“Hunters are used to hard living,” Darnuir said, still breathing heavily.
“Your sword will have helped you greatly,” Blaine explained. “One of its purposes is to keep you alive, and will passively draw on small amounts of magic to help you.”
“Really?” Darnuir said. “I didn’t notice it and I don’t feel very different.”
“Do you have a bitter taste in your mouth?” Blaine asked. “Does your head throb? These are indicators that we have drawn on Cascade energy.”
Darnuir smacked his lips around. “There is a something there,” he said, “but it was far worse after the fight at Torridon. My head nearly always pounds regardless.”
“All the time?” Blaine said, bewildered.
“Since I got the sword,” Darnuir said. “Sometimes it feels like something is pulling at my mind. I can’t quite explain it.”
The news disturbed Blaine. He had never heard of such symptoms of magic, and any initial adjustment to the passive drawing of Cascade energy should have occurred only within a week or so of him receiving the sword. Now was not the time to consider such things in depth.
“We’ll discuss this properly later.”
They staggered onwards without direction. Eventually, Darnuir stopped leaning on Blaine and they could continue with more dignity. Blaine kept scanning for the Camp Prefect, hoping he might have been able to set up some forward position amongst the trees. Darnuir was silent beside him and kept one hand pressed against his evidently sore head. Blaine’s own headache throbbed, though it started to ebb. He had not drawn on too much at any one point, which was the wisest thing to do. Every time Blaine reached for the Cascade, it was as if he were opening a door and letting the ocean pour in. If he didn’t slam the door shut fast enough, he would drown. Such a delicate balance. At times, he questioned whether he should ever use it. Why would the gods choose us as their champions if dragons are weak to magic? His sword could handle a lot of power but Blaine could not and the blade could only process it so fast. If he left that door open for too long, he would die.
Yet all life was left scarred by magic. Merely glancing around at some of the blackened and deadened trees was testament to that. Perhaps the gods had chosen dragons because they had natural strength and didn’t need to rely on such volatile power. Why then have the Blades at all? Why did the prophet, Aurisha, command them to be made before he died? Such questions were dangerous things, for they might lead to doubt. It was said that dragons could handle magic once, back when they existed in their true form. But the truth of that will never be known. Blaine knew it in his heart. A true dragon will never walk this earth again.
They passed another body, this one a huntress of the Crescent in her yellow leathers. Darnuir paled further.
“It should have been me,” he said meekly, glancing at the corpse. “Scythe should not have had to die.”
“Don’t be so foolishly noble, boy,” Blaine said exasperated. “Taking his place would have served no one but the enemy.”
“I don’t mean killing myself,” Darnuir said. “I mean I should have been able to use the sword; send fire from a distance. Then no one would have needed to die.”
“I noticed that you did not use that particular feature,” Blaine noted. It would have certainly been useful on occasion.
“I can’t control it,” Darnuir said. It looked like he had more to say but then thought better of it.
Blaine sighed deeply. “You need training that is certain. We will make time for it here in Val’tarra.”
“How much time will we have?” Darnuir asked.
“I do not know,” said Blaine. “I doubt the demons will follow us into the forest. The army chasing us was substantial, but not enough to face the wrath of the entire fairy race, plus the rest of our dragons. Though, they were rather determined.”
“Cassandra said that there were many men amongst them,” Darnuir said. “If they are all like Raymond’s brother then I imagine that, along with the spectres, they can instil a great deal more discipline in the demons.”
“Perhaps,” Blaine said, “but I wonder what the link is between these new red-eyed servants of Castallan and the spectres? As far as I am aware, spectres maintain order amongst their lesser kin because they are more powerful demons. Yet as strong as the red eyed-man was, he was, unmistakably, still a human.”
“Perhaps the spectres answer to Castallan’s red-eyed men?” Darnuir said. “They seemed to disappear very quickly when you killed Raymond’s brother.”
“Whatever the case, and whatever the chain of command, they are extremely dangerous foes,” Blaine said. “Castallan seems to have enhanced their strength to match that of a dragon. And, disciplined or not, that army will have to occupy itself somehow. The surrounding areas will suffer greatly.”
Darnuir gulped loudly.
“A lot of people are going to die before the end, Darnuir,” Blaine told him.
“What is the end?” Darnuir half-laughed. “I feel like I am struggling even to begin. Everything has happened so quickly since Brackendon showed up and this thing destroyed a part of Cold Point’s tavern to reach me,” he continued, brandishing the Dragon’s Blade. “Too many revelations in too short a time. That includes you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Darnuir said, “no one has ever mentioned a ‘Guardian’ before. If you’re so important, where have you been all this time? Why was I left on my own?”
Because I failed. As with his Light Bearers, he knew it would not be wise to show any weakness to the boy. “Training and knowledge,” Blaine said. “You shall have both, Darnuir. I will answer what I can but some things even I do not know.”
Darnuir raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know where you have been? You don’t know what you have been doing, rather than ‘guarding’?”
“It is complicated,” Blaine said bluntly. Now is not the time for this.
“Yet more things unanswered,” Darnuir said. “I’m struggling to keep up with all the secrets.”
“Secrets?” Blaine said. “You think I would hide things from you on purpose, as if I were your enemy? No, boy. We all keep things private on occasion; I imagine there are things even you would like to keep hidden.” He felt satisfied when Darnuir grunted and turned away from him. Touched a nerve there. Whatever it is, I will have to prise it out of him at some point.
“You must be old, Blaine,” Darnuir said. “There aren’t even stories about any Guardians amongst humans or I’m sure I would have heard of them.”
“I am one-hundred-and-fifty years old,” Blaine said, “and the Guardians were not an open organisation even when we were strong. I doubt humanity knew much of us.” Stating his age felt strange in a way. He hadn’t had to consider it in a long time. Suddenly he felt very old. Were these trees even as old as him?
Darnuir looked shocked. “One-hundred-and-fifty! But you look not much older than Cosmo. How is that possible, even for a dragon?”
“To live to one-hundred-and-twenty years would be considered exceptional,” Blaine said. “My life is extended through my position as Guardian.” He raised his own blade for Darnuir to see. “I mentioned that the swords help us passively, that they seek to keep us alive. The Guardian’s Blade is particularly well-attuned to this. So long as I am Guardian, I will appear to be the age at which I received it.”
“Does that make you immortal?” Darnuir asked. “Does that mean that I…”
“No, you are not immortal Darnuir.”
“But are you?”
“Perhaps,” Blaine said. “No Guardian has ever sought to test it. I can die in battle like anyone else but I cannot remember what it is to be ill.”
“Why the difference?” Darnuir asked.
“I don’t know, Darnuir. I told you, I do not have all the answers.” But the boy continued to look at him expectantly. He looked so young, no better than a hatchling in truth. Dwl’or, give me strength. “If I had to guess,” he continued, “I would say that it has to do with th
e different natures of our positions. The Guardianship is passed down from the current Guardian to the dragon he thinks worthy to succeed him. Kingship, on the other hand, is hereditary.”
Well mostly hereditary…
“What if the Guardian never gave up his power?” Darnuir asked.
“Ah well, that is why it must be given to someone worthy enough,” Blaine said. “No Guardian has failed to pass on his sword.”
“Except you,” Darnuir observed.
“Yes,” Blaine said coolly. “Except for me.”
“Not found anyone ‘worthy’ yet?”
Blaine paused and stopped his march. He looked at Darnuir quizzically. “You distrust me?”
“I don’t know you, Guardian,” Darnuir said. “What would happen if the Guardian were to kill the King? Would he not hold all the power then? If our swords are as similar as you claim.”
Is he afraid of me or merely curious? I’d rather have his veneration. That is far easier to predict and manage. “If I were to kill you, Darnuir, then I would be crippling myself. The Blades are linked. Without the Dragon’s Blade, my own sword has no power.”
“And vice versa?” Darnuir asked.
“Indeed,” Blaine said. “It is quite an elegant system really. Neither of us has power without the other, so we must ensure that we help each other. Nor can either of us become despotic.”
“A balancing act…” Darnuir said, trailing off in thought.
“Quite. When you were rejuvenated by Brackendon, your sword lost the vast majority of its power as you were not yet of age. The power was not extinguished because you were not dead. When the power of the Dragon’s Blade dimmed, my own diminished. So for the last twenty years, I was little more than an ordinary dragon.”
“Did the Dragon’s Blade come to you after Brackendon worked his magic upon me?” Darnuir asked. “I’m told it disappeared after I was turned back into a baby, and not even Brackendon knows where it went.”
“I assure you,” Blaine said, “the sword did not come to me. Even I do not know where it might have gone. The Blades hold many secrets.”
“I see,” Darnuir sighed. “But before all this, you must have been powerful. The war had lasted for decades before my ‘rebirth’. There was still a Dragon King then. Draconess, my father, or so I’m told.”
“Ah,” Blaine said. “This is where we do enter the realm of complications and of secrets. You will need to know in time but it is too intricate to handle now.”
Darnuir gave him another distrustful look.
“I promise you will be told,” Blaine said. “But not here. Anyone could be listening in.”
Darnuir looked perplexed. “Over this chaos?”
“A perfect way to remain unseen,” Blaine noted. “By all accounts I have heard, you have traitors in your midst.”
“It would appear so,” Darnuir said cautiously, “and I admit the red-eyed Chevalier has caused me unease. If he truly fooled his brother, any of the humans might be in Castallan’s service. Any of them might be hiding their red-eyes, waiting to strike.”
“The majority of this information comes from the runaway girl?” Blaine said.
“It does,” Darnuir said resolutely. “I trust her, Blaine.”
You are taken in by her pretty face, boy.
“Do you not trust her?” Darnuir asked.
“I think it wise to treat her with a healthy dose of distrust until the real traitor or traitors are caught,” Blaine said. “I agreed with Scythe on that point.”
Darnuir looked disgruntled but remained silent. It seemed this particular battle with the King would be a hard one to win.
He has a very long way to go.
Blaine and Darnuir continued their march for some time until the last pink rays of the setting sun glistened through the canopy and they were approached by a barefooted dragon in loose-fitting clothes.
“Lord Guardian, my King,” Damien said, giving a small bow to each in turn. “I am glad I found you both. The Prefect has set up a basic command post not far from here. He awaits you both there.”
“You’ve proven yourself invaluable, outrunner,” Blaine commended him.
“Thank you, sir,” Damien said.
“Are any of the hunters there?” Darnuir asked.
“Not that I know, sire,” Damien said.
“We will need someone there,” Darnuir said, more to Blaine than the outrunner.
There’s that ‘we’ again. “You mean ‘they’, Darnuir?” Blaine said.
“Yes, of course. I meant that,” Darnuir said, flustered. “Sorry.”
No! Don’t apologise to me like this in front of one of the men. “We can arrange for some of the hunters to join us,” Blaine said. “Lead on, Damien.”
The command post, for want of a better name, was little more than five wagons placed between the gaps of several trees, creating a semblance of a wall. Empty barrels had been upended to serve as tables, and dutiful scribes were scratching furiously at parchment as messages were relayed to them. Counting the dead, Blaine thought.
The small clearing was layered with ground-up leaves of silver, green and nut-brown. Scattered around were occasional charred branches from those burnt trees. Blaine was pleased to see that a handful of his Light Bearers were present at the command post. They nodded at him as he approached. Then he saw the Camp Prefect – a dragon in fine armour that was further distinguished by the red plume on his helmet.
“Lord Guardian,” the Prefect said, “we have had word from Queen Kasselle. She says more dragons arriving at your summons have been assembling by the Argent Tree as you requested.”
“Excellent!” Blaine said. “We will need to make our way there as soon as possible. I do not think the demons will follow us. They will likely take the opportunity to pillage and burn the Golden Crescent, but we are still too close to the edge of the forest for my liking.”
“I think we will all require a short break,” Darnuir said. “We have only just made it into the forest. It still seems like chaos all around us. Should we not camp here for the night and take rest?”
“Briefly, Darnuir,” Blaine said. “We should not linger.”
The Prefect stepped forward purposefully when he heard Darnuir’s name. He dropped to one knee. “Sire, it is truly you. I only met you once before and you look identical now. N’weer really has blessed you. My faith is restored.”
A tense moment passed in which Blaine saw the confusion on Darnuir’s face. He knows nothing of the gods. Still, it was intriguing to note that Darnuir’s rejuvenation seemed to inspire faith in the Prefect. Perhaps I can use it as more than just rhetoric?
Blaine responded to avoid Darnuir losing face. “Our gods are strong, Prefect. As you can see. The Light will shine again and drive our foes back.”
“Yes, Lord Guardian,” the Prefect said, getting to his feet. “We have an estimated casualty report, my lords, if you would like to hear it now?” Blaine nodded and Darnuir imitated him. The Prefect reached for a frayed piece of parchment with some scrawled calculations on it. “At least two hundred dead and maybe more. Five hundred are said to be exhausted or wounded. We are receiving more news all the time, my lords. These figures may change.”
Blaine closed his eyes and bowed his head at the news.
“What of the hunters and civilians?” Darnuir asked. The Prefect appeared puzzled by the question and glanced to Blaine.
“The good Prefect here is most concerned with our own people,” Blaine said.
“So you have nothing to share on them?” Darnuir said, a little angry. “They have lost two captains in the space of a week.”
“Three captains,” one of the scribes said quietly. Blaine looked to the hunched figure, obscured in the half-light of the flickering torches. He would dare to speak out of turn? Darnuir did not seem offended.
“Three? What do you mean three?”
“Captain of the Golden Crescent,” the scribe said. His voice was unusually soft.
“Spea
k up!” the Prefect commanded. “And address your King properly when you speak to him.”
The scribe lifted his head from his work. It was only then that Blaine saw the scribe was not male at all. Long ebony hair was tucked into her garments of blue and green leather. A girl? With hunter leather? Here with the army? Blaine narrowed his eyes.
“Prefect!” he snapped. “By Dranus, what is the meaning of this?”
“Lord Guardian,” the Prefect said, his voice wavering a little from Blaine’s scolding. “I apologise but we were stretched thin when we first arrived in the forest. The girl was sent by the Queen to deliver her message and I needed someone to start taking down reports from the outrunners.”
“This is most unorthodox,” Blaine said in a pained voice. “She is a human, Prefect. Look at her leathers.”
“I’m not a human!” the girl said defiantly. “I’m a dragon. Why else would I have already been in the forest?”
Blaine blew air through his nose like an enraged animal. “You will address me properly as well, girl, as Lord Guardian.”
Darnuir took a careful step away from Blaine. He looked taken aback by Blaine’s rise in temper. “I wear my hunter leathers as well, Blaine,” Darnuir said. “Is it so inconceivable that another dragon might?”
“Do you want proof, Lord Guardian,” the girl said. Her voice was carefully measured, as if she strained to maintain an air of calm. Blaine sniffed furtively at the air but could not even faintly smell the sweet scent of fear that humans often had around dragons. She’s either a dragon, incredibly brave or foolish. The girl jumped to her feet and rummaged for a nearby branch. She found one of a decent thickness and proceeded to snap it in half with relative ease. She tossed the pieces to Blaine’s feet and stared determinedly at him. Her eyes were grey, lined by thin eyebrows and short lashes. Her features were plain overall but she had a feminine mouth, chin and small nose that some might have found appealing. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine saw Darnuir smirking.
“What is your name?” Darnuir asked the girl.
“Lira,” she said. “Erm, sire,” she hastened to add. She gave a quick and awkward attempt at a curtsy. “The Queen sent me, she came to me personally. She also said I was to tell you that you ought not to leave good dragons like me behind.” The girl had the good grace to relay this message in a timid fashion.
The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King Page 28
