The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian

by Michael R. Miller

  “How gracious of you to step up from your chambers,” she said.

  Blaine’s face was impassive. “Unless Arkus has finally reneged and is sending our people who are stuck in those wretched camps home, I don’t see what we have left to discuss.”

  “How about members of your flock abusing our human allies?” Blaine merely raised an eyebrow. Lira pushed on. “Earlier today we received a complaint from a human officer. I’m not blaming you, Blaine—”

  “Lord Guardian,” Bacchus snapped, sounding just like that legate had back in Val’tarra.

  “Lord Guardian,” she said bitingly. “Though I only have to say it once, isn’t that right, Blaine?”

  “It is.” Blaine offered nothing more. This was how it had been since Darnuir had taken ill, like trying to wring shimmer brew out from blackened leaves.

  “So, you claim to know nothing of dragons harassing humans?”

  “Do you have proof that these dragons have something to do with my followers?”

  “Who else calls dragons a blessed people.”

  “Perhaps this officer misinterpreted events,” said Bacchus. “Or overreacted. Humans can be soft at heart.”

  “I would have hoped that we had proven ourselves to you by now,” Raymond said.

  “Not all our kind can be so easily won over by combed hair and a smile, Chevalier,” Bacchus said. His eyes flicked very deliberately to Lira.

  Blaine glanced over his shoulder. “Quiet now, Bacchus. Let the young Praetorians speak.”

  Lira stepped forwards. “Blaine, if your people are harassing the humans in any way, it must stop. Darnuir would not abide it and neither can I. We need their support. You know of the threat we face.”

  “A threat conveyed to our king, a self-confessed Cascade addict, by a spectre who is unreliable at best and still working for the enemy at worst. It’s been nearly two months, what is Rectar doing if he has a powerful new force to use against us?”

  “Do you not believe Darnuir?” Lira said. “Is that why you do so little to prepare our defences?”

  Blaine narrowed his eyes. “Careful, Prefect. My patience will not stretch to such questioning. It is not my fault that our king chose to blunder on quicker than he had sense for. I did not leave us stranded in this city over winter. And as for our defence, I have been sending faithful followers from the Third Legion to secure and repair our abandoned northern forts along the Crucidal Road.”

  Lira could hardly believe what she was hearing. “And you didn’t think it prudent to inform me?”

  “You’ll also recall,” Blaine continued as though he had not heard her, “that I sent ships from the Brevian fleet west, and requested that Arkus send our people home. This I did at Darnuir’s behest. That Arkus has not complied is no fault of mine.”

  “You could ask more than once. You’ve barely spoken to Arkus and I can’t work the orb without your magic.”

  “And,” Blaine went on, “I am even now preparing to repair our city’s gate. Plans have been drawn but it may take some time for materials to—”

  “Stop,” Lira said. She balled her hands into shaking fists. “I’ve been preparing to repair the gate as well. Why didn’t you tell me? Why haven’t you communicated with me?”

  Blaine withstood her anger, perfectly cool. He barely moved. “Lira, I do admire the way in which you led the legions hurriedly to battle. But do not overstep your position, nor place responsibilities upon your rank that are not yours. You’re the head of Darnuir’s personal bodyguard; not his replacement, not his regent, and certainly not my equal. The Guardian exists for times just such as these: to lead our people if our king is indisposed. That is what I am doing, and I do not need to consult with dozens of younger, less experience dragons and a former Chevalier. I have entrusted you with Darnuir’s care. Let that be enough.”

  A lengthy silence followed. Lira opened and clenched her fist several times, all the while staring at Blaine’s implacable face. Her fury found its way through a shuddering whisper.

  “If that is your role, Blaine, then where were you for decades while our people were at war and then in exile? Where was our great Guardian then?”

  “I do not have time to explain,” said Blaine. “I’ll let Darnuir answer your questions, if he sees fit.” Blaine appeared to turn to leave, but hesitated. “How is he?”

  “Come visit him yourself if you wish to know,” Lira said.

  “That at least is a fair remark,” Blaine said. “I ought to do more for him. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He really did begin to walk away this time. To Lira’s horror, she saw Raymond step forward too, moving as though to intercept Blaine.

  Before she could draw breath to stop him, Raymond called out, “Lord Guardian, I do not believe you answered Prefect Lira satisfactorily.”

  Blaine stopped walking but did not turn around.

  “Raymond, get back,” she urged, but he continued.

  “Will you make inquiries into these accusations?” Raymond took another step closer and Bacchus moved between him and Blaine, grasping the hilt of his sword.

  “No further, human. You are not worthy to be so close to our Gods’ chosen champion.”

  Lira’s heart felt like it would punch through her chest. She rushed to Raymond’s side, her hand upon her own sword. “Back off, right now. Both of you.”

  “Bacchus,” Blaine called airily, without turning. “Step away from the Praetorians. There will be no fighting in this sacred place.” Bacchus scurried back to Blaine like a dog to heel.

  “And will anything be done about what we have discussed?” Lira said.

  “I shall inform you, if so,” said Blaine. And, with that, he descended into the alcove, Bacchus trailing in his wake. Lira found herself short of breath. Once again, she rounded on Raymond.

  “What’s gotten into you?”

  “They’re just so difficult,” he muttered.

  “Yes, and I don’t need you making it harder,” she said, exasperated. Raymond shuffled his feet, eyes rigidly fixed on the doorway.

  “Shall we leave?”

  “Yes, but not back to the Tower.” She spoke to the group of Praetorians at large now. “We’ll go to the Lower City and see what we can uncover for ourselves. Come on.”

  Chapter 4

  THE DOUBTFUL CHOSEN

  “With sanction from both Gods and dragons, I thought daily tribulations would ease. I thought I would feel rapture, yet I felt as I always had done. And I struggled on just the same.”

  — Records of the Guardian Nhilus, 1507 AT

  Blaine – The Guardian’s Sanctum

  BLAINE DESCENDED BENEATH the Basilica with Bacchus, heading towards his inner sanctum. They passed barracks and quarters for Light Bearers, the space now much needed for their swelling ranks.

  Blaine entered the sanctum and admired, as he had of late, the two great hearths and ornate pulpit upon the dais, all cut from marble. A wide balcony overlooked the switchback streets that led down to the harbour. A chill breeze swept in and Blaine shivered, his breath rising in steamy clouds. Yet, ever watchful of his health, the Guardian’s Blade warmed him without the need for fire. Bacchus was not so fortunate. Blaine allowed a moment to pass, letting Bacchus try to mask his own shivering; let him see again the difference between them.

  “You wished to speak to me?” Bacchus said.

  “What was that about with the girl? I thought my instructions to the Light Bearers were quite clear.”

  “Your order was disseminated among the faithful,” Bacchus said. “Her reports must be false.”

  Blaine studied him, searching for any sign of a lie. However, even through the slight tremors from the cold, Bacchus’ expression was as impenetrable as ever.

  “Are you aware of who the perpetrators were on previous occasions?”

  “I am,” Bacchus said.


  “And did you reprimand them, as discussed?”

  Bacchus broke eye contact and looked just past Blaine’s shoulder. “No. I did not.”

  “Why?”

  “I did not feel such minor acts warranted the removal of shields,” Bacchus said. “I did, however, make it clear that you wished their behaviour to cease.”

  “But you do not wish it?”

  “I followed your word to the letter, Lord Guardian. Even if—” he hesitated.

  Blaine raised his eyebrows. Was Bacchus’ slick demeanour at last showing cracks? “Go on.”

  “Even if I do not see why the humans ought to be coddled,” said Bacchus. “They ought to stay outside the city walls. This is a holy site, after all, and we’ve just earned favour with the Gods. Why put that in jeopardy? Some of the men are concerned.”

  Blaine shook his head. “If the men are concerned about the presence of humans then they have little grasp on the true threat we face.”

  “The situation is far from ideal.”

  “We must all, at times, endure situations that are not favourable. I recently endured your own thinly veiled attempts to usurp me.”

  Bacchus’ nose twitched. “As I have explained, Blaine, I only sought to—”

  “We shall speak no more of it. What happened on the slopes of the Nail Head has united us all in our faith.”

  “It has Lord Guardian. It has. Faith in our Gods. Faith in you.”

  “Indeed. Now, gather the rest of the Light Bearers and bring them here. I wish to address them on this matter.” Bacchus bowed and took his leave. Blaine watched him go, wondering whether he had done the right thing in forgiving him. Either way, the decision had been made now. He couldn’t change his mind after months, and it would be better to keep Bacchus close where he could ensure his loyalty.

  Such assurances would be prudent. For all he went along with the title of the ‘Gods Chosen Champion’ or ‘The Champion of the Light’, Blaine himself had never once said it. Yes, the Gods had spoken to him at the Nail Head, they had whispered to everyone assembled there and had confirmed him as Guardian; still, their exact words caused a flicker of doubt in Blaine.

  ‘It is not yet time to give in.’

  That had been what he’d heard. Not ‘you are Guardian forever more’, not ‘never give in, Blaine’. Their words had been both invigorating and agonising. Gods would not be careless with their words. Yet, they had not been clear, either.

  Absentmindedly, almost from habit, he brought his right hand around from behind his back and unfurled the four fingers he still had. A fleshy bump of stretched skin protruded where his little finger used to be. He flexed his fingers, grasped the hilt of his sword with his injured hand and squeezed. No matter how hard he clenched, his grip couldn’t match its old strength. That made him nervous. Was that why the Gods had been reserved in their wording? Blaine had no doubt he could overpower every warrior Tenalp had to offer. He still had his Blade, but could he face the true enemy like this?

  He’d faced Rectar before, of course, when he was whole and half his age. And he’d barely walked away from it even then.

  He ought to take out the opal he’d stored the memory in and relive that fight, study it for any potential weakness in Rectar. Yet he thought he’d be wasting his time on that account. There had been no weakness. No sign of frailty. Moreover, he’d rather face their enemy a hundred times than relive that terrible night.

  Everything changed after that day. Nothing had been the same.

  His hand left the cold grip of his sword and fumbled instead for the chain around his neck. Fishing it up, the silver ‘A’ felt warm to the touch. Arlandra had given this gift to Darnuir’s father long ago; a token to ensure that a part of her would be with him on his travels. Kasselle had helped her make it, infusing it with some magic of her own. She’d done too good a job. Pressing tight on the necklace, Blaine swore he could sense his daughter still. A song like laugh, the gleam of silver hair, the citrus scent of water lilies which were her favourite. Yet all of it was distant. An echo.

  A blessing and a curse.

  He tucked the chain away, feeling suffocated, and moved to the balcony for air. Outside, with the sun on his face, his thoughts drifted again to the life he might have had. Kasselle breakfasting with him out on this terrace. Wrapped up in bed with her on a cold winter’s day. His hand curled in, searching for what he had lost. Try as he might, he hadn’t been able to rid her entirely from his thoughts, whilst awake or asleep. And he knew, given the choice, he would have that love back rather than his missing finger. Even if that meant he wasn’t capable of fighting the Shadow – he’d take the happiness again, even for just one day. Some Champion of the Light he was.

  Baying seagulls jarred him from his reverie. Footsteps approached from the hallway beyond and so Blaine made his way over to the pulpit to await the Light Bearers. He needn’t have hastened. It was only Chelos. His lifelong follower shuffled into the sanctum, wizened and slightly hunched.

  “Grim news this morning, I hear?”

  “A nuisance more like,” said Blaine. Hidden under many layers of warm clothing, Chelos moved slowly. A sole seat was arranged to the side for him and Blaine moved to lend a hand in reaching it.

  “Don’t make a fuss,” Chelos said, waving him down. “I can manage. Still made it here before the rest of them, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. How did I ever earn such loyalty?”

  Chelos offered him a crinkly smile. “Childhood heroes are ingrained in each of us, I think.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “For the God’s Chosen Champion, I fear I don’t offer enough praise.” Having shuffled to his destination, Chelos sat down with a groaning sigh. He then looked to Blaine intensely. “What will you do about these attacks?”

  “Nothing, I hope.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I’d rather it is contained,” Blaine said. “So, I shall address the men again and see if I cannot convince those responsible that their actions are folly.”

  Chelos sucked in a breath through his teeth. “You tried that before.”

  “Clearly I wasn’t forceful enough. I’ve kept Bacchus close, but I can’t trust him completely. Still, an odd word from him here or there might be… mistakenly interpreted by some of the new recruits.” He eyed Chelos. “You haven’t noticed anything untoward within your own batch of recruits?”

  “Not at all,” Chelos said proudly. “I think they see me as wise, gods help them. No, my boys do as I tell them.”

  Blaine nodded, his thoughts wandering again. “I should spend more time with them all. Get to know them.”

  Chelos shrugged. “That is not your place. I will do what I can to uncover any unsavoury attitudes from Bacchus’ circle.”

  “Thank you, friend,” Blaine said.

  “However,” Chelos added slowly, “Should we be unable to reach the root of the rot, perhaps you ought to consider tackling the cause.”

  “Sending Bacchus away would be more dangerous.”

  “I do not mean him,” Chelos said. “I’m talking about the humans.”

  “You’d have me send them away? Appease the crazed notions of a minority?”

  Chelos grumbled. “I’d see you do something, Blaine. You do not act.”

  “There is little to be done until Darnuir awakens.” He set off back towards the pulpit.

  “Our Gods chose you,” Chelos said. “Everyone there bore witness to it. Why do you still hesitate?”

  Blaine stopped dead. Did he dare reveal the words he had heard? Matters were already fraught. How terrible might they become if he pulled that safe blanket of certainty from them?

  Blaine answered without turning. “What would you have me do? Storm Kar’drun single-handed and strike our enemy down?”

  “Don’t treat me like a child,” Chelos said.
Blaine turned and found a real severity in the gaze that met him. “Draconess had similar excuses as he despaired; as he languished. But he did not have the divine touch him as you have. Our Gods are real and with us. So why this wait? Go, Darnuir or no, and finish this fight as we planned long ago.”

  Jaw clenched, Blaine moved to kneel before Chelos and hold his waxy hands.

  “Chelos. Old friend. Loyal, faithful, Chelos. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then please, keep your faith a while longer. Before I march on Kar’drun I need one more sign from the Gods. One last answer on what I should do.”

  Chelos’ eyebrows flew upwards. “An answer on what?”

  “You will know it when it comes.”

  More footsteps tapped along the hallway.

  “For now, I beg you to trust me,” Blaine said. He let Chelos go and moved swiftly to stand in the pulpit to stand above the Light Bearers as they filed into the sanctum. As the first attendees nodded his way, he realised his maimed hand was resting on the dais. Quickly, he tucked it behind his back, out of sight, and straightened to his full height to better command the room. It was easier to speak to the Light Bearers en masse down here where he didn’t have to call upon the Cascade to be heard. Yet there were well over one hundred of them now, not including those he’d sent north. The sanctum soon became claustrophobic. Perhaps recruitment should cease. Growing their numbers might only invite more troubling incidents and Blaine was fast losing track of them as it was.