The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian
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Tentatively, Dukoona crested forth with his thoughts as he would to command a demon. What he found was Sonrid’s mind; not wide open like the demons, but not completely sealed either. Dukoona pushed harder.
‘Sonrid, stop. Don’t come any closer.’
It didn’t work. Sonrid continued to creep forwards until Dukoona saw him clearly below. The poor wretch looked a mess, little better than a puff of smoke in the air, his bones visible under parting shadows. He must have worked himself hard to make it here. Sonrid’s loyalty warmed Dukoona in a way that he hadn’t felt in a very long time, not since Kidrian had saved him in battle decades ago.
Oh, poor Kidrian, what have I done?
A fresh pang of guilt hit him, and he let out an involuntary, shuddering sigh.
Sonrid looked up. Dukoona cursed himself for the outburst but caught Sonrid’s eye and tried desperately to convey in a look that Sonrid should stop. He didn’t dare mouth any words nor move his head in any way that would signal he was communicating with someone. Sonrid seemed to take his stare as a plea for freedom. He raised his crooked arm and grunted as a dagger formed in his hand, the shadows gathering slowly like tar. Knife in hand, he brought his arm back, aiming for the knot of shadows that tethered Dukoona’s right foot.
‘No,’ Dukoona screamed in thought, reaching out as before. The urgency had removed his reservations and the force was a bellow in the space between them. The little spectre staggered and looked to Dukoona again, less sure this time.
‘Sonrid, listen to me.’
Whatever protection was around Sonrid’s mind now buckled; not cracking entirely, but for a moment Dukoona was through. He was behind Sonrid’s eyes and his own all at once. It was the most singularly confusing and sickening feeling that Dukoona had ever experienced. Was this what Rectar felt when taking control of him?
He sensed Sonrid cowering somewhere out of harm’s way, and Dukoona hated himself for it.
‘Dukoona?’ Sonrid said meekly.
‘Sonrid, don’t cut the bo—’ But he was ripped out of Sonrid’s mind, unable to hold the connection. Sonrid remained still. He’d lowered his dagger but looked afraid. Dukoona closed his eyes, and told himself it was the only way to speak with Sonrid. He’d have to learn to live with it later.
The next thought Dukoona cast took every bit of his inner strength. He smashed through Sonrid’s shielding and took hold of his mind. There was no subtlety to it. Dukoona was a battering ram at the enemy’s gates. Sonrid’s fleeing conscious backed away from him and Dukoona could feel the fear as if he too were afraid. It didn’t matter that Sonrid trusted him, this invasion went beyond anything decent. It was the realm of their cruel, uncaring Master. Regret swelled in him for all the demons he’d ever ordered around on a whim. Had they all been this afraid every time? In his own way, Dukoona had been his Master. He’d been a hypocrite. A fiend. The very thing he despised.
‘Sonrid? Sonrid, I am so sorry for this.’
‘What are you doing? I’m trying to help you.’
‘I know and I’m grateful,’ Dukoona said. ‘But Rectar will hear anything I say or see anything I do. He overlooks you, but if you cut me down, he’ll know.’
‘What should I do then? Shall I free the Trusted?’
‘No. We cannot escape Rectar, even if we flee the mountain. And I won’t have any more spectres suffer because of me.’
His guilt and pain flared again.
‘That was not your fault,’ Sonrid said.
‘You felt that?’ Dukoona asked.
‘I did. I am sorry about what He made you do. Kidrian will know you had no choice. He will understand.’
‘I asked you all to place so much trust in me. If I hadn’t led you all along my path, we wouldn’t be in this position. More of us would still live. We wouldn’t be prisoners.’
‘We have always been prisoners. You showed me that. Without you, we would always have been slaves.’
A warmth rose in Dukoona. ‘Do you mean that?’
‘I didn’t hobble all the way from Aurisha for nothing.’ Sonrid sounded bolstered, perhaps from the shared affection of their mingled emotions. It was pushing back his fear. But he’d invaded Sonrid’s mind for long enough.
‘Right now, I am at a loss for what we can do,’ Dukoona said. ‘I told Darnuir I would guide him through Kar’drun. Speaking to him was my last, desperate act. Yet he has not come.’
‘I am here,’ Sonrid said. ‘Darnuir let me go in peace after you were summoned. I think he listened to what you had to say.’
‘Yes, you are here, aren’t you? I hope you’re right. For now, we must wait and—’ Pain seared into Dukoona. Sonrid flinched away. The source of it was from Dukoona’s own body. He looked up, through Sonrid’s eyes, and saw the telltale hundred cuts ripping at his body.
‘Sonrid, He’s coming. Hide. Don’t act before it is time. When Darnuir comes you must bring him to me. Trust no one else.’
He left Sonrid’s mind and was sucked back into his own. Sonrid scuttled off into the darkness just in time to miss the crimson cloak swishing into view. Rectar intensified the pain of the cuts on Dukoona’s flesh, deepening each wound, leaving Dukoona screaming amidst another wall of rising smoke. It ended mercifully quickly. His shadows reknitted in an instant.
“You have proven a distraction,” Rectar said. He brought his hands together slowly in a soft, barely audible clap. When his hands met, the world spun. When things settled again Dukoona was dizzy, but could no longer see the Cascade Sink. He couldn’t see anything at all.
“Here you shall not be a temptation,” Rectar announced from some place unseen, his voice echoing into nothingness.
Chapter 18
CRUMBLING THE PAST
“Yet on these things, do not dwell. The man gazing into the past, turns his back upon the future.”
— From Jon Barbor’s Scorching of the Dales
Darnuir – The Plaza
DARNUIR PASSED THROUGH the crowds, towards the Praetorian foothold. Word of the standoff between the king and guardian had spread. The stillness of the crowd was a pressure upon him; the air thick with tension. Darnuir noted with relief that few of the onlookers had come armed. He wasn’t sure how the crowds would react if things got heated inside the Basilica. The legates were still firmly in control, so far as he was aware, and all legions bar the Third were loyal to himself first and foremost. In theory, at least. There was a marked difference between the threat of violence and it actually happening.
If Darnuir was forced to draw weapons, would his people accept such a move?
He stopped just shy of the Basilica stairs. Lira awaited him, fully armoured, a grim look on her face.
“We’ll be with you no matter what happens,” she said.
“Blaine’s devout, but not insane,” Darnuir said. “All I want is justice, and for him to come out of his shell. We’re going in with the intention of talking. Nothing more.”
Lira bit her lip. He understood her feelings completely. He meant what he said, but he was not taking any chances either. Whatever happened, Blaine’s power and influence had to be quelled. First, there was the Bastion, then the acts of terror caused by his men; not to mention the old secrets of Kroener, of Rectar, of placing Draconess upon the throne for longer than he had any right to. No, Darnuir was certain of this. Blaine had caused more harm than good.
It ended here.
“Praetorians,” Darnuir called. In the eerie quiet of the plaza, his voice sounded like a thunder crack. His Guard fell in and clanked their swords once upon their shields. Darnuir drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, and held that breath for ten heartbeats. His pulse slowed. His nerves cooled. He let the breath out steadily and found nothing more he could do to delay this.
“Forward,” he said, slamming his foot upon the first step.
The Basilica loomed larger than e
ver as he ascended, the arched entranceway foreboding like the images of Kar’drun he’d suffered in his fever dreams. Lira marched beside him, and her conviction to join him was reassuring. This had to be done. When Darnuir crossed the threshold of the temple it felt like he was stepping over the line of return. There was no turning back.
Light Bearers stood ready inside, and all was gloomy save for the beam of light entering from the gap in the dome, bathing the image of the Dwna in the morning sun. Further back, Blaine stood among the stone swords, facing the relief of Dwna, as though drawing strength from it.
Instinct directed Darnuir’s hand to grasp his sword, but he stopped himself at the last moment.
Not unless I have no choice.
He marched forwards, determined but not aggressive. Boots rapped off the marble floor as Praetorians flanked him. The Light Bearers locked their shields together, tightly enough that their faces disappeared behind the wood and yellow paint. Whether they were afraid or full of hate, Darnuir could not say. He kept his focus upon his grandfather, but Blaine didn’t deign to look at him; not even when he drew within striking distance of the Light Bearers.
“You must have known I would come,” Darnuir said. “Why delay this, Blaine? Why hold up in here?”
Blaine turned his head sombrely, finally looking Darnuir in the eye. “It is sacrilege to spill blood upon these hallowed floors.”
“Then don’t fight me,” Darnuir said. “I’ve come for the murderers you are harbouring. They must answer for their crimes.”
“You can have them.”
Darnuir had already opened his mouth to argue but quickly closed it, taken aback. That had been easy.
“If you have no issue with this, why the shield wall?”
“If you’re only here for the prisoners, why your full Guard?”
He’s afraid, Darnuir thought. He doesn’t want a battle any more than I do.
“I’m prepared to send my men away, if you will do the same,” Darnuir said.
He took a careful step forward. The Light Bearers didn’t move. Darnuir risked another. The shield wall bristled but remained in place. Darnuir raised his hands to calm them.
“I don’t want to spill more dragon blood. Can’t we just talk?”
Blaine’s expression was a mixture of jubilation, disbelief, and suspicion all at once.
“You want to talk?”
“Yes,” Darnuir said in as steady a voice as he could. “If you thought I’d come tearing in here, flames lashing from my Blade, then I understand. I probably would have before, when I had more anger than sense. But I’ve changed Blaine. The last thing I want is to come to blows.” With his hands still raised he took another cautious step forwards. From behind the Light Bearer wall, he thought he could hear the scrape of swords from scabbards. His heart stopped.
“Stand down,” Blaine called. “Sheathe your weapons and let the King through.”
Darnuir breathed easy. He heard Lira sigh in relief as he turned to see her removing her hand from her own hilt. Darnuir walked on through the opening in the Light Bearer lines and Blaine moved to meet him. They met midway.
“You look thinner,” Blaine said.
Darnuir smiled. “You look rough too.”
“I’ve not slept. I’ve worried about this.”
“I don’t want to fight, Blaine.”
“You mean it?”
“There’s only one enemy and we have to face Him united.”
“I don’t want to fight either,” Blaine said. “You’ve been right. I’ve been a stubborn old fool.” He looked Darnuir up and down again. “Your stance, your bearing… is different.”
“I told you, I’ve—”
“Changed, yes.” Blaine gulped. “I’m glad you pulled through.”
“Don’t worry. The power of the Blades isn’t lost yet.”
“What?” Blaine said. “You think that’s it? No, boy. I care because you’re the only family I have left.” And before Darnuir could react, Blaine pulled him into a firm embrace; as close as one could while wearing heavy starium lined plate. A little shocked, Darnuir laughed and returned the hug.
“I’m still here,” he said quietly into Blaine’s ear. “Somehow, I’m still here.” He pulled back from Blaine but kept a hand upon his shoulder. “Did you really think I was going to fight you?”
“I could ask you the same.”
“Well, I earned that,” Darnuir said. He turned around. The Praetorians and Light Bearers were gawking; their faces a mixture of relief and bewilderment. All except Lira. She was smiling – the first smile Darnuir had seen on her since his recovery.
“There will be no need for swords today,” Darnuir told them. “I hope there will never be a time again where dragons draw swords against each other, or any other race for that matter.” He withheld his fear about Rectar’s enchanted dragons for now. It was better to let this optimism settle in for once. “Blaine, will you accompany me outside? I think the crowds would benefit from seeing us together.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
And together, as one, the Praetorians, Light Bearers, Blaine, and Darnuir exited the Basilica.
The gathered thousands seemed to draw a collective breath at the sight of them, and their relief was palpable. Darnuir sensed a change in the air; it lightened and freshened, as though a heavy cloud had lifted. Blaine even had the good grace not to try and make a sermon of it. He made no mention of his Gods, only a remark that there would still be no service that day for he had much to discuss with the King. Dwna was to shine on them all, apparently. Darnuir looked to the sky at that, where the sun did shine, and indeed upon them all. Whether a god directed it or not, he couldn’t say.
In the end, the crowd cheered them. Darnuir took Blaine’s wounded hand and raised it high; a final seal on the hopefulness that swept the plaza of Aurisha.
Later, with the crowds dispersed and the Guards given new duties, Blaine and Darnuir found time to be alone. They sat by the stone swords under the dome, disturbed only by the occasional Light Bearer or Praetorian entering or leaving the sanctum below.
“We should get this business with the prisoners out of the way,” Blaine said darkly. “What do you think should be done?”
“Did they at least have remorse?”
Blaine pursed his lips, considering the matter. “In truth, no. None that I could see.”
“The humans want blood.”
“It is not for Arkus to decide.”
“No, it’s not. But with the Bastion and now this? Wars have been started for less.”
Blaine sighed. “I know. It is with blind arrogance we’ve walked for far too long.” Darnuir raised his eyebrows at that. Blaine frowned and leaned in. “We both have, in our own way.”
“On that I quite agree,” Darnuir said. “Once it’s all over, and assuming we’re still alive, we can begin to make things right.”
“But what will we do in the here and now?”
“With regard to the murderous zealots? I say send them north. Exile them from the city to repair and garrison old outposts along the Crucidal Road. Something you were already doing, I hear.”
“You should keep your enemies close,” Blaine said quietly.
“Like you did with Bacchus?” Darnuir said. Blaine’s cheek twitched and Darnuir felt petty. “I’m sorry. That was a cheap dig. What he did is not your fault.”
“It’s more mine than yours,” Blaine groaned. “He at least among them seems to have guilt.”
Darnuir had wondered about that. “True guilt or is he just scared for his own life?”
“Both, I imagine.”
“Yet he did not take part in it himself?”
“Bacchus’ most dangerous weapon is his tongue. With it, he very nearly became Guardian. I do not think he’d feel it necessary to dirty his hands himself.”
“The Nest at the crossroads should be in better shape by now,” Blaine mused. “I ordered work to begin there weeks ago, though supplies are short.”
“Everything is limited. Our numbers, our food, our time and most of all our goodwill with our allies. We’re in a great deal of debt on that front.”
Blaine clenched his jaw. “I agree that recent events have been harmful, but we did drive Rectar’s armies back.”
“Not without help,” Darnuir said. “And not without some mistakes. Even the islanders have grievances against us both.”
“You don’t win every battle in a war,” said Blaine. “I won back East Guard in the end.”
“You shouldn’t make dangerous landings before you’re at full strength.”
Blaine tutted. “Look who’s talking?”
“I know. And I nearly got us all killed. If you hadn’t shown up in time we’d have died here. Luck and chance won’t be with us now. Dukoona helped us more than you know. But I fear he can aid us no longer.”
Blaine shifted his eyes.
“He wants to destroy Rectar as much as we do,” Darnuir said.
“We’ll see,” Blaine said, barely moving his lips.
“Are you afraid the Gods will be angry at you if you don’t discount Dukoona’s word?”
“I’m not a child,” Blaine said. “I distrust Dukoona because he is a spectre. Their behaviour over the past year was unusual, I grant you. But it would be foolish to trust blindly. Just like it is foolish to have blind faith.”
Darnuir shook his head, not sure if he had heard correctly. “Are you saying you no longer believe—”