“Darnuir!” Garon called to him. “The dragons can handle themselves, help the people!”
He did not need to be convinced. Together, they turned their backs on the dragons and Raymond and charged off towards the tumult of the streets. The density of the refugees and exhaustion of the hunters made for easy pickings. The spectres were making extensive use of the shadows available to them, leaping from one to another. Ahead, Darnuir saw one emerge from the side of a smoke-house, three storeys up, and ravage its victim as it landed. Yet resistance was not lacking and the hunters of both regions battled fiercely in the slippery streets. Despite the savagery, Darnuir felt more relaxed than he had during the drama at the gates.
This, at least, I understand. Fight until it’s done. Fight or die.
He saw Garon peel off to enter one of the smaller homes; Darnuir carried on. The difficulty was avoiding accidentally hitting a civilian or an ally with his sword as he fought. He came upon a terrified woman who had stumbled to the ground, screaming as her pursuer made to finish her. Darnuir cut upwards and severed the spectre’s wrists. Its hands and weapon landed without causing the woman harm and Darnuir ended the spectre with a blow to the chest.
The smoke-houses continued to emit their by-product. It mingled with the smoking blood of the demons, obscuring Darnuir’s vision. People appeared to be fleeing towards the loch. Likely, there would be a crush on the shore as the people tried to flee to the safety of the Great Crannog. The spectres would not be able to meld across the water. There will be a bottleneck at the bridge. The spectres will cut them down. Darnuir had to prevent that if he could.
He drove on towards the water’s edge, carving his way through the stramash of humans and spectres. Something landed upon his back. A barbed blade appeared at his throat. With his free hand, Darnuir caught the spectre’s arm and squeezed with all his might, trying to wrench it away. Darnuir’s neck seared as the edge of the dagger nicked a line across his throat.
“Arrrh!” he yelled.
He tightened his grip on the demon and heard a crunch akin to breaking bone. The demon howled wolfishly in his ear as Darnuir flipped it off his back and brought his sword down through its belly. Instinctively, he brought his hand to his throat. There was warm blood but not much of it.
He pressed on and was about to pass the largest of the smoke-houses when he saw a spectre flying out limply from its doorway. The large forms of Griswald and Rufus followed it, careering down the steps into the fray.
“Never a bloody moment’s peace,” Garon roared, swiping bear-like at the nearest spectre. “You’ll be sorry me leg is feeling better!”
Darnuir aided the large hunters for a time then turned to help a marshland huntress. “Duck!” he cried to her, as he hacked high over her head at an advancing spectre, cleaving it in two. Many of the spectres nearby started to melt away into the shadows. Darnuir looked up, expecting an aerial assault, but none came. The sound of the battle was now most prominent from the loch.
“We have to get to the shore!” Darnuir called to all around him.
The fight at the shoreline was desperate. A throng of shoving people were attempting to cross the bridge over the loch to the Great Crannog. Some were falling into the water, splashing in panic, screaming or sinking. Many hunters remained trapped along the outer decking of the crannog, attempting to take shots with their bows if they could. Many were hesitant to even try, however, the risk of hitting a fellow hunter or civilian was too high.
Darnuir considered it a matter for swords as he Rufus and Griswald made it out from the battlefield of Torridon. Underfoot, the pebbles of the shore were already slick with blood from both humans and demons alike. Spectres continued to emerge from the shadows cast by the clouds. Two bounded up as if from the ground itself near Rufus and Griswald. The men set upon the demons with impunity.
Close to the water’s edge, a pair of white-leathered combatants worked in brilliant synchronisation. Cassandra and Balack were doing more than their fair share. It was more than evident that Cassandra could handle herself and Balack was using his new technique to devastating effect. Several spectres made for them and each fell in quick succession. He’ll soon run low on arrows though, Darnuir thought as he sprinted towards them. Four demons rose around the pair. Cassandra caught one as it was still half-submerged in its shadow; Balack released his final arrow then reached for another. His fingers faltered, failing to find one of his remaining shafts.
“No!” screamed Cassandra, heaving at Balack’s quiver to pull him away from the oncoming enemies. The two of them lost their footing and collapsed onto the wet stones.
Still running, Darnuir launched the Dragon’s Blade at the spectres. The sword slammed into the furthest demon, carrying it into the loch. The remaining spectre advanced upon Balack and Cassandra.
“No!” Darnuir bellowed. He tackled the demon as it raised his shadowy sword above its head and together, they landed in the shallow water. They wrestled for a time before Darnuir managed to bring his fist down on its skull. His burgeoning strength left the spectre’s head in tatters and the water turned foul.
Darnuir rose, completely soaked, and wiped the water from his eyes. He held out an expectant hand and the Dragon’s Blade obediently returned. Cassandra and Balack lay in a heap where they had fallen. Darnuir rushed to help them up and offered a hand to each.
“Please don’t die, you two!” he shouted over the noise of the battle. “If you see a man with red eyes, just run.”
“Thank you,” Balack grunted, getting to his feet.
“Red eyes!” Cassandra said, her eyes popping with knowing.
“Just like you mentioned,” Darnuir said. “Is there anything else you know about them?”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said.
“Why run?” Balack asked.
“He is very fast and maybe stronger,” Darnuir explained. “He took down one of the dragons as if he weighed nothing.”
“Dragons!” they both exclaimed.
“Yes, dragons are here too,” Darnuir said. “Just stay alive, please?” he pleaded. They both gave him looks in which it was clear they were not going to stay out of the danger.
He was hardly surprised.
Darnuir, Cassandra and Balack hastened to re-join the battle at the Crannog’s Causeway. He thought that the spectre’s numbers were dwindling, that victory might be close at hand, and then his heart sank at the sight of the red-eyed man. He emerged from the smoking battlefield of the town with a sword dripping in blood. Were all the dragons dead? Many of the hunters who saw the red-eyed man were confused, taking him at a glance to be a Chevalier. Their mistake cost them their lives.
“Stay back!” Darnuir yelled. “Stay away from him.” I’ll have to do this. I’m the only one who can. He moved towards the red-eyed man. He only then remembered what this man had done to one of those dragon warriors and his heart beat quicker than Balack could fire arrows. Now would be a good time to lose control again. “Chevalier!” he called out. “Yes you, Red Eyes. Come here. Fight me!”
Red Eyes obliged, still as silent as before. He approached Darnuir with a touch more caution than he had with his recent kills. They circled each other briefly then the man struck out like a viper. Darnuir blocked him but the force sent him staggering backwards. Red Eyes followed up with another blow that caught the Dragon’s Blade near the cross guard. The twinkling ruby eyes of the dragon’s head were knocked from their sockets and bounced away. No man has this strength.
In the ensuing duel, nothing Darnuir did was good enough; all his usual steps and moves felt clumsy or slow compared to those of his foe. Remaining alive was his only achievement. Nothing tugged at him from behind his eyes. Nothing prodded at his mind. If there was ever a time for it!
Red Eyes made no errors but did slip momentarily on the bloody stones, dropping to one knee. Now’s my chance! Putting all his weight behind his swing, Darnuir brought his sword down like a hammer. Red Eyes quickly raised his own. The swords met in mid-ai
r and remained locked there. Darnuir pressed down as hard as he could. He pushed himself to his limit and then, somehow, went beyond it. Something surged through his body and left a bitter taste in his mouth. It made him feel powerful, even euphoric. Red Eyes brought the palm of his spare hand up to steady his sword and kept Darnuir at bay. Their deadlock continued until Red Eyes’ arms gave by just an inch. One final push. Then Darnuir felt more of the strange power course through his body, up to his shoulder and down towards the Dragon’s Blade. He felt as though he were drawing water from a dam and so allowed it to flow freely, filling him, drowning him.
“Arrrggghhh!” he roared in agony as the foreign energy washed over him. He could not maintain it. He could not control it.
Beneath him, Red Eyes rallied. He pushed back against Darnuir and rose to his feet with a bull’s force. Darnuir was knocked to the ground. Blood trickled from his nose, a putrid taste was in his mouth, and his head rang from the fall. Red Eyes leered over him; lifeless and indifferent.
“To the King!” boomed a familiar voice.
“To the King!” a chorus called in response.
A beam of unnaturally strong light swept across Red Eyes’ face. It charred his nose and made him reel back, hands wildly covering his face. Blaine raced towards his target with the speed of a galloping horse. Red Eyes barely escaped Blaine’s arcing blow. The fight unfolded like a magnificent display but Blaine held the advantage from the first. His agility and his ferocity were terrifying. Blaine was making it seem easy.
Was this how I looked at Cold Point?
The fight ended when Red Eyes lurched towards Blaine, aiming low. Blaine spun to avoid his swing, jumped and landed on the man’s arm, trapping him under his foot. Blaine then removed Red Eyes’ head from his shoulders with a smooth, clean strike of his sword.
When the remaining spectres saw the death of Red Eyes, they wasted no time fleeing, many throwing themselves into the first shadows they could find.
Darnuir staggered to his feet, winded. He saw that there were many more dragons than there had been before. Hundreds were filing onto the shore. Then he remembered his fallen rubies. Darnuir quickly scurried to the ground in search of them.
He found one quite easily and snatched it up. It felt heavy in his hand, far heavier than he anticipated. He placed it carefully in one of the eye sockets of his sword. The other gem eluded him.
“Looking for this?” Blaine said. The Guardian wasn’t even short of breath.
“Thank you,” Darnuir said. Blaine placed the ruby in his hand and again, the weight of it took him by surprise. He placed it back in the Dragon’s Blade. Almost immediately, the head pains and the gentle tugging returned. The correlation was too obvious. Why do the rubies cause this?
“Darnuir,” Blaine said calmly. “We must leave now.”
“I won’t leave them,” Darnuir insisted. “Not the people from the Boreacs and not those from the marshes either.” Just a glance around revealed the slaughter they would suffer. “We all go.”
“They won’t make it,” Blaine said. “They won’t outrun the demons. They can’t outrun them. I am sorry.”
“Carry them then,” Darnuir said. “We’ll carry them.” Kymethra had felt light and these others dragons were surely as strong, if not stronger.
“What?” Blaine said in astonishment.
“Carry them,” Darnuir said with more authority. “You’re right. They won’t make it. They are exhausted and their lungs will give out after a few miles. But ours won’t, will they, Blaine?”
Blaine stood unsure and perplexed. “Darnuir, to run all the way to Val’tarra will be no easy task in itself.”
“How many dragons have you brought?” Darnuir demanded. He was not going to renege on this. There would be no more needless death on his account.
“Six thousand,” Blaine said.
“We numbered far less than that before,” Darnuir said, “and we’ll be even fewer now.” His voiced cracked thinking about the death toll. “Your men can take turns to carry the civilians and the hunters, although the hunters will run whenever they can.” He bore into Blaine’s eyes, beseeching him. He took hold of the dragon’s mightily-armoured shoulders. “Carry them.”
Blaine looked to the dragon ranks now forming. Some of the dragons already carried survivors upon their backs, or children in their arms.
So not all my kind are indifferent to human suffering.
“Very well,” Blaine said. “But the consequences lie with you.”
Chapter 18
THE ‘FOURTH FLIGHT’
CASSANDRA CURSED AS the wheel of the wagon jutted suddenly upwards. The baby boy in her arms wailed in protest and she tried to calm him. He’d just gotten off to sleep but such a journey was not well-suited for rest, be you baby, child or adult. It could be worse though. She could be out there. Running.
Five dragons hauled the wagon. The team had only rotated once since departing Torridon. Had it been three days now or only two? It had been hard to keep track. The running had continued long into the nights and often started before dawn. The exertion had not yet proved too much for any of the dragons. Perhaps they are too proud to admit it? Chelos never admitted hardship, even when I knew something pained him.
On and on they ran. Even if they were not carrying the refugees, the effort needed must have been incredible.
Across the Golden Crescent, they flew with the demons closely trailing them. The invariably flat landscape and wide fields of grain was ideal for such a chase. Any inclines or difficult terrain would have slowed them down. Thousands of stampeding feet kicked up dust and dry dirt; chopped and churned broken crops underfoot and cut a swathe through blossoming field after blossoming field. Hunters from the Crescent had joined them at intervals, adding men and women in leathers of citron yellow and copper brown. Now that she was surrounded by dragons, the difference between Darnuir and the rest of his kin were clear. At their first meeting, she had thought him softer and gentler than Chelos had described. His insistence that the dragons carry everyone else with them to safety suggested this was his genuine nature. Though she had also noticed that he had moments where he was not himself.
In the Great Crannog, before the spectre attack, Balack had told her that Darnuir was worried by these occurrences. Yet Balack seemed unperturbed by them. He was fiercely loyal to Darnuir, that much was plain, but she had not failed to notice that Darnuir did not meet his friend in the eye. Had the two fallen out over something? No, that did not seem right. Balack never spoke of a disagreement. Perhaps Darnuir held a secret from Balack, but was that really such a crime? She kept her secret from them both as well.
Her mind drifted to Trask and her escape. The lifting of the canvas at the back of the cluttered wagon; the anxious look upon his face as he helped her out; the longing in his large eyes as they had slipped away from camp. It was similar to how Darnuir sometimes looked at her. Her nose started to feel hot then and water gathered in her eyes. I shouldn’t think about that. Her free hand rummaged in the pocket of her white leather jerkin and found the dragon figurine that Trask had given her years before. She squeezed on it so hard that she thought she might cut herself and the memory would not leave her alone. The tight grip on her shoulder; flashes of metal; screaming…
“Cassandra,” Brackendon said gently from his seat opposite her, “are you okay? You seemed lost there.”
She snapped back to the present. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Good,” he said. “I thought I might have been left without conscious company.” Though Kymethra was also in the wagon with them, she lay curled up beside Brackendon, resting deeply, despite the discomfort of the journey.
“How is she?” Cassandra asked.
“She’s a damned fool,” Brackendon said affectionately. “But she’ll be okay. Magic really is a curse at times. The temptation to just use that little bit more, to think you can handle it in the moment; well, it is very strong.” The wizard shuddered unexpectedly for several seconds and clo
sed his eyes.
“You don’t seem much better,” Cassandra noted.
Brackendon coughed twice, sighed deeply, and finally reopened his eyes. “The withdrawal is beginning to get to me.”
“You’re addicted?”
“All who use magic become addicted to it,” Brackendon said. “Makes the temptation all the greater.”
“I don’t remember Castallan ever acting like that?”
“No, well he has never had his staff broken,” Brackendon said bitterly. “And I assume he has never been broken either.” The wagon careened to one side as their dragon drivers took a sharp turn to avoid another group of runners. Cassandra grabbed onto the side of the cart and brought the baby close to her chest. They landed with a thump and continued on. “Ughhh,” the wizard said, massaging his side.
“So there is no way to ease the withdrawal?” Cassandra asked.
“Other than actually drawing on more Cascade energy, there is none,” Brackendon said. “But I have broken before and that is once too many. No matter how badly I shake, no matter how badly I sweat and crave for it, I won’t risk it.”
The baby gargled from down below and Cassandra glanced at him. He smiled toothlessly at her and gazed up with his oversized infant’s eyes, deep and green. They were a lot like her own. She enjoyed holding the boy. He was sweet and always gave her a smile without expecting anything in return.
“You’re very curious,” Brackendon remarked.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, it’s quite alright,” said Brackendon. Cassandra was eager to hear more, to learn more. Some things could not be found in books.
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