The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian

by Michael R. Miller

  “Very well,” said Blaine.

  Once Fidelm and his fairies were gone, Blaine turned to Lira. His rage had died down now; the age was showing again. He opened his mouth but Lira interrupted him.

  “I have nothing to say to you.” Her body quaked. “Praetorians, help the wounded. We do what we can for them here, then run them to the healers fast as we can.”

  “All the wounded, Lira?” Camen said. Blood ran from his temple but otherwise he seemed unhurt. He was eyeing a Light Bearer at his feet in disgust.

  “All the wounded,” she said as evenly as she could. “I’m sure the Guardian has to take his men back to the Basilica.”

  After what seemed an age later, Lira stepped off the Great Lift. Dawn broke. A smoky red light burst from the horizon, a mark of the night before. Her body felt beaten, her mind empty, her emotions flogged. She walked slowly with her Praetorians across the plaza, not even fully lifting her feet at times. Halfway back to the Royal Tower, she stopped completely, sparing a dreaded glance at the Basilica. Guards had returned between the columns. Many of them. They didn’t move but the message was clear. Blaine did not want anyone coming near for now.

  “Are we not returning,” Camen asked her. She didn’t respond. She felt lost and afraid, and she felt a failure. She didn’t know what she was going to do.

  A figure emerged from the base of the Royal Tower and was hurrying towards them. It was Raymond. Lira found herself drawn to him, silently, without giving orders to the others. She collapsed into his arms and he held her tight.

  “I said you should stay,” she said weakly. The fact it was all over didn’t cross her mind.

  “I know, Lira, but I had to find you.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s Darnuir. He’s back.”

  Chapter 11

  RHUBARB PUDDING

  “Make your choice. Own it, even if it’s hard. A man lives at ease, who freely lives.”

  — From Jon Barbor’s Scorching of the Dales

  Cassandra – The Palace Grounds

  THERE WAS SOMETHING sad and pitiful about seeing Annandale standing before the musket squad. Maybe if he had kept the blindfold on, it wouldn’t be so painful to watch. She sensed the unease of the nobility too. There had not been an execution like this in living memory. Certainly not of one of their own.

  A section of the palace gardens had been appropriated for the grizzly task; whole hedges ripped out to make room for stands and chairs. The Assembly of Brevia sat and watched as though it were a show. The King made it theatre, giving an oratory before them on the merits of loyalty and the price of dishonesty.

  Oranna stood at his side this time, the better to be seen agreeing with her husband, yet Cassandra didn’t fail to notice the glances she made to her father in the stands. Lord Clachonn was enraptured by Arkus, never taking his eyes off him, his jaw tight.

  Even Thane was forced to sit and watch. She leaned in to whisper to him,

  “You don’t have to look when they do it.”

  “Father says I ought to.”

  “I won’t tell.”

  “No, I need to be a strong prince. Father says they must all see that I’m str-strong—” With cruel fate he started to cough, a high-pitched squeak that rattled high in his throat. Cassandra dove beneath her seat and poured a goblet of water, which had been set there for this very reason, and emerged to find Thane still in convulsions. She hadn’t the faintest clue what to do. She never did. Rubbing his back made it worse if anything, so these were moments he just had to work through. Yet it was horrible watching him struggle. He was such a frail thing, she half expected to hear his ribs crack. At least the surrounding nobles had also learned not to make a fuss, allowing Thane to hit his own little fist on his chest until he had regained himself. Red faced, he slumped back in his chair, tugging at the collar of his heavy robes as sweat glistened on his brow. Cassandra handed him the goblet, but he avoided her eye, trying to stay focused on his father; trying to be strong.

  Arkus himself only had eyes for his prisoner. “You would not wear a blindfold, but you will not be forced to watch, should you prefer. I grant you a final chance to turn away.”

  Annandale was unmoving. “I want to look you in the eye as you do it, old friend. But it’s clear there is nothing of you left. Only a husk wearing a crown.”

  “Do not call me friend,” Arkus said. “I am your King.”

  “You ceased being a real King years ago. Do what you will.” He didn’t even close his eyes.

  The crowd tensed. The wind itself dropped. One corner of Arkus’ mouth tugged upwards, then he brought his arm down. A sergeant roared, muskets blasted and, at the last possible moment, Cassandra looked away. Thane buried his face against her chest. She wrapped an arm around him, waiting for the crack of the guns to subside.

  “Don’t tell,” Thane said quietly.

  “I won’t,” Cassandra said. She kissed the top of his soft hair.

  Around them the nobles began to stir. Unsure of the procedure, some even got to their feet, eager to leave. Oranna was nowhere to be seen but Arkus still stood by his soldiers, staring at Annandale’s body, as though making sure he was dead. A patch of blood ran down the red brick wall.

  “Come on,” Cassandra said. “Let’s get going. I think you’ve earned yourself something nice from the kitchens.”

  Thane pulled back from her and flashed a hopeful smile.

  “Like iced rhubarb pudding?”

  She winked at him. “I asked chef to prepare some specially.”

  Thane beamed, and with a sudden burst of energy, he was on his feet and pulling her by the hand through the press of bodies, heading towards the servants’ entrance of the kitchens.

  Rounding a hedge row into a cooling space by a fountain, they came across none other than Oranna and Lord Clachonn in a whispered conversation. All froze as the pair turned sharply to see who was intruding; all except Thane, who continued to heave at Cassandra’s arm, pulled himself free in doing so, sending him stumbling forwards to thump into a hug at his mother’s waist.

  In response to the commotion, heavy boots clunked from the other side of the hedge. A Chevalier rounded the corner. Cassandra did not recognise him. His square jaw and elevated chin put her in mind of Gellick, and that set off an immediate dislike in her; yet his hair was a weaker strawberry-blond, curled in a way that softened his appearance. A warm, genuine smile helped as well, although he had one hand upon the hilt of his sword and no less than two pistols at his hips.

  Clachonn rounded on the knight, signalling that he should stand down.

  “It’s alright, Merrick. It’s her highness, the Princess Cassandra.”

  Merrick’s jaw dropped. “I’m so sorry to have borne my steel against you, Princess.”

  Cassandra too was taken aback, unused to such humility. “Do not fret, Chevalier. You were only guarding your Lord. There is no grievance to bear. And please, Lord Clachonn, call me by my name. I am not merely a title.” Clachonn inclined his head to her but his jaw remained stiff.

  “Thane,” Oranna began, “Why don’t you go splash some water on your face. You look too hot. Here, let me take those silly robes off.” She grabbed the robes by the shoulders and Thane wiggled out. He skipped happily over to the fountain and scooped some water up to his face.

  With one eye on Thane, Oranna said, “Relax, father. It’s only Cassandra. We can trust her.”

  “Doesn’t seem we have a choice, now you’ve made it sound like we’ve got something to hide. Be more careful, sweetheart.”

  He turned his attention to Cassandra next, running a piercing gaze up and down her. The Lord of the Hinterlands wore what she now assumed as his customary grey attire, broken only by black buttons on his well-fitted waistcoat and black dress shoes. Up close, even his eyes were grey though intelligent, and despite being Arkus’s senior, he didn
’t look as damaged.

  “You really are Ilana’s daughter,” he said.

  “You’re too kind.” It was the easiest response to make to this frequent comment. “And there is no need to stop your conversation. I was just taking Thane to the kitchens.”

  “No, no, no, that won’t do,” Clachonn said. “It’s not a Crown secret, and better you know than go off wondering whether it’s worse. Wouldn’t want a repeat of today’s demonstration.”

  Oranna whacked him. “I’ve told you, Cass isn’t her father.”

  “He’ll find out soon enough, I suppose.”

  Cassandra couldn’t help but look from Clachonn to the Chevalier standing right there and happily overhearing everything.

  “I trust Merrick implicitly,” Clachonn said, answering her unvoiced concern. “Arkus has his lapdog who he’s bought through marriage alliances, whereas I have cultivated close family friends over the years. Merrick’s father guarded me before him.”

  “You flatter me, Lord,” Merrick said. “But I shall step aside in any case. It is not my place to hear more than you wish to tell me.” He moved off to join Thane by the fountain.

  Clachonn brought his hands together. “So, the business at hand. The great conspiracy,” he chortled. “Oranna and I were just discussing her returning home for a while.”

  “You’re leaving?” Cassandra said, her voice rang out much higher than she expected. Suddenly, Cassandra too felt overly hot, and she didn’t think it was entirely due to the unusually warm day. “What about Thane? You can’t leave him.”

  Oranna gave her a confused smile, as though wondering whether she was joking. “I’ll be taking Thane with me, of course.” They all looked to the prince then, who had progressed to dunking his entire head into the water. “Oh, don’t do that,” Oranna said tersely. “Pull him out, Merrick.”

  Thane resurfaced, hair and face sopping wet, and looking entirely pleased with himself.

  Cassandra tried to imagine life in the palace without him: endless stacks of soulless letters to sign, the forced pleasantries, the even more forced tea parties that she would have to host with Oranna gone; Balack, grumpy and very soon leaving himself. All this without Thane to spare her from it.

  “You can’t just go,” she said.

  Oranna raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

  “You have duties. You’re the Queen. You have to be here.”

  “I’m sure the Kingdom will survive. I haven’t been home in years. Thane hasn’t even seen that part of the world. I think it would be good for him to stretch his legs; get some clean mountain air in him.”

  “Don’t use him as an excuse,” Cassandra said, taking a step forward and lowering her voice so that Thane would not hear.

  “Truly, you are Arkus’ daughter as well,” Clachonn said. “What does it matter if my own daughter and grandson, who I hardly see, come to visit me.”

  “It doesn’t,” Cassandra said defensively. “I just… I just would rather not see you go.”

  Oranna smiled weakly. “It’s not an indefinite move. But I do feel the need to get away from the palace, from the city—”

  “From Arkus?” Cassandra added.

  “Yes,” Oranna said, with a touch of frost to her tone. “From my beloved husband as well. This horrible business with Geoff and Robert has made feel sick. He gets that look in his eye more often lately and I can’t stand to see it.”

  “Oranna,” Clachonn said forebodingly, squeezing her arm.

  “No, it’s fine, I understand,” Cassandra said. “I’ve seen it too.” She’d seen it that night that he’d led her down into the compound beneath the Rotting Hill; as he’d explained everything about flintlocks and powder charges, about formations and firepower, all while musket balls tore through every type of armour in the known world as if it were parchment. “Maybe the worst is over now, with Annandale dead.” She found it harder to say aloud than she thought. Balack may have been right. Maybe she should never have gone to see him.

  “You’ll be fine, dear,” Oranna said. “And we’ll be back before you know it.”

  Thane came wandering back over then, still dripping, and started pulling on Cassandra’s arm again. “Excuse us mother. Cassandra was taking me to the kitchens for rhubarb pudding.”

  Oranna snorted a laugh. “Well, the mystery of why he loves you so much is solved.” She leaned in, ensuring only Cassandra heard, “Don’t tell Arkus yet. Not until I’m sure.” Cassandra wanted to protest again, to tell her that she didn’t want the people she cared about most to leave her stranded. But Oranna didn’t give her the chance. “Right, off you two go then. But mind he doesn’t eat so much that dinner is spoilt.” Still a little dazed, Cassandra nodded and allowed Thane to drag her off like a bloodhound on the trail.

  “And dry him off,” Oranna called.

  Together, they finished their short journey to the servants’ entrance and Thane slammed the door knocker loudly until a hassled looking pot boy opened it. The smell of sizzling onions, roasting meats and simmering broth made Cassandra’s stomach squirm in delight. Stepping inside, the clank of pots and pans, the thump of chopping and the calls of instruction fought for dominance. One voice won out above all.

  “I’ve explained it a thousand times already,” Kymethra said to a flustered chef. “The fresher the bread, the more chilled the water, the better. It all helps to soak the magic in him. Seeing as delivery has gone awry, I’ll be doing it myself from now on, alright?”

  “As you say, as you say,” the chef said. “A new batch will be ready soon. Your welcome to stay until then. Ah, Princess,” he added, looking thankful to have an excuse to escape the witch. “Do come in. I shall fetch your order for his highness as requested.” He bustled off.

  Kymethra huffed and sat on a stool by the closest workbench, ignoring the mound of carrot peelings that lay before her. She gave Thane and Cassandra a half-hearted wave, almost as an afterthought.

  Seeing the witch warded off some of the dark clouds that had just gathered over Cassandra’s mood. At least Kymethra would remain in the palace, even if it was difficult to see her between princess duties and Kymethra’s own, which consisted of watching over the scrying orb for activity and caring for Brackendon. The latter was far more taxing. New white strands of hair had appeared since they’d last spoken.

  Cassandra mouthed that they’d be over soon, then dragged Thane over to the hearth to dry off his hair with a clean dishcloth. It did the job well enough and the kitchen heat had done most of the work already.

  By the time they joined Kymethra, the head chef was already heading back their way, carrying a worryingly large bowl before him. Kitchen staff appeared from nowhere with extra stools and spoons, and the chef placed the dessert between the three of them. Kymethra gave the smallest shake of her head and politely handed her spoon back. Cassandra contemplated the contents of the bowl.

  Apparently, it had been an accidental creation. A porridge gone awry. Yet Thane had loved it so much, it was now a staple of the palace cookbook. A mixture of oats gently cooked in milk, sugar, cream, and rhubarb juice, then left to soften and chill. Even as Thane reached in for his first spoonful, the chef rounded it off with cubes of sweetened rhubarb on the top. With Oranna’s words about ruining Thane’s dinner ringing in her mind, Cassandra pushed the bowl towards him, intending to stop him before he devoured the entire thing. With the prince happily tucking into his treat, Cassandra playfully flicked one of the wayward peelings at Kymethra.

  “Been a while.”

  Kymethra eyed the peeling, which had fallen into her lap, then picked it up between finger and thumb and burned it to ashes in a tiny, brief ball of fire.

  Cassandra fidgeted and cleared her throat. “Bad day? I couldn’t help but overhear you just there. If the staff aren’t bringing Brackendon what he needs, I can have a word with—”

  “They are, they
are,” Kymethra said. She slouched into the peelings with one elbow and rested her head in her hand. Sighing she said, “It’s just not enough and they don’t understand it; but then nothing will be enough. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

  “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do? I want to help.”

  “It’s fine, really,” Kymethra said. “Besides, I’ll probably be taking Brackers to Val’tarra soon, now the worst of his breaking is past.”

  Cassandra blinked. “You’re… you’re leaving?”

  “Once he’s able to get through the day without needing to be soothed then he’ll be better off with the fairies. They know how to handle people in his condition better than anyone.”

  “Would you come back once he’s settled?” She regretted it the moment she said it. How selfish must she sound to Kymethra, a woman who had given everything for those around her. Had she ever once made a demand for herself?

  Kymethra became very interested in an apprentice cook stirring the contents of a black pot over the fire. “I don’t know, Cass. I’ve not felt comfortable here for a long time. Brackendon’s care hasn’t been easy. Mostly the Chevaliers stomp by to check that he hasn’t done any damage rather than ask how he is, not to mention the day and night I spent gagged and bound.”

  “That was Gellick.”

  “On—” Kymethra seemed to change words mid-speech with a quick glance to Thane. “On his orders.”

  “I know, I know.” Cassandra buried her face into her hands.

  “I like Gellick,” Thane said happily, though he didn’t turn away from his food. “He lets me sit on his horse sometimes. He says he’ll teach me how to use a sword when father approves.” He shoved another generous spoonful of sweet oats into his mouth.

  “People aren’t always what they appear to be, little prince,” Kymethra said.

  “That’s right,” Thane said thickly. “You can turn into an eagle and fly and scratch people’s eyes out.”