The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  “I didn’t know they had a leader,” Grigayne said.

  “A spectre called Dukoona, if memory serves.” Cassandra had mentioned it to him. She’d witnessed Dukoona informing Castallan about this very invasion. Things didn’t seem to be going Dukoona’s way.

  “A shame you cannot ask him,” said Grigayne.

  “A great shame,” Darnuir said, although the younger Imar had got him thinking.

  Why not go east and find out? Going east with all haste would also mean battle that much sooner. Yes, why not go?

  “Actually, I ought to go,” said Darnuir. Grigayne looked at him as though he had gone mad. “Not a word of this to the Guardian,” he added. “Blaine would never approve.”

  “This could be a ploy of the spectres,” said Grigayne.

  Darnuir scrambled for some justification. “My gut tells me otherwise. It seems a stretch to think the spectres faked a skirmish in front of you, killing their own in the process, just in the hopes you would survive the battle and tell me. If they even knew who you were. If there is infighting among the spectres, then we ought to take advantage of the situation. Strike hard and fast before they have a chance to end whatever strife there is between them.”

  Grigayne sniffed. “Your army, your decision.”

  “You are unimpressed, I gather.”

  “I’m worn,” Grigayne said, rolling his shoulders with a deep sigh. He winced and brought a hand up to his injury. “Worn, tired, beaten and in need of rest. And I thought you might be, well…” he trailed off.

  “Different?”

  “Something like that.”

  “This is how my people have been for thousands of years.”

  “I know,” said Grigayne. “Yet the way the dragons are spoken of, it made me think you were something more. A boyish imagination that was never corrected.”

  “May I ask you something personal, Lord Imar?”

  “I’m not the Lord yet,” Grigayne said. “But yes, you may ask.”

  “You speak differently than your fellow islanders, even from your own father. Why?”

  “My father wished me to sound more acceptable to the Assembly in Brevia,” said Grigayne with a sad smile. “He thought our cause for sovereignty might fare better if I was able to visit Brevia and not sound so foreign. But isn’t there a bitter irony in that? I was to give up the voice of my own people to better argue for their separateness.”

  “And why does your father feel so strongly about this?”

  Grigayne shrugged. “It’s the way it’s always been. Did my ancestors swear an oath of fealty or merely homage to the old Brevian kings? Who is to say? One way makes us subservient and the other makes us respectful. My father would rather not pay taxes and Arkus would rather he continued. Every generation. On and on it goes. Gives my father a goal in life, if nothing else.”

  “And what do you make of it?” Darnuir said.

  “I don’t see why we should break apart. Where would it end? First Dalridia gains freedom from Brevia and then the smaller islands become frustrated with my family. Without Brevia to blame it will be those ruling in Dalridia who suffer from disgruntlement, from West Hearth to Eastguard, from Southguard to Ronra in the north. How long until Innerwick and Outerwick decide they will fare better if they rule themselves? How long then until even the people of the Wicks begin to disagree with each other?”

  “There is strength in unity,” said Darnuir. He was pleased by Grigayne’s words.

  “So long as it is genuine,” said Grigayne. “A shield wall is only as strong as the bond of trust between each warrior. What good would a shield wall be if every man and woman bickered with the person on their right and jostled for a better position? That’s the Kingdom more often than not. There’s no single answer.”

  “That is why I have formed my new Praetorian Guard. I hope to make a force of all the Three Races, built on trust and loyalty. A symbol that we can indeed bring unity. But it has proven… difficult. I’d take you and twenty of your best men and shield maidens, if it would please you?”

  “I — join your guard?” Grigayne questioned.

  “I feel we are of a mind,” said Darnuir.

  “I’m not so sure,” Grigayne said. He took some time. He sniffed again in the misty rain and shuffled his feet a little firmer into the mud. His chainmail rattled softly with every movement. “It’s a noble endeavour but joining you would anger my father, and how would that favour you? I’m sorry but I must think of my own people. I cannot abandon them at a time like this.”

  Darnuir had no answer. Why do they all resist me on this? Blaine, Fidelm, now the Imar’s? This small dream was already slipping away from him. The two halves of his person battled to dominate his emotions: the old dragon snarled in anger at the human’s rebuttal, while the younger man felt cowed and foolish. This time, the young man won. Some king I am. I’m failing more than succeeding and losing more people than gaining. He’d left a trail of dead or bitter friends in the west. Arkus would shut his gates to him. East was his only road but he saw nothing on that path but war and hardship. Temptation arose for the Cascade; to draw on it and not feel as powerless for a moment. He bore his hand into a fist so hard that his nails drew blood and managed to resist the urge.

  Grigayne did not fail to notice this and raised an eyebrow. Darnuir brought his bleeding palm to his mouth and sucked on his self-inflicted wound.

  “I should return to the city,” Darnuir said. “There is much to do if I am to take my dragons east and chase Dukoona.” Grigayne seemed to understand that silence was required. He bowed courteously then took his leave, trudging back to his warriors by the ruin of the tower. The longship sigil on his shield was barely recognisable under all those notches.

  Back in Dalridia, Darnuir tended to what Praetorians he did have. Their bow-work was coming along with practice every day, and their stamina had increased considerably. Lira had found an area for them outside one of the enormous long halls, which dominated the city. Built of loose stone and topped with earth, allowing daisies and ferns to grow wild on the roof.

  “We’ll work on our shield wall today,” Lira announced. “The islanders impressed me, and we can do better. We must be able to make a bulwark against attack.”

  “Perhaps I could abstain from this training,” Raymond said. “Only I fear I might be crushed.”

  “Harra, Camen,” Lira said, nodding at the Praetorians to either side of the Chevalier. “Don’t crush Raymond.”

  “We’ll try,” Harra said. She slapped Raymond’s back plate and he grunted.

  Darnuir felt a pang of sympathy for the Chevalier. “Play nice now or afterwards you can sprint against Raymond while he’s mounted.” The Praetorians mumbled in mock annoyance and some laughed. Darnuir and Lira set up their drill then stepped back to observe.

  “Get your shield up to your chin,” Darnuir said.

  “Cover the person in front of you, don’t hit their heads,” Lira said.

  “Faster now,” said Darnuir. “We may need it at a moment’s notice.”

  “Okay, let’s try having half of you form a wall and half push it,” said Lira. She divided the Praetorians and set them up. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three.” The dragons and an exhausted Raymond charged or raised shields as instructed. The wall formed, held, but a section slid back.

  “The ground’s too wet,” the fallen Praetorian said.

  “Wet or dry, grass or snow, we must be ready,” Darnuir said. Then, more under his breath, “We must be ready because no one else will join us. No one else will help us…”

  “What was that?” Lira said. She stepped even closer to him. He noticed some signs of battle on her. A piece of her ebony hair had been cut away, it was now shorter on her left side, and her blue Hinterland leggings had a fresh tear.

  “It was nothing, Lira. Don’t trouble yourself with it.”

  “I’m voicing concern as the Praetorian Prefect for my King’s well-being.”

  “Well I’m fine, thank y
ou.”

  “If you say so,” she said. “Look, I’d like to ask for your pardon for what happened at the Bastion, in the dungeons. I questioned your motivations.”

  “That’s part of your job,” Darnuir said.

  “Rescuing the Princess was important,” Lira said. “I only thought you might not be thinking clearly and, well, it does not matter now. Did it help with King Arkus at all?”

  “I’m not sure,” Darnuir said. “I can only hope that in time he will get over it.”

  “It’s understandable given what Blaine revealed,” said Lira.

  “He didn’t think,” said Darnuir. “He should have told me.”

  “I think he tried, Darnuir,” Lira said cautiously.

  “I think I would have listened to him if he —”

  “You weren’t giving him a chance,” Lira said. “You were always wanting to train or fight something. I know he didn’t treat the hunters very well, but did you have to shut him out?”

  “I was just giving him the cold shoulder,” Darnuir said. “With something that important he should have insisted, made more of a fuss…” he trailed off. Lira was looking at him again with a worried face. “What’s done is done,” he said. “Blaine and I can smooth out our differences when we’re safely in Aurisha one day.”

  “That could be a while.”

  “I intend to sail as soon as possible,” said Darnuir. “Take the dragons and seize upon this civil war the spectres are in the middle of.”

  Lira frowned. “Forgive me, Darnuir, but that seems rash.”

  Darnuir was beginning to feel his temper rise. It came even quicker these days if he couldn’t open the door just a little bit; just by a crack. He forced himself to remain calm. “We could be in Aurisha in a matter of weeks, not months. The spectres are fighting amongst each other. I don’t see when we’ll have a better chance. And what if we miss our chance before winter comes and it begins to be difficult moving troops?”

  Lira did not answer immediately.

  “As you will, Darnuir.”

  Further conversation was ceased by the collapse of Raymond.

  “I think Raymond should call the countdowns for a while,” Lira said.

  “Marvellous,” Raymond said. He staggered well out of range of the charging dragons. “By my count then. One. Two Three.”

  The Praetorians slammed into each other.

  “Ooft, that’ll be sore t’morrow,” came a rough voice. Darnuir and Lira both whipped around to see a wind burnt islander bearing a toothy smile and waving them over with his stump of a hand.

  “Do you know who we are?” Darnuir asked.

  “What d’you take me for? I ’av one hand, not one eye.”

  “I’m just used to being formally addressed,” said Darnuir.

  “Ach, sorry, yer Lordship,” the man said. “Lord Imar sent me. Cayn, at yer service.” He bowed though it seemed almost in jest.

  “Does Somerled have need of me?” Darnuir said.

  “Lord Imar has prepared a special meal and invites you and yer Guard to join him.”

  “Special, you say?” Lira said. “God. We have a lot of hungry dragons here.”

  Cayn led them towards the heart of Dalridia, over the wide waterways that ran through the city like roads in any other. Islanders navigated these channels on scaled down longships, some rowing, and some propelling themselves forward by pushing a stick behind them into the shallow water. Smoke rose from the centre of each earthen hall or home but the light rain drove most of the smell away. Somerled Imar’s own long hall was naturally the greatest. It had a second tier and glass windows, complete with a turf roof covered in bluebells.

  “Here ye go, milord,” said Cayn. “I’m sure ye can find yer way from here. I ’av tae fetch the other one.”

  “Does he mean Blaine?” Lira asked when he left.

  “What a happy gathering that will be,” Darnuir said.

  He’d expected it to be dark and drab inside the hall. Instead, galleries of bottles of amber liquid lined the walls, reflecting grey light from the windows tenfold in a golden shine. Chunky tables sat before the bottle stacks, gouged with trenches for food. A fire pit at the centre warmed the hall and whole pigs crackled over the flames. The smell of cooking meat and fat filled the air.

  “Darnuir!” boomed Somerled from across the hall, “Welcome, all of you. Please follow me.” He swept his way into the semi-darkness at the far end of the hall. Darnuir and the Praetorians caught up with him and took their seats as directed. They squeezed around several tables in the shadow of a protrusion of rock which rose high above at a sharp angle. Smoothed steps were inlaid on the side of the rock to climb it.

  Somerled clapped his hands and steaming dishes were brought to their table, although the meat was not what Darnuir had expected.

  “Not pork?” he asked.

  “That’s for my men,” Somerled said. “I’ve had my cooks prepare this specially for you.”

  What’s so special about oversized chickens? Darnuir thought. For that’s all the meal appeared to be. Enormous fat chickens, roasted perfectly with a golden skin, but that was it. And then the smell of it reached him. A sudden urge came over Darnuir to feed, to rip and tear and gorge. It wasn’t a human feeling. His stomach rumbled desperately, and he swore he heard Lira’s do the same. His head began to spin and he lunged for the meat with the rest of the dragons. He tore a leg off the bird, biting through the crispy skin, feeling the hot juice run down his chin as he plunged through the soft sweet meat to the bone. He ate so fast he barely tasted it.

  Raymond looked disgusted. “May I request a knife and fork?” he asked of Somerled’s staff.

  “Glad ye all enjoyed that,” Somerled told them.

  Darnuir felt very satisfied. The sensation had been almost like a Cascade rush only without the side effects. If anything, he felt sleepy. A horrible thought came over him. Have we been poisoned? He shook his head and got to his feet to fight the tiredness.

  “What did you put in that chicken?” he demanded.

  “That isnae chicken,” said Somerled. “It’s capon.”

  “Oh…” Lira said in a dreamy fashion.

  “Shall I have more brought out?” Somerled said. The Praetorians grinned and nodded slowly. Some started to rub their eyes. Others lay back, a hand on their stomach. Raymond looked at them all deeply confused and raised his fork to sniff suspiciously at his piece of capon.

  “I’d say help yerself tae the whisky an’all but you lot cannae handle yer drink.”

  Darnuir blinked rapidly. “I found that one out the hard way.”

  “Would make you all a bit less sour-faced if you could.” Somerled laughed at his remark.

  “Some watered wine isn’t so potent,” said Darnuir.

  “Then you better return to Brevia for that,” said Somerled. “But ’am glad the meat is tae yer liking. A fine reward for saving my city, I dare say. Once Arkus’ fleet arrives we’ll relieve all of the Splinters!”

  “How long will that be?” Darnuir said.

  “Depends on how quickly they made it back to Brevia,” said Somerled. “At least two weeks from now, maybe more.”

  To Darnuir, the thought of two weeks felt abominably long. He almost reached for the door in his mind there and then, but he felt more like having a nap.

  “Perhaps I could have a word, Somerled?”

  “Aye,” Somerled said, a little unsure. Lira attempted to get up but only made it half way before her tired legs began to wobble.

  “You can stay and eat,” Darnuir said. Lira smiled stupidly as though drunk and sat back down.

  What’s come over us? I need to get out of here.

  More capon was being served. Darnuir held his breath to try and avoid the smell. He walked as quickly as he could back outside. Once outside he began to cough and moved to steady himself on the chest high wall overlooking the waterway. He gulped in the cool air; it felt fresh and clean, and cleared the haze of capon from his mind.

  �
�Feeling better?” Somerled asked.

  “Care to explain how you’ve incapacitated my Praetorians with poultry?”

  Somerled tapped his brow with a single finger. “We islanders hav’nae forgotten everything about yer kind. My father told me, and his father told him, that if dragons ever come visiting, feed ’em capon. Can’t get enough of it he said. Seems to be true.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that,” Darnuir said, darkly.

  “Nothin’ sinister about it. Was that yer first time?” he added mockingly.

  “It’s not exactly a common dish in the Boreac Mountains,” Darnuir said.

  “Just thought it was something I could offer, seeing as ye don’t drink. When you retake all the islands I’ll roast up a whole flock of ’em.”

  “Ah, about that,” Darnuir said. He thought it best to just have it out with him. “I plan to take my dragons east.”

  Silence.

  Darnuir pressed on. “The demons have split their forces and I wish to seize this chance to take back Aurisha before they can regroup in full. Reinforcements will arrive from Brevia soon enough to aid in the retaking of the remaining islands, as you say.”

  “Soon enough,” Imar repeated softly. He slumped over the wall, facing the water below. It rippled under the steady drip of rain.

  “I understand your disappointment, Lord Imar but—”

  “Can’t yer homeland wait a few mer months? Only, and I hate tae mention it, but doing this might only inflame the opinions of those who think dragons only look out for themselves.”

  “I did not think you were one of those people,” Darnuir said.

  “Did I say I was?” said Somerled. “I don’t despise yer kind, like some. Yet, I don’t love you either.” One of the little boats passed by then with a family on board; two small girls and a taller lad helping his father propel it along. The two young girls huddling against their mother, shivering in the light rain. The family smiled and waved to Somerled as they passed and he beamed back at them, all trace of disappointment vanishing in an instant from his face. When they passed, his features darkened again.

  “They’ll be off tae West Hearth, on the island of Nessay,” Somerled said gravely. “On that wee boat, out tae our longships waiting for them. We’ve been sending people west fae months. My own wife is there along with many of my people. Wondering whether they will return home soon, or whether we’ll fail and the carnage will reach them there.”