The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King

by Michael R. Miller

  Within a reasonably-sized glade, he observed Darnuir, intently watching a selection of dragons duelling. Those practicing seemed young and not as stoned-faced as the elder generation. There were some hunters there also, standing anxiously by, no doubt concerned about why they had been summoned. Lira was at Darnuir’s side, pointing and gesturing as the pairs fought. The King noticed Brackendon and approached him.

  “It is good to see you looking so lively, Brackendon. I imagine you must feel much more like your old self again?”

  “Better than I have ever felt in fact,” Brackendon said. “We will find out soon enough if it is worth the trade-off.”

  “Trade-off?” Darnuir asked.

  “Between freedom and the power to help,” Brackendon said. “I wonder, Darnuir. Have you felt the effects of magic yet?”

  “The bitter aftertaste is hardly pleasant,” was all Darnuir said.

  Oh my boy, what horrors may yet await you? “I was referring more to its addictive quality.”

  “Not as yet,” said Darnuir. “Though I have barely drawn on it. In truth, I find it hard to control.”

  “Does it feel like a flood when you reach out for it?” Brackendon asked.

  “Yes,” said Darnuir. “At Torridon especially, I felt as though I would drown in it. As if it were physically filling my lungs. I have not had the chance to learn much from Blaine yet.”

  “Perhaps I can offer some advice,” Brackendon said. “To think of there being a door that holds back the sea of magic is a crude comparison but apt enough. Most apprentices describe the sensation as a ‘flood’, as did I when I first trained. All it means is that you cannot control the flow properly. Rather than throwing that door open, you must learn to hold it only slightly ajar; a little more when you require a fraction more energy, and so forth. Control the flow, Darnuir, and it should never overwhelm you.”

  “Blaine says the Blades are second to none when it comes to processing Cascade energy.”

  “Having seen Blaine in action, I am inclined to agree,” said Brackendon. “The danger lies in using so much energy that you poison yourself; go far enough and you break.”

  “Blaine said nothing of either of us having to worry about that.”

  Brackendon considered for a moment. “If all you draw upon it for is to enhance your speed, your strength and to fuel the fire from your sword then I doubt you will ever draw on too much at any one point. Movement and destruction are cheap after all.”

  Darnuir nodded intently. “Control the flow,” he murmured. “Thank you, Brackendon. I shall try and master this.”

  “Take it easy at first,” Brackendon warned. “Your kind are not as resilient to poisons in general, and magic is a potent venom.”

  Darnuir looked as though he wanted to say more but the trainees in the glade stopped their practice and pointed to the sky. Smoke crept above the treeline in the distance.

  “The demons must be close.”

  As it turned out, there had been little to fear. Blaine’s dragons had been on their way back from smashing the demons further afield and had soundly crushed this closer group as well. At Cosmo’s request, they had all met at once in his personal tent.

  “A few hundred perhaps,” the Guardian had announced. “No spectres though, as far as I could tell. We were vigilant. The last thing we need is them moving swiftly under cloud cover to blow our position.”

  “I’d say, as a first test of our strategy, things went well, all considered,” Darnuir said.

  “Well enough, Darnuir, but these victories are insignificant,” Cosmo noted. “I also feel it was too easy. The lack of spectres is unusual, particularly for larger groups.”

  “If they are primarily sent out to burn trees it is unlikely that they need much direction,” said Darnuir.

  “Maybe…” Cosmo said, seemingly on edge.

  “Is something wrong?” Brackendon asked.

  “Some of the hunters are unaccounted for,” Cosmo said.

  “Deserters?” said Blaine coldly.

  “Could be,” Cosmo said, “or it could be worse,” he added ominously.

  “Traitors?” Darnuir said.

  “I wouldn’t want to say for sure,” Cosmo said. “But around three score have gone missing since making camp.”

  “Not being as familiar with the Cairlav or Crescent Hunters likely won’t help the matter,” Darnuir said, pinching the spot between his eyes.

  “I imagine it would be too hopeful to assume that they are simply lost in the woods? Blaine may have dealt with the demons but more were surely close behind,” Brackendon said.

  “A few may well return but…” Cosmo looked to Darnuir, his expression wrought with anxiety, “the majority of those missing are Boreac men and women. Balack and Cassandra are also unaccounted for.”

  “I thought you trusted your own men entirely!” Blaine demanded.

  “I do,” Cosmo said. “But those with us are the remnants of Scythe’s men, and I never found the time to get to know them well. It is why Garon allowed them to stay behind.”

  “Balack is no traitor,” Darnuir said throatily.

  “I’d find it impossible to believe as well,” Cosmo agreed. “But Cassandra…”

  “Is not either!” Darnuir said. “You trusted her well enough yourself, Cosmo; you let her take care of your son!”

  “As well I did not leave him with her today,” Cosmo said. From his cot nearby, Cullen wailed as they disturbed his sleep.

  “He would have made a prized hostage,” Brackendon said. “The grandson of Arkus.”

  “I refuse to believe it,” Darnuir said. “If Balack is missing too then they are likely off somewhere together—” Yet even this thought seemed to stick in the King’s throat.

  He must still have a soft spot for the girl.

  “Often, it is those we best trust who disappoint us the most,” Blaine added gravely. “We cannot feel as betrayed by strangers.”

  “Then we should find them,” Darnuir said, making to leave the tent.

  “Stop,” said Blaine adamantly. “I have been very impressed with you of late, boy. Do not ruin that.”

  Darnuir’s face flashed red as he stalked towards the Guardian. “You will not call me ‘boy’ again.” His eyes were full of anger. Suddenly, Brackendon felt as though it were twenty years ago.

  “I will refrain when you stop acting like one,” Blaine said. “This girl evidently still has an effect on you. You cannot let some pretty human—”

  “Oh you think that is why I was about to go search for them?” Darnuir said defensively. “Surely we must catch them all?”

  “If even one is akin to Raymond’s brother then they are likely well out of our reach by now,” Cosmo said.

  “We should move as soon as possible,” Blaine said. “Your plan is a good one, Darnuir, but it requires us to strike before the demons become aware we intend to hit them in multiple places. Have your hunters rested Cosmo?”

  “Barely, but needs must.”

  “Then we should march through the night,” Blaine insisted.

  “Go ahead,” Darnuir said. “I can catch up easily enough.” He stormed out of the tent.

  The Guardian of Tenalp and the Prince of Humanity both looked to Brackendon.

  “I may have rebirthed him but I am not responsible for him!” he reminded them both. Though he was only half jesting. “I shall go after him,” he sighed, leaving the tent after Darnuir.

  Darnuir must have torn off at some speed to escape him. Everyone Brackendon asked seemed to remember the King running in a different direction. Testimonials from the hunters were varied and Brackendon couldn’t help but feel suspicious of every one of them. As the height of his frustration came a scream ripped through the trees. Immediately, he hurtled towards it, drawing on a powerful bust of speed, enough to leave his mouth a little bitter, even with his new staff. He knew others were following him, also drawn towards the scream, but he left them well behind.

  He found them not far from
the northern edge of their camps. The situation was disquieting. Balack had suffered some head wound: dark blood mingled with hair on one side. The hunter stood a touch too close to Darnuir, whose shoulders were high and squared aggressively. Cassandra was a little away from the pair, her face stricken with worry.

  “Darnuir,” she begged, “he’s not one of them. How could you think that?”

  “I have to be sure,” Darnuir said. “Faking an injury would be an ideal cover.”

  “D-Darnuir?” Balack stammered, half-dazed.

  “Just tell me what you were doing out here,” Darnuir demanded. “Tell me and we can put it to rest.”

  “I was… I was just…” Balack struggled, “gathering firewood. Something hit me.”

  “It’s true!” Cassandra exclaimed. “I came looking for him when he did not return.”

  “How can I be sure?”

  “You trust me and not him?” Cassandra said incredulously. “He’s nothing but loyal to you. Not that he should trust you as earnestly after what happened with Eve—” She slapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself, her eyes popped wide, but the damage was done.

  Brackendon drew closer to the three of them, staff held before him. “Nothing seems amiss Darnuir,” he said, trying to bring a calm voice to the proceedings. “We ought to get Balack aid; he is confused and hurt.”

  “What does she mean?” Balack said, a sinister edge to his voice. He seemed to have rallied his senses. No Balack, Brackendon thought desperately. Leave it. Leave it! Whatever it is, just leave it be.

  “Nothing,” Darnuir said, stepping away.

  “What does she mean?” Balack demanded.

  “Nothing!” Cassandra tried to say, but her look of horror and guilt gave her away.

  “Darnuir,” Brackendon said slowly, “I think we should return.”

  “Yes,” Darnuir said. He made to turn and Brackendon almost joined him when Balack’s hand caught Darnuir’s shoulder.

  “What does she mean?”

  Darnuir, wheeled around, angered again. The look he gave Balack was threatening. “I think deep down you already know.”

  “I’ve been so understanding,” Balack said, his voice of purest loathing. “Poor Darnuir, with your burden, your heavy sword, your headaches, all this change happening so quickly! But really, you were always like this, weren’t you? Just an arrogant, stuck-up dragon.”

  Darnuir’s backhand blow lifted Balack clean off his feet and sent him face down into the leaves. “And you are just some weak human.”

  Cassandra gasped.

  “Enough!” Brackendon cried.

  Darnuir rounded on him then, his mouth opening in some fresh fury. Brackendon blew Darnuir backwards, sending him crashing halfway up the trunk of a blackened tree. The King rose and Brackendon tossed leaves up around him. Not merely a handful but every fallen leaf in sight. He twisted his staff in his hands as he whipped up a hurricane of damp foliage. He let the wind howl through the forest around them as he kept Darnuir locked in place. Over the din of the air, Brackendon heard a faint “release me” but he ignored it. He lifted Darnuir, encased in his leafy prison, high into the air, until he disappeared above the canopy. Then he felt the Cascade surging around his body, draining rapidly through his arm towards his shining staff, but there was too much of it and he could feel the fire blaze within him. He eased the door of his mind shut, stemming the flow of magic, enjoying the euphoric feeling before the inevitable bitter and dry mouth.

  He shut the door completely.

  The wind ceased and the leaves began to float back down to the ground. Darnuir fell quicker. He hurtled to the earth but Brackendon caught him just before he hit the ground, manipulating the air beneath Darnuir to keep him afloat. He held him there for a second before letting go. Brackendon cricked his neck as his body contorted from the magic. He shook his free arm as if he could wring himself dry. The first moments after the high of releasing magic were always the worst.

  “Enough,” he said again.

  Darnuir groaned as he picked himself up. All the abrupt rage had vanished from his eyes. He looked ashamed. He waded through the leaves around him to Balack’s side. Cassandra, crouched beside him, had propped Balack’s head up onto her knees. Balack wheezed and coughed as Darnuir gently lifted him up, carrying him back to camp.

  ***

  Two days later, the army set up camp at the foot of the northern hill of the newly-dubbed Charred Vale. More skirmishes along the way had bolstered their spirits, and morale was high as the later afternoon sun beat down on the troops constructing their camps. By tradition, each legion of dragons would have its own camp but, for reasons of space and security, Blaine had ordered that there be two camps with six thousand dragons in each. Roll calls were more strictly conducted now and the hunters especially were checked four times daily. No bodies had been found in the woods, confirming their suspicions that those hunters who had departed must have deserted. So far, there had been no more, but Blaine and Cosmo were rightly concerned about insurgents who might remain. Still, Blaine was satisfied with their progress and Kymethra had recently returned with favourable news. This time, they had gathered in Blaine’s tent, the usual maps and figurines on the tables before them.

  “Looks to me as though they are delving south but deeper into the forest,” she had told them. “Might be they are really trying to provoke a reaction from us, or perhaps they are just upping the amount of forest they want to clear. Either way, they have stretched themselves out quite thin. I’d say they will crack quite easily if we shock them with several hard attacks.”

  “Show us precisely please,” Cosmo asked. Kymethra placed the black and red painted demon figures in a rough line, which, with the two hills of the vale, looked something like a smile.

  “Obviously, under the trees, I cannot tell exactly where they are, but the smoke gave me a good enough indication.”

  Cosmo made a sucking noise through his teeth. “It seems strange that they should arrange themselves like this. There is the potential that they mean to surround us. If those deserters were spies, it might be they know our intentions.”

  Blaine examined the map. “Our true plans have been closely guarded, yet that is no guarantee that those that knew were not overheard. So long as we have warning of their movements, we should be able to puncture a hole in any net sent to trap us.”

  “I’ll stay in flight as much as I can,” Kymethra offered.

  “Are you sure?” Brackendon asked. “You seem worn out. Perhaps a rest for now?”

  “I’m alright, Brackers,” she said, giving his hand a hard squeeze. “A short break and some food and I’ll be all feathers and talons again.”

  “All for the good,” Blaine said, “for I have need of you to take word to Fidelm with all haste.” He handed her a sealed scroll. “Grant him permission to begin the relief of Inverdorn as soon as both his forces and those troops inside the city are ready to engage the enemy. We’re close enough here to pursue the demons, should they withdraw towards Inverdorn, but more likely, we will make our own move sooner rather than late.”

  “Has Darnuir been informed?” Cosmo asked.

  “The boy is likely off sulking again,” Blaine said.

  “He’s quite distressed by what came over him, Blaine,” Brackendon said. “Perhaps you ought to be helping him through this, rather than allowing him to self-soothe.”

  “And what do you want me to do?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Brackendon said. “Whatever you did to unlock his memories is your area of expertise and beyond my knowledge.”

  “His situation is unprecedented,” Blaine grumbled, as if excusing himself.

  “All the more reason to be active in aiding your King!” Brackendon said.

  “Are you defending his actions?” Blaine asked.

  “Of course not, yet surely we do not want further incidents? Ignoring the problem will not make it go away.”

  “I’ll have a word with him,” Cosmo said. “Dranus kno
ws it has been long enough since we spoke openly.”

  “Send the message, Kymethra,” Blaine sighed, making it clear he wanted the others gone.

  The sun was making its descent west, marking the end to the day, when Kymethra was ready to leave.

  “Fly high,” Brackendon told her, as always. “And fly back to me.”

  She kissed him. “Try not to kill too many demons. Leave some for the army.”

  He watched her go, soaring south towards the distant smoke trails of the demon host. He kept watching until she became a speck on the horizon and then finally vanished. The sun had almost faded by then and torches began to be lit within the camp. Sentries swapped their positions on makeshift towers, while the edge of the dugout ditch was lined with sharpened stakes, hurriedly assembled at the insistence of Cosmo. His instincts were good. He might have been a hunter but knew when he was the hunted.

  Brackendon was glad Cosmo had decided to take up his true mantle. Life as a semi-alcoholic bear slayer was not fulfilling his true potential. His grand return might even kick some life back into Arkus and spur humanity on. Brackendon was making his way leisurely along what the dragons called the via secundi, literally meaning the way of the second, which referred to the Prince. As Darnuir was King, the accommodation normally reserved for the crown Prince of Dragons was being used by Cosmo and his son, Cullen. The forest had not allowed the dragons to construct their camps as they would have liked, but despite the cramped space between the forest and the hill, they had made an attempt at it. As the sun set from the sky, he heard a cry reverberate around the men.

  “Fire! Fire!”

  Brackendon pivoted around, expecting to see the treeline ablaze and the demons emerging in droves. But nothing was out there. Swords screeched behind him. The cries of “Fire” morphed into the screams of battle. When he returned to face along the Prince’s road, he saw smoke issuing up from near the centre of the camp. A horn blew loudly across the night.

  A horn that sounded an attack.