The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King

by Michael R. Miller

  “Then let us do it!” Darnuir said, drawing the Dragon’s Blade. He gently pressed on one of the rubies, then the other, popping them out of their sockets. They were a great weight in his hand; as heavy as the Dragon’s Blade once felt to him.

  “How does it feel?” Blaine asked.

  “Heavy,” said Darnuir. “Heavier than any stones their size should be.” His head began to pound again, more acutely and painfully than ever. He winced. “What magic is this?”

  “It is not magic but memory,” Blaine said.

  “I was not aware that memories had a weight,” Darnuir said.

  “Oh but Darnuir, memory is the heaviest of all things,” Blaine began solemnly. “Even the strongest shoulders will be hunched by it in time. Nothing weighs upon us more, nor for longer, than memory.”

  Darnuir’s thoughts wondered once more to that chilled room briefly bathed in moonlight. She was too close. His expression must have betrayed him.

  “I see something weighs on you,” Blaine said. “It would seem something or perhaps many things lay heavy upon your old self as well.”

  “You have lived longer than any of us,” Darnuir said. “How do you cope?”

  Pensively, Blaine played with one of his white jewels, holding it up between his thumb and forefinger. “Some of the weightiest I hide away,” he said, “and some of the lightest and joyous, I place in here as well. But those are just for me.” He ended on a smile.

  Was that an attempt at humour?

  Either way, it was a tender moment, which smoothed some of the roughness away from the old dragon.

  “Show me how to see,” Darnuir asked, holding out the rubies. Blaine closed his hand around Darnuir’s. The jewels were now in their joint grasp. Darnuir saw Blaine’s face twitch as he let out a sudden gasp.

  “Have you been carrying this the entire time?” Blaine said, almost in awe.

  “It’s not as severe placed inside the sword, but yes,” Darnuir said.

  Blaine drew in a long, shuddering breath through gritted teeth. “Then I’m sorry I did not do this sooner. Let us place some of our burden upon each other. I have carried my own for far too long.”

  Chapter 23

  THE MURKY PAST

  “WE’LL ENTER THE memory I have stored first,” Blaine said. “It is important you see it.”

  “Do I need to do anything?” Darnuir asked. He considered that the two of them must look rather strange, hands clasped in the dim light of the Hall of Memories.

  “Nothing for now,” Blaine said. “Just brace yourself.”

  Brace myself? I wonder what he means by—

  Something yanked at his conscious, dragging him away. His vision left the real world behind. Blaine and the painted walls vanished and a swirling spectrum of colours raced before him. He lost control of his body, because he had no body, he was just some flying thought through an infinite blur. Then his vision began to sharpen. Tall grass and bright fauna loomed above gloomy pools and mossy ground. Is this the Cairlav Marshes? It certainly looked like it. As the sky came into focus, the recognisable granite-grey clouds confirmed his suspicions. Figures began to form on the ground. Hundreds of hardened warriors wearing riveted plates of gold with a strange symbol on their shields: Light Bearers. Clearly, they were dragons, which made sense. Blaine said this was the memory of an old guardian.

  “Darnuir?”

  He heard Blaine’s voice but could not tell where it came from. He tried to turn but found he couldn’t move.

  “Darnuir?” Blaine called again. “You won’t be able to move but just answer me.”

  “Hello,” Darnuir said, feeling ever foolish around the Guardian. “This is disconcerting.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Blaine said. “We are both inside the memory of my predecessor, the Guardian, Norbanus. We are not physically here so we are only communicating via thought.”

  “Will we get our bodies back?”

  “No, but we will be in a body,” Blaine said. “Remember, we aren’t really here, Darnuir. We are in Norbanus’ memory, so we are seeing things from his perspective.”

  “You mean we are in his mind?” Darnuir said, or rather he thought, feeling thoroughly nauseated by the sensation.

  “Yes and no,” Blaine said. “We are witnessing events from his eyes, as he saw it; however, we cannot hear his thoughts as we are not him. Were this your own memory, Darnuir, then you would experience it in full.”

  “So we will just be watching?” Darnuir asked.

  “We will watch and learn,” Blaine said.

  Typical, always holding back.

  “I heard that, boy,” Blaine said. “Remember, we are communicating through thought. Keep quiet if you want to keep things secret.” Darnuir restrained himself from his next choice thought. The silence seemed to amuse Blaine. “Just focus on events here. If I recall, there should be a messenger coming out of the grass right about now.”

  The tall grass in front of them rustled and parted just as predicted. A Light Bearer came into view.

  “The humans are advancing, Lord Guardian,” the dragon from the grass said, sounding unsure of his own words. “Legate Varus has led his legion against the enemy.”

  “Varus is an arrogant fool for going alone. Still, the humans are unwise to act so boldly, even with their newfound ally. Signal the rest of our forces to move into position.” The voice felt like it came from Darnuir, and so he assumed it to be Norbanus. Their host’s voice was a lot like Blaine’s; deep, assured, measured, and tinged with an air of superiority.

  “As you command, Lord Guardian,” the Light Bearer said. The dragon moved off out of sight but shortly after, there was a cry of annoyance, and Norbanus turned to examine the commotion. The Light Bearer he had just sent off had gotten his foot stuck in a thick patch of mud. Other dragons nearby moved to help free him, taking care not to misstep themselves.

  “Be careful here,” Norbanus said. “That goes for all of you.”

  “They should have known this was a mistake,” Blaine said.

  “Why? What—”

  “Quiet, or you will miss it,” Blaine hissed.

  “Light Bearers!” Norbanus cried. He was met with a resounding cheer. “Today, we end the human menace. Like these bogs, they shall rot here forever more. With me!” Another wave of cheering roared throughout the Light Bearers. Norbanus strode forwards, the Guardian’s Blade in hand, cutting swathes through the long grass.

  “We can speak again,” Blaine said.

  “You said this was during the Second War?” Darnuir asked.

  “Correct.”

  “Then this must be the Battle of the Bogs?”

  “Ah,” Blaine said sounding pleased. “So you do know something?”

  “Every human knows of that battle.”

  “I don’t doubt,” Blaine said. “What do you know of it then?”

  “Little in truth. Only that the dragons lost and that it was this Prince Dronithir who led humanity to victory,” Darnuir said.

  “Were it only that,” Blaine said solemnly. “It was a disaster, a crushing and humiliating defeat. You heard Norbanus call the Legate Varus a fool? Well, I am afraid my predecessor was no better for allowing the battle to occur here.”

  Norbanus and his Light Bearers continued to cut through the tall grass. Green sprays of foliage mingled with the bright fauna flew around them. Several of his companions fell behind, presumably caught in some watery trap. Norbanus continued on with a single-mindedness.

  “This seems a terrible place for a battle,” Darnuir said.

  “Depends which side you are on,” Blaine said.

  “Small bands of hunters, lightly equipped and with knowledge of the land might be able to make use of it, but these dragons, in their armour—”

  “Should never have fought here, I quite agree,” Blaine said.

  “So why did they?” Darnuir asked. “I doubt you would ever make such a blunder.”

  “Not such an obvious one at least,” Blaine sa
id. “Still, the Guardian is not supposed to lead armies. That is the job of the King. He was in a similar position to ourselves, in a way. Drakon the Fourth was King in those days, but he was old and could no longer enter battle. He sent his son, Dronithir, west to secure a beachhead, and the Prince went gladly, eager to subdue the barbarous humans.”

  “But Dronithir turned against the dragons,” Darnuir said.

  “Yes and saved humanity in doing so,” Blaine said. “Dronithir was young and unbloodied when he came west. He landed his forces near where the Bastion now stands and carved out some territory with ease. All he had to do was await the main invasion force, but the brash, young prince did not sit idle. He decided he would conquer as much of the Southern Dales as he could before the full power of the dragons arrived. Humanity had bowed before his might, he thought; humanity was meek and disorganised. He did not stop to consider his own limits.”

  “It sounds like he thought of the war as a game or sport?” Darnuir said.

  “History has remembered him kindly,” Blaine said. “The humans see him as a hero, yet were it not for the compassion of one woman, he might never have changed. The tale goes that Dronithir was ambushed by hunters and nearly slain. He was saved by owe of their own healers, the woman I mentioned. Her name was Elsha. I have often wondered whether she and her fellow healers knew who he was. Did they heal him in the hope that he would turn against his own people? It seems desperate at best. Did they believe that his father, Drakon, or perhaps Norbanus would be dissuaded from the war if they held the Prince hostage? Alas, such things have been lost to time.”

  “Perhaps they saved him out of kindness,” Darnuir suggested.

  Blaine answered him with silence and so Darnuir refocused on the memory before him.

  The endless grass finally abated as Norbanus emerged out onto the main field of battle. Long grass was absent in this area of the morass but the boggy ground was creating chaos for the dragons. They struggled to form ranks properly in the quagmire, the broken land causing holes to appear in their formations. Norbanus rushed to the head of the troops, their half-formed ranks parting to allow him to pass. He then had an unimpeded view of the unfolding battle.

  Ahead, the human army had arranged itself in dense spear formations, as if imitating the long grass of the marshes, and were advancing like creeping thorn bushes against a group of dragons who had already engaged them. The humans had placed themselves expertly on solid ground with many pools littered on either side. The effect was that the dragons were pushed into a choke point. A howling wind brought the clamour of battle along with it, buffeting the dragons, who were forced to try and march against it. Norbanus’ eyes quickly took in the entirety of the scene. It was rapidly deteriorating.

  More dragons charged forward to join the fray, seemingly without instruction, and were greeted with a hail of arrows from behind the dense spear walls. The treacherous ground caught many of the advancing dragons, pinning them in place or causing them to stumble and fall.

  “Forward!” Norbanus cried, and all near charged with him.

  “This is foolish,” Darnuir said. “Couldn’t he see what was happening?”

  “Chaos is the greatest enemy of the commander,” Blaine said. “Too many had already committed themselves forward. Dragons fell prey to hubris on this day. In nearly all previous battles with humans, a ferocious charge was enough to break them.”

  Norbanus’ great charge was slowing considerably with each step. They caught up with the dragons ahead and so had no more room to gain pace. Arrows continued to fall and the collapsing bodies created further obstacles. Soon dragons began running in the opposite direction. Areas of the front must have broken, for what began as a trickle soon became a torrent of fleeing dragons. The chaos was then complete.

  Those charging forwards collided with those retreating, unable to alter their directions quickly enough on the crammed, slippery killing fields. Norbanus bellowed orders but none heeded him. Only his Light Bearers seemed to navigate the sea of bodies, some even knocking their fellow dragons aside with their large shields to keep going. At last, they reached the front.

  Spears jutted out and in, spraying blood, bone and limb as they grinded forwards like the devouring jaws of some vast monster. The humans were lightly garbed in padded leather jerkins or chainmail. The jerkins were not of hunter design, although Darnuir could clearly make out some hunters within their ranks. At the centre of the human lines was another compact group of fighters, only these wore plated armour and carried shields and swords. At their head was a figure in magnificent golden armour. A dragon appeared draped over the pauldrons, its head resting on the man’s right shoulder and its tail curled up on the left. Light brown hair flew around his face, obscuring it as he fought. In his hand, he held a sword wrought of grainy gold metal. Its hilt and cross guard was of plain steel and Darnuir was certain that the grip, though covered by Dronithir’s hand, would be woven black and gold cloth.

  “The Champion’s Blade!” Darnuir announced unnecessarily.

  “Indeed,” Blaine said. Somehow, Darnuir could still hear him perfectly, despite the din of the battle.

  “But how did he find it?” Darnuir asked.

  “Pay close attention and we shall discuss it afterwards,” Blaine instructed.

  “Norbanus!” Dronithir bellowed. “You murderer, you craven zealous worm!” The Guardian strode forwards in answer to the challenge.

  “Prince Dronithir,” Norbanus called. “You have erred greatly but your corruption can be cleansed. Give up this foolishness and let me purge the Shadow from you.” The Guardian stayed quite still as he reproached the Prince but his sword was drawn. Darnuir could see the Guardian’s Blade resting down at the edge of his vision.

  “The only evil here is you Norbanus,” Dronithir cried. “You and my father. How long have you whispered in his ear for this? How long have you desired to cut humanity’s throat and watch the loch run red?” Dronithir approached Norbanus in a fury that Darnuir had never seen. He might have been handsome but rage had contorted his features, igniting a savagery in his eyes. His cheeks and chin were hidden beneath thick stubble.

  Norbanus seemed unperturbed by the advance. “You even look like one of them now; your father will be ashamed.” The Guardian’s voice bore only disappointment. “The humans have fought well but they will break when they see you fall.”

  “And your Light Bearers will lose faith when they see you lying in the marsh,” Dronithir snarled.

  As the two dragons clashed on the moss-covered earth, those loyal on both sides smashed together in a melee around them. Neither side attempted a shield wall, nor any strategy other than raw ferocity. Such was its intensity that the entire battle now seemed hinged on this skirmish, and it in turn depended upon the outcome of the duel raging at its heart.

  Darnuir wished he could hear what Norbanus was thinking. The Guardian’s initial confidence had followed through in his early steps, treating Dronithir as though he were some novice, but a few slips here and there seemed to make Norbanus less sure. He was quickly on the defensive, parrying and dodging, rather than taking the initiative. The speed of the fight was tremendous and might have been sickening had Darnuir not gained his own small measure of experience. Dronithir was brilliant. His every move seemed perfectly aimed and compensated for the terrain, yet no warrior is flawless, and eventually Norbanus found an opening. The Guardian took his opportunity and took a swipe at Dronithir’s neck.

  “N’weer save you!” Norbanus screamed, but his blow met only air. Dronithir had vanished, momentarily invisible to Norbanus’ eyes, then there was a flashing fist, and Norbanus must have been taken clean off his feet. Darnuir lost sight of the battle, looking up to the sky. Norbanus’ eyelids quivered lightly. Dronithir stepped over the Guardian and brought his foot down somewhere to the right.

  “He disarmed Norbanus?” Darnuir asked.

  “It would appear so”’ Blaine said. “My weapon does not fly back to my hand like yours.”


  Norbanus grasped for his weapon but Dronithir kicked out hard once more. The Guardian’s arm remained pinned under Dronithir’s booted foot but his free hand lurched over to fumble at the ankle of his attacker. Norbanus’ movements seemed sluggish, even clumsy, compared to only a few moments ago. The Prince grabbed Norbanus’ flailing hand and hoisted him into a crouch. A backhanded blow swept before Norbanus’ vision and suddenly he was face-down in the muck and water.

  Darnuir felt that one strike, no matter how powerful, should not be able to remove the Guardian from the fight. “That cannot be the end of it,” he said to Blaine

  “At first, they fought as equals,” Blaine said, “but then Norbanus lost his blade. Dronithir’s blow must have felt like it had all the strength of the gods behind it.”

  “It’s over!” yelled the towering Dronithir. The Prince left Norbanus’ vision as the Guardian attempted to rise to his feet. His movements were unsteady and he tripped once as he tried to stand. He must have opted to rest on his knees after that, for he seemed to have shrunk to half his original height as he looked around him. The Light Bearers had all thrown down their weapons, some wailing in anguish at the sight of their fallen Lord. Dronithir’s men began collecting the swords of the surrendering Light Bearers and the human troops swarmed forwards. Spears on every side quickly surrounded Norbanus. As the Guardian hung his head, the scene began to dissolve.

  Darnuir felt the familiar sensation that ended his dreams as he was tugged away, his conscious flying through a void of nothingness until his real eyes snapped open again and he found himself back in the Hall of Memories.

  “Don’t drop the rubies!” Blaine warned as their hands parted. Darnuir kept a firm grasp on them as he took a step back and leaned gently on the wall for support. “Careful, Darnuir,” Blaine snapped. “You will ruin the paint.”

  Darnuir stepped away, feeling steadier. “So if the Battle of the Bogs ended the Second War, what became of Norbanus and Dronithir?”

  “Much remains unknown,” Blaine said. “Dronithir eventually became King, but as the rubies empty themselves with each new succession, we have no access to his own memories. His own accounts are clearly biased and mostly focus on his hatred for Norbanus and our very gods by extension.”