high black boots. As expected of clothes of elven-make, they fit him perfectly. Satisfied with his appearance, Azzais walked through the towering door of ancient nordic iron, set within the mouth of a stone dragon, and strode down the wide, turnpike stairs leading to the outside of his eyrie tower, high upon the peak of a finger of rock that overlooked the main courtyard, and down the bridge leading towards the top of the great central keep, the Hall of Elements.

The steps were shallow, but the walls between them were wide enough for a dozen armored knights to ride abreast with ease. That had been Azzais's initiative—in consultation with the Greybeards and their master, Paarthurnax, along with the Eldunarí, as a mandatory feature for the Dragon Riders' new home. Everything in the hold, even the chambers that served as personal quarters, had been built for use by all but the very largest of dragons, same as the structures on Vroengard Island—the old home of the Dragon Riders, as well as the city of Bromjunaar, or the Labyrinthian—which had once served as the capital of Skyrim during the height of the Dragon Cult's power and influence. It was a necessary feature of the hold, one that without the aid of Odahviing and Paarthurnax, would have proven to be a monumental exercise for their traveling companions in the elves and dwarves, as most of the chambers were huge and forbidding, even more so than in the great dwarf city of Tronjheim, as his general plan had been to see the hold as a well seasoned blend between the great monastery of High Hrothgar—sat roughly halfway up the peak to the Throat of the World—Sky Haven Temple, and the ever expanding College of Winterhold, with the elves having been charged with refining the more elegant details.

Yet still, even the dwarves had a slight hand in the holds decoration, while the elves had sung songs to grow and spread trees of all kinds, towering redwoods, mighty white oaks, weeping willows, blue spruces, sycamore maples and giant sequoias, all around the base of Mount Arngor, the dwarves had reconstructed dozens of the dwemer's great automatons, stationing them between Mount Arngor's many great gateways, along with having mounted hundreds of their flameless lanterns in brackets at regular intervals along the walls.

He wandered down the steps, listening to the clanking song of swords, of thuds and grunts and the call of "Notch, draw, loose!" As the huntress Aela overlooked two dozen guardsmen firing at practice butts from the yard below, their arrows like the sound of a flock of birds taking wing, while not too far off in distance the twins, Farkas and Vilkas danced back and forth between great swirling blades of Skyforged steel. Azzias stopped and watched the confrontation from one of the many great windows in the covered bridge where one could have a full view of the whole yard, his hands clasped behind his back; though he felt no inclination to join in, as did he saw, the guardsmen who peered between the gargoyles as they strode the wall walks and the battlements of the outer wall.

Finally he continued on down the bridge, and on towards the chamber where the Eldunarí had been stored. Having heard the chamber referred to as The Hall of Colors by the elves, Azzais inclined to agree with their name of choice, as he couldn't help but find it fitting, the hue of the Eldunarí coming in every color.

It was a large, disk-shaped chamber, over two hundred feet across. In the center, upon several tiered daisies, sat an assortment of glittering Eldunarí. Mostly those he and Vulthurin had fetched from the Vault of Souls on Vroengard, while all the others had been the hearts of hearts that Galbatorix had once kept enslaved to his will, and having been driven mad with his spells and mental torture.

The larger Eldunarí rested upon the central dais, while the smaller ones had been arranged in rings about them. Piercing the circular wall of the chamber were dozens of narrow lancet windows, which the elves had fitted with pieces of crystal that split the incoming light into flecks of rainbow. No matter the time of day, the north-facing room was always bright and strewn with multi-hued shards, both from the windows and the Eldunarí themselves.

He made his way to the center, dipping his head in greetings as he passed by in front of the sparkling, gold-hued gem that was Glaedr's heart of hearts. The dragon's mind touched his own, and Azzias felt a vast vista of thought and feeling open up before him. As always, it was a humbling experience, though he could not help but notice a sense of unease rolling off in waves from the great golden dragon's Eldunarí.

It was then that Azzais felt another mind press against his, that of Umaroth, one of the oldest Eldunarí. Out of reflex, he glanced towards the white heart of hearts that contained the dragon's consciousness.

"It is not often that you bacon me here, what is it that troubles you. Umaroth?"

Forgive me, Argetlam. But the matter is urgent and can not wait. Now tell me, do you remember how my wingmates and I kept watch upon Alagaësia from within the Vault of Souls?

"Yes," said Azzais, already having an inkling of what the dragon was hinting at.

He was right. Well we have continued the practice, Argetlam, casting our minds farther than ever, as a means of whiling away the days, yes, but also that we might stay abreast of events and not be surprised by the rise of some new enemy. And it seems we were right in doing so.

Suddenly more minds made to join Umaroth's: the rest of the Eldunarí, pressing in around Azzais's consciousness like a sea of growling voices. As always, it took a concentrated effort to ward them off and keep hold of his own thoughts. Why am I not surprised?

"Very well then," said Azzais. He took a deep breath as he prepared himself, then lifted his gaze. "Show me."

Inexorable as an onrushing tide, the dragons' minds washed over his own. They swept Azzais out of his body, out of the Hall of Colors and away from snow-clad Mount Arngor and all his cares and worries, carrying him toward the distant and unfamiliar lands east of Alagaësia.

Images blossomed before him, and within them Azzais saw and felt far more than he'd expected...