The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  Waiting with something heavy or sharp to strike me with?

  She inched silently along the ground and lifted the tent wall just enough to glimpse the soles of some bare feet. Then she heard a foolishly loud sigh of relief from the owner of the feet. Cassandra sat back up in a crouch, drew out her sword, and then struck hard with the flat of her blade at where she thought the knees would be.

  There was a heavy grunt of pain and Cass doubled back and barged in the tent’s entrance. She was on him then, pinning him with pressure to the small of his back and twisting an arm up behind him. He had white hair as the children had described. It was thick but matted and filthy. Entire tufts had fallen away. His face was cleanly shaven although she spotted several small bristles under his jawline.

  “Lord Boreac?” Cassandra whispered into his ear.

  “If you’re here to kill me then be done with it,” Boreac muttered. At least that is what Cassandra thought he said. His speech was muffled with his mouth half full of grass.

  “Oh no, the King wants you for trial.”

  “Dranus’ hide he does.”

  “He was quite insistent on finding you.” She took both his hands and bound them together with a strand of strong silver silk. She moved to do the same to his feet.

  “I’m not going to run,” Boreac said. “I’m too old to try and outpace you and I have no weapons to speak of. Wouldn’t have gotten into the camp otherwise.”

  That’s true enough. “What’s in the sack?” she asked, eyeing it up.

  “The last scrounged up possessions of a fleeing man,” said Boreac. “Some clothes, some trinkets of my ancestors—”

  “Some papers on the suspicious death of a hunter captain?”

  “Found Foulis, did you? Look, why don’t you let me sit upright and you can fling accusations at me in a more civilised manner?”

  Cassandra increased the pressure on his back. “Don’t try anything.”

  “I assure you I am too old, too tired and too weak to attempt much.”

  “No sudden moves,” Cassandra said, keeping a hand on the hilt of her sword just in case. She stood up and allowed Boreac to rustle himself upright. With the entrance flap shut the tent was dim inside, but the material was worn so thin that a gloomy light seeped through. Aside from the brown sack, there was only an aged bedroll, another handout from the Master Station.

  On the ground, Boreac groaned again. His dirtied tunic was torn in places and vibrant purple-blue bruises were visible on his shoulder. Every muscle was defined due to his emaciated flesh and the smell was quite potent, like vomit outside a tavern on a hot morning. He tilted his neck to one side and there was a crack like breaking stone.

  “Gahh,” he gasped. “It’s crick after crick sleeping this rough.”

  “How long have you been out here?”

  “When did the Bastion fall?”

  “Just over two months ago.”

  “Then that long,” Boreac rasped. Cassandra unclipped the waterskin at her belt and threw him it. “Thank you,” he said, taking two long gulps and dribbling some of it down his chin. “That’s a kindness.”

  “We’re being civilised,” said Cassandra. He chuckled and took another sip of water. “The sooner you come with me the sooner you can regain some of your dignity with a bath and clothes.”

  “Give an old man a moment.” He stretched out his legs lethargically, seeming utterly disinterested in the idea of movement. “I didn’t think I’d be found here. Reckoned the camp would be a blind spot for Arkus.”

  “Arkus doesn’t know,” Cassandra said. “Not yet, anyway. I might never have guessed you were here had you not told Foulis you intended to go to the dragons. That was your biggest mistake.”

  “I was in a rush,” Boreac said. “And how did you find Foulis? We were careful about him.”

  “There was a scrap of a letter in your fireplace.”

  “Hmmm,” Boreac mused. “This is my first grand escape, I was bound to slip up.”

  “You didn’t have a plan in place to flee?”

  “All our plans were ruined the minute Castallan died,” Boreac said. “And you know, I’m glad he’s dead. I planned to stop one man gaining too much power and instead helped one far worse – one far less predictable. What poor choices I have made.”

  “You haven’t asked me who I am.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I might be able to have you treated better. If you’re cooperative.” Boreac looked at her properly for the first time, squinting in the gloom of the tent.

  “Ah,” he sighed, realising, “there is much of Ilana in you. We were close once, your mother and I. Once I would even have named Arkus a friend. How times change. Here I am defeated and here you are, looking so much like her. Yet I feel there is more Arkus in you than your appearance would suggest. You’re clearly cunning and resourceful, just like him.”

  “Is that an insult?”

  “Far from it,” Boreac said. “Although it depends on whom you ask these days. Once your father was a good man, if not a great prince or king.”

  “Or so you say,” Cassandra said.

  “Believe what you wish. He changed when Ilana died.”

  “Are you a good man, Lord Boreac?”

  “No more or less than most, I’d wager,” Boreac said. “What did you do with poor Foulis in the end?”

  “I agreed to forget all about him,” Cassandra said. “He can go on living a normal life. You’re the real prize.”

  “I assume there’s no way to persuade you just to forget about me as well?”

  “Wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Such loyalty to a man you barely know.”

  “I didn’t do it for Arkus. I did it for me. That would have been enough. But I’ve seen the trail of broken people that your failed revolution has left and I was there at the heart of the Bastion. So many died because of you. So many lives ruined.”

  “Arkus has ruined lives as well,” Boreac said.

  “Not in the same way.”

  “More slowly perhaps, less obviously,” Boreac said with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. “Still, he has been just as ruthless. Houses rise and fall on his whim. Forgive me if I wanted to be on the right side of a power shift.”

  “The Assembly holds much power,” Cassandra said. “We aren’t like the dragons.”

  Boreac raised his eyebrows. “I forgot you were an expert having arrived in the city two months ago. You may not believe me, but it’s true. Each year Arkus takes more control, subtly of course. Oh, he’s very good, but taking power and influence still; a little here, a little there. There’s no use in an Assembly that is under the King’s thumb and I’m afraid our failure has only accelerated that. What?” he added, smiling at Cassandra’s confusion, “you don’t think I’m right?”

  “You’re all just power grabbers,” Cassandra said. “Are you trying to say that Castallan would have shared power equally?”

  “You make a fine point,” Boreac said. “Getting caught up with the wizard was a mistake as well, but Scythe and Annandale got more radical as the years went by. They began listening to Castallan and blamed the dragons more and more, an easy scapegoat I suppose. It worked so well because there is a grain of truth to it. But Dranus take them for their bloodshed. I never wanted it to come to that. I wanted to fight Arkus at his own game, stop him upending our world to forge his new one. He’s won now though.”

  “Unless you get to the dragons,” Cassandra said. “That’s why you’re here. Do you really think Darnuir will listen to this tale you’re weaving for me?”

  “There is always a chance the dragons will see how far they can kick my head from Aurisha’s plateau. My actions have condemned me, but what I have to tell them should save me. I’m confident of that.”

  “Which has got something to do with Captain Morwen, black powder and this,” Cassandra said, pulling out the little lead sphere. It left a trail of dark grey on her skin where she rolled it between her fingers.


  “From my lockbox?” Boreac said.

  “You must have dropped one. Why would Darnuir care about this?”

  “Because it could mean a change in power across this world like we’ve never seen before,” Boreac said. “And with the dragons already weakened it could mean—”

  A sharp screech came from outside. Cassandra turned to face the tent entrance and heard Kymethra’s piercing cry two more times.

  She rounded on Boreac. “Help coming for you?” Her stomach sank. Boreac might have been keeping her talking on purpose.

  “No one knows I’m here, I swear it.”

  “Get back then,” she ordered and Boreac hobbled to his feet and stepped back, closer to his precious sack of goods. Cassandra resisted drawing her sword. If it were hunters on patrol they might just pass by.

  She tried to calm herself. That’s all it will be, surely?

  Voices were muttering outside now. They weren’t moving on.

  Stay calm.

  “Definitely the witch,” a man’s voice said.

  “Stay out here in case she lands,” said another. “We’ll go in.”

  Cassandra drew her sword as five hooded figures entered the tent. Black cloaks hid their bodies, but links of chainmail slinked out from their sleeves and a glint of dark steel was visible at their collars.

  “Not with you?” Boreac asked.

  “Not with me,” Cassandra said.

  “Put your sword down, Princess,” the lead man said coolly. “You aren’t going to die for him.”

  He was right. She couldn’t win this fight. A scuffle came from outside and then the last hooded men joined them, Kymethra in tow. Her hands bound behind her, a gag cloth had been shoved into her mouth and a long dagger pressed lightly at her back. Kymethra looked to Cassandra, her eyes pleading. She could almost hear the witch’s thoughts of “Magic! Let me use my magic.”

  But it wouldn’t help.

  Cassandra might take one, maybe two, and Kymethra another but there were six opponents in this cramped space. No room to move. They wore armour and she did not. And Boreac’s life wasn’t worth her own. She’d caught him. The deal with Arkus was done.

  Cassandra dropped her sword on the grass.

  “Wise move,” said the lead man. He drew back his hood to reveal his dark blond hair and pristine skin. Gellick smiled at her. “You’ve done very well, Cassandra. Your father will be pleased.”

  “Gellick Esselmont,” Lord Boreac said with disdain. “Unsurprising to see you padding alongside Arkus like a good pup. Quite young to be positioned so close to the King.”

  “He needs men he can trust,” Gellick said. “You’ve proven false, Geoff Boreac. A pity, I always enjoyed attending your feasts as a boy. Your cooks had a way with guinea fowl.”

  “You’ve been following me?” Cassandra asked.

  “Dranus’ hide, no,” Gellick said. “Someone like me would have drawn too much attention. You said it yourself. You could do this because you aren’t known yet. We only knew where you were today because Queen Orrana came to me in confidence. She was worried for your safety, Princess. Asked us to keep an eye on you. We nearly lost you in this dragon cesspit but Kymethra conveniently flew overhead for us. And, well, this will make matters cleaner than back at the palace.”

  “Cleaner how?” Cass said.

  Gellick smirked. “I must ask you not to scream. Do you promise, Princess?” But he didn’t give her time to answer. “Do it,” Gellick barked. One of the chevaliers pulled out a slender knife, stepped up to Lord Boreac and stabbed him in the gut. Boreac’s wheeze of surprise faded as he fell into the fabric of his killer’s cloak. The knife plunged wetly for a second time.

  Cassandra stepped forwards. “No!” She looked to her sword, bent to pick it up, but Gellick’s steel encased foot weighed it down. He hoisted her up by the leathers at the nape of her neck and flicked out his own dagger, pointing it at her.

  “I said, no screaming.”

  Chapter 29

  RETURN TO AURISHA

  For those not fortunate to have journeyed to the dragon capital, allow me a moment to describe its splendour. Everything gleams there, from the stone at night to the eyes of dragon children, so comfortable and assured in the most powerful city of the most powerful people in the world. Contentment is high and life is stable. Lemons, plums, figs, quinces, melons from the peninsula, and every sort of nut and grain overflow in their markets. Smells of cooking meat are often on the air, though that does not please my tastes as much. Every home and street is spotless.

  From Tiviar’s Histories

  Darnuir – West of Aurisha

  EVERY MILE TO Aurisha had been with plagued with demons. They put up little resistance, but they were still in the way. Each time Darnuir thought to deviate their direct southern route the demons would harry them, just enough to get them to move onwards, closer to the city. It seemed Dukoona wanted them to reach Aurisha in good time. He wanted it badly.

  Darnuir thought his heart would swell when he laid eyes upon Aurisha, but he was disappointed. He didn’t feel anything. He just saw a city he had to take. It didn’t feel like it could be or should be home. The plateau still commanded the landscape, the walls were still high and thick, fanning protectively around the northern edge of the city from shore to shore. But it was the demons that stirred emotion in him. Their host sat idly outside the walls, uncharacteristically still.

  I must be wary. I must try to think clearly… One false move and twenty thousand lives will be on my hands. His head throbbed with want of the Cascade. His fingers twitched, longing for his sword, to enter battle, to let the power flow. With a great effort, he shoved the impulse down and took a drink from his waterskin to cool his urges. Something of his struggle must have shown on his face for Raymond looked down in concern from atop his horse, Bruce.

  “Are you not exhilarated to gaze upon your ancestral home?”

  “Brevia might be the black city,” Darnuir said, “but Aurisha looks dead.”

  “Your people will return Aurisha to her former glory,” Raymond announced, clenching his fist dramatically. “Why look, the demons have been gracious enough to leave the gates open.”

  “Not open but broken,” Damien said. The outrunner was sitting down, rubbing his bare feet. He had been tireless in scouting ahead on their march south.

  “Broken suits us fine,” Darnuir said. “We can walk straight in.”

  “There are a lot of demons barring our way,” Lira said.

  “Sixty thousand at a rough gauge,” Damien said. His thumb reached a particularly tender spot under the arch of his foot and he sucked through his teeth in pain.

  Lira looked to him. “Are you alright?”

  “I’ll get back up, Prefect Lira.” Despite his smile of assurance, he sounded strained. “We’re so close to home to now. Then I can rest.”

  “Outnumbered, three to one, however,” Raymond mused.

  “We faced those odds at the Charred Vale,” Darnuir said. “But there we had no choice. One lucky chance cannot stand as the basis for our plans. I’ve driven us on into this, but that does not mean we should hastily press further.” He glanced to Lira for confirmation but she did not acknowledge him.

  “The demons have offered precious little fight so far,” said Raymond. “Practically asking to be slain.”

  “That does not negate the possibility of some ruse or feint,” said Lira. “Lure us here, let us drop our guard or our senses, then crush us.”

  “I agree,” Darnuir said. “Although it is likely such a move has cost them the Splinters. If it’s all to try and reel me in, then it would be a foolish move. As foolish, I dare say, as chasing an army triple your size on a hunch alone.”

  “Some would call it bold, sire,” said Damien. “The men respect your audacity. Your father lost too much of that in his later years.”

  “And gained too much caution, I’m aware,” said Darnuir. “My former self certainly thought so, but then he got himself killed in the end. Follo
wing my old self’s example would not be wise.” But he’d like it too. He’d rather have the fight there and then, of course, as his thumping head reminded him. His right arm began to shake and he tried to hide it by tucking it close to his body under his cloak. Lira met his eye then but held something back through flattened lips. He pretended as though nothing untoward had occurred. “A part of me wants to believe that we could walk up to the gates and be welcomed in, but if Dukoona truly wished to meet with me then he could have come himself already.”

  “What is to be done then?” asked Raymond.

  “Nothing for now,” Darnuir said. “I need time to think.”

  Dukoona – Aurisha

  “I cannot see them from here,” Sonrid said. “Forgive my poor eyes, my Lord.”

  “Neither Kidrian nor I can see them,” Dukoona said. “It is just nice to get out of the Royal Tower on occasion. A change of view.”

  “They are out that way I assure you,” Kidrian said. “Less than a day westwards, still close to the sea.” Sonrid gripped the edge of the balcony and gingerly hoisted himself up on his toes to peer out west. The bottom tier of the city was hundreds of feet below, a sheer drop from this terrace, which protruded from the face of the plateau. Many of Aurisha’s fine homes had such balconies. This one had a table and a set of chairs, beaten roughly by years of wind and rain. Dukoona imagined dragons sitting here, eating supper, peeling a grape or picking at olives, and watching day fade to night. Now he watched to see if Darnuir would come.

  “We did not manage to kill enough demons,” said Dukoona. “More should have died to tempt Darnuir to seize the city.”

  “They’ve been crawling along since their landing,” Kidrian said. “It’s been rather vexing.”

  “I imagine it seems too good to them to be true,” Dukoona said. “I’d move our forces well away but that would look even more suspicious and not only to the dragons.” Rectar’s vast presence had paid fleeting glances in Dukoona’s direction. They had usually been harassing the dragon army during those times, so it had always looked good. However, were Rectar to glimpse the dragons inside Aurisha while sixty thousand demons ran merrily in the opposite direction, a passing glance would quickly become a fixation.