“I would be much in your debt,” Brackendon replied and started forwards.
“Halt stranger,” the hunter said, almost amused.
Is he playing with me?
“A simple traveller are you? Well I just don’t believe you.”
“Then why not just shoot me?”
“Well you’re not a demon,” the hunter said, stepping a little closer, “but I don’t know many ‘simple travellers’ who wear such robes, or carry such fine staves.”
Brackendon cursed himself for not hiding his staff. “A good walking stick serves well in these mountains.”
“Most walking sticks are not so tall, nor so silver,” the hunter said, creeping ever forwards. Brackendon could see him better now. He was surprisingly young for a voice that commanded so much confidence. Disorderedly black hair topped his head, while his face was covered in a young man’s patchy attempt at a beard. His skin was not yet crinkled by age. A skinny frame hinted he was to grow more and his eyes contained a youthfulness that made Brackendon suspect the boy was barely fifteen. “I’m only young,” the hunter said, “but I think I know a wizard when I see one.”
Perhaps he thinks I am Castallan?
“If you believe that then you ought to do as I say,” Brackendon said, hoping the hunter would comply. He would be useless in a fight right now.
The hunter stopped advancing, but the tension did not. “I do believe it,” the hunter said. He released his arrow.
It spiralled towards Brackendon and he was forced to act. He did as little as he could, pushing against the arrow to make it veer off course. Even this small use of Cascade power was a strain on him and he became acutely aware of the build-up in his staff. His staff was too busy processing the consequences of his earlier healing magic. It felt as though there was fire in his veins. He let out a cry that bellowed through the night and fell once more onto his knees. His free hand steadied himself on the snowy stones but he could not feel the cold now. He could not feel much at all. With effort, Brackendon lifted his head. The hunter notched another arrow.
“Garon, lower your bow!” a voice thundered from the tavern. The young hunter hesitated, keeping his bow held high.
“It’s a wizard, Cosmo!” Garon said. “It’s Casta—”
“Don’t be so foolish!” Cosmo barked running to Garon and pushing his bow down. “Do you think Castallan would show up here? I know this man, and I’d be most upset if you killed him.” He took the boy by the scruff of the neck.
“I’m sorry, Cosmo, I just…” Garon tried to say. Cosmo appeared to settle down, now the immediate danger had passed.
“You were a bit overzealous,” Cosmo said. “Shooting first is for demons and enraged beasts.”
“And dragons?” Garon said, laughing a little at some inside joke. Cosmo did not join him.
“Not for hundreds of years,” Cosmo said. “And I would pity you if you tried to fight a dragon, Garon. They could snap you in two.”
“It’s just a joke, sir,” Garon said, shrugging off the older hunter. “I am sorry,” he said looking at Brackendon. “Please, forgive my brashness.”
“I already have, Garon.” Brackendon winced as he staggered to his feet. Cosmo rushed to aid him and began to direct him towards the tavern. “We must discuss something privately,” Brackendon whispered to his friend.
Cosmo nodded.
“My absence will be noted if I leave,” he whispered back. “We can talk inside,” he nodded to the bustling tavern. “No one will overhear us in there. They are all far too merry to notice much.” The young hunter, Garon, was looking suspiciously over his shoulder at the pair of them.
“Will he be trouble?” Brackendon whispered again.
“Garon? No I’d trust him with my life,” Cosmo said.
“I hope so,” Brackendon said as they neared the tavern’s illuminated doorway. “The fate of the world may now lie with us.”
Chapter 5
THE FATE OF THE WORLD
BRACKENDON ALLOWED COSMO to lead him over to the noisy bar. After giving a quiet word to Garon, Cosmo thumped his hand upon the bar’s surface. Two frothy drinks were produced by the barman, slopping messily as they were placed in front of them.
“I dare say I’ll need the strength to hear what you are about to tell me,” Cosmo said, polishing off the majority of his drink in one draught, while Brackendon sipped tentatively at his own. It was surprisingly light but it wouldn’t serve his needs for now.
“I’d prefer water, Cosmo, and lots of it.”
“Been using magic?” Cosmo asked, gesturing to the barman that he required another ale.
“Yes, I have,” Brackendon said. He glanced worryingly around at the crowd. “I don’t mean to be rude Cosmo but we really must talk in private.”
“And so we will,” Cosmo replied. “I sent Garon upstairs to find us a spot. We’ll be amongst this revelry but not that noticeable. Does that sound agreeable?”
Brackendon nodded. Cosmo gave him a half-smile in return. Now, in the light of the tavern, Brackendon appreciated just how worn Cosmo appeared. It had only been five years since they had parted but Cosmo already had a weariness to him. His eyes carried heavy, dark bags, and his face showed the remnants of scratches and slashes. His beard was full, though far from bushy, and his matted chestnut hair was in need of a clean. Yet his grass-green eyes retained their warmth. The eyes of someone genuine and caring.
Young Garon returned to them shortly after Cosmo’s second drink arrived. He led them up the stairs to a table near the balcony’s edge on the second floor. As they took their seats, Cosmo grabbed Garon’s arm.
“Go get water for our friend here,” he told him. “Good, clean water, and cold if you can manage. Bring as much as you can without drawing attention.” Garon quickly nodded and began to weave back through the bodies. There were less people upstairs but the noise in the tavern was still great. Such was the gaiety that Brackendon wondered whether anyone had even noticed his arrival.
“We started early,” Cosmo explained, as if sensing Brackendon’s thoughts. “It’s rare that the hunters or town’s folk get the opportunity these days.”
From their vantage point, Brackendon could see many people who were not garbed in white leathers. Young women sat giggling in the laps of grizzled-looking hunters; while other women were in white and grey leather armour, with dangerous knives at their waist. Huntresses – armed, trained and in uniform. Dragons would not approve.
Mixed groups of civilians and hunters played dice; and absolutely everyone had a drink to hand. The tavern was well lit and reasonably spacious. Tables, railings and chairs were expertly carved and smoothed from wood of light yellowish-brown and muddy red. It must easily have been the largest space for such a gathering in Cold Point. Shaped like an elongated T, Brackendon could see an additional level above them where still more party makers were enjoying themselves – some hanging a little precariously over the railings.
“I wouldn’t want to be sleeping in one of the rooms upstairs tonight,” Cosmo said as he drank heavily again from his tankard. Brackendon felt another stab of pain as his body protested against the magic he had put it through. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth until it passed. “What’s happened, Brackendon?” Cosmo asked anxiously. “Your robes are dirtied with blood, and not all of it is from demons. Why are you here?”
“I’m not sure where to begin,” Brackendon sighed heavily as the pain in his body subsided. Unfortunately, his pounding head did not abate. “The beginning would be the best place but that isn’t always obvious. The last twenty-four hours should suffice.”
As best he could, Brackendon then explained the events of the previous day. Being so far away from the main events of the war, news of the demons swift advance had not filtered through the Boreac Mountains. Brackendon had reached the point when the demons had begun their assault on the city when Garon reappeared beside them, carrying a large jug, and spilling some of its contents as he set it down on their tabl
e. With a flourish, Garon whipped out a small glass from behind his back and placed it before Brackendon.
“My thanks, Garon,” Brackendon said. He ignored the small glass and lifted the heavy jug to his lips. He drank eagerly, for water would aid his body to recover. When he set the jug back down, half its weight was gone. Garon looked stunned.
“On you go, Garon,” Cosmo said, shooing him away. “But stay in sight in case we have need of you again.”
“Yes, Cosmo,” Garon said. If he was perplexed at these odd requests, he didn’t show it.
“Is that everything or is there more ill news?” Cosmo asked.
“Oh, much more,” Brackendon said. Cosmo eyed Brackendon’s untouched tankard. He reached for it and, when Brackendon didn’t protest, he took it for himself.
“Go on,” the hunter said.
Brackendon continued with his story. He recited everything: his rescue of Darnuir, why he brought them here, Darnuir’s injuries, his need to use magic on him, and even the issue of Arkus’ daughter. Cosmo’s face stiffened at this last piece of news.
“Poor, old sod,” the hunter mumbled into his drink.
“He’s lost both his children now,” Brackendon said, “and it’s my fault.”
Cosmo gave him a sharp look. “Only the girl could be construed as your fault, but I wouldn’t burden yourself with it. You didn’t know she was there.”
“I should have known,” Brackendon said. “I should have taken more time to think.”
“You reacted in the moment,” Cosmo said. “Had you brought her here, we would have had an infant to care for as well as a dying prince. What good would that have done?” Brackendon was surprised at Cosmo’s harsh words and pulled back a little in his seat. “Ah, I didn’t mean it like that,” the hunter said. “It’s a terrible thing. Likely she is dead but you can’t dwell on it.”
“Brevia will react poorly to the news,” Brackendon said. “Now that the succession is in question again. I take it you haven’t—”
“No,” Cosmo said curtly. “I haven’t heard anything about Arkus’ son, nor have I seen him, nor do I know anyone who has heard of him or seen him.”
“I was only asking,” Brackendon said defensively.
“Well ask something else,” Cosmo said, returning to his drink. “I’m tired of hearing about Arkus’ bloody son.”
“Very well,” said Brackendon, “tell me, friend, what am I to do? I’ve been turning it over in my mind.”
“Can anything be done?” Cosmo shouted over the hunters that had started to sing loudly. Down below, several instrumentalists had trooped out and played near the bar. One held a lute, two had fiddles, and the fourth wore two small drums, one strapped over each shoulder. The songs were pacey, full of mirth, and the crowd joined in with gusto.
“There is one way to save Darnuir,” Brackendon began hesitantly, “but it is little better than death in truth. A spell, Cosmo; one of rebirth. If I use it on him, it will send him back to infancy and he’ll be free of any fatal damage.”
“I don’t understand,” Cosmo said. “I thought healing magic was extremely costly. You seem to be on the brink of breaking just from stitching up his side.”
“Oh, I am far from that brink,” Brackendon tried to assure him. Yet I am still too close to it. “But the rebirth spell is not healing, exactly. I would be essentially destroying him – undoing his body, and removing his memories in the process. I’d be killing this Darnuir and leaving a new one, like a book taken apart and the words wiped from the pages. Its destruction, not healing, and destruction is cheap.”
Cosmo didn’t immediately react. He gazed intently at Brackendon, face passive but eyes focused. “I’ve never heard of such a thing before,” he finally admitted.
“Well, it has very little utility,” Brackendon explained. “As I say, you are essentially killing the person in the rebirthing process. Time is rewound upon the subject and they are left as a baby. It doesn’t save the person who it is used upon. If someone you loved was dying, the rebirth spell would still take them from you. While that person would grow up from a babe once more, their surroundings, their personality, the experiences that shape them would be different. They would never be truly the same. But Cosmo,” Brackendon urged, leaning back over the table, “Darnuir must survive. In one form or another, he must. The poison in his system will kill him soon regardless.”
Cosmo finished off the last of his ale. He set the tankard down slowly and carefully, and was about to speak when a call came out from somewhere in the crowd below.
“Play The Way of the Beast!” it called.
“Yes,” another voice said, “give us The Way of the Beast!” A general murmuring of agreement followed. The musicians obliged and the tempo of the music changed dramatically. The drummer beat slowly and softly on just one drum, sending deep reverberations around the room. The fiddlers joined in with weeping strings, and all the hunters in the tavern began a low humming in unison. Cosmo did not join them.
“Why, Brackendon?” Cosmo said in a low voice to avoid standing out in the more subdued atmosphere. “Why ‘must’ he live? Everything I have heard does not paint him favourably. Ill-tempered, ill-mannered, and he has no love for humanity, from what I gather. What should we care?”
“You should not believe every rumour you hear,” Brackendon said.
“So they aren’t true?” Cosmo asked. Brackendon’s silent hesitation did not help his point. The humming hunters began to sing the words to their slow tune in the background of their conversation.
“The wolf may howl, the bear will growl,
And our arrows shall sing.”
“He must live. Who else can lead the dragons?”
“I’m sure they are capable of raising up a new king,” said Cosmo.
“A wolf bounds fast, a bear has strength,
A dragon is the same.”
“They will never follow anyone but their true king,” Brackendon whispered fiercely.
“Never before in the history of Tenalp have the dragons faced a similar situation?” asked Cosmo. “Never before have they been without a king from the royal bloodline?”
“The stag has horns, dragons have claws,
So just stay out of range.”
“I doubt it,” Brackendon told him, “as hard as that is to believe. They have tough immune systems and live far longer than us. No crisis of succession arising naturally comes to mind, and no king other than Aurisha himself has ever died in combat.”
“When arrows fly, the wild beasts die,
A dragon dies the same.”
“The dragons are stubborn!” Brackendon urged to Cosmo under his breath. “They certainly won’t follow Arkus.”
“Well I wouldn’t,” Cosmo snorted in agreement. “But he is well-respected enough in Brevia. Maybe the dragons will just have to—”
“They won’t,” Brackendon insisted.
“The wolf will bite, the bear will swipe,
The stag will charge its foe.”
“You ask why we should care. We all need the dragons if we have any chance of winning this war,” Brackendon said. “This whole celebration of yours is hollow compared to events outside these mountains. You might want to run and bury your head in the snow, but I work for the good of humanity.”
The singing in the hall began to rise steadily to a crescendo.
“Still we as men can counter them,
A dragon dies the same.
When arrows fly, the wild beasts die,
A dragon dies the same.”
“I thought you wanted to do good, Cosmo? To help people,” Brackendon said. “There is no greater good you could do for the world than help Darnuir right now.”
“We have done good,” Cosmo said. “We’re celebrating a victory. The Boreac Mountains are now safe…” he moved his mouth as if chewing. The hunters returned to their antics; the music increased in pace once more, along with the volume of alcohol consumed.
“It’s not that I don’t wa
nt to help, Brackendon,” Cosmo continued, “but I don’t see the benefit of it all. Even if you succeed in this rebirthing, Darnuir will still be an infant. Who will lead the dragons in his absence? If they are so unwilling to select even a regent then this whole rebirth will be pointless.”
“I cannot account for what the dragons will or will not do,” Brackendon said. “So far as I know, the situation is unprecedented. But it’s not just about that,” he flinched, his head pounding again. He reached for his water. “There is the Dragon’s Blade to consider.”
“Some magic sword?” Cosmo dismissed. “What good has that done? Draconess has had the sword for longer than I’ve been alive and it hasn’t helped him win the war.”
“It does have power, Cosmo,” Brackendon said. “I could sense it the few times I was near it.” He took a few great gulps of water and washed down the bitterness in his mouth. “Again, I am not certain on this – I understand little of how the sword works – but I believe it can only pass on down the true royal bloodline. If Darnuir dies, and Draconess is already dead, the sword’s power will also diminish.”
“And if Draconess is still alive?”
“Then nothing will happen where the sword is concerned,” Brackendon said. “However Draconess’ fate is unknown to us, and we have to make a choice based on the worst case scenario.”
“Oh, is it ‘we’ already?” Cosmo said.
The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King Page 6
