The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  “How is it?” Balack asked.

  “Healing well already. About halfway there. Yes, this can be done.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Half the healing, half the magic,” Brackendon said. “And I have a staff from the Argent Tree. I think I can handle one minor to moderate injury.” He shut his eyes and reached out to the door to the Cascade. He twisted the ghostly handle, pushed it open and let it flow. That moment of euphoric joy infused him.

  He held it.

  Savoured it.

  Then he set to work, fusing Balack’s rib together and easing the swelling. He sensed a minuscule splinter of bone lodged in Balack’s lungs and dissolved it. Finally, he reduced the burns enough so that they would no longer cause pain. When it was done, Brackendon felt a powerful rush down his arm as the poison was sucked towards his staff. He held his breath, believing for the length of a heartbeat that he had gotten away with it.

  Then he doubled over in agony.

  “Brackendon,” Balack said in alarm, catching him as he swayed forwards.

  “Well it still hurt,” Brackendon said through gritted teeth. “Did it work?”

  Balack breathed in deep and fast. “I’d forgotten what it was like to not ache each time I drew breath. I feel better than ever.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” Brackendon said, taking shallow breaths himself. He fixated on a trodden patch of grass, so as not to concentrate on anything too overwhelming. From somewhere behind him there came the sound of heavy footsteps on the hard earth, enough for several people.

  “What is going on here?” came the unmistakable, disapproving voice of Blaine.

  “Brackendon,” Kymethra exclaimed. Suddenly, another pair of hands were pulling him off Balack. “What did you do? Your arm!”

  “What about it?” Brackendon mumbled.

  “There’s another black streak,” Darnuir said, stepping into Brackendon’s shaky vision.

  “What were you thinking?” Kymethra said.

  “I was thinking that I might actually use my power to do some good,” Brackendon said, getting to his feet. He felt a little off balance but nothing worse.

  This staff truly is something.

  “He healed me,” Balack said. “Thank you.”

  “Thank me by not holding back at the Bastion.”

  “That was quite reckless,” Darnuir said.

  “I don’t think you can comment on anyone’s recklessness,” Brackendon said. “Sorry, that was—”

  “It’s already forgotten,” Darnuir said. “Are you alright?”

  “I am,” Brackendon said.

  “Good,” said Darnuir. “For we march to the Bastion on the morrow.”

  “Darnuir, if we may depart for a private word,” Blaine said. He almost sounded hesitant. It was only now that Brackendon noticed Blaine was leaning his weight upon his left leg, and had bandages on his right calf, instead of armour.

  “Haven’t you made things worse enough today?” Darnuir said. He only then seemed to notice that Balack was there. “Balack – it will be good to have you back as well. We’ll be in need of your bow,” he added, not quite looking at his old friend. A second passed before Darnuir scrunched his lips, unfurled them again, and opened his mouth to say, “Balack… I—”

  “I hope that is the last controversy between us, Guardian,” Arkus called from out of sight. Everyone turned to see Chevaliers pouring out of the pavilion, and a pink-faced Arkus blustering through their ranks, his long black robes dragging on the earth. Darnuir didn’t finish his thought. He glanced between Blaine and Arkus then swept off towards Brevia with Lira, Damien and the Praetorians filing in around him.

  Blaine watched Darnuir go, looking disappointed at his departure before turning his attention to Arkus. “My treatment of the humans following the Charred Vale was—”

  “Not appropriate,” Arkus interrupted. “As I’ve had to explain to Darnuir. Those hunters are under my rule and my laws. Taking precautions is one thing. Making prisoners of humans out of mere suspicion is quite another. And as for the Dragon Powder—”

  “Do not use that term,” a Light Bearer with black curls said, drawing in closer.

  “It’s alright, Bacchus,” said Blaine. “Allow me to handle this matter.”

  “I’ll use what name I want, when it is mine,” said Arkus, stepping even closer to the Guardian. “I’m sorry about the accident at Inverdorn, more than you are I dare say. That was one of my cities.”

  “If it is your powder then you seem to have lost a great deal of it,” Blaine said. “Barrels in the Golden Crescent, even more at Inverdorn. Where else might they turn up unaccounted for?”

  “Clearly, mistakes have been made,” growled Arkus. “And I will use all my power to investigate the matter.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I do not feel the substance is safe in human hands for the time being. My Light Bearers will guard your stores as we transport it to the Bastion.”

  “Darnuir himself has agreed to my plans,” Arkus snarled. “The powder is a human tool and should remain in human hands.”

  “Tell that to the dead of Inverdorn,” said Blaine. “And you would do well to watch your tone with me. As Guardian, I seek what’s best for the world. This dangerous substance should not be trifled with.”

  “You guard the world?” Arkus asked, more quietly, stepping within an inch of Blaine. “Which world? This one soaked in blood? I remember Draconess used to mumble about a Guardian; he revered you. Can’t say I’m as impressed.” It was only then that Arkus seemed to notice Brackendon. “Finished moping wizard?”

  Brackendon’s stomach knotted. “I had come to join the discussion.”

  “There is little left to discuss,” Arkus said. “Now, I will take my grandson back with me.” Five Chevaliers began to close in towards the crib at the King’s words.

  Balack stepped forward then. “Sire, if I may accompany Cullen with you. I’d like to see he is in good hands and say my farewells.”

  “And who are you, hunter?” Arkus said, scanning Balack with his shrewd black eyes. “Do you not feel my staff can attend to the needs of one baby? My own flesh and blood.”

  “Excuse me, sire, I meant no offence,” Balack said quickly. “My name is Balack. Your son, he meant a great deal to me. Something like a father, but also a friend and teacher. I’d like to part with Cullen properly; if only because I was robbed of the chance with Cosmo.”

  Arkus’ expression softened. “A terrible name for a Prince… Cosmo,” he mused. “Very well, Balack. Walk with me.”

  “Thank you, sire,” Balack said. “And to you,” he added into Brackendon’s ear as he set off with Arkus and the Chevaliers carrying baby Cullen. Somehow there was just Kymethra, Blaine and himself left. An awkward grouping, Brackendon considered.

  “Balack told me you saved him,” Brackendon said to Blaine. “That was brave of you.”

  Blaine seemed to take a moment to decide what to say. “My armour could withstand the blast.”

  “But not your leg?” Brackendon said.

  “A heated fragment of a barrel ring, blown apart,” Blaine said, his face blank. “Slipped in the gap between the plates.”

  “You stood between the explosion and a human?” Kymethra asked.

  “I felt no need to watch him die,” Blaine said impatiently. “I must take my leave. The two of you will have matters to discuss.”

  At last, Brackendon and Kymethra were alone in the middle of the vast array of camps. He reached out for her hand, but she withdrew it. Her polite public demeanour changed into a disappointed frown.

  “They want me to fly to Dalridia. To check on matters there for Lord Imar.”

  “Then you should not wait long.”

  “I can’t leave again,” Kymethra said. “Not now. We’re too close to—”

  “You must play your part,” Brackendon said, “and I mine. I’m sorry for the way I have been acting. I have been afraid of what I must do.” Kymethra nodded. She hit him hard on the shou
lder, once, twice, then took a fistful of his robes and fell in against him.

  “Everyone is ignoring it,” she said. “All of them. They speak of marching to the Bastion and assaulting it, assuming it will all go well. But, how can it?”

  “For as long as I can remember, we’ve all spoken of defeating Rectar as well and Castallan isn’t as dangerous as him. We tell ourselves these things because to do anything less is to have already given up.”

  “These last days, I thought you had given up.”

  “I thought about it. Yet if Castallan and Rectar were truly invincible they would have no need for men, for demons, for flesh and blood, for walls or mountains. They need these things because they can be killed; even if it seems impossible. If I make it through this then we’re done, Kymethra, I promise you. I’ll snap my staff and we can quit playing our parts. We’ll spend our days at the Argent Tree, eating fruit and walking barefoot through the forest.”

  “Don’t you dare go into that fortress before I come back,” Kymethra said. She kissed him. “I haven’t quite forgiven you yet.”

  “Go on,” Brackendon said. “Fly, and fly back to me.”

  Chapter 11

  HIGHLAND HUNGER

  Of the Highlands, I have nothing to say. The Frost Trolls keep to themselves and I, a fairy, would certainly never be welcomed to journey there. I find it hard to imagine they have even kept records of their history. And there is some of that fairy scorn, so ingrained within me. I shall leave those words in this text, if only to serve the purpose of showing the effect of a lifetime’s worth of prejudice.

  From Tiviar’s Histories

  Garon – moving north through the Highlands

  “ARE WE LOST?” Pel demanded. “Where are all the kazzek?”

  To avoid answering, Garon pretended to have a good look up the wide, deep valley, as though he wasn’t sure it was totally empty. Jagged boulders dotted the landscape, poking out above the blooming heather; thatched roof homes sat beside long thin strips of farmland. But no kazzek could be seen. There hadn’t been any in the last three glens either. Ochnic was on his right, peering out at the landscape deep in thought.

  “Well?” Pel asked again.

  “Dey must have gone to da Great Glen,” Ochnic said. “A place of refuge for kazzek in times of peril.”

  “And taken every scrap of food with them?” Pel said.

  “Why would dey leave any behind. If we gather in da Great Glen, we don’t know how long it will be for.” Pel said nothing more but her wings fluttered in some agitation.

  Garon bit his lip, unsure what they could do other than trudge on. What choice do I have? He gently placed a fingertip on Darnuir’s scroll, though it offered him no answers. His stomach rumbled audibly and he found it hard to concentrate. Even the dim grey sky felt harsh against his eyes and he squinted to shield himself.

  “Let’s move on,” Garon said. “Perhaps the kazzek will have left something behind.” Ochnic’s snort was not helpful. Pel visibly drooped and they walked a little slower. Their speed was not improved by the terrain. It had been arduous progressing through the Highlands. There were no roads, barely anything resembling a path; the wild land had proven a hindrance at every turn. Yet, there was a rugged beauty to it that Garon could not deny. Heather bloomed brightly, ranging from amethyst to orange-yellow, but there were also clumps charred black with the poison of the Cascade, much like the trees in Val’tarra had suffered in places. Upon the mountainside, there was a large cluster of black heather like a scar slashed against the landscape. Garon noticed Pel looking up at it too.

  “Do your people not remove those dead plants, Ochnic?”

  “No,” said Ochnic. “It is natural. Why remove dem?”

  “That’s what we do,” Pel said.

  “Da kazzek know de dangers of de blue poison. Burned bushes remind us to respect it.” Pel looked confused but held her tongue. Garon smiled at her and nodded. He was thankful that she was at least making a concerted effort to be civil with Ochnic, despite their hunger.

  They searched the homes of the kazzek. The trolls had cleared out anything useful, including tools. In one home a basket remained, its lid askew. Garon glimpsed orange as he strode by it and his mouth watered at the thought of one small carrot. Without daring to hope he pushed the lid clean off. It was, in fact, a bundle of carrots and even some onions. He grabbed for an orange delight and despaired at the blue mush where the root once had been. The onions were no better: black and rotten. The smell made him nauseous but he had nothing to throw up.

  Giving up, Garon dragged himself back outside and sat down amongst the heather. Pel and Ochnic followed him; she began kicking at the undergrowth, wandering in a small circle, while Ochnic crouched low and broodingly amongst the petals. Garon sighed and looked back on their expedition filing into the glen. The hunters and fairies came first, with groups of flyers already heading east to scout further. One dragon was already limping up to Garon, Pel and Ochnic.

  “Nothing?” Marus said without hiding his bitterness. His thick eyebrows were furrowed into a single angry line.

  “Ochnic believes the kazzek have fled to a refuge deeper into the Highlands,” Garon said.

  “How far is that?” Marus asked. “The extra supplies we picked up from Captain Romalla were only enough to help us reach the trolls.”

  “A week from here,” Ochnic said. “Maybe a little more.”

  “We’re already on half-rations,” Marus grumbled. “Ochnic, I thought you promised—”

  “I said da kazzek would help. Dey will. But I didn’t know dey would have called to da Great Glen already… somethin’ must be wrong.”

  “We still have some food,” Garon said, trying to prevent any arguments. “And we can still hunt game, I’m sure. We have almost a thousand hunters, after all.”

  “Then where is our roast deer?” Marus asked.

  “You’ll struggle to find even a grouse once de clans have been summoned, dragon legate.”

  “The Ninth Legion marches on its stomach,” Marus said.

  “And humans and fairies are no different,” Garon said. “We’re all suffering here.”

  “Some more than others,” Pel said. She brought out her spear and cut a swathe of heather in frustration. “At least your meat is cured. Food fit for fairies is running low.”

  “You’re perfectly capable of eating meat,” Marus said. “You’ll just have to manage, Wing Commander. It’s not our fault your stores got burned by Castallan’s traitors.”

  “Stop it,” Garon said. “We’re all just hungry. Don’t let it get to you.”

  Pel either ignored him or didn’t hear him. “It’s not our fault the trolls have all ran off,” she said, her voice rising. “Maybe they saw fairies coming and thought they’d take the chance to torture us while they feast up a mountain somewhere. Maybe—”

  Ochnic rose a little out of his crouch, growling lowly.

  “Pel, that’s enough,” Garon said, forcefully this time. He stepped between Pel and Ochnic, arms raised against the two.

  “Dat won’t be necessary, pack leader,” Ochnic said, shoving his hand aside. “My daughter says things she does not mean when hungry. Let’s hope she is feastin’ and not facing a demon horde without me.” He stalked off.

  Pel’s eyes widened. “Ochnic, wait. Please.” But the kazzek kept on walking. Pel started forward, nearly taking off after him, but Garon stepped in to catch her arm.

  “Let him go. You both need to cool off. We all do,” he added, catching Marus’ eye as well. The legate’s face was unreadable.

  “Very well,” Pel said. She flew off though in the direction of the other fairies. Garon’s stomach ached from its emptiness and rumbled loudly again.

  Marus, his gaze downcast, half-turned to leave as well. “I am sorry for adding to that outburst, Garon. Let’s hope we reach the kazzek sooner than late, and not only for the sake of our bellies. It might be best if we have a more natural figurehead in this Chief-of-Chiefs.” He
took his leave. Alone, Garon slumped back down into the heather.

  Maybe he’s right? Maybe I can’t do this after all?

  He thumbed the edge of Darnuir’s scroll but it didn’t help. It never really did.

  Chapter 12

  THE BASTION BESIEGED

  I am assured by military minds that the effort required to storm the Bastion would be incredible, even for the dragons. It is designed to repel them after all. As a deterrent against future conflict between dragons and humans, the fortress works well enough. Yet should war ever come, I foresee this deterrent will decimate generations on both side.

  From Tiviar’s Histories.

  Blaine – Outside the Bastion – Camp of the Third Legion

  IT HAD BEEN two weeks of ponderous marching south. They had followed the coast, enabling much of their supplies to be carried by Arkus’ fleet. The humans made progress slow, and still Blaine had not found the chance to speak with Darnuir. The boy was giving him the cold shoulder since their less than cordial meeting with Arkus. In a way, Blaine was impressed by it. Darnuir was showing more backbone even if the timing wasn’t ideal. And now they had arrived within siege range of the Bastion, time had truly run out.

  Evening was fast approaching, so little would be done other than set up a perimeter to the west of the fortress. Troops would be sent to secure the woods a little south of their position. The trees ran until half a mile from the base of the Bastion’s south-west walls and would be an easy source of wood for siege engines and towers.

  The colossal fortress could have been raised by gods during the world’s creation, as though some power had left part of a mountain unfinished. Its mighty walls met at sharp angles like arrowheads to envelop the citadel tower in a star shape. Two sets of walls made two great stars if seen from above: two imposing grey, dead stars. An aura of challenge radiated from the Bastion; its very strength inviting foes to test it. To Blaine, it seemed inconceivable that humans could have made it – although it was with the aid of dragons, he reminded himself. Blaine knew that all too well.

  Would Darnuir begin his search for the passageways of the fortress tonight? Blaine hoped not. He needed to speak with him about it, but a service to N’weer would need to be held first.