The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  Blaine remembered it as a bustling place, stuffed with fishing boats, merchant and passenger barges, taking goods and those with the coin quickly across the loch. Now it seemed a watery graveyard of forgotten ships. The market strip at the harbour’s edge was also dead. There ought to have been the smell of sweet or bitter shimmer brew stalls mixed with the pang of fish and their purveyors yelling about their freshness. He recalled the barges being loaded with grain from the Golden Crescent and the comforting smell from the bakeries nearby. There had even been a fairy painting market-goers for a few coins. She’d get her subjects to sit on a stool in front of her while she worked them up. It had been a very different place back then, whenever that had been. A slower time; a peaceful time.

  Is it my fault the world has turned to this? Death and mistrust. War and more war. My failure; my fault?

  “Many people escaped before the demons cut the town off,” Fidelm said, as if sensing Blaine’s morose thoughts.

  “It is not the city I remember,” Blaine noted. There was one easel set up at the edge of the embankment, half a picture of a glittering loch sketched out, as if it were a ghost of former times.

  “Perhaps I will have a chance to finish this tomorrow,” Fidelm said, collecting his equipment.

  “I have not seen you paint in many years,” Blaine said.

  “I find it cathartic to create something after a battle.” Fidelm held up his work to inspect it briefly. “A little rough. I might be out of practice.” Yet the general did not seem perturbed and motioned to Blaine they should continue.

  They veered off the shoreline and wove back through the narrower streets, where the shopfronts and homes steadily became more colourful. Painted patterns and trees had been brushed up; some silver, some burnt black, some brown and green, just like the forest of Val’tarra. Fairies had made this area of town feel a bit more like home. Val’tarra had been Blaine’s home for so long now that he found himself feeling more comfortable as well.

  Fidelm paused to let a band of Crescent Hunters march by, with fairies at the front and the back of their column. The Crescent Hunters were hunched and wide-eyed, and looked to Blaine as they passed. He saw their eyes take in his armour; thick, starium reinforced plate, with pauldrons shaped into large halves of a radiant sun. Blaine lifted his chin and pursed his lips. These hunters could be friend or foe. Better to keep them afraid just in case. Best to show them the might of the dragons. They passed soon enough and Fidelm continued.

  “Are you sure this is necessary, Blaine?”

  “Quite sure. Have you known me to do things without reason?”

  “No. But I know you can be… extreme with your feelings.”

  “Extreme?” Blaine said. Fidelm faced him, one eyebrow raised. “Keep it to yourself for now,” Blaine told him. How much Fidelm knew, Blaine could not have said. Likely he knew too much. The general was confidant to his Queen in many matters. Why not her past relationships as well?

  Thinking of her was a mistake.

  Kasselle’s voice drifted unbidden into his mind, “I don’t think you should come back.” Unbidden, Blaine’s hand curled inwards – searching for hers.

  “Let us talk here,” Fidelm said, leading them into a crammed garden square. Grass replaced the dirt and cobbles underfoot, and in the centre of the space grew a lone silver tree.

  “I was not aware this area was so strong with the Cascade,” Blaine said.

  “The Dorain runs from the Highlands as well,” Fidelm said, walking up to place a hand upon the silver bark. “The waters aren’t as potent as the River Avvorn but they still carry some energy. When fairies first took this area for our own, they carried water from the river and wet the earth, hoping a piece of home would grow.”

  “It is as good a place as any to talk. Light Bearers,” Blaine said, rounding on his men, “watch the streets and alleys. I will not be disturbed.”

  “Yes, Lord Guardian,” they chanted. Fidelm gave a silent nod to the fairies in the vicinity and they trotted off.

  “Your men seem to be in good spirits after the battle,” said Blaine.

  “Casualties were low,” Fidelm said. “Not much the demons could do. They fought hard though, and something peculiar did occur.”

  “With the spectres?” Blaine said knowingly.

  “Indeed. You experienced something similar, I assume?”

  “If the spectres here also abandoned the battlefield, then yes.”

  “It was as well they did,” said Fidelm. “During the battle, the number of spectres we were fighting suddenly swelled and I thought the demons might hold. Hundreds of spectres joined the battle at once, yelling at each other. Yet as quickly as they appeared, they left, every one of them. Victory came easily after that as the demons went wild.”

  “They also fled at the Charred Vale,” Blaine said. “According to Darnuir they scarpered after he killed Scythe.”

  “Scythe?” asked Fidelm, perplexed. “The dead Captain of the Boreac Hunters?”

  “Turned out he wasn’t as dead as we’d assumed,” Blaine said. “Stone cold now though, his red eyes extinguished.”

  “What happened up there?” Fidelm said. “I’ve not failed to notice that Cosmo, or should I say, Prince Brallor, is not with you either. Has he run onto Brevia with Darnuir as well? Why would he leave his son behind with you? And what of this battle you speak of? I thought the plan was to harass the foe, not meet them in the open field.”

  “Cosmo is dead,” Blaine said stiffly. “And I have his son. Cullen will be cared well enough for.”

  “He’s dead?” Fidelm said, sounding crestfallen. “Of all the things to have gone wrong…”

  “A lot went wrong,” Blaine sighed. He explained everything as best he could; how the hunters, who had vanished as they marched east through Val’tarra, were red-eyed traitors in service to Castallan. He told Fidelm of their strength, their speed, their burning hatred for dragons. He left nothing out; not even Darnuir injuring that human boy, Balack. Cosmo’s death was explained; pinned up against a tree by a sword. “There was even an incident with Cassandra,” he added, darkly.

  “What of her?”

  “She was taken by a group of those red-eyed hunters. Back to the Bastion, I assume.”

  “Why take her?” Fidelm asked. “To lure Darnuir? The boy has a soft spot for her, that is clear at a hundred paces, but Castallan must know we would come for him eventually.”

  “It transpires she is really a princess, sister to Cosmo—”

  “Brallor,” Fidelm corrected.

  “Dead, either way,” Blaine said. “Cassandra’s Arkus’ daughter. Taken by Castallan when Aurisha fell.”

  “For what purpose?” Fidelm said.

  “Leverage, presumably.”

  “Perhaps once,” said Fidelm. “Yet Arkus remarried. He has a new son; a new heir. I cannot imagine Arkus being held in place for fear of a daughter he never knew. Not after all these years.”

  “You’d know better than I,” Blaine said.

  “And you would know if you took a greater interest in the humans,” Fidelm said.

  Blaine ignored him. “Arkus cannot be the best of leaders, if he has allowed his people to become so fractured; willing to turn to a traitorous wizard who fraternises with Rectar.”

  “Arkus has lasted this long. There must be something to him. Handling that Assembly is no easy feat. Takes both subtlety and a good measure of cunning.” Fidelm stared at Blaine for a moment, then looked up. Blaine had heard it too. It sounded like something had landed in the branches, but he saw nothing other than a few silver leaves fluttering down.

  “And you sent Darnuir to Brevia?” Fidelm continued. “On his own? Humanity will shut its gates to us.”

  “Of course, I didn’t,” Blaine said, snapping his eyes back from above. “He went of his own accord. Yet they might be more willing to listen to him, given his upbringing amongst humans. And I’m hopeful Brackendon will guide hi—”

  There was a squawk from above
and Kymethra descended from the upper branches in a storm of feathers, morphing from eagle to woman. Her green robes flapped around her from the force of the fall and she bore her eyes into Blaine’s “Brackendon? I’ve not seen him with you. Blaine, tell me. Is the man I love—”

  “He was quite well last I saw him,” Blaine said irritably. “This was meant to be a private discussion, Kymethra.” She visibly sagged with relief.

  “I’ll leave you be,” she said. “Just tell me where he went.”

  “To Brevia with Darnuir,” said Blaine.

  “Then I’ll go now,” Kymethra said. She stood poised, ready to jump back into her eagle form. “Any message you’d like me to take?”

  “Only that I have arrived at Inverdorn,” said Blaine. “Tell Darnuir I will allow the men to rest, then rendezvous at Brevia as planned.” With that, Kymethra leapt into the air. Her body transformed into the tawny eagle in one fluid motion, the white tips of her feathers shining brightly as she caught the setting sun.

  “Well,” Fidelm said with an air of finality. “The humans will be watched for now. I shall let you take your rest, Guardian.”

  “I need no rest. I rested for decades. It is time I made up for it. What of the dragons that were held up here before you lifted the siege? Were any injured or killed?”

  “Yes, as often occurs in battles. We set up a field hospital at one of the larger dry docks.”

  “I shall visit them. Their faith is likely to be lacking after their ordeals.”

  Fidelm gave an exaggerated bow. “I shall have you escorted there. We shall speak later, I’m sure.”

  The fairy who led Blaine and his Light Bearers to the field hospital was quick and quiet. That suited Blaine just fine. The evening was nice enough after all. A clear sky meant the odds of a spectre attack were minimal, if the spectres were even coming back. The water on Loch Minian was flat and glassy, reflecting Inverdorn like a mirror; each building, each boat and each pebble on the shore. And then he saw them, reflected on the water’s surface: barrels.

  So many of them. Scores of them, strung out in stacks along the wharfs. Blaine looked up and saw they ran up to the edge of the building his fairy guide was entering.

  Blaine’s heart missed one long beat.

  “Wait,” he called out to the fairy. “Do you know what is in these barrels?”

  The fairy looked confused in the direction Blaine was pointing. “No, Lord Guardian,” he said. “At least, not all. Many were scattered throughout the city. Some have fruit from Val’tarra, many grain from the Crescent. Some contain a strange black powder no one recognises.”

  Blaine felt a chill. Black powder; dragon powder; the substance that blazed a trail of destruction on their run from Torridon. He turned to his Light Bearers. All had been on that run. Their faces showed they understood. “We must separate the barrels of black powder,” he told them quickly. “They mustn’t be close to each other or the city. Take them out to the shore or into the loch itself. I don’t want them anywhere near the army.”

  “Yes, Lord Guardian,” they said in unison and hurried off.

  “Take no risks,” Blaine called after them. “No flame must come near the powder. Work fast to beat the dying sun.” The fairy guide looked apprehensive. “Are there any more within the city?”

  “Possibly, sir.”

  “Possibly?” said Blaine, his voice rising. “Return to General Fidelm at once. We must find every single barrel of black powder and move them to a safe location. I should have warned Fidelm of this danger but how was I to know…” he trailed off, speaking more to himself. The fairy stood stock-still, unsure. “Well? Go!” Blaine told him and the wingless fairy scarpered. Blaine took a deep breath before entering the dry dock that doubled as a field hospital.

  Cranes, pulleys, saws and other tools had been pushed against the walls to open out the space. Dragons, fairies and humans lay bedridden in various bloodied states. Fairy healers glided elegantly around, supported by some hunter colleagues. And was that one of his Light Bearers amongst the sick dragons? It was either that or another dragon had stolen one of their shields. He had his back to Blaine, leaning over a dragon whose head was covered in bandages soaked with dark blood.

  “You there,” Blaine called. “Light Bearer.” The dragon turned, but his expression was not guilty. Blaine recognised those light brown curls, olive skin and a presence Blaine could not quite explain, yet it was there. Irrefutably so. Blaine had been keeping his eye on Bacchus since the Charred Vale. The young Light Bearer was now one of the most enthusiastic in his duties.

  As Bacchus stepped away from the bedside the wounded dragon grabbed his hand. “No. Please,” he said. “Don’t leave — the pain…”

  “I shall return shortly, brother,” Bacchus said and gently kissed the injured dragon on the brow.

  A little tender, perhaps. But it does have a comforting effect.

  “Lord Guardian, I thought there would be dragons here in need of N’weer’s blessing,” Bacchus said. His voice was measured and steady.

  “I would not have neglected them,” Blaine said.

  “I did not envision you would, your holiness. I only sought to serve while you attended other matters. Forgive me.”

  Blaine noticed that nearly every dragon was looking their way. More specifically, they were looking to Bacchus.

  “You are forgiven, brother Bacchus,” Blaine said. “But know that I trust my Light Bearers to many important tasks, not only in the work of the gods. You were on duty to guard Cullen for a reason.”

  “Four Light Bearers seemed sufficient for an infant human.”

  “An infant human that finds itself the heir to the throne of Brevia.”

  “I only wished to help our own people. Forgive me, Lord Guardian.”

  His earnestness cooled Blaine. “We defend our race’s faith but we guard it in other ways as well. You acquitted yourself well in the battle. A talented warrior and devout believer such as yourself holds great promise. Trust in me and you will see the Light.”

  “How may I serve?” Bacchus asked.

  “Return to comforting the wounded for now. I—”

  “Lord Guardian,” a voice said from behind. Blaine turned to see three Light Bearers.

  “I thought I gave clear instruction?” he barked at them.

  “We’ll need more help to move all these barrels before sundown, sir,” the leading Light Bearer said. That worried Blaine. Healers around the dry dock were lighting candles already.

  “I shall aid you,” Bacchus offered.

  “Very well,” said Blaine. “One of you run and fetch more of your brothers with all haste. As many as you see fit, but ensure a strong guard is kept on the child, Cullen. The rest of you go to help with the barrels.” They all dashed off, drawing stares from the wounded and the healers. Blaine was on the verge of leaving to deal with the barrel issue when something stopped him, or rather someone.

  Though he was at some distance, one of the hunters seemed familiar. He was in white leathers from the waist down, but his torso was bare, revealing his bandaged chest. He favoured one side as he carefully got into a battered bed, helped along by a healer. Blaine was sure it was Balack.

  Something came over Blaine when he saw him. It wasn’t pity, not exactly. Darnuir had been brash and foolish in striking him, but all Blaine really knew was the two had once been firm friends. Likely, that was no longer the case. Still, Balack knew Darnuir in ways that Blaine did not, and if Blaine shared his secrets with Darnuir, he would get to know Darnuir’s in turn. It would be painful enough for Blaine. His heart ached at the thought Arlandra. How had he let such horrors befall his only daughter? Instinctively, he reached for the necklace and lightly touched the little A upon it, under the apple of his throat.

  The crowd parted before him as he made his way towards Balack and the air grew sweet.

  They are afraid of me. Good.

  “Are you the hunter named Balack?” Blaine asked.

  “I think you kn
ow that,” Balack said. His voice was hoarse, as though it pained him to draw breath. He winced as the healer made a W shape with her hands and gently pushed her palms on the bruised area of his chest.

  “Breathe in for me,” she instructed, shooting an apprehensive look at Blaine. Balack breathed in, but gasped midway.

  “Gah. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” said the healer. “A damaged rib is no minor thing.” She pressed the palms on the healthy side of Balack’s chest. “Again, if you can.” Balack breathed in, slower than before, and managed to do so without stopping this time. Blaine saw the pain in the boy’s bloodshot, watery eyes.

  “You’re doing well,” the healer said. “Expansion is up from a few days ago. I just need a quick listen.” She brought out a small brass device, like a horn. She pressed the larger end against Balack’s injured side and her ear to the other.

  Balack groaned again. “Strong aren’t you. You dragons. Could crush us all with your bare hands.” Blaine looked the boy in the eye and Balack did not turn away. Blaine sniffed gently at the air. The sweetness had grown, but he doubted it was from Balack. “I’m as fine as I’m going to be today,” Balack told the healer. “You should tend to people who need you more.”

  “Make sure you move as little as possible,” the healer said. As she left, the potency of the sweet smell diminished.

  “She’s afraid of me,” Blaine said.

  “Of course she is,” Balack wheezed. “You’ve treated every human at the Charred Vale like a criminal. We’re not the enemy.”

  “How can I possibly know that?” asked Blaine. “When your own Captain Scythe turned out to be a traitor. Not only a traitor but the leader of Castallan’s forces, no less.”

  “People are good at hiding their true selves, I’ll grant you that, Guardian.”