The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  “Mmm,” Cassandra hummed but said nothing more. Castallan might be dead, but his legacy of distrust would linger on for years.

  “Here you are,” Olive announced as they arrived at the end of the corridor. “You can let yourselves out when you’re done I imagine?” She did not wait for an answer before she shuffled off down another bare hallway, around the corner and out of sight.

  “Poor thing,” Kymethra said. She gave the door a good nudge and it swung open with a thud. They both stepped inside Lord Boreac’s office. Drawers lay torn from their desks and cabinets, ink stained the floorboards and blank paper was strewn everywhere. A fireplace lay cold. “Doesn’t leave much for us to go on,” Kymethra said. “Don’t know what you expect to find here.”

  “Any clue would be useful,” Cassandra said. She started feeling along the walls, tapping with her knuckles at intervals. “By the sounds of it, Lord Boreac left in a hurry. That suggests he wasn’t planning on leaving. That suggests to me that he felt safely unconnected to Annandale, Castallan and that whole mess by not having some sort of plan of escape.”

  “So, what in that letter could have given him such a fright?” Kymethra asked.

  “I’ve no idea,” Cass said. “Maybe news that Castallan had been defeated? He might have believed that Castallan really would prevail. Enough people seemed to think so.” She paused over another likely spot and rapped her knuckles against it. She tutted in annoyance. Nothing on this side.

  “What are you doing?” Kymethra asked.

  “Checking for compartments or other secret openings.”

  “The hunters and chevaliers picked the place clean, don’t you think they would have already found one?”

  “They might not have been looking,” Cassandra said. “I used to check every new room of the Bastion I visited.” She moved along the next wall, towards the fireplace.

  “Boreac likely took anything vital with him,” Kymethra said.

  “Although Olive said he bolted with barely his cloak clasped on,” Cassandra said.

  “Alright,” Kymethra said. “Boreac can’t have been planning on going far then.”

  “I do think he is still in the city, perhaps with a nobleman who is hiding him,” Cassandra said. “His lands are in ruins. The south is under martial law by thousands of Arkus’ soldiers. The Golden Crescent is in disarray as are the Cairlav Marshes. Maybe he could have travelled north to the Hinterlands, but Orrana’s father is too tied in with Arkus to make the region safe for Boreac. That leaves just the Crownlands and the capital, and I’d wager on the capital.”

  “But who would take him in?” Kymethra said. “A whole city of people. We need to narrow that down.”

  “We certainly do,” Cassandra said. The third wall was an outer one with two windows, so she doubted there would be anything hidden there. She moved to the final wall behind Kymethra. “You could do something, Kymethra.”

  “Like what?” Kymethra said, lightly kicking an upended chair to one side. “Nothing here unless you find some secret stash.” She began pacing across the study.

  This probably isn’t distracting her much from her other worries. Please let there be something here.

  Cassandra needed a clue to move forwards – one person, one name, one place – anything to point to where Boreac might have fled at the eleventh hour. Halfway along the final wall and her hopes were not high. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Kymethra had settled into a regular patrol of a few square metres.

  “When we find him, he’ll be sorry,” she grumbled. Her steps grew heavier as she paced and the floorboards groaned louder.

  Creak, creak, creak, crik.

  “Thinks he can get away with it…” Kymethra muttered darkly.

  Creak, creak, creak, crik.

  The final wall that Cassandra tried proved fruitless. She sighed. She’d have to move onto the floor.

  Creak, creak, creak, crik.

  “Kymethra, take a step back will you?” Cassandra asked. The witch did so without question.

  Crik.

  “There,” Cassandra said, pointing under Kymethra’s black boot. “You’ve only gone and found the spot.” She got down onto her knees. The floorboard seemed well stuck in place. Determined, Cassandra ran her fingers lightly over its surface and along every grain until, at last, she found a thumb size patch that did not conform to the rest of the wood.

  This is it.

  Her nail caught on the edge of it, digging down a fraction, and then she pulled up the small block, which enabled her to get her hand under the panel and lift it up. Triumphantly, she gazed down and saw a small, bronze strong box.

  “Well pluck my feathers,” Kymethra said.

  Cassandra lunged in for it. “It’s quite heavy,” she said, puffing as she brought it out onto the floor. She dropped it down with a great thud, and the lid rattled loosely. It was already unlocked.

  “Looks like Boreac might have had the time to grab something, but not the time to lock it up again,” Kymethra said.

  Gingerly, Cassandra opened the strongbox fully. It was empty save for a tiny dark grey ball, which had rolled into one corner. There didn’t seem to be room for much inside; perhaps a ledger full of illicit notes could have been slotted in. She picked up the little grey ball.

  “What is this?”

  “Give it here,” said Kymethra. Cassandra passed it over and Kymethra rolled it between her fingers, took a closer look at it and then licked it. Cass raised one eyebrow.

  “What?” Kymethra said. “We had to get to know materials for alchemy back at the Conclave. Not that anything more effective than a cough syrup was ever brewed. This is lead, by the way.”

  “Lead?” Cassandra said. “Doesn’t help me much. I’ll hold onto it though. Whatever it is, Boreac thought it was important enough to store in a strongbox.”

  “And take with him when he left,” Kymethra said. “I suspect there were far more of these in there.”

  “Agreed,” said Cassandra. She got to her feet, stretched her arms above her head and then let them fall limply. She felt thoroughly deflated. Finding Lord Boreac was not going to be a simple thing at all. Her gaze landed on the fireplace. Back in Chelos’ room, it was the bricks of the mantelpiece that opened up the secret passageway. But she was learning that not every large building would have such hidden ways. Yet something about the fireplace itself made her linger on it. There was quite a bit of ash and there were larger white chunks in it. She took a few steps closer.

  “He burned some papers,” Cassandra said.

  “Didn’t do a good job of it,” Kymethra noted. “He was in a hurry though, I suppose. Likely just ripped the sheets a few times then tossed them in.”

  “The fire might have already been dying when he did it,” Cassandra said. She began rifling through the ashes. She held up a scrap, but all that could be seen on it was a few words, which were meaningless on their own. “Not much to go on though. What was so important to burn? And what was so urgent he had to leave without making sure the job was done properly?”

  “Cassandra,” Kymethra said excited, pulling out a much larger strip of soot-stained paper. Her eyes ran animatedly over the short piece. “I think this could be from the letter that Olive mentioned.”

  Cassandra picked it delicately out of Kymethra’s hands, hoping it wouldn’t crumble away. There was a broken sentence buried under the dirt, the words hastily scrawled.

  … I’m unsure about our options. Come to the Station now. R.F.

  “R.F.,” Cassandra said. It wasn’t much, but the initials gave her something to go on. And better still she had a place too. “Looks like we’ll be paying the Master Station a visit.”

  Chapter 22

  A FATHER’S PLEA

  Garon – The Highlands – West of the Glen of Bhrath

  “FEELS COLDER TONIGHT,” Garon said, as he pressed his face into his fur-lined collar to shield his nose. He had reattached warmer pieces of his leathers.

  “Dis is not real cold,�
� Ochnic said. He was crouched down amongst the flora and heather, rocking on the tips of his toes and fidgeting with his dagger.

  “Aye, yer right on that,” said Griswald. “But it’s startin’ tae get chilly. Feels like home again.”

  “Da demons will have burned my home.”

  “We lost our home, Ochnic,” Garon said. “Including many people we loved. I do not wish that fate on anyone. We’ll get your family to safety.”

  “Only daughter,” Ochnic said. “My life mate, she passed.” He said it so plainly, so matter of fact, so indifferently, yet he couldn’t meet Garon’s eye. It must have caused him all the pain in the world. A silence followed, as though all three were honouring the dead.

  The three of them were sat around a collapsed set of smaller standing stones, upon a knoll overlooking the river of this glen. Marus and Rohka were farther out with a vanguard force in case the demons ventured too close in the night. To the east rose another Principal Mountain, the fourth that Garon had seen since entering the Highlands. Its snow-covered slopes rose above the clouds. The cache of food they sought was in that mountain, in some hall of the golems, kept secret from all save the chieftains and their treasured silver-furred guards. A rush of wind sent another chill through Garon and he pulled his cloak closer around himself.

  He realised that no one had spoken in quite some time, so he clasped the hunched troll on the shoulder and said, “We’ll get her back, Ochnic. We’ll save her and your clan. They are still alive.”

  “I know,” said Ochnic. “Da demons be swarming around da Glen of Bhrath for a reason. But Rohka, Chief-of-Chiefs does not want ta fight through.”

  “Getting tae yer clan by force would be some task,” said Griswald.

  “With any luck, we’ll only need to fight the demons on this side of the mountain,” said Garon. “Rohka says there is another passageway under it, just like there is at the Great Glen. Clearing the demons away from this side of the mountain will allow your clan to use the passages to come to us. Rohka is concerned about the food stores being lost, as he should, but I don’t see how he can object to that plan. We’ll have a better grasp on things once Pel and her flyers return from scouting.”

  “Then we go,” Ochnic said.

  “Then we’ll make plans and go,” said Garon. “Ochnic, may I ask you something?”

  “You ask a lot of questions, pack leader,” Ochnic said.

  Garon shrugged. “I’m a curious fellow and I wondered about the title Rohka and the Chieftains gave you. They referred to you as ‘Shadow Hunter’. Is that what you are?”

  “What I was,” said Ochnic. “Older now, I am. Those who watch over da borderlands with da Black Rock would stop demons coming through da mountains where we could. I shouldn’t have returned but de younger hunters claimed der were many more demons than dey had eva seen. So I went and when I saw what was coming I knew de kazzek could not win. My chieftain, Orrock, tried at first. He gave us warriors and called da other chiefs for warriors. Dey came. Many died. Da demons kept coming.”

  “And that’s when they sent you fer help?” asked Griswald.

  “No,” Garon said, realising. “They didn’t send you, did they? At least not right away. I’ll bet my share of the food that we find that it was your notion Ochnic.”

  “Was it now?” Griswald said.

  “It was, I,” said Ochnic. “Kazzek be needin’ help but Orrock is wary of Lowlanders and said he wouldn’t take it to de other chieftains. Dey wouldn’t listen at first, but then more bodies came back from da east and da burnings grew so large de clans could see the smoke from glens away. Not all de chieftains wanted me to go. Many said yes to get rid of me, I think. Da eldest, Chieftain Glik, gave me a trinket for da Dragon Guardian. And de rest you know, pack leader.”

  “Well, your people owe you a great debt,” Garon said. “We Lowlanders included.”

  “These lands might fall still,” Ochnic said darkly. “But no debt is owed. I did dis for Cadha. I cannot understand why de others did not think of der little ones, their future, their world, when we are burned to ash.”

  “It can be a hard thing tae ask for such change so quickly,” Griswald said.

  “We must change or we’ll die,” Ochnic said. “Maybe those who don’t roam da borders with the Black Rock can pretend but not I; not a Shadow Hunter tired of seeing kazzek fall. We cannot stand alone.”

  “Many of us in the south have similar issues,” Garon said.

  Ochnic nodded slowly. “I noticed. I hope dat Lowlanders can settle their grudges.”

  “You and me both,” said Garon. “At least we’re trying, eh?” But Ochnic wasn’t paying attention. The troll’s head suddenly sprung up, sniffing softly at the air.

  “Pel is coming,” said Ochnic. Sure enough, within half a minute, Wing Commander Pel landed amongst the fallen standing stones with five flyers. In her hand was a giant blue stemmed, blue leafed flower with yellows spots.

  “There are kazzek on the other side of the mountain,” Pel said. “It must be your clan, Ochnic. Something is holding the demons back though and they haven’t managed to swarm into the glen yet. There’s still time.” Ochnic sprang to his feet and bounded to Pel as though to hug her, but he halted just short, stubbing a large toe on one of the standing stones.

  “Dis is well,” Ochnic said through gritted teeth. He bent down to attend to his smarting toe, taking rapid little breaths.

  “And I found that plant you spoke of,” said Pel.

  “Ah, chull weed,” Ochnic said. He took it from her. “Dis has a few ways but mostly it clears the head of illness. Place da flower in hot water and place your head over it with a cloth to catch da steam.”

  “Chull weed,” Pel repeated. “Got it.”

  “Class time’s over,” Garon said. “We need to take this news to Rohka.”

  “Yes, we go now,” Ochnic said and began running down the hillside towards the river. Pel flew after him.

  “Think I’ll enjoy the night here a for a wee while,” Griswald said.

  “Very well,” Garon said, stretching his arms and legs. “Doubt you’d be able to keep up anyway.” Griswald smiled broadly but didn’t rise to Garon’s bait.

  “Right, off I go then,” Garon said.

  He found it a struggle to keep up as he followed Ochnic and Pel along the riverbank. It ran east through the glen, towards where Marus and Rohka would be stationed with the vanguard. Distantly, Ochnic and Pel halted under the shelter of an overhanging crag, where the fire lit the armour of the dragons and Silver Furs nearby it. By the time Garon caught up, Ochnic was already prostrating himself before the Chief-of-Chiefs.

  “Please. Please. Leave dem you can’t.”

  “Sorry, I am, Ochnic, Shadow Hunter,” Rohka said. “I cannot open de passage to the other side if der is a chance da demons will enter from de Glen of Bhrath.”

  “Pel, Wing Commander,” Ochnic said, looking desperately around for her. Pel stepped forward a little timid before the towering Chieftain. “Tell him,” Ochnic said. “Tell him der is time.”

  “Great chieftain there is time to act,” Pel said. “Something holds the demons at bay. It looked like a storm of earth.” All the kazzek turned to each other and began muttering amongst themselves.

  “Dat will be da golems,” said Rohka slowly. “But even dey cannot hold forever.”

  “Der are paths, paths on the mountain,” Ochnic said. “I know. Long have I roamed these lands. I can take kazzek over and warn—”

  “I need my warriors here,” Rohka said.

  “Pel and da fairies can fly,” Ochnic said, more hastily. “She can warn dem and prepare—”

  But Rohka shook his great head. “You know dat will not work, Ochnic, Shadow Hunter. Your clan will see fairies as a threat.”

  “I’m sure Pel and her flyers could carry Ochnic there,” Garon said. “Between enough of them, I mean.” The Chief-of-Chiefs eyed Garon. The iron bands around his tusks caught a little glow from the fire.

 
“I do not condemn his clan, Garon, pack leader,” said Rohka. “But we must secure the supplies in full. Else we shall all starve. Your people too. Once dat is done, if we can, we shall rescue da clan. But not before.”

  Garon looked to Marus. “And what do you think on this?”

  “Rohka has a point,” Marus said, though he shuffled uneasily on his crutch.

  “Marus, don’t think with your stomach now,” Garon said. “We’ve come so far. Don’t let Ochnic down.”

  “We came to help the kazzek and save the Highlands from being overrun,” Marus said. “Rohka is their leader. How will King Darnuir feel if we ruin our relationship with him? I’m sorry Garon.”

  “Please,” Ochnic begged again. He was on his knees, shuffling closer to Rohka. “Please, Chief-of-Chiefs. Don’t leave dem to die. Don’t leave Cadha to da demons!”

  “Dat is close enough, Shadow Hunter,” Rohka said. “I have decided. Tomorrow we shall hit da demons on our side of de mountain. We clear dem away and hold dem while we bring out de supplies from da golem halls. If we can still save your clan afterwards, I promise we shall try. But not before.” Rohka turned and took his leave.

  Garon stood helpless. This whole mission has slipped out of my control. What should I do? What can I do? He wished there and then for some power like Darnuir’s sword or some title like Cosmo; something, anything that could make them listen. Before he could do anything, Ochnic had risen and was following Rohka, desperately attempting to turn him around.

  “I said dat was close enough,” Rohka growled. “Know your place, old Shadow Hunter.”

  “Please,” Ochnic said, utterly desperate. He lunged forwards, as though to grab Rohka by the arm; but his flailing hand grasped a patch of Rohka’s silver fur instead and ripped the hair from the chieftain’s back. Rohka grunted in pain and spun, smacking Ochnic away. But even then, Ochnic did not give up, scrambling back.

  “Take him,” Rohka said to his guards. “He needs restrainin’.”

  “What?” Pel shrieked. She started forwards but several Silver Furs got in her way. Garon looked to Marus again but the legate was staring determinedly at the ground.