“I was beginning to get worried, my dear,” Chelos said in his weakening voice. “You know you should not risk such long trips.”
“Yes, yes,” she said in a flurry. “You’ll understand once I explain.” And so she did, recounting the events quite precisely. She had grown very good at memorising the things she overheard or saw, a skill likely nurtured by her years of solitary study. When she finished, the old dragon stood a little taller and his eyes regained a spark she had not seen in years.
“I always knew he was still alive,” he said. “Yet why has it taken so long?”
“Zarl was confirming a theory they had. I don’t think they were sure themselves until recently.”
“Hmmm,” Chelos mused, taking a seat on one of the plush loungers that lined the oversized foyer. “The how or the why makes little difference to us. But Cassandra, my child, you must go to him.”
“Go to him?” Cassandra exclaimed. The thought made her both exuberant and sick. Leaving the Bastion would mean freedom; freedom she had yearned for her whole life, yet it would be perilous. Chelos had always cautioned her.
And now he wants me to go?
“Chelos, you know I want to get out, more than anything, but I don’t see how I can. You’ve always told me it was impossible. Every plan I’ve cooked up, you’ve shot down. Even if I escaped, we both know I wouldn’t make it far. You said Castallan would just hunt me down again, right? This fortress is supposed to be impenetrable from the outside; it seems it works both ways.”
“I have one idea,” Chelos said.
“Have you always had it?” Cassandra asked. “You showed me how to access the passages around this place. Are you telling me there are more?”
Chelos stared blankly back at her, almost guiltily.
He did know a way to get out. This whole time, he’s had some plan…
A small ball of fury began to spin inside her. “And you never thought to tell me?”
“It was never the right time before…”
Cassandra closed her eyes, incredulous at the gall of the old dragon. “Never the right time? When would have been the right time? When I was as old as you and past the point of caring?”
“You might not be free but you are at least alive and well,” Chelos said. “It would break my already worn heart to see you hurt. It pains me even to risk letting you go now. But go you must,” his voice became more firm. “You must try, Cassandra. If nothing else, Darnuir needs to be warned. The whole world needs to be warned.”
“Even if somehow I make it out, how will I ever get to the Boreacs?” Cassandra said, the gathering anger in her untangling somewhat at Chelos’ words.
“Have Trask help you,” Chelos said, though he seemed a little apprehensive. Cassandra felt little better about the notion.
“Trask has half a hundred ideas but that doesn’t mean any of them will work.”
“I understand your reservations about going to Trask but he would do anything for you.”
“I know,” she said morosely.
Chelos gave a tired titter. “You spend your whole life trying to convince me to help you flee. Now I am giving you the chance and you seem unenthused.”
“It feels like you aren’t doing it for me,” Cassandra said. “It seems like you are doing this for him. This Darnuir. Why does it matter if he is back or not?”
“He is the King,” Chelos said simply, as if that were enough. Some moments passed in silence. Chelos sighed softly. “Darnuir gives you a purpose in going. He gives you somewhere and someone to seek refuge with. There has never been a better opportunity.”
Cassandra rocked on her feet. She would go because she wanted out of this prison but she could not help but be afraid. This Darnuir, this supposed Dragon King was her route out. It’s what I’ve always wanted and if I must deal with Trask then so be it.
“Trask then?” she said decisively.
“Indeed!” Chelos said, rising purposefully to the door. “I will go to him and arrange a meeting for you as usual. Make yourself ready to go at a moment’s notice.”
Cassandra did as she was bid and hastened to her bedchamber, which, as Trask had once commented, was as large as the stables. She tore off her gown and donned her simpler clothes of rough-spun leggings, shirt and leather jerkin. She also snatched up the sword Trask had once smuggled to her and strapped it around her waist. Looking in her ornate mirror, she pulled back her long, wavy black hair and scrunched it into a messy knot. Suddenly, her grass-green eyes seemed much larger with her hair lifted away. Even the shape of her face seemed different somehow, more delicate than before. Little wonder Trask thought of her as some precious thing to save. She scowled at herself, then relaxed.
Perhaps I am too hard on him.
Close at hand was a small, carved figurine that Trask had given her when she was still a child. “It’s a little dragon warrior,” he had proclaimed proudly when he had presented it. His father had stolen some during the war; they were used to represent armies on maps. It could fit in the palm of her hand and was beautifully detailed, though the gold paint had almost worn away entirely. Yet she held a resentment against the innocent carving. If she had the strength that a dragon was supposed to have, she would have escaped her prison long ago. She wouldn’t need help. Still, the memory of a younger, sweeter Trask was pleasant. Back before he had grown older and his eyes started to look at her differently. She preferred the younger version. He had truly been her friend. Thinking fondly of her dragon warrior at that moment, she pocketed it.
She drifted through to her library. Shelves of books and scrolls requiring ladders to reach to the top covered the walls. Books of history, books of myth and story, books on everything; bound in rich leathers or precious metal hoops. She ambled slowly around the library, running her hands along the spines. For some unknown reason, Castallan had given her this extreme luxury. Perhaps he knew I wouldn’t be as bothersome if I were occupied. She had devoured them all but loved some more than others. Tiviar’s History of Tenalp was amongst them and a copy of it always lay ready. She picked it up now, for perhaps the last time, and held it tight against her chest. For all her love of the author, he had died nearly one hundred years ago, and no one else had thought to write anything down since, so far as her collection was concerned. Many times, she had urged Chelos to jot down something – anything. Who else would be better? He had been the Steward of the Royal Palace in Aurisha. He must have lived through and experienced so much, yet he told her very little.
She heard the main doors to the apartments slam and someone breathing heavily.
“Chelos?” she called. The aged dragon stumbled into the library, uncharacteristically breathless.
“Trask says… now,” he panted. “It must be now. I’ve never seen so much happening down below.” Chelos clutched his side and it seemed as though his heart might burst in his chest.
Cassandra moved to his aid. “Chelos, are you…?”
“I’m fine!” he exclaimed. “Trask said he would meet you at the bottom of the tower as usual but you must go quickly.”
Cassandra wasted no time in bolting to Chelos’ bedchambers, for that was where their most valuable secret passageway was hidden. She slammed her fist into the pressure plate in the wall above the four-post bed and heard a satisfying thud as the trapdoor swung open underneath. As she began to push the bed aside, Chelos clambered into the room, using anything he could reach for support. With what seemed a tremendous effort, he came to her aid and the task of shifting the bed became easy.
“Wait,” Chelos wheezed. “Cassandra, the tunnel… you must know…”
“Your private secret,” she said, remembering his allusions to a plan. “Where is it? Where does it go?”
“There is an entrance to a passage that should take you out underneath the walls. A false wall under the staircase of the left curtain wall by the western gate. You must use this. Trask says they are checking everything leaving through the main gates even more carefully than usual.” If
Chelos had more to say, he seemed to lack the breath to say it.
“Have you always known about this? Why are you only telling me now?” she asked angrily, but she saw the answer written on his face. His King. His precious Darnuir. This would-be saviour had better be worth the wait. In her frustration with the old dragon, she descended a few rungs of the ladder without bidding him farewell.
“Be safe, my girl,” he rasped.
She stopped. She could not leave like this. Cassandra got back up and embraced Chelos tightly.
He squeezed back. “Do not hesitate to use that sword if you have to.”
“I won’t,” she said and, despite herself, allowed a single pitiful tear to roll down her cheek. She sniffed a little as she drew away from him. “What will you do when he finds out?”
No. I mustn’t think about it.
“It does not matter what happens to me,” Chelos said. “I am old. Far too old. Promise me that you will not worry.”
She nodded. “Goodbye.” The word sounded so meaningless; so small, so inadequate. Her sadness fully engulfed her as Chelos closed the trapdoor, extinguishing all light, and the bed was scraped back into place above. She did not take the time to wipe away her tears. There was little time and she had to go on.
Chapter 10
ESCAPE FROM THE BASTION
CASSANDRA WAS USED to the darkness of the shaft. Some were faintly lit from small slits in the wall if they ran close enough to the edge of the tower, but the internal passageways, such as this one, were darker than night. Stone pegs marked each level of the Bastion. Her hand found a peg and reached instinctively for the engraving beside it. XI¸ eleventh floor. It had not felt like four floors already.
Time dashed by as she descended to the ground with only the rhythmic sounds of her footsteps on the ladder and the sharp tapping of her sword against the cold stone. When her feet finally found a surface, she took a few moments to collect herself. Her hands felt numb, though whether this was from nerves or the chill of the shaft, she could not say. Carefully, she turned herself around in the dark then knelt to push at the exit slab. She had made this trip enough times to know its place by heart. When she pressed on the cool stone, there was a soft hissing noise and the small segment of the wall began to slide away. She shut her eyes so as not to be pained by the rush of sunlight.
She kept low to the ground as she exited the inner tower of the Bastion and, blinking furiously, closed the passage. The earth was dry, hot, cracked and had an unnatural feel to it. All the ground immediately surrounding the Bastion’s citadel was like this. In places, the brown earth had even begun to take on a dark red hue and some areas were pitch-black, yet only a few hundred yards away on any side and the soil remained soft and lush. There, the first blossoming blue crocuses and snowdrops of spring were making their way into the world.
A mighty, five-sided outer wall surrounded her and the citadel tower, with crenulated battlements. At each corner, where the walls met, the stone crested out in the shape of an enormous arrowhead. A secondary inner wall of the same style wrapped around the tower. A final ring of smaller arrow-headed platforms were spaced further from the outer wall, connected by rope bridges, which the defenders might sever if taken by an enemy. If viewed from above, it would have looked like a misshapen star. It was a fortress designed to counter dragons. If Dukoona were to take it for his own, it would be used to aid invaders, not repel them.
A loaded cart was drawn up near her secret exit and an impatient horse beat its hooves on the dusty ground. It was Trask’s but she could not see him and so dropped to her belly, slinking under the cart to avoid the thousands of eyes in the inner courtyard. There was so much activity. They must have been holding nothing back in getting the army ready. Her heart missed a beat as a pair of feet came into view. They approached the cart. After a pause, they crept around to the back, stopped, and then she saw the legs begin to bend. She reached for her sword but was at the completely wrong angle. She fumbled as a man’s hand reached in for her.
“Cass!” Trask’s voice hissed. “Come up now, we have to move fast.”
Cassandra scrambled out from her inadequate hiding place and got to her feet.
“Close one,” she told him. “I was almost about to kill you.”
Trask’s expression showed that he very much doubted it.
You’d be wrong to think that I wouldn’t.
His normally homely face had the unfortunate addition of a pock-ravaged nose. His eyes were large and bright however, and she had told him this once, in a momentary spur, hoping it might placate his feelings. That had been a mistake. He seemed to take it as encouragement, and she did not care for how those eyes looked at her thereafter. She had learned from that at least. She took a step back from him.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
“You’re asking me?” Cassandra said, infuriated. “I thought you were to help me get to the edge of the inner wall.”
“And how am I to do that with everyone around?” Trask asked, rummaging in the back of his cart. “Put these on at least.” He thrust an apron and washerwoman’s cowl into her hands. Cassandra ducked down and awkwardly put them on. The knot of the cowl pressed tightly under her chin. She smeared dirt and dust onto her face and clothes for good measure. “And give me that as well,” Trask insisted, putting his hand on her sword. Cassandra reacted like a startled cat, whipping her hand to her sword’s hilt, not allowing him to take it.
“Don’t you—” she began.
“Stop!” Trask said. “You know you can’t hide it. If you want any chance of blending in, you’d best hand it over.” Reluctantly, she unstrapped the worn sword and handed it to him. “I’ll give you it back,” he added, tucking it in an open crate of other weapons.
You’d better.
“I need to get to the western edge of the inner wall, near the gate,” Cassandra told him.
Trask sighed as he glanced around. “Well, you are the expert.”
“You won’t help me?”
“I’ll do what I can,” Trask said. “But I cannot just sneak you out on the cart. All inventory is being checked. Chelos said you would be able to get right outside the fortress?”
“That’s what he said. Trask, I—”
He cut her off, quickly piling dirtied leathers of white, mud red, yellow and dark green into her hands from the cart. He stacked the pile high enough so that it covered her face. She heard booted feet crunch nearby on the dry earth.
“Yes, that’s right,” Trask said loudly. “We’ll need these hunter uniforms well cleaned. You can send them on later.”
The booted feet crunched away.
“Thank you,” she said, muffled from beneath the clothes.
“Thank me once you are out,” Trask said. “I’ll need to get going before it looks too suspicious.”
He clambered up to the driving seat of his cart and tugged at the reins. His horse snorted loudly and Cassandra heard its feet clop off from behind her pile of laundry. Still blinded by the messy hunter uniforms, Cassandra was left uncertainly in the middle of the vast inner courtyard of the Bastion. You could have at least taken some of these leathers away with you, Trask.
She carefully tipped the top layers off the pile.
“What are you doing, dear?”
Cassandra gasped as she turned, though was relieved to see only a matronly washerwoman bustling up to her. “Oh, I’m sorry, I was just…” Damn, what am I just?
“Not to worry,” the woman said. Her accent was thick, like most of those who were brought up outside of the towns and Brevia. “They need scrubbing anyway.” She stared at Cassandra expectantly. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know where to go,” she said, rather stupidly. Trask had really left her in a lurch. “I’m new. One of the stable hands just dumped this on me and left.”
The matron nodded in a knowing fashion, as if to say she expected nothing else. “Come along, dear,” she said, beckoning Cassandra to follow
her. Cassandra did, not knowing what else she could do. “Ruddy chaos around here,” the woman blustered, more to herself than Cassandra. “If Zarl keeps recruiting more people, we’ll have half the people of the Dales living here before long. And what will that mean for the likes of old Winnie here? More damn work and less gratitude I tell you!”
“Oh?” Cassandra said, her mind desperately working to find a way out of her predicament. The woman was taking her the completely wrong way, likely over to one of the barracks. The inner courtyard was so rammed with people and horses hauling heavy loads that it became very hard just to maintain her footing with her bundle of leathers.
“Oh yes,” Winnie said. “But so long as the demons are kept far away from here, I shan’t complain too much. And where are you from, dear? I like to get to know all my girls and boys but I don’t remember you arriving.”
“Um,” Cassandra began.
“Oh my!” exclaimed the woman, throwing out an arm to halt Cassandra. A couple of mounted men were shoving people aside as they wove between the crowds, evidently in some terrible hurry. “Some people,” Winnie complained. “I’m sorry, dear, where did you say you were from?”
“I’m from Deas,” Cassandra said. It was the largest town in the Southern Dales and seemed like the safest option.
“Ah yes,” said Winnie. “Lots of youngsters coming in from Deas. Don’t think Lord Annandale even bothers to stop Castallan’s agents recruiting anymore.” They drew closer to the eastern barracks, as Cassandra had feared. A forge was burning beside it, a mixture of smoke and great bouts of steam rising in the air as smiths tempered the weapons. Cassandra had to get away but Winnie did not seem to want to leave her side. “So who brought you in?” she asked.
The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King Page 15
