The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King

by Michael R. Miller

  “Um, yes sir,” stammered a confused Rufus as the little company strode passed him, their feet crunching pleasantly on the fresh spring snow.

  They entered the luminous tavern and their presence did not cause quite the same fuss as it had outside. Garon was enjoying a tankard in the company of some of the huntresses and healers. As they passed, Cosmo grabbed Garon by the scruff of the neck and yanked upwards. “Come now,” was all he said to him.

  “What the—” Garon began, wiping desperately at the drink that had slopped down his front. When he saw Brackendon, his eyes popped and he followed without protest.

  Cosmo led them up the stairs to the third floor where the healers were preparing themselves. He picked a room seemingly at random and gruffly removed its occupants.

  “You’ll have to vacate this area for a while,” he ordered them. As they trooped out of the room, Darnuir’s heart skipped a beat. Eve was amongst them and he could not avoid her eye. He gave a half-hearted smile, unsure of what else to do.

  The small company entered the room and Garon bolted the door behind them. Cosmo slammed his already empty mug of ale down on the bedside table, otherwise covered with bandages, needles, sharp, little knives and some foul-smelling pastes the healers used on wounds. Like most rooms in the tavern, it was simply furnished, with a squat log bed, an uneven desk and dirty mirror. A rickety chair sat beside the fireplace.

  “Perhaps Darnuir should take a seat,” Garon suggested. “He has a lot to hear.”

  Darnuir opted for the sturdier-looking bed.

  “Let’s get a fire going,” the wizard said. “If there is one thing the Boreacs are good for, it is ample firewood.” He pointed his staff towards the stacked pile and some of the hewn logs lifted up and into the fireplace. Brackendon opened the palm of his hand and blew gently. Sparks flew at the wood to ignite it. “That’s better,” he said, seating himself in the chair beside the fire. “I don’t know how you can stand the cold without it.”

  “You get used to it,” Cosmo said. The wizard allowed his staff to lean against the desk behind him. He might have been an elderly man, readying himself to recount some youthful tale. There was an uncomfortable silence; at least it was for Darnuir. Brackendon seemed to be rather enjoying his distress.

  “I do hope your years in these mountains haven’t frozen your tongue?” Brackendon jested. When Darnuir said nothing, he went on. “I haven’t been to Cold Point since the day I brought you here. I would have come back to see you, prepare you perhaps, or whisk you away, but it never seemed safe, and for a long time, I was quite incapable. For too long a time…”

  “Your hand,” Cosmo said, as though seeing it for the first time. “Brackendon, did you?”

  “Yes, I am afraid so,” the wizard said solemnly.

  “I’m so sorry,” Cosmo said.

  “It is I who should be sorry,” said Brackendon. “I pushed myself too hard at Demon’s Folly and drew on far more magic than I ought to have risked. I had barely begun to recover from my efforts with Darnuir. I wasn’t ready. Did you not wonder why I did not seek you out after the battle?”

  “Naturally,” Cosmo said. “But I assumed it was best to wait, as you said.”

  Darnuir was lost. He decided to interrupt their catch-up. “I’m sorry but could someone explain what this is all about? What efforts did you have with me?” He did not much like the sound of that.

  “You have not told him?” Brackendon asked Cosmo.

  “What would have been the point until he was of age?” Cosmo said. “Without the sword.”

  “Sword?” Darnuir asked.

  “Your sword,” Garon said. “Let’s not dawdle. You are not really a human. You are a dragon and you are no ordinary dragon. You are the rightful King of Dragons.”

  Darnuir was not sure whether he wished to scream or laugh. Cosmo threw Garon an incredulous look.

  “What?” exclaimed Garon. “If you have an arrow head in your leg, best to rip it out.”

  “Does everyone know this, bar me?” Darnuir asked. “And also, there is just no way…”

  “Only those present in this room now know,” Cosmo said. “Brackendon, I had to inform Garon of the full truth. Once Darnuir started venturing on patrols, I needed someone else to take extra care over him.”

  “But I am not a dragon,” Darnuir said matter-of-factly. They all looked at him patronisingly, as though he were an infant insisting it was not bedtime and that he was not tired.

  “I’m afraid you are,” Cosmo said.

  “You kicked a boulder down the mountainside,” Garon reminded him.

  “It was already falling,” Darnuir said, knowing full well that it wasn’t.

  “You can see farther in the dark than the rest of us,” Cosmo said.

  “And you might be surprised to hear that your eyes glow faintly yellow when you’re out at night,” Garon said. “Now don’t look so shocked, it’s not that noticeable.”

  “I just…” Darnuir was utterly without words. This is madness. They are all mad, or maybe I am?

  “Perhaps if I tell my story, it may help ease you into the notion,” Brackendon said. “Though it should not be long until your sword arrives.”

  Brackendon’s story was long, and yet Darnuir got the feeling it was the shortened version. Those parts that overlapped with Cosmo and Garon’s side of things checked out, and Darnuir had to come to the conclusion that nothing about this was a joke or a trick, though he still held out hope that it might all be a terrible dream. As the wizard moved onto the events after he left Darnuir at Cold Point, Garon and Cosmo wondered why Brackendon had not contacted them following Demon’s Folly.

  “As I said, I pushed myself too hard in the battle,” Brackendon said glumly.

  “I’m sure I saw your magic at work,” Cosmo said. “It may have been a stormy day but those lightning bolts and waves sunk too many demon ships to be completely natural. You might have made all the difference.”

  “I am glad that my sacrifice was worthwhile,” Brackendon said. “Nineteen years of one’s life is a high toll to pay.” He rolled up his right sleeve. The sight of his hand and forearm made Darnuir’s nose wrinkle and his stomach lurch. The blackened skin looked as if it had been burned or scalded, but there was a shine to it as well, like fish scales. “It broke me,” the wizard said painfully. “When I was an apprentice, I swore I would never break. I swore it. But on that day, I drew on so much energy to keep the demons at bay. I might have gotten away with it, but I had not yet fully recovered from the immense amount of magic needed to revert time on you, Darnuir,” he said covering up his injury. “Not that I am blaming you, by any means.”

  Garon leaned closer to inspect his arm. “I have heard of what happens to a wizard who breaks,” he gulped. “You have my utmost sympathy.”

  “Thank you,” Brackendon said mechanically, “but I hope you see why nothing was done about Darnuir. I was the only one who knew, apart from yourselves of course, where he was and that he was alive. Breaking turned me mad for years and it took many more for me to fully recover. My memories were dim and my wits dimmer.”

  “How did you recover from this ‘breaking’,” Darnuir asked, feeling he should try and say something.

  “The fairies are best equipped and most experienced to help those who have overindulged in magic,” Brackendon said.

  “Could the Conclave not help you?” Cosmo asked.

  “I’m afraid the Cascade Conclave no longer exists,” said Brackendon. “Arkus apparently never made the effort to rebuild the order and I was the last of us. Well, apart from Castallan.”

  “From what I know of Arkus, that seems unusual,” Cosmo mused.

  “It puzzled me for a time,” Brackendon said. “I remember him being quite persistent with me to rebuild prior to the fall of Aurisha. However, my prolonged absence from the world of the sane has left me excluded from much of the workings of Brevia. My return to the city was not as glorious as I had hoped. Arkus no longer places confidence in me a
nd refused me an audience. My contacts in the Lords’ Assembly now scorn me or have died of old age. All considered, I had an ill feeling about the place and dared not trust a soul with Darnuir’s whereabouts.”

  “And the dragons?” Garon said.

  “From what I could gather, in Brevia, there had been a lot of disturbances across the kingdom,” Brackendon said. “Large swathes of the population vanishing or moving. It may well be them.”

  “Not much use to us though,” Garon said.

  “The fairies must surely know?” Cosmo said.

  “I believe the Queen suspected for some time but I only recently confided in her my great secret,” said Brackendon. “Kasselle also assured me that the Dragon’s Blade would return to Darnuir when he is of age.”

  “You mean you do not know where it is?” Cosmo asked. “You do not know where it travelled to that night after it flew away from you?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” Brackendon said. “But I trust in Kasselle. She also promised to send support.”

  “Excellent!” Garon said. “When will it arrive?”

  “I fear it will not come fast enough,” Brackendon said. “If there is truly a demon host marching upon us then we are on our own.”

  “We’ve been under attack for months,” Darnuir piped up. “Why have we been left on our own? You should have revealed my grand identity sooner.” He said the words but still he did not believe all this was true. “You could have had an army of fairies fly down here, or whatever it is they do.”

  “Hmmm,” Brackendon said, “still a little prickly like before I see, though you lack the bite of your former self.”

  “Perhaps you could explain why we have been seemingly left to die down here,” Cosmo said.

  “We thought the war must be dire because no relief force was sent south to aid us,” Garon said.

  “Truth be told, there is no war,” Brackendon said.

  “What do you mean?” Darnuir asked.

  “After Castallan made his bold announcement across the kingdom, not much happened. There have been escalating raids into the Marshes and Crown Lands but little more. The ‘Long Engagement’, some have called it. I’ve wondered myself what the point of it was. ”

  “And what of the fairies?” Darnuir asked. “We’ve been dying. Do Brevia and Val’tarra not care?”

  “I do not speak for Brevia or the fairies,” Brackendon said defensively. “Kasselle is weary to enter open conflict again. Her people are not as prepared as they once were.”

  “Then what help did she promise to send?” Cosmo asked.

  “All she promised was that help would come,” Brackendon said. “The very best help, apparently.”

  “Well, I’m afraid I don’t see how we are any better off,” Darnuir said. “If I really am a king, should I not have armies to command? That would be useful. Whatever gamble it was you all took with my life, it doesn’t seem it has paid off.”

  “With a wizard here, our odds have dramatically improved, Darnuir,” Garon said.

  Brackendon shifted in his chair. “I do not want to guarantee anything but I will certainly do all I can. And you may be surprised by what you can contribute once you have your sword—”

  Glass shattered, wood ripped apart and a chill breeze swept into the room, snuffing life from their fire. Garon and Cosmo cried out, covering their faces to protect themselves from the flying shards. Darnuir ducked his head and scrunched his eyes shut, feeling large splinters bounce off his back. Something tapped eagerly at his clenched hand. He opened it without thinking and felt the unmistakable grip of a sword slide into his grasp. Before he could open his eyes, the weight of it brought him off the bed. His arm collapsed like a dead weight to the floor and his eyes snapped open as his head struck hard wood. Darnuir thought he heard that cursed wizard chortling from his chair.

  Groaning, Darnuir picked himself up and tried to heave the sword out of the floor. It had bit deeply into the wood and he could not budge it. Despite his annoyance, he found himself in awe of the weapon. Sinewy wings descended over the grip from a scaly, beastly-looking head. The golden blade was thick and forged of a metal he did not recognise, for it had signs of granulations, as if it were made of stone. Etched from the mouth of the dragon’s head poured flames, licking all along the blade up to the tip; and small red rubies sparkled within the beast’s eye sockets, one on each side. It was these eyes that seemed to bore into Darnuir’s own, testing him, measuring him. After a few heaving attempts, Darnuir gave up on the sword.

  “It’s impossible to lift,” he grumbled, letting go of it. As he sat back on the bed, one hand rubbing his sore head, the sword extracted itself from the wood of its own accord and flipped itself up and into his free hand. The red rubies shone bright and powerfully for a moment, then settled as if satisfied. Suddenly, a pain swelled in his head, thrashing like a smith’s hammer. It flared intensely for a few moments and he grabbed his head more tightly. Then it died.

  “Are you okay?” asked an alarmed Cosmo.

  “Yes, I think so,” Darnuir said, massaging his temple.

  “Likely the pain will be from that blow to the head you just took,” Garon said, carefully approaching Darnuir as though he were a wild animal. “It is incredible,” he said in an awed whisper. “Such detail, such intricacy, it’s beautiful.”

  “The Dragon’s Blade,” Brackendon proclaimed. “Beautiful and deadly, and one of the most powerfully magical artefacts in Tenalp.”

  “In what way?” Darnuir said breathlessly, fighting against the weight of the sword.

  “Well, I do not know the specifics but suffice to say that my staff has all the capacity to process Cascade energy as a common stick in comparison to that sword.”

  “You mean that I could use magic like you?” Darnuir asked.

  “No,” Brackendon said flatly, “at least not to my knowledge. I know little about it in truth. Not even the library of the old Conclave had much to say on it. Though it is fairly common knowledge that, in addition to flying to its master, the Dragon’s Blade has the capacity to breathe fire, like a dragon of old.”

  Darnuir looked again at the weapon, searching fruitlessly for some clue as to how to activate this feature. “How?” he asked.

  “Again, I do not know,” Brackendon said. “I imagine you will figure it out in due course.”

  Darnuir got to his feet and tried to swing the blade but its weight felt too vast. He placed it down on the bed to relieve himself of it but it zipped back into his hand.

  Isn’t it satisfied enough that it is near me?

  “Well I can’t use it,” he said crossly. “And I can’t seem to put the damn thing down.”

  “Ah, this might help,” Brackendon said with a flourish and pulled from amongst his robes a scabbard. It was made of wood but painted a light gold to match the blade, and similar flowing flames had been carved into it. He tossed it to Darnuir.

  “A perfect fit,” Darnuir said in astonishment.

  “That cannot be the real scabbard,” Cosmo said.

  “A gift from Kasselle, to Darnuir, the King of Dragons,” Brackendon said.

  “Queen or no, how could she know the dimensions, the scale?” Darnuir said. Brackendon’s look suggested that the question might well be impertinent but his response was kindly enough.

  “The fairies are great collectors of depictions of our world and all important things in it. The Hall of Memories at the heart of the forest contains a particularly fascinating collection of paintings. The entire hallway is one large and continuous—”

  “Will it stay in its sheath?” Cosmo asked, cutting over the wizard.

  Darnuir strapped his new scabbard around his waist and carefully manoeuvred the Dragon’s Blade into it using both hands. Thankfully, it stayed in place, though there was a small ache in his shoulder from the effort.

  “The demons may well get scared off just looking at that terrifying hilt,” Garon said, “but I don’t think we can rely just on that. What was you
r plan, Brackendon?”

  “I had not anticipated a demon host at our door,” Brackendon said. “I thought I could take Darnuir to Val’tarra alone. With his stamina and my magic, we could have made a speedy journey. I fear stealth and secrecy are no longer options.”

  “Why Val’tarra?” Darnuir asked. “Why go northwest to the fairies?”

  “Brevia is no longer as welcoming,” Brackendon said. “Better to head to the forest of the fairies and journey to Brevia from there with their support.”

  “I agree,” Cosmo said. “If nothing else, travelling directly to Brevia would bring us too close to Bastion.”

  “Yet for now, we are trapped,” Garon said.

  “Then what are we to do?” Darnuir asked. Brackendon’s expression became crestfallen and Cosmo hung his head. Garon puffed up his chest and moved for the door.

  “If it is just going to be all doom and death up here then I’d rather not partake in it,” Garon said. “Those ladies downstairs were rather fine company and preferable to spending my last night with you gentlemen.” He pulled the bolt to unlock it.

  Cosmo slammed his fist against it. “You may go downstairs but only to fetch us more drinks and food. We have battle plans to discuss. You included. Bring Rufus, and Griswald, if he can manage the stairs.”

  “We should probably move rooms,” Brackendon said, getting to his feet. “It is awfully cold in here now.”

  Garon sighed loudly. “Would that be a tall jug of water for the wizard?”

  “Oh yes,” Brackendon smiled. “As much water as you can find. Lovely.”

  Chapter 8

  THE BATTLE OF COLD POINT

  ON THE TOP floor of the tavern, Darnuir waited anxiously. His night of making preparations with Cosmo, Garon and this wizard, Brackendon, had dragged on into a tiresome morning. The day had been spent ensuring all the civilians were well behind the intended battlefield; dividing their fighters into combat groups, squeezing in a few troubled hours of sleep, and attempting to keep down his rationed meal on a nervous stomach. Now the night of the third day of their wait had come. The demons were sure to arrive soon.