“Thank you,” she said warmly. “For that and for finding me. It was you, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, though I had some help,” Darnuir said. He found himself still crouched awkwardly below her so he stood back up and retreated a suitable distance. “I’ll accept for now that you do not know why you were Castallan’s prisoner but why then did you decide to come to us? Why now? Was it all about delivering this message Brackendon mentioned; of an invasion?”
“Was he the man with the silver eyes? He seemed kind, for a wizard,” she said.
“Yes,” Darnuir said. “Try not to avoid answers. It will only take longer.”
“Maybe you should be careful with him,” she cautioned.
“Cassandra,” he said annoyed.
“Yes, I was to warn you about the invasion,” she said. “But there was also something else, about you. Castallan wants your sword. He told Zarl to capture you alive if possible.”
“Zarl?” Darnuir said. His head was beginning to hurt again. The prodding and pounding on his mind returned softly to harass him.
“Zarl commands Castallan’s armies,” Cassandra said. “He said he fought you at Cold Point. Do you remember fighting a man covered head to foot in red armour?”
“Yes,” Darnuir said, recalling the dizzying experience.
“That man is Zarl.”
“But how do you know I fought him? Does Castallan tell you of all about his plans and battles?”
“No. I spy on Castallan,” she said. He gave her another look of incredulity. She shrugged. “What? There is nothing else to do all day when you are imprisoned.”
“Alright, alright,” Darnuir said, squeezing the spot between his eyes again, wondering what about the situation didn’t feel right. “So why does Castallan want my sword?”
“Something about it being the best processor of Cascade energy,” Cassandra said. “No doubt he needs it for an awful purpose.”
“Cascade energy?” Darnuir asked.
“You don’t know? Magic!” she sniggered.
“Well,” Darnuir said, feeling rather foolish, “if this Zarl was at Cold Point then he cannot be far.”
“I tried telling that to your wizard,” she began. “There is an army massing right outside the mountains. Just waiting for you. Zarl will be with them and I suspect he will try to march right in and take you soon enough.”
“Our Captain wants to scout things out first,” Darnuir said. “I’m inclined to agree. Otherwise we are only working on your word.”
“If you wait, you will die,” Cassandra said bluntly. “Well, you might be hauled back to the Bastion but no one else will live. He won’t see their lives as a loss so long as he gets the sword.”
“I am a dragon aren’t I? How do they intend to capture me? I’ll be stronger and faster than they will.” At least I should be.
“That won’t matter,” Cassandra said. “Whatever Castallan does to those who join him, it makes them powerful. I overheard one boasting that he outran a horse. But I could not always tell who his chosen ones were. They seem normal until their eyes flash red. It’s like they can just switch it on and off at will.”
Darnuir recalled the eyes behind the blood-red helmet. Zarl must be a foe even deadlier than a spectre. And it sounded like there were more of them.
“If you knew I was being hunted,” Darnuir said, “then why come find me? After escaping, why put yourself in harm’s way?”
“I did it for Chelos,” Cassandra said. “It was the whole reason he finally helped me get out. Besides, I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” She unfurled herself and leaned forward. “Have I answered enough yet?” she asked. “I’d rather not freeze.”
“Almost,” he said. “This invasion. Presumably it is from the east?”
Cassandra nodded. “A spectre lord called Dukoona told Castallan he wanted to use the Bastion as his seat as he made war on Brevia and Val’tarra. It was the first time I ever saw the spectre. I do not think he and Castallan are on cordial terms.”
“Well there’s a sliver of good news,” Darnuir said. Why was everything unravelling at once? Twenty years of waiting and planning seemed to be boiling over on both sides. He slumped back against the wall and slid down until he sat upon the floor, head throbbing horribly.
“The great Darnuir,” she observed. “Chelos described you very differently.”
“Should I be taller?”
“He said you were fearsome and a true dragon!” Darnuir’s spirits lifted somewhat. “But,” she continued, “he also said you could be brazen, reckless and arrogant.” She smiled at him all the same and he felt considerably better for it. She got down from her chair and sat on the floor so they were on the same level. She lifted her knees up as a rest for her chin again, crossed her feet together and wrapped her arms around herself. Her hair swept out behind her like a black cloak.
“So why does he care enough to send you here to warn me?” Darnuir asked.
“You’re his king,” she said. “Apparently, that is enough for them. For dragons, I mean.”
“If all dragons follow me so blindly, then that will be their fault,” Darnuir said. “My past self sounds like a far more capable king.” His head pain stabbed particularly sore. He winced, sucking in his breath.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes…” he groaned, “I think my mind is just protesting at all of this.”
“It must be hard,” Cassandra said rather awkwardly and wooden.
“As hard as escaping from the Bastion must have been,” said Darnuir. “I want to know how you did it. That is my last question.” They sat in silence for a time. Why is she so reluctant to tell me this part of the tale? He held his tongue, allowing the silence to become unbearable.
“I snuck out on the back of a supply cart,” she said hurriedly. “My friend helped me.”
“So what went wrong?” Darnuir said pointing to the injury on her shoulder. Cassandra became visibly tenser. She curled up into the tighter ball and dipped her head to avoid making eye contact. “Were you attacked?” Darnuir asked further. “You and your friend? Did they make it?”
She shook he head so lightly it was almost imperceptible. “No, he didn’t make it.” Her voice was muffled beneath her knees and hair.
Darnuir thought it best to leave the matter be. She had been forthright about everything else. “Thank you for the warnings,” he said, “but I should go. Everyone is waiting on my decision.”
“Wait!” Cassandra said, rising to her feet and cautiously approaching him. Her face was flushed and signs of fresh tears were plain to see. She extended out her hand to him.
She’s offering to help me stand up? Darnuir’s mind swam in pain again, which temporarily blurred his vision. Scrunching his eyes in discomfort, he curiously took her hand. He got to his feet of his own accord but she held his hand firmly. The ache in his head subsided rapidly. The relief was joyous and Darnuir found himself beaming.
“See?” she said, “no tricks. Do you trust me now?”
“I’m beginning too,” he said. They were close to each other now.
“She is too close,” a guilty voice whispered in his head.
“I should go,” he said again more hastily.
As he exited the hut, he ordered Ava and Mardin to fetch Cassandra more suitable clothing and extra food as promised.
He made his way back towards the ruined tavern and found Cosmo and Scythe sat in deep discussion over a new map, one detailing the Boreac Mountains in depth.
“Well?” Scythe sneered.
“We make for Val’tarra,” Darnuir ordered. Scythe pressed his lips together but gave a gracious nod.
“Very well,” Scythe said. “Come, Darnuir. Let us discuss our route out of the mountains.”
Progress through the narrow passages was painfully slow. At times, the space was barely wide enough for three people to stand side-by-side. They had to leave such luxuries as carts behind them, and so Grace was forced to travel by foot. Cosmo was with her ev
ery step of the way, his face sickened with worry. Every hunter was on high alert; most had their swords drawn or their bows strung. Growls and roars echoed through the passages at times, reminding them that demons were not their only concern. More eagles flew overhead but one in particular always stayed much closer – a tawny eagle with white tips to its feathers –the same creature that had led him to Cassandra, Darnuir was in no doubt.
Two days passed and Darnuir noticed the crisp air of the mountains begin to thicken and feel closer. It clung to him, uncomfortable and sticky. Ominous granite clouds gathered above and stretched to the horizon. Darnuir walked once more at the head of the column and was one of the first to see their entry to the Cairlav Marshes. Garon had found a vantage point and Darnuir joined him. A vast wetland lay before them, dotted with specks of precarious, water-seeped land and reeds of grass as tall as a man. The sky was grey, the pools were muddied, yet there were vibrant fauna in pale reds and startling pinks, colouring an otherwise bleak landscape.
“There will be no blending in here in our white leathers,” Darnuir commented.
“It will make it easier for friends to find us as well as foes,” Garon added optimistically.
Brackendon struggled up beside them, a little out of breath, as did Scythe who wrinkled his nose at the distasteful smell upon the air. The eagle joined them as well. It swooped silently down nearby, having nowhere high to land.
“This will be hard terrain to cover,” Scythe said regretfully, evidently not noticing their feathered companion. “My only comfort is that it will be just as hard to move a horde of demons across it with any speed.”
“With any luck, it will take some time for them to even realise we have come this way,” Garon added. “We ought to send our fastest men forward to try and make contact with the Cairlav Hunters.”
“Agreed,” Darnuir said.
“We should rest as soon as we find suitable grounds to do so,” Scythe continued. “It has been a difficult trip through the rocks.” The eagle flapped its wings and protested with a loud squawk. Scythe noticed it then. He unslung his bow. “Is this your winged friend, Darnuir?” he inquired. “I’ve noticed it has been dogging our trail. Perhaps it is best if we get rid of it. It flying over us will only give away our position.” He drew an arrow back.
“No!” cried Brackendon, moving between Scythe and the bird, flinging out his hands. Darnuir placed a hand upon Scythe’s bow and pushed it down, to the Captain’s great frustration.
“What is the meaning of this?” Scythe demanded.
“Kymethra,” Brackendon said softly to the eagle, as he turned to face it. “I think you ought to just reveal yourself.”
The eagle snapped its beak and cocked its head, peering around at the group of men. Then, to Darnuir’s astonishment, it began to grow. It grew larger and its frame distorted; its wings morphed into arms and the talons into feet. A short and slender woman now stood in the eagle’s place, with white-tipped tawny hair that flicked upwards at the ends. Her pale green robes resembled Brackendon’s but were tied tightly at her waist to accentuate her shape. She combined the unusual traits of being endearing and alluring in her smirk and the glint of her silver eyes.
“Do you prefer me like this, Brackers?” she asked him in a sultry voice, her eyes casting downwards to her full chest. “Oh but what have they done to you,” she crooned, sweeping towards Brackendon. “And I only just got you back as well. What good is a wizard without his ‘stick’?” she said, emphasising her final word.
Scythe’s face was livid at this fresh, unannounced arrival. Garon was quietly laughing to himself. Brackendon’s face turned pink.
Is he blushing? The thought made Darnuir snigger as well.
“Kymethra, you almost got yourself killed,” Brackendon asked. “How did you even find me?”
“Did you think you could slip away so easily?” Kymethra chided him. “Not even a hint at where you were going. But vanishing seemingly without anyone seeing you go made it rather obvious, Brackers.”
“I was not aware there were witches left since the Conclave fell?” Scythe said.
“Took me days and days to fly all the way here,” Kymethra continued as if she had not heard Scythe. “And the things I saw. Well, they were quite interesting. Men marching this way and that in golden armour; that poor bleeding girl who was dragging herself along as if half-possessed.” She took in the whole group, moving close to each of them in turn. When she came to Darnuir, she paused. “This is him then? This is who you left me for!”
“What else have you seen?” said Brackendon, mildly impatient. “Why did you squawk at Scythe’s suggestion of camp?”
“The demons are on the move,” Kymethra said. “They are making their way westwards towards the marshes already.”
“How is that possible?” Darnuir said, his heart sinking. “How could they have known of our movements?”
“Perhaps Cassandra was not so worthy of our trust after all?” sneered Scythe.
“There have been some spectres roaming the mountains but I saw none that came close to you,” Kymethra informed them. “There were men with red eyes as well. Some in armour, others in hunter gear. Might be they came across an empty Farlen and worked it out.”
“Might be we have a traitor as well,” Garon said. “Or maybe you tipped them off.” His hand still lay on his sword hilt.
Kymethra shot him a dark look. “Might be, or maybe the men in Castallan’s service are not fools.”
A general argument ensued. Darnuir’s throbbing head pain began to dangerously escalate once more. He felt heat ripple from the Dragon’s Blade and he suddenly feared it would catch fire again. He wanted this resolved so he could leave them. Maybe then, he could go bite down on a stick and scream the pain away.
“Stop it!” All gathered froze immediately to look at Darnuir. “Kymethra, how long do we have until Castallan’s army reaches the marshes?”
“A day, maybe a little more,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye on them but they are moving quickly. You’re nearly halfway through the marshes already from here. If you keep moving, you might stay ahead of them.”
“Then we should continue on,” Darnuir said. “We can’t risk stopping for long.”
“The people are exhausted, Darnuir,” Garon said. “Cosmo won’t thank you either.”
“Not my people,” he found himself saying. No, they are my people, they are!
“Well, I’ll leave you boys to it,” Kymethra said, throwing Darnuir an uneasy glance. “Do what he says though. You need to keep moving.” She morphed into her eagle form and took off to the east.
The pain in Darnuir’s head began to gradually recede as they watched her go. He regained full control of his mind and body. It was the most peculiar sensation, as if he was thrown against the side of his own being. He gasped and drew in several shallow breaths as if winded.
“What is happening to me?” he moaned softly.
None could answer him.
“To the swamps then,” Scythe said. Darnuir trailed a little behind Scythe, Garon and Brackendon, feeling afraid and ashamed as the fleeing inhabitants of the Boreac Mountains descended into the marshes.
Chapter 13
THE SHADOW OF AURISHA
DUKOONA, LORD OF the spectres, sat pensively at the war table within the Royal Tower of Aurisha and tried to envision what it had been like for all his foes to gather here to plot and scheme. The two largest chairs were carved beside each other. They were of equal size but not of the same design. One for the King; one for the Guardian. Draped atop one of the stone seats was a dragon in their former bestial form. Those wings would cast very large shadows. Melding away from danger would be easy if one flew overhead. This was the King’s chair.
The other seat was entirely different. A severed sun was depicted, the lower half scorched with crossings, while the upper half was clean. A sword with a spiralling pattern on its hilt pierced the sun and three elongated rays emanated from its tip. The symbol of the Guar
dians, but what does it mean? He often pondered its meaning. Similar symbols were to be found in the Basilica of Light across the plaza, though they were not arranged in the same order. His master and jailor, Rectar, had explained much to him but not everything.
In summoning him to this world, Rectar had bound Dukoona to him. So long as his master remained in Tenalp then Dukoona would as well. Unless, of course, he got himself killed, but he would not need to take such drastic steps. At least, that is what he hoped.
Dukoona’s memories of a time before he was summoned were jarred and fleeting. He sometimes saw flashes of some other place, perhaps another world, his world. There was an ocean there and green fields but the mountains were strange. They were red and cracked like dried clay and, as he peered up to their peaks, the sky would change in an instant from day to starless night. Fire reigned from somewhere in the night and a green light blinded him. That was it. Everything else he knew came from after this summoning. It wasn’t much but he knew it meant one sure thing.
I am not supposed to be here.
His existence was a peculiar one. He resembled a dragon or a human in shape; two arms, two legs and a head, yet his body was wrapped in a dense shell of darkness. The shading of his shadowy flesh ranged from pitch-black to deep purple. His hair, such as it was, was a mixture of flickering blue tendrils, which looked like flames, but in fact gave off no heat at all. Fire burned him and his fellow spectres just the same. He was both corporeal and incorporeal, as his ability to meld into shadows suggested.
A long shadow stretched across the war table now, for the sun’s rays were blocked by the columns of the balcony. Dukoona lazily lifted a finger and pressed down into the shadow before him. Immediately, he felt his body fuse with it, and he raced along its length at an incredible speed. The shadow was cast from the column and so he ended his short trip at its base, emerging in one fluid motion out of the shadow, reforming his body, and stepped onto the balcony.
The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King Page 19
