The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  “Papa!” a pitched voice squealed from amongst the refugees. “Papa.”

  “Cadha!” Ochnic cried. He spun madly to find her.

  “Papa,” came the voice for a third time and a small kazzek with short tusks like baby teeth came running into view.

  “Cadha,” Ochnic said half-weeping, falling to his knees as his daughter jumped into his open arms.

  “Papa,” Cadha sobbed into his fur. “Miss you. Miss you, I did.”

  “We were needin’ help,” Ochnic said between planting kisses on her head. “But I back now, Cadha. I will never leave you again.”

  Garon felt a tremor underfoot and saw another great golem plodding through the camp towards them.

  “Garon,” Ochnic was calling. “Come here. Cadha, my sweet, this is Garon. He is a human who has brought many Lowlanders to help us fight da demons.” Cadha looked up apprehensively to Garon, her wide, wet eyes as cold in colour as her father’s. He thought she looked terrified at seeing flesh that was not hard and grey. She clung to a hairy, three-legged toy as though it would defend her from this foreign creature.

  “Where’s his fur?” Cadha asked.

  “Same place as your papa’s,” Garon said. “Just not so much of it on me. I wear clothes to stay warm, see?” He tugged at his leathers. A moment passed in which the girl contemplated him, then she giggled.

  “Cadha,” Ochnic began, “what has happened?”

  “You left,” Cadha accused.

  “Cadha, I had to go,” Ochnic said. His daughter looked no more appeased. “Cadha tell papa—”

  “You left,” she said again, “and Chief Orrock died—”

  “Orrock is dead?” Ochnic asked.

  “And demons chased us, and I nearly lost dolly and…” but her words muffled as Ochnic hugged her close. Garon suddenly felt sorry for any delay he might have caused on their journey.

  She is far too young to have been left alone. Ochnic must have believed in his mission like that Blaine believes in his gods.

  “I will never leave you again, sweetling,” Ochnic was telling her. Father and daughter remained embraced when the golem reached them. Its enormous eyes had no pupils but it swivelled its head and tilted it downward, seeming to gaze upon Garon. It extended its boulder-sized hand, palm up. Instinct told Garon to do the same and he placed his hand upon the golem’s own. His view of the world began to change: rock and stone became brighter, more colourful, more than just black and grey and yet he could not comprehend it. He saw faint blue lines run through the hillsides, through the earth, and felt pulses from underfoot like many slow beating hearts. After a moment, a voice spoke in his mind. It sounded older than the mountains and tired in a way beyond his own comprehension.

  ‘It has been an age since I have seen your kind, human.’

  What is happening to me?

  ‘Do not be alarmed. Our senses have joined to form this connection. What is your name?’

  I am Garon. What can I call you?

  ‘These kazzek call me the Stone Father. That will suffice. You bring warriors, young Garon?’

  A hundred or so, not many but we’ll fight hard.

  ‘My brothers and sisters hold the southern pass but will not last.’

  My hunters and I shall aid them. Can you open the mountain passage on this side and let the clan through?

  ‘I can open it now, if the way is clear?’

  No, not yet. I await word on that. Ochnic will prepare the clan to move. Ochnic? Ochnic? Oh, right I’m talking in my mind…

  Garon pulled his hand away from the Stone Father, feeling dizzy. His vision cleared, returning to a human’s again, and the golem lumbered off.

  “Uh, that’s disorientating. Ochnic, you need to get your clan ready to move.”

  Ochnic, at last, looked up from hugging his daughter. “Dis I will do, pack leader.”

  “Right then,” he turned to Griswald and the rest of the hunters. They were a mix of Cairlav Hunters, of Crescent Hunters, of Boreac Hunters, some of the last of his white-leathered friends. Each looked determined, likely masking fear, just as he was.

  “Hunters, this is why we’re here. We’ve got a clan of kazzek to save and a southern pass to hold. Fight harder than you’ve ever fought in your lives. Aim true and earn your leathers. With me!” He bolted south and they followed. No one challenged the need to help these poor creatures who were trapped, hungry, despairing and no different from any human or dragon or fairy at heart.

  Amongst the woodland at the southern end of the valley they came across kazzek from Ochnic’s clan; wounded and exhausted. Garon thought their defeated eyes regained a small spark when they saw the hunters coming. They didn’t even question humans showing up. They just rejoiced at the arrival of aid. One ran off to inform the golems. Groans of exertion from the golems carried through the very ground. Garon felt it more than he heard it and saw trees pushed aside as two of the three golems began to fall back.

  “The demons will take advantage of this,” Garon called. “Into the woods. Let’s set a surprise for them.” He was one of the first in. Those kazzek who could still fight joined the hunters, climbing tree trunks into the canopy with all the speed of squirrels.

  Drawing his sword, Garon wedged himself between two trunks and peered through the narrow gap between them. His heart pounded, his breathing increased, his fingers twitched with a nervous energy. He could just make out the final golem ahead, still maintaining a churning stretch of earth which blocked much of the pass. Yet, with two of the golems gone, a portion of the ground had become still and demons were spilling in over it.

  Normally, before a fight, Garon would turn to Cosmo for a reassuring nod, just like he’d had done since he was fifteen. This time, it was hunters who caught his eye and he nodded to them, grinning in a way that only the insane or the patrol leader ever did. He could not seem downcast. He smiled just like he had to Darnuir, Balack and Eve the first time they had come across a fully grown and angry wolf; the same smile he’d seen from Cosmo, and the same one he’d seen old Captain Tael give Cosmo many years ago.

  The demons drew closer.

  They crossed from tossed soil to the red and yellow leaves of the woodland floor.

  Closer still.

  A few ran passed the trees Garon was pressed against.

  He let another heartbeat pass. “Now,” he roared.

  “Get stuck in,” bellowed Griswald.

  Garon picked his target and came out hacking. He caught the demon and smoke spiralled upwards from the wound. He kept moving, shouldering into another. He stamped on its small foot and smashed the pommel of his sword into its howling face.

  As the second wave of whooping demons reached the hunters, the kazzek descended from the trees, crashing to the earth in a blaze of knives and orange leaves. Garon felt a burst of newfound energy and battled on, rushing at the nearest demon, thrusting his sword at its neck. The demon’s dying body stumbled backwards, stepping in front of a running kazzek who flipped over the demon, landed, and continued to run.

  Demons kept coming and the day wore on. As the light began to fade, the death toll of the hunters steadily rose. Garon stumbled on a red-leathered body and the act of balancing himself took him out of his tempo. Suddenly, he felt his exhaustion hit him and found it hard to breathe in air now thick with smoke. He fell to one knee, panting. We cannot last much longer like this. Even as he thought it, a kazzek fell from above with two black arrows in his chest.

  More demons were coming.

  There were always more coming, but strangely no spectres yet.

  Garon clenched his fist amongst the wet leaves and blood squelched between his fingers. He rose to meet the demons and saw he was not alone. A fairy landed and struck at two of their backs with her spear. Garon cried from the exertion of blocking the third demon. He held it in place and the very tip of a spearhead punched through its stomach.

  “Pel,” Garon gasped.

  “It’s done,” she said. “The western exit is sec
ure. The demons are falling back.”

  “Fly up the glen, tell Ochnic.” She took off at once and Garon summoned what strength remained in his voice. “Back! Back now. We’re getting out of here. Hey,” he yelled at a passing kazzek, grabbing him by his arm. “Tell those golems we’re going.”

  “Dey will know,” the troll insisted, nodding his head vigorously. Garon ducked to avoid being shredded by his long tusks. Sure enough, the ground began to shake, signalling the golems were on the move.

  Garon joined the stream of hunters and kazzek fleeing the area. He could no longer feel his legs but he ran. Closer to the camp Ochnic ran out to meet them, his daughter sitting on his shoulders.

  “Lead da demons away. Da clan are still moving into de passageway.”

  Garon nearly collapsed at Ochnic’s feet. Doubled over, he was helped up by an enormous set of hands.

  “Up ye get lad,” Griswald said. Even his beard looked drenched in sweat.

  “You’re older than me,” Garon said. “How am I the one struggling?”

  “Who said I wis’nae struggling?” wheezed Griswald.

  “How many of us made it?” Garon asked.

  “About half,” Griswald replied.

  Garon supposed it could have been far worse. “We need to give the kazzek more time.”

  “Come,” Ochnic said, bounding off towards the mountain pathways he had led them on. “We distract da demons dis way, draw dem off.”

  “Ochnic, what about Cadha?” Garon cried.

  “I won’t leave her.”

  “But—” Garon tried.

  “Don’t bother,” said Griswald. “We hav’nae the time.”

  “No, we don’t,” Garon said. “I’m surprised they haven’t caught up to us already.” The sound of demon cackling was certainly louder than before, but not as close as it ought to have been. Garon looked back to the southern pass and realised then that only two golems were retreating with them. “Where is the third?”

  “Must have stayed behind to buy us time,” said Griswald.

  “If only we had half its courage,” Garon said.

  “If only we were that big and made of rock,” said Griswald. “Let’s follow Ochnic, c’mon.”

  They did. The remaining kazzek warriors and hunters dashed up the mountain path. The last golem was doubled down at the southern pass, its feet and hands were dug deeply into the earth, drawing up raw Cascade energy in luminescent pools. The blue liquid steamed and smoked, turning the grass and trees silver or burning them black in a slowly growing radius. In what seemed a final effort, the golem pressed deeper into the earth. Deep cracks appeared in its stone body. It wasn’t in vain, for the ground quaked and broke in an arc before the golem, swallowing demons whole or crushing them beneath a flood of soil. Some demons still made it through, swarming over the hunched form of the golem. Garon had no idea how long the golem might last like that. Already the smoke and steam of the raw Cascade was blocking it from view.

  Garon reached over his shoulder and was pleased his bow was still intact.

  “Hit the demons in the flank,” Garon yelled. “Draw them away from the clan.”

  Bow strings twanged as quickly as the hunters could draw and release. It worked a little too well. The demons changed course to chase them.

  “Move!” Garon called. “As fast as you can. Move.”

  It was precarious trying to run along the narrow path with a sheer drop on the left. A full moon and starlight helped but not by much. The kazzek’s natural agility served them better than the humans. One hunter ahead stumbled and fell, tumbling out of sight.

  At some point, wings buzzed overhead. “The clan is safely in the tunnel along with three golems,” Pel shouted down. “The doorway is sealed behind them.” The battered kazzek warriors running with Garon and the hunters rejoiced, throwing their fists into the air. “Move fast. The demons are finding their way onto these trails and we’ve seen spectres popping out of shadows cast by moonlight.” The celebrating stopped at once.

  “Thanks for the encouragement,” Garon said. Pel descended to Garon’s level, fluttering beside him, an arm’s length off the safety of the path.

  “You’re welcome,” said Pel quietly, not catching the sarcasm. “I’ll bring more flyers back with me.” Then she was off, and in his delirious exhaustion Garon had a nightmarish image of spectres emerging all along the narrow path, their dark razor sharp swords cleaving at their ankles.

  He slapped himself in the face and carried on.

  An hour passed, then two. Their progress heading back was far quicker than it had been on the approach. Pressure from demons at the rear kept Garon’s legs working. He could still hear the tumult of the demons. It never grew louder, but nor did it fade away, a constant reminder of what hunted them. His vision was blurring and shifting as though he were drunk. He kept focused on Cadha in front of him. She was on Ochnic’s back, her little arms and legs wrapped tightly around her father.

  Then something appeared below at the base of the mountain. It seemed to be a new shimmering river. No, that couldn’t be right. He tried to focus on it but the golden glint stung his sore eyes. Golden. His mind worked slowly. Golden — that’s no river… Dragons! It’s the dragons.

  “We’ve made it back to the other side,” Garon blurted out.

  “Just a little further, pack leader,” Ochnic shouted back.

  The path began to descend. When they were about thirty feet from ground level, Garon could make out the Ninth Legion more clearly and the fairies alongside them. Ranks of dragons ran right up to the base of the cliff face below. Many were pointing up at Garon and the others. Yet even as he looked over their allies, the glint of the dragon’s armour vanished. A jagged cloud had cut across the moon and shadows spread along the mountainside. And like a drunkard suddenly forced to cope with some harsh reality or danger, Garon felt alert in an instant.

  “Spectres!” came the cry.

  They came up from the path underfoot just as he’d feared. They came with axes, swords and maces, swirling in purple shadows. They came like smoke caught in the wind. And they came screaming.

  “Kill, kill, kill,” the spectre closest to Garon screeched. “The Master calls. He caalllllsss—”

  Garon silenced him with a sword in its gut. More spectres were emerging from the steep slope of the mountain, sliding down towards them, shouting incoherently.

  “The voice it calls.”

  “In our minds.”

  “Killll,” they screamed.

  “Kill us!” One roared and even attacked another spectre.

  What precious space there was on the mountain path quickly disappeared. Garon swung his exhausted arm and his sword caught on a spectre’s heavy axe. Griswald boxed the spectre off the ledge but more came. The tendril of cloud blocking the moon seemed unwilling to move on.

  “We are sorry,” the spectres cried. “Sorry to disobey you, Master.”

  “Master, master, master,” others pleaded.

  “PLEASE,” said another, even as it tried to skewer both Ochnic and Garon. Ochnic slashed at its throat and Garon steadied the troll with a helping hand. Cadha clung bravely to her father, not uttering a word. A spectre rose in the sliver of a shadow between them. Garon and Ochnic were shoved aside as it sprang upwards. The force of it knocked Cadha from Ochnic’s back and Garon stumbled, lost his balance, and fell from the edge of the ledge.

  Below, the dragons were still battling with the demons. Garon fell towards them for a second, and then a rough hand caught his forearm.

  Ochnic grunted. The troll had fallen flat on his belly and was being pulled closer to the edge of the path by Garon’s weight. Garon tried to swing his free hand up to grab the ledge. His fingers brushed the dirt but he couldn’t gain a grip.

  “Papa,” Cadha yelled. Ochnic was holding onto them both but the battle with the spectres was not over. A kazzek body fell past Garon as he tried for the ledge again.

  He missed.

  “Ochnic, I can’t mak
e it. Let go of me.” He didn’t need to think it through. It was the only choice he could make. And he meant it.

  “Don’t say dat,” Ochnic said in evident pain as his chest scraped a little further over the ridge. Cadha was sobbing.

  “Ochnic, don’t be a damned fool. She’s your daughter. She’s why you did all this. Let. Me. Go.”

  Ochnic moaned from the effort.

  Garon felt his hand slip.

  “Papa, I can’t hold you,” Cadha wailed.

  “Let me go,” Garon said. “If she falls this has all been for nothing. We came to save your people. We weren’t all going to make it.”

  “Be quiet,” Ochnic said. “Cadha, sweetling, hold me. Hold on, you must.” He began pulling Cadha up, every muscle fibre on his sinewy arm shook under the strain. Garon felt himself slip a little more and Cadha dropped her doll to grab onto her father’s arm with both hands. But she wasn’t strong enough to cling on and she slid down Ochnic’s arm.

  Garon met the troll’s eyes, and his fear was plain. Ochnic’s lip trembled but he unfurled his hand from Garon’s arm.

  “Bye, Och.”

  Garon let go too.

  There was a great sense of freedom just falling through the night. He saw Ochnic grab Cadha with his unfettered hand. Saw him pull her up. Saw the flash of a spectre swing its sword above Ochnic, down into his back.

  No!

  Ochnic’s hands unclenched and Cadha fell.

  No. This isn’t right. Only Cadha’s silhouette falling after him remained visible. And the thing that caught her.

  A blue streak blew by so fast Garon almost missed it. It caught Cadha, swerved wildly around and headed west, away from the fight.

  That’s better. That’s right.

  The rush of wind blocked out all other sound.

  He closed his eyes.

  Crunch.

  Pain. There was definite pain. Lots and lots of pain. But if there was pain, he could not be dead. Not yet at least. He was on top of something metallic and solid, and decided it was best to roll off it. His face landed on cool grass and he sighed. Even sighing hurt. Slowly, as slowly as he could, he opened one eye.