“Perhaps and perhaps not. The prisoners have already crowed your name, Bacchus. I will get to the truth of it.”
“If I ordered this thing, why wouldn’t I go myself?” Bacchus said.
“To have a chance to deny it?” Blaine said. “I don’t claim to understand the workings of your mind. You work subtlety when you want to. But enough for now. Take him away.” With that, the Light Bearer’s hoisted Bacchus up.
“I know I’ve given you ample reason to mistrust me. But please, how can I convince you of my innocence?”
“You cannot,” Blaine said. “Your words are poison. Stand on guard, you two,” he added to the Light Bearers holding him. Bacchus hung his head and said no more, allowing himself to be escorted away.
The Basilica fell deathly silent.
Those Light Bearers left in the hall stood tense, alert, their eyes fixed towards the single-entry point from the plaza. Each cough, each rattle of a sword hilt could be heard reverberating off the hard marble floor. How long would this last? Blaine felt under siege and overwhelmed. As quickly as life had sparked back into the old religion, it teetered now upon the verge of collapse. Dragons who had approached innocently for morning service had been turned away by the Praetorians.
Whatever was going to happen, it would happen soon. It wasn’t in Darnuir’s nature to be patient. For Blaine, the real question was if Darnuir chose to fight, would he fight back? He gripped the hilt of the Guardian’s Blade and let a shuddering sigh out through his nose at the weakness of his grip.
He looked around at the three reliefs of Dwna, Dwl’or and N’weer depicted on the walls in stone. Light cut down from the dome, landing to the side of the seared sun of Dwl’or. He gazed at the crisscross gouges in the stone, at the detail of the sun’s rays; trying, without success, to discern some understanding from it. Little made sense. Little had ever made sense, yet the one-sided nature of his relationship with the Gods had always stayed a constant. Gods did not speak to you, he had learnt as a very young dragon. The Guardian of his youth had told him that one morning, when Blaine had brought him his water to shave.
The memory came vividly now.
‘And why not?’ Blaine had asked.
‘Because if they answer us once, we’d come to them with every trivial issue. Why should the Gods stoop to hold our hands?’
‘I would not trouble them on trifles,’ Blaine had said. ‘I’d only seek assistance when the need was great.’
His mentor had scoffed. ‘I think you’d find that you turned to them more often. Sometimes, I wish someone was here to hold my hand through life. One day, if you take my place, you’ll wish the same.’
Gods, but I do now, Blaine thought. He’d been fortunate enough to have answers given once. He couldn’t expect it during every crisis from now on.
“The King has left, Lord Guardian,” Chelos told him. As before, it took Blaine a while to register the news.
“And the Praetorians?” he asked, turning away from Dwl’or’s image.
“They are still assembled.”
“So be it. They won’t act without Darnuir, so we can stand down for now. Take some food and rest,” he added to the Light Bearers at large. “Say your prayers to Dwl’or for strength.”
“I shall make arrangements,” Chelos said.
“No, friend. I’d like you to come with me to see the prisoners.”
Chelos inclined his head and followed.
Those responsible for the attacks were being held in the old cells once reserved for Black Dragon prisoners. They were several floors deep inside the plateau, and the damp darkness of the place had earned them the name of the Gut Cells, not least because of the smell. The last time Blaine had walked these halls, he had been eight years old. Yet, despite his age, the same feelings resurfaced in him as he marched into the chill heart of the plateau.
A shiver ran through him but not entirely from the cold.
For a moment he was that child again. Screams rang across more than a century of time to fill his ears. He smelled the blood, the sweat, the filth and decay. He was a boy observing the last horrors of a long-forgotten war. And he was horrified.
“You are too young to have walked these halls before, Chelos.”
“I fear that is a privilege.”
Blaine placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. “I did not relish my duties here as a hatchling.” He breathed out, regained himself. “Forgive me. Let’s go on.”
Long forgotten memories trickled to the surface as he walked. A peace accord with the Black Dragons was signed shortly after his last visit here. Everyone rejoiced; happy to sheathe their swords in favour of prayer and prosperity. Though many had hoped for war to begin again, and to do glory in the name of the Light. And the occupants of the Gut Cells had not been freed.
Blaine had sworn to the narrative of peace ever since. For so long, in fact, he’d have gone on swearing blind for years to come. Perhaps he should rethink how Kroener had rallied so many for another war. Perhaps he placed too much blame on him, when so many had thirsted for it. Blaine had bent his memories to suit him, to mask his fears and the dirty truth.
What a dangerous thing it was, to live forever.
He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, digging in well with his knuckles. The hallway loomed and twisted as his vision refocused. He found he was breathing hard, shocked from his own dark recollections.
“I made a mistake in using this place.”
“Must doubts plague your every thought?” Chelos asked, his tone harder than usual.
Blaine had no answer. He was spared giving one by their arrival at the strip of cells that held the prisoners. The loyal Light Bearers on duty seemed on edge as well, even though none of them would have been alive to see this place in its heyday. None of them would have been a distant fantasy in their grandparents’ dreams back then, and these dragons were far older than the ones who followed Darnuir. Blaine’s age struck him again, like being woken with cold water from a deep sleep.
He couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a vicious cycle. For all their reverence of the Gods, for all the work the dragons had done in their name, where had it gotten them? As he closed the distance to the nearest cell, as he watched a Light Bearer pull open the rusting grate for him and saw the puffy, bruised face of the prisoner inside, another image of his youth flashed by.
A Black Dragon sitting naked, bleeding and whimpering. All these years later, Blaine was here again.
Darnuir had a point, he decided. Dragons had to change.
“Are those injuries from the battle or from the guards?” Blaine asked.
The prisoner squinted at Blaine. “Both.”
Blaine eyed the guardsman who shrugged.
“They didn’t come quietly.”
The prisoner spat. “We’ll be the ones singing when the Gods reward us.”
Blaine regarded the gob of spittle by his boot and twitched his nose distastefully.
“What do you imagine they will thank you for?”
“For starting to make things as they once were,” said the prisoner. “Dragons with strong faith without the nuisance of other races. We were strongest when we stood alone. The humans will go now, you’ll see. They won’t stay after that.”
“And this is helpful to us, it is?” Blaine said. The prisoner opened his mouth to reply but Blaine cut him off. “No. Hold your tongue for now.” He stepped back out into the corridor. “Bring them all out.”
“All of them?” a guard said nervously.
“All of them, if you please.” Despite his bad hand, Blaine was confident he could handle these unarmed, weakened dragons if the need arose. The prisoners were ushered out of their cells, and shoved into a kneeling congregation before Blaine. It wasn’t reverent stares they gave him but deadened, unyielding eyes.
Blaine kept his head held high. “I’m n
ot here to hear your reasons, for there are none that will acquit you. I am not here to pass judgement either, for your King must also have a hand in your fate. I am only here to find out how this started.” He did not go so far as to include Bacchus’ name. He’d didn’t want to lead them by the hand.
“Well?”
No one answered.
Blaine narrowed his eyes. “Are you all such cowards that you would attack humans at night but not answer a simple question?”
One near the front spoke first. “Tulio’s the one who led us down there, but he’s dead. The girl wounded him badly.”
“Lira bested you all,” Blaine said. “Make no mistake. You were losing that fight even before I arrived. So, Tulio was your leader?”
“Not so much a leader,” said another. “More the first one to charge out the door. We all went as one, Lord Guardian.” The others shuffled comfortably and shied away from him, as though hoping Blaine would heap punishment upon him alone.
“But why then? What drove you that night?”
“The scum were mocking the Gods, Lord.” This voice came from further back in the group.
“They had to be stopped,” said another.
“They shouldn’t be in our city.”
More outbursts followed. Blaine wondered where this had come from. Had he instilled this belief in them? Had Bacchus?
“Enough,” Blaine called. “How did you know about that particular human’s little show?”
Silence reigned again. None of them wished to be the one to turn on their leader.
“Remember to whom you swore your oaths,” Chelos said. The prisoners looked to Chelos, then back to Blaine.
The dragon at the front cleared his throat then said, “Bacchus, sir. It was Bacchus.”
“Bacchus,” Blaine said, his voice dropping like a dead weight.
“He laughed about it as we changed guard duty,” the prisoner continued. “Said he’d love to teach that human true respect for the Gods.”
Blaine clenched his jaw, forcing down a sudden urge to be sick. “Is that all?”
“We thought he was suggesting something should be done, Lord,” another said.
“After I explicitly told you to leave the humans alone?”
“We think you are wrong, Lord,” said a brave soul from the back of the group. “We have the backing of the Gods and yet you do not act. You wait for the King to recover when his desires run against what’s best for our people.”
“We did it all for our people. We did what we felt was right.”
Blaine puffed a hard sigh. That miracle upon the Nail Head seemed more and more like a curse. He looked over the prisoners again. None met his eye. Death wouldn’t be beyond the scope of punishment but, in truth, Blaine didn’t have the heart to kill any dragons while their people were so few. If it came to it, he’d let Darnuir take his anger out on them. Let him bloody his hands if he wanted. Blaine had had enough.
“You’ll all remain under heavy guard but not here. You’ll be confined to one of the empty barracks and await the King’s judgement.” With that, he swept out of the Gut Cells without a backwards glance.
Chelos hurried up behind him, panting. “Shall the prisoners be moved immediately?”
“Without delay. See to it yourself, Chelos. Use as many loyal men as you see fit. And when you close the door to these corridors behind you, lock it up and throw the damned key into the bay. I never want to walk these halls again.” Chelos nodded. “Thank you, old friend,” Blaine added. “If you don’t mind, I will hurry from here. Ill memories and all.”
“As you will,” said Chelos.
Blaine smiled then placed a hand upon his sword and drew on some magic to bring him speedily away. Once back in his Inner Sanctum, he rushed to the balcony and gulped in the fresh air. He gripped the rail, as well as he could with his four fingers, and the tension eased out of him.
He reflected on what the prisoner had said. How Bacchus had made jokes, perhaps crossing a line into suggestion, perhaps not. That human they strung up had been making jokes too. How had laughter led to ruin?
Blaine felt like he was watching some perverse show unfold, unable to interfere or change its course. He was supposed to be at the centre of things, and yet he barely had control. At the Nail Head the Gods had told him, ‘It was not yet time to give in.’ He thought that time might now have come.
Chapter 15
ALL TALK
“Words have no power should they fall on deaf ears.”
— Author Unknown
Cassandra – The Palace
SHE’D BEEN STANDING outside Arkus’ door for a minute already. There were no guards to hurry her along, as every Chevalier had been sent to patrol the dragon camps. Breathing low, she tried to summon the extra nerve to step inside and say what was on her mind. She’d already worked up the courage to make it this far, so why not this last step? It wasn’t like Cassandra was afraid of him. But she was afraid of what might happen if things continued as they were.
Everyone was leaving, or planning to, and all because of her father in one way or another. She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t be stuck alone in this place, not when she’d just found somewhere she might call home. Without Oranna, Kymethra, Thane and even Balack, there would be no buffer between her and Arkus. And yet it was perhaps just as well that this was happening. It was pushing her towards making her larger concerns heard.
Try as she might, she could not fool herself any longer. In order to distance herself from her father and his actions, she’d simply avoided serious matters with him; opting instead to play the princess and the happy daughter. After everything with Boreac, never mind events at the Bastion or before, she’d only wanted a chance to live as normal a life as she could.
Yet, who was she kidding? A lost princess trapped in a fortress by a megalomaniac wizard; normal wasn’t to be her lot. With a swell of daring, Cassandra knocked on the door and entered before Arkus had finished granting permission.
He was at his desk, scratching away at some long document, with all the usual piles of parchment, paper and maps around him. A pot of shimmer brew sat beside a steaming cup, it’s enticing bitterness heavy in the air. All was as it should be. Except for the crown itself. Usually, she’d seen it lying uncared for on the desk, sometimes under a pile of papers as though it meant nothing to him. Now, however, Arkus wore his crown. Even here, where no one else could see him.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he said, setting down his quill. “And just when I needed a lift today. Tell you what,” he said, leaning forward with a childish grin. “What do you say to taking a stroll to the Velvet Circle this afternoon? You can pick out whatever you like.”
“No, not today. I’d rather—”
“How about a little voyage out of the bay then? A brisk sea breeze and the open sea might be nice.” He slumped back in his chair, seeing her expression. “Well, you pick then. There’s been so much… so much to think on lately. Yes, I don’t care what we do, so long as I can spend some time with my daughter.”
With a heavy heart she firmly shut the door. She didn’t want to upset him, not really, so she approached him with her arms open as apologetically as possible.
“That’s not why I’m here.”
Arkus looked crestfallen. Up close, the many late nights and missed dinners were taking their toll on him. His eyes were puffy and dark, and new lines had etched onto his temple. And he wasn’t exactly a young man.
“Well,” he said, “What is it? I’ve got plenty to be getting on with.”
“Such as?” Cassandra said, nodding vaguely to the paperwork before him. It would be better to warm him up rather than dive straight into the tough part of the conversation. “I’d have thought with Annandale out the way, a few things would be off your plate?”
Arkus raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you did, did you? We
ll, Cassandra, you’ll find that, in ruling, the moment you pull up one weed, another has grown behind your back. Or even worse, a whole thorn bush.”
“What are you talking about?”
His gaze unmistakably flicked to the scrying orb then back to her. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” A great yawn suddenly took control of him and he rubbed his eyes.
“You know, if you’re looking for somebody to relax with, you should find Oranna.”
“Oranna?” Arkus said a little sharply. “Why? Is she a weed I ought to be worried about?”
“No, of course not. She’s just feeling upset and neglected, I think.”
“She’s spending an awful lot of time with Clachonn.”
“Must you see an enemy in everyone? Isn’t losing two friends enough.”
“They weren’t my friends.”
“They were once.”
Arkus sniffed fiercely, rapping his fingers across the undried ink he’d recently written, turning his fingertips black. “Whatever Geoff and Robert told you, you shouldn’t believe it. They were traitors, Cassandra. Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he added. “Did you think Gellick wouldn’t be able to piece it together? A fight in the corridors of the palace near the entrance to the dungeons; he overheard enough.”
Cassandra played out smacking Gellick a few times over in her head. She balled one hand into a fist to ease that feeling.
“Look,” Arkus began, his tone now conciliatory, “I don’t think I have to be wary of my own wife. I know she’s upset with me, though I’ll be damned if I can figure out exactly why.”
“Well, you haven’t made much time for her.”
“She’s my Queen first and then my wife,” Arkus grumbled. “Must I stretch myself even further to pretend to be a normal man and husband when I’m clearly under so much strain? She’s not a starry-eyed girl. She should know better.”
“She’s an intelligent woman, a brilliant mother to Thane and a great friend,” Cassandra said. She’d been unable to hold that back. “Do you really only see her as a Queen? As a title?”
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