Perhaps I am not that talented at all. Perhaps it was only because I am a dragon.
Lira came at him again, lashing with her blunted blade. The sword tips clashed in a metallic screech that grew louder as Darnuir pushed, scraping the edges against each other. Lira pushed back and, for a moment, they stood locked, frozen in mid action, then she buckled, thrown back by Darnuir’s greater strength.
“Argh!” Lira cried as her head hit the ground, smashing on a fallen branch. Darnuir stepped forwards to point his sword down towards her neck. “I yield,” she said bitterly, spitting her ebony hair out of her mouth. Darnuir offered her a hand and heard clapping coming from the treeline.
“I think you might actually be getting quicker,” Balack called. Darnuir turned to see his friend and Cassandra beside him, waving one of the blunt training swords casually around. He had seen them together more often lately. Why was that?
“You were too slow, boy,” another voice called over the clattering dragons. Blaine approached, flanked by a retinue of Light Bearers. Some now bore a peculiar-looking symbol, painted expertly in yellow onto the face of their shields. The pattern was similar to the shape of the hilt of Blaine’s sword. “You were both too slow,” Blaine stated again, throwing Lira an unfavourable look. “How will you ever learn fighting her? She is little better than a human.”
“I thought she fought well,” Darnuir said in her defence. Lira smiled at him but cowed before Blaine.
Blaine ignored Darnuir’s statement. “We missed you at prayer this morning, my King. Had you no words to say to Dwna?” His tone held no surprise. Darnuir had avoided these gatherings. The whole concept baffled him. It seemed like speaking to the air without any response. Perhaps Blaine received replies in his head? But, if that were true, that might just make him mad. Yet it must make sense to others, for Blaine’s followers grew daily.
“I needed to clear my head,” Darnuir said. “I hoped one of your Light Bearers would be willing?” He glanced around at Blaine’s followers. They all met him with impassive eyes. Am I supposed to rebuke them for scorning me? Or are they beyond my ‘power’ as Blaine’s preferred men. There were many subtleties of his role that Darnuir was in the dark about, and Blaine seemed intent on keeping things that way, feeding him morsels of information as he needed to know.
“If it is a duel you want then I shall spar with you,” Blaine smiled.
Darnuir was taken aback. “You?”
“Yes,” Blaine said. His Light Bearers began to fan out in a circle. “If you are going to improve, you should learn how far you have to go.” He drew out the Guardian’s Blade.
“Is this not training?” Darnuir asked, holding up the dulled practice sword.
“Would you use that in a real fight?” Blaine said.
“No,” Darnuir said stiffly.
“Then you won’t use it here,” Blaine said. “I won’t hurt you, if that is what you are concerned about?”
Darnuir threw an apprehensive look around him. He was surrounded by the silent and sentinel Light Bearers. Lira had shied out of the way to join Balack and Cassandra. Darnuir tossed the training sword aside and drew out the Dragon’s Blade. Other sparring pairs stopped their fights as they noticed what was unfolding. Gradually, the circle grew larger, becoming a makeshift arena.
“What if I hurt you?” he called to Blaine.
“I’m not worried by that,” Blaine said. Then he attacked.
It was all Darnuir could do to block Blaine’s first assault. He charged Darnuir with the same ferocity he had used in battling Raymond’s brother at Torridon. The force of the blow nearly knocked Darnuir over but he remained on his feet, stumbling back. Blaine came at him again. Darnuir thought he had anticipated Blaine’s strike to his right but, at the last second, Blaine whipped his arm around in a blur. Darnuir’s exposed side stung harshly.
“Dead!” Blaine yelled. Murmurs came from all around the clearing.
Darnuir felt the strange temper rise in him again and his head throbbed with a renewed vigour. Somehow, it was not wholly his own. Drawing several short and furious breaths, he moved to attack Blaine. The Guardian dodged his blow as though Darnuir were a clumsy child. Darnuir did not relent. He struck at Blaine again and this time, forced him to parry. He swung repeatedly, high and low, pressing forward and putting Blaine on the defensive. It seemed he had turned the momentum of the fight around too easily, a fear confirmed when a concentrated beam of light emanated from the Guardian’s Blade, hitting Darnuir in the face. Blinded, Darnuir’s final swings met air alone and he felt another hard slap at the back of his legs. The force of Blaine’s strike buckled his knees and he fell.
“That time I would have had your legs off,” Blaine informed him.
“The light…” Darnuir began to say.
“Is no different from the sun,” Blaine said, “only more directed. Would you call out a man with a shield blocking your blow? No, because it is a tool he possesses.”
Darnuir got back to his feet and they began to lightly circle each other. I have my own trick as well. If only I could control it properly. The surrounding crowd had grown larger and now contained hunters as well as dragons. Civilians, fairy, human and dragon alike, must have been attracted to the spectacle from the other side of the river, for children sat upon the shoulders of their fathers or mothers.
This time, Blaine took the initiative, leaping though the air towards Darnuir. Briefly, the Guardian blocked the sun from Darnuir’s vision as he fell towards him. Instinct told him to raise his sword but a better idea came to him. He held until the last possible moment then rolled out of the way. Blaine collided with the ground in an impact that would have shattered the bones of a human. Darnuir rounded on the hunched figure, bringing the flat of his sword down. The word ‘dead’ died half-formed in his throat as Blaine, still crouched, brought his own sword over his head to bat the Dragon’s Blade away. Darnuir tried to quickly bring another strike to bear but Blaine jumped to his feet and suddenly, Darnuir was back-peddling, parrying until the edge of the crowd had to part for them. With a great effort, Darnuir pushed against Blaine until the two became locked. More light began to glow around Blaine’s sword.
Is he trying the same cheap trick? Darnuir wanted nothing more than the fire from his own sword to leap forth. He thought on it hard; concentrated entirely on the bright flames spilling from the dragon’s mouth. Then he felt it. His throat felt like it was burning, but there was nothing there, and suddenly, real fire lit up the Dragon’s Blade.
“Argh!” Blaine cried as the heat bit at his face. He kicked Darnuir’s torso to drive him away. Darnuir spun from the blow. Winded, he gasped for air. His throat still burned intensely and the fire must have continued to pour forth as he twisted, for a ring of fire now encircled Blaine and himself. Screams rose from the spectators and the wall of bodies rushed away from the flames. He could not control it. It was just like at Cold Point. No, Darnuir thought in panic as he flapped the Dragon’s Blade helplessly as though it were a rag on fire.
“Put it out!” Blaine yelled.
Darnuir tried. He failed.
“I can’t!”
Blaine was on him then, grabbing him roughly and pushing a strong hand against his mouth. “Hold your breath, boy,” he said. Darnuir did as he was told, seizing up his airways, not letting a drop of air in. It seemed to work. The burning sensation in his throat died and the flames on the sword guttered out. Blaine let go of him and he gulped in air.
“I didn’t know I had to stop breathing,” he coughed as he regained his breath.
“It should be a last resort,” Blaine said. “You should be able to turn it off as naturally as you ignite the blade but, as you seem to struggle, bear that in mind for the future.”
“Why does holding my breath help?” Darnuir said.
Blaine did not immediately answer. He was preoccupied with scanning around for casualties. Thankfully, the dampness of the ground had impeded the fire spreading. The crowds had dispersed a fair di
stance, and Darnuir saw some fleeing the glade. Blaine turned back to him, apparently satisfied that no damage had been done.
“Fires will go out if they are starved of air.”
“But the fire was on the sword,” Darnuir said.
“Did your throat not feel hot?” Blaine asked. “That’s how it has been described to me.”
“It was,” Darnuir said, “but the heat wasn’t really in me, Blaine. I can’t breathe fire.”
Blaine shrugged. “That is just the way it works, Darnuir. I told you I don’t have all the answers.”
Darnuir let out an exasperated sigh. You’ve given few so far. Still, the new knowledge was extremely useful. If he could practice controlling the fire in this crude manner, it would be a start.
Blaine must have sensed his frustration for he went on. “The Blades embody different things. The Dragon’s Blade embodies the nature of a dragon, or what it once meant; and so it can fly and spew flames.”
“And yours?” Darnuir asked. “What does the Guardian’s Blade embody?”
“The Light,” Blaine said, “and the power to carefully watch the world over many years; hence the long life and the memory storage.”
“What do you mean by the—”
“Darnuir, I don’t think here is the place, but I do think it is the time. Come,” Blaine said, gesturing for Darnuir to follow. He felt thoroughly exasperated with the Guardian. Always just these little pieces at a time. Nothing is ever solid.
Blaine was leading him towards the Avvorn, the river that ran from the mountains of the north through the heart of Val’tarra. The clearing in which they had duelled was on the opposite side from the epicentre of fairy life around the Argent Tree. As they neared the exit of the clearing, Darnuir caught a glimpse of Cassandra duelling playfully with Balack. Lira watched them both carefully, shouting out tips and instructions. He found his eyes captured for the moment on the tumbling locks of Cassandra’s thick hair, her slender figure as she wove around Balack, and her brilliant smile as she slipped and fell on the slick grass. He noticed how her eyes matched the colour of the forest floor and were alight with a spark and brightness he had not seen in them before. She seemed happy.
“Darnuir,” Blaine said slowly, “she will still be here when we are finished. Come along.”
“I wasn’t…” Darnuir said stupidly. “I was just watching.”
“I know,” Blaine said, disapproving. “I’d caution you against acting on it, Darnuir, but I imagine you will ignore me.” Darnuir remained silent, refusing to rise to the bait. “I will offer you my caution all the same.”
They approached the bank of the Avvorn. The river flowed before them, too wide even for the strongest dragon to leap. The surface of the water shone a delicate icy-blue. Little bridges fashioned from silver wood spanned the gap at intervals. On the other side, the trees were sparse, as they had to compete with the thirsty roots of the Argent Tree. As they crossed over one of the small bridges, Darnuir paused at the highest point. Not far downriver, he saw a score of fairies tending to one of the blackened and burned trees.
“What now?” Blaine asked impatiently.
“What are they doing?” he asked.
“They are arborists, Darnuir,” Blaine said. “They are doing their job.” The team of fairies moved carefully around the tree, placing their hands upon it in a manner that must have held significance but which left Darnuir none the wiser. “They are attempting to heal the tree,” Blaine continued. “It has not processed the Cascade energy within the water well.”
“They don’t seem to be making much of a difference,” Darnuir said.
“Right now, they are checking whether it can be saved. If it can’t, they will tear it down.” Darnuir did not ask further. He felt that was all he was going to get out of the Guardian and, at any rate, he was intrigued by Blaine’s allusions to answers.
He followed Blaine over the bridge and onto the makeshift road of well-trodden earth, leading through the city of canvass, which lay before the base of the Argent Tree. The largest tent amongst them might have been covered by the sails of several ships and was the centre of the triage operations. The wounded and exhausted lay out in long rows on the soft grass, allowing fairy healers easier movement amongst their patients. Hundreds of them tended to their charges in elegant, silken gowns. Not far from Darnuir and Blaine, one fairy healer dashed towards a man tossing violently in his sleep. Her skin was a pale turquoise and her fine white hair was tied back in a long braid. Judging by the patient’s muddy red leathers, he was a human hunter from the Cairlav Marshes. The sick hunter awoke as the fairy reached him, sweat visible on his brow. One of his arms ended in a bandaged stump just past the elbow. As the healer unwound the linens, a smell of rot reached Darnuir and his stomach twisted. Impulsively, he raised his hand to cover his nose.
“Putrid isn’t it?” Blaine said.
The fairy was speaking softly to the man and wiping his brow. She inspected the wound then looked up and made a signal to a fellow healer who began to approach with a clanking case.
“No,” the man whimpered, trying to move. “No, no, please,” he said terrified. As he struggled, he nearly knocked the healer down. She caught Darnuir watching them and her eyes beseeched him. He hurriedly picked his way over to the pair and pressed down on the man to keep him from moving. Blaine called after him but he ignored it. The hunter cried out in fresh pain and Darnuir eased the pressure he was putting on him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have yet to learn my own strength.”
“My Lord?” the hunter said in disbelief. “I lost my hand at Torridon but the rest of the arm has been fine since. Please tell her… please.” The fairy gave Darnuir another stern look and shook her head. Her companion arrived and she began rummaging in the case.
“I’m no healer,” Darnuir said, “but my nose tells me it is too far gone. I’m sorry.” The man stopped trying to move under Darnuir’s superior strength. He began to sob instead, the tears mingling with the beads of sweat running down his face. His eyes widened in terror as the fairy produced a surgical blade, long and razor-sharp. Another smell reached Darnuir then; it was powerfully sweet, so sweet it was nearly sickly. Is that fear I am smelling? Why is that? If so, it’s grotesque and vile. Still, he found it strangely pleasant. The healer brought out more supplies and finally, a thick piece of clean silver bark, which she passed to Darnuir.
“Bite down on this,” she told the hunter. “It will help you.” He accepted the bark between his teeth without struggle and kept his eyes shut as the healer began the awful process. He bit down on the bark and fresh tears streamed from his eyes. Mercifully, it was over quickly; the worst part was the cracking and crunching as she cut through the bone. The healer’s companion collected the discarded flesh and knife and carried them away, whilst she applied a mushed silver paste to the wound and rebound it with an impressive efficiency. “You can let go now,” she said, and Darnuir released the poor soul. She raised a gentle hand to the man’s brow and his whimpers died away as he closed his eyes.
“What did you do to him?” Darnuir asked.
“I took some of the pain away,” she said, shaking as she pulled her hand away. “But I might have overdone it. I need water.” She rose unsteadily to her feet and Darnuir helped stabilise her. “Thank you, Lord Darnuir. And for him,” she added.
“Are you able to walk?” he asked.
“I should be fine,” she said. “There is plenty of food and water for us.” She scurried off desperately towards the largest tent within the city of canvas.
Blaine stalked towards him. “We don’t have time to stop and help every man.”
Darnuir looked down at the hunter, remembering the sweet scent he had inhaled and twitched at his own perverse senses. “Blaine,” he asked tentatively, “can we smell fear?” Even as he asked it, the question sounded absurd.
Blaine gave a cruel smirk. “Sweet isn’t it?”
“It’s a revolting thought,” Darnuir said. “
But I liked it.”
“It is who we are, Darnuir,” Blaine said. “Perhaps a wolf picks up a similar scent when it hunts down its prey. You should get used to it eventually.”
“Does it only come from humans?”
“Most noticeably,” Blaine said. “Humans hold the most fear.”
Standing amongst the injured and sick, Darnuir felt a little fear was justified. They were brave to fight and make it this far, he thought. Spectres and demons are one thing but the unknown of the sick bed is another.
“Come,” Blaine said. “We should avoid any more distract—”
“Lord Guardian!” a voice called from the grassy path.
Darnuir whipped his head and saw Damien approaching. Blaine’s expression softened when he saw the outrunner.
“Is this important, Damien?” Blaine asked.
“A message from the Chevalier, sir.”
“From Raymond?” Darnuir said. “How did he manage to get word to us here?”
“One of our long-range runners was given the letter by a bargeman passing up the river Dorain,” Damien said. “It is in the central command tent for you, my Lords.”
“Very well,” Blaine said. “It may contain word of the enemy.”
They traced the path of the fairy healer and entered the massive tent. Darnuir saw the healer sipping at a tall glass of water. Hundreds of jugs were laid out upon long tables, and other fairies glided serenely around, carrying trays of freshly-baked bread. At the centre of the tent was a collection of angled tables strewn with maps, stacks of parchment and half-eaten meals. Armoured dragons and burly fairy warriors stood consorting there, placing little carvings on the maps to represent the forces at play.
Darnuir found it curious that every fairy warrior he had seen had a very similar look, as though they were designed specifically for combat. They were taller than the rest, and so thickly set that they made the dragons seem scrawny. Yet others, the ones with wings, were far leaner and wiry. All present seemed to defer to one warrior fairy in particular. His skin was such a dark shade of blue that it might have been ink, contrasting fiercely with his long silver hair, which was elaborately braided to the middle of his winged back; strapped to which was a vicious double-ended spear. His navy tunic, emblazoned with a large silver tree, was pulled in tightly by the straps of his weapon.
The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King Page 31
