Then they faded altogether and he felt nothing. Nothing at all.
Why should I? It was just some human.
***
Days passed, but it was hard to keep count. The weather never seemed to alter here in the Cairlav Marshes and their long slog continued. No one had forgotten the host that pursued them. As they trudged, Darnuir slapped at his face in an effort to fend of the midges that had been following the refugees’ trail ever since entering into their territory. They gathered in black clouds over likely victims, anticipating when someone would pause for rest, then descend. Movement normally warded them off but the effort of placing one foot in front of the other increased with each step. The marshes had not been kind to the people of the Boreac Mountains. Their warm clothes, designed to keep out icy winds, made them sweat in the muggy, sticky bogs. Rain had drenched them frequently. If not water from the heavens, then the many pools around them did an equally good job. Placing one wrong foot could lead to sinking waist-deep into a murky bath. A fever had even found a foothold in some of their weakest: namely the elderly and the children. For Darnuir, Grace’s death loomed overhead, darker, heavier and more foreboding than those granite-grey clouds.
Cosmo was a broken man. His newborn son lay cradled in a sleeve of cloth at his chest, though he had yet to give the child a name. Darnuir noticed that every time Cosmo looked at the baby boy, fresh tears flowed down his cheeks. Cosmo appeared more his age now than ever before. Whatever energy had galvanised him and kept him fit even into the middle years of his life seemed now extinguished. He ate little, and spoke less.
Darnuir found himself walking back through the lines of grim-faced exiles, searching for Cassandra out of instinct. His head was once more causing him discomfort, but being with her had seemed to calm it down in Farlen. He also wanted the company of someone who had not known Grace and did not know Cosmo, for that topic dominated discussion. He found her near the middle of the train, her hands cuffed roughly with rope and her expression forlorn. Someone had found some spare gear for her and she had donned the white leathers. Her jailors were with her – Mardin in front and Ava behind.
“Sir…”Mardin began dutifully but Darnuir waved him off.
“Let her go,” he commanded.
“But Darnuir, I mean, sir,” Ava protested, “the Captain told us we were not to let her out of sight.”
“I believe I outrank Captain Scythe now,” he said more sternly. “She doesn’t like to be trapped,” he said, looking to Cassandra for a response. She gave him a weak smile in return. Well it’s better than nothing. The two hunters exchanged nervous looks but quietly complied. Ava produced a sharp dagger from her belt, normally carried for skinning beasts in the wild, and cut the bonds.
“We should stay close,” Mardin insisted. “Captain Scythe—”
“Did you see me at Cold Point?” Darnuir asked the pair of them.
“Yes, Darnuir, I mean sir…” Ava began.
“Then you’ll agree that I can handle her?” Darnuir asked. They nodded silently. “If it helps your conscious any, the demons have been tracking us whilst she has been under your care. She cannot be feeding information to them,” he added more consolingly. If the pair were still unconvinced they had done the right thing, they hid it well.
“Come,” he signalled to Cassandra. She walked with him until they were almost back to the head of the column. Her silence troubled him. Is she not happy to be released? “You’re quiet,” he stated.
“Hmmm,” was all she said. They continued for a minute or two more. Every so often, he took her hand to help her ford a pool or patch of slimy earth. Each time, the background pain in his head dissipated. She was hesitant for the help but took it all the same.
“That was…” she said eventually, searching for the correct word, “kingly; the way you bossed them around.”
“Bossed them around?” he said abashed. “Isn’t that what I am supposed to do?”
“Yes, I suppose,” she agreed, though it did not sound like it. “It was just surprising. You didn’t seem that way when we first met. But then I didn’t see you around anyone else.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said. He could tell she was still not pleased with the situation. “Has it upset you?” he ventured bravely.
“Upset me?” she said with a laugh. “If you think that would upset me then your mountain girls must be made of soft snow rather than rock.”
Darnuir was rankled at the jibe. “Well, good,” he said, not knowing what else to say.
“Who said I wanted to walk with you?” she asked. Darnuir was crestfallen.
“No one, I just thought…”
“Thought I’d obviously want to be with you just because you ‘saved’ me from those two,” she said forcefully, aiming a sweeping kick at an approaching puddle. The splash soaked his already damp feet.
“I only thought you might want your freedom,” he said, in as steady a tone as he could. What is happening here?
“Am I free?” she asked. “The first thing you do after cutting me loose is to is tell me to ‘come with you’.”
“I meant it as a request but as it seems I have forced you here against your will, go!” Immediately his mind caught up to the horror of what would happen if she took him at his word. His head pounded and the rubies on the Dragon’s Blade winked up at him.
“No!” she exclaimed, stopping to face him. Passers-by started to take an interest in the pair. “No, I don’t want to leave. I just, I just…” She trailed off as her face reddened. “Would you really just let me walk away?” she asked, her voice returning to its regular level.
“I’d rather you didn’t leave, Cassandra. But yes, if you want to, you may do so,” Darnuir said, feeling thoroughly confused and put out. “But don’t go,” he added.
She shuffled around where she stood; she bit her lip and looked somewhere past his shoulder. “I want to help,” she said with conviction. “Help fight Castallan, I mean. I don’t think I will ever feel free until he’s dead.” She strode off and Darnuir took several quick paces to catch up with her.
“We could always use an extra sword,” Darnuir said. “But I must ask who trained you? Have you ever even been in a fight?”
“I was trained by a dragon,” she stated, as though this were enough.
“Chelos?” Darnuir said, recalling the name.
“He taught me when we could risk it,” Cassandra said. “Sometimes, I would accidently cut some cushion or the curtains, and that was always harder to cover up.” She giggled at some fond memory.
“An old dragon,” Darnuir noted.
“Still better than any human I should think,” she said. “Chelos is still trapped in that fortress and he is likely paying for my escape. I dread to think about it. I owe him.”
“We’ll rescue him,” Darnuir said with an unfound confidence. “When we storm the Bastion.”
Cassandra laughed again. “Are all dragons so sure of themselves?” She swept her arms across the boggy landscape and at the drab scene of their fellow refugees. “You think you will take the Bastion soon, do you?”
“I’m just trying to be more optimistic,” he said, though he felt deflated in truth. “I think that’s the only way we can think now. Especially after last night,” he said. Immediately his thoughts turned to Grace – the cries of the baby, Cosmo’s howls, and blood on Kymethra’s hands.
Cassandra’s attitude softened. “I heard about what happened. I’m sorry.”
“I think we will all have to witness a lot more of this before the end.”
“What happened to being optimistic?” she chided. “And what is the end?”
“Right now,” he considered aloud. “I’m not sure. Getting out of this bog seems like a good start though.”
“Yes, here is not a place where dragons fair well,” Cassandra said. Darnuir had an inkling as to what she referred to. The Battle of the Bogs had been the final conflict of the Second War between dragons and humanity. It had been where
Dronithir had led the humans in a stunning victory and secured a peace. Every human child was told that story. But I am a dragon.
“So long as no hunters start shooting at me from the grass, I ought to make it,” Darnuir said.
They continued until the granite clouds began to break apart and the setting sun appeared in streaks of pink and orange. It was almost pleasant. Smells of fish and salt mingled with the damp of the marsh, and the gentle sound of rolling water could be heard against a stony shore. They had come within sight of Loch Minian. Log buildings dotted the shoreline and even out onto the water itself. Large roundhouses sat above the water’s surface on great wooden beams, as though they had grown up from the bottom of the loch. Where were the people? The scene was deserted of life, although it seemed as though the inhabitants had not long departed. Barrels of fresh caught fish lay upturned, their scaly contents littering the pebbles at the water’s edge.
“Halt!” a voice called out. Its owner and direction remained a mystery. “Nae further for now.”
It was Scythe who answered the threat. “Has the damp of the marsh drowned your eyes?” he called back. “Can’t you see our leathers?”
No response came for perhaps half a minute and then, out of the long grass and fauna, men and women appeared, garbed in hardened leathers of muddy reds and greens. The man at their head was short and stocky, with a strong jaw and a thick neck.
“Aye, Scythe,” the man said, “we saw them. But it is unusual for so many of our Boreac brothers tae pay us a visit.”
“Captain Edwin,” Scythe sneered, “had you not considered that we are on the run?”
“Slowest run I’ve ever seen,” Edwin noted. “Forgive us but we had tae be sure you were not here on ill purpose. The last few weeks have been anarchy. Some of our own ranks, who we thought tae be friends, turned on us or made off east. Their eyes glowed red, Scythe. Never seen anything like it.”
Cassandra and Darnuir exchanged a knowing look.
“The demons hunt us,” Darnuir told the man called Edwin. “Or more precisely, they hunt me.”
“Do they?” Edwin said with derision. “Ye ought tae run tae them then, boy. You might save a lot of lives.”
“Careful, Edwin,” Scythe warned. “This is Darnuir, the King of Dragons. He might open his jaws and bathe you in flames.”
“Ha!” barked Edwin. “Aye, he has a pretty enough looking sword to be sure,” he said, his eyes on the hilt of the Dragon’s Blade. “Scythe, you bastard, you better not be have’n me on.”
“Am I known for lies? Was I known to exaggerate back in Brevia?”
“No. You were always a straight shot,” Edwin told him, stepping forward to take Scythe’s hand. “Barely even alter yer voice, do you?” The two embraced briefly. “You look thinner; didnae think that wis possible.”
“We are all half-starved,” Garon said. He had been accompanying Scythe at the head of the column. “The civilians even more so. Can you help feed them?”
“Not want a fish for yer’self?” Edwin asked.
“I can do without, if needs be,” Garon said. “Though if you know how to ward these little black horrors away, I’ll be eternally grateful.”
“How noble,” said Edwin. “Aye, we’ll find you some food, but not here. We’ve been pulling everyone oot west fae weeks. Those Crannogs,” he said, pointing towards the large roundhouses out on the loch, “they’re good tae hide in when the tide is high. Thing is, the tide retreats from the shore but demons don’t; and there are too many rampaging at our borders. As for the midges, you’ll be wanting this.” Edwin moved to a low-growing plant, which seemed to sprout tiny green acorns. “Bog-myrtle will dae the trick. Crush it up and rub a bit on yer skin.”
All present rushed for the hard-looking plant, other than Scythe who seemed impatient. “What news from the rest of the kingdom?” he inquired. “What is Arkus doing?”
Edwin gritted his teeth. “We know little I’m afraid. Cannae send messages east because of the demons, and most of the ships that sailed north havenae returned. What we do hear makes it sound like chaos. Towns and villages lying half-empty. Streams of people fleeing tae the capital, others making for the forest, though whether the fairies let them in is another question. Folk say that there are those just vanishing overnight; and now we’ve had one or two reports of a decent sized body of men moving south through the Golden Crescent.”
“Who are they?” asked Scythe.
“Couldnae say. Some are said to wear plate armour of gold and more join them every day. If I didnae know better, I’d say it were dragons.” Edwin gave Darnuir a wry smile. “Don’t suppose ye would know anything about that, lad?
“Does it look like I am in a position to know,” Darnuir said, with more bite in his voice than was custom.
“Ha!” Edwin barked again. “Is that all the fire ye have in yer belly? You’ll need tae work up more than that.” He gave Darnuir another scrutinising look. “Total bloody chaos, like I said.” The Cairlav Captain sighed before turning and whistling to his people. Two huntresses stepped forward at this summons. “These two will take you and yours to Torridon. Follow the shore west and they will take you the safest way through the rest of the marshes. There, you can find some food and respite.”
“You aren’t coming with us?” Garon wondered.
“We’re waiting for patrols to return from the east with word of the demons. They’re advancing faster than I expected.”
“Thank you, Edwin,” Scythe said. “Some rest will do us all good.”
“Aye, that it will. Go on now, we’ll speak later.” Edwin gave Darnuir a good look as if sizing him up then dispersed with the rest of his hunters into the tall grass.
Chapter 15
THE GOLDEN ONE
BLAINE, GUARDIAN OF Tenalp, arose from his quarters at dawn’s early light. The sky was clear and the rays of the sun illuminated the world without interference. A good omen, he thought. His tent lay near the heart of the via primacy, which cut the army camp from north to south. Running east to west through the camp was the second main road, the via secundi. These roads derived their meaning from where the King and his heir would respectively place their tents within camp.
Soon, we will have our King once more.
Blaine had sent out the call and, thus far, six thousand dragons had answered; two legions’ worth. Such was the prowess and efficiency of the dragon military that time did not erode their memory of how things were done. Every camp was set up in the same fashion, so far as was possible, and thus, it mattered not that these men were likely a mixture of many different former legions. Even now, beside Blaine’s own quarters, a tent had been erected for a king that was not there. Twenty years and still the camp runs smoothly! It had been even longer since Blaine had gone to war. Too long. I hid from the world for too long.
Having checked that there was sufficient activity about the camp, he returned inside his tent to prepare himself for the day ahead. The trappings were comfortable but simple. A stand of armour stood adjacent to a large basin and mirror combo resting atop a wooden pedestal. Blaine was a tall, broad-shouldered dragon with a torso of flawless definition and proportions. I must be an example. I must appear perfect. His hair was thick and well groomed. It was the sort of dark blond that most resembled gold, especially when caught in the sunlight. His eyes too had a golden tinge to them, for flecks of amber streaked across his blue irises. His face was well-defined, stern, strong, and always, without exception, clean-shaven.
Two younger dragon boys entered the tent on schedule, carrying a steaming jug of water. They silently poured the contents into the basin, bowed in reverence to him and quietly left. Blaine reached now for the brush of fine boar hair and dipped it first into the water and then into the small bowl of paste, which he mixed before applying to his face. He carefully cleaned and replaced the brush before choosing from amongst his razors. He had a choice of three, neatly arranged by himself the night before. Despite having this choice, he always chose the
same one: a blade of sharpened silver, with a blue pearl handle he had received as a gift from Queen Kasselle. Picking it up fondly, he set about his task.
There was one final ritual he had to perform before beginning his day. Throwing on a loose shirt of linen, he exited his tent once more and made towards the centre of the camp, at the intersection of the two camp roads. Here was the most important part of the camp for Blaine. It was here that dragons on campaign could practice The Way of Light, and pay reverence to the gods, as it had been ever since the time of the First Flight many millennia ago.
It is hardly the Basilica of Aurisha, but it will suffice.
Blaine entered the tent and found it empty, bar three dutiful souls. This is unacceptable. What have the years amongst humans done to our conviction? There was not even the proper cushions laid out to kneel upon. A tattered-looking banner bearing the symbol of the faith – the severed radiant sun pierced with sword – was the only sign that this was the correct tent. There was at least a dais where he might give a short sermon, though we would have preferred marble to wood. The scene was crushingly disappointing to him. Such conditions were unfit for the divines. He had hoped that more would come as the days passed and word of his return grew. It was not as if the gods of light demanded much of them. Merely contemplation at dawn, noon and dusk would suffice, if one had little time.
“Thank you, friends,” he said to those present, and made his way towards the dais. He took hold of it with both hands. A few more worshippers trickled in until there was perhaps a score of men on their knees before him. Better, but still unacceptable. “My friends, each day brings a new dawn, and every dawn brings forth light to drive off the darkness,” he said in an experienced voice. “The light of this morn is clear and bright, meaning Dwna blesses us.”
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