“Keep up Darnuir,” Blaine shouted over his shoulder, “and do not make eye contact with anybody. I don’t want any more distractions.”
Chapter 22
THE HALL OF MEMORIES
DARNUIR RACED INTO the vast, hollowed interior of the Argent Tree in Blaine’s wake. A winding, railed path ascended hundreds of feet above, lit by thousands of wispy lanterns, hanging from thin beams of silver wood or mounted on brackets. Parchment stretched so thin, he could see right through to the flames the sheets covered, creating twinkling light in constant imitation of a clear night sky. Blaine was wasting no time and charged up the curved walkway. Corridors and rooms branched off the main path as they ascended, weaving carefully between passing fairies as they made the climb. Just over halfway up, Blaine suddenly veered off into one of the twisting corridors. It was significantly darker and it took a while for Darnuir’s eyes to adjust.
“Blaine,” he said, half-blind. “Where are we going? What is so urgent?”
“This is it, Darnuir,” Blaine said. “The Hall of Memories.”
As his eyes adjusted, he found he could still see almost perfectly. Is this another trait of a dragon? Darnuir saw Blaine’s eyes in the darkness, faintly yellow like a mountain lynx, and assumed his own must appear similar. The long corridor sloped upwards at a gentle gradient, bending around the corner and out of sight, following the full length and curve of the Argent Tree. Upon the very walls, there were paintings, but unlike in his room, these images seemed to depict real things, not just patterns. There were no breaks in the paint. The entire hallway appeared to be one never-ending masterpiece. The illustrations closest to him appeared to be mountains, huge and snow-capped. He walked a little further into the corridor and found that there were ten of these mountains in total.
“The Ten Principal Mountains of Tenalp,” Blaine said.
“What is this place?” Darnuir asked.
“A dedication to our world’s history, or what we know, or think we know, of it. Everything starts with those mountains, Darnuir.”
“Not these gods of yours?”
“They came later,” Blaine said. “Life had to come first. Here, see,” he pointed to what looked like a map of the world, except it did not look right. There seemed to be more of it and the land was all connected in one large ring. A great mountain stood in the area where Aurisha was now built. “This map shows how our world once was,” Blaine continued. “At some point, magic poured forth from the peaks of those great mountains, or at least we assume it did. This was the Cascade, and hence why we call magic Cascade energy. With the Cascade came life.” The next mural along depicted the Principal Mountains erupting, and a blue substance oozing down their edges. Cascade energy, Darnuir presumed. Further along, the artwork showed blossoming vegetation, rivers being carved out by the Cascade, then animals, then fairies and, finally, dragons. Darnuir paused at this point. The dragons portrayed were the mythical, scaled monsters of old; those fire-breathing beasts that were used to scare young children.
“Fairies came first?” Darnuir asked.
“We’ll never know for sure,” Blaine said. “But it is of little consequence. Let them think it.”
“What about humans?” Darnuir said. “I don’t see them.”
“Humans came later. Much later,” Blaine said, leading him further down the corridor. The lavish illustrations of the primordial world along the wall eventually gave way to mountains again. Yet this new depiction was more self-contained than the free-flowing sections prior to it. A snowstorm raged over jagged peaks against a blackened night sky. Dragons were perched on the rocky mountains outcrops, roaring and breathing their fire high into the night. Possibly hundreds were crammed into the image. Floating ethereally above them were three bright shapes, luminous and radiating light onto the scene below. Blaine paused at the centre of this magnificent painting and placed his hand delicately upon it. “What do you know of our history, Darnuir?” he asked.
“Little,” Darnuir admitted. “We learned many things as hunters that most men would but history was not one of them.”
“I’m not surprised,” Blaine said.
“It’s not practical enough,” Darnuir said. “This is all very beautiful and interesting, Blaine, but what use is it for us now? Cassandra is more interested in this.”
“What use you ask?” Blaine said. “Darnuir, to understand all of this is perhaps the most useful thing you could ever know.” Darnuir raised his eyebrows sceptically. “You are not just a hunter anymore; you are a dragon and a king. Moreover, you are one of the most powerful beings in the world, even if you do not yet feel it; and you will have greater foes to face than merely wolves, bears, demons or spectres.”
“And knowing some history will prepare me for it?” Darnuir said.
“It will lay a good foundation for your understanding,” Blaine said. “This scene before us now is known as the First Flight. Tiviar suggests it occurred some five thousand years before the Transformation but no one can be certain. Yet legend tells that it was when our race gathered as one for the first time and received our purpose.”
“Our purpose,” Darnuir said, “meaning we are supposed to be doing something? Every dragon?”
“To cast out the Shadow!” Blaine said passionately. “A task given to us by the gods themselves. Look, boy, and see them here.” Darnuir looked again at the three incandescent, floating beings.
“They are just shapes of light,” Darnuir said. “They have no bodies.”
Blaine half-laughed. “And why should the gods defame themselves to appear like us? They are not made of flesh and blood, Darnuir, they are gods, forces and far beyond our comprehension.”
“Then what are these… shapes?” Darnuir asked, for that was all he could think of them as being.
“Depictions, symbols, does it really matter what they look like?” Blaine said. “How will any of us ever know?”
“But if you cannot be certain, why do you trust so much in them?” Darnuir asked, hoping to uncover the real reason behind Blaine’s peculiar devotion.
“I have faith,” Blaine said simply. “But it is more than that, Darnuir. My blade holds in it a portion of their power; it can bring forth the very light that the Shadow fears.”
“The Dragon’s Blade brings forth fire,” Darnuir said in rebuttal. “I saw Brackendon bring the roof of a building down and manipulate the air around him. I’ve seen Kymethra turn into an eagle and fly away. These things work by magic; why would your sword be any different?”
Blaine stared long and hard at the images of his gods on the wall.
“I do not expect you will ever believe or feel the way I do. You have grown up in a time and a place severed from the old ways. But you cannot deny me this, Darnuir. The Shadow is real, our enemy is real, and if the darkness exists then the Light must as well.”
“Well when you phrase it like that, it is hard to disagree,” Darnuir said. “But dragons have not only fought against this ‘Shadow’ you speak of. Dragons also warred amongst themselves for centuries.”
“If you are referring to the Black Dragons, they turned to serve the Shadow,” Blaine said. “That is why we fought them. They weren’t really dragons then.”
“But their leader was Dranus, a dragon, not some Shadow God,” Darnuir said. “Our enemy now is Rectar.”
“And what do you really know of either of them beyond the hearsay and the legends?” Blaine asked. Darnuir had little to say. Dranus’ name was used as a curse; he was an old enemy of the dragons, but he knew nothing more concrete in truth. Cassandra likely knows, he thought. She has delved into the past enough to please Blaine. Of Rectar, he knew only his name. Blaine smiled triumphantly at his lack of reply. “As I thought. No matter, it will still do you well to understand. It all starts with the First Flight,” Blaine said enthusiastically, casting a hand over the scene before them.
Blaine directed Darnuir to look at the left most of the luminescent beings. Three stretched, elongated, and upside-
down triangles emanated from some undefined centre where their pointed tips met.
“Here is Dwna, the Light of Creation,” Blaine said. Next, he pointed to the middle god. A large sphere, halved lengthways, the upper half a bright yellow-gold, while the underside was scored and almost as dark as the night sky behind it. “This is Dwl’or, the Shades of Existence.” Blaine pointed to the third depiction. Three thick, bright lines spiralled out against the dark night sky. “And this is N’weer, The Infinite. The Gods of Light chose us as their champions, Darnuir. Some believe that Dwna helped shape us to be their weapon against the Shadow; I’d like to believe it myself. Regardless, we were chosen and so our people scoured this earth to root out the Shadow, in all its form.”
Darnuir nodded along. We cannot have been very successful then. Blaine led him further down the hall, away from the First Flight.
“Yet our kind could not reach all places in the world,” Blaine said. “We were too large, too cumbersome. Fierce and powerful we were, but what use is that if your enemy skulks in caves and under rocks?”
The next scene Blaine stopped beside showed several golden dragons with their scaly heads bowed low before an equal number of fairies. The lead fairy was reaching out to place her hand on the snout of the dragon in front of her.
“This is why our friendship with the fairies began. They lived in the lower regions of the world and could help track our enemies, and this great purge became the Second Flight. The fairies tell that it happened three thousand years before the Transformation. In exchange for their help, we flew the fairies up to the highest peaks of Tenalp, where the Cascade flowed fast. In those days, the fairies were eager to harvest as much energy as possible.”
A variety of images followed: fairies riding on the backs of dragons; fairies gathering the raw Cascade energy; fairies performing wondrous displays of magic; and even fairies being stalked and attacked by strange grey-skinned creatures.
“What are they?” Darnuir asked, pointing at the odd creatures.
“Those are frost trolls,” Blaine said.
“They’re real?” Darnuir said in shock. Is nothing in this world the way I was brought up to believe?
“I have seen some,” Blaine said. “Though they stick well to the Highlands, as they have always done.”
“Why are they killing the fairies?” Darnuir said.
“Perhaps they wanted the magical power for themselves? Perhaps they thought the fairies made good sport. For centuries, the fairies went north to gather the Cascade and, for centuries, the frost trolls hunted them. There is a terrible amount of bad blood between them.”
“Even now?” Darnuir asked.
“Even now,” Blaine said. “Though, as I said, the trolls keep well to the north and to themselves. Don’t trouble yourself with them.”
“Well then what is necessary for me to know? What is the important part?”
“It is all important,” Blaine scowled, “but we are pressed for time. There are a couple more things you ought to know before we proceed.”
Proceed? The word had an ominous ring.
The Guardian strode off suddenly, passing a great deal of the painted wall. “Much of what happened between the Flights is inconsequential,” Blaine said. “What you must know is what happened immediately after the Third Flight.”
Blaine slowed down as they passed an extended scene of what appeared to be smiths at their forges. However, the smiths were not alone. Fairies mingled amongst them, symbols of the gods were frequent, and the forges were being filled with a strange variety of ingredients. At the end of this segment, three swords were shown in glorious detail. Darnuir recognised the Dragon’s Blade and the Guardian’s Blade, but not the third. It was simply designed by comparison. A plain hilt and cross guard of thick, glinting steel and a woven cloth grip in black and gold. The same queer metal comprised the blade itself but it contained only an etched groove and nothing more.
“The forging of the Three Blades,” Blaine announced, as though to a great audience. “The Dragon’s Blade, the Guardian’s Blade and the Champion’s Blade. Forged in the aftermath of the Third Flight two and a half thousand years ago; using the very talons of Aurisha himself.”
“What, from his claw?” Darnuir sniggered. “They are swords, not bones.”
“They are a mixture of his talons, starium stone and steel,” Blaine said. “So far as I am aware, they are indestructible.”
“So this all happened before the dragons transformed?” Darnuir asked. “It seems strange that the dragons should forge swords when they had no need of them in their bestial form, yet if Aurisha was not still a true dragon, how could they have used his talons?”
“The Transformation occurred shortly before the Third Flight,” Blaine said. “With the aid of the fairies, dragons took the shape of humans, who were still rather primitive at the time. We did this so we could fight the Shadow in all places without the assistance of the fairies. Aurisha was one of the last dragons that had the power to transform at will. His scales were a deep red, much like the head upon the Dragon’s Blade is. Back there, you can find the depiction of his fight against the traitor, Dranus.”
Darnuir trotted back out of interest. He found the scene easily enough. Two dragons were locked in horrific combat. One had scales in dark ox-blood red, much like the hilt of Dragon’s Blade. The other was a mismatch of scales of bright gold and black, yet something about the patches of black reminded Darnuir greatly of Brackendon’s mutilated hand. It was as if this golden dragon had been scarred by magic. This must have been Dranus. A hundred more questions entered his mind but he wanted Blaine to reach the point of all this. He returned to Blaine, still stood at the scene of the forging of the Three Blades.
“So this third blade,” Darnuir said. “This Champion’s Blade. Where is it?”
“Ah!” Blaine exclaimed. “Now that is the question. The Champion’s Blade is rather different from our own. It will only be found by those most worthy.”
“And what does that mean?” Darnuir said, beginning to feel frustrated.
“If I knew that, Darnuir, I might have found it myself.”
“So you searched for it?”
“In vain,” Blaine said. “I sought it for many long years, not for its own sake, I stress, but to confirm a theory. Had I found it then perhaps things would have turned out differently. Alas, I fear that my theory is true and our foe wields a power in this world as great as our own; perhaps even stronger.”
“You think Rectar has it?” Darnuir asked incredulously. Blaine nodded. “But surely he is not ‘worthy’,” Darnuir said. “You said he is of the Shadow.”
“It is only a theory,” Blaine said. “The Champion’s Blade has only appeared once, so far as we can be sure. It may still be out there somewhere and not be a part of all of this.”
“When did it appear before?” Darnuir asked.
“I could tell you,” Blaine said. “But I’d rather show you.” He took out the Guardian’s Blade and pressed against one of the dazzling white gems embedded in its grip. The gemstone came free of the sword and he held it out in his palm. “Within these stones lie memories of Guardians who came before me. Each Guardian may add to them but only so many memories can be held. It is a difficult task to decide which memories should stay and which should go.”
“And there is a memory about the Champion’s Blade in there?” Darnuir asked.
“About the Second War between dragons and humans specifically, seven hundred years ago. I could walk you up this hallway and point out the First War between our races but it would be to no profit. It was the Second War when the Champion’s Blade appeared for the first and possibly only time,” Blaine said. “Those rubies in your sword hold memories as well.”
“My dreams!” Darnuir thought aloud, and suddenly, his disturbed sleep of the past months made sense. “Blaine, I think they have been influencing me somehow.”
“I concur, but for memories in the gems to affect you in such a way, especially
to the point of influencing your behaviour, which I suspect is also occurring, is something unprecedented. Hopefully, by delving into those memories, we can stop the symptoms.”
“Sometimes I feel as though I am having thoughts that are not quite my own,” Darnuir said. “Yet they are still recognisably me, of my voice, does that make sense?”
“Somewhat,” Blaine said. “It appears to me that your old self put in so much of himself in those rubies that his memories are literally spilling out and into you.”
“Do you have similar problems?” Darnuir asked. “With the memories in your gems, I mean?”
“No. There is not enough from any single Guardian to seriously influence me,” Blaine said. “The King who wields the Dragon’s Blade is the only one who may place memories inside its gems, and they wipe clean with each succession. Your case is, however, a unique one…”
“So shortly before he died, the old me placed a lot of his memories into the rubies?”
“That is what I believe,” Blaine said.
“Well that might explain my dreams,” Darnuir said. “They worry me. I feel like I might have done something terrible.”
“We will soon know and, with some luck, the memories of your past life might help you remember what it is to be a dragon. To truly fight like us; to be one of us.”
“You certainly made a fool of me earlier today,” Darnuir said.
“You did well in truth, considering you are not used to utilising your full potential, and your lack of practice with the Blade.”
“Thank you, I suppose,” Darnuir said. It was perhaps the first time Blaine had said something bordering on complimentary.
“You can thank me once you are strong again,” Blaine said. “However, I’m afraid we do not have the luxury of time. The war will not wait for us to prepare and so you must be ready.”
The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King Page 33
