“Bacchus,” Blaine called. The Light Bearer dutifully stepped forward from the entourage. “You have proven yourself trustworthy and diligent since the disaster at Inverdorn. I hope you do not mind me asking some small favours of you?”
“Never, Lord Guardian. I live to serve the gods, and you are their conduit.”
“Find the King for me,” Blaine said. “Tell him I request an urgent audience. Perhaps he won’t be so scornful towards someone else.”
“At once, Lord Guardian,” Bacchus said and he was away as light as a feather on the wind. Blaine was growing fond of the younger dragon. If only more dragons that followed the Light were as dutiful, our race would fare far better. Then again, Blaine had seen what had been done in the name of duty, in the name of the gods long ago. He tugged lightly on Arlandra’s necklace.
“We should prepare for service,” Blaine said to his remaining Light Bearers. “Multiple sermons across the legionary camps. More attend with each day, and we must not let the impending siege distract us.”
“Yes, Lord Guardian,” they said together.
Darnuir – Outside the Bastion
“We should begin searching for the passage under the fortress immediately,” Darnuir said. A large intricate map of the area had been found and the usual figurines placed upon it. With Darnuir was Arkus, Somerled and Fidelm, in a central command tent that was at the intersection between the camps of all three races outside the Bastion.
“It will be perilous searching blindly,” said Arkus. “Trenches will be needed to protect our teams. It will need to be carefully done.”
“Carefully sounds like it means time,” Darnuir said. He wanted this fight to come swift and hard.
“It will take five days at least to assemble siege towers,” Arkus said. “Maybe more.”
“Can’t it be done faster?” Darnuir said.
“Those walls are very high and we’re hardly used to making such towers,” said Arkus. “Few have been needed since the Kingdom united. In any case, island aggression was always by sea, not land.” He glanced to Somerled Imar. The Lord of the Isles was picking pieces of chicken from his teeth.
“Didnae need towers to sack Brevia back then did we?” he said. “Shame the Bastion doesn’t have a wide open bay.”
“If there is any way to hasten the process…” Darnuir said. He imagined the battle, the feel of the Cascade down his arm and the smell of fresh blood filling his nostrils.
“We should not rush our preparations, Lord Darnuir,” Fidelm warned deeply.
“No, of course not,” Darnuir said. His hand twitched and his thoughts drifted towards the door in his mind.
Fidelm narrowed his eyes. “Is anything amiss?”
“What?” Darnuir said. He shook his head. “No, I’m fine. We should prepare as best we can. My concern is for Lord Imar and the state of the Splinters should we take too long.”
“I’m grateful for yer concern,” said Somerled. “But what is a few more days now. I await my fleet from my southern islands before I can hope to ship reinforcements back north. I trust yer witch friend travels fast.”
“She’ll deliver your messages faster than anyone,” said Darnuir.
“What of the Dales, General?” Arkus asked of Fidelm.
“My flyers report the lands are quiet. Castallan’s forces are entirely holed up in the Bastion.”
“So, he has left Deas exposed?” Darnuir said. “Perhaps if we placed pressure on their homes, your southern lords would forget their newfound loyalty to Castallan.”
“I recall mentioning my displeasure at exacting harm on my people,” Arkus said.
“I said pressure, not murder,” Darnuir said. “The mere threat may cause some to lose faith.”
“I will dispatch a force to cut Deas clean off from the Bastion if you wish,” Arkus said. “I’ll likely need a peacekeeping force present once the Bastion is taken.”
“Yes, send a small force to threaten the idea of encirclement,” said Darnuir. “But not enough men to weaken our chances here. The Bastion will be a terribly hard fight.” A part of him was counting on it, hoping for it. He picked up the nearest wooden figurine, this one a dark green hunter carving of the Dales, and clenched it in his fist.
“Oh, Darnuir,” Brackendon called from the tent’s entrance.
“Coming to join us?” Darnuir asked.
“I was but it appears you have a messenger,” said Brackendon. The tent flaps opened seemingly of their accord and Brackendon stepped in alongside a Light Bearer with curly black hair and a plain, unreadable expression. Darnuir recognised this one. Bacchus, he was sure, and he’d been with Blaine at the meeting outside Brevia. “He’s very insistent,” said Brackendon.
“My King,” Bacchus said, with a bow. He did not address the others. “The Lord Guardian wishes an audience with you.”
“This again? He does realise I am busy with a war? I’d ask him to join us but I’d rather avoid insulting our human allies.”
Arkus’ face darkened at the very mention of Blaine.
Bacchus seemed unmoved. “The Lord Guardian requests you attend him. As the leader of the faithful—”
“Attend him?” Darnuir asked. In his anger, he crushed the figurine in his hand. The splinters and chunks of wood trickled from his grip onto the map below. Everyone looked to him.
That wound me up quickly, even for me – even for the old me. Am I truly angry with Blaine or is it something else? He hadn’t drawn on the Cascade since Brevia. He’d fought against it, but maybe it was time to surrender to it, else he might not make it through these war councils. I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, I can’t. Yet his hands shook at the very thought of the Cascade. ‘Just a bit,’ some part of him urged. He opened his clenched fist, let the remains of the figurine fall, and dusted off his hands to excuse his fidgeting.
“Very well, I shall see Blaine. Forgive this interruption my Lords.”
“We shall begin laying siege,” Arkus said. “Good luck, Darnuir.” And he smiled. Darnuir returned the gesture, glad for Arkus’ understanding. There may well be a good future there after all. Bacchus fell in beside Darnuir as he left the command tent, as did the Praetorians with Lira at their head.
“Is something wrong?” she asked him.
“Just going to pay Blaine a visit,” Darnuir said. “Bacchus here says I must ‘attend him’. Tell me, Bacchus, how is Blaine’s leg?”
“The Lord Guardian has recovered well from his injury,” said Bacchus. “He has a slight discomfort, but moves as well as ever, sire.”
“Yes, the Guardian’s Blade is good at healing, or so he told me,” said Darnuir.
“The Lord Guardian will be glad to hear of your concern,” said Bacchus.
“I also hope he will be glad to take up my offer,” said Darnuir.
“Offer?” Lira said.
“I’d like to challenge Blaine to another duel,” said Darnuir. “It’s been some time and it will be a good warm-up for the battle to come.”
“I do not think the Lord Guardian intends to—”
“If Blaine wants to see me it can be on my terms for once,” said Darnuir. “Bit of a show for the troops as well. Surely he won’t begrudge me?”
Bacchus took a moment to think. “I am certain he will oblige you, sire.”
Blaine – Outside the Bastion – Camp of the Third Legion
Blaine made his way up the via primacy of the camp. He felt most comfortable here where there was a large majority of the faithful. He was almost at the central point of the camp when he spotted Darnuir approaching from the south with his Praetorians, Lira and even Bacchus in tow.
Well done Bacchus. You’ve proven yourself again.
Now, if only Darnuir would keep his head long enough to hear him out. Sadly, from the look on his face that didn’t look likely.
“Thank you for coming, Darnuir,” Blaine said.
“Blaine,” Darnuir said. Dragons nearby, especially those making their way to N’weer’s service, were al
ready beginning to stare.
“I’m afraid you’ve come just as service is to begin,” said Blaine. “Will you await me in my tent?”
“I have another idea,” said Darnuir. “What do you say to another duel?” That drew more eyes.
“Now?” Blaine asked.
“Now,” Darnuir said.
“I wanted to talk.”
“And I want to duel. We can talk after, though I am quite busy with the siege.”
And have you ever thought I might have some important information in that regard?
“Your leg isn’t ailing you, is it?” Darnuir said.
Blaine felt a twinge behind his left knee. “It is fine. But my service must come first.”
“Lord Guardian, I could give the sermon tonight,” Bacchus said. He stepped forward and all the onlookers now directed their attention to him.
“You?” Blaine said.
“Why not?” Darnuir said. “Other Light Bearer’s conduct your services elsewhere now.”
“But this is the main congregation,” said Blaine.
“You are the Guardian,” said Bacchus. “You should not have to trifle yourself with every matter. Allow me to free your time tonight.”
Blaine pondered. The Guardian Sulla never held service himself to increase his mystique, keeping himself hidden from the masses. But that was over a thousand years ago. Their faith was not so strong now. Blaine had to be the one to lead the way. Besides, his leg wasn’t fully healed. A duel now would be painful and pointless. Why was Darnuir so insistent?
“I’ll go easy on you,” Darnuir called.
What is the matter with you, boy?
Then Blaine noticed it – an infinitesimal twitch of Darnuir’s hand over the hilt of the Dragon’s Blade.
Damned, fool. He’s seeking to use magic. This isn’t good, but unless he gets a fix soon—
“Well?” Darnuir asked, interrupting Blaine’s thoughts.
Perhaps if I make it quick we can move past this and he’ll be more inclined to listen.
“I think you’ve forgotten our last encounter too quickly, my King,” Blaine said. “It is I who must will go easy on you for the fight to be fair.”
Darnuir’s lips spread into a broad grin. “He accepts the challenge. All may come and watch. No holding back now, Guardian.” To his right, Lira flicked her eyes between the two of them and shuffled one foot nervously.
“I won’t,” Blaine groaned. “And I shall follow you shortly.” Darnuir and his Praetorians headed northwards up the via primacy, leaving Blaine with Bacchus.
“Thank you for believing in me, Lord Guardian,” Bacchus said with a small bow.
Blaine stepped close and placed a hand on his shoulder. “This is a one-time thing,” he said quietly. “You may hold sermons if you wish but the Third Legion is mine.”
“I understand,” Bacchus said. “I meant no offence. I only thought to—”
“There has been no offence,” said Blaine. “Go now. Our men require inspiration for the battle to come.”
By the time Blaine reached Darnuir outside the camp walls, a small ring of spectators had already formed. The ground was soft underfoot, turning to sand at the far edge of the crowd nearest the coast. The smell of seaweed was thick in the air.
As Blaine passed through the ring on onlookers he unsheathed the Guardian’s Blade.
The audience drew a collective breath.
“Best of three strikes?” Darnuir asked. The Dragon’s Blade was already in his hand, red and fierce. An orange tint lit the golden metal at the dragon’s mouth.
“This won’t take long,” said Blaine. I pray it doesn’t, he thought as his knee twanged again in pain.
Darnuir threw himself forward, twisting to Blaine’s left at a blur. Blaine easily blocked the attack by pouring some magic into his own reflexes.
That eager to draw on the Cascade, Darnuir?
Blaine drove left with his shoulder, slamming into Darnuir’s chest. Their heavy armour thudded dully and Blaine pushed them along the grass. Darnuir dug in his heels. They halted. A moment passed during which neither budged, then Blaine pulled back and the true sword fight began.
Darnuir had improved since their duel in Val’tarra. He was faster, stronger and less obvious. Blaine recognised a feint and nearly had him but Darnuir lashed up at an impossible speed. The sheer force of it pushed Blaine’s sword arm high, exposing him.
He saw the blow coming.
Blaine dropped to his knees, slamming his injured leg into the ground and rolled. He heard the sword cut through the air above and struck at Darnuir’s midriff with the flat of the Guardian’s Blade as he rose.
The crowd remained tensely silent.
“One to me,” Blaine said as he got up. His joints protested from manoeuvring in armour like that. His lower leg throbbed horribly and he bit his lip in pain. He risked opening the door to the Cascade to ease it off. A trickle of power that warmed him, comforted him: then he slammed the door shut. Healing too often, even in bursts, would leave him much like Darnuir, Guardian’s Blade or no.
Darnuir had already paced back to his starting position. “Ready?”
“I’m not the one losing,” said Blaine. But he knew this round would turn sour.
The King came on for a second time.
He didn’t feint. He didn’t lunge suddenly to one side. He just came head on.
There was a savagery behind the blows. With each block, with each narrow escape, Blaine felt his muscles burn hotter from the strain. He stepped back to the edge of the ring and unleashed a counter attack. He slashed down from shoulder to waist but Darnuir caught his sword on a wing of the Dragon’s Blade. This time Blaine wasn’t fast enough and Darnuir thrashed his upper arm.
“And one to me,” Darnuir said. He gulped visibly as though he were swallowing an egg and winced at the taste.
Not spitting out that bitterness? Blaine thought. At least you’re trying to hide it.
This time Blaine would not hold back. There was a large audience now and much more at stake than merely the next round. Blaine feared Darnuir would only drift further from him if he thought he was the more powerful. Blaine reassured himself he wouldn’t lose. He had experience of fighting one such as Darnuir, after all. So, he kicked the door open.
And he made the first move.
How long they fought for, he couldn’t have said. Long enough that he heard Darnuir’s breath come in ragged pants. Blaine too fought for air, his chest swelling within the confines of his breastplate. A Cascade infused backflip left him dizzy but out of reach of Darnuir, and able to breathe. Then the Dragon’s Blade came soaring towards him. He blocked it and it returned to its master’s hand as Darnuir ran at him. Their fight raged on.
Blaine lost the feeling in his mouth as the harsh bitterness of the Cascade welled up. The rush to his Blade threatened to pull his arm off.
But he would. Not. Lose.
“That’s enough,” Brackendon bellowed. As Blaine was in mid swing, Brackendon whizzed in between him and Darnuir just as their swords would have met. There was a sound like a fairy wings in flight, a whirring that was magnified a thousand fold, and Blaine was tossed backwards.
Face in the grass, he rolled over and blinked up at Brackendon. The wizard’s staff shone like a star on the earth, crackling with sparks of blue and silver all along the wood.
“Call it a draw,” Brackendon said, his voice returning to normal. “Don’t ruin yourselves fighting each other.” Blaine sheathed his sword, afraid he’d pushed it too far. “Go on now, all of you,” Brackendon added to the spectators. After seeing what the wizard had just done they didn’t hesitate. Once the area was clear Brackendon spoke again. “Kymethra has returned from the Splintering Isles. Lord Imar hopes you will join him in discussions.”
“You go on, Darnuir,” Blaine said. “As I’m not welcome on your councils anymore.” And he left, exhausted, leg throbbing, all thought of speaking to Darnuir about the passageways of the Bastion forgotten. Blai
ne kept up a good show of strength until he returned to his private tent where he collapsed onto the floor.
He lay in a heap for some time until he summoned a reserve of strength to unstrap his armour and take the weight off himself. He didn’t even have the wits to place the pieces on their stand. He managed to wash his face then glug an entire jug of tepid water.
Gods but I feel old now.
It was the last thought he had before he buried his head into a pillow and sleep took him.
Darnuir – Outside of the Bastion
As Darnuir watched Blaine go, he felt his body unwind after the battle. He was drenched in sweat, panting harder than a dog in summer, but he felt… good. Relief washed over him. The battle had released some pressure in him like water from a dam. His head felt clear, whereas before the duel it had been aggravated, almost fuzzy. In fact, he could barely remember the moments leading up to the fight: just the fight itself and now this pleasantness. And what a fight it had been.
“You shouldn’t have stopped us,” Darnuir said.
“I should have stopped you half an hour ago,” Brackendon said. He stepped in close to Darnuir. “I thought I told you to be careful with the Cascade,” he hissed.
“You did,” Darnuir said.
“Then what in Dranus’ filthy long tail was that?”
“A duel,” Darnuir said, feigning shock.
“It was the duel to end all duels. Do you want to break, Darnuir?”
“Of course not.”
“Then don’t needlessly waste your body pulling stunts like that,” Brackendon said.
“I’m okay, Brackendon,” Darnuir said, his voice rising higher than normal. “I’m not addicted,” he added, trying to laugh it off. But I am… I am or I will be. How can I possibly admit that to them and still have them follow me?
“Denial is the first damned stage,” Brackendon said. “You need help. Your fight with Scythe plus that run to Brevia must have affected you more than I realised. I should have known it would. Your body has hardly had a chance to build up a tolerance yet.”
“Brackendon, I swear nothing is wrong. I actually feel great.”
The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions Page 17
