The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

“You lost another staff for it,” Cassandra said with relish. “That’s two gone.”

  “Be quiet!” He limped away from his creation, groaning and clutching at his side. “Have no fear, Cassandra. The Dragon’s Blade will more than make up for the loss. Or the Guardian’s Blade. Whichever dragon comes for me first. There will be enough concentrated energy in that Sink to bind the Blades to me. Your breaking one of my staffs won’t hold me back.” Yet from the way that Castallan held himself up, leaning heavily on his own staff for support, Cassandra knew that there was still hope.

  Castallan shuffled over to the great doors. “It is done,” he called, and the doors swung in. Red-eyed servants swarmed in, carrying baskets of bread and flagons of water. “Any word on Darnuir?” Castallan asked, taking a huge bite out of a steaming roll.

  “He and a contingent of other dragons were spotted entering the south-western passage, as expected, Your Majesty,” one of the food bearers said. “Forces have been placed between the walls as instructed. We also believe the other wizard is with them.”

  “Good,” Castallan said thickly, reaching for a second roll. “As expected. But I’d rather deal with one of them at a time. Harry them and separate the group, but ensure Darnuir makes it here. Kill the others if you can.”

  Darnuir – The tunnels of the Bastion

  “Which way?” Darnuir asked as they reached a crossroads within the tunnels.

  “Straight ahead takes you under the inner wall towards the tower,” said Blaine. “I’ll go left and come up between the walls.”

  “Praetorians with me,” Darnuir said. Brackendon had carried on without him. He didn’t want to leave Lira and the others behind so he pounded down the tunnel at an unenhanced pace, following the distant light of Brackendon’s staff.

  Before long, Brackendon disappeared upwards and his light dimmed. Darnuir tried to intensify the flames on the Dragon’s Blade to allow them to see. Yet, when he nudged the door to the Cascade the flow of energy did not increase. Rather than getting hotter and brighter, the flames on his sword guttered out. No, no, no…

  “Darnuir?” Lira said.

  “I can’t draw on the Cascade. It feels like nothing is there.” He tried throwing the door wide open but it had no effect. Where there should have been a well of power, there was nothing. Not one drop. His armour suddenly weighed double without the constant trickle of magic to help him carry it. His mouth felt dusty and his heart quickened in panic.

  “Darnuir?” Lira said again, more concerned. “Are you—”

  “Keep moving,” Darnuir said, forcing himself to keep the worry from his voice. “I made do without the Cascade for long enough. Stopping is not an option.”

  When they emerged from the passage, it was into a dank cell. There was a foul-smelling dampness, straw was strewn across the floor, and the grated cell door lay bent and ajar.

  “Brackendon?” Darnuir called, offering a hand to Lira to help her up.

  “I’m here,” Brackendon answered. Darnuir stepped out of the cell to find Brackendon leaning against the corridor wall near a torch bracket.

  “I cannot reach out to the Cascade,” Darnuir said.

  “I can barely feel it,” Brackendon said. “It is as though all the Cascade has been taken elsewhere… but it is still here… somewhere.” His eyes flicked upwards as though he could see through the stone.

  “Wait,” Darnuir called, but the wizard had already vanished up a staircase.

  “I don’t think he wants you to follow,” Lira said.

  “I know he doesn’t, but without the Cascade what can either of us do?” The rest of the Praetorians began filing out of the cell, clanking loudly in the quiet dungeon.

  “You’d never know there was a battle happening outside,” Lira said. “Down here we can hear nothing.”

  “Perhaps we ought to double back and aid Blaine in storming the walls?” Darnuir said, thinking aloud.

  “Darnuir, over here,” Raymond called. He’d done well to keep up and was now standing by a cell, bending low at the bars.

  “What is it?”

  “A prisoner,” Raymond said. “A dragon.”

  “How can you know that,” Lira asked, moving over. “Oh,” was all she added.

  Darnuir stepped over, conscious of time slipping by. Inside the cell was a figure slumped to his knees and bound with thick chains on his legs, arms, even neck. Around his neck was a block of wood, the word ‘dragon’ painted in dried blood. Whoever he was, he was thin, with wrinkles to mark his age.

  An old dragon, here at the Bastion. Darnuir had a mind as to who he was.

  “Get him out,” Darnuir said softly. Lira pulled at the cell door. It was a touch rusted and came free easily under her strength. Darnuir entered and crouched down. The dragon’s eyes were closed and his breath sounded ragged but at least that meant he was alive. “Chelos?” Darnuir said gently. There was no response. “Chelos?” Very carefully he rocked the dragon. “Chelos?”

  “Darnuir, what are you doing?” Lira asked. “We should not linger here.”

  “Chelos?” Darnuir asked. He knew it was the old dragon. He knew it.

  At last, with heavy drooping eyelids, the dragon blinked and looked at Darnuir. “Your eyes aren’t red,” he said blearily.

  “We’re here to end Castallan,” Darnuir said. “We’re dragons too. I am Darnuir.”

  “And I am, Chelos.” His words were laboured. “It is… it is… you look so similar. We owe thanks… thanks to N’weer.”

  “I should thank you,” Darnuir said. “For sending Cassandra to me. For warning us all about the invasion from the east.”

  “She’s back here,” Chelos mumbled.

  “I know,” Darnuir said. “That was my fault.”

  “Throne room,” Chelos said. “In the… in the throne room.”

  “I’ll get her out,” Darnuir said, but Chelos was already slipping out of consciousness. “Chelos? Chelos do you hear me?” But he was gone for the time being. Darnuir took hold of the Dragon’s Blade and hacked at the chains. Raymond darted in to catch Chelos in his arms.

  “Stay with him,” Darnuir said. “There are questions I have for him. I think Arkus will have a few as well. Don’t try moving him. He’s too fragile.”

  “Raymond can’t just stay here if we return to the battle,” Lira said.

  “We aren’t going outside,” Darnuir said. He made for the staircase Brackendon had taken.

  “No,” Lira said. Her tone was defiant, strong. Not her usual self.

  “No?” Darnuir said, turning to face her. The rest of the Praetorians hovered uncertainly. Lira hesitated for a moment but soldiered on.

  “You said it yourself. We should help the Lord Guardian. There is a war going on out there and you want us to fight through the tower for some girl?”

  She’s standing up to me. Not the same Lira I first met in Val’tarra.

  “You’d be right, Lira. You’d all be right to not follow me if it were just some human girl. But Cassandra is the daughter of Arkus and our relations with him are now at an all-time low. Chelos there is a part of the problem. Cassandra may be part of the solution. If I have any chance of mending relations with Arkus, I need to bring her safely to him. She’s too important to risk.”

  Lira stepped forwards, stopping between Darnuir and the Praetorians. “That’s not your only reason.” The accusation hung heavy between them.

  No, it isn’t my only reason.

  But he could not admit it to Lira nor his Guard. He’d failed Cassandra twice before, first at Aurisha when she was a baby and again at the Charred Vale. He’d failed her in other ways too, shameful ways. Instinct told him he was right on that. His guilt felt like a heavy stone in his gut. He’d been wrong but perhaps if he could get her out, perhaps if this time he did not fail, then he could begin to make it right.

  “When I said I mean to strengthen the bond between humans and dragons, I meant it. That dream now lies on a knife-edge. This is something I feel have to do an
d I ask that you do it with me.”

  He could tell Lira wasn’t convinced. She pressed her lips together in a thin line, but nodded all the same and drew her sword. Every Praetorian followed her lead and steel rang in the stony dungeon.

  Cassandra – Castallan’s Throne Room

  Cassandra still hung painfully on the far wall from Castallan. He was sitting on his throne, a heap of crumbs on his robes, and shattered glass at his feet from where he had dropped the water jugs. His groaning had only just subsided.

  Any moment now someone will come to fight him. Brackendon, Darnuir, Blaine, I don’t care who. Soon. Soon…

  The doors burst open and her heart raced, but it was only a red-eyed messenger. He bowed before Castallan and relayed word of the battle. Siege towers had made it to the wall. Fairies were targeting the catapults. Dragons had emerged from underground but were bogged down in a fight between the walls. Arkus’ soldiers were taking great care to bring up many barrels before one of the outer gates on the western wall.

  Castallan shooed him away with a flick of his hand. “I did not expect the walls to hold forever. Just long enough. Leave. Now.” The messenger did not need telling twice and scampered out, leaving the doors wide open.

  Any moment now.

  Were those footsteps she could hear? She was sure she could hear shouting. Was that why Castallan had gotten to his feet and marched down from his throne? The blue light of the Cascade Sink cast a long shadow of the wizard across the floor and picked out the new blackened streaks on his skin.

  The messenger returned. Only he did not return on foot. Through the air, he journeyed, before disappearing into the blue tear in the world. A red mist puffed up as he entered it. Castallan paid the man no mind. His gaze fixed on whoever was approaching.

  Brackendon entered the throne room.

  Cassandra almost cried. The best of the three had come.

  His sapphire robes matched the light of the Cascade Sink, and his greying hair was wild. Beads of sweat glistening on his brow and his chest rose and fell rapidly. Had he run here without magic? Cassandra wondered. Darnuir did not follow in behind Brackendon. Perhaps Castallan’s men had done their job well. She hoped not.

  “I know what happened,” Brackendon said. There was a strange sense of calm in his voice. “I know about the Inner Circle. What they did. I felt their anger first hand.”

  “So, you went back,” Castallan said.

  “I destroyed the tower.”

  “Then for that, I thank you.”

  “I am sorry. For what it’s worth.”

  “It’s too late now, isn’t it?” Castallan said, lowering his staff at Brackendon. “This fight was inevitable.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Brackendon said, rapping his own staff off the floor and pointing it at Castallan. The jewel-like wood was radiant in the blue glow. “A Cascade Sink. A good thing I can still draw on energy near the well.”

  “It’s not for your benefit,” Castallan said. “I never dreamed I would be forced to where I am. For what it’s worth, I am sorry too.”

  Then it began.

  Brackendon struck first, pushing himself to his right at speed and sending a ball of fire at the remaining staffs. Castallan sent his own to collide with it in mid-air. Before the cinders reached the floor, Brackendon had already appeared behind Castallan and lashed out with his staff. Castallan spun to counter it, the two staffs failing to hit each other due to some manipulation of the air. They duelled like swordsmen for a time, adding flourishes of fire, or violet and orange arcane energies when they saw an opening.

  This seemed a battle of stamina rather than force. Yet Brackendon looked to be increasingly on the defensive; pushing back rather than attacking himself. Castallan had the advantage. He was just that bit faster, his spells always a little stronger.

  Brackendon made for the staffs behind the throne again and very nearly destroyed one. He kept pressure on the staffs and Castallan was the one forced to react, barely keeping some strikes from landing. Then the platform of the throne began to shake. From the look of concentration on Brackendon’s face, it seemed he was trying to topple the chair. Castallan looked to be countering it, his face twisting in concentration as he spun his staff wildly in both hands. Neither won, but the platform did buckle, the throne jerked forward, and a couple of staffs were thrown from their holders.

  “Arrgh,” Brackendon cried as a spear of yellow-green energy sent him spinning. He landed close to Cassandra.

  “Don’t give in,” she cried out, not knowing if he would hear her. New white strands were appearing throughout his hair. The magic must already be taking its toll. By the throne, Castallan paused to recover, spitting to the floor.

  Brackendon rose. His right arm trembled and his knuckles turned white as he gripped his staff. He looked up to Cassandra. Blood streamed from his nose. Somehow, he still managed one of his chuckling smiles. He too relieved his mouth of a great gob of spittle, then returned to the fight.

  Blaine – Between the walls of the Bastion

  Blaine missed death through luck alone.

  A blue body fell onto his opponent moments before the red-eyed hunter would have gouged at his own face. Gasping for breath, Blaine plunged the Guardian’s Blade through the neck of his foe.

  He rose laboriously, feeling weaker than he had any memory of.

  The Cascade had abandoned him.

  No magic was flowing in at his call, even when he flung the door to it open. He had been unable to send up a beam of light to signal the Third Legion. Instead, Blaine and his Light Bearers were caught and surrounded.

  A Light Bearer went down beside him and Blaine took revenge at the human’s waist. The Guardian’s Blade bit through the chainmail with ease. At least his sword offered some advantage.

  Arrows clattered off his breastplate. Thwack-thunk.

  Sweat ran into his eyes and soaked him under his armour, which was now too heavy. Gods, but he had forgotten what it was to sweat. His muscles protested, his body longed for rest. He didn’t feel like the Guardian right now, just a dragon. It had been a very long time since he had felt like that.

  “Closer together,” he called. “Reform with shields. Push to the stairs.” Yet Blaine, who had never felt a need for a shield before, suddenly felt very exposed. Forced to huddle within the ranks of his Light Bearers, they edged along, backs to the wall.

  They must have expected this? Why else would Castallan divert troops from the walls? There had been no fear in them either, no sweetness. And now there was only the stench of the dying.

  Two more bodies fell from the wall above, landing amongst the Light Bearers with bone crunching thuds. One dragon; one human.

  “The Third will arrive soon,” Blaine yelled, desperately hoping they would. He clutched a hand over his pounding heart.

  Gods he was old.

  And afraid.

  Dwna, bless me? Dwl’or, grant me strength?

  Their shield wall kept the worst of the arrows off, but fresh defenders on foot were beginning to box them in, red eyes flashing all around, preventing them from reaching the stairs. It wasn’t far either – twenty paces at best. The humans might have been less armoured, but their numbers and compact bodies made it equally hard to find any openings. Blaine tried to thrust his sword out but was blocked each time, swatted away as though his strength was nothing to them.

  Then came the bang, and for the third time in recent months Blaine heard the explosive force of black powder, as though a door the size of a mountain had been slammed shut. Screaming followed, from both sides of the wall.

  The red-eyed humans nearby began to squirm. A panic took them, eyes darting to the source of the noise and cries came from among their ranks.

  “To the gate.”

  “They have broken through.”

  “Quickly. Quickly. To the gate.”

  Suddenly, the crushing weight pressing against Blaine and his Light Bearers lifted. Blaine had never thought he’d be glad that humans were coming
to his aid. He now had a chance.

  “Break ranks,” Blaine cried. “Cut them down.” Hacking at an opponent’s back had never seemed more appealing than it did now. “Up the stairs. To the wall.” It would probably be safer than down here.

  Though the explosion at the gate had distracted the humans in the courtyard, those still manning the inner wall were alert. Their arrows continued to fly.

  Thwack-thwack-ping.

  Only Blaine’s exceptional armour kept him alive. He kept his head bent low as he ascended the stairs, praying his gauntlet would stop a shaft from piercing his skull. It meant fighting one handed, another thing he was not used to. A red-eyed huntress nearly knocked him off balance when he blocked her strike. The shame of it alone nearly killed him. Yet, in her haste, she over-reached and Blaine struck at her knee with an armoured fist while she was wrong-footed. Bones crunched. She toppled off the stairs into the courtyard below.

  Blaine climbed upwards, slowing with every step. By the time he reached the top of the outer wall he thought his lungs would explode. Finding his footing amongst the bodies was the trickiest thing. Luckily, the defenders weren’t expecting an attack from behind.

  Blood sprayed into his face as he waded across the wall. A siege tower lay broken to his left, just short of the wall. Ahead another tower was being inched into position. At the wall’s edge, it paused, then the drawbridges, thickly spiked, crashed onto the parapets. Dragons spilt out of it, even as a thick ballista bolt sailed into the opening.

  Blaine locked eyes with his next opponent, some overgrown human with a blood-soaked beard. The man was feet away when a buzzing filled Blaine’s ears and a blue blur collided with the human, kicking him in the head. The man stumbled, fell to his knees and Fidelm finished him with a shove of his double-headed spear.

  “You seem breathless, Guardian,” Fidelm said. Blaine was so exhausted he could barely think.

  “Third,” he managed to say. “Where is… Third?”

  “The legion? You were to give the signal.”

  Blaine coughed, hacking away until something in his throat snapped. “Can’t,” he choked. “Go. In the wood. Tell them to come.”