Oh, Kasselle. Must you only cause me torment now?
“You’re a hunter, Lira?” Darnuir asked. “Blue and green is worn by those from the Hinterlands at the gateway to the Highlands, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Yes on both points,” Lira said. “Sire!” she added hastily.
“What do you know of the Crescent Captain?” Darnuir asked.
“Captain Morwen?” Lira said. “Not much I’m afraid. Only that she’s dead.”
“How could you know that?” barked the Prefect.
“Because I listened when one of the Crescent Hunters came looking for assistance,” she said. “They’re without a leader. Half their numbers are scattered, helping people flee from the demons or left behind to defend their station.”
“Do you usually ignore vital information like this?” Darnuir inquired of the Prefect. The Prefect bristled, unsure how to respond.
“Darnuir,” Blaine warned, “do not offend one of your commanding officers over such a matter. Have some sense.”
“Blaine,” Darnuir said in a tone to match, “I won’t have such naïve divisions of information. If we are going to get through this then we have to work together, as a proper alliance. Or do you intend to work separately from humanity?”
It would be easier if we could.
But such a course was unfortunately impossible. Humanity had the greater fleet and resources. Dragons would need them to cross the sea to Aurisha.
“Darnuir, I am sure our Prefect did not neglect such information deliberately. Our arrival here has been chaotic; I’m sure it was simply lost amongst the flood of information coming in. Is that not so, Prefect?”
The Prefect rallied at the support. “Yes, Lord Guardian. I beg your pardon, sire, it shan’t happen again.”
“I hope so,” Darnuir said. “I would hate to think there is prejudice amongst the officers you have selected, Blaine.”
Careful, boy. Be very careful. Blaine would not reprimand him here, not publicly. It was vital they presented a united front. There is too much human in him. Still, Darnuir was proving he had some authority about him when he was riled up, and that at least was promising. Blaine’s lack of response seemed to bolster Darnuir’s confidence.
“How did Captain Morwen die?” Darnuir asked.
“The hunter didn’t say,” Lira said. She avoided looking at either Blaine or the Prefect. “But I got the impression she had been dead for some time.”
“As useful as this is to know,” Blaine began, “there is little we can do about it now. Lira, perhaps you could run back to the Argent Tree and tell the rest of our people to make ready for their King.” It was a flimsy reason to send the girl away but she had to go. Women were not part of army life. It was not the way things were done.
Lira looked confused. “But I came to help. I’m not just a messenger!” she said.
“Not just a messenger, Lord Guardian!” the Prefect corrected her.
“That is okay,” Blaine allowed. “It is not necessary to repeat the courtesy every time. So long as she keeps her tone respectful.”
“I’m a trained hunter, Lord Guardian,” the girl claimed. “I’d rather fight than write.”
“We can discuss that later,” Blaine said, hoping to shelve the subject for another time. She could stay with her hunters but she would not join a legion.
“I don’t see the problem,” Darnuir said, to the shock of the Prefect. “What we need to discuss is who will lead the hunters. I say Cosmo.”
Cosmo? The man with motherless son? He did not seem special in any way but Darnuir seemed enamoured by him. The boy had perked up greatly when Cosmo had joined them at the rear guard.
“Damien,” Darnuir demanded, whirling to relocate the outrunner, “you remember who Cosmo is?”
“Yes, sire,” Damien said.
“Good. Search for him and bring him here if you can. He was carried off by a pair of fairies from the fighting.”
“The flyers landed not too far from here,” Damien said. “I should not be long.” He turned and jogged off through the trees. That was quite commanding as well. Perhaps the boy would not need so much work after all. Blaine was not sure if that was a blessing or not. The less moulding the boy needed, the better, given their circumstances; however, Blaine also hoped to sculpt him the way he desired.
“Why Cosmo?” Blaine asked.
“Because he is the best man for the job, whether he wants it or not,” Darnuir said. “He has stepped up before when he’s needed.”
“He seems only half-alive,” Blaine warned. “I understand he has suffered a great loss. Perhaps he is not in the best frame of mind.”
“Then who would you choose, Blaine?” Darnuir asked.
The least offensive candidate, if I were forced to choose.
“I wouldn’t trouble myself with it, Darnuir. Let the hunters sort it out for themselves,” he said.
“Is that indifference or active dislike?” Darnuir asked.
“I have no particular prejudice against hunters,” Blaine said. Darnuir raised his eyebrows. “Why should I? Because hundreds of years ago, hunters used to score a few kills against our kind? Perhaps you think that dragons fear hunters? Well let me dissuade you of that notion. Dragons are not animals that flee at the sound of a snapping twig or the rustle of a bush. If a hunter were stalking me, Darnuir, he would need to hope that I do not smell him or see him because a dragon does not run. And when I close the distance, no amount of well-coloured leather, scents or stealth would save him.”
“That is why they would shoot you before you closed the distance,” Darnuir said perfectly casually.
“Such dishonourable tactics do not frighten me,” Blaine said.
“That is how I was trained,” Darnuir said. “Do you think I am dishonourable?”
“You will not practice those ways anymore,” Blaine said firmly. “And once we get you out of those leathers and into proper armour, all the better. And you, girl,” he rounded on Lira, “Darnuir’s ignorance of his true nature might forgive him but you knew you were a dragon, yet you are sporting human hunting leathers. Why join an organisation that sings songs about killing your own people?” Lira looked crestfallen and a little ashamed. Good. Twenty years with humans is far too long. The youngest of us have had too much contact with them.
“I wanted to fight,” she said. “I needed to fight. My father died when Aurisha fell or so my mother told me. I was only very young at the time, barely walking and talking. What were we to do, your Guardianess…”
“Lord Guardian!” the Prefect snapped again.
“What were we to do, Lord Guardian?” Lira continued. “The rest of the dragons just vanished; you all slithered away after Demon’s Folly. No one was collecting the tithe for soldiers’ widows and families. My mother had nothing. It was her idea actually. When we ended up in the north, she joined the hunters there and trained to be a healer. She looked young to them, of course, and had little me with her, so she must have looked a sad sight to them. I grew up at their station and, when I was older, I trained alongside them; and here I am.” Lira ended hurriedly and a little hesitantly. Whatever courage had bolstered her to speak seemed to have left her.
“Is it necessary to resolve this now?” Darnuir asked.
The Light Bearers, who had stood sentinel, rustled and shifted uneasily. Blaine heard one grumble something to the other. Forgive our young king, brothers.
“I agree, Darnuir,” Blaine said. “We should press on towards the Argent Tree. It might take the best part of a week through the dense forest. Prefect, ensure our dead and wounded are brought along for proper burials.” Darnuir predictably opened his mouth to add to this command. Blaine cut him off. “Ensure ‘all’ the dead and wounded are brought, Prefect.”
“Yes, Lord Guardian,” the Prefect said. “Which human should I liaise with on this matter?”
“This hunter of the King’s,” Blaine said, turning back to Darnuir.
“Cosmo,” Darnuir said.
“What?” another voice said hoarsely from behind one of the wagons. Blaine thought he recognised it. Cosmo and Damien emerged into their small camp. “What do you want, Darnuir?” Cosmo asked, exhausted. “I have yet to find my son, can’t this wait?”
Blaine understood why the man was used to addressing Darnuir like this but it would not work in the long-term. However, there had been enough damage already with Lira. To rebuke the hunter now would only lead to another argument. Blaine let it pass.
“No,” Darnuir said, “it cannot wait. I’m sure Cassandra is taking good care of him.”
“Whatever it is,” Cosmo protested, “I’m sure Scythe is more than capable of handling.” The silence that followed indicated to the hunter that something was wrong and Cosmo appeared immediately apprehensive.
“Scythe is dead,” Darnuir said with effort. “I need you to—”
“What? No,” Cosmo bleated, “he was fine when I was taken away. What happened?”
“He insisted on setting the line we built ablaze,” Darnuir said. “Something went wrong. There was an enormous explosion; far bigger than pitch should have made.”
Cosmo looked visibly shaken at the news. He steadied himself with a hand on the nearby wagon. “Isn’t any ale here, is there?” he asked. “I’d take wine if that’s what you lot drink?”
“Cosmo,” Darnuir said more sternly.
“Yes, I heard,” the hunter said. “And I saw the smoke rising up when we landed. What caused that? I thought we were just creating a long strip to set alight and force the demons to go around. All we stacked at my section was hay bales, dried wheat stalks and a few of those barrels.”
“What was in the barrels?” Lira asked, perking up again.
“Some sort of black powder,” Cosmo said.
“And you don’t know what that is?” Lira said, a little confused.
“No…”Cosmo said. “Should we? I assumed it was something that they put on the crops.”
“That wouldn’t be wise,” Lira said. “It sounds like Dragon Powder to me.”
Dragon what, Blaine thought. This girl was beginning to make his head ache without the need for magic. That was impressive in its own way. “What by the three gods is Dragon Powder?” he demanded. “I have never encountered such a thing. I, who have lived several lifetimes.”
The girl shuffled, looking at his freshly-flared annoyance, to Darnuir’s curious eyes, to Cosmo’s fatigued and sweaty face. “Others call it blasting powder, or just plain black powder, like you said,” she began. “But many up north call it Dragon Powder. They say it is made of dragons, ground down, and explodes when you anger it.”
“I do hope that is not a literal interpretation,” Blaine scowled.
“No, sir,” Lira said. “They only mean that the stuff has the power of a dragon but it is soft like dust. It is used up north in the quarries to blow the rock apart, though it is a recent thing. Only in the last few years has it been used, I think.”
“That would explain why we knew nothing of it,” Darnuir said, looking to Cosmo.
“But what was such a thing doing in the Golden Crescent?” Cosmo said.
No one answered. No one had any theories.
Blaine felt a pang of unease at news of this powder. If this substance can reduce stone, what else might it be used for?
“Yet another mystery to uncover,” Darnuir sighed. “But Cosmo, I need you now; the hunters need you. You resist and resist but every time you have to lead, you do it well, and the men love you. You took Scythe’s place at Cold Point. You must do so again.”
“Oh must I?” Cosmo said.
“Yes,” Darnuir insisted. “Grace would want you to—”
“Don’t you dare!” Cosmo said.
“She was the closest thing I had to a mother, Cosmo,” Darnuir said in a fierce whisper. “I miss her too.”
“But she wasn’t your mother, Darnuir,” Cosmo said. “Her son will never know her. And I am not your father. I didn’t ask for the job and I wouldn’t ask for this one.”
“That is why I am giving it to you,” Darnuir said.
“Have Garon lead them,” Cosmo suggested. “The Boreac men will follow him, I’m sure.”
“I had in mind that you would lead all hunter forces?” Darnuir said.
“That has never been done,” Cosmo grunted. “What about the Crescent Captain? Morwen, I think her name is.”
“She is dead,” Lira chimed in helpfully.
“Of course she is,” Cosmo said bitterly. The hunter removed his arm from its resting place and took the few paces to stand eye to eye with Darnuir. “The answer is still no.”
Darnuir’s response was closer to a snarl. “Listen to me, human. You will do as I command.”
That was unusual behaviour. What has brought such a change in tone about? Something caught Blaine’s eye, even in the hazy light of twilight. On the Dragon’s Blade, the ruby eye facing Blaine twinkled and glowed faintly. Ah, but to have enough memories stored to actively overpower the carrier would be extreme. More than I have ever heard of.
“Command? Human?” Cosmo snapped, moving as though to take hold of Darnuir. The Light Bearers looked to Blaine, hands flashing to their swords. Blaine raised a strong hand to halt them. “You have changed, Darnuir,” Cosmo finished. Darnuir’s face twitched as he held his aching head. The hunter took no notice of it. Cosmo stepped furiously away from Darnuir. “Leave me be. I’m going to find my real son.”
Darnuir faced those left in the command post. Once again, it was only dragons. Damien stood impassively, awaiting more orders, as though the scene had not occurred. The Light Bearers slowly loosened their grip on their weapons. The Prefect looked confused, likely taken aback that a human had spoken to his king in such a manner. The remaining scribes kept their heads down as good scribes should, but Lira still stood in her insulting leathers, uncertain whether she should even move.
Darnuir at least had the good grace to look embarrassed, his face still screwed up in whatever pain ailed him.
“Well,” Darnuir said, “at least he is talking again.”
More awkward silence followed Darnuir’s failed attempt to save face. Blaine let it hang for as long as he could bear, hoping Darnuir might regain himself. He didn’t. Finally, Blaine had enough.
“Prefect,” he said quite calmly.
“Err, yes, Lord Guardian,” the dragon said, seeming to snap out of some reverie.
“Prepare to move further into the forest,” Blaine told him. “I think you can remain handling affairs alone for the time being.”
Chapter 20
THE TRUSTED
DUKOONA SAT IN contemplation upon the throne of the Dragon King. His head was cradled in his hands, fingers twisting around the cold, fiery tendrils that fell from his head. The starium stone of the throne was hard and unforgiving. Stubborn and strong like those who had built it. For the most important chair in Tenalp, it was extraordinarily plain. Its back rose high and straight, the armrests were broad, and the seat far wider than necessary; yet still, it had been hewn from the rock without decoration. Raw strength had been used to make this seat for the King of Dragons and was fitting for those creatures.
Since Dukoona had taken up residency, the throne room was more of an empty cavern. Situated low in the Royal Tower, the room was the largest space the building had to offer. Stairs fanned out beneath the throne, sloping down to the simple golden floor. The stone was worn and a little uneven in places but otherwise, there was nothing remarkable about the room. Perhaps the King of Dragons had no need to assert his power, Dukoona mused. But if he had been so powerful, how had he fallen so easily?
Dukoona remembered that moment well, when he had plunged his sword, forged from the shadows itself, down through the King’s chest. Castallan had been there at the end, though his eyes had been fixed on Draconess’ sword. Dukoona only had eyes for his greatest kill, drinking in Draconess’ expression as he pulled his sword free. It had been so very sweet. Not the kill itsel
f, of course, but robbing Rectar of his greatest prize. His Master desired dragons to be sent to the mountain, not killed, and so Dukoona had deprived his Master of ever having their king. It had been one of his finer acts of resistance. But that had been before the massacre atop the plateau. That had been before his doubt and before Rectar’s renewed strength.
He is strong once more.
Dukoona’s Master had spoken to him earlier that day. Rectar’s voice had come like the unrelenting waves of a storm crashing against the plateau of Aurisha. For the last twenty years, his mind had held like the rock did, standing strong as the water broke against it. Today had been different. Today he had crumbled; he had been forced to listen. “Come,” Rectar had said. The command was simple, but not since he had been summoned into the world had it been so strong. Not even in all the long years of war leading to the capture of this once great city.
Dukoona considered the meaning of the brief demand. It could only mean that Rectar wished him to travel to Kar’drun. As the largest mountain in all the world, it had the most Cascade energy running through it. That was why Rectar lurked there. The last time his Master had brought him back to Kar’drun, it had been to launch the campaign into the Highlands. Dukoona was proud of that venture. It had been one of his finest efforts of resistance. Yet his doubt now stretched to include even these happy memories. Was it because Rectar was weaker then, Dukoona had often wondered of late. Shortly after Aurisha fell, Rectar’s voice had dropped to a whisper inside his head. Somehow, he had lost the best part of his power, despite the important victory. Something crippled him, and so Dukoona could resist more easily. But now, somehow, he had regained his strength.
Dukoona had suspected it for weeks. Since he had last spoken with the wizard, he had felt his Master’s power flourish. At first, Dukoona had thought that the approaching invasion of the west must have stirred life back into him; that somehow merely the thought of bringing death to his enemies gave him a new lease of enthusiasm. But now, it seemed the other way around. This invasion was being hastily put together because Rectar had regained his full power. But why now? And how?
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