“Cassandra, yes?” Arkus said eagerly. “Of course, you look so much like… I — well I would have hoped to meet under better circumstances.” He stepped gingerly towards her, all his regal bearing vanishing. Arkus opened his arms, offering a hug. Cassandra reacted by taking a quick step back, nearly knocking into Lira. Arkus’ face fell.
Cassandra steadied herself but crossed her arms. “It’s been twenty years. Sorry if I don’t rush to embrace you. I need… time.”
“Yes – yes, I understand,” Arkus said. He let his arms drop to his side. “I have arranged a private tent for you, and a hot bath and food can be arranged at once. Would that be agreeable, for now?”
“That would be welcome,” Cassandra said. She didn’t give Darnuir a backwards glance as she left with the Chevaliers. He watched her go, his heart slowing even further, until he thought it might stop altogether.
The next morning, Darnuir sat at Brackendon’s bedside. Tucked under layers of warm blankets, the wizard looked like an oversized and swaddled baby.
“Is there anything that can be done?” Darnuir asked.
“No,” Kymethra sniffed, stroking a finger through what remained of Brackendon’s white hair.
“Mmbghm,” Brackendon mumbled. Kymethra sniffed again and wiped away another tear. Darnuir had never seen someone cry for so long.
“He recovered once,” Darnuir said, trying to be hopeful.
“And that took so long,” said Kymethra. Neither of them spoke for a while. Darnuir took Brackendon’s blackened hand in his own, knowing it would be a long time before he saw the wizard again.
“What happened at the Conclave?” Darnuir asked.
“Nothing that matters anymore. If you must know, we discovered that Castallan hadn’t set out to destroy the Conclave. He had loyal supporters even then and wanted to help humanity fight Rectar through his magic. But the Inner Circle were worried what the dragons would make of humans enchanting themselves and things got ugly. Had the Inner Circle not reacted so rashly, perhaps things would have been — would have been, been…” she choked, hiccupped and took a second to recover. “But it’s over now.”
“Will you try to rebuild?”
“No,” Kymethra said firmly. “Brackendon wanted it to end, whether he made it or not. Look what happens when one wizard gains too much power. You will destroy his staff as well. Promise me.”
Darnuir looked to the gleaming silver staff by Brackendon’s side. “Will it not help him recover?”
“No. When you break, your body is passed the point of flushing the poison out,” Kymethra said. “Just burn it. I don’t care.”
“It’s an important artefact of the fairies, Kymethra. I’m not sure if I can simply—”
“Burn the staff,” came the reassuring voice of Fidelm. The General stood at the entrance flap of the tent, looking too tall to be there. His hair was chopped unevenly and there was a heavy bandage around one hand. It was hard to tell with transparent wings, but Darnuir thought Fidelm’s might have suffered a cut at the edges.
“The Core of the Argent Tree is important to my people. Yet, for millennia, it lay untouched and unseen, kept where only the Queen may visit. No one will miss it and Kasselle will understand.”
“Are you sure?” Darnuir said.
“I’d rather there was another way,” said Fidelm. “But my people wish to create, while these staffs are capable of much destruction. This will not go beyond myself or Kasselle back in Val’tarra.”
“And when a new queen one day reigns?” Darnuir asked.
“A worry for another time,” Fidelm said. “But I didn’t come here to talk about staffs. Kymethra, I’d like to give this to Brackendon.” From beneath his tunic, Fidelm fished up a piece of silver bark, fashioned into the shape of an acorn and looped around his neck by an old piece of twine.
“I can’t let you give your life broach,” Kymethra said.
“What is it?” Darnuir asked.
“A simple thing,” Fidelm said, moving to Brackendon’s side and tying the bark around his neck. “A cutting from the first tree my mother saved as an arborist. All fairy children are given one by the closest relative who tends the trees. It is said to foster good health.”
“But it was from your mother,” Kymethra said.
“My mother is long dead,” Fidelm said. “And it is only a piece of bark, though I was always a healthy child. Let’s see if it has some power. If I ever desire it back, I’ll know where to find it.”
“That is very kind,” Kymethra said.
“We’ll give you space,” Darnuir said. “Goodbye for now, Kymethra.”
“Goodbye,” she said, though she only had eyes for Brackendon.
Darnuir took Brackendon’s staff and left with Fidelm. When they emerged from Brackendon’s tent the daylight near blinded Darnuir. His head still felt like it was made of iron, and no matter how much water he drank, he could not rid himself of the bitterness. What had happened when Castallan had tried to take the Dragon’s Blade terrified him. He could only remember flashes, but he remembered the feel of all that Cascade energy, as though his blood had turned to magic. And he remembered the noise that had come from his own throat: that deep, bone-chilling roar.
He rubbed his eyes to stave off the light, his tiredness and his grief.
“He didn’t deserve this,” Lira said. A green and purple bruise coloured her left temple.
“We all mourn his loss, Lord Darnuir,” Raymond said and the handful of other Praetorians with them nodded in a silent vigil.
“This was his fight to win,” Darnuir said. “He gave everything. Now the fight is ours. All of ours.” He raised Brackendon’s staff – taking in its dazzling, diamond-like quality one last time – and then tossed it to the ground.
“I assume your Guard can be trusted not to tell the world what we’re about to do?” Fidelm asked.
“I trust each one like I once did my hunter brothers and sisters,” Darnuir said, and Fidelm nodded, content. “Is there anything you would like to say, Fidelm?”
“There is little to say, but each fairy is born into a role, and we serve our purpose. This piece of our people was crafted for a role and has served its purpose. It is a fitting end.”
Darnuir smiled. “That was, quite perfect.” Then he drew the Dragon’s Blade and set the staff on fire. It resisted the flames from his sword for a while, far longer than wood ever should. But soon enough, it crackled, smoked and hissed, and turned to ash under the intense blaze from the Dragon’s Blade. There was perhaps half a minute of silence, as if in respect, then Darnuir sheathed his weapon.
“Fidelm, this seems as opportune a moment as ever to ask if you or some of your fairies might join my Praetorian Guard.”
“My role deters me from such a thing,” said Fidelm, suddenly cool. Something about the fairy’s bluntness stung at Darnuir.
“You could join ceremonially?” But Fidelm turned away, pretending to be fixated by something near the Bastion’s gates. “Praetorians, give us some space,” Darnuir said and Lira and the others moved away out of earshot. “Is something wrong, General?”
“The Praetorian Guard is for dragons,” said Fidelm.
“I’m changing that. Raymond has already joined.”
“You never seemed warm to me before,” said Fidelm.
“I admit, your attitude towards Ochnic and my Highland expedition annoyed me but—”
“My attitude has not changed. I don’t believe you made the right decision.”
“Kasselle herself agreed to help the kazzek,” said Darnuir.
“My Queen has not always made the wisest choices,” Fidelm said. He furrowed his brow in some discomfort. “That was improper of me. My Queen is my people.”
“Fidelm, I don’t see why we can’t come to a—”
“How am I to perform my duties and also serve you?”
“I don’t need you to serve me,” Darnuir said.
“Fairies don’t need to be further involved than we already
are,” said Fidelm. “I couldn’t dream of my warriors performing any better than your own. Let dragons guard dragons and let us move on.”
“It seems you have resolved to deny me,” Darnuir said. He didn’t even have the strength to feel angry. “We need to find Blaine and Arkus to discuss our next move.”
“Blaine will be in his personal tent,” Fidelm said. “I believe he was attending to Chelos.”
“Come along then, General,” Darnuir said.
They gathered up the Praetorians and marched through the camps, passed wagons overflowing with weapons and armour without owners. It would take days to fully strip and bury the dead, but Darnuir intended to set sail with Somerled Imar long before that; today if possible. There was still a war to win: the demon invasion had to be repelled and Rectar would need to fall before the end. Like their victory after Cold Point, today was a sombre day. Yet there was a cheering coming from somewhere deep within the human camps, although for what Darnuir did not know.
As Darnuir suspected, there was a crowd gathering at Blaine’s tent. A score of Light Bearers stood with shields raised against even more Chevaliers. They seemed too preoccupied in their glaring to notice much else. Lira and the Praetorians waited dutifully at the entrance flap as he and Fidelm pushed inside.
“For the last time,” said a haggard looking Blaine, “I will not allow you to question him, Arkus. Chelos has been through enough.” They did not notice that Darnuir had arrived. Cassandra was also there, by Chelos’ side.
She still won’t look at me. At least that answers what that kiss was – a damned mistake.
“If there are any other secrets that would impact on the security of my people, I’d know of them,” Arkus said. “Perhaps the Guardians dug secret tunnels under the streets of Brevia as well?”
“It was a decision made almost seven hundred years ago,” Blaine said. “And you cannot deny that we needed it. Your black powder failed to do its job. Without the passage, we would never have taken the walls.”
“And I, Lord Guardian, am informed that without the valiant efforts of the hunter Balack, the gates would never have been taken. I hear you were… less than efficient in the battle.” Blaine had no response and Arkus smiled a dangerous little smile, looking very pleased with himself. It was then that he noticed Darnuir. “Ah, there you are. And Fidelm, also. I hope your injuries are not too severe?”
“Not so serious,” said Fidelm. “I will not be able to fly for a time, but I’ll recover.”
No concern to show for me, Arkus?
“Good,” Arkus said, briskly. “And, how is Brackendon?”
“Kymethra says there is nothing that can be done,” Darnuir said.
“A great pity,” Arkus said. “But perhaps ultimately for the best. Wizards have caused us nothing but hardship.”
“For the best?” Darnuir said, incredulously. “It’s a fate worse than death.”
“I sympathise,” said Arkus. “And it is no deserving end for another human hero of the Battle of the Bastion. He will not be forgotten and he will receive the best care in Brevia.”
“Thank you,” Darnuir said. “And, Arkus, I must again profess my sincere apolo—”
“Spare me it, I beg you.”
“I do not wish to part like this,” Darnuir said. “The revelations yesterday were also trying for me. If there is anything I—”
“No, there is nothing,” Arkus said. “You intend to leave at once then?”
“As soon as we can gather the men and supplies,” Darnuir said. “Blaine and I will sail with Lord Imar. We’ll lift this siege at Dalridia.” He looked to Blaine then, and was pleased to see the Guardian nodding in agreement.
“Good,” said Arkus. “The supplies you shall have. As for troops, you may take as many as there is space for, although I will reserve five thousand soldiers to keep peace in the Dales. The rest will return to Brevia to be sent on with the remainder of my fleet. I feel it is past time that dragons returned to the east.”
“That is generous of you,” Darnuir said.
“Well, there is nothing more to say,” Arkus said. “I shall take my leave. I have a kingdom to attempt to piece back together. Cassandra,” he added far more gently, “you may stay with Chelos for as long as you like. I’ll leave a squad of Chevaliers to escort you back.”
“Thank you,” Cassandra said, not looking at her father.
“Hmmm,” Arkus grunted, and with that, the King of Humans left them.
When he was certain that Arkus had marched well away, Darnuir said, “I’d feel more comfortable if we had someone we trusted in Brevia to ensure Arkus follows through with sending more troops and supplies on.” He looked to Cassandra as he said this, hoping she’d pick up the hint. Hoping she’d look at him at all.
“I will go,” Fidelm said. “There aren’t enough ships to take my fairies with you.”
Yes, Fidelm, don’t risk getting ‘further’ involved.
“There’s barely enough space for the dragons,” said Blaine. “I feel we bore the worst of the battle here, let the humans take back their own islands.”
“I would agree,” Darnuir said. “Though as you saw, we have little pull with Arkus right now. He wants us gone, and I’m loathe to leave any dragons behind when the entire Southern Dales recently declared open hatred for our kind.”
“Without Castallan’s enchantment, the humans won’t dare attack a legion,” Blaine said.
“Have you ever considered it is talk like that which infuriates so many?” Cassandra said, though she still looked at none of them. “They wouldn’t dare,” she said, imitating Blaine. “Keep belittling humans and it’s no wonder many push back.”
“I’d be more grateful, girl,” Blaine said. “It was our strength that rescued you.”
“I’m a Princess now, Guardian,” Cassandra said venomously. “That makes me important as well. And dragons did not ‘save’ me. Darnuir may well have burned away like Castallan if I hadn’t been there to give Brackendon his staff back. What did you do Blaine?” Blaine sniffed like a bull and Darnuir was prepared for a full row to ensue when Chelos suddenly coughed and sputtered back to consciousness. Blaine bent carefully over his charge, taking Chelos firmly by the hand.
Cassandra took the other. “It is okay, Chelos. You are safe now.”
“Cassandra?” Chelos croaked. “Cassandra?”
“He ought to be with the healers,” Darnuir said.
“And have Arkus interrogate him?” Blaine said. “No. He’ll be coming with us. Back home.”
Cassandra looked livid. “You want to take a sick old dragon across the seas with you? What if it kills him?”
“Water,” Chelos gasped. Blaine moved to pour a cup and handed it to the wrinkled dragon.
“If we could just, have a moment?” Blaine asked fiercely. “Just myself and Chelos.”
“But—” Cassandra began.
“Please,” Blaine implored.
“Fine,” Cassandra said, getting up in clear umbrage. “I’m happy you’re safe,” she said to Chelos.
“You too… my dear,” Chelos croaked.
“I’ll walk with you back to your father, Cassandra,” Fidelm said. “I must inform him of my plans.”
“Very well,” Cassandra said, moving swiftly for the exit without a backwards glance at Blaine or Darnuir. His stomach tightened. She was about to leave and he was about to head east to more war.
Do something you bloody coward.
“I’ll expect you on board Lord Imar’s ship in time,” Darnuir told Blaine hurriedly before darting out of the tent after Cassandra and Fidelm. He half lunged to take her arm, but at the last moment he thought better of it, nearly lost his balance, and only stayed on his feet by drawing on some Cascade energy to snap his muscles into action. Fresh, jagged pain rushed down his arm.
“Cassandra, may I have a word?” She turned and finally looked at him, though it was with deadened eyes. She seemed to consider it for a moment but came closer.
�
�I’ll give you some space,” said Fidelm, moving off. To the side, Lira also took the hint and stayed back, throwing out an arm to stop a Chevalier coming any closer.
Cassandra tightly folded her arms. “What?”
What do I say?
“I’ve been thinking things through,” he said. “Thinking about everything that happened. Before Blaine helped to unlock my memories, before I understood what was happening to me, I think being near you helped calm me, because the old me – the memories that is – maybe thought things were right, you know, because you were the last living thing he had proper contact with and I think that… that.”
He paused, trying to gauge her reaction. She merely blinked. “Well, I think that it made me think and act in ways I had no good reason too. I’m trying to say sorry. I’m truly sorry.” He tentatively extended his arm. Cassandra took some time, looking at his hand as though it were something foul. Then she bit her lip and took it in a very light shake.
“We’re fine,” she said, even smiling half-heartedly for the first time. Darnuir’s heart returned to a more regular rhythm. “Do one thing for me, please. Look after Chelos.”
“Of course,” Darnuir said. “I hope you find happiness in Brevia.”
“We’ll see,” she said. “I don’t know if I want to be Arkus’ daughter. I don’t know what I want now.”
“You’ll figure that out,” Darnuir said.
“Have you seen Balack yet?”
“I haven’t had the chance,” said Darnuir, though that was not entirely true. Just then, another resounding set of cheers came from the human section of the camps. “And I have a feeling he is busy right now.”
“Well,” Cassandra began, withdrawing her hand. “Goodbye for now, Darnuir.”
“Goodbye, Cass.”
Later that day, aboard the Grey Fury, Somerled Imar’s great longship, Darnuir watched the Bastion grow smaller as they cut through the ocean. It wasn’t just the Southern Dales he was leaving, he was also leaving the west – the human world he had grown up in. The Boreac Mountains had been his home, but they were now abandoned ruins.
Will I ever return? Will I ever set foot in the cold snow again?
The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions Page 23
