The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  “We won’t fail,” Darnuir said.

  “I lost my father during the last war,” Somerled went on, as though Darnuir had been silent.

  “As did many,” said Darnuir. “As did I.” He neglected the fact that he could barely remember Draconess. Only the resentment and anger remained. “Rectar and his demons seek the destruction of us all.”

  “Seems that way,” said Somerled. “And yet, when the dragons vanished, when you disappeared, so did the demons. Poof. Gone. Neither sight nor sound of them fae twenty years until you and yer people come back. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

  “Rectar was licking his wounds after the Battle of Demon’s Folly,” Darnuir said.

  “So, it is just a happy accident?”

  “As I do not know the will of Rectar, I cannot give you an answer.”

  “Perhaps it will be a good thing yer leaving,” said Somerled. “Might be we’re better aff without ye.”

  “I am sorry, Somerled.”

  “You will do as you will, of course. It is yer right.”

  “I won’t be leaving you completely alone,” Darnuir said. “Blaine will stay along with Light Bearers and the Third Legion.”

  “One whole legion?” Somerled mocked, placing a hand over his heart. “Bless the waves but that is kind.”

  “We smashed a good deal of the demon’s strength here,” Darnuir reminded him. “They may have more numbers spread across your islands, but not enough on any single island to hold for long; especially when the reinforcements from Brevia arrive.”

  “The Guardian is pleased with this plan, is he?” Somerled asked.

  “I’ll make sure of it,” said Darnuir, sounding more confident than he felt. Blaine was always quarrelsome and on this issue, he was sure to put up a fight.

  “Looks like now’s yer chance,” said Somerled. He nodded at something passed Darnuir. A group of Light Bearers were approaching Somerled’s hall. “I invited them too.”

  “That’s not Blaine,” Darnuir said, looking at the dragon that led them. He met Bacchus’ eye and they met in person front of the great hall. “Where is Blaine?”

  “The Lord Guardian is indisposed,” Bacchus said.

  “He sent you in his place?”

  “He sends no one,” said Bacchus. “He talks to no one. He shirks his duties and holds up with that elderly dragon. But the work of the gods does not stop.”

  “And it’s work to come for dinner?”

  Bacchus sniffed the air and then his face distorted. He ran a hand through his curly black hair as though lost for words. “They would serve us such unclean food?”

  “My roosters are well bred and well kept,” Somerled said, puffing up.

  “It leaves dragons lax and docile,” said Bacchus. “It saps us of our strength and wits. It is unclean.”

  “I allowed my Praetorians to eat,” said Darnuir. “Why not the Light Bearers too. They look hungry. Haven’t they earned it?”

  “You are not a godly dragon, sire, so I am not surprised. But my Light Bearers do not —”

  “Your Light Bearers?” Darnuir asked. “Last I heard you weren’t the Guardian.” He stepped right up to Bacchus and his hand twitched near the hilt at his waist. Oh, go on. Give me a reason. I beg you.

  “You seem a touch violent, sire,” Bacchus said. Annoyingly, he remained so calm a fly would not have budged from his shoulder. “Perhaps an indication that you should not eat unsuitable food.”

  “Nae drinkin’ and nae eating yerselves tae a stupor,” Somerled said. “It’s nae wonder yer all so cranky.”

  “Stay out of this Somerled,” Darnuir said. He turned back to the Light Bearer. “Where is he?”

  “Over there,” Bacchus said, pointing to a smaller earthen hall closer to the sea.

  “Then I shall go and see him now,” Darnuir said.

  “Dwl’or grant you strength, sire,” said Bacchus. “Gods know the Lord Guardian needs it.” He smiled next to Somerled. “Lord Imar, forgive my outburst, but your choice of dish caught me by surprise. I should have made dietary requirements of the faithful clear upon our arrival.” Then he turned to the Light Bearers he’d brought with him. There were quite a lot of them, now that Darnuir considered it. “Let us pay respect to Dwl’or outside of the city. The woodlands of the Nail Head should offer some shelter from the rain.” They marched off.

  Darnuir found that his hand had taken hold of the Dragon’s Blade without him even realising. Magic was lightly flowing down his arm. He let go, rung his arm, gently closed over the door in his mind, and spat out the bitterness before it grew.

  Dukoona better give me a fight.

  “I for one enjoyed the food, Somerled,” he said. And with that, Darnuir left the Lord of Isles and made haste towards Blaine’s hall.

  Chapter 20

  A MURKIER PAST

  Schisms in dragon society have frequently centred on their religion. In each case, the orthodox has won, championing the true way since the time of Aurisha. That is how the Guardian Nhilus summarises it in his accounts written in 1504 AT. Yet, it is clear from the oldest sources available that a formal gathering at dawn was not always practised. The earliest evidence of this behaviour I can find is the year 1362 AT, two years after the quashing of a small sub-set of worshippers who gathered at the tip of the Tail Peninsula. Was this a new behaviour adopted by the Guardians in the aftermath? Perhaps adopted from the very sub-set they had destroyed? We cannot know but I am certain of this. Nothing has remained the same across all of time. Not even The Way of Light.

  From Tiviar’s Histories

  Blaine – Dalridia

  “He’s coming, Lord Guardian,” the Light Bearer announced.

  “Bacchus?” Blaine said. “I told him to take service today.”

  “No, it is the King.”

  Blaine gulped. “Send him through.” The Light Bearer disappeared, back to the main body of the hall, leaving Blaine and Chelos alone in their enclave. One grubby window let in some light and there was space enough for a bed for Chelos. It was tucked away and quiet, and right now Blaine valued that more than comfort.

  “We couldn’t keep our secrets forever, Blaine,” Chelos said. He coughed and spluttered, struggling to regain his breath. Blaine helped him sit upright.

  “It pains me to see you brought low like this,” said Blaine. At least the room was warm. All that packed earth the islanders used certainly insulated well.

  Chelos shrugged. “I’m old, Blaine.”

  “I’m older.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t have the advantage of a magical sword and I’ve suffered much in a short space of time. Even a few years ago, I might have recovered more easily. But now…”

  “Do not speak like you are doomed,” Blaine said. “N’weer will revive you and you shall stride proudly in the Basilica of Light again.”

  “Won’t that be something,” Chelos wheezed.

  “Have you lost faith?”

  “Once you would have found the idea impossible. Are you having doubts?”

  “About the gods? No. Never.”

  “But?” Chelos asked.

  “Lately, I find myself wondering whether I am the right dragon to carry these burdens.”

  Chelos grumbled, pulling the bedsheets tighter around himself. “Draconess too had doubts towards the end.” His eyes seemed to shrink away, as though lost in his own tortured memories. “Doubts about Darnuir, about himself, even you, though he’d never show them to anyone else. Never about the gods though, for all the good that did him.”

  “It sounds like you have lost faith,” Blaine said.

  “I say my prayers but I learned that faith won’t shield me, nor the ones I love, from harm. I saw what Castallan could do. That was true power. And we know what Rectar is capable of. Perhaps our gods are just weak?”

  “The gods do not fail us,” said Blaine. “It is only we who fail them.”

  “Then there’s been plenty of failure.”

  “Blaine?” Darnuir had enter
ed their squat little room. His eyes glinted cat-like as he adjusted to the semi-darkness. “This is cosy.”

  “Get in here,” Blaine said. He moved to the doorway as Darnuir shuffled inside. “Everyone is to move to the other end of the hall,” he told the Light Bearers outside. “No one is to disturb us.” He closed the door firmly shut. Darnuir had taken up Blaine’s place at Chelos’ side. “So, Darnuir, you’ve come to hear it all?”

  Darnuir looked a little taken aback. “I came to see why you’ve shut yourself away and let that Bacchus fellow take charge of things. But yes, that as well.”

  “You asked me once to tell you everything,” Blaine said. “I never intended to keep you in the dark forever. Only, there was so much to tell you, and I wasn’t ready myself yet.” He closed his eyes and felt his heart beat quicker. “Before we begin, know that everything I tell you is to do with our enemy. It is important. Everything I told you about the Champion’s Blade; all of it.”

  “You said you only had suspicions,” Darnuir said.

  “The visit from Ochnic gave me fresh reason to believe,” Blaine said. He fished up the necklace and briefly stared at the little silver ‘A’ before taking it off. He tossed it to Darnuir.

  Chelos leaned over to stare at the necklace in Darnuir’s hand. “It’s not possible…”

  “Who did this belong to?” Darnuir asked.

  “It belonged to your father,” Blaine said.

  “I have no memory of Draconess wearing such a necklace,” Darnuir said, squinting at the jewellery and turning it, as though it would reveal its secrets to him.

  “It did not belong to Draconess,” Blaine said, softly. Darnuir looked at him, perplexed; the faintest shadow of doubt flickering behind his eyes.

  And so it begins.

  “But you said it belonged to my—”

  “Father, yes,” Blaine finished. “Draconess, however, was not your father.”

  So complete was the silence that followed, Blaine thought he heard the worms burrowing within the earth.

  “I — I was not expecting that,” Darnuir said. “But what has that got to do with anything.” Blaine buried his face in his hands.

  Where am I to begin?

  Darnuir went one. “Perhaps one of your memories would be useful?”

  Blaine shook his head. “Memories must be captured in the gems as fresh after the events as possible. I didn’t know that these things would become so important. Had I known, I might have been able to stop it. I shall recall as best I can and Chelos can help confirm it. But, as for the matter at hand, your real father was Drenthir, son of Dalthrak. Draconess was his younger brother: your uncle.”

  “Uncle…” Darnuir repeated quietly.

  “That necklace was given to Drenthir by your mother,” Blaine said. His voice was already beginning to falter. “Your mother, Arlandra. She was my daughter.”

  “So, you are — no,” Darnuir said, his eyes widening in realisation. He slumped back in his chair, staring dumbstruck at Blaine. For the sake of Kasselle’s privacy and dignity, Blaine left her out of it. It occurred to him that perhaps the drop of fairy blood in Darnuir’s veins drew him to the Cascade so feverishly.

  “Did you know of this?” Darnuir asked, rounding on Chelos.

  “I did,” Chelos said.

  “And you kept this from me all of my first life? Why?”

  “Because I asked him too,” Blaine said. “Chelos is not to blame for any of this.”

  “We agreed to it, Blaine,” said Chelos. “You, Draconess and I. We all agreed.”

  “You were barely as old as Darnuir is now,” Blaine said. “You followed orders and served loyally.”

  “To what end?” Darnuir asked.

  “Let me explain,” Blaine said. “It was so long ago, back when the Black Dragons still lived in the lands around Kar’drun and in their own city. It was a brilliant city, in truth – as splendid as Aurisha has ever been. Too splendid and too strong some said, myself included.

  “King Dalthrak, your other grandfather, was ageing, having enjoyed a full reign of peace with the Black Dragons. His line was safe in Drenthir and Draconess. Yet Draconess wanted to be more than merely second in line. I had recently inherited the mantle of Guardian and knew the royal family well. I encouraged Draconess to join my Light Bearers and he accepted. Chelos was very young but a faithful ward. You used to fetch the hot water for my morning shave, do you remember?”

  “Of course,” Chelos said. “I’ll never forget how proud I felt. My parents too. Gods but I’d nearly forgotten I once had parents.”

  “At the same time,” Blaine continued, “there was another dragon showing great promise in the ranks of the faithful. This was Kroener—”

  Chelos spat at the mention of this name, narrowly missing Darnuir’s boot. “Traitor,” he said. “Blasphemer,” he managed to add, before returning to a fit of coughs.

  “Must you do that?” Darnuir asked. “If he is so hated then why does no one else know of him?”

  “Because what happened was kept quiet,” Blaine said. “Kroener was just a Light Bearer after all, not many knew of him. I was new to the role of Guardian, and with an ageing King, many extra burdens fell to me. When the time came for an inspection of the Black Dragons, I passed the responsibility on. Kroener was amongst the Light Bearers who travelled north.”

  “What do you mean by inspection?” Darnuir asked.

  “Officially they were diplomatic visits,” said Blaine. “In reality, we were ensuring the Black Dragons were complying with the treaty that had secured the long stability we were all enjoying. A certain term prohibited our Black Dragon cousins from raising and training soldiers beyond what was needed to keep order in their lands. Anything further would require the express permission of the Guardian and King in Aurisha. When Kroener returned from that mission, he informed us that the Black Dragons had violated that term. That they were raising a host and planned to make war on us.”

  “Was it true?” Darnuir asked.

  “We thought it was,” said Chelos. “Kroener gave a very convincing speech in the throne room. Do you remember, Blaine?”

  “In here,” Blaine said, tapping at the white opals on his sword.

  Chelos sat straighter, seeming more animated. “I’ll remember it always. ‘Five days with the wind’, he kept saying. ‘Five days with the wind’. And then he held up an oversized fig.” Chelos raised both his own hands in imitation. “It took both hands, so large it was. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘is but one result of Black Dragon sorcery. Larger than life and too ripe. Only five days away with the wind.’ Then he let it fall to smash upon the floor.” There was almost admiration in Chelos’ voice.

  “And no one else could vouch for these claims?” Darnuir said. “You said it wasn’t just Kroener who went.”

  “Only Kroener returned from that mission,” Blaine said.

  “A theme that continued with him,” said Chelos.

  “He claimed the rest of his party had been killed by the Black Dragons and that only he escaped,” Blaine said.

  “You think he lied?” Darnuir said.

  “I do not know,” Blaine said. “Either way we were whipped up into a frenzy. By then Dalthrak was growing ill and his days looked numbered. I stayed in Aurisha and Kroener and your father led the campaign against the Black Dragons. I remember Arlandra begging your father not to leave. She was pregnant with you. She begged him, and then she begged me to tell him to stay. ‘You go instead,’ she asked of me. ‘You go’.” The first tears began to distort Blaine’s vision. “I — I can see her now, in my mind, in my head, for the first time in years. I hid all the memories away before because it hurt too much. But now I see her again, beseeching me.”

  The tears fell. He could not remember the last time he had cried. Not even when Kasselle had told him not to return; even then he had stayed strong. But not for this. He couldn’t stand this. His nose twitched, turning visibly redder at the corner of his vision. His breath came in laboured, choked gul
ps.

  “I should have gone,” he went on. “I should have gone instead. But I told Arlandra that Drenthir had to go. He would be king soon and he had yet to be bloodied in battle; he still had to prove himself a leader… it’s all my fault.”

  He allowed himself this grief. He had ignored it for long enough. Darnuir’s face might have been made of stone. His eyes were fixated somewhere on Blaine’s chest plate.

  “You are not to blame,” Chelos said. “You could not have known.”

  “But my own daughter,” Blaine sobbed. “I could never deny her anything except for this. Why? Why did I do it?”

  “I agree with Chelos,” Darnuir said. “You could not have known.”

  Blaine breathed deeply, sniffed, and rubbed at his eyes. “Kroener and Drenthir went to war. The first reports were good. The Black Dragons were pushed back mile by mile, till their city fell. We all believed the war was over; a swift victory to put the Black Dragons back in line. And then more reports trickled in. Kroener had sewn salt into the soil. Kroener had ordered the legions to besiege Kar’drun, where the last Black Dragons had taken refuge.

  “Months past and Kroener and Drenthir travelled into the Highlands, though to what end we did not know. Each report came with a different story. Then, word finally came. Kroener had returned from the Highlands, but not with your father. There was no word of him. I knew then that something was terribly wrong. I think your mother felt it too. Grief struck her despite the happiness of your birth, Darnuir. Perhaps when Drenthir died it echoed across the world to rake at her heart.”

  “And you think the necklace is proof that my father died in the Highlands,” Darnuir said. He ran the silver chain through his fingers. “Do you think the Kazzek were involved?”

  “Kazzek?” Chelos asked.

  “Frost Trolls, friend,” Blaine said.

  “You encountered them?” Chelos asked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if those beasts aided the traitor.”