The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  “Chelos?” Arkus said. “The name is familiar. You don’t mean that old steward of the Royal Tower in Aurisha?”

  “The very same,” Blaine said, peering intently over the maps again.

  “What’s he got to do with this?” Arkus asked. “You speak as if you know him.”

  “I do,” Blaine said. “Or, I did. It has been such a long time.”

  “So, you knew him,” Darnuir said. “That doesn’t explain much.”

  “Not in itself, but Chelos was once part of my order. He was a Light Bearer.”

  “Why would a Light Bearer have knowledge of secret passages within a human fortress?” Fidelm asked.

  “Why indeed?” said Arkus.

  All eyes were fixed on Blaine. Darnuir’s instincts screamed at him. Blaine was about to cause another row, a catastrophe. He felt the tension, like a long strained heartbeat before drawing swords. Arkus shouldn’t be here. But it was too late.

  “Because it was the Guardians who built those passages,” Blaine said.

  And so, the hammer falls, Darnuir thought.

  “Built them?” Arkus said, his voice suddenly high and rasping. “Built them? The Guardians. Built them?” he repeated, as though he had forgotten the meaning of words. “How?” He ended, more coarsely.

  “The Bastion was built in the wake of the Second War,” Blaine said.

  “I know that,” Arkus said. “The Dragon King himself helped construct it. A measure to guard against future aggression from his own people. Dronithir was ever the greatest of your kind.”

  “Norbanus felt otherwise,” said Blaine.

  “Norbanus remained Guardian?” asked Darnuir incredulously. “After the disaster of the Battle of the Bogs? After Dronithir defeated him?”

  “Yes, the Guardian’s Blade must be passed on. Norbanus held on for a time,” Blaine said. “I told you, Darnuir, that I thought Norbanus to be over zealous. Well, this might be the one thing he actually did right.”

  “Did right?” Arkus said, turning a shade of red, much like the head on the Dragon’s Blade. Fidelm’s face was unreadable. As smooth and unyielding as the very walls they were about to assault. His eyes were cast downwards, as though he hoped the earth might offer him some guidance. The only movement he made was a light, nervous fluttering of his wings.

  Darnuir wasn’t sure what he felt. A part of him, the boy that had grown up the hunter, felt betrayed by the news. The older dragon felt satisfied, as though a very fine meal had just been eaten. His confusion led to a loss for words and Arkus looked at him accusingly, seemingly taking Darnuir’s silence as acquiescence to the revelation.

  “Norbanus had Light Bearers infiltrate the build,” Blaine went on. “Working in secret, placing measures by which the fortress might easily be taken should the need arise. That’s why the passages won’t show on any plans you possess.”

  Darnuir closed his eyes but he wanted to cover his ears.

  Stop Blaine. Just stop. Please. Stop, stop, stop…

  “It was a secret kept even from the King,” Blaine said. “Darnuir did not know this Arkus. Only I alone, through memories passed down to me.”

  Arkus seemed to have lost the capacity to speak as well. He leant his full weight upon the war table, rocking on the balls of his feet, eyes closed, and breathing heavily as if breathless. He let out a few choked sounds that might have been laughter; an unnerving mixture of hysteria and fury.

  “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” said Blaine.

  After a dangerously long pause, Arkus found his voice. “I do not feel as shocked as I ought to be. Betrayed? No not quite that, for it was neither of you who did this. It is a surprise and yet it is inevitable, isn’t it? And just when I dared to hope we might be able to work openly together.”

  “Arkus, please,” Darnuir said. “You said it yourself. This crime was not committed by any here. I swear I would never condone such a thing.”

  “As awful as this news is, it has at least worked out favourably,” said Fidelm.

  Darnuir cringed.

  “Favourably,” Arkus repeated. “True. A good thing that humanity never angered the dragons enough again to cause another war. A good thing we had no need to rely on a fortress we thought would help protect us. A good thing, then, that humanity never stepped out of line.”

  “Arkus—” Darnuir tried to say.

  “Enough,” Arkus snapped, rising as quickly as he had spat out his words. “I’ll still supply the powder to blow through the gates, if that’s possible. After we are finished here you can take my fleets to the Splinters and then eastwards to your Golden City. I want you gone from my lands – all of you. And know this, you will never set foot in my own city again.” And with that, Arkus was gone. He did not even stay to see where Blaine had finished marking the tunnels upon the maps.

  “Why, Blaine?” Darnuir asked.

  “A siege is out of the question,” Blaine said, “and I will not waste lives through assaulting the walls alone. The passages are small though, so we can only pass so many troops through at a time.”

  Darnuir nodded.

  “I did try to speak to you,” said Blaine. “Maybe now you will listen to me in the future?”

  “Don’t use this as some lesson. You’ve caused irreparable harm.”

  “Arkus will calm down,” said Blaine.

  Darnuir couldn’t tell whether Blaine truly believed that. “This news changes things,” said Darnuir. “If we have access to the citadel tower then Brackendon will have a clear shot at Castallan. I will accompany him along with my Praetorians.”

  “Allow me to accompany you with my best warriors,” Fidelm said.

  “No, General. If only because I require a trustworthy commander to watch over the assault,” Darnuir said pointedly.

  “Must you venture inside, Darnuir?” Blaine droned on. “Let the wizards fight it out. It would not be wise in your current state.”

  A part of Darnuir yearned to duel Blaine again, then and there. Blaine had just cost him a deal of diplomacy and he was feeling too strained to care what the Guardian thought right now.

  “I helped to create this mess,” said Darnuir. “It seems only right that I help end it. Castallan won’t be expecting Brackendon to show up in the midst of battle, and I can help get him there.”

  “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?”

  “I’m going,” Darnuir said.

  Blaine grimaced. “On your head, be it. I shall emerge between the walls with the Third. My Light Bearers are ready.”

  Naturally. You probably told them all of this before you told me, Blaine. No more secrets I said. No more…

  “By nightfall it will be over,” Darnuir said, already feeling fatigued. “One way or another.”

  Darnuir was the first to leave. A darker sky greeted them, the brighter morning having disappeared behind tendrils of ashen clouds, stretching across the sky like grey veins. The wind had picked up from the north, rolling in force from the ocean. It felt unnatural.

  Blaine walked off without looking back at Darnuir or Fidelm.

  “A shame,” Fidelm said, pausing at the tent’s entrance. “Not ideal conditions for flyers to do battle in. At least the wind is not blowing from the east against our path.” He started to move but Darnuir caught the fairy’s arm.

  “If I may ask a favour of you?”

  “I am listening,” said Fidelm.

  “Both your eyes will be busy on the battle, but if you can ever spare one, look out for Balack for me, if you can? I’d see him make it through this if I could. I must still make amends.”

  “I will do what I can,” Fidelm said, bowing his head graciously. “We all need the ties of friends in this world. Even kings.” And the fairy left Darnuir alone or as alone as one could be when Praetorians were within a few paces.

  Horns began to blow, some sharp, some echoing, some distant; and the drums began to beat. The human army was stirring. At a high price, dragons and fairies would win the walls for them,
but Darnuir figured the dragons had a debt to pay, even if most of humanity would never know it.

  I have debts to pay as well, to Cassandra, to Balack. I’ll need to win back some sorely needed favour with Arkus, if that is even possible.

  For all their sakes, a bridge had to be built between the two races. If only Blaine could see that. If only it were not up to Darnuir alone to pursue such a dream. It seemed harder than ever; especially here, as they prepared to spill the blood of the Southern Dales.

  A flicker of fear spread through Darnuir that it might be impossible.

  Chapter 14

  THE BREAKING OF THE BASTION: PART 2

  Dragons won the First War, and the Second was something of a stalemate. Would humanity rise in a Third to become the new world power?

  From Tiviar’s Histories.

  Brackendon – Outside the Bastion

  BRACKENDON HEARD THE horns and the drums, and knew it was time. The defenders of the Bastion answered in kind, roaring the infamous hunter song.

  “The wolf may howl, the bear will growl,

  And our arrows shall sing.”

  The combined army of the Three Races began to stir. Brackendon felt the vibrations pulse under foot. There was another kind of tremor in the air, though this one felt like the Cascade. It wasn’t faint either, but a fierce tide of energy moving unseen towards the Bastion.

  “What is it?” Kymethra asked.

  “I’m not sure,” said Brackendon. “Though it is Castallan’s work.”

  “What is?” asked a battle ready Balack, armed with a fat quiver, sword, two side knives and swinging his bow over one shoulder.

  “Something for me to worry about,” Brackendon said. “You keep your keen eyes on those walls.”

  “Is he making the weather turn as well?” Balack said, pointing upwards to the swirling sky.

  For leagues around there was the sun and peace of a fine late summer’s morning; however, near the fortress itself the world might have been ending. Ashen clouds coalesced towards the tip of the Bastion’s inner tower. Wind buffeted Brackendon. Thunder cracked, and unnatural claws of green light descended towards the citadel tower, lingering for seconds at a time.

  “This is the twisted work of the Cascade,” said Brackendon. “Though to what end I do not know.” He shared a look with Kymethra. It was the madness of the Conclave tower, magnified and brought to the battlefield.

  No one should be capable of this. This must end.

  “Well we have no choice but to face it head on,” said Balack. “This is where Castallan answers for Cold Point, for Grace, for Cosmo and for Eve.” He extended an arm. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

  Brackendon took the proffered arm. “Make sure you live through this.”

  “You as well,” said Balack, moving to give Kymethra a quick hug.

  I’m afraid I can’t promise that.

  The chanting of the defenders grew even louder.

  “Still we as men can counter them,

  A dragon dies the same.

  When arrows fly, the wild beasts die,

  A dragon dies the same.”

  Balack let a deep breath loose then drew in another one. “I better go. Looks like you’re needed elsewhere,” he added, nodding at something behind Brackendon.

  Brackendon turned to find Darnuir, Lira and their Praetorians all assembled. Each dragon wore their plate armour, though with pieces strategically removed to be more agile, like a hunter. They bore two swords each – one regular and one shorter one for shield work, except for Darnuir who carried only the Dragon’s Blade and wore his heavy starium reinforced armour. Darnuir’s expression was akin to that carved dragon draped across his shoulders.

  “You have need of me?” Brackendon asked.

  “Blaine knows where the tunnels are,” Darnuir said.

  Brackendon was sure Darnuir threw a glance to Balack as his old friend headed for the assembling army. He wondered whether Darnuir would say anything, call out perhaps, but no, he did not. Instead, the King of Dragons looked back to Brackendon. “Come. Let us take this wizard by surprise for a change.”

  “Go,” Brackendon said. “I shall only be a moment.”

  Darnuir glanced to Kymethra. “One moment,” he said before leaving them.

  “So, you’ll be out here?” Brackendon asked her, once they were alone.

  “I’ll be flying high to relay information.”

  “There’s no such thing as high enough,” he said, stepping in to hug her. “You hear me? You can’t fly high enough.” He buried his face in her hair. He did not want to let go. Eventually, she gently pushed him away.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said and kissed him. It was a long kiss, the longest they’d ever shared. But it ended, as it had to.

  “I’ll find you the moment it’s over,” Brackendon said. Kymethra nodded, her lower lip struggling to stay still.

  “Just don’t age too much alright? The grey hair is enough.” She stepped back from him and shifting into her eagle form. She perched briefly upon his arm, skilfully avoided sinking her talons into him, and nibbled affectionately at his blackened finger before taking off into the dreadful sky. Brackendon watched her soar off; then, tightening his grip upon his staff, he set off after Darnuir.

  Brackendon joined them south of the Three Races’ army, by the edge of the small forest, which had recently been harvested for siege weapons. The Third legion was hidden amongst the trees, ready to follow into the tunnel when Blaine gave his signal. The Guardian himself was moving across the ground, tapping his feet on various spots as he went.

  The assault of the Bastion began. Drums beat louder. Horns blew harder. The bellow of the defenders rose to match the howl of the sea and wind.

  With its unique shape, the Bastion was difficult to approach. The sharp angle of the western wall split the advancing army like the bow of a ship cutting a wave. Arrows hailed down from the Bastion. Catapults sent stone crashing against the plated siege towers; some denting them, some smashing sections of the towers clean away, taking golden bodies with them. Angling the towers to align with the Bastion’s walls was the most dangerous, leaving them more vulnerable as they tried to turn. On the ground, and in the trenches, dragons made their way towards the base of the walls, shields raised against the arrow storm. But there was no respite. Hunters and longbow men atop the siege towers let loose their own arrows but their efforts were akin to pushing against a waterfall.

  Brackendon ripped his gaze away from the brewing battle. “Remember, Darnuir, you leave—”

  “Castallan to you, yes,” said Darnuir. “Let us play our part at least. Are you nervous, Lira?”

  “A little,” Lira said. “Though I’m glad to finally fight alongside you.”

  “I’m glad to have you at my side,” Darnuir said. “All of you,” he added more loudly.

  “It is here,” Blaine called.

  “Open it then,” Darnuir said running over. The two dragons stamped on the soil until there came a great crack and the ground gave way underfoot. Both fell with the broken door and Light Bearers and Praetorians rushed over to the breach. Brackendon reached the hole first, moving faster than they could hope to.

  He savoured the rush down his arm, that oh so wonderful rush.

  He jumped down into the tunnel between Darnuir and Blaine who were still half crouched from the fall. It was pitch black ahead. Only the broken entranceway behind let in dim half-light from the corrupted world outside. The eyes of the dragons flared like cats in the darkness. Brackendon was about to light his staff when a pale beam was cast from his right. On his left a warmer glow crackled into life as Darnuir set a flame licking up the Dragon’s Blade. Brackendon added his own light and they began to run.

  Cassandra – The Bastion – Castallan’s Throne Room

  Cassandra’s limbs had never ached more than now as she hung from this wall. Not even when she had spent entire days in the crawlspaces of the Bastion; not even when she had stumbled half-dead into the Bor
eac Mountains. The bonds at her ankles and wrists were biting and her neck screamed in protest. Somehow, she had gone deaf as well, though she was sure that was due to whatever Castallan had done.

  The wizard had ripped a hole in the world. That was the only way she could conceive of it. Thankfully, he had done it far away from her, up near the throne: a gaping tear hanging in the very air. She could see nothing on the other side, only blackness. Yet it seemed more than just darkness. It was as if nothing existed within it. Castallan was standing close by it, his shoulders hunched, and his arms shaking terribly with the effort. She saw his entire right hand begin to darken, a few fingers burning black like Brackendon’s. It crept up as far as his neck and then to his ear.

  “What are you doing?” she cried, though she could barely hear herself.

  Castallan didn’t acknowledge her. He stood bent over, frozen in place for perhaps half a minute, his robes fraying at the edges. He started moving towards the chasm he had created, as though it were sucking him in. Even the staffs began to tremble in their holders, and she swore she saw the closest one edge a little out of its grip.

  “Stop it,” she screamed. It felt like her head was under water.

  Then, something wonderful happened. Another one of Castallan’s staffs, the closest one, flew out of its bracket, nearly hitting the wizard as it entered the dark tear in the world. A good chunk of the staff remained behind, broken and useless.

  Castallan’s cry of anger sounded distant until, with a painful pop in her ears, her full hearing returned. Castallan’s wail reverberated around the throne room, and a deep blue light shone out from the hole in the world. There was something on the other side now; a bubbling, blue substance hanging in the air. Castallan drew himself back up, his chest heaving. His hair and stubble around his blackened ear was singed.

  “What have you done?” Cassandra asked.

  “I have created a Cascade Sink,” Castallan rasped. “I’m drawing all magic for miles around to it.”