The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian

by Michael R. Miller

  “I will stand over your body and laugh one day,” he muttered.

  ‘I heard that as well,’ Rectar announced in his mind. ‘I hear all. I see all. You are in my domain.’ Rectar had taken control of him again, forcing Dukoona to retreat to the smallest crevasse of his consciousness.

  Distantly, he became aware of one of his arms falling, then slapping against his side. Rectar had removed the bond at his wrist but Dukoona was in no position to take advantage of it. The same hand then started tearing at his own face. Dukoona watched on from afar, powerless to stop the clawing sweeps across his vision. Smoke fumed from the wounds, but cowering in this cramped corner of his mind, he didn’t feel it.

  ‘I am the Shadow,’ Rectar said. ‘I am your creator and I will—’ His Master went silent and Dukoona’s hand froze mid-scrape.

  Rectar left his mind, and Dukoona hurtled to take back control of his body. Every sense returned in full at once: the searing, sharp stings from the many cuts on his face, the utter silence of his prison, the pressure of the bonds on all of his limbs. But not on all of his limbs. Not now.

  Dukoona raised his hand with a mixture of delight and horror. Rectar had not replaced the bond there. He flexed his fingers, wondering whether this was all some cruel new ploy. Yet he didn’t waste time thinking on it.

  Quickly, he summoned his blade from the shadows. It gathered in his hand, rippling like dark water. He hacked at the bond on his other wrist. Forgetting his feet remained bound, he lurched forwards and now dangled upside down. Curling his body up, he slashed in a broad stroke and both his feet were set free. He fell to a heap upon the stone underneath and groaned lowly.

  What now? He asked himself.

  He should search for his fellow spectres, but he doubted he’d find them before Rectar returned. He sees all, he hears all. What could I possibly do?

  The first thing would be to stand.

  As he stood, a red cloak fluttered in the half-light.

  Dukoona ran. He got a whole twenty paces before his body stopped accepting his instructions. His legs and arms locked in place and he toppled, striking his head hard as he hit the floor.

  “Why do you even try?” Rectar said aloud. A foot covered in gold armour stepped in line with Dukoona’s eyes. Though dazed, he heard roaring in the distance.

  “Are your new servants troubling you?”

  More snarling reached Dukoona. It sounded close.

  “They are strong creatures despite my adjustments,” Rectar said. “I learned my mistake from you and have stripped them of all will. They are more akin to how their race existed before the Others intervened.”

  “If they are so powerful, why haven’t you unleashed them?”

  “Because of you,” Rectar said. He knelt over Dukoona, taking his bleeding face in a pale hand. “Your betrayals forced me to relinquish control of my better servants while I dealt with your kind. Setbacks occurred. But soon it will be ti—” Rectar was silenced again.

  He vanished, leaving Dukoona alone, but unable to move.

  Thunderous footsteps followed, heavy beats thrummed through cavern floor.

  A red dragon careened into view, enormous, scaly, long faced with a thick tail trailing heavily behind. It lashed at the air with its forked tongue and sniffed loudly as it traced whatever scent it searched for. Despite himself, fear gripped Dukoona. There was nothing this creature could do that would be worse than what Rectar was capable of, yet the dragon was terrifying to behold. It locked eyes with Dukoona and regarded him as an oddity, something it had not seen before. He thought it would attack him, but then it returned to sniffing the air, crouching low to ground. Its hands were the least bestial, remaining capable of holding swords or other tools, yet were still covered in scales. The creature crawled forward on them, eerily swift and smooth for something so large.

  The beast paused and whipped its head to one side. In the same moment, a second red dragon leapt from the darkness. A savage fight ensued, one in which the only weapons were teeth and talon-like fingernails. The second creature held one advantage. It wore sheets of dull grainy gold over some of its body; not full armour, but strategically placed on its forearms and shoulders, where it might make use of them in battle. The noise of the skirmish was incredible; the roaring and howling as they ripped and bit at each other was unlike anything Dukoona had heard before. One of their tails slammed into the cavern floor so hard it cracked the stone.

  Rectar reappeared, this time in his shadow form. The black figure hovered above the battling dragons, radiating power. Dukoona felt it crashing into him in hot waves. Rectar extended a hand and the red dragons stopped fighting, falling uncannily quiet. In that moment, Dukoona felt control of his body return to him. Unfrozen, he rolled over and then staggered upright. His shadow blade was still in his grip and Rectar was hovering right there.

  Without considering the madness of it, Dukoona surged forward.

  Rectar raised a dark hand towards him. The force of his Master’s will felt weaker than before, strong enough to slow Dukoona down, as though his legs were made of lead, but not enough to stop him completely. With a growl, the two red dragons began fighting again, their movements sluggish like Dukoona’s. He fought on, exerting every bit of inner strength he had to keep Rectar from his mind. He managed to take two steps forwards like this, and then Rectar’s will snapped away. Dukoona staggered mid-stride but kept on running.

  The reds became immobilised again. Above them, Rectar shifted into his physical form and dove down, driving his Blade into one and pummelling the other with his fist. Dark, sludge-like blood gushed from the creatures, and when their writhing ceased, Rectar moved to meet Dukoona, his face still hidden beneath the hood.

  Dukoona knew it was foolish but raised his sword anyway. He had nothing else to lose and it would be better to die fighting rather than in chains.

  Dukoona’s blade struck his Master’s and he was blown backwards. Rolling, his body crashing against stone with each bump, before he came to a scraping halt, which sheared yet more flesh from him. He’d poured everything he had into that desperate attack and it had made no difference. Well, he hadn’t expected it to. Not truly.

  In silence, Rectar approached him. He raised Dukoona’s bleeding body to hang by fresh bonds like a slaughtered pig and left without further torture. Dukoona’s blood smoked gently around him.

  Sonrid – The Entrance to Kar’drun

  With a grunt of pain, Sonrid dragged his leg the final stretch and crossed into the shadow beneath the shelf of rock. There were many entrances to Kar’drun, which was just as well, as the main one would be watched. Sonrid would take a lesser used spectre doorway. It was far above him, however, and would require a shadow meld to reach.

  Better get it over with, he thought, and began the slow process of melding. He sank into the shadow and travelled along it, up to the ledge above the rock shelf where he struggled to emerge as though he’d actually climbed the distance. Once fully formed out of the shadow, Sonrid lay face down, his eyes shut, willing his pain to leave him by making timely and satisfying groans.

  A hoarse voice spoke. “Sonrid, what are you doing?”

  Panic took hold of him, but there was little he could do in his present condition. He thought he recognised the voice though.

  “Zax? Is that you?”

  “It is. You’ve been gone for a long time, brother.”

  Spluttering, gasping, Sonrid picked himself up and looked at Zax. His fellow broken spectre suffered too from a hunched and crippled body. Though where Sonrid’s leg was malformed, both of Zax’s were fine. Instead, his right arm had failed to form and lay shrivelled against his side, making him look like a bird with a clipped wing.

  “I’m back now,” Sonrid said. “But what are you doing out here?” Sudden thoughts of Zax being a watchman for the Master jolted him.

  “I enjoy the sunlight upon my face,”
said Zax. He glanced to the sky and nodded knowingly. “The weather is fine today and soon the sun will be overhead.”

  Sonrid cocked his head. “What nonsense are you speaking of? We can’t feel the sun like other races.”

  Zax shrugged as much as one can shrug when their arms are locked in place. “It does something, friend. I don’t feel in as much pain after a day under the sun.”

  Sonrid had never experienced this himself, but he wouldn’t begrudge Zax of something that helped him. Broken spectres had little enough relief. He too needed to wait for the sun to reach midday and so looked up to check its position. Yes, it would be time soon.

  He returned his attention to Zax, narrowing his eyes. “So, you aren’t guarding the passageway?”

  “Guarding it from whom?” Zax said. “All the spectres are locked up and the Master doesn’t care what we do. Should I be preventing your entry?”

  Sonrid laughed, a sound like rusty nails on rock. “That would be a fight to behold. Shall we bash heads until one of our skulls crack?”

  Zax did not join in. He looked serious. “Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been helping Lord Dukoona.”

  “You?” Zax said, incredulously. “What can a Broken do?”

  “Whatever we can,” Sonrid said. It was a strange feeling to be so defensive over this. Only months ago, he too would have assumed he had nothing to offer. “Dukoona finds value in all his spectres, Zax. We must help him, if… if he’s still alive?”

  “He’s down in the utter depths. In the central chamber, chained up by the Master.”

  A little tension eased from Sonrid. Dukoona’s fate had been the greatest unknown in returning to Kar’drun. Without Dukoona, any resistance would fall apart.

  Zax was looking at him suspiciously. “What does it matter? Whatever the spectres have done to anger the Master is their business.”

  “Dukoona and his Trusted are different,” Sonrid said. He wanted to say more, but a fresh wave of seizing pain pulsed from his spine. He gasped when it ended, a small part of him wishing to leap off this ledge of rock to his fate, but he didn’t listen to it. He had work to do.

  “Help me, Zax. The Master fails to notice us. We could rally the Broken, free the spectres, and—”

  “And what?” Zax said. “The Master will bind them again and kill us.”

  “Is that such a terrible thought?”

  Zax regarded his shrunken arms. “No. No it would be welcome.”

  “Then why not try? Come with me?”

  Zax sighed. “I just… I just want to feel the sunlight, Sonrid. You can’t show up here and drag me back down there. Not back into the dark.”

  Sonrid huffed and shuffled forward. He lacked the time and energy to convince Zax, and the sun was almost at its optimum position. Zax hobbled to block him.

  “Move,” Sonrid said.

  “Don’t be a fool. You look even worse than we usually do. Your shadows are wafer thin and I can see your bones. You’re exhausted. Rest first; sit with me for a day or two and think it over.”

  Sonrid considered this. He was deathly tired, and he could feel every scrape of his joints when he moved, but what good would waiting do? He raised his arm, as high as his shoulder would allow, and patted Zax on his misshapen arm.

  “No amount of sunlight will help you with this. We’re not of this world, Zax. Rectar summoned us here, and yes, I will use his name,” he added in response to Zax’s look of horror. “Rectar is his name. He has a name, like us, and so he can be killed. Rectar summoned us here and we are bound to him. Perhaps, if we are free of him, we can return to where we belong and be whole again.” He’d expected Zax to think him mad and step back, to flinch and shake his head and say it wasn’t possible. Instead, Zax pursed his lips, looking sombre and a little sad. The golden rays of the sun lit his face on one side, leaving the other side darker than the rock of Kar’drun.

  “Other than our own death, there is only one way we can be free of him,” Zax said.

  “I know.”

  “If even Dukoona can’t defeat him—”

  “The Dragon King might,” Sonrid said. “Dukoona spoke to him. And so did I. Darnuir will be the one to kill Rectar.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t gone quite mad?” Zax said. “That wouldn’t be a problem you know. You can tell me. There’s no need for a healthy mind at Kar’drun.”

  “This is real,” Sonrid said. “Will you help me or not?”

  Zax stared down between his toes. “What can we Broken do?”

  Sonrid smiled. “Anything we can.”

  Zax looked up, smiling weakly himself and nodding slowly. Then, he stepped aside with a glance to the sky. “You better move quickly. The light is perfect now.”

  “I’ve always hated doing this,” Sonrid moaned but he made his way to the crevice in the rock face which was the entrance to the passageway.

  It was small, no wider than a clenched fist, and only accessible by a shadow meld. A long and narrowing tunnel with small jagged rocks like rows of sharpened teeth. Only when the sun was at a precise point in the sky, and the day was clear, did light hit the tunnel in such a way that shadows were cast all the way to the end. It required precise jumps during the meld, from one speck of shadow to another, and to miss the mark would be fatal. If he didn’t land properly, he would begin to reform in the too cramped space, be crushed long before his body truly formed and end up as dust coating the stone.

  “Better to be cautious than fast,” Zax said. “Good luck, brother.”

  Sonrid rallied what courage he could, then reached out with a finger to touch the sliver of shadow at the entry point. He melded slowly and painfully as ever, and then began to flow down the shadow. The small, teeth-like rocks loomed like world breaking mountains when you are condensed down to a grain of sand.

  The first jump came quickly. He landed on the edge of his next shadow with precious space to spare, and wove around the gouges in the rock, which seemed like canyons to him. Two jumps later and he found himself flying by chips of bone; white pristine bone scattered like snow all around. A graveyard of spectres who had not made their jumps correctly.

  As the passage narrowed further, what little light there was became more ragged, leaving the last shadows of the tunnel razor thin and fading. Sonrid fast approached the last, most dangerous section of the meld. He jumped again, this time directly upwards to where the shadow ran along the top of the tunnel. It was almost impossible to distinguish true shadows from the general darkness at this stage and he landed a little off target.

  At once he began to grow; expanding to the size of a pin head, then an ant.

  He was going to grow until he was crushed in this darkness and never know what it was like to be whole and pain free.

  The shadow moved.

  It was a movement he wouldn’t have seen as a formed spectre, but down here he noticed it shift. The sun’s rays must have begun moving away from their optimum position, changing the shadow’s position by a hair’s breadth. It connected with Sonrid just as he was expanding to the size of a small pebble, and he re-melded with it. Relief blazed in him and he felt a rare sense of glee as he flew along the shadow’s surface.

  A pale glow ahead showed the end was in sight. Sonrid reached the end of the shadow and bounded from it into the dimly lit room. He landed awkwardly, lost his balance and fell, but he was whole, and that was all he could ask for.

  Never again, he thought, picking himself up and getting his bearings.

  Like most of Kar’drun, this room was lit by an ethereal floating flame, this one a muddy brown. Having spent some time in Aurisha, Sonrid noticed how the shape of the room resembled the designs of the hallways and homes carved out of the plateau itself; all severe and straight edged. Sonrid trudged onwards, hoping he could remember his way down here.

  Dukoona – The Depths of Kar
’drun

  He awoke to the sound of roaring. The red dragons must have been causing trouble for Rectar again. Let them kill each other. Let them be too much for even a god to handle.

  The Cascade Sink appeared smaller than before. Rectar must have moved him further back. Only his own flaming hair granted him light to see by. Still, he had some hope to keep him going. He’d broken free of Rectar’s will, if briefly, back when Rectar had been preoccupied by the reds. But he had done it. Not that it would be much use if simply meeting his Master’s Blade with his own sent him reeling.

  Darnuir had a Blade of power, so he would surely be able to meet Rectar on an even footing. Where was that dragon? One moment he’d been rushing halfway across the world, the next he’d sat in Aurisha for who knows how long. Such accusations might not be fair. Dukoona still wasn’t sure how long he’d been down here for. A day? A year? However long, it must have been long enough for Darnuir to rally his forces. It had to have been.

  Doubt: that all too familiar feeling gnawed at him. Perhaps Darnuir wasn’t coming. Perhaps he’d listened to Dukoona’s pleas and decided he couldn’t trust a spectre after all. They had been enemies of the dragons from the first. Would one brief conversation be enough to change all of that?

  A tapping sound came from nearby. It was light. It couldn’t be one of the red dragons. Whatever it was grew closer. A small, dark figure shambled into view, obscured by the lack of light.

  “My Lord Dukoona,” it said. Its voice was strained and hoarse. He knew that voice. He wanted to cry out in relief to Sonrid but stopped himself at the last moment. Rectar could hear and see all he did. If he spoke to Sonrid, Rectar would know.

  “Dukoona? Lord, I have come to aid you.”

  How can I speak to him, without speaking?

  “I could try to break your bonds. I can manage to summon a small dagger if I concentrate.” Sonrid’s hunched form limped a little closer.

  No, no, stop, Dukoona thought. If Sonrid cut him down, Rectar would surely know. But how could he communicate this to Sonrid? If only Sonrid could hear his thoughts, then he wouldn’t have to speak directly. Rectar was able to speak in Dukoona’s head when possessing him. That was because Dukoona was Rectar’s minion, and yet Dukoona had been able to issue orders to demons through thought alone before. Sonrid wasn’t a regular demon, but he wasn’t a full spectre either. He was broken: trapped somewhere between lowly demon and mighty spectre.