The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  “I reduced the fleet heading Skelf as you requested,” Kidrian said.

  “Poor Kraz,” Dukoona said. “It seems he was not the Master’s chosen after all.” Although Dukoona had to admit to himself, sending Kraz to his doom wasn’t conclusive proof either way. This stunt hadn’t even drawn a passing glance from Rectar’s enormous presence in the distant recesses of Dukoona’s mind. Yet Rectar’s disinterest could only last for so long.

  “Will we take Ullusay then?” Kidrian said. “Our forces here will overrun that island easily.”

  “No,” Dukoona said. “Kraz is a fool but he and those who sympathise with him have a point. We have lingered long enough. Whatever the Master’s intentions, he will not be satisfied if we do not make progress.” He summoned his favourite sword from the shadows. Long, curved, impossibly sharp, and a deep purple like the shade of his shadowy flesh. It had been a long time since he’d had a proper battle. Once he would have been excited; now he looked around his Trusted gathered there and felt only worry. Still, he had to encourage them.

  “We will not go to Ullusay,” he said, raising the shadow blade high. “We will go around it. We will cut to the heart of the islands. We sail for Dalridia!”

  Chapter 9

  A MEETING OF KINGS

  The oldest part of Brevia lies on the southern bank, where the Master Hunter station now stands. Originally, it was a small port that was developed to begin trading surplus grain from the Golden Crescent to the expanding island centre of Dalridia. Since then it has grown, to say the least.

  From Tiviar’s Histories

  Darnuir – Brevia – King Arkus’ Palace

  “FASTER, PRAETORIANS,” LIRA called. “You’ll have to push yourselves to find where your true limits lie.”

  The young Praetorians repeated the exercises, quicker than before, but not quick enough. Darnuir thought it strange to think of them as young, for they were all close in age to himself; but he felt much older. Having the memories of a sixty-year-old dragon merge into his mind had altered his perception on a lot of things.

  “I know how abnormal it will feel,” Darnuir told them. “I found it hard to unlock my own strength. You’ve lived among humans all your lives; you’re not used to it. But push. Come on, harder now.” Each Praetorian drilled again, and again, and again. Their swords rang in the Chevalier training hall that Raymond had kindly offered them. A few of the dragons were visibly breathless now. “That’s it,” Darnuir told them. “We dragons might be few now, but each of us is worth ten humans. You will all be worth far more than that.”

  Lira sidled up so only Darnuir could hear. “They weren’t the most experienced but their attitude aligned closest with ours. They’ll be happy to work with humans.”

  “Skills we can hone,” Darnuir said. “Attitude is far harder to change. They’ll need more practice with the bow. How good a shot are you?”

  “Decent enough,” Lira said. “Captain Romalla always said I was better with a sword.”

  “Captain Tael told me the same thing. Yet brute strength and extra stamina can do that when sparring with humans. Everyone thought I was gifted.”

  “You are skilled, sire.”

  “We fought briefly, Lira. You gave me too good a match for one who wields the Dragon’s Blade. But I have learned a lot since then.”

  “We may have to be patient with them in learning the bow.”

  “I know,” Darnuir said. “I don’t expect them to master something that takes hunters years to learn. Although much of that is building their arm strength. These are dragons we’re training.”

  Lira tilted her head thoughtfully, a little grin playing on her face. “Let’s see how they do today.”

  Strength was a hindrance, as it transpired. Quite a few Praetorians whipped back their arms so hard the strings snapped, but eighteen broken bows later, a handful of them were beginning to hit the target more often than not.

  “Focus on technique,” Darnuir said, walking around each in turn to help. “Feet shoulder-width apart, left foot just in front with your toes facing the mark. Those left handed will do the reverse.”

  “Find a comfortable position for your hand at full-draw,” Lira told them. “This will be your anchor. Try to pull back to the same spot each time.”

  Darnuir saw one girl pull back her string too far. Her hand was passed her ear, her string quivering with the tension. “Not so tense now,” he said, gently easing her hand back towards her face. “Do as Lira says. Find where it is comfortable. Perhaps where your thumb touches your ear or where your knuckles meet your cheek.” The girl nodded, concentration etched into her expression. She loosed the arrow and it hit the secondary ring, a little off the centre.

  “Yes,” she cried, then reorganised her features more seriously after catching Darnuir’s eye. “Sorry, sire.”

  “Don’t be,” he said, returning to patrolling around the group. “Just keep practising. Demons and red-eyed men aren’t going to stand still for you. One day I want you to be able to run and shoot at the same time, as many experienced hunters can.” Some of them looked to him as if this was insanity. “It’s true. You forget that hunters were trained to kill dragons once. I know a hunter who can even loose three arrows within seconds… well, I knew a hunter…” he said to himself, trailing off. Balack was the greatest archer he knew but he doubted his once closest friend would ever help him in the archery yard again.

  I don’t deserve his friendship. Not after what I did. Not after dealing a blow to his heart and then his ribs.

  “Lord Darnuir,” a voice called to jar him out of his reverie. Darnuir turned to see Raymond at the entrance above them. Yet again he was without his dark steel armour and wore a black leather jerkin over a white shirt. “King Arkus will converse with you now.”

  About bloody time.

  “Lira, continue with things here,” said Darnuir.

  “I am afraid I must ask your dragons to vacate the hall,” Raymond said when Darnuir reached him.

  “But why?”

  “My superiors do not approve,” Raymond said. “And I have had my privileges removed.” He turned like a soldier to leave and Darnuir followed alongside him.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Darnuir said. “Perhaps I could—”

  “The White Seven feel I am already too close to you, my Lord of Dragons. If you were to intervene that would only prove them right.”

  “Close?” Darnuir said, surprised. “I think you got over some of your prejudice at Torridon, but I would hardly call that close.”

  “That is close enough for many in Brevia,” said Raymond, leading Darnuir through the black carpeted corridors of the palace. Darnuir assumed he was going to Arkus’ more private council chambers.

  “I would have thought their more pressing concern would have been your brother?” Darnuir said. “Castallan’s agents and followers are clearly in high positions.”

  “That is exactly the issue. I should have realised before I opened my mouth to the White Seven.”

  “Your superiors?” asked Darnuir, not finding the term familiar.

  “Yes, the White Seven,” Raymond said, a touch of bitterness in his tone. “One for each region of the Kingdom and one for Brevia itself. They have the King’s ear in military matters. Telling them of events at Torridon, of Sanders’ betrayal,” he gulped. “It did not go the way I envisaged.”

  “Tell me about it,” Darnuir said. Something about this unsettled him. Do such powerful men really work against me?

  “Some thought I was lying,” Raymond said. “Told me it was safe to admit the dragons killed my brother. I said that was preposterous.” His speech grew hotter as he continued, “I explained, Lord Darnuir, I did; that were it not for your decision and the great effort of the dragons, then all would have perished at Torridon. Alas, it did not help. Lord Boreac in particular—”

  “Lord Boreac?” Darnuir said. “He’s one of these Seven? What does he have to do with it?” Hearing that name only deepened Darnuir’s
disquiet. His thoughts raced, and then it came to him: a brief and painful memory of a conversation with Eve at the hunter station. She had asked why Scythe had been chosen as their new captain after Tael’s death, and Darnuir had told her Lord Boreac had nominated Scythe for the job.

  Could it simply be a coincidence?

  “You seem distracted,” Raymond said.

  “I’m sorry. Continue.”

  “Certainly. Lord Boreac is one of the White Seven, but that is not unusual. About half of them are old lords who can afford the position. If not them then one of their sons often takes the region’s post. I am told that was not the way things used to be, that once anyone could rise through the Chevaliers with bravery, honour and skill, like the hunters. Now, I’m not so certain.”

  “How did you join, if I may ask?”

  “My father asked King Arkus to grant my brother and I the honour,” Raymond said. “He and my grandfather made a deal of money in new print methods – enough to aid Arkus in financing his reconstruction of Brevia; enough to make a name for our family. My father thought that Tarquill would be fitting. Yet we were always looked down upon, my brother and I.”

  “And you have been trying to prove yourself ever since,” Darnuir said. “I sympathise, Raymond. I worried whether I could prove myself as a dragon and now as a king.”

  Raymond looked taken aback by Darnuir’s honesty but nodded. “I can see why Sanders would have been lured by the thought of some extra power. Perhaps he was sick of the jeers, of being given the second rate tasks. But I’ll never truly know why or how it happened…”

  “You said you had your privileges stripped but you were making announcements for Arkus in the throne room.”

  “If someone asked you to make announcements rather than don your sword and armour, how would you take it?”

  “As a slight.”

  “Forgive me, Lord Darnuir,” Raymond hastened to add. “You must think I’m grousing over trivial things.”

  “Your temper is nothing compared to mine,” said Darnuir. “I’m sorry to hear all this, Raymond. You deserve better.”

  “The King has been kind to me in truth,” said Raymond. “He helped keep me within the Chevaliers when some called for my dismissal. He didn’t just grant me my position as a repayment for a debt. Arkus has encouraged men like my father and grandfather – men with ideas, ambition and drive. I think they are jealous of the favours the King shows us.”

  Raymond slowed his pace and Darnuir matched it. Up ahead was a heavily guarded room, which Darnuir assumed to be Arkus’ council chamber. Each man guarding the corridor was heavily armoured in dark steel.

  “Are ten Chevaliers necessary?” Darnuir asked.

  “Arkus at least has taken my warnings seriously,” said Raymond. “Yet I am ill at ease. Something does not seem right in the city anymore. The White Seven handpicked these men but—”

  “I understand,” Darnuir said, more quietly as they drew ever closer to the group.

  “Be wary, my Lord of Dragons,” Raymond said in an equally hushed voice.

  When they reached the guards, their leader stepped forward and removed his helmet. The Chevalier was a little taller than Darnuir, with a mane of dark blond hair to his lower neck and marble smooth skin. He smiled tauntingly at Raymond.

  “Ah, that was quickly done. You’d make an excellent squire, Raymond.”

  “Gellick,” Raymond said curtly.

  “Please be seated, Lord Darnuir,” Gellick said. “I shall inform King Arkus you have arrived.”

  “I had thought to tell the King myself—” Raymond began.

  “You are dismissed, Raymond,” Gellick said without looking at him.

  “But, sir, I—”

  “Dismissed,” Gellick said. “Or must I ask you to brush our steeds next?”

  Raymond’s face was growing pink but he nodded to Gellick and bowed briefly to Darnuir before taking his leave.

  “One moment,” Gellick said. He entered the room, leaving Darnuir alone with the rest of the Chevaliers. They still had their helmets on and visors down, making it impossible to see their eyes. Yet, Darnuir had other methods.

  Furtively, he sniffed the air, trying to find a trace of fear. There was a light sweetness but from which guard he could not tell. Nor was he truly more informed. Are you afraid because you are worried about being caught or because of who I am, whoever you are?

  Frustrated that he was being forced to wait, Darnuir dropped onto the plush bench, reaching to adjust the scabbard of the Dragon’s Blade so that he could sit properly. The moment his hand touched his sword all the Chevaliers had their own weapons out. Darnuir let go of his sword slowly and deliberately.

  “I’m not here to fight,” he said. The air was much sweeter now. That gave him some comfort. If they were afraid of him then they couldn’t all be enhanced red-eyed men. As the Chevaliers sheathed their swords, not saying a word to him, Darnuir wondered whether he could take all nine at once. He liked to think so. It might take a bit of Cascade energy, but he could do it. Ten humans, armour or no, couldn’t hold up to him now. Just a little Cascade energy is all it would take. His hand twitched. He saw a mental image of the Dragon’s Blade carving through their steel bodies like meat and could almost feel the rush of magical residue running hot down his arm.

  What is the matter with me?

  He breathed steadily through his nose and calmed himself.

  It was important to show Arkus he had changed. Sadly, those outbursts in the throne room wouldn’t help matters. In the days since, Darnuir was sure that he had been kept at arm’s length as a means of establishing the status quo. Arkus was saying “This is my city, my keep. We’ll talk when I am ready.”

  Yet time was short and Blaine was still to show.

  Darnuir had tried to get Kymethra to go scout out Blaine’s movements, but she refused to leave Brackendon’s side. The pair of them had become reclusive, holed up with heaps of old books and scrolls. Events at the Conclave tower had set a fire under Brackendon although Darnuir was still unclear on what had exactly transpired that night. Arkus had been furious enough to deny seeing Darnuir that morning and now the days had rolled by.

  What’s Arkus waiting for? His armies are here. His fleet ready to sail. We do not have any time to lose.

  Darnuir rose. “I am weary of this delay.” He stepped forward, intending to push past the Chevaliers if necessary. To their credit, they did not react brashly. Darnuir heard those to his flanks thump slowly in behind to surround him.

  He reached for the door.

  He saw the closest Chevaliers reach for their swords.

  “Yer as unreasonable as yer sluggish, Arkus,” came a loud, sharp voice from inside the room. Then the doors swung inward. Somerled Imar stood there, his face red, arms wide from heaving the doors open. Up close, Darnuir noticed that Somerled was a good deal shorter than himself. “Do us a favour, Lord Darnuir, and knock some spirit intae him. Oot of ma way now.” Somerled shoved passed Darnuir and the Chevaliers returned to their original posts.

  “The King will see you now,” Gellick said, as though nothing had happened.

  The room was sparse and practical, the only real adornment being a life-size portrait of a rather stunning woman, with long black hair and grass-green eyes, wearing a pale green dress. Her smile was dazzling.

  Arkus stood stony-faced behind a large desk, topped with maps, figurines and open books with minuscule text. A great steaming vat of shimmer brew rested by several thick mugs and a bowl containing heaped silver alderberries. Arkus’ hair hung loosely due to the absence of his crown, which lay atop sheets of ragged old parchment like the most extravagant paperweight in the world.

  “A little privacy please, Gellick,” Arkus said, popping a few of the berries into his mouth. Arkus didn’t acknowledge Darnuir. The King of Humans seemed preoccupied with his maps and accounts.

  “Lord Imar appears displeased,” Darnuir noted as he reached the other side of the laden table. The light fragran
t bitterness of the brew was energising on its own.

  “Somerled feels I ought to have sent reinforcements to his islands already,” Arkus mumbled, not looking up from the map. The military figurines were mostly of humans, painted in black and white for Arkus’ regular army. Most of them were outside Brevia but a collection stood farther south at the Bastion, along with bow and arrow carvings in dark green.

  Has he already sent troops south? If so, why so few?

  Arkus sniffed then finally looked up. “Somerled believes I am moving too slowly.”

  “Understandably so, but we must take the Bastion first and for that we’ll need to wait for the Guardian Blaine to arrive.”

  “Why do you think I’ve called you?” Arkus said. “This Guardian and his army should arrive at Brevia today.”

  “Today? Why wasn’t I informed immediately?”

  “Word arrived late last night and I am telling you now.”

  “That’s hardly the level of communication I require,” Darnuir said.

  “I’ve had a lot to manage of late,” Arkus said. He indicated the piles of parchment. “Brackendon’s bit of vandalism hasn’t helped either.”

  “He learned valuable information,” Darnuir said.

  “Did he?” Arkus asked. “So, we know it wasn’t Castallan who struck first. It hardly helps us. I hope all this studying the pair of them are doing will produce results on how they can weaken him.”

  “Brackendon’s never let me down before,” Darnuir said. “I’d have thought you’d be pleased such a blemish as the Conclave tower was removed for you.”

  Arkus grunted. “It will be once the irregularity of the area clears, I suppose. The city’s population could use more room. But enough of the damned Conclave. We have an impenetrable fortress to take.”

  “It might not be so hard,” Darnuir said. “At the Charred Vale, we defeated Castallan’s demon army. The Bastion will lie relatively unguarded, unless he has summoned thousands more in such a short space of time.”