The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  I have gathered over three hundred and twenty-two accounts of Dronithir’s movements in and around the Boreac Mountains when he supposedly discovered the mythical Champion’s Blade. Aside from vast contradictions in dates, locations, timings and spellings – the Guardian at the time was not named “Noobano” – there is one constant element. It seems Dronithir spoke much about hearing a “guiding voice” within the mountain range. To my mind, the likeliest explanation is that Dronithir helped himself by claiming divine favour…

  After a few pages, Cassandra began to lose focus. She blinked, trying to stay awake, but she was warmer now beneath the covers and tired. She was just so tired. She tried to read one more line, but realised she was reading the same line over and over. And then, mercifully, sleep came.

  She couldn’t tell how long she lay curled up in that bed. She woke sporadically then drifted off again, never quite sinking into a deep, restful state. Food was brought to her regularly, delicious food, but she ate little of it. Bossy women with tubs, soap, hot water and brushes came to clean her but she lashed out at them until they left her. She would wake at dawn, she would wake in the darkest hours of night. She read a little, but mostly slept, trying to make time go faster.

  Some days later, she couldn’t say how many, she heard the bolts on the main door shift once more. Her stomach groaned loudly and she hopefully sniffed at the air. Smelling nothing Cassandra braced herself for another row with the matrons, but paused as the chink of chainmail reached her ears.

  “Princess Cassandra,” called a man’s voice. “Lord Castallan requests your presence in the throne room.” Cassandra drew herself upright, her muscles protesting with lethargy. She gasped as her bare feet touched the cold floor and then slinked out of her bedroom on tiptoe.

  “I deny my presence.”

  The man’s eyes flashed red. “He also requests that you wear this for the occasion,” and he stepped aside to reveal a red-eyed woman holding up a rich pale green gown with golden thread. “To match your eyes,” he said indifferently. “Lord Castallan has been entertaining very important guests and requests you to appear as one, if seen. You’ll find it is a perfect fit.” The dress was handed to her. Cassandra looked down at the rough white and grey leathers she was wearing, ripped and dirtied in places. She dropped the ornate gown to the floor and ground it against the stone with her foot.

  “No.”

  The man rolled his eyes. “Very well. Take her.”

  “I’ll walk myself,” Cassandra said, shrugging away as the woman moved towards her. “I’ve got enough bruises already.” There was some muttering between the pair. Cassandra glared at them. “What?”

  “Your face, Princess,” the red-eyed woman said. “There is a mark—”

  “Courtesy of the thug who carried me here.”

  “Perhaps we ought to cover it,” the woman said, more to her companion than Cassandra.

  “No time,” said the man. “Come along now.”

  Cassandra followed without fuss. They kept close to her, but she had no inclination to try and flee. She was tired, hungry and worn. After years of being patient, waiting to be free, she had foolishly got caught up with warring wizards and kings. She really should have run and hid from the world. Yet, she had made a promise to Chelos to warn Darnuir of what was to come. She’d done that at least.

  Next time, I’m gone for good. I’ll just need to figure out where to go…

  A part of her was tired of wanting to run as well. She wanted a home. She wanted to feel as safe and happy and as part of something as she had during their weeks at the Argent Tree. With Balack, Brackendon, Kymethra, the occasional visit from Cosmo and his smiling son, it had almost felt like a family. She wanted that again. She wanted to belong. Where she might find that was another matter entirely. Her real family had abandoned her long ago.

  Walking through the corridors of the Bastion she passed finely dressed guests, even some older hunters from the Southern Dales with grey stubble. Half were drunk, keeping one hand to the wall or stumbling. The rest were enjoying some natural high, smiling broadly, talking loudly and happily. Cassandra wasn’t sure who to hate more – Castallan, for hosting a party while sending demon hordes to ravage the land, or these people who seemed perfectly at ease to join him.

  Entering Castallan’s so-called throne room was a strange experience. She had spied down upon it from the passages above so often over the years, but had never stepped foot inside before. It seemed even larger in person. To her right was Castallan’s self-proclaimed throne, raised on a newly built platform to look down on the hall. Ten silver staffs fanned out behind the chair, the source of Castallan’s power.

  The wizard himself was not up there. He sat alone at the head of a long table, big enough to accommodate fifty people. The table was laden with the remnants of a great feast. Pickings of suckling pigs with cold grease stains, hollowed cheese wheels, whole fish that only had their bones sticking out, flagons of ale, pitchers of wine and heavy black pots of barley broth. Like Castallan’s robes, the table was dressed in purple cloth, trimmed in silver.

  Cassandra was directed to the seat opposite Castallan and she dropped into it, making sure to scrape the floor with her chair as she dragged it in. Everyone left and she was alone with the wizard. Castallan looked especially smug as he lovingly eyed a piece of parchment before him. Then he looked to her.

  “Did you not like my dress?”

  “Where is Chelos?” she asked, ignoring his comment.

  “Your dear old dragon is alive.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “Then you may go on wanting. He won’t be seeing visitors.”

  “What did you do to him?” Cassandra asked, envisaging Chelos screaming on his knees before that throne.

  “I had no need to harm him. Not as much as I thought.”

  “He’s stronger than you think,” Cassandra said with a sort of fierce pride. She noticed a sharp, serrated knife on the table by a breadboard, just within reach of her hand. With one finger, she caressed the base of it, feeling the cold metal against her skin, wondering if she would dare to take it.

  “Strong but old,” Castallan said, “and I think he realised I wasn’t going to believe anything except the truth. And what a truth it was. Secret tunnels throughout my fortress?”

  “You’ll have had them all caved in now,” Cassandra said. “Is that why you’re so pleased?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve kept them intact. Does that surprise you?”

  “Just tell me what you want.”

  Castallan breathed in through this nose and ran a hand through his swept back, ashen tinged hair. “I want, what I’ve always wanted. A safe world. A better world. A strong humanity that can stand on its own feet.”

  “And what do I have to do with that?”

  “No need to be so flustered, Cassandra. I have no intention of harming you. I never have. I am sorry my followers cannot always orders to the letter. Who did that to your face?”

  “I wasn’t saying nice things about Scythe.”

  “Ah… you know?” he said solemnly. “It grieves me that he is dead. Slain in combat by Darnuir.”

  Cassandra perked up, and sat a little straighter. “Did you expect him to win?”

  “He was one of the first to join me, and one of the strongest. My technique was not so refined back then, but Scythe survived it and was more powerful for it. He was a sly, cunning one, if a little cautious because of it. In the end, that might have been his downfall. He ought to have pushed matters at Cold Point before Darnuir could become stronger. My greatest regret is that he did not live to see our plans fulfilled.” He tapped the piece of parchment.

  “Did that involve slaughtering all your demons?”

  “In part, though I hadn’t planned on disposing my demons so soon. However, I am told by my followers who fled the Charred Vale that the spectres took flight after Scythe fell. The demons went wild after that, completely useless. Before long the spectres I had close
r to home abandoned me as well, and the regular demons left behind had to be put down. It’s meant stepping up my plans but Darnuir has forced my hand.” He brandished the piece of parchment. Waxy seals dangled beneath a screed of minute text. “Signed by the Lords of the Southern Dales, including Lord Annandale himself. Their soldiers will arrive soon for enchantment.”

  “Why would they do that?” Cassandra asked, unable to keep the bite from her voice.

  Why are so many swayed to him?

  “Because many believe as I do,” Castallan said. “Many want what I want. An end to Rectar; an end to war; and an end to human suffering.”

  “But not an end to my suffering?”

  “I’ve never actively made your life hard, Cassandra. You really shouldn’t feel all that special. You are just a piece to be played. An asset of value. And there is no point hiding who you really are now, Princess.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard,” Cassandra said. It was unsettling all the same. “So, it’s true?”

  “I carried you from Aurisha myself. I took part in that attack to acquire the Dragon’s Blade. I failed in that regard, but the trip was not a complete waste.”

  “No one wanted to pay my ransom?” Cassandra said. Her stomach twisted a little. She blamed the hunger but her thoughts betrayed her, flitting to the idea of a mother and father she had never considered until recently. Yet, they had left her here. With all the power of royalty, she had been left caged. What good were they?

  “You act so brazen and strong but you cannot hide your pain from me. Sad, isn’t it? To think you were so unloved. If it helps at all, I shall put your mind at ease. Your parents did pay handsomely, or rather your father paid. Your mother, the once Queen Ilana, passed shortly after you were presumed dead.” He paused for a moment, looking at Cassandra to gauge her reaction.

  “So she’s dead,” Cassandra said, though her voice was oddly high. “I never knew her.”

  “Terribly tragic,” Castallan said. “But in the aftermath of Demon’s Folly, it proved advantageous to me. You see the death of your mother placed Arkus in a very difficult position. Without an heir, stability was threatened. I informed him and enough of his lords quietly that I had you to avoid a civil war. All I wanted in return was a guarantee that Arkus would not bring an army down to take you. I threatened to kill you of course, as I was not then strong enough to resist the might of Brevia, not even here. The threat of strife in the Assembly and potential bloodshed over succession kept him in line for a long time. I also got a little financing out of it, of course.”

  “I thought Darnuir gave you plenty of gold?”

  “He remembers that, does he? I had wondered. The rebirthing spell had never been used practically before. I’m impressed, in truth, but then Brackendon was a great wizard.”

  “He still is,” said Cassandra, thinking fondly of the man.

  “His staff tree was burned.”

  “Queen Kasselle herself granted him a staff, carved from the heart of the Argent Tree.”

  Castallan raised his eyebrows. “Kasselle must be feeling desperate indeed to gift such a piece of her people’s heritage. Well, I shall have to add this powerful new staff to my collection. Tell me, did Darnuir also remember trying to carry you to safety when Aurisha fell?”

  “He does now. It seemed to take him some time. The Guardian helped him to unlock those memories his old self had hidden away.” Cassandra wasn’t too sure if she fully understood it. “Something about the rubies on his sword.”

  “Ah yes the Dragon’s Blade, I had forgotten the gems held that power,” Castallan said. “Oh, how I have longed for that sword.” He narrowed his eyes at Cassandra, studying her. “You ran to him when you escaped. Did you grow close to him?”

  Cassandra narrowed her eyes right back but her insides squirmed. Castallan kept focusing on her eyes, smiling broadly at her discomfort.

  “Hungry?” he asked. Without an answer, he clicked his fingers and servants hurried in carrying several fresh platters. The smell of roast chicken made her mouth water. The servants had barely taken the lids from the dishes before she lunged for the food.

  “I’ll take that for a yes,” Castallan said lazily.

  “Holding me hostage won’t save you now,” Cassandra said thickly through a mouthful of chicken.

  Castallan laughed a cruel little laugh. “Oh Cassandra, Arkus hasn’t been deterred by the threat of losing you for many years. He took a new wife, the Lady Orrana, daughter of Lord Clachonn, chief family of the Hinterlands. And would you like to hear the sad circumstances of that marriage?”

  Cassandra shook her head and thought she might now take the knife while he droned one. Her fingers gripped the steel, she raised it —

  But something in her faltered and she excused her sudden motion by carving a thick slice of crusty bread instead.

  “Arkus decided he was in need of a great deal of black limestone from the Hinterlands,” Castallan was saying. “In some fit of grief, he chose to rebuild much of Brevia. He needed so much stone, in fact, that his treasury couldn’t bear the cost of it. Yet Lord Clachonn agreed to supply enormous amounts at minimum cost, in return for Arkus marrying his daughter. The official story paints a more… romantic picture of our reigning royalty. But my what sad a tale it is.”

  “You seem to know a lot about this.”

  “I have friends all over the Kingdom,” said Castallan. “While Arkus was busy building himself a black city to match his black heart, I was gathering those with sense to me.”

  Cassandra chewed more slowly, thinking that the best thing to do would be to let him ramble on, and maybe she would get her chance. She put the knife down but kept it close. He seemed to be enjoying himself, which seemed odd to her. He was a very relaxed man for one who must know his time was short.

  Maybe he doesn’t see Arkus as a real threat. Time to find out.

  “So why keep me after all that?”

  “It gets worse, I’m afraid,” sighed Castallan with clear exaggeration. “Their only son is a sickly child – problems with his chest. Coughs so hard that his carers fear his ribs will break. So, while you are no longer the official direct heir, you are a likely spare.”

  Cassandra was about to tell him about Cosmo and his son Cullen, but managed to stop herself at the last moment. She half choked in doing so, coughing and spluttering into her sleeve.

  “Could be it runs in the family,” Castallan quipped. Cassandra continued to have difficulty and felt her face going hot with the blood rushing to it. “Now calm down,” Castallan said, waving a hand towards her. She stopped gasping at once and her airways felt clear.

  “I admit, at times, I wondered whether I should keep you or not,” Castallan said. “Marrying you myself would have lent me no extra legitimacy. My followers freely choose me and many think Arkus is a fool. Yet over the years he’s become bolder; stopped sending me the gold I demanded. Then he got bolder still, telling me that my magic was not the only way humanity could become stronger, but he does not understand. It is the fastest way. It is the best way. To enhance ourselves; to become as strong as dragons; and once I take the Blades, I will be able to reach out and destroy even Rectar himself!”

  “Why don’t you just admit you lust for the power?” Cassandra asked. “Why hide behind this façade of—”

  “I do not,” he said, banging his fist upon the table. When he spoke next, it was quieter, as if he were restraining years of anger. “Always, people have misunderstood my intentions, my vision. The only person I have tried to actively deceive is Darnuir, and then only in part. I doubted he would have agreed with my intentions to put humanity on an equal footing with dragons.”

  “Not the old Darnuir,” Cassandra said, remembering the way Darnuir would sometimes snap in haughty orders, oozing superiority when he did so. “But I think he would listen now.”

  “It’s far too late for that,” Castallan said, in that same hushed tone. “So long as dragons remain more powerful than us, we are at their mercy, doing
their bidding, fighting and dying in their wars. I said as much to the Conclave but they did not believe me. They were frightened of change too; I could see it in their eyes. I came to them with a proposition, a suggestion, and they answered me by trying to take my staff… my very life.”

  Cassandra looked into his radiant silver eyes and they did not lie. “You really do believe in what you are doing.”

  “Of course, I do. I do not force people to follow me. It started back at the Conclave. I spoke to the apprentices first, those not so much younger than myself. Many felt I was right, and they played the price for it: cut down trying to save me from being taken by the Inner Circle. The fools,” Castallan added affectionately. “They died for me; for what they believed. They were the first martyrs of my cause, of our cause. I’m glad the Conclave was destroyed for that. They hadn’t counted on my volunteers being so strong, and that was before I perfected the magic. Now I have all the power of the Conclave at my disposal. I took their knowledge too, to keep it safe. I’m certain it would have been lost otherwise.”

  “My library…” Cassandra said, realising what he meant.

  “My library, you mean. I’m not some monster, though I am sure many think I am.”

  “Not a monster?” Cassandra said indignantly. “Not a monster?” She could barely contain herself. Her hand searched for the serrated knife. “You kept me locked up. You kept me isolated. You tortured Chelos. You’ve killed people, hundreds if not thousands of humans whom you claim to want to help. You worked with demons and kill anyone who you think might stand in your way. What are you if not a monster? Do you think a few books can soak up all the blood you’ve spit?”

  “I kept you isolated for your own good, Princess. Do you think you would have been as safe if everyone in the Bastion had known who you are?” A portion of Cassandra’s anger drained at those words.

  Might there have been many others like Trask? Is he right?