“Cosmo says he is not ill, just out cold,” Balack had informed her when she inquired a few days past.
“What happened to him?” Cassandra had asked concerned. “What could have taken him out of action so suddenly and so hard?”
“He isn’t certain,” Balack said. “Cosmo reckons Blaine had something to do with it. He doesn’t trust him.”
It struck Cassandra that there was an awful lot of distrust within their ranks. Likely, being crammed into such a tight space around the Argent Tree was only aggravating matters. Perched up on her branch, obscured by deftly chosen clumps of leaves, she could almost feel a tension thick in the air. We will have to move on soon or begin releasing that tension on each other. She had seen as much happen at the Bastion, when groups of Castallan’s loyal men were cooped up for too long. When the quiet routine of the morning suddenly broke below her, she thought that one or more party had finally snapped.
People were calling out to each other but not aggressively. “It’s him!” they said. “He’s back.”
From her vantage point, Cassandra saw Darnuir striding out from the base of the Argent Tree, garbed in only the loose-fitting silks of the fairies. His march was determined but his face showed his confusion. The Dragon’s Blade swung from his waist, its red hilt a jarring shade against its surroundings. Very soon, he vanished into the command tent below and out of sight. Cassandra scrambled back down the tree, landing in a forward roll and springing back to her feet in one fluid motion. A group of nearby children squealed their approval. She gave them a quick smile before pressing a finger to her lips to quieten them, then made to find Balack.
He was not at his section of camp, nor was he at the archer’s range. She found him in his usual place in the mess, though he seemed tired and clutched his hot mug of brew as if his health depended on it. Brackendon sat opposite with Kymethra, who had recovered well. Though the magic wielders were accorded chambers within the tree, they seemed to spend most of their time within the camp. Balack’s eyes were half-closed when she reached him.
“Balack!” she urged, giving him a shake. Balack’s eyes blinked open and he made a grumbling noise by way of response. “Balack, he’s awake. He’s up!”
His eyes flicked properly open. “Darnuir?” he said, rather unnecessarily. “Yes, I know.”
“Leave him be, girl,” Kymethra said, swatting away her hand. “The poor soul is clearly half asleep.” Before the witch lay the remnants of a rather large meal. She claimed a large appetite was key to recovery.
“I just thought he’d want to know,” Cassandra said defensively.
“Now no one need fret,” Brackendon said, recognisably more cheerful than past weeks. “Darnuir has been storming around looking for you actually.”
“Me?” Cassandra said. Why me? She considered he would have more important people to see upon breaking his slumber.
“Ask him yourself,” Brackendon smiled pleasantly.
“What do you…” she said as she turned, almost knowing who she would find.
“Cassandra,” Darnuir said in a mellow tone, “please come.” He didn’t wait for a response before stalking off. Cassandra shot the table a quick glance. Balack was unaware of who was around him, Kymethra just shrugged while reaching for another roll, and Brackendon merely nodded in Darnuir’s direction. Hesitantly, she followed.
Cassandra found herself a little breathless trying to keep up with Darnuir. He wove between the tents and bodies with an agility that far exceeded her own. Occasionally, he cast back to check she was still following and, when satisfied, merely carried on. She saw a space in which to catch up and darted forward.
“What is going on?” she demanded. “Where are you taking me?”
He answered without slowing his pace. “Into the trees. I feel like I need to get away for a time.”
She was naturally sceptical, although the need to seek some solitude was one with which she was sympathetic. But if that was all then why did he need her? Her sense of unease grew.
Their journey continued northwards until they left the bustle and the tents behind them, crossing over the threshold into the forest proper. The trees engulfed them. No one dared to question them. Even then, Darnuir continued to set a brisk pace, leaping over the felled, burnt trees rather than going around them. At one such large obstacle, his inhuman leap left her behind. She remained irritated on the other side, attempting to clamber up the knobbly, blackened trunk, until he reappeared at its precipice and lifted her up like a child. Dropping down, they continued to march on. When a strong gust swept a collection of multi-coloured damp leaves into her face and hair, Cassandra let her annoyance show.
“Stop,” she insisted. Darnuir, King of Dragons, turned slowly around to examine her. His gaze was part bewildered, part affronted, and the beginnings of a beard covered his face from his time on his sick bed. “I’m not taking one step more until you tell me what this is all about!”
“Such boldness to speak so towards a Dragon Lord,” Darnuir said, his voice unmoving.
“Since when did you demand reverence?” Cassandra asked him. “What happened to you? Did Blaine bring that big sword of his across the back of your head?”
“No…” Darnuir began, “no, he showed me how to see.”
“How to see?” Cassandra repeated, now feeling truly concerned. Perhaps he was still unwell? Her hand moved subtly by instinct towards her sword but she stopped herself. There would be no use in that if something went amiss, not against him. For the first time since she had met Darnuir, she felt afraid.
His nose twitched a little. “There is no need to fear, Cass,” he said, sounding more like himself. “I would never hurt you.”
“You don’t seem quite yourself,” she noted calmly. “Maybe you ought to return to the Argent Tree to rest?”
He did not seem to hear her suggestion. “I do not feel exactly like I did, not then, nor even way back then. All those years ago…” He seemed to drift off once more and remained silent for a time. The forest around them was close, almost suffocating. The air was heavy and moist, and it felt dark, despite the brilliance of the morning. Arborists must have worked the area well for there was only one shrivelled, burnt shoot, not much more than a stump. Every third tree was a rich silver, dulled somewhat by moss and other growths. Though they were surely completely alone, Cassandra could not help shake the feeling that she was being watched. She scanned the dense canopy but could see nothing. Not a leaf moved suspiciously and yet, the feeling was undeniably there.
Darnuir spoke again without warning. “I have his memories, the old me, I mean. Not all of them, just those he gave me, but I also have my own. They are both me but they are also different people. I cannot describe the feeling.”
“Sounds…”Cassandra searched for a word, “messy.”
“Hmmm,” Darnuir mused, falling back against a nearby trunk. He rubbed his eyes aggressively. “I have some grave memories now. Mistakes I wish I could take back.”
Still not knowing why she was here, Cassandra opted to play the sympathiser. “You cannot blame yourself for mistakes your old self made.”
“The mistakes do not all stem from him,” Darnuir said. He clutched his head in his hands.
“Does your head still pain you?” Cassandra asked.
“No, in fact, it has never felt clearer,” he replied, then, more to himself. “Cosmo was right. I must make amends for what I’ve done.” He slumped further down until he was sitting on the damp leaves beneath, his legs laid out horizontally. It made him look small and ridiculous to be spread out in such a way. Cassandra couldn’t resist a small giggle. When he looked up at her, she was thankful he grinned back.
“Laughing at me now?” he said, looking down at his outstretched legs. He half-laughed himself as he pulled his knees back in. The tension of the moments before faded as Darnuir appeared to unwind. Cassandra fell back against a silver tree opposite Darnuir. She slid down to the ground to join him and suddenly it felt like they were back
in that battered, little shack in Farlen. When he looked at her, his eyes were kinder again. Cassandra remained silent. He obviously had something more he desired to say but was still mustering the courage. After a time, Darnuir seemed to gain heart. “I helped him, Cass. I allowed Castallan to become what he is. It seems I flooded him with gold and who knows what else,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “And so I’ve wondered, in all your time at the Bastion, did you ever pick up on any of this.”
So this was why she was here? She was almost disappointed. It seemed so mundane and business-like. “From time to time, there was mention of a ‘benefactor’, though I cannot say who that person was,” she told him.
“Me, most likely,” Darnuir said solemnly.
“The way he said it sounded like it was still ongoing,” Cassandra said.
“Perhaps I gave him so much gold, it lasted him for years,” Darnuir said. “I was likely the patron that allowed him to reach his place now, alongside Rectar.”
“I do not believe his allegiance to Rectar is particularly strong,” Cassandra began. “The spectre lord I overheard telling him of the impending invasion threatened him as much as informed him. He wants the Bastion to conduct his campaign and I think he would be happy enough to remove Castallan himself.”
Darnuir nodded slowly. “This spectre lord has a name, if I recall?”
“Dukoona,” Cassandra said. She would not soon forget that sinister face; with the teeth too white and perfect, his hair a fiery blaze of tentacle-like strands. She grimaced at the thought of it.
“No matter,” Darnuir said. “We’ll take back the Bastion first. We always had to try.”
“You sound more confident.”
“My father felt assured we could take it,” he said. “My father, Draconess. The word is strange to say but I can see him now. I remember his face, his voice, the fights we had. Before Aurisha fell, he intended to rout Castallan out.” He was quiet again for a time before turning more seriously to her. “Is there anything else you can think would be useful for us to know? Anything at all that we might use to our advantage?”
“Well,” she began, “I didn’t just get away on the back of a cart.”
“I assumed as much,” Darnuir said.
“There are these passages within the fortress,” Cassandra said. “I used them for years, that’s how I got around unnoticed. The day I escaped, Chelos told me of one passage that led right out past the main gates, from the inner courtyard. There might even be more for all I know.”
“And he only told you about it then?” Darnuir asked.
“I think he always knew,” Cassandra said. “He always said I would get out one day. He was just biding his time. Waiting for you.”
“Could you find the entrance again?” Darnuir asked, a hungry glint in his eye.
“Yes, I’m sure of it,” she said.
“Then don’t you see?” Darnuir said. “Chelos has sent me Castallan’s downfall. If we can sneak past the walls, his Bastion means nothing.”
“Does it not trouble you how he knew?” Cassandra asked. “He never ventured into the tunnels, ever. I cannot figure it out. How would the steward of the dragon Royal Tower know secret passages within a human-made fortress?”
Darnuir pondered for perhaps a second before shrugging happily. “We should count this as a blessing,” he said. “And we will ask him when we rescue him.” He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, likely envisioning the conquest of the Bastion.
“Darnuir,” Cassandra began tentatively, not wanting to ruin his good mood. “Why did you bring me out here?”
“I wanted to be alone but not completely so,” he said, not opening his eyes. “Being around you used to help my headaches, though I am not sure why. I suppose I just got into the habit; and I did want to ask you about Castallan, of course.”
“What about Cosmo or Balack?”
“Cosmo would likely have lectured me or told me I should be resting, and Balack…”
“You do not feel comfortable around him anymore, do you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“He has told me as much,” Cassandra said. “He feels you have become distant. He thinks it is just due to your new responsibilities.”
“But you see it as more?” Darnuir asked.
“Well, you did just allude to mistakes you regret.”
“Yes,” Darnuir said simply. “I did.”
“Whatever it was, I am sure he would understand,” said Cassandra. Trust should not be taken for granted. The outline of Trask came to her then. You should not break trust like he did mine.
“I am afraid he will feel betrayed either way,” Darnuir said.
Cassandra raised her eyebrows. She curled her legs up and clutched them to her chest. A rustling noise came from up above; Darnuir sniffed furtively at the air, looking confused, but he did not move. Her gut instinct that they were not alone intensified. She heard rustling above. Probably just the wind. As she returned to look at Darnuir, she decided she had enough of tiptoeing around the issue. There he was. The King of Dragons. Strong by nature, more powerful for his magic sword, and supposedly the leader of the Three Races. Whatever this ‘betrayal’ was, she would have it out of him.
“Are you going to tell me?” she asked bluntly. She could not fathom what could be so wicked that Darnuir would fear telling Balack.
“Has Balack mentioned a girl called Eve to you?”
“In passing. He tries to cover up how important she was to him but you can glean it from his voice, his eyes; the way he drops her into conversation casually but often. It is clearly painful for him to discuss.” Despite herself, Cassandra had found Balack’s openness quite endearing. She saw the love in his eyes but did not see the lust. It was a gentler look that came over him, unlike what Trask had always given her. The scream and the steel flashed before her once more.
“Yes, that is her,” Darnuir said, unaware of Cassandra’s internal discomfort. “We grew up with her and Balack loved her since we were very small.” He raised a flat hand not far off the ground. “I knew, of course. He wasn’t subtle about it, but then why should he have been? Although he never actually told her, it was plain to see.”
“Why didn’t he?” Cassandra asked. It was a curious thing. Trask had never been direct either.
“I think he was afraid,” Darnuir said. “Afraid that she might not feel the same. Perhaps he knew she did not and couldn’t stomach the idea of having to deal with it. Afraid to turn his fears into reality.” He paused, probably hoping she would say something more. Yet, once again, Cassandra remained silent, letting Darnuir get there on his own. Not giving him a chance for deflection. Once again, he resigned himself. “I knew all of this, Cass, but shortly before she died, we… we…”
“I see,” Cassandra said, indicating she required no further explanation. It wasn’t quite what she had expected to hear. A small fear crept upon her then. “Did she want to?”
“What?” Darnuir snapped. “Of course she did. What else could you mean? Oh—” he added in realisation. “No. I’d never!” he hastened to add. “How could you think that I…”
“Sorry!” she bleated, grasping what she has just accused him of. “I just… ah,” she rasped into her upright knees. She kept her head buried there for a time, allowing her hair to hide her. “There is a little more to the story of my escape,” she admitted. He was honest with me. I should be the same.
If Darnuir was perplexed at the sudden change of topic, he hid it well. “No surprises there,” he said. “Everyone could tell you were hiding something.”
“And still you trusted me?”
“Not wholly,” he said. “Not immediately. But I feel that a secret so plain hidden is not one worth fearing. So how did you gain that horrible cut on your arm?”
“What I said was half-true,” she began, her voice stony and hard. “I did leave on the back of a supply cart amongst the rations and the weapons, but I knew the driver. Trask was his name. He was one of t
he few people at the Bastion I thought I could trust. For my whole life, he was the one of the few I might have called a friend —” her voiced cracked. It flooded over her – the unfairness of it all, the unjustness, the hurt. “But he was clearly no true friend. I always knew he saw me differently. I could see it plain in his eyes. I heard it in his words. I felt it in his touch – always familiar. Yet compared to others in that place, it did not seem so wrong. He always offered to help free me and I always feared what he might expect of me if he succeeded. And when my fears came true, I did not hesitate…” Saying it is like doing the act all over again. Telling someone else would make it real. “We’d been travelling with the others for a few days when, one evening, he finally came to lift the covers of the cart. It was dark and the torches were still to be lit around camp. He said he would come with me into the Boreacs, and we must have stumbled through the dark all night, for we didn’t stop to rest until the first light crept up over the rise of the mountains. That’s when he—” she stopped again, her grief turning to anger. “But I stopped him,” she said with an ice to her voice, as cold as those mountains had been. “I ran my sword through his heart. I don’t think he expected me to know how to use it. He was clueless himself. He could barely grip his own properly. Managed to catch me on my arm though.”
Darnuir was looking at her as though he was seeing her for the first time. “This Trask tried a terrible thing. You should not feel ashamed for what you did.”
“I don’t,” Cassandra said easily. “I felt numb after it, maybe a little broken up. It actually made me feel in control for once and that made me feel strong and good. Yet it sickened me when I realised that.” She was rambling now. She pulled out the dragon figurine she still kept on her person and twirled it around with her fingers. “He gave me this once, years ago when we were very young. I don’t know why I still carry it around. Stupid little thing. But it is the only innocent part of him left I suppose.”
The Dragon's Blade: The Reborn King Page 37