The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King

by Michael R. Miller

  Chapter 12

  BEAUTY AND THE WITCH

  “SHE’S A SPY, clearly!” snarled Scythe, leaning over the splintered table. “The whole thing reeks of suspicion, Darnuir. I’m surprised you were foolish enough to be lured away like that.”

  Scythe, Darnuir, Cosmo, Brackendon and Garon were sat in council inside what was once Farlen’s tavern. It afforded little privacy as half the roof had been burnt away and one wall was missing. Still, it was better than right out in the open. A frayed map of western Tenalp lay before them.

  “I didn’t sense there was any danger,” Darnuir lied.

  “It hardly matters now,” Cosmo intervened. “But in future, Darnuir, do not be so reckless.”

  “I can handle myself,” Darnuir protested.

  “Could you can handle a pack of spectres on your own?” Scythe sneered.

  “Could you?” Darnuir retorted.

  “Enough,” snapped Cosmo.

  “You didn’t see him at Cold Point, Captain,” Garon stated proudly. “I’m not sure a score of spectres would trouble him.” He gave Darnuir a quick wink.

  “I think we can all agree that his swordsmanship is of an acceptably high level,” Brackendon said. “The question before us is this girl. What was her name, err, Cassandra?”

  Garon leaned back a little, hands behind his head. “Aye, that’s what she said. Pretty girl too, eh, Darnuir?” He shot him a knowing look.

  She is utterly and spectacularly beautiful. But, given that he was supposed to be a king, Darnuir felt it would be best not to respond with too much enthusiasm. “Yes. Yes, she is.”

  Garon raised an eyebrow at him.

  “All the more evidence that she should not be trusted,” Scythe said. “I doubt Castallan would send a homely agent to entice you into a trap.”

  “But there was no trap,” Cosmo said. “Not that I am suggesting we shouldn’t be cautious. I am merely being fair, Scythe.”

  “She was badly wounded,” Darnuir added, “and she looked pale, drained, exhausted.”

  “Of course,” Scythe said simply. “I forgot that Castallan is incapable of trickery. We should just take her completely at her word.”

  “She was armed, Darnuir,” Garon added diplomatically. “Not the best sword in the world, I grant you, I wouldn’t want to hunt a rabbit with it, but she had one all the same.”

  “The gash on her arm was deep,” Brackendon explained. “She has lost a substantial amount of blood. I can’t use magic to help her but the healers think she will make it. I sensed no sorcery at work, however, and I believe it genuine.”

  Scythe grumbled at this stumbling block in his argument. “Still, her story is unconvincing.”

  “She was half-dead when she murmured it to me,” Brackendon said.

  “So she claims to have been a prisoner at the Bastion,” Cosmo said in disbelief. “That she recently broke out and, what, just happened to head straight for us?”

  “I thought you were being fair?” said Darnuir.

  “Darnuir, I trust you,” Cosmo replied. “I trust Brackendon; I trust Garon; and I trust Scythe. But I do not trust her. That is fair.”

  “And what of this pet eagle of hers?” Garon asked.

  “I don’t think it is hers—” Darnuir began.

  “Quite!” Scythe said, slapping the table once more. “It will be Castallan’s pet creature.”

  “Ah,” said Brackendon softly, bringing his hands together in an audible clasp. “I do not think we need worry about the bird.”

  “Know something do you, wizard?” Scythe said.

  “You say it had white feathers?” Brackendon directed at Darnuir.

  “At the tips of its wings and on its tail.”

  “Then we should not need to worry,” Brackendon said happily.

  “Are you going to enlighten us?” Scythe asked.

  “When I am certain,” Brackendon said. “What is more pressing is the other information she offered. She claims Castallan is amassing all his forces outside the Boreac Mountains. If we leave by Farlen’s road, we’ll be slaughtered.”

  “A trick,” Scythe said simply, “to ward us off from leaving the mountains; to buy the enemy more time to truly block off all escape.”

  “Either way, what choice do we have?” Darnuir asked. “How else are we to leave the Boreacs?”

  “There are many smaller, narrower and slower routes, of course,” Cosmo said. “But patrols of hunters navigating them is one thing. We have over a thousand people and would be carrying a great deal of baggage, even if we did reduce it to the bare necessities.”

  “We wouldn’t have much to get rid of,” Garon observed. “Food dwindles with every meal and the demons seem to have either slaughtered or chased off all the game.”

  “Then we must make a decision and make it soon,” said Brackendon. “I say we make for the other passages.”

  “This is a matter for the hunters, Brackendon,” Scythe sneered. “You are here because our lord dragon wishes it.”

  Brackendon, who was normally so considered and congenial, twitched his nose and leaned towards Scythe. “And what would the Captain advise?”

  “Wait, send scouts and gain intelligence. If there is an army massing then it won’t be hard to find.”

  “Those passages lead out into the Cairlav Marshes,” said Garon, tapping a finger on the appropriate place on the map. “We’d hardly be able to make a quick escape that way.”

  “What is our way?” Darnuir asked. He was beginning to feel this would only become an argument. “Well?” he asked of the table. “What is our plan? Where are we going? What is our destination? Maybe then we can better pick one of our options.”

  He was met with silence and then all four men answered at once. Garon and Scythe said, “Brevia,” while Brackendon and Cosmo said, “Val’tarra.” More silence followed, punctuated only by Darnuir’s exasperated sigh. Of course. I would have the casting vote.

  “I’m curious, Brackendon,” Scythe said. “What was the plan? Your plan I mean. You make your grand return to Cold Point and boldly proclaim Darnuir to be King of Dragons. Then what was to happen?”

  “As I said,” Brackendon began calmly, “I planned for us to make for Val’tarra. Just Darnuir and myself, or as few others as possible. With Darnuir’s stamina and my magic, we could have made excellent time, but fate has taken us down a different route.”

  “You said Kasselle was sending help?” Cosmo inquired.

  “Indeed,” Brackendon said. “That is why I say we make for Val’tarra. Close the distance between ourselves and whatever aid she has sent.”

  “Tell me,” Scythe said with feigned curiosity, “had any fairy army or task force left Val’tarra prior to you leaving? What kind of help did she promise to send?”

  “No to the first,” Brackendon said. “And I am not certain. She just said ‘help would come’.” The wizard came across a little deflated as if the rashness of his move had suddenly hit him. “I trust her, Scythe,” he added in his defence. “Kasselle will not abandon us.”

  “No, I fear you are right on that,” Scythe said in his well-practiced sneer. “The fairies are well trained in jumping to a dragon’s roar.”

  “Captain, please,” Darnuir said, wary of Scythe’s growing animosity. “We have heard that side of things. Now, Garon, why Brevia?”

  “Seems like the natural thing to do,” Garon said. “Above all, we need to reach aid quickly so I am not opposed to making for Val’tarra, if that will be better for us. I admit that getting to Brevia would be more dangerous. Making straight for the capital from here would mean drawing dangerously close to the Bastion.”

  “We would never have to enter Castallan’s lands,” Scythe reassured them. “His extend of control isn’t so great.”

  “Not officially,” said Brackendon. “But those borders were never clearly defined and they will be particularly volatile now.”

  “I’ve patrolled those borders, wizard,” Scythe said. “Have you? In any cas
e, I place my faith in my own people,” he added proudly. “Humanity will help humanity. Why place so much stock in the fairies over our own kind?”

  “And what of the dragons?” Darnuir asked. “Where are they?” He felt ridiculous in having to ask.

  “Most likely scattered throughout human settlements,” Scythe said. “Even more reason to make for the capital. It will be easier to send out the call from there.”

  “Brackendon said there had been a lot of movement throughout the kingdom,” Garon said. “Can you add anything to that, Captain? Could it be the dragons?”

  Scythe frowned. “No such reports reached me before I left Brevia. If there has been such disturbances then they must have happened recently.”

  They all looked to Brackendon. “From what I gathered, sections of the population were vanishing or moving. It may be the dragons or it may not. If it is them then it is curious. The whole reason they disappeared was because they had no king to follow.”

  “So, if not Darnuir, who are they following?” Cosmo asked.

  “Precisely!” Brackendon said. “All the more reason to seek refuge in Val’tarra. There, we can assess the situation and gather the fairies as well. A dragon king has not set foot in their forest for generations. Darnuir’s presence will be a welcomed piece of diplomacy.”

  “Mankind has the greater strength,” Scythe insisted. “Both in militarily power and wider resources. We can make our appeals to the fairies then and we may even get word from the Lord of the Isles at the Nail Head. In fact,” Scythe added, standing triumphantly and placing a long finger on the map, “we could find passage across Loch Minian and avoid Castallan’s borders completely!”

  “No!” Cosmo said. They were all a little startled at the force of his reaction.

  Does he hate the capital so much?

  “Scythe, I’m sorry but I must disagree,” Cosmo continued more tactfully. “Aside from the unlikely event that there would be passage for everyone, taking ships across the loch would require reaching its southern shore. We cannot travel the usual road through the Crown Lands to Brevia for fear of Castallan, and so to reach the loch with any safety, we would have to traverse the Cairlav Marshes instead; and if we are making that journey, we are as well pushing further west, through the marshes, and make for Val’tarra.”

  Scythe made to say something but stopped himself. He seemed to know he had been defeated. “What say you, Darnuir?”

  Darnuir did not feel like there was a great deal of choice. Both paths seemed desperate. He had reservations about trusting the word of a fairy queen he knew nothing of, and his trust on Brackendon was largely still based on Cosmo, who absolutely did not want to go to Brevia. Darnuir was sympathetic with Scythe’s position; humanity would be more familiar to deal with. The hulking form of Griswald saved him having to announce a decision.

  “Beg yer pardon,” he said, “but the girl has woken up.”

  “Well?” snapped Scythe. “Has she said anything?”

  Griswald gave his thick beard a few hard tugs. “Erm, no, Cap’n, not really. Just keeps asking to see Darnuir and won’t talk to anyone else.”

  Secretly glad for the opportunity to leave, Darnuir rose. “I need some time to make my decision,” he told the room. “Perhaps she will have some more precise information for us.”

  Scythe looked disapproving, Cosmo mentioned something about Grace and Brackendon tried to steady a shaking hand. He looked ill again.

  “Well don’t take too long,” Garon said. “We don’t have much time.”

  Farlen had become one large campsite, with barely a space of soft ground unused. As they made their way through the bustle, Darnuir felt the stares follow him. Do they blame me for their hardship?

  “Don’t worry too much, lad,” Griswald reassured him. “They’re just looking for the next move. Sitting around on yer arse rather than taking action can cause more anxiety.”

  “I will make my decision before nightfall,” Darnuir said.

  He saw Balack practising with his bow, sending shots into the logs of a house, yet his manner of drawing and aiming was peculiar. In his hand, he held three or maybe four arrows and was attempting to draw one while still holding the others in his hand. On one attempt, Balack managed to fire one arrow then re-draw using one he had from his bunch in rapid succession. Impressive, Darnuir thought. However, the display was marred when Balack promptly dropped the rest. Darnuir resolved to speak to Balack soon. He wouldn’t let Balack avoid him forever.

  Past more tents and more concerned faces, they approached a small hut that was miraculously unspoiled by the flames. Cassandra was held here due to the fact that it had four walls and a roof. Two guards, a hunter and a huntress, stood by the door; Darnuir recognised the huntress.

  “Ava, Mardin,” Griswald said to them respectively. “She been any trouble?”

  “Not at all,” Ava told him. “We gave her some food but the only other thing she asks for is to see Darnuir.”

  “Do you wish us to remain by, Darnuir… I mean, my lord,” the hunter called Mardin said awkwardly. He was not much older than Darnuir was.

  “There is really no need to call me…” Darnuir found himself saying but stopped. It would not do in the long run. “Stay close,” he said with more certainty. “I do not know how long this will take.”

  “Right, well, good luck tae ye,” Griswald said and left Darnuir at the door. Darnuir drew in a long breath before entering.

  Their prisoner, the girl called Cassandra, sat upon a battered chair. Light crept in through two smashed windows at the back of the hut, which equally let in the chilled air. Her hands were bound behind her and her legs to the chair. There was some more colour to her face now and her wound had been neatly patched up. Despite the turmoil she had clearly been through, she was still beautiful. Her long, thick hair crashed in dark waves around her neck and shoulders, and delicately hid some of her face. Her green eyes reminded him of Cosmo’s somehow. They seemed radiant behind her strands of hair and took stock of him. As her lips drew back into what Darnuir could only describe as a perfect smile, he froze. Was this how Balack felt when he looked at Eve? He now felt biased for this interview.

  Cassandra’s flawless smile dropped slowly as she gently asked, “Are you him?”

  “Yes,” he said foolishly, feeling he could listen to her talk forever. She tilted her head a little and raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes, I am Darnuir,” he added.

  “Good,” she said crisply. Her head snapped back to its regular position and her voice hardened. “Prove it,” she commanded.

  “What?” Darnuir said, taken aback. “Prove it? How?”

  “Your sword? The Dragon’s Blade can emit fire.” She sat expectantly.

  Darnuir’s stomach sank a little. He would not soon forget Brackendon’s staff tree. “It isn’t that simple,” he said, folding his arms. “And, in any case, how do you know that?”

  “Never is, is it?” she said wistfully. “I’ve read about it and Chelos told me. He was your steward in Aurisha. He must have known you and your family for decades.”

  “He may well have but I have no memories of my past life.”

  “Past life?” Cassandra said perplexed.

  “Sounds mad, does it not?” Darnuir said. “Were it not for the sword, I would never have believed them. Watch this.” He took out his sword and threw it away. The Dragon’s Blade bounced on the floor then whizzed back to his waiting hand. “How’s that for proof?” He hoped he might have gotten another smile out of her but she did not react at all.

  “Yes, quite impressive,” Cassandra said. She tossed her head to remove the hair from her face. “It is still a sword though? Cut me out of these ropes?”

  “They say I shouldn’t trust you.”

  “Is that why they took my sword away? I promise I won’t hurt you, oh mighty Dragon King,” she said sardonically.

  Darnuir raised his eyebrows at her. Perhaps she realised that such an approach would get her nowhere for she quickly
changed her tone. “I don’t like being trapped,” she said much more softly, almost like a plea. She shivered.

  “You’re not dressed for this weather,” Darnuir said. “Those scraps of hunter leather you have on are from the Dales, am I right? Dark green and brown.” She nodded. “Well hunter armour or no, it won’t be designed for the cold like ours. The quicker we finish here, the quicker I’ll get you some of our own gear and more food.”

  “Oh how kind,” she said. “More mealy oatcakes. Perhaps you ought to take lessons from Castallan on how to treat your captives. I was treated like a proper princess there.”

  And there I thought she was going to play nice. “If it was so comfortable there then why would you leave?”

  “Would you want to be a prisoner?” she asked.

  “And were you?”

  “Of course I was!”

  “You know I have to ask the obvious,” Darnuir said.

  “No, I don’t know why…” she trailed off. “But I’ve been there my entire life. All twenty years of it. Who would do that to a person without explanation?”

  Darnuir took a few careful steps towards her and crouched down. “Cassandra, right now, I’m probably your only friend here, and that is based on a gut reaction. Everyone else thinks you are some agent of Castallan’s and that you are here to trick us, spy on us or perhaps worse. You say you have some information for us. Tell me. Tell me it all and, if I feel you’re genuine, I’ll untie you.”

  “How about you untie me first?” She stared him down, as tensely wound as any stalking lynx. “I don’t like being trapped.”

  Darnuir sighed, weighing up the situation, then, hoping that his instincts were correct, he shuffled to her side and pressed gently on her hands so his sword would not nick them. He sliced through her bonds. When freed, she brought her hands together to tend her aching wrists. He cut her legs free as well and Cassandra immediately relaxed. The tension in her body seemed to uncoil as she stretched out, but then she wrapped herself up on the chair, bringing her knees up to rest her chin on in a guarded fashion. She was a difficult person to read.