The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  “Da dragons did leave in da end. Once we were sure dey had gone my clan went back to check for more prisoners or see what the dragons had left behind. What we found were dead dragons. Many of dem. Drenthir was one of them. He was lying on a sleeping roll, with ruins of da camp all around him. His throat was cut open. When I saw da necklace, I thought it too precious a thing to throw away. I picked it up and it remained with my clan until I gave it you, Ochnic, Shadow Hunter.”

  “You remember all that?” Garon asked incredulously.

  “We told you, pack leader,” said Rohka. “Glik does not forget.”

  “If that is all true…” Marus began but he didn’t seem able to finish his thought.

  “All of it,” said Glik.

  “But this — this,” Marus said. “I may need a moment.”

  “You see why we are distrustful of Lowlanders,” said the chieftain in yellow tartan.

  “And what of my people?” asked Pel.

  “I think you already know,” said Rohka.

  “Fairies are told that Frost Trolls – the kazzek, that is – used to hunt and kill our kind if we ever ventured north,” Pel said.

  “And why did da fairies come to our lands?” asked Rohka. “To seek da blue poison and—”

  “And those who found it snapped like I did,” said Pel. She seemed to ponder for a moment. Her wings fidgeted, buzzing in short bursts. “You could have warned me, or at least explained. Instead, you decided to hate me.” She spoke to Rohka but it was old Glik who answered.

  “Not hate, young one, but fear. Fear of what fairies will become when dey touch da raw blue. In times past, our people tried to warn you, tried to stop your kind reaching it but you would not listen. We defended ourselves and then we tried to prevent you reaching it. Perhaps we were wrong. It was long ago. I say,” Glik added with sudden volume, “I say we forgive da Lowlanders. Ochnic, Shadow Hunter, is right.”

  Marus stood up suddenly. He wobbled on his bad leg and placed a hand on Garon’s last good shoulder to steady himself. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry for any crimes my people have caused. One day I hope King Darnuir will make amends on behalf of all dragons.”

  “I believe he will,” Garon said.

  “What do you know of da Dragon King?” asked Rohka.

  “I know more than most,” Garon said. “I was there when he was a baby born again. I was there when he learned to walk, learned to talk and learned to hold a sword. He’s a little rough on the outside but I know he has a good at heart. A good man. A good dragon, despite what may be happening to him. Could anyone alive claim to understand what it is like to have lived two lives? No, of course not. But I do know this. He is trying to make a better world, one where all the races can work together. And if he is trying in the south then we should be trying in the far north.”

  The chieftains and their attendants descended into muttering again, whispering in their earthy tongue. This would be it. Garon’s mission would hinge on the next few moments. He wondered if there was anything more he could say, anything more he could do and then his shoulder, arm and chest throbbed to remind him of what he’d already done. It was enough, surely. Yet even if it wasn’t, he felt proud. He’d hauled his grumbling force northwards and saved the family of a friend. Val’tarra and all human lands were safer for it. Even if no one ever thanked him. Even if no one ever knew or cared; they’d done it.

  It was Ochnic who made the first move. He stood by Pel, swelling up his hairy chest and announced, “Da pack leader is right. From now on I call Pel, fairy friend.”

  “Me too,” squeaked Cadha. She took Pel’s arm and hugged it tightly.

  “Well, I for one am touched,” Garon said. “While we’re all sentimental, I guess I should say Marus that you’re not as grouchy as when we first met.”

  “Thanks,” Marus said coolly.

  “And I suppose I owe you my life now,” Garon said. “I should probably stick around until I repay that debt. Friends?”

  “It is one’s duty to save one’s commanding officer,” said Marus. Garon frowned at him. “Very well,” Marus said. “Friends it is, human.”

  “Thank you Marus,” Garon said. Something about the dragon’s moment of humanity touched him, and then he realised that very word was wrong. Marus hadn’t become more human because really he and the others weren’t so very different in the end. Garon addressed the room himself now. “You kazzek refer to me as pack leader, and that’s flattering, I think. But that makes me sound superior or special, and I’m not. None of us are. Not Marus, not Pel, not Ochnic; we’re actually mostly the same. We care about our loved ones and families. We’ll do ridiculous things to help those we care about and even set aside our pride and duty in some circumstances.” He looked to Marus at that. “What I’m trying to say is we’re all really much the same. I know the thought of thousands of outsiders coming into your homes is frightening, but know we’ve been just as frightened. So what do you say, Rohka. Can we stay?”

  All eyes began to turn to Rohka. “You can,” said the Chief-of-Chiefs. “For now,” he added. “We do owe you much.” That seemed to settle the matter. One by one all the chieftains gave their consent and a drink was called.

  Mugs were brought out on oversized trays. Garon lunged for the closest one, looked at its contents, and found not beer, nor ale, nor harder spirit, but something white. Is that milk?

  “To new friends,” roared Rohka. He raised his own mug and some of the milky drink sloshed over the side.

  “To new friends,” repeated everyone; the chiefs, the guards, the servants, Marus, Pel, Ochnic, Cadha and Garon too. He tilted his head and threw back the mug. The drink was ice cold and tasted of creamy milk sweetened with honey. It was delightful. It felt clean. And then the kick came in the aftertaste, a bitterness that plunged down his throat and set a fire in his stomach.

  “Phwoa,” Garon said, shaking his head, enjoying the immediate tingling around his body. Pel gasped; Marus already looked drunk and hooted loudly. The kazzek chuckled at their intolerance.

  “More,” Rohka called. Their mugs were refilled with the hazardous milk and a pair of kazzek took up instruments that looked like long curving fiddles. A soaring wave of music filled the common room and Garon felt his aches and pains lessen.

  He had not felt this good in years.

  Chapter 32

  THE WAR IS WON, THE WAR IS JUST BEGINNING

  There is a simple saying among my people: ‘rotten to the roots’. Aborists use it when a tree is beyond saving and should be cut down, burned, its very roots dug away. The poison runs so deep, even the roots must go to give the best chance for new life to grow. As I investigate the history between the Aurishan Dragons and the descendant’s of Dranus, I am inclined to say it. Rotten to the roots. With humans, it is only marginally better.

  From Tiviar’s Histories

  Darnuir – Aurisha – The Royal Tower

  DARNUIR WAS RUNNING through the snow. It was freshly fallen, soft on top and crunched pleasantly underfoot. He came across a golden stone table, perfectly round, with chairs set at equal intervals. Instinct made him place a hand on it, sit down slowly in one of the chairs.

  “What are you doing?” Cosmo asked. He was leaning on the table, whole and healthy, looking down at Darnuir.

  “I asked them to come join me,” he found himself saying. “Arkus, Somerled, Blaine, Fidelm and Kasselle. But they’re not here yet. I’m waiting for them.”

  “I’m hardly surprised,” Cosmo said. “Better you than me.”

  “Will they come?” Darnuir asked.

  “Hopefully,” said Cosmo. “You invited them and you are the Dragon King. Don’t they have to?”

  “I think so,” Darnuir said looking down to his knees. “Cosmo, what if I can’t do it. What if I—” But Cosmo was not there. He’d vanished.

  The falling snow thickened and Darnuir felt a chill run from his ears to his toes. He wrapped his arms about himself, rubbing his chest and puffing out steamy breaths. />
  “Well, this won’t do,” said Brackendon, appearing from nowhere in the space Cosmo had been. With a thud of his silver staff, a ball of warming fire materialised, bobbing in the air between them.

  “Can you help me?” Darnuir asked.

  “Castallan must pay first,” Brackendon said.

  “He’s dead. You killed him. Don’t you remember?”

  Brackendon’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Gracious, really? Well, then we should be moving on.”

  “On?” Darnuir said. “But I have to wait here.”

  “Oh no,” said Brackendon. “There’s worse out there. Who do you think is causing all this snow? Come along now my tamed dragon.” Darnuir stood and everything started to spin. When the world righted itself he was at the base of a huge mountain, the rock of which was burned black. “He’s in there, Darnuir.”

  “Rectar?” Darnuir said. He reached for the Dragon’s Blade at his waist but the sword was stuck fast in its scabbard. “Brackendon, help me.”

  “I can’t help you in there. Not anymore. You burned my staff.” And as he spoke the silver wood in his grip turned to ashes.

  “I thought you wanted me to,” Darnuir said. “Kymethra told me.”

  “I did,” said Brackendon.

  “It is I who should break and not you.”

  “A generous offer, Darnuir, but we’d all be better off without magic.”

  Darnuir craned his neck looking up at the black mountain. His heart quickened in fear. His palms felt sweaty. “How can I fight Him without magic, without you?”

  But like Cosmo, Brackendon had disappeared as well.

  A doorway opened from the mountainside and Darnuir walked towards it. Over the threshold, he fell, into an utter darkness. He saw nothing. He felt nothing. Not even a rush of wind against his skin. He hit cold stone with a wet thud. And he lay there, flat on the ground, unable to move. Someone shook his back and he rolled over, got up. He couldn’t see his saviour’s face for they were looking downwards, half veiled in shadow. A red glow came from where their eyes should be. The person, whoever they were, drew something from their waist, bringing it up to Darnuir’s chest and —

  Bang.

  Darnuir’s eyes flew open.

  “Careful, human,” Blaine said in his most condescending tone.

  “I did not intend it, Lord Guardian,” came Raymond’s voice. “Those doors are rather heavily designed.”

  “I think he’s awake,” Grigayne said. Darnuir blinked painfully, the sleepy crust felt like cement on his eyelids.

  “Yes. He yet lives,” intoned Fidelm.

  “Darnuir?” Blaine said. “Darnuir, can you hear me?”

  He tried to speak but only croaked something incoherent. He was parched. His throat felt like he’d swallowed sand and his eyes seemed determined to squeeze out from his skull, as though trying to escape the pain in there. His head hurt so much he considered yanking his mind out through his nose and letting it writhe in pain elsewhere. He was lying on a hard, unforgiving bed. The sheets were clingy and damp, and he wished dearly to die there.

  “He needs water, surely,” Raymond said.

  “He needs magic,” Blaine said. “Darnuir. You haven’t broken, but you came very close.” He seized Darnuir’s hand and pressed it against the hilt of the Dragon’s Blade. “Your body depends on the Cascade. Draw on a little, quickly.”

  Darnuir fumbled at the door in his mind.

  “Do it now, Darnuir,” Blaine said, squeezing Darnuir’s hand to the sword. Darnuir felt the door give and the magic pour in. For a moment, it rushed through him, thrumming towards the Dragon’s Blade and just as he wished to rip the door apart and drown in the ocean beyond, Blaine yanked his hand away.

  “What?” Darnuir gasped, feeling a modicum of his strength return.

  “That’s enough for now,” Blaine said. “You’ll need to be weaned down from this overindulgence.”

  “Overindulgence? Blaine, I didn’t mean for this to happen. At the Bastion I —” What was the point in making excuses? He bowed his head feeling too ashamed to meet Blaine’s eyes. “How long was I out for?”

  “Just over two full days,” Raymond said.

  “Then I should see the city,” Darnuir said. He painfully managed to rise to a sitting position.

  “Take rest, Darnuir,” Fidelm said. “The war is won and your city will still be here when you are better.” Darnuir’s thoughts turned to Dukoona’s warnings.

  “No,” he grunted. “There is much to be done.” Shakily he stepped out of his sodden bed, the same one he slept in when camped. A larger bed was next to him, with a frame of carved starium and a dragon looming above a ripped old mattress. “Where is Lira?” He asked. Then the horror struck. “She isn’t—”

  “She’s alive and unharmed for the most part,” Raymond said. “Cuts, some deep, some not. Remarkable, considering she had no protection.”

  “Foolish girl,” Blaine said.

  Raymond ignored him. “I believe she is taking care of some personal business in the Lower City.”

  “Very well,” Darnuir said. “I shall need to thank her. All of you, as well. I owe more thanks than I can possibly convey in words. For standing by me, Raymond; for your timely arrivals, Blaine, Fidelm; for bringing your own people to my aid, Grigayne, even after they have endured so much.”

  “Yes, we have endured much, haven’t we Guardian?” Grigayne said bitterly. Darnuir noted the animosity Grigayne shot Blaine, knowing he’d need to ask about that later. Grigayne looked back to Darnuir more kindly. “There is no need to thank me, Darnuir. You rescued me and my city; I’ve helped secure yours.”

  “I may have to ask even more of you before the end,” Darnuir said, “of all of you.”

  “The demons are defeated,” said Fidelm.

  “But not their Master,” said Darnuir. He looked to Blaine for support.

  “This will not truly be over until the Shadow of Rectar is banished from the world,” Blaine said. “But Fidelm is right in a sense. With his armies destroyed Rectar will fall soon.”

  “His armies are not gone,” Darnuir groaned. Fresh pain stabbed at his stomach, chest and kidneys at once, as though several fists with ragged nails were clenching his organs.

  Blaine’s brow creased. “I believe we saw to the demons and the spectres for that matter. I saw none in the battle.”

  “Ah,” Raymond said, raising a finger. “The spectres vanished, Lord Guardian.”

  “They fled again?” Blaine said.

  “Not exactly,” said Darnuir.

  “And how would you know?” Blaine said. He narrowed his eyes at Darnuir, searching for the cover-up, the lie. Darnuir stared right back, quite willing to have it out.

  “Because I had words with Dukoona,” said Darnuir. The colour of Blaine’s face grew closer to beetroot.

  “But Darnuir, many of the Brevian forces are already setting sail for home,” Fidelm said.

  “What?” Darnuir snapped. “No. They can’t. I need them to stay here.”

  “Arkus will require the ships to send your people across the sea,” Fidelm said. “He won’t take kindly to his troops staying here while dragons —”

  “We can negotiate with Arkus later,” Darnuir said. “For now, I need those troops to remain. Fly, Fidelm. Prevent more ships from sailing.”

  “What shall I tell the Admiral?”

  “Tell him he has to stay,” Darnuir said, clutching his head. “Tell him the war is not over. Tell him anything…” he trailed off into another headache, squinting down against the array of colour assaulting his vision. He gently massaged the side of his eye to little effect and did not see Fidelm leave.

  “I must consult with my father,” Grigayne said. “I’ll send a message to Dalridia but our warriors and shield maidens will remain for the time being.” More footsteps and the loud closing door signalled he too had left. Darnuir had his eyes fully shut now.

  “Might I have some privacy with my King?” Blaine asked.

&
nbsp; “I leave only if Darnuir commands it, Guardian,” Raymond said with more defiance than his usual bearing.

  “Thank you, Raymond,” Darnuir said. “But I shall speak to Blaine alone.” A quiet scrape of metal meant Raymond had bowed.

  “Careful with the door,” said Blaine. No bang followed this time. Darnuir risked opening his eyes again but kept massaging his skull.

  “What’s gotten into you?” He demanded of Blaine, albeit weakly. “You seem back to your old self and I don’t know if that’s for the better.” It was then he noticed Blaine’s maimed hand. “Dranus’ scales, Blaine. What happened to you?”

  “Did you want to see the city?” Blaine said.

  Back to avoiding questions again too, I see.

  “I’d like one last walk while I still feel capable,” Darnuir said.

  “You’ll have to enter a period of rehabilitation,” Blaine said.

  Darnuir sighed. “How long?”

  “It can take ninety days,” said Blaine. Darnuir winced. “But,” Blaine continued, “as we’ve caught it early on, and the Dragon’s Blade is second to none at processing, you may recover faster…”

  “And if we forced the issue?” Darnuir asked. “Cut me off for longer stretches and really hastened things?”

  “It could kill you.”

  “I know you won’t let that happen.”

  “Let’s go for that walk,” Blaine said, placing a gentle guiding hand on Darnuir’s shoulder and they went in silence down through the Royal Tower. Passing the war room, Darnuir saw the half melted candles left by Dukoona had been cleared.

  “We found another scrying orb in the throne room but it was smashed,” said Blaine. “Luckily, Fidelm brought us the spare from the Bastion. Arkus has the orb I found among Scythe’s camp.”