The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King

by Michael R. Miller

  “I’m sure he did care,” Brackendon said. “He is particularly fond of you, Garon. It’s easy to tell.”

  “We’ve had our differences of course,” Garon said. “Particularly over women… oh, no offence.”

  Cassandra narrowed her eyes.

  “It’s cruel that Grace was taken from him though,” Garon continued, casting a sympathetic eye on the baby in Cassandra’s arms. “I suppose I’m trying to make up for his absence of late. I’ve tried to fill Cosmo’s boots for Captain Scythe but it hasn’t been easy.”

  “And what of Scythe?” Brackendon asked. “How does he fare on the run?”

  “He’s another one,” Garon said. “He seems to be running on air as well. He’s taken the least rests out of the hunters but he’s also run the hardest.” He peered around the wagon with hungry eyes. “Any food going?”

  Cassandra passed over one of baskets. The pile was dwindling fast. Garon tore into the fish and found a few stacks of oatcakes bundled up with them. The bread looked a bit tough but otherwise fine.

  “Mmmm,” Garon smacked loudly as he ate, “not sure anything has tasted so good! Now, where was I?” He paused in thought. “Oh yes, Scythe. Aye, he’s a tough one, but I’ll be damned if I let a city boy beat me.”

  “You’re in competition?” Cassandra asked, bemused.

  “He doesn’t know it but yeah, we are,” Garon said with a mischievous smile.

  The wagon lurched again as another dragon hopped on board. Panful, juddering shakes went up her legs. Couldn’t they at least warn us? This time, Balack was carefully deposited beside her. He looked utterly drained and didn’t protest like Garon had. The dragon bound away before anyone could engage him in conversation, shouting to the drivers that he would find help to pull the additional load.

  “Our ‘King’ order you to get some sleep too?” Garon asked him.

  Balack mumbled something non-committal and then yawned. His auburn hair was wet with sweat over his face. His head swayed a little then he noticed the ever-depleting pile of food beside Cassandra. He leaned over her, reaching for the closest basket. Cassandra quickly passed it to him. She still found it unsettling to have anyone come too close to her. Any man, that was. Balack took the food wordlessly and began to eat. He groaned a little and rotated his shoulder.

  “Do you want to take your quiver off?” Cassandra asked him. “It will probably make you more comfortable.”

  He nodded slowly, his words muffled from half-masticated fish. “Think I’ve pulled something.” She swapped arms with the babe and fidgeted awkwardly with the buckle on the strap of the quiver.

  “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard,” she said.

  “You’d do the same, Cass,” Balack said. He was right of course. Were it not for her charge over the boy, she would rather be doing something useful.

  “What else can we do?” said Garon. “If we don’t run, we’ll be left behind, and we can’t expect the dragons to carry us all the way.”

  “It will be no good to anyone if you run yourselves to death,” Cassandra said. Her left hand still worked uselessly at the clasp. Suddenly, Balack’s hand rested upon hers as he tried to help. This time, she did whip her hand back like a frightened cat. The same memory rushed before her again – the hard grip on her shoulder, the flash of steel, a scream, pain, blood.

  Brackendon and Garon raised their eyebrows in surprise at her behaviour. Balack undid the clasp of his quiver and slung it to the ground. “Everything alright?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said flustered. “Sorry, I’m not sure what came over me.” She gave him a weak smile. He returned it, eyes dim with exhaustion. There was nothing else behind them though. She saw no trace of the same look Darnuir gave her. That Trask had given her. Perhaps she could trust him better.

  Balack returned to finish his food and his eyes began to droop heavily when he had his fill. He seemed to peacefully drift off, ignoring the turbulence of the wagon like Kymethra.

  “I think Balack has the right idea of it,” Garon yawned. “Might as well sleep while I’m here.” His eyes closed almost immediately.

  “Well,” Brackendon said amused, “we appear to have the wagon to ourselves again.” The wizard winced and shook, this time more violently. He regained control with a gasp.

  “Perhaps you should rest as well?”

  “Sleep is something of a struggle for me now,” he said. Kymethra stirred a little beneath him. She only managed a rasping wheeze as if her throat was bone-dry. Brackendon brought a skin of water to her mouth. Kymethra dribbled as she drank then settled back down again. Cassandra must have looked concerned, for Brackendon attempted to reassure her. “She’ll be fine; the worst of it is over.” However, the wizard grimaced for seemingly no reason and his face began to twitch. When he spoke again, his voice was a little strained. “I understand it doesn’t look like it, Cassandra, but sleeping it off is the best way for her body to process the poison.”

  “She just looks so weak,” Cassandra said. Her skin is as white as the tips of her hair.

  “Yes, well that’s what the Cascade does to us,” he said. “As bad as she seems, this is nothing on breaking, I assure you. I’ll make sure she recovers fully. I owe her much more.”

  “Did she care for you when you broke?”

  “That fails to do her justice,” Brackendon said. “She didn’t just care for me, she brought me back. Brought me back from the babbling, the seizures and the insanity.”

  “Why?” The question was simple, blunt and verged on accusatory, but Cassandra asked it without pausing to think.

  “Why? That is a difficult question, Cassandra. Why do we do anything? Was it necessity? No. She did not ‘need’ to help me. Fear can also be a strong motivator but it did not drive her. Perhaps she felt like she owed me and perhaps we are simply in a cycle of owing each other.” He paused thoughtfully. “I did ask her myself: ‘Why did you help me through it? Why give up so many years of your life when there was no guarantee I would recover?’” Then the wizard smiled, despite the obvious pain he was in. “The answer came easily to her. She just said that she loved me.”

  Cassandra wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “So she had been trapped by her own feelings? So she couldn’t leave you?”

  Brackendon seemed bewildered by the question. “She could have left me whenever she wanted to; no one was making her stay. She just chose not to go.”

  Sounds more like she couldn’t. The idea terrified Cassandra. “You must have known her before you broke then?” she asked. Brackendon did not immediately answer her. For once, he seemed distant.

  “She was part of the Conclave before Castallan tore it apart. Being a few years my junior, she never reached the stage of obtaining a staff of her own.”

  “Why did she owe you?”

  “I saved her life when the fighting started,” he said without elaborating.

  “That’s the whole story?”

  “Curiosity is a fine thing, Cassandra,” Brackendon said, “but now you are prying.”

  She carried on regardless. “And do you love her?”

  Brackendon sighed, a little annoyed. “How could I not?”

  “It isn’t just that you owe her?” she asked. I owe Darnuir, in a sense.

  “I think this is hard to describe unless you already understand it,” Brackendon said. “There aren’t any conditions, Cassandra. She could wake up healthy tomorrow and fly away. Soar far into the north and never come back, and I’d still love her. Yes, a part of it is knowing she loves me, and knowing she was there for me, but love is made up of many pieces.” Brackendon took a long look Cassandra. She could almost feel him studying her.

  “What?” she said coldly.

  “You have some demons, girl. I can read it in your eyes. What do you hide behind them? What is it that troubles you? Who is it that troubles you?”

  She fought off the encroaching memory. “Now it is you who is prying, wizard.”

  The remainder of that day passed
in silence. Cassandra spent most of the time rocking Cosmo’s son, feeding him milk from the horn and tickling at his face when he was awake. A crisp wind had kept the heat of the early summer sun from overwhelming her. Later, as the sun declined, the sky turned a cool pink. Balack and Garon remained sound asleep, no matter how many lurches the wagon took. They were second nature to Cassandra now, along with the rhythmic thumping of the runners, and the rumbling of the hundreds of wagons and carts being hauled along. Occasionally, dragons would run past, shouting orders for food or rotation. Sometimes they called for the men to go faster, for the demons were always gaining; and every so often, they cried out for fighters to fall back to the rear guard to replace the wounded or the dead. No word came of Darnuir, of Cosmo or Scythe.

  She cared less about the latter. He would have had her bound up in enough rope to hold a dragon if he could. He always had his eye on her when they were in each other’s company; not a friendly stare like Balack, and not the way Darnuir looked at her. His was likely distrustful, yet it went further than that. She could never hold his gaze, for it bore into her threateningly. It was almost menacing. Still, she could not judge him too harshly. Would I believe my story if our places were reversed? Not likely.

  She had also tried to imagine herself in Scythe’s position. A simple human amongst wizards and dragon lords. Darnuir wanted him there because he was not yet ready to lead alone and poor Scythe was being pulled at from all sides. And no matter how well he did, no matter how efficiently he handled things, the men still want Cosmo. Already gaunt in appearance, Scythe had increasingly looked stretched and worn ever since Cassandra had met him. Yet he had still done all he could. He was trapped in a position he’d rather not be in but was making the most of it. And, for that, she could find admiration for him. He could stop looking at me so threateningly though.

  Ahead, the horizon began to change. The furthest point of her vision was no longer endlessly flat but rose in gnarled shapes. Silver leaves sparkled in the fading light.

  “Trees ahead!” one of the drivers yelled. “Val’tarra is in sight!”

  Throughout their stampede, the news spread and soon, a general cry of relief arose from every runner. Some yelled in joy, others with disbelief or mirth, but they joined in the cheering all the same. It rose to such levels that it woke Cassandra’s three sleeping companions. Kymethra’s eyes blinked open fully for the first time in days. She appeared confused, but perked up when she caught a glimpse of the horizon.

  “We’re almost there,” she said weakly.

  “What is that?” Balack asked apprehensively. Above the treeline, hundreds of dark blots were rising upwards and seemed to be moving towards them.

  “Looks like fairies,” Garon said, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.

  “Flyers!” Cassandra said. She had been looking forward to seeing some. Only about one in ten fairies had the gift of flight.

  The first wave of fairies flew towards them at speed, their tall blue bodies blotting out the pink sky of the setting sun. More waves of flyers emerged behind their leaders. Soon, they were flying above the running mass and descended amongst the dragons and humans. Some fairies were extremely dark in tone, while others were a light turquoise. They lifted away the children being carried by the dragons, easing their burden. Their insect-like translucent wings vibrated in blurs upon their backs. Two or more fairies worked together to lift up some of the weariest running hunters. Other fairies did not dive down to carry humans off but continued to fly overhead towards the rear guard. Cassandra squinted up and saw these fairies were carrying weapons that resembled spears. They are going to fight the demons chasing us. Things must have gotten worse.

  The diving streaks of blue added greatly to the general pandemonium. Buzzing wings mixed with the pounding feet and the sky above became just as busy as the ground below. Fairies began to return from the rear guard. Cassandra felt something land on the top of her head. It trickled down her face and she saw a glint of red at the end of her nose.

  She looked down and saw that the baby’s face had also been splashed. A bit seeped into his mouth and he objected loudly at the awful taste. She quickly wiped him clean, feeling a little sick. The blood and gore of Torridon had been bearable in the adrenaline-fuelled moment, but having warm blood drip down on her like this was chilling. Her wagon companions were all brushing sticky blood from themselves as well.

  “This can’t be good,” Garon said, peering upwards. Pairs of fairies returning from the fighting were carrying human and dragon bodies between them. “We need to get back there!” he said with bravado. “Come, Balack.” He tried to get to his feet but his legs refused to accept his commands. They buckled beneath him and he collapsed face-first into the remaining baskets. He brought his head up with a scowl, his stubble containing flakes of fish. Balack didn’t seem to have the strength to even try and move.

  An explosion added to the furore of noise.

  Cassandra twisted round to look out behind the hurtling wagon. A wall of billowing smoke rose steadily higher, stretching out for miles behind them.

  Chapter 19

  DRAGONS DIE THE SAME

  BLAINE WAS ONE of the last to cross the divide between forest and plains. His momentum carried him forward until he shuddered to a halt, feeling breathless for the first time in eighty years. He allowed a little Cascade energy to flow through him. It drained towards his sword and he began to regain control of his breath. He winced as the poison welled up within him. A bitterness lay thickly on his tongue and his head ached. I drew on too much during that run.

  Wingless fairies ran in amongst the refugees, steadying those staggering after their exertions and picking up those who had collapsed. Wagons lay abandoned or upturned. There was crying, grunting and the gentle thud of bodies hitting the ground. Dragons were falling all around him. Many of his kindred hit the leaf-strewn earth without even raising their hands to cushion the fall. Others dropped to their knees, exhausted but still conscious. Blaine moved to the closest soldier and bent to check his pulse. Dead. Blaine had never seen the like of it in all his long years. Darnuir better learn a valuable lesson from this. Our kind are far from invincible. Blaine had intended a run of dragons; one where they could have taken longer rests and ran faster without the burden of all those humans. He jumped to check on another fallen dragon. Dead as well. How many dragon lives have you lost already, Darnuir? Blaine checked on a third dragon. There was a faint pulse.

  “N’weer, revive this man’s strength,” he whispered. “Grant him life and spirit anew.” Then he caught sight of the young king walking to the treeline. “Where do you think you’re going, boy?” Blaine demanded, leaping over more bodies towards Darnuir and restraining him.

  “I really wish people would stop calling me boy,” Darnuir growled in response. He was even more breathless than Blaine.

  He doesn’t know how to use his blade yet.

  Darnuir struggled against Blaine but he held him in place. “Let me go, I have to go back. We can still save—”

  “He’s dead!” Blaine said. “You know it. And Scythe knew the risk when he offered to set the line on fire.”

  “He didn’t know that was going to happen!” Darnuir said. “I’ve never seen anything like that. What by bloody Dranus was in those barrels?”

  “Scythe still knew it was a risk. He knew he probably wouldn’t make it back through,” Blaine said. “Let him go, Darnuir.”

  “Arh!” Darnuir roared, collapsing to his knees. He remained panting.

  “He was a good man,” Blaine said, without truly having an opinion. He had only known the captain for a few short days after all. Though he was the most driven human Blaine have ever seen. Scythe had performed remarkably well on their journey. It would have been very useful knowing such a man was in charge of the hunters. But the hunters were not Blaine’s primary concern.

  “He didn’t deserve that, Blaine,” Darnuir sobbed.

  Is he blubbering? This won’t do. “Get up, boy.”


  Darnuir rose. There were no tears but his face was red. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure but this is not the time to dwell on it.”

  Darnuir swayed and Blaine moved to support him. “Come on. We can’t stop here.” Darnuir half-limped alongside him, staring at the dragons lying amongst the fallen leaves.

  “Are they…?”

  “Dead?” Blaine offered sharply. “Some are, and some might be dying. I warned you there would be consequences.”

  “We saved the people though,” Darnuir said.

  “And what of your own kind, ‘my King’?” Blaine said. “Your first act is to have them run to death.”

  “Blaine, we were weary and beat up at Torridon. We couldn’t have…”

  “We!” Blaine interrupted. “We, Darnuir? You’re a dragon. Not a human.”

  “So I should have ran off and allowed them to die?” Darnuir said hotly. “The way I see it, we saved thousands of lives. Is that not worth it?”

  Blaine grunted. He could not disagree with him outright. Still, their people could not afford to bleed needlessly. “I only meant you ought to put your own people first. You are a dragon, after all.”

  “I’m not sure what I am anymore,” Darnuir said dejectedly.

  You’re not a dragon yet, that’s for damned sure. Perhaps there was simply too much human in the boy.

  “Are you not tired, Blaine?”

  “Oh, I am tired, Darnuir. In more ways than one.”

  “Not like the rest of us are though,” Darnuir said. “I’m not sure how I am even still standing.”

  “You ran well,” Blaine said. “I didn’t think you would cope as easily as you did, considering you have never pushed yourself like that before.”