“Darnuir,” Cosmo said, his voicing reaching Darnuir as if from afar. Cosmo crouched down, waving a hand in front of Darnuir. Darnuir’s senses sharpened and only then did he realise he had dripped spoonfuls of his breakfast down his front.
“Yes,” Darnuir said hoarsely.
Cosmo patted his shoulder as he sat down beside him, wincing in pain as he did so.
“You’re like a son to me, you know that,” Cosmo began. “Balack is too in a way, and Eve was like family as well.” He paused for a long minute as if in respect. “It hurts. It aches. I don’t think I have felt this empty after a victory in my whole life.”
Darnuir muttered an agreement and took another spoonful of porridge into his mouth to avoid having to give a verbal response.
“I know that some of us will miss her even more,” Cosmo continued, and he flicked his eyes towards the hunched form of Balack, sitting as far away from Darnuir as he could. “But the only thing that will help is time. Words won’t. People try to comfort through words and it rarely helps. Just be there for him, okay? And I will be here for both of you.”
Darnuir tried to speak but his throat felt dried out from the grief. “I’ll do what I can for him,” he managed to say. Cosmo could not know that a generous helping of guilt racked at him as well. Can I ever tell Balack what happened now? Will it be worse or better now he cannot confront her? A small part of him felt almost relieved such an encounter could now never occur, and felt disgusted with himself for thinking it. “How is Brackendon?” Darnuir asked, feeling it best to switch topics.
“Rather ill,” Cosmo said sadly. “He could barely stand upright and those who had watched over him in the night said that he had all the symptoms of a terrible fever, although he lacked any temperature. He writhed in his sleep and, after his wails had subsided, he curled up in a foetal position, muttering incoherently.”
“Cosmo,” Darnuir began in sorrow. “I am so sorry. I—”
“It is not your fault.”
“But it was me who—”
“It was a battle, Darnuir,” Cosmo said gently. “Brackendon knew the risks and you hardly meant it.” Darnuir pushed his oats around his bowl but didn’t eat any more. “We’ll be leaving today,” Cosmo announced, his tone becoming more business-like. “The civilians are making their way back from the edge of town and we’ll leave as soon as possible.”
Darnuir had guessed as much. What else is there to do? “Where will we go?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Cosmo admitted. “But technically, that isn’t my decision.”
“Well, if Scythe is still alive then he’ll be able to—”
“No, Darnuir. It is not his decision either,” Cosmo interrupted. “The truth is that you hold all the authority here, in theory.” Darnuir’s mouth somehow felt even drier than it had before.
“There are no dragons here; I’m not your king, am I?” he said, not really believing he was king of anything.
“I thought you wanted to lead one day?”
“One day, yes,” Darnuir stressed. “Far off, I’d always assumed. When I had a lot more experience. And I saw myself as Captain, not as king of a people whom I’ve never met nor have the faintest idea where they even are. Now, fancy that, a king who has misplaced his subjects.”
Cosmo did not seem entirely in the mood to coddle him. “If that sword didn’t just answer to one dragon, and if your kind were not so stubborn, then perhaps none of this would have happened. Brackendon and I might not have gone out of our way to keep you alive. You probably would have died that night. I saw you, hot and shaking from a poison in your veins.” He leaned in so Darnuir was forced to look at him. “Whether you like it or not, you’ll be in charge soon.”
“And do you think I am ready for that?”
“No,” Cosmo said. “I am to blame for that, for not preparing you more. I knew it was coming after all, yet I don’t know what I might have done for you. I’ve never wanted to lead and I still don’t. I’m hoping Scythe survived in the station more than anything right now.”
“You may not want it but you do it well,” Darnuir said. “The men respect and follow you.”
“The benefit of being one of the oldest and most experienced, Darnuir. Don’t be mistaken; it is my years here, not me personally, that make them follow me.”
Darnuir decided to silently disagree. He is a born leader who does not wish to lead, whilst I was born to lead and have no choice about it. The unfairness of it struck him then, not the injustice towards those who found themselves in charge but to those who had no choice in who led them.
“I don’t have years, Cosmo,” he said.
“Then you’ll have to earn it!” Cosmo said. “It won’t be so hard. Your performance last night has gone a long way towards that, and you will be thoroughly involved in all major decisions henceforth. Whether you like it or not.”
“That wasn’t me, Cosmo. I lost control of myself. I don’t know what happened.”
“Well, lose control like that a few more times and the war will be won,” Cosmo said, getting to his feet. “Finish up and then come help us outside. We could use a strong dragon like yourself.”
***
The survivors wasted no time in leaving Cold Point to begin their slog through the Boreac Mountains. One week had now passed and they drew close to Farlen at the base of the mountain range. Each day consisting of waking, eating, walking and sleeping. Every night, Darnuir watched the same dream play in his head. The cautious man, the request for things unknown, and his own perplexing demand: “I seek answers.” Darnuir only hoped that it would change soon, or at least that he would forget it like other dreams. Yet there was something different about these visions; it was almost as if they were real.
Their column meandered solemnly, feeling nothing like the freshly-liberated ought to. What few poor beasts of burden remained to them dragged laden carts, filled with their last provisions, the sick and those still wounded. Grace was sitting in one of them, her pregnancy now heavy upon her. This journey is the last thing she needs. Cosmo walked alongside her, giving up his place at the head of the group alongside Darnuir, Garon and even Brackendon, who had emerged shortly before they departed, looking sallow and shaken. Despite appearing at death’s door, the wizard insisted that he did not require aid. He had walked alongside Darnuir for the most part, though he had shivered noticeably in the cold. However, the air had become palpably warmer now they were in the lower part of the range. The ruins of Farlen came into view and the change in climate seemed to do good for Brackendon.
“You seem steadier on your feet,” Darnuir remarked, noticing that the wizard was standing more upright.
“I’ll survive,” Brackendon reassured. He shook a little. “Compared to breaking, this feels like a pin prick.”
“What will happen now?” Garon inquired, marching alongside them.
“Little until I acquire a new staff,” Brackendon replied. “Now I only have my own body to rely on, and it truly is a feeble thing.” He raised his half-scaled hand in making his point.
“Where can you get another?” Darnuir asked.
“Not from the markets in Brevia,” Brackendon said. “No matter how articulate they are in their pitch. A smoothed, wooden branch is not enough. I shall have to rely on the fairies once again.”
“Just as well you arrived when you did,” said Scythe, a slight edge to his voice. “I assumed it was the end for us.”
Scythe had emerged from the station with even darker rings under his eyes, adding further to his gauntness, but otherwise, he and his men were unharmed. The Captain and his company had rendezvoused with the survivors of Cold Point in Ascent.
“What happened on your side, Captain?” Garon asked. “I was worried that the demons had finished you off.”
“They clawed at the station’s gate so much, I thought they would blunt their weapons and leave themselves unarmed,” Scythe stated in his typically efficient brusqueness. “After half a day, they relented and must h
ave thrown themselves at Cold Point instead. We could barely believe it when the report came in from the southern observation deck that they were fleeing through the mountains a few days later.”
“I can barely believe it either,” Darnuir said.
“Hmmm,” said Scythe. “Well then, boy. Tell me everything. Don’t leave a detail out. I hear you’re quite the hero?” All present contributed to informing Scythe. As the Captain heard of all that had occurred at Cold Point, his lips drew into a thinner line with each new revelation. “So be it,” he sniffed after the tale was done. “I shall ensure you are involved in all decisions henceforth, my lord of dragons.” A courtesy that he showed no sign of revelling in.
Darnuir suspected that Scythe’s annoyance was born out of the new, confusing chain of command. Leadership was now a fluid concept. Many looked to Cosmo, as they had always done; some to Garon, when Cosmo made it clear that his priority was to look after Grace; and some even directly to Darnuir, although he never felt sure what to say. These people were, after all, those he had lived, worked and fought alongside his whole life. To suddenly be thrust into a position of responsibility over them, many far older than he was, felt unnatural.
Eventually, they entered Farlen. As they picked their way through the debris, Darnuir stopped beside the surviving monument in town. A life-sized warrior, holding his sword forward in one hand and holding an oversized shield in the other, protecting a crouching child. As it was made of stone, it had endured the fires, though it was charred in places. A brief inscription was etched beneath the figures’ feet.
In memory of Dronithir, Prince of Dragons. Mankind’s greatest friend.
A hand took hold of Darnuir’s arm. “I sense something here,” Brackendon murmured. “There is some magic at work.”
“In what way?” Darnuir asked, as his hand moved to his sword.
“It is hard to say. It is just a feeling,” Brackendon said as if it pained him. He began to twitch.
“Don’t strain yourself,” Darnuir implored.
“I must try,” Brackendon hissed through gritted teeth. “What if it is something sent against us?”
“Would you be able to stop it if it is?”
“No,” the wizard said mournfully. “’Tis strange, Darnuir. It is two feelings; one familiar and one I have never encountered before.”
“What is this familiar one?”
“I cannot be sure, but this unknown thing, it unnerves me more.” He let go of Darnuir’s arm.
Darnuir felt a great sympathy for the wizard. This man has done so much for me, and I barely know him.
“Back at Cold Point,” Darnuir began sheepishly, “before the battle began. Why were you late in giving the signal?”
“I was afraid,” Brackendon said. “There is no good in denying it. The last time I fought with magic, I broke. I think you would hesitate as well.”
“Then how can I possibly rely on you?” Darnuir snapped maliciously. The words had come from his mouth but he had not meant to say them. His head suddenly ached and he lifted his fingers to squeeze the point between his eyes. What was that? Why did I say that? Brackendon frowned and backed away from Darnuir at the outburst. “I’m sorry,” Darnuir apologised. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Hmmmph,” Brackendon grumbled and took his leave. Darnuir thought about going after him but saw that Scythe was approaching.
“I suggest we rest here for now, ‘my lord’,” he said stiffly. “We ought to send scouts to check that the passage north to the Dales is clear.”
Darnuir nodded in agreement.
“You don’t need to address me like that, Captain,” he said.
“No?” Scythe mused. “Very well. I’d rather not in any case. There stands the only dragon I might have followed willingly.” He wafted a hand towards the monument of the long-dead prince. “He was able to set aside his arrogance.”
“Only after he was taken prisoner,” Darnuir noted. “Or so the stories go. Before that, he launched the Second War between humanity and dragons and killed many of us.”
“Us?” Scythe questioned. “You are a dragon not a human, are you not?”
“I suppose,” Darnuir said, though the notion still felt absurd. He did not know what he was. “People always speak indifferently of the dragons or with disdain but are dragons not on our side?”
Scythe sniffed loudly. “I fought in the last war. I was young, of course, not much older than yourself, stationed out east before the demons began rolling back our efforts. There was this one commander, one of those legates who command a dragon legion, with his ridiculous, red-plumed helmet; well, I would question his intent. The demons, I recall, outnumbered us by then. The legion of dragons was less than half its size, and we humans had fared worse. We humans begged the legate to fall back to Aurisha, whereas the dragons seemed indifferent to whatever fate that hapless leader cooked up for them. He decided to hold his ground, and when the enemy came, imagine whom he put at the front?”
“The humans?” Darnuir said, sensing where this was going.
“Indeed,” Scythe said. A strange expression crossed his face that was part laughter and part madness. “He still had over a thousand heavy-armoured dragons and yet he put humanity on the front. Said we were to lure them into a false sense of victory, draw their lines thin so that his dragons could charge them. And did that charge of his ever come?”
Darnuir did not answer.
“No,” seethed Scythe.
“You must have won the day somehow,” Darnuir noted. “Else you would not be here.”
“We were saved in the end by reinforcements from the Prince. The Prince! The Prince! The Prince! I heard the dragons call. I assume that was you?”
“It must have been, though I have no memory of it,” Darnuir said.
Scythe looked again to the statue in obvious disgust.
“What’s wrong?” Darnuir asked.
“I hated this thing from the moment I arrived,” Scythe said. “Look at how humanity portrayed itself. A cowering child in need of a strong protector. We should have more faith in ourselves. Yet here we are again. A broken people who needed a dragon to save us.”
“If you have a problem with me, Scythe—”
“No, no…” Scythe said. “Please do not think me purely bitter. I have lost much and often, for those like me, especially in the south, bitterness is all we have left. Yet I have not forgotten Demon’s Folly, Darnuir, nor how the Legions held strong there. My only regret is that Brevia does not feel it has the strength to hold its own. At Demon’s Folly, at Cold Point, and with Dronithir during the Second War, we needed a dragon to save us. I think it is time we helped ourselves.”
“On that Captain, I quite agree,” Darnuir said. What had Scythe lost? He had a mind to ask Scythe but the hunter had already given him the smallest of bows and stalked off.
Darnuir had not been prepared for such an outpouring but was glad for it. He would need to get to know the Captain better if they were to work closely together. He then realised how very useless he must look, seemingly admiring the monument for this length of time. Yet he was not sure what he should do. He had always been given tasks to do and now he was left to his own devices. Through the gathering crowd, he saw Cosmo helping Grace down from her wagon while Balack unloaded it. He went to aid his friend but, when the task was done, Balack quietly left him without saying a word. Darnuir wished someone would tell him what he was supposed to do. With Balack and with everything.
He turned to examine the road out of the mountains; a dirt and gravel track that widened considerably as it left Farlen, sloping out of sight. The main road out of the mountains would take them a little too close to Castallan’s territory for comfort but it was the quickest way to leave. What route they would take then, Darnuir did not know. It had not been discussed at length yet. I hope they are not relying on me to make this decision?
A rather uncomfortable feeling of being watched suddenly crept over him. He found the offending pair
of eyes off in the distance, belonging to an eagle perched on a tree branch hanging high over the road. Such birds were not uncommon in the mountains but it was staring with an unnatural intensity. It cocked its head as Darnuir looked back at it and then smoothly began to glide closer to him, landing on a burned shell of Farlen’s tavern. It was not a large creature, its wingspan was perhaps about as wide as Darnuir could stretch his own arms. It had a tawny body and white feathers on its wings, tail and legs. A sharp yellow beak snapped playfully as it continued to peer at him.
“What do you want?” Darnuir found himself asking stupidly.
Its response was to move its gaze from his face down to his sword. He instinctively took hold of the hilt, though these eagles had never been known to attack a person. It continued to look towards the Dragon’s Blade, stretching its neck forth as if it were trying to get a better look. Darnuir edged the sword out of its sheath just a little bit and the eagle threw its head back in a squeal of approval. It stood up on its legs and extended its wings, flapping them madly. Finishing its bizarre show, the eagle twisted its head to face back down the pathway out of Farlen. It raised a wing and swept it back and forth whilst alternatively looking at him and the path.
“Are you telling me to follow you?” he asked quietly. It cawed loudly then flew off down the path, landing on an outcrop of rock and making the same sweeping motion with its wing. Was this the unknown presence that worried Brackendon? If it was then he was better off not going after it. But he was intrigued. With the perplexing, recurring dreams and now this, Darnuir was beginning to fear for his sanity. Recklessly, he chased after the bird.
He heard calls out to him as he left Farlen but did not look back. He did not intend to follow it too far. The bird swooped forward, looking back to ensure he was following. As they neared the point where the road turned, he stopped to draw his sword and was pleased that he managed it in one stroke, even if was still heavy. Ahead, he saw the eagle circling an area of fir trees with colourful alderberry bushes underneath. Darnuir approached more cautiously. There was a body. A crumpled body, whose face was obscured by wavy black hair, flattened the bushes.
The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King Page 17
