The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  Once the paint was gone, she handed the pallet back.

  “And people ask why I paint to relax my mind,” Fidelm said.

  “That was fun. Thank you, general.”

  “I wish you luck,” said Fidelm. “We’ll all need it before the end.”

  Back in her room, Cassandra felt restless. The place was more splendid than her chambers at the Bastion, even the mirror was lined with white gold. But she had nothing to do, nothing obvious at any rate. And with little to occupy herself with, Arkus’ threat of marriage weighed dangerously on her mind. So, she took to the long corridors of the palace, poking her head through every doorway, looking for a distraction; hoping for some inspiration.

  What she found was none other than Queen Orrana.

  The door had been innocuous; the room on the other side, not so much.

  It was lush and packed with more cushions than there would ever be a use for. Most striking was just how much colour was in this one room. Where much of the palace was black with the occasional bit of white, this was a medley of bright yellows, warm oranges, greens, blues and pinks. Frankly, it was unsightly.

  Orrana, thin, pale and at odds with her surroundings, was sat in an upright, ornate chair with a purple lining. She held command of the room’s majestic easterly view of the bay of Brevia. The Queen jumped, startled by Cassandra’s arrival and nearly dropped her teacup. A tray of pots and cakes lay on the table in front of her.

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” Cassandra said. “I’ll just go.”

  “Oh no,” said Orrana. She got to her feet and faced Cassandra, waving her in. “You might as well come in now if we’ve already skipped the formal invitation to my parlour and, well good gracious, you’ve dressed to match.” She tittered. “How about some tea and cake? My maid just brought a fresh tray.”

  Praying that this wouldn’t be deathly awkward, Cassandra stepped lightly over, like a street dog to a stranger’s hand. There were no less than four richly patterned pots on a large tray laden with little cakes, fruit pastries, scones, butter and a bowl filled with what looked like raw sugar. She took her seat, eyeing the raisin scones.

  “May I offer you something?” Orrana asked, in a voice to match the sugar bowl.

  “I’m fine.”

  “No?” Orrana said, in a pitch slightly too high. “There is shimmer brew and three different varieties of tea. Or perhaps you would like something a little stronger? Some sherry, brandy, or even a touch of whisky. I can have it brought at once. You must be so worn out from your travels and that battle,” she gave a little gasp. “A little spirit to lift your own?”

  Cassandra wasn’t sure what to make of Orrana just yet. She seemed friendly, but perhaps a little too much?

  “No,” Cassandra said, adding a quick, “Thank you,” as an afterthought.

  “Well do help yourself, if you change your mind,” Orrana said, though she touched none of it herself. She did pour herself some steaming shimmer brew and brought the cup delicately to her lips. Soundlessly, she took a sip. “So, I’m told you were raised in the Bastion—”

  “Held captive,” Cassandra corrected her.

  “Quite so,” said Orrana. “I assure you I knew nothing of your imprisonment.”

  Why is she telling me this? What does it matter now?

  “I doubt it was common knowledge,” said Cassandra.

  “But Arkus knew,” Orrana went on, “and I suspect my father knew as well. We women are always the last to know such things, us highborn women at least. People always bleat about the equality, especially in the lower classes, about how we’re so much more civilised than the dragons but, sometimes, I’m not so sure. It could be all an act.”

  “What about Captain Elsie?” Cassandra said. “She was the very first Captain of the Master Station here at Brevia after the hunters were institutionalised following the Battle of the Bogs. Or Lady Margo Foulis, who designed the white arch of Brevia and its defences. Or Queen Flora, who reigned for forty-five years on her own. So many more come to mind.”

  “But what do they all have in common?” Orrana asked.

  “Little that I can think of,” said Cassandra.

  “Childless,” said Orrana. “Yes. All the greats were childless, as though a child shackles a woman. Perhaps it does – children or the lead up to them. For the lowborn blood matters little but for us…” she drew out the word and took another sip of her brew. “I hear Arkus intends for you to marry?” Cassandra thought it a sudden shift in topic but she supposed it was why Orrana had invited her to come in.

  Best get this discussion over with.

  “I’m sure you know his intentions,” Cassandra said.

  “Marriage is often a precursor to children,” Orrana said rather pointedly.

  “He mentioned nothing of that.”

  “He loves our son very much,” Orrana said. “Arkus would do anything for him. I’d do even more.”

  Oh, so this is what you’re worried about?

  “I can assure you I want nothing to do with the throne.”

  Orrana leaned forward. “You know, I think you might be being completely honest with me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Cassandra asked. “There’s nothing I want from you. I’m not playing any game.”

  “True,” Orrana said, before adding in a less sweet voice, “Well, you won’t mind if I have a whisky then?”

  “Um, not at all,” Cassandra said. The words were barely out of her mouth when Orrana produced a small glass seemingly from nowhere and filled it with a golden liquid from one of the pots.

  “If anyone ever asks for this one,” Orrana said, setting the pot down, “I just tell them it has gone cold and shall taste dreadful.” She drank from the cup. “Gracious, that’s better.” Cassandra stared at the Queen, feeling her eyes widen in amazement. “What?” Orrana said. “You’ve seen and done more shocking things I wager. Ever tried it?” she said, proffering the tumbler.

  “No,” Cassandra said, taking it.

  “I’m not surprised,” said Orrana. “Southerners tried to make it but failed. The best stuff is from the Splinters because each island has a unique type of peat. That one is from my father’s own distillery in the Hinterlands. The hint of Cascade in the Dorain gives it a taste of peach.” Cassandra sniffed it. She coughed as something rankled the back of her throat, then took a sip.

  “It burns,” she said, half-choking.

  Have I just been poisoned?

  “That’s why I love it,” Orrana said. “Can hardly taste the peach if I am being honest. I’d tell you that I seek the warmth for lack of it from my dear husband. But the truth is I just love it.”

  “Arkus does not love you?”

  “How blunt you are,” Orrana said, bringing the cup to her lips again. The Queen cocked her head and eyed Cassandra as though she were an exotic animal. “You truly are new to Brevia, aren’t you? You don’t come with the expectations - the baggage. Take that dress for a start, how wonderfully different. Around most, I must pretend to be the stoic Queen.” She took another sip from her glass. “Arkus cares for me enough, by the way,” she added conspiratorially. “But he’s never gotten over your mother. He married me for duty, and for some black stone. I advise you get out of your betrothal if you don’t want it.”

  “I’m not sure how,” Cassandra said.

  “Find a way,” Orrana said. “I’d help you if I could, and not just for my son’s sake. I don’t imagine you would enjoy putting on the same show that I must. Take these abominable cakes for example,” and she looked at the tray as though the pastries had done her great harm. “I am forever being offered them, as though a queen’s constitution could be sustained on them alone, and out of politeness I must always try one or two. I used to like such sweets as a child, but now I’m sick of them. It’s become a trend in Brevia to even sprinkle extra sugar on top, as if they needed any.”

  “I’ll try one,” Cassandra said, and feeling the tension had decreased, reached for a raisin-dotted
scone. “Without the sugar.”

  “Quite right,” Orrana said. Their discussion died for a time while Cassandra ate and Orrana topped up her shimmer brew. The hot silver liquid let off its enticing bitterness into the air. It was a pleasant sort of silence. The scone was soft, the raisins chewy, and Cassandra felt quite comfortable. She had the uncanny feeling that she actually liked this bony, pale Queen and very much hoped it wasn’t due to the contents of Orrana’s glass.

  “Do you fight, Cassandra?”

  “Sometimes. Only with a sword, though,” Cassandra said through her last mouthful of scone. “Do you?”

  “Such a dear to ask. Yes, I did a little, in my youth,” Orrana said wistfully. “I wanted to be a huntress and roam the rocks and forests of the Hinterlands. But there was a war on, and as my lord father’s only child I could not be risked in such fashion.” Orrana sighed then, slumping from her rigid posture. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very affectionate towards my father for much of my life. Now I have a son, I can understand his concern. Though I always fancied a daughter.” Her eyes fell on Cassandra.

  This is getting a little intense.

  “But it is too late for me now and likely too late for us as well,” Orrana said. “However, I would like to have one person around here I could talk to without having to pretend to be someone else.” The Queen wafted a hand around the parlour in demonstration.

  “You spoke of helping me, if you could. Does that mean you cannot help me?”

  “Arkus has become a stubborn man. Once he sets his mind on something, you can be sure it will be done. I doubt I will ever truly love him, but I do admire him greatly for that. However…” Orrana said locking eyes with Cassandra. “He does enjoy cutting a good deal.”

  “I don’t have anything I can offer,” Cassandra said. “Nothing that a king couldn’t get for himself.”

  “Ah, there are a great many things Arkus cannot get,” Orrana said.

  “All I have is myself.”

  “Then offer him something only you can do.”

  “But what can I do?” Cassandra said. “I’ve read a lot, but he has scholars and advisors, I know a lot about the Bastion but that’s useless now and, as you’ve said, I’ve just arrived here so I don’t know anyone and no one knows me so — oh.” The realisation struck her.

  Orrana beamed. “Go, go. Haste is vital in these matters.”

  “Thank you for the scones,” Cassandra said. She bolted for the door and thought she could hear Orrana call out that they ought to do it again sometime.

  Cassandra pelted down the corridors of the palace, ignoring the butlers and nearly slammed into a Chevalier as she rounded a corner. She flew down a set of winding stairs that bypassed a couple of floors and brought her to Arkus’ council chambers. She arrived panting.

  “Let me through,” she commanded the Chevaliers. “I must speak to my — my father.” They all looked her up and down, hesitated, and then stood aside. She burst into the room, pink faced and hair tumbling down her face.

  Arkus was hunched over a map of the city along with Gellick, tapping the area of the Rotting Hill and muttering darkly. They were both taken aback to see her standing there.

  “Well, I see you had an entertaining day out,” Arkus said looking at her ruined dress. “Gellick, please allow me a moment with my daughter. I will call you back to finish our discussion.”

  “Your Majesty,” Gellick said with a bow. Once Gellick was gone, Arkus looked serious again. He withdrew the map under the desk and sat down.

  “Have you thought about what we discussed?”

  “I have,” she said striding towards him. When she arrived at the desk, she leaned over it towards him. Arkus didn’t budge an inch. “There will be no marriage,” Cassandra said.

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t expect you to give it up for nothing. What if I deliver Lord Boreac to you?”

  Arkus pondered for a while, rapping his fingers across his desk, from pinkie to forefinger, and then back again. “And how do you intend on doing that?”

  “I’m not from here,” Cassandra said. “Barely anyone knows who I am, which means I can go about the city as a fresh face. I can be a princess when I need the clout and nobody when I need to blend in. And you can trust that I am not part of any circle, which plotted against you. Can you say that of your spies?”

  “No,” Arkus said. “They are spies after all.”

  “Well then. Do we have a deal?”

  Arkus smiled and leaned back. “You realise that, even if you succeed, it won’t change your position or who you are? The problems I have would not vanish, well, other than having Boreac in chains.”

  “Then keep up the pretence that I will marry Balack until we think of a solution.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, Arkus – I mean… father,” Cassandra said.

  “Call me what you want,” Arkus said, though he said it with affection. “Very well. If you can deliver me Boreac, we’ll find an alternative. A nice long show trial for him and Annandale will occupy the Assembly for a time. With their positions vacant, I can dole out their lands and titles. That will keep the vultures at bay…” he seemed to drift into his own thoughts for a moment. His mouth twitched and he ran his fingers across the desk again. “There may be some element of risk involved.”

  “I can handle myself,” Cassandra said.

  “I wouldn’t allow this but I need Boreac,” Arkus said, as though nothing else in the world mattered. “Don’t do anything rash. If you know where he is, you come to me first, understand?”

  “I’ll find him,” Cassandra said. Then she left whilst she still felt confident. Outside the council chambers she allowed herself a smile.

  “You can go back in now, Gellick,” she said.

  Chapter 18

  SHADOWS IN DALRIDIA

  The Islanders could be wealthy. Being in the middle of the world, they could have controlled all trade. Instead, they’ve sought isolation, even sometimes from each other.

  From Tiviar’s Histories

  Dukoona – The Splintering Isles – City of Dalridia

  DUKOONA WITHDREW HIS blade from the islander’s stomach and blood gushed. It fell from the man like the rain around him. The constant rain. With the humans nearby dealt with, he turned to help his spectres cleave an opening in the palisade wall. Once a hole was roughly hewn, demons began to scramble through this latest breach – too few demons in truth. Dukoona saw many slip down high embankments leading up to the walls.

  Forward, he commanded to the demons around him. Do not stop.

  He watched them tear off. They really are such frail creatures, he thought. Small and wispy, the shadows of their flesh were more akin to smoke. And even at a distance, he could see their ribs as the dark mist swirled within them. They lacked sense as well, running in every direction within the maze of walls.

  The islanders had built their defences to confuse their enemies. Sure enough, a group appeared from a one-way opening in the wall to fall upon the demons in a storm of axes. At least Dukoona knew about that trap now. Dalridia would not fall without a fight.

  “Come with me,” Dukoona called to the spectres nearby. “We must create more breaches along the wall.” They ran off, unable to find any shadows under the heavy clouds. Dukoona took them right, away from the islanders’ ambush, searching for a gap in the inner layers of palisade wall.

  A group of islanders ahead were blocking a breach with a stout shield wall. Dukoona swung his dark sword at their backs when he reached them, cutting through leather and mail with ease. The spectres ravaged their flank and the humans broke, running back into the labyrinth. Thrilled, the demons chased merrily after them. Dukoona cautiously followed, thinking the islanders might have broken a little too easily. Around a bend, he saw that the humans seemed to have run impossibly far. They stood bashing their shields tauntingly.

  Howling, the demons bounded on.

  “Wait,” Dukoona snarled to his spectres. He let the demons carry on as
bait and, midway, the ground dropped, dumping the demons into a pit of spikes.

  It was clever of the humans, but only the rain was saving them. Once enough points along the outer walls were breached, they would be overwhelmed. Still, it was a harder fight than he had anticipated. That was all for the better. It granted a chance to relieve his Master of thousands of demons. Dukoona just hoped his Trusted were not throwing their lives away.

  Stay safe, Kidrian. I need you at my side. I can’t do this alone.

  Trap after trap, dead end after dead end, and at the cost of many of demons, Dukoona pushed his way to the final set of Dalridia’s walls. A host of humans gathered to meet him, bloodied, windburnt and covered in mud: the islands’ best. To Dukoona’s fortune, the clouds finally parted, casting sporadic shadows from shields, bodies, axes and walls.

  He reached out to the demons and commanded, Kill. They swarmed forwards. The humans pressed their shields together and withstood the impact. Axes arced, spraying smoky blood and chipped demon bone. Demons leapt on top of their brethren to vault over the shields. Just as the first wave was spent, more demons came from behind to join Dukoona. He could always count on having more demons.

  Then he felt something twig at the back of his mind. Rectar looked briefly towards him through the bond of master and servant. ‘Faster…’ the echoing rumble commanded before he left.

  Dukoona froze for a moment, trembling. He rallied quickly and yelled, “Show the humans fear. With me spectres!” And he dove into the thin shadow under the base of the wall, running along it, judging when best to strike. In the middle of the human shield wall, he half-emerged his torso from the shadow to cut at two of the defenders. He melded again before the humans could react and was already half way back along the base of the wall when a shield slammed into his path.

  Another thud jarred behind him and he knew his path was blocked.

  These really are the islands’ finest.