“How bleak,” Kymethra said, joining the conversation. “I have recovered well from my illness. I could fly with all speed to Brevia. At least then we might know if Arkus is sending aid.”
“You cannot fly fast enough,” Brackendon told her.
“My people cannot bear the drain on our resources for much longer, Kymethra,” Kasselle said. “I’m afraid a decision must be made today.”
“That is why I say we split our forces further,” Darnuir continued. “The demons at Inverdorn number far less than those ravaging Val’tarra. If Fidelm takes the four thousand fairies we have to hand—”
“I would rather have my vengeance on those who are burning my homeland,” the General announced.
“And you will,” Darnuir assured him. “You will if we win. If we lose, and lose anywhere at this stage, we are all done.” He picked up the remaining blue painted carvings and moved them to Inverdorn. “Have flyers enter the city and tell the garrison to prepare for battle. The moment your own forces engage the besiegers, they are to join you. You will have four thousand fairies with you; combined with those trapped in the city, it should be enough to crush the demons there if they are attacked from two sides.” He optimistically removed the demon figures from Inverdorn.
“A fair strategy, Darnuir,” Blaine said. “Yet, without the support of the fairies, I fear our march east will be suicidal, if that is what you intend.”
“I do intend it,” Darnuir said, “but it will not be suicide. A headlong charge is surely doomed to fail and so we must not act like dragons usually do.”
“Our greatest asset is our strength and speed,” Blaine said.
“You can run hard and fast into the snow drifts, Blaine,” said Darnuir, “but eventually, it will envelope you. But there are other ways to take down a lumbering foe.” He picked up the remaining golden dragon figures and the bow carvings that represented the Cairlav and Crescent Hunters. He moved them east of the Argent Tree over to where the demons were situated, at the area now dubbed painfully by the fairies as the Charred Vale; that section of the forest, which the demons had burned. “The remaining twelve thousand dragons and one thousand hunters will harass the main demon force. We lure them into the trees where their numbers count for less. We hit them hard and then we run. We wheel elsewhere and do it again. Our speed will still be our strength. Hit a dire bear with enough arrows and it will flee or fall. If by some miracle we catch this leader of theirs then we may even cut the head off the beast.”
“Yes,” Cosmo said, “use the forest to our advantage. This blood-armoured man who leads them hopes to draw us out. He wants us in the open but we should not oblige him.”
“Much more will burn,” Darnuir said to Fidelm, “but it is our best chance. If we can force the demons to retreat, in order to draw us fully out then, so long as you have relieved Inverdorn, our two forces will be able to manoeuvre freely and pincer the remaining demons between us.”
“And hit them from both sides,” said Blaine, also rising and sweeping away the black demon figures representing Castallan’s forces from the map.
“This blood-armoured character, this Zarl, believes he has us cornered,” Darnuir said. “He thinks that either way we act, he will win. I’d see that turned upon him.”
“Now this is the Darnuir I remember,” Brackendon said. “Only less foul-tempered. Should have reverted time on you long ago.”
A little, niggling voice crept up into Darnuir’s thoughts. Watch your tongue, wizard, or I will have it drawn. Trying not to show anything was wrong, Darnuir shook his head and returned his attention to the table.
“It’s hardly guaranteeing success,” he added cautiously, “but I believe it is the best chance we have.”
There was a silence that seemed to amount to assent. Everyone was drinking in the plan.
“Ochnic knows not de ways of dragon warriors,” the troll said, “but dis plan seems good. Break da demons into smaller chunks and dey will be easier to swallow.” He bared his pointed teeth in a foreboding grin.
“Those who cannot fight may remain here,” Kasselle said. “We are not so starved of resources as to turn away children and those in need. They will be safest here for now.”
“Good,” Darnuir said. “A large refugee train would slow us too much and be agonising to defend.”
“What comes after?” Garon wondered aloud. “Even if this scheme works, Castallan will still remain at the Bastion and then you will have Rectar’s invasion fleet to contend with.”
“We must hope that Arkus has assembled the full strength of humanity at Brevia and will be ready to join us,” Kasselle said.
“The capital should be our first destination after relieving pressure on Val’tarra,” Cosmo said. “We will soon know one way or the other.”
“Raymond must have informed Arkus of the impeding invasion by now,” Darnuir said. “My memories of Arkus are not favourable, yet I imagine he has an instinct for survival like the rest of us. No offence,” he directed at Cosmo, with only the smallest hint of a smirk.
“None taken,” Cosmo said. “Brevia’s fleet will also be critical to our chances of halting this invasion, as will the ships of the Lord of the Isles.”
“The war for Tenalp will soon be upon us,” Blaine announced.
Chapter 27
TO START A WAR
THE FIRST COLUMNS of dragons and the remaining Cairlav, Crescent and Boreac Hunters had already begun their long march east under Blaine’s command as Brackendon approached the Argent Tree. Twelve thousand dragons and one thousand hunters comprised this force. Fidelm was taking his fairies south then east towards Inverdorn, a group nearly four thousand strong. At the bottom of the enormous tree stood Darnuir, Garon, Cassandra and the frost troll, Ochnic.
He vowed to ask Cassandra more about her encounter with the troll. He was desperately sorry that the troll would leave before he could make more inquiries. There was much to the north that remained shrouded in mystery. Cascade energy was thought to still pour forth raw up there, but few who ventured in search of it ever returned; those who did were often broken or scarred in some other fashion. It is for the best, he assured himself. Though he considered the lure of the magical springs of the north to be purely scholarly, he knew better than to fool himself. I’d try it, I’d take it. The urge would be too great to resist.
Addiction to Cascade energy was a hard battle to win. Few wizards or apprentices were ever truly able to give it up. After all, what was the hurt of drawing on a little here or there when you had a staff to easily handle trifling uses? Staff trees tended to lie in some unknown location in Val’tarra, hidden safe amongst the dense forest. Few had even been granted Brackendon’s opportunity for a clean break. It had been a terrible hardship for a time that seemed to stretch on forever, though it had only been a matter of months in truth. Yet the waters of the Avvorn had helped him through the final stages. The minute amounts of Cascade energy within it had helped him fend off the worst of his cravings until now, when he no longer needed it at all. Kymethra too had thankfully made a speedy recovery once in the forest, though she had never felt the cruel sting of a long-term addiction. Without a staff and full training, she had always been more cautious. Having seen what breaking had done to him, Kymethra had no desire to go further. Death was preferable.
Brackendon’s relief at the lifting of his addiction felt both a blessing and a curse, although he often wondered what his role really was now. His place on the Council the night before was due to his status as the last of the wizards. Yet, without a staff, he could offer no more than some counsel on Castallan, of which he regrettably knew little. The man was a traitor, that was all he knew for certain. A murderous traitor; too hungry for power. Yet a small part of Brackendon felt something akin to sympathy for him. Perhaps Castallan’s own addiction had grown too great. Perhaps he was as much a slave to his own magical needs now? If he was, Brackendon would only have a sliver of sympathy for that traitor.
If he, Brackendon, wa
s the last wizard, then his order was truly finished. I ‘was’ the last wizard. Without a staff, I am no wielder of the Cascade.
It was a curious thing indeed, for he could not fathom the road ahead of him now, nor indeed could he imagine what Kasselle would want with him personally. Or so he told himself. There could still be one reason why the Queen of Fairies would demand a private meeting at the eleventh hour. Her summons was clasped in his grip, his fingers thankful for something to hold onto. Occasionally, they did still itch to feel smooth wood between them. And would I even want that now? Fear flickered in the back of his mind, as did anticipation.
As he drew up beside the congregated party, he saw Darnuir handing a tightly-bound scroll to Garon.
“Your orders, Garon,” Darnuir said sternly. “Aid these kazzek in securing their lands and the north from the demons. Use your best judgement on how to do this, but it is imperative that the Highlands are held.”
“You are placing a lot of trust in me,” Garon said.
“Cosmo always did,” Darnuir said. “I trust you as much as I trust him. Unless you too have some secret identity?”
“Sorry to disappoint,” said Garon, then, more seriously. “I’ve known I would one day be taking orders from you, yet still it feels as though it has come about all too suddenly.”
“Part of me feels the same way,” Darnuir said. “Another part sees this as only natural. One day, I will figure out how to reconcile myself.” Darnuir leaned in closer to Garon to whisper something that Brackendon could not hear.
Brackendon continued on his journey further into the tree, only briefly glimpsing Cassandra trying to get Ochnic to shake her hand.
The journey up the walkway was long and arduous to reach the top. Before the end was in sight, he had to stop to catch his breath, and he yearned a little then for the power to quicken his pace. It was a relief to reach his destination.
Kasselle’s throne room was a spacious but simple chamber, naturally well-lit with large openings in the side of the Argent Tree. Like much of the fairy capital, everything in the room appeared carved out from the very wood of the tree in which it resided. The throne was no exception. It rose high to allow the Queen to sit above all in the room, its silver roots weaving upwards into a fine stem and then a blooming flower, whose keenly detailed petals faced proudly out towards those approaching. A rich blue rug ran from the entranceway to where Kasselle sat. At the base of the throne lay a long, thin crate. Brackendon’s pulse quickened as he saw it.
“I will not insult your intelligence, Brackendon,” Kasselle said by way of greeting. “I’m sure you are aware why I have summoned you.”
He could not tear his eyes away from the long crate. “I have my suspicions, my lady,” he said. “Though I fear that those suspicions will come true.”
“You fear I will give you a gift?” Kasselle said.
“Not if that gift is one of books or clothes,” he said, “but if it is one of silver wood…”
“What are you afraid of?” the Queen asked gently. “You have already suffered the worst a wizard can.”
“Precisely, my lady. It is why I would avoid the risk of suffering it again.”
“You were not afraid when you first recovered,” Kasselle noted.
“I had a task to complete then. I had Darnuir to retrieve.”
“And you performed it admirably,” said Kasselle. “Even if you did keep it from me for such a length of time. However, there is one last charge that lies upon you.”
Brackendon hesitated. “I will accompany Darnuir, Cosmo and the Guardian as they attempt to put this world to right. I will give them my best counsel, but I do not see what more I alone can achieve.”
“Please do not be so obtuse, Brackendon. You are not aware of what you might add as one who commands the Cascade?”
“Less than you might add, my lady,” he told her. “If you were to take this gift as your own.”
Kasselle shook her head. “You know I would never do that. My people long gave up magic in such a way. But there remains a wizard that must be dealt with, Brackendon. Who will fight him but you?”
“I’m certain that Darnuir and Blaine could—”
“You know that is not the answer.”
He did.
“Do you not desire to see him fall?” Kasselle asked.
“Of course I do,” he said. “But I do not seek it out of some vendetta. Please understand, my lady, I wasted half my life as a broken man. I’d rather live what I have left in full without the burden of it. Only now I am free of it do I understand how much it affected me.”
Kasselle gazed down upon him, almost as a mother might. “So you would let your kind, your order fade into history? Assuming Castallan is stopped, there will be none like yourself left to carry on.”
“The world may benefit from a lack of wizards,” Brackendon said bitterly. “What good has our order ever done? Of late, it has only led to more woe.”
“And it has also saved it. Had you not been there for Darnuir, he would have died, and without him, we might all have been lost.” She leaned forward from her beautiful chair. She gave him a radiant smile from her perfect face, appearing forever young, despite being more than thrice his own age. “It is not the power that corrupts, Brackendon. It is the fault of the one who wields it.”
“Why must you try and tempt me?” he sighed.
“I will not,” Kasselle said more seriously. “Were you true in your conviction, you would have left the moment you saw what lies before you. I don’t doubt the sincerity of your desires but you know that you must take it. If not for your own sake, or for the sake of our cause, take it for me. My people will not be happy if word gets out what I have done.”
“My lady?” Brackendon said, confused.
“Before you lies the most powerful staff ever created,” she said, almost proudly. “I commissioned it to be made from the very core of the Argent Tree, kept safe since my people first hollowed it. Castallan’s own staff was taken only from a branch. Were it that, we could simply cut it away and have done with it…” As Kasselle trailed away in thought, Brackendon took several measured steps towards the crate.
He could not deny he was enticed by the thought of having a new staff, and one more powerful. It was one thing to believe he was over magic when the option of drawing on it was unavailable. Now the chance was here before him, it suddenly seemed a lot harder to remember why he had not wanted this. Was it really better without? He found it hard to say for sure. He was only a few paces away. He was in arms reach of the crate.
“No!” he said sharply, wrenching his hand back and twisting around. Kymethra was there. How long has she been there for?
A lone tear bubbled as she spoke. “Neither of us will ever truly be free of it, Brackers,” she said faintly. “Take it. At least you might do some good.”
“I thought you might need some extra persuasion,” Kasselle said. Her voice was hard and flat, quite unlike her usual self. In that moment, Brackendon hated her.
“And what happens when all my hair turns white; when my skin begins to crinkle before its time; when my whole arm burns black?” he said to Kymethra, extending his mutilated hand and forearm – the sign of his breaking.
“Then I’ll still love you,” she told him. “I swear.”
Brackendon fought back tears of his own as he caught her eye. He pulled in a fierce breath through his nose to stifle them, and turned back resolutely to the crate. An eerie silver light seemed to radiate out as he lifted the lid. The shaft was elegant and smooth, like his old staff had been. Lifting it, the wood felt sturdier but yet lighter. Towards the top, the grain shone with a natural fierceness, so bright that it might have been made of diamond. His itching fingers clasped around his new staff and a vigour flooded him like nothing he had ever experienced before.
***
The march east should have taken more than a week at a good pace. The dragons and those hunters with them had nearly traversed the distance now in only fou
r. Darnuir and Blaine had pressed them all on relentlessly. For Brackendon, the journey had proven no issue. Movement and speed were cheap and required little Cascade energy. A short prolonged usage to boost himself in this way was nothing for his new staff. Kymethra soared high above them, ranging further out than the outrunners could, as they had to weave in amongst the trees. Each day brought them closer to the demons. Their unremitting advance was spurred on in the hope that the demons would not notice they had divided their forces. This army of remaining hunters and dragons had to begin harassing the main demon host before Fidelm arrived within striking distance of Inverdorn.
The effort was taking its toll, though it was nothing when compared to the run from Torridon. All dragons were holding up well but the hunters were beginning to flag. Even getting dragons to carry their gear, they simply couldn’t keep going any longer. Cosmo had made it clear that he could not force his hunters further that day or they would be less than useless if battle came. Reports spoke of a number of demon parties venturing west, deeper into Val’tarra, and at a considerable distance away from the body of the horde at the Charred Vale. Blaine had peeled off dragons to strike at them, while Darnuir remained behind with the majority of their forces as they made camp for the night. Brackendon observed how Darnuir would now move through the ranks, be they human or dragon, offering encouragement, speaking with them, helping hunters carry heavy loads. He still wore his leathers. Was it a symbolic measure? With the Dragon’s Blade at his side, bulky, red and menacing, and his white hunter garments, he certainly stood out clearly, no matter which race he was among.
The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King Page 40
