The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian

by Michael R. Miller

  “You could try?” Balack said. He stepped closer and spoke quietly. “I owe a lot to Arkus, Cass. I know this hero façade is a sham, but I’ve got a role, I’m comfortable, and I’m safe from the front of the war. Truthfully, I think many would kill to have the latter, even if their pride won’t admit it. I’d rather not jeopardise that.”

  “It’s not a complete sham,” she said. “You were instrumental at the Bastion. Kymethra said so.”

  “What did I say about flattery? Now, taking Kymethra to the dungeons seems like a solid alternative. She could wiggle her fingers and put the guards to sleep or something.”

  Cassandra’s mind turned inexorably to the magical horrors she’d endured. The tight corridors. Screaming steel. And that had been by accident. Poor Foulis had taken the brunt of it.

  “I’d rather not have to resort to that. Besides, she’s very busy taking care of Brackendon and watching over the scrying orb. All you’re doing is answering mail from sycophants and lustful noblewomen.”

  “Lustful,” he laughed, then shrugged and nodded. “Alright, suppose we do go down there, I don’t know what you expect to hear or what you think it will achieve. At the end of the day, he sided with Castallan, and countless people are dead because of it.” His eyes fell to the satchel she carried. “What’s in there?”

  “Some paper and ink.” Balack raised an eyebrow. “In case he says something… useful, interesting; something worth not forgetting,” she added.

  “Sure,” Balack said. He reached for his white leather jacket, the signature piece in his lowly Boreac hunter image. It was more ornate than a regular issue version and had been fitted to Balack exactly, hugging his chest and tightening at his waist. Next, he found his bow, a small quiver, and slung them over his shoulder.

  “No pistol?” Cassandra teased.

  “I can fire arrows quicker than loading those monstrosities,” he said, opening the door. “Wait here till I have the keys.”

  It didn’t take him as long as she feared, and after the jailor had been convinced to take his leave early, they descended into the palace dungeons. Though dark, it eventually became clear to her that full brick walls stood in place of bars. The cells, for want of a better name, were more accommodating than the common dungeons of the Bastion’s dark underbelly. But they were silent. Cassandra couldn’t hear a thing; not a scurrying mouse, nor the patter of pacing feet. There were no voices or sounds from the palace above, and no sign as to what the weather was like outside. A storm might rip Brevia to timber and rumble, and down here you would never know. Only the light jingle of the keys in Balack’s hand stopped her fearing that she’d gone deaf.

  “Is anyone else down here?” Cassandra said.

  “Not that I know of,” said Balack. “The place hardly gets used. It’s a hangover from the days before the kingdom was united. But Annandale is a special circumstance.” He suddenly stopped before a door and placed the torch in the sconce beside it. “This one’s his.”

  Cassandra gazed upon the plain door. Even its handle lacked any shine. Despite what Annandale had done, Cassandra felt a wave of sympathy for the man. She imagined the room beyond to be pitch black and freezing.

  “Last chance to turn back,” Balack said.

  “No. I’m going in.”

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said. Then he placed the key into the lock and turned it with a snap.

  Light hit her eyes like dirt blown in the wind, sore and stinging. She raised an arm to shield herself until her eyes adjusted to the violent change. It turned out to be the combined glow of five lanterns, magnifying candle flames behind lattice glass covers. The cell was not the full horror she had imagined although a wicked stench was heavy in the stale air. There was a comfortable-looking bed, a clean rug on the floor, and bizarrely, piles of books taking up the bulk of one corner.

  Robert Annandale, former Great Lord of the Southern Dales, lay on his back with a book propped open on his chest. His tangled beard now obscured his neck. He lowered the book as Cassandra and Balack entered, a glint in his eye.

  “My, my,” Annandale croaked, his voice scratching at the air like nails on rock. “You two look positively angelic compared to my usual guests.” He closed his book with a thump and jumped to his bare feet. He tried to move to them but was restrained by the iron girdle around his waist, attached by a chain to the wall. Grunting and bearing his teeth, he looked even more wolfish than he had in the Assembly Hall. He stumbled backwards and sat crossed legged upon the edge of his bed, pointing a dirty finger at Cassandra.

  “You’re the Princess, I remember you. And you,” he redirected his finger towards Balack and frowned. “I don’t have the faintest idea who you are.”

  “That’s oddly refreshing,” Balack said.

  Annandale ignored him, being far more interested in Cassandra. “Are you to be my executioner?”

  “That will be one of these new firing squads. With Arkus present.”

  “Good. Good. I want to look him in the eye when he gives the order. I want to see if he’s as dead inside as I fear. And I want my face to haunt his dreams, if he still has those.”

  “Did you hate my father this much before you tried to take his crown?”

  “It was Castallan who wanted to be King, Princess, not me. Hate is also a strong word, and too often thrown around Brevia to still hold its meaning. I never hated Arkus, neither did Boreac for that matter.”

  Cassandra mentally noted that. It tied together with what Boreac had told her at least, and as it had come from Annandale without prompting, she considered it genuine. He made a sucking sound with his tongue, then ran it along his teeth, puffing out his lips. His eyes shifted to Balack, specifically to his bow.

  “Neither of us is going to harm you,” said Cassandra.

  “As long as you give us no reason to,” Balack said, stepping lightly past Cassandra.

  “I wanted to ask you some questions,” Cassandra said.

  Annandale rocked on the edge of the bed. “Questions, you say?”

  “Yes,” Cassandra said, sounding unsure. Perhaps he was ill. Annandale didn’t seem quite all there.

  “Ugh, blasted head,” Annandale said. He rubbed at his eyes. “I fear my solitude is rotting my mind. I try to read to keep myself sharp but…” he trailed off tapping the book he’d been reading. “But even that is getting harder.”

  “You have a lot of material here,” Balack noted from the corner where the books were stacked.

  “I was allowed one request,” Annandale said. “I asked for something to read, and they brought me these.”

  “Looks like the guards were generous,” Cassandra said.

  “They brought two chamber pots as well, but I don’t think that was born from generosity.”

  Cassandra tried not to breathe through her nose, as the nature of the smell was taking on fresh meaning.

  “The lanterns too?” Balack asked. “These cells are supposed to be dark.”

  “A small bonus,” said Annandale. “I pointed out that I couldn’t read without light, so they provided me with a few more. Arkus might not torture, but his tactic of starving you of your senses or distraction does more harm, I think.”

  “At least they gave you plenty to read,” Cassandra said.

  “It’s mostly history tomes.”

  Cassandra perked up at that. “Can I see?” she said, stepping forward and looking at the book beside Annandale.

  “Cass, don’t,” Balack said sharply. But Annandale picked up the book and passed it to her without protest.

  “Likely they thought it would be dreary and add to my torment,” he said. “As it happens, I have my own library of these texts back home… or I had a collection.”

  Cassandra glanced over her shoulder at Balack. “Don’t be so worried.” She began to thumb through the book, the dry pages feeling co
arse against her skin. The print had been transcribed by hand, and the words hard to discern by modern standards. Even the editions of Tiviar’s work that she’d read had been printed via an early press. Cassandra checked for the author and tutted. “Barbor was a poet not a scholar.”

  “And his version of the First War is a lot nicer to read because of it.”

  “It is, if you like storytelling over truth.”

  “Let me guess, you’re some sort of Tiviar purist,” Annandale said. He didn’t give her time to answer. “You’re right, Princess. Barbor is biased. But his words stir something in the reader, especially if you are from the Dales.”

  “Is it books like these that turned you against the dragons as well?”

  “The dragons earned my scorn for dragging us through a century of devastating war,” Annandale said. “There’s a truth for you, if that’s what you want. And this book resonates with me and others because it prods at that sore spot. Yes, Barbor exaggerates the dragon numbers and the human deaths; yes, more towns burn in his telling than there were in existence back then, but so long as you’re aware of what it is, what’s the harm? The Dales suffered in that war. That cannot be denied.”

  Cassandra set the book down like she might a glass of soured milk. “If it prompted you to listen to Castallan’s madness about surpassing the dragons and join him in rebellion, then I think it is very harmful.”

  “I didn’t rebel against dragons, did I, girl?” he groaned. “I’ve been judged enough. If you only came here to lecture me, then leave.”

  Cassandra sat herself down at the end of the bed. “I wanted to ask you about what happened. Why you joined Castallan. Why you rebelled in the first place. Everything, really.”

  “To what end?” Annandale asked suspiciously.

  “I’d like to know your side of events. Wouldn’t you also want that heard? You weren’t exactly given a chance in the Assembly.”

  “True, though I wasn’t expecting anything less than a well-rehearsed performance.”

  “Is that why you tried to disturb matters by yelling about the dragons?”

  Annandale nodded sombrely. “I tried. You gave me a nice opening too, but it didn’t work. Arkus is slippery. Any time you think you have him trapped, he greases his way out of it.” His eyes drooped, looking exhausted and done. “Ask away, girl. I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

  Cassandra rummaged in her satchel for her paper, short quill and ink well. She poured ink into the well from a glass vial and carefully replaced the cork. Annandale watched her with a mixture of bemusement and horror.

  “Just in case,” she said. “Right then—”

  She froze, unsure of where to begin and what to ask. She had despised this man from afar but, now she’d met him…

  “Let’s start with Boreac. When did the pair of you decide to work together to undermine Arkus?”

  Annandale tugged at his beard. “Might be five years ago. There wasn’t some official signing of illicit documents. We’d known each other forever, of course. We all did.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  “All the sons of the Great Lords, including Arkus. It was your grandfather’s idea, old King Malcolm, he brought us together as lads and had us live like brothers.”

  “That’s news to me,” Cassandra said, trying to hide her intrigue as best she could. If it were true, then Arkus had been close to all of them and his ruthlessness chilled her all the more. She scribbled a note. Hopefully, Balack was listening as intently as he was staring at Annandale.

  “I imagine many things come as news to you,” Annandale said. “I do not mean that as insult. You were cooped up in the Bastion for a very long time.”

  “Arkus knew I was alive, but could do little about it. Or so he says.”

  “Castallan made sure that Arkus knew what would happen to you if any armies were seen heading towards the Bastion.” He began counting on his fingers. “Then Arkus told myself, Geoff, er, that was Boreac’s first name—”

  “I know.”

  Annandale raised a fourth finger. “And Esselmont too. We few knew. Enough to help keep the peace and save any stirring from our own vassals in regard to the lack of an heir. Things got easier when Thane was born. But then, things also got worse. Far worse.”

  “Just the four of you?” Cassandra asked.

  “Just us,” said Annandale. “We’d grown up together, we’d worked to bring the kingdom together, and make it stronger even during the war. You might remember little Lord Reed from the Assembly Hall, he was younger than us and his family poor; well naturally, they own swamps. Your grandfather didn’t see fit to include him in our group. I’d say it was a mistake, but it mattered little. And before you ask, Oranna’s father is a good nine years our senior. So, it was us four. We were to be the backbone of the Kingdom.”

  “What changed?”

  Annandale screwed up his face in thought. “It’s hard to point to one event. I suppose it was a lot of smaller things that built up.”

  “I’ll need more than that,” Cassandra said.

  “For your notes?” Annandale jeered.

  “You’ve had a lot of time to reflect, I’m sure.”

  He scoffed. “Too much. Far too much.” He let out a long sigh and his eyes turned to a milky glaze. “If I had to pick one thing that cut to the heart of the matter, it would be this: I think Arkus grew to resent those of us who still had what he’d lost. You can’t fail to notice that he keeps Esselmont’s boy close. He understands full well the sort of power that gives him. Geoff, on the other hand, never started a family; perhaps that was why Arkus let him remain in the capital while the rest of us were pushed out to our regional seats. I never noticed it at the time, but looking back, yes, yes, I think it might be the reason. My family’s time in Brevia grew shorter. Then he asked us to move, then the invitations became less frequent and finally, I alone was asked to come; just for business. Then I could be on my way, and with each year the Assembly Hall grew dustier between meetings. The idea of a Kingdom these days is a sham. Has been for a long time.”

  Boreac had said similar things. Cassandra noticed she’d barely written anything, caught up in the pain that wavered in Annandale’s voice. She gulped, remembering what this man had helped cause.

  “Your rebellion cost thousands of lives,” she said. “Maybe tens of thousands by the time this is all over. Can you really sit there and justify it because Arkus stopped being your friend?”

  Annandale’s expression turned. He looked to her, his eyes bloodshot and jaw clenched. “What were we to do, Princess? We hoped that Oranna might change things, and we looked to Thane’s birth like a promise in a prophecy. If anything, things got worse. Arkus became more focused on Brevia than anywhere else; busy building the Chevaliers into a personal army, rebuilding and strengthening the city walls, and secretly funding these new weapons of his it seems. This all cost, and he drained our lands to do it.”

  Cassandra’s thoughts flicked again to the pitiful sums to be paid to the families who had lost children, fathers, or even mothers.

  “Our people suffered for it, and the Dales had suffered the hardest in the war already,” Annandale continued. “The south always suffers the most somehow. And then there was Castallan, always there, always looming over us. We didn’t just decide upon a whim to act, Princess. We saw the direction that Arkus was taking us all in. We tried to dissuade him, tried to reach out to him like the old days, Geoff even more than I, but in the end we were ignored.”

  “You would have let Castallan be your king?”

  “Arkus promised us nothing. He took as much as he could from us; perhaps because he was trying to fill the void in his life. I’m trying to be kind, rather than say he’s become paranoid and a despot. But in the end, he gave nothing back. Castallan may well have done the same, but there was the chance of a change. We took it.”

  “D
o you regret it?”

  Annandale’s lips began to tremble. “I regret how things have ended between us, all of us. And I cannot think for a second about what will happen to my family without me; to Finnon, my boy, and his own girl, little Isolde. Because if I do – if I do…” His words were choked and thick. “She’s just a baby,” was all he managed.

  Cassandra watched the old man descend into quiet grief, his eyes watery but lacking the strength for real tears to fall. She thought of faceless soldiers coming to drag Cullen away from her and her stomach clenched.

  How many was this now? She’d met three men who’d been driven to despair by Arkus – Annandale, Boreac and even the lesser figure of Ralph Foulis, who she’d let go. How many hundreds more felt the same as them? How many thousands. Maybe there came a point where that much discontent was a sign in itself.

  “Will you help them?” Annandale asked. “My family. Will you help them?”

  “I… I…” She didn’t know what to say.

  Annandale took her by the shoulders with a catlike agility, the movement knocking her ink well over to soak the paper and bed sheets.

  “Please,” he begged.

  A bow string was pulled back with a sharp creak.

  “Let her go or I’ll pin your arms together with this arrow.”

  “Loyal this one,” Annandale rasped.

  “No need, Balack,” Cassandra said. She clasped her hands together then swung her arms up, knocking Annandale at his elbows and breaking his grip. She followed through to her feet and took a prudent step back.

  Balack was between them before she could even blink. “We’re done, here.”

  “I’m not finished,” Cassandra hissed.

  He scooped up her things in a single sweep of his arms and said again, “We’re done.” He’d already heaved the door open by the time she’d drawn breath to argue.

  “Balack, you can’t just—”