The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  “Settle down, Princess,” Freya snapped. Cassandra could hardly believe her luck. She was standing right beside the staffs. Yet she could not move closer for Freya held her in place by the ankle. When her red eyes looked up to Cassandra, the message was clear: not one move. At least from here Cassandra could see Chelos, forced down on his knees with shackles on his wrists.

  “Too much power,” Chelos said. “So much you delude yourself into thinking you can kill a god. None will be able to defeat Rectar save those with the grace of Dwna, Dwl’or and N’weer.” Chelos met Cassandra’s eye then and her heart seized up.

  I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. She tried to tell him this through her stare.

  Castallan followed Chelos’ gaze and his mouth twitched when he saw Cassandra behind him. “She is back Chelos and she knows who she is.”

  Chelos did not break his gaze with Cassandra. He looked to have aged greatly in the time she had been away. The crinkles of his face had deepened and an angry bruise was now spreading across his cheek, but that did not stop him breaking into a smile when he saw her. She saw him mouth out, “Hello, my girl.”

  “I shall make you a deal, Chelos,” Castallan said. “If you, perhaps the eldest of your kind, can admit fault just this once, then I shall be merciful on your people.”

  “I am not the oldest of my race,” Chelos said. “And you will not defeat the Shadow.”

  “You see,” Castallan said. “Even on their knees, dragons will not bend; afraid of change and terrified of losing their power. Even when my intentions have always been for the good of all of Tenalp.”

  A loud mumbling of agreement swept the room once more.

  Chelos finally broke his gaze with Cassandra to glare at Castallan. He drew himself up as far as he could, defiant. “Kill me or send me back to my cell. I will await the true king there, and pray you all dare to get in his way. For it will be the last thing you ever do.”

  The crowd was now close to pandemonium. There were cries for blood, cries of disbelief, taunts, even laughter. Cassandra felt the tight hand on her ankle disappear as Freya moved forwards to add her own insult to the tirade. Chelos received another blow to the face and Cassandra winced, turning away. Her head almost collided with the tip of one of the silver staffs and there she saw a weak point. The wood was thinner near the top of the shaft where Castallan had taken a cutting.

  This would be her only chance.

  She slipped a hand down underneath her leathers for the dagger. Retrieving it wasn’t as easy as she hoped, but she wiggled it free, cutting her chin as her hand jerked upwards.

  Everyone else was still occupied. Castallan was forcing his way through the crowd to reach Chelos.

  “Leave him,” Castallan was saying, amplifying his voice, yet it had no effect on the crowd.

  Cassandra took a deep breath, grasped the staff in one hand to brace herself and brought the knife down upon the weakened segment of wood. One blow did little, the second sent up silver splinters. She hacked again, with all the might she possessed, feeling her shoulder pang with the effort. Three, four, five times she swung until, with a crack, the staff gave way. The gnarled head of it crashed to the platform and rolled, bouncing down each step. She watched it go, her heart racing so fast she thought it would burst.

  Instantly, the atmosphere in the throne room changed. A deep booming emanated from Castallan, throwing the attendees into silence. The room darkened almost to blackness and the heat dropped to a chill. Desperately, Cassandra raised her arm again, targeting another staff, but she was lifted high into the air before her stroke could fall. She flew, soaring to slam high up against the far away wall. Steel cuffs appeared to bind her and she looked out across the crowd, as a sea of red eyes glared up at her through the dark.

  Blaine – Outside the Bastion

  Back in his tent, Blaine held the white gem in his palm. The weight of the memories within it threatened to drag him down. He’d got what he needed from it, so placed it back into the hilt of the Guardian’s Blade with a satisfying click.

  Perhaps that black powder would be enough to win the day, and there would be no need for Blaine to speak up. But he couldn’t waste lives for the sake of holding his tongue, nor did he wish for Arkus and Darnuir to feel validated by using it.

  Thankfully, he could always rely on hot water being delivered to him each day, and as expected, his tent flap was pushed aside by two young dragons; one carrying a steaming bowl, the other a scrap of parchment.

  “Dwna bless you Lord Guardian,” they said.

  “Dwna shine upon you both,” Blaine said.

  “We came earlier but you were not here,” said one of the boys. “The water would have been cold.”

  “Then I am grateful you returned. That will be all.”

  By the mirror, the water boy looked unsure. “Lord Guardian, I wonder sir, if I may ask wisdom of you.”

  “You may,” Blaine said, intrigued. “Though I shouldn’t tarry. I am already late for Dwna’s service.”

  “It is about the sermons, Lord Guardian,” said the boy.

  “Oh?”

  “You often speak of fighting the Shadow,” the boy said, “but here we are fighting humans. Will the gods condone this?”

  Blaine rubbed his chin thoughtfully, feeling the rough bristles. “Such questions are difficult to answer. Yet I have done you all a disservice by not addressing it. I shall rectify this shortly.”

  “Will you fight today, Lord Guardian?” asked the water boy. “Brother Bacchus says the battle will come soon.”

  “Does he? Well, it likely will.”

  “We only wish we could do more. My brother and I.”

  “One day you shall. Do your duty, keep to your training in the Way of Light, and you shall both be Light Bearers one day.”

  The boys beamed. “Thank you, Lord Guardian,” they said together, then left Blaine alone.

  He moved to the steaming bowl and examined himself in the mirror.

  I look a damned mess.

  The hazy dawn through the tent’s flap lit the blond dusting across his face. His sunken eyes had not quite recovered from his duel with Darnuir. They looked greyer than usual, the amber less bright

  He unwrapped the cloth around the shaving tools and instinctively picked up the razor with the blue pearl handle, even though it no longer brought the joy it once had. He could not help hear Kasselle’s voice each time he held it, with every stroke of the blade, “I don’t think you should come back.”

  His fingers felt weak as he placed the razor back down. Thankfully, the hot water was reviving when he splashed his face. He dabbed his face dry then stared at himself again in the mirror.

  You are old. Might be you’re too old, Blaine. But you must go on.

  Once he reached the sermon tent, his spirits rose. His audience had swelled greatly since their time in the Golden Crescent. Though Light Bearers held service across the legions, many dragons chose to make the trip to hear Blaine himself. Fresh banners with the symbols of the gods had been made: the three emanating rays of Dwna; the half-seared sun of Dwl’or; and the three spiralling rays of N’weer. These banners adorned the space behind the dais, which now shone with a daily polish.

  Then his mood darkened in an instant.

  Someone was already standing behind the dais.

  “My friends, we prepare for battle this day,” Bacchus proclaimed. “It is a good omen that the morning light is clear and warm.”

  “Dwna shines upon us,” the congregation said as one. They were answering him; saying the words just like they would with Blaine. He stood dumbfounded. And furious.

  “I know some of you question our actions here,” Bacchus continued. His voice was different than usual: a smooth, calming, honeyed voice that could convince a queen to marry a beggar. “These are humans we fight today, not the Shadow. Yet as the grace of Dwl’or is always half shrouded, so too is the service that we must make unclear at times. Rarely are matters so clean cut.”

  Bl
aine was astounded. He couldn’t have put it much better himself. When Bacchus looked at the audience they looked back, locked eyes. And they were listening so closely. Bacchus was addressing concerns that had taken two bold water boys to bring to Blaine’s attention.

  I’ve been too distracted lately.

  A member of the congregation spoke up. “Dragons lost the Second War. The gods did not shine on us then. What if the same occurs again?”

  There was mumbling around the tent.

  “Those red-eyed beasts seek to kill us,” someone else noted. “Would we need more reason?”

  A louder chatter of agreement followed.

  “There is a clear difference,” said Blaine, finding his voice at last. “Our predecessors wrongly thought humanity to be of the Shadow, as we are of the Light. This is not so. Humanity is neither Light nor Shadow, favoured by no side. We have not lost sight of the real threat.”

  He made his way to the dais to take his proper place. Bacchus held his ground for a second before stepping aside.

  “Dwl’or also shows us that there are two paths in life,” Blaine said. “One of Light and one of Shadow. Though every dragon is born under Dwna’s blessing, the gods know that some are led astray; taken by the allure of the Shadow. Dranus was one such dragon. He turned his back on the gods and took his Black Dragons down the other path.” Blaine paused, noticing that the congregation were looking to Bacchus, as though for a second opinion.

  Bacchus looked nervously at Blaine then turned to face them. “I believe we have reached a pivotal moment in our history. N’weer shows us that all things can be restored. Our king was reborn. I foresee our connection to the gods being repaired as well if we can defeat Rectar, and all who stand within the long shadow he has cast across our world. Inside this Bastion hides a wizard and humans corrupted by our enemy. It is our duty to cleanse them.”

  “Then Dwl’or grant us strength,” a call came out.

  “Dwl’or grant us strength,” the assembled dragons said together.

  “Thank you, friends,” Blaine said, hoping to regain control. “Prepare yourselves and steel against your fears. Dwna shine upon you all.” As the congregation began to rise Blaine rounded on Bacchus. “What part of ‘a one-time thing’ didn’t you understand?”

  “You were late, Lord Guardian,” Bacchus said. “And those gathered looked worried. I thought you might be—”

  “You thought wrong, didn’t you,” said Blaine. “When have I ever missed a sermon?”

  “I only thought, with the battle so near, you might be in council with the King.”

  Blaine scowled. “Do not presume to take my place unless instructed. Is that clear.”

  “Quite.”

  “Good. Now go prepare yourself for battle while I go see our blessed reborn King.”

  Darnuir – Outside the Bastion – Three Races’ Central Command Tent

  Darnuir’s agitation was reaching new heights. He puffed an angry breath through his nose and saw it steam in the crisp morning air. It seemed the full heat of summer was already passing.

  “We are getting nowhere with this,” Arkus said, standing safely on the opposite side of the sweeping war table. “This passage may well exist but we should focus our efforts on the assault.”

  “What say you, Somerled?” Darnuir asked. “This passage is our one best chance at securing victory.” Lord Imar replied with a cold expression.

  “Well, yer right about that. But for once I agree with my liege lord.”

  “Your king,” Arkus reminded him curtly.

  “Hmmm,” Somerled said. “Might be King. Though I don’t see any other Great Lords here, almost as if they ’av tae obey ye without question. Or they’re over the other side of those terribly high walls I suppose.”

  “Not for much longer,” said Darnuir.

  “It’s been long enough,” said Somerled. “Two weeks it took us tae get here and almost another one preparing. Meanwhile, the demons continue to smash my own people, and are likely to be at Dalridia itself by now. You two kings have argued plenty about how tae storm this place. I agree with Arkus, nae mer time can be spared.”

  Off to Darnuir’s right, Fidelm’s wings buzzed briefly. The General had largely stayed silent on the issue, while Brackendon and Kymethra lingered at the edge of Darnuir’s vision, contributing little.

  “You are right,” Darnuir said, looking to Somerled. “We cannot stay any longer. The Bastion must fall today. Though I shudder at what it will cost us.”

  “It was not designed to fall,” said Arkus. “Even with a dozen trebuchets the outer wall may not give and then there is a second behind it.

  “So, we shall use your stores of black powder,” said Darnuir. “The Bastion was not designed with such a weapon in mind. Our trenches have at least crept towards the base of the western walls. Sapping teams could begin tunnelling within the day. We could mine down, use the powder, and destabilise the foundations.”

  Arkus was shaking his head. “The walls are too thick,” he said tapping at the dimensions on the unfurled plans. “We’d need our sapping teams to burn every pig in the Kingdom to level those walls.”

  Darnuir scanned the blueprints again and then it hit him. He cursed himself for a fool to not have thought of it sooner. “We could blow a gate or two open. As mighty as they are, they will be the weakest points along the walls.”

  “Just the gates, you say,” Arkus said, pressing his knuckles down on the table. “We could do that.”

  Finally, we are getting somewhere.

  “We still have a serious consideration,” Fidelm said. “Whether the gates are blown open or not, we will likely lose a great deal of troops in the initial waves. Which race is to bear the brunt of the attack?”

  Silence reigned.

  “I fear there is little either myself or Kymethra can add on this,” Brackendon said. “I should like a walk before it begins.”

  “Of course,” Darnuir said. He didn’t begrudge Brackendon. Everything would ultimately hinge on his success. “I’ll come find you,” Darnuir called after them as Brackendon and Kymethra exited the pavilion.

  “Well?” asked Fidelm.

  “An equal split between the races seems the fairest option, in my eyes,” Somerled said. “But as my own people are not part of this army, I feel I too should bow out at this time.”

  “Very well,” Darnuir said. Some minutes passed in awkward silence. Neither Fidelm nor Arkus seemed eager to send their troops first into the jaws of the Bastion’s defences.

  “Dragons would surely be the most capable of fighting these servants of Castallan,” Arkus finally said, a little cautiously. Darnuir sighed though he wasn’t surprised to hear it. Sending humans to scale the walls would only lead to a massacre.

  “You are right,” Darnuir agreed. Arkus looked at him in shock. “Yet, I fear, I cannot only use dragons in this battle, else my people may not understand the point in this alliance.”

  “The old ways are not entirely forgotten,” Arkus said. “With packed spear formations and many archers, we will fare well enough given space.”

  Darnuir knew of these capabilities all too well. He’d watched what had befallen dragons when they did not treat humans seriously. Caught in the bogs, he thought, remembering vividly the memory Blaine had shown him. Caught in the bogs… waist deep in mud and bloody water.

  “If the gates can be taken, then your spears could push in,” Darnuir said.

  Arkus nodded. “Open the way and humanity will take back what is ours.”

  “As your people will deserve for their efforts,” Darnuir said, finding a smile tugging at this mouth. They were actually agreeing and it didn’t seem forced.

  “I shall direct my flyers against the catapult crews as a priority,” Fidelm said. “But archers on both sides will make our work perilous.”

  “Enemy archers on the outer wall should thin out once our siege towers gain a footing,” Darnuir said. “Then, once the dragons and I have cleared a path, I suggest
we bring up hunters to begin thinning out their ranks on the inner wall. Perhaps a company of Chevaliers could join the dragons as well at that point?”

  “My White Seven are always telling me of their prowess,” Arkus said. “I’m sure they will relish the chance to prove it.” He ended on a low, satisfied laugh that barely escaped his lips, as though enjoying some private joke. Then Arkus nodded, seeming content. Fidelm nodded as well, cracked his knuckles and stretched his wings as though flexing.

  “This will be a hard-earned victory,” Darnuir said, heart swelling in anticipation for the coming battle. “But if we use the best of each race I’m certain we will achieve it.”

  “I fear many will die in taking this place,” said Fidelm.

  “There will be no need for any slaughter,” Blaine said solemnly, entering the pavilion with a heavy stride.

  “And why is that?” Darnuir said. “Your input isn’t required here, Blaine.”

  “Lives will be lost,” Blaine said, ignoring Darnuir. “Yet fewer will die if we use the tunnels to infiltrate the fortress.”

  “We can’t,” Darnuir said, agitated. “We’ve dug up half the land near the woods that Cassandra described exiting from to no avail. It was always a long shot. Only Cassandra would have been able to find the entrance.” Blaine didn’t seem to hear Darnuir. He drifted over to the table and began shifting amongst the maps and blueprints.

  “The tunnels are not shown on those,” Arkus said, sounding both confused and concerned.

  “I’ll need a quill and ink,” Blaine said to no one in particular. Darnuir wasn’t sure whether to be more annoyed or worried by Blaine. It would be poor timing for Blaine to have lost his wits or taken ill. But Blaine cannot get ill, can he?

  “What do you need ink for?” Darnuir asked.

  “Did you never ask Cassandra how she found out about the passageways?”

  “I did,” Darnuir said, gently. “Her carer told her about them. Chelos, his name was.”

  “And how do you think Chelos knew of them?” asked Blaine, looking relieved as he spotted what he desired at the other end of the war table and moved to take them. When he returned, he dipped the quill tip into the dark liquid.