Chapter 32 The Fortress
I stare at my hands on the cold, hard bricks of the tower I’m standing on. From this vantage point, I should be able to see all three kingdoms spread out like spokes on a wheel. I should see the cliffs of Stormcoast being battered by the savage sea. I should see Obsidian Reach, its black, glistening walls spearing into the blue sky. I should see Flamepeak, the only mountain standing nearly as tall as Dragon Mount. I should see the plumes of ash and the rain of fire that never stops, forever spewing magma from the mouth of hell itself.
I should be able to see all this, cradled by the emerald green and shimmering blues of the ocean surrounding us as far as the eye can see. But I can’t.
I only see Calder.
Rose in hand, terror in his eyes.
I can’t breathe. I’m holding onto the stones at the top of this tower for dear life, and I can’t breathe. The wind whips my hair loose from my long braid and tears freeze as they fall from my eyes, landing on the golden rose between my hands like cold diamonds. The one he picked for me. The one that claimed his life.
The smell of brimstone and sulfur is strong, even up here on the tallest of all the towers in Hellbane. The dappled gray stones, worn from years of rain, scrape my palms as I grip them to steady myself. The fortress is enshrouded in steam, or fog, I can’t tell which nor can be bothered to figure it out. The wind whips wildly this high above the ground, throwing my loose hair back from my face with stinging cold sensations. So similar to the way it blew in the squall on the mountain just before we lost him…
I should be thrilled right now.
I should be gawking at the aged buildings and carvings that are centuries old. I should be swept away by the lore and legend of this place I fought so hard to get to.
But all I can think about is how much Calder wanted to see this, too.
And how he never will.
Dragons take everything. They destroy, devour, and decimate everything in their path. They have no heart, no feeling. They have only hunger and anger. Calder’s screams echo in my mind, only drowned out by the screech of that ebony bitch as she sent him to his death.
My knees begin to shake and I surrender to the pull, letting myself crumple hard on the bricks. I rest my head on the balustrade, spinning the rose’s stem between my freezing fingers. How many more people who I care about will be taken by fire and claw?
My shoulders tremble, and my spine feels like it's straining against the need to rip my body apart from the inside out. I don’t deserve to live, not when so many have died. Why do I get to breathe when Calder had so much more ahead of him? All I have is rage and vengeance, he had a family. His smile as he told me about his mother haunts me. His laugh haunts me. His hopes and dreams…
“Anara.”
No. No, this isn’t fair. He should be alive, this rose should be the only thing that fell.
“Anara…”
Maybe if I’d been closer, maybe...
“Anara!”
Rough hands grab my shoulders, shaking me as they turn and crush me into a strange embrace. I find myself clinging to cotton robes, flimsy and filthy, just as I must be. Someone’s hand cups the back of my head and everything in me snaps. Sorrow I’ve barely been holding back bubbles up in my throat and erupts out of me in a scream that scours my throat.
“Hellbane has seen many a loss, child,” Thorne says, his gnarled hands holding me steady. “Many have died without cause, many have died heroes, none have died as foolishly as that boy did this morning.”
I jerk back, pressing my hands hard against Thorne’s chest and trying to rip myself out of his grip. His face is chiseled into a frown, his skin appearing as cold as stone. The blindfold over his eyes is strained by his pinched brow, but somehow he seems to be looking straight into my soul, with or without eyesight.
“Anara, listen to me.” Hard hands clasp my face, holding me perfectly still. “That death? That was a mercy. Had he made it to the trial when he came of age, he would have been slaughtered. Falling to his death was a blessing compared to what it could have been.”
“He never should have been here at all!” I scream, slapping Thorne’s hands away from my face. “None of them should. We were supposed to ride the alicorns up the mountain like every year before this one. Why did you change things? Was it just to make us suffer? Are you that fucking cruel, Throrne?”
“Look around, girl!” he snarls, gripping me by the back of the neck and turning me towards the fortress.
I see the towers and balustrades, the hutches and barracks, the dining hall, and the chapel. But what I see more than anything is the river of lava that flows through every path, straight down the middle. I see the charred walls. In Hellbane fortress, the only things living are the slayers and the alicorns. There’s no plant life on the ground, only the golden flowers that climb the surrounding volcanic walls as if trying to escape hell.
Yet the fortress stands. It stands in opposition to destruction. It stands despite the death all around it. Hellbane… Hell’s bane…
“The only reason slayers survive dragon battle is because we travel through hell, walk across burning coals with bare feet, and splay our chest open to danger. We do this so those people in the cities and towns far below don’t have to. We do this to protect them, we do it to die for them. That boy should never have volunteered, but he did. He chose his fate.”