“How did you lose your staff?”
“Darnuir never told you?”
“No,” she said puzzled.
Brackendon let out a short laugh. “Well, it was Darnuir who destroyed my staff tree. If the tree goes, so does the staff.” Cassandra dropped her jaw, aghast at the news. “Not intentionally, of course,” Brackendon added. “He was having some difficulty controlling the fire from that sword of his.”
“So, if destroying the tree takes your power away,” she said excitedly, “then why not destroy Castallan’s staff tree? He’ll just be a mess looking for another hit of magic. Not a threat to anybody.” I’d love to see him shake and squirm and beg.
“Oh…” sighed Brackendon. “If only it were so simple.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I don’t think Queen Kasselle or the fairies would take it well if you destroyed the largest tree in Val’tarra,” Brackendon said. “Castallan’s staff wood was taken from it. The Argent Tree. A tree of unprecedented size and silver from root to the end of every leaf.”
“They wouldn’t do it for the greater good?” she asked.
“Not everyone shares your hatred of the man,” he told her. “Though I reckon I could challenge you on that.” Another thundering bump in the road shook them considerably. A clump of mashed grass and wheat flew up, nearly hitting Cassandra in the face. With a small groan, the wizard continued. “As for the Argent Tree, you need to understand that it represents everything to them.”
“Yes, but not even to help end the war? I know that the fairies tend to their forest, grow their trees up from seeds through saplings. But is one of those trees worth everything that has happened?”
“You’ve just told me more about the fairies in a few lines than most humans could; and they won’t have been trapped in a wizard’s fortress their whole lives,” Brackendon said, impressed.
“I read a lot while I was there,” she said. “There isn’t much else you can do most days.”
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he said. “But I’m afraid the author who has taught you about the fairies has neglected some important information.”
“It was just Jedvar’s Journeying Journal,” she said, a little embarrassed. “More of a travelogue really.”
“Well Jedvar is right in the essentials but it’s not just that the fairies grow their trees and care for them; they love them fiercely, like children,” Brackendon said, gesturing towards the baby in their presence. “Val’tarra lies at the western edge of the Highlands, and the Highlands are latent with Cascade energy. Five of the Principal Mountains of Tenalp lie there, after all.”
“I don’t see what this had to—”
“Patience,” the wizard reproached. “Now, a lot of the magical energy will seep into the air, the ground and the plant life in the Highlands. It will dissipate and drift away through the world but it also seeps into the River Avvorn, which feeds the forest of the fairies.”
Cassandra listened intently, fascinated.
The wizard continued, “So the Avvorn brings magic-laden water into the forest and the land and trees there soak it up. But not every living thing can cope with Cascade energy well. Humans and dragons are poor at processing it; fairies are more adept. Take in too much and it will damage us. Same goes for animals and plants. Val’tarra is really a forest of three parts.” He began to count them off on his fingers. “Those silver trees that can cope with the magic. There are those that are normal, with brown trunks and green leaves; these are the ones that haven’t yet taken in enough magic to turn either silver or…”
“Burn and die?” Cassandra offered.
“In a sense,” Brackendon said. He held out his blackened forearm. Cassandra gulped looking at it. “The consequence of over-using magic,” he said. “So yes, there are trees in the forest that appear to be burned or charred, but it is the poison of magic not fire that has damaged them. The fairies try to save them, for, if they didn’t, there might not be much of a forest left. Their greatest achievement was the Argent Tree. They believe it was once a blackened sapling that was saved and grew to be a wonder!”
Cassandra was beginning to understand.
“They have built their culture around it; it is home to their Queen,” Brackendon continued. “Burn that tree and you might as well burn the whole forest down.”
“Okay,” she said teasingly. “I promise I won’t burn down the tree. It was only a suggestion.”
Kymethra began to stir, muttering and mumbling for water. Brackendon tended to her earnestly.
Is that what real love and trust is?
From the front of their makeshift carriage, Cassandra heard the dragons yelling at one another to swap runners. They managed to switch drivers effortlessly without interrupting their pace. The enormity of the effort was worthy of a book or a dozen songs. Their feet pounded in rhythm and the ground quaked beneath their weight. A different sound reached her ears then – hooves. On Cassandra’s side of the wagon, the Chevalier called Raymond weaved through the other nearby carts and drew up level with her. His once pristine steel armour was now scratched, dented and splashed with gory stains of unknown origin. His horse’s own armour had been stripped to ease its burden. Despite this, the poor creature looked close to collapsing.
“Are you Cassandra?” Raymond called out.
“I am; what is it to you?”
“Does everyone believe I am a villain too?” he said bitterly. “I told Darnuir and that Guardian that I had no idea about my brother’s misadventure; otherwise, I can assure you that I would have dragged him before the Court myself.”
Cassandra at least understood his plight. “It is not your fault,” she assured him. “You cannot tell until their eyes turn red.”
“Well, as I said,” Raymond continued, “had I known in advance, I would not have hesitated to bring him to justice. A Chevalier’s honour is his most valuable asset and Sanders has brought great shame to the name of Tarquill.”
Courtesy is evidently not as highly valued. Not from what Darnuir said at any rate. Yet his honour was impeachable. Garon had spoken up for Raymond in the aftermath of the battle, saying he had stood alongside him to defend the civilians who had no hope of making it to the Crannog.
Raymond went on. “But I do not need to justify myself to you.”
There is some of that charm.
“I am to take my leave but Darnuir requested I relay a message to you before I depart.”
“Go on,” she said.
“He says that the demons press hard against the rear guard and Balack, is that his name?”
“Yes, tell me,” she said with a hint of alarm.
“He says that Balack will re-join your company as soon as an outrunner is free to carry him back.”
“Okay, thank you, Raymond,” she said more calmly. Why did I react like that?
“Then I shall take my leave,” he said.
“Where will you go?”
“Back to Brevia. I will take word of events to the King like a good messenger.”
“The passage across the loch is likely treacherous,” said Brackendon. “The path through Val’tarra is longer but safer.”
“Perhaps,” Raymond said dismissively, “but my poor horse cannot take another day of this. If we can reach the shore then we can progress more slowly from there. Inverdorn should remain safe for a time.”
“Good luck then,” Cassandra said.
“I fear it is you who will need the luck,” Raymond said. The Chevalier broke off from the wagon and rode east, weaving between a multitude of speeding carts and dragons. Kymethra had just settled back down when Cosmo’s son began to wail again.
“Here, give him this,” Brackendon offered, dipping a hollowed ram’s horn into a container of milk to fill it. The tip of the horn had been cut away and a nib of twisted fresh cloth had been placed there for the baby to suck on. Brackendon passed the horn to Cassandra and she lowered it to the baby’s mouth. The boy drew ravenously from the cloth.
Brackendon chuckled a little. “I think he much prefers this fresher variety to the stale goat’s milk.”
The boy’s father was off in the rear guard with Darnuir and the others. Cosmo had emerged out of his stupor following the spectre ambush at Torridon. He had been within the Great Crannog like Brackendon and Kymethra, and so had been trapped there, unable to aid in the battle, due to the clog on the Crannog’s bridge. Events at the loch had shaken the man. He had looked guilty and ashamed when he saw the aftermath. Cassandra didn’t begrudge the man his grief. She had never felt love like he obviously had. How would I react if Chelos died? Then she looked down to Cosmo’s son. She felt as much affection for the little boy in her arms than anyone else who had entered her life. The dragon, Blaine, had inquired about the babe and muttered something about it being “ill luck not to give birth in Dwna’s morning light”. He didn’t mention who it was ill luck for.
“Why won’t Cosmo name him?” she wondered aloud.
“Only he could tell you that,” Brackendon said. “Though I suspect it’s a form of self-defence. If the boy isn’t named then perhaps he can pretend like it never happened.”
“Do you really think that?” Cassandra asked, tilting the horn a little to help the liquid flow.
“Maybe he just hasn’t decided yet?” Brackendon said. “Not everything is so complicated.”
“I asked what you think, Brackendon. You’ve known him longest here, right?”
“I’ve known him for the longest, yes, but that does not mean I know him the best.”
“He must trust you though,” Cassandra said. “Darnuir said that you took Cosmo to Cold Point like you did with him. He must have trusted you enough for that?” Brackendon raised his eyebrows, as if this were the first time he had truly considered it.
“It was either trust, desperation or a little of both. I wasn’t surprised when he came to me with his request though.”
“How did you know him?” Cassandra asked.
“We met while I was an apprentice at the Cascade Conclave, but I shall say no more on the subject,” Brackendon said, guarded.
“Why?”
“So curious!” the wizard exclaimed. “Why? Because Cosmo would not want me to say. Not even Darnuir knows.”
“Darnuir says he hates Brevia,” she said. “I’d ask you why but—”
“I wouldn’t tell you,” Brackendon finished for her. “Though he does have a particular dislike of the capital; that much he has made public. I’ll only say that some people, like Raymond, thrive there, and others don’t.”
The cart rocked violently again. A dragon had leapt aboard whilst it was still in motion. He was rummaging through baskets and satchels.
“Looking for this?” Cassandra said, passing over one of the woven, reed baskets from Torridon. It contained a collection of dried fish. Food was normally the reason for these surprise visits. The dragon sniffed at the fish and his face soured. “I think there is some bread buried in there,” she said indicating at the pile of victuals beside her. “Not sure how fresh it will still be though.”
“This will do,” the dragon said in a low voice. He picked up one of the smaller fish and started eating with gusto, consuming the fish in three hastily-chewed mouthfuls. “Pass up more.”
“There isn’t much left,” Cassandra warned.
“Necessary,” said the dragon, who ravenously devoured another fish. Baskets in hand, he jumped from the wagon and threw out portions of food to other dragons that he passed.
“Not a very talkative lot are they?” she said.
“Reserved, is how I would describe them,” said Brackendon. “And to be fair, they likely don’t have any breath to spare at the moment. Not during this great flight of ours.”
Flight? The word triggered something in her memory from her reading. “Maybe one day, people will call this the Fourth Flight.”
“The Fourth Flight?” Brackendon considered. “What a clever play on words. I assume you have been reading from Tiviar’s histories then?”
“How do you know it’s Tiviar I’ve read?” she said. “But yes I have. All twelve volumes.”
“Because Tiviar is one of the few scholars worth reading on the subject,” Brackendon said. “I think being a fairy helps to keep him impartial. Human and dragon writers can be terribly biased.”
“I doubt this could be called a true flight though,” Cassandra noted.
“Perhaps not, but who is to say?” Brackendon said. The wizard was now quite animated. “As Tiviar himself comments, the earlier Flights are so obscured by myth, we cannot say what they might truly have been about. Sources from the Third Flight two thousand years ago are more readily available, if still questionable.”
“The time of Aurisha, the Transformation, and the First War against Dranus and the Black Dragons,” Cassandra said. “Tiviar devotes three of his volumes to it.”
“As well he should,” said Brackendon. “The Transformation of the dragons is perhaps the most important event in all Tenalp’s history. Tiviar decided that a Flight was such when the whole dragon race moved en masse with a collective purpose. While we do not have quite the entire dragon race with us,” he said, gesturing out across the great chase, “I think it would work well as a chapter heading in a book one day.”
“We ought to talk more, Brackendon,” Cassandra said. “It’s nice to discuss this with someone and not have their eyes roll. The hunters don’t seem too interested.”
“Don’t be too quick to judge, my dear,” Brackendon said. “Not everyone has endless time and access to a wizard’s library. Books are rare, and time and wit to enjoy them, rarer still. Hunters need to learn a great deal of other things.”
“Like how to fight? I can fight as well.”
“But can you pitch a tent, gather wood, and start a fire with flint and tinder?” Brackendon asked. His tone reminded her of Chelos when he became particularly preachy. “Can you skin a rabbit, a mountain goat, a wolf, a bear; can you bring those creatures down with an arrow without being seen; can you use a bow?”
Okay I get your point.
“Can you clean a wound, bandage a wound or set a broken bone? Could you find your way home with just a compass and then still make it back if it breaks?”
Cassandra frowned at him, annoyed. “No. No, I can’t do those things.” She felt dispirited. She had been fighting against the fear that she had nothing real to offer. “Are you trying to make me feel useless? I know I’m only as good as my information on Castallan is, and it really isn’t that helpful.”
“Oh Cassandra,” he said. “I didn’t mean that at all. I’m sorry.”
She forgave him but remained silent.
“Perhaps I went a bit far trying to make my point,” Brackendon said, “but I only meant to illustrate that there are things we can all contribute. You have already contributed. You warned us of the demon army camped outside the Boreac Mountains and this impending invasion as well.” He smiled at her. “If you hadn’t, we might well have stumbled into the demons or been trapped. Likely, this invasion would have come without enough warning as well. Though it may seem like you have done little, you may have saved the world through your actions.”
She couldn’t help but grin slightly. “Thank you, Brackendon.” Another voice reached her ears then, even over the noise of the dragons.
“I told you I don’t need to stop!” Garon was yelling. “Put me down. Put me down.”
“My apologies, human,” the dragon carrying Garon said, jumping up into the wagon. He didn’t even lose a bit of his balance. The dragon plonked Garon down in the gap between Kymethra and the piled baskets. “The King has ordered—”
“He’s not my bloody king,” Garon said, struggling to get up. The dragon held him firmly in place. “I won’t tell him,” Garon assured him. “I promise.”
The dragon sighed. It was one of the few signs of weariness Cassandra had seen from them. “Are your legs not tired, human?” he asked.
“Aye they ache,” Gar
on said, “and my lungs are on fire, but someone else is likely hurting more.”
“I picked you up from the ground,” the dragon stated.
“I tripped…”Garon tried to argue but then he deflated, perhaps sensing defeat on the matter.
“Stay and rest here now. When it comes to the next rotation, I will come get you first, if that is what you wish?” the dragon said.
This time Garon sighed. “Alright. Thanks, Damien.”
The dragon called Damien gave Garon a tired smile then leapt back out of the cart.
“Aren’t you exhausted, Garon?” Brackendon said. “You’ve been running for hours.”
“Of course. I’m in agony,” Garon said, “we all are. Well, apart from Darnuir and that Blaine fellow. Honestly, you wouldn’t think Darnuir was hu—” he caught himself. “Well, he isn’t, is he?”
“How are they different?” Cassandra asked.
“Who, Darnuir and Blaine?” asked Garon. “They don’t seem to be wearing out much. All the dragons are tiring now; you can hear in their voices and their pace has dropped a little. But Darnuir, he just seems to keep going. I caught him stopping to catch his breath once or twice but that is about it, and he was involved in a lot of the fighting at the rear.”
“And Blaine?” Brackendon inquired.
“His stamina is even more unnatural,” Garon said. “He hasn’t looked sore or worn out even a little. It’s not right.”
“If you’re beat up, Garon, why don’t you want some rest?” Cassandra said.
“I always feel like other people need it more,” he said. “It’s just who I am. Now I’m here though, I think it might take a great deal of effort for me to get back up.”
“You can’t help everyone all the time,” Cassandra said.
“I know,” Garon said pointedly. “I blame Cosmo for instilling this self-sacrificing streak in me. I try to fight it but sometimes…” He appeared to get fondly lost in this own thoughts for a while. “Back when he first took me in, he’d always give me the bigger cut of the game when we were out on patrol, and if there were more of us, he’d always eat last. He’d always be the last one to escape danger and the first one to head into it. He did all he could to look out for us because we was supposed to care for us.” Garon almost seemed to choke on his own words. “I don’t know if he really did care or was just good at his job, but he gave us all some hope. Even today, when he turned up at the rear guard, you should have heard the roar he received for being back.”
The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King Page 26