Discordant Note: Crescendo | TBATE

Chapter 224: The Dragon and the Earth

Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!

Toren Daen

I touched down beside Jotilda Shintstone, graceful as a falling feather. Many of the dwarves around me shied away slightly as I rolled my shoulders, giving me wary glances and uncertain looks.

That was something I'd quickly discovered once I'd ascended to the white core. The mages of Dicathen viewed magical flight with an air of reverence and awe: after all, it was the marker that someone had reached the pinnacle of power in their world. To see an Alacryan so casually flitting about was a quiet reminder of my true strength.

"Olfred won't be joining us tonight," I said with a sigh. "He's holed up in the Undercroft, like you guessed. And even if he did, I'm not sure he'd be the inspirational image you need."

Jotilda, at least, took my entrance without much staring and gawking. The elder had too much personal experience with me to be shocked by this.

"That man's a coward," she snorted, clearly uncaring of listening ears around. "Just because Rahdeas is a dimwit now, he refuses to do anything. Some Lance he is, refusing to act for his people."

From the subtle murmuring of the dwarven nobility around us, I knew they'd caught Elder Shintstone's words. She didn't seem to care, the hard lines of her face deepening as she leveled a gaze across the milling partygoers.

The setup on Burim's docks was much the same as within the cavern. Drooping ribbons charted pathways from a dozen lampposts, creating beautiful interweaves of color. Small fires danced in raised torchlight, and more than a dozen stalls were arrayed all along the streets with colorful confections and what I assumed were party games. Familiar music drifted into the air–the sound of drums and hope. There weren't nearly as many mages about as I'd grown accustomed to in Alacrya, but still, the ambient mana was rippling with anticipation and enjoyment.

It wasn't just dwarves here–though they were the majority. A few humans and elves could be spotted standing head and shoulders taller than the rest of the celebrators, their faces showing none of the wear and tear I'd grown accustomed to whenever I interacted with these hardy folk.

I let out a sigh as I stood beside Elder Shintstone, my eyes tracking Aurora's Vessel Form far in the sky as she wheeled about, enjoying the freedom of the skies. And it hit me all at once why this felt so strange. Why it felt so incongruous to stand here amidst these celebrations.

I found myself focusing on a dwarven child—not much older than eight or nine—as they sat, enraptured by a mage's grand performance. Small sculptures of clay and stone shifted and weaved in animated gestures as the dwarf's grand voice bellowed out, telling the child some grand tale of heroism. The child giggled with glee as one of the clay figures stuck up a tiny little sword.

It doesn't feel like these people are at war, I realized. It's almost like the East Fiachran cookfires back in Alacrya, where the people were able to put down their burdens for the shortest time.

"I'm going to take a look at the festivities," I said, beginning to stroll away from Elder Shinstone as a nostalgic sense of fondness settled in my stomach. "If you need me, I shouldn't be too hard to spot."

As I strolled through the festivities, I allowed myself to relax slightly. Where I'd normally get very mixed reactions from everyone I passed, the infectious energy suffusing the air seemed to banish much of the outright hostility I normally received.

And something drew my eye. That very same puppetmaster—who had made small clay golems holding shields and swinging swords to entertain the children—met my eye as he completed his show. I blinked in surprise as he smiled widely, revealing a few gaps in his teeth.