The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian

by Michael R. Miller

  “West, Captain Cayn. We’ll go west.”

  Chapter 22

  THEY ARE AFRAID

  “Fear is really just a fear of death. If I die, I know my Gods shall take me in. This I know. So why am I still afraid? Afraid of my King’s wroth, afraid of the Shadow returning. I cannot reconcile it, and I cannot let the world know.”

  — Personal writings of the Guardian Norbanus

  Blaine – The Inner Sanctum

  “STEP BACK FROM that ledge, Chelos.”

  Chelos turned from the precipice of the veranda and threw him a dark look. “I’m old, not senile.” He observed Blaine struggle with the fastenings of his armour for a while before making his way back inside.

  “Don’t,” Blaine said. “I can manage.”

  “It doesn’t seem that way.”

  “I’ve lost a pinkie not a thumb.”

  Chelos sighed heavily and paused by the balcony’s opening. Guilt hit Blaine for his snap remark. Helping Blaine with his amour gave Chelos some extra purpose, so he feigned to lose his grip on the knot.

  “Damn,” he said. “But it does make matters more aggravating. Could you lend a hand?”

  Chelos smiled, a brief tug at the corners of his mouth. If he suspected what Blaine had done, he didn’t show it.

  “You seem in better spirits today.”

  “We’ve languished for too long. Training will do us all a world of good.”

  Chelos twisted the straps into an expert knot in seconds. “The men have been restless. Better they get their blood moving before it turns to sludge in their legs.” He bustled off to clear away the foamy remnants of Blaine’s morning shave.

  “Why don’t you come watch?” Blaine said. “Even pick up a sword yourself if you feel up to it.”

  “Hah,” Chelos barked, his back still turned. “A year ago, I’d have done anything to hold a sword by your side again. Had more energy back then too. Trained Cassandra as best I could mind, but after what that wizard did to me…”

  “I understan—”

  “And old age and what not,” Chelos said, not hearing Blaine. He began to tidy away the razor blades laid out by the basin. When he reached the silver razor with the blue pearl handle, he paused to admire it.

  “D’you know I’ve only just realised who this must be from.”

  “I’ll thank you not to mention her name,” Blaine said.

  “I considered throwing it away not long ago. You never use it anymore.” Chelos’ tone was musing but something in his eye suggested a knowing that Blaine did not appreciate.

  Blaine picked the silver razor from Chelos’ fingers. “I’ll thank you not to do that either.” He spent a foolish second lingering upon her gift, felt his insides turn to stone. Not without effort, he tossed it to join the others with a clank and clatter. Blaine pinched between his eyes then drifted back over to the veranda for some fresh air.

  “You would do well to forget her,” Chelos called after him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me fine, that Blade keeps your ears healthy.”

  Blaine turned, slowly. “What do you think gives you the right to say it though?”

  “The right of a friend, or so you call me,” Chelos said. He pursed his lips, resisting further words. Then the dam broke. “Do you know why those dragons acted as they did?”

  “I sense I am about to be told.”

  “Because you did not act. Even after the Nail Head, you did not act. Draconess at least had reasons to shut down; lingering here and managing a kingdom under siege for all those years. But you… you just had a broken heart.”

  “How dare you,” Blaine said, pointing an accusatory finger. “You’ve never gone through it. You haven’t felt loss like that – you don’t understand.”

  “And why is that? Because I’ve spent my entire life serving the pair of you.” Chelos’ voice wavered with well repressed resentment. He almost said more but cut himself short, pressing his lips shut and rubbing his shaking hands.

  Blaine’s own anger cooled in seeing this. Chelos had served loyally his whole life and Blaine had rarely stopped to give that a second thought.

  “You have sacrificed everything,” Blaine said. “It was callous of me to suggest otherwise. I am sorry too that you have not had the chance to live a, well, a normal life.”

  There were tears in the old man’s eyes. “I did it all to serve our faith, and our people. I did it willingly and I’d do it again.” He began to break down. “Forgive me, Blaine?”

  Blaine rushed to him and pulled him into a firm embrace. How long had Chelos been suppressing these feelings for?

  “There is nothing to forgive,” Blaine said. “You aren’t wrong. I let myself wallow for too long. I should have done better by everyone, but you as well.” Chelos sniffed and hugged him back. For a moment they held, then Blaine stepped back, kept an arm around Chelos’ shoulders and walked him outside to the air and view.

  “I was so relieved when I heard you lived. I thought you’d died along with Draconess. Had I known that the wizard had you prisoner I might have—” but it wouldn’t do to make claims he wouldn’t have fulfilled, “I might have slept easier during those first years after Aurisha’s fall.”

  They made it to the veranda’s edge and Chelos placed a frail hand upon the railing. Together they drank in the view, listening to the gulls in the bay far below, enjoying the gentle heat of the spring sun.

  At last, Chelos spoke. “After all this time, it finally feels like we’ve come to the end of a very long journey.”

  “Things are far from done.”

  “A matter of time,” said Chelos. “With both you and Darnuir working together, we’ll pull through. I’m only saddened that Draconess isn’t standing with us.”

  “Me too,” Blaine said. A great weight suddenly formed at his waist, the memories in the white jewels of the Guardian’s Blade reminding him of all that had occurred.

  “It was his dream for so long,” Chelos said. “To see you back here.”

  Blaine bit his lip then pressed against the top white gem, popping it out into his hand. It dragged his arm down, buckling his knee as he fought against its weight. Beautiful, sparkling light hid the horrors within the opal. Blaine’s terror. His nightmares captured and made everlasting. He handed the gem to Chelos.

  “Oh, my,” Chelos said, bringing his free hand up to support it.

  “I’ve hidden most of my pain inside it,” Blaine said. “There are some memories of Draconess, and you as well, in your youth. Most of them are from the night when Rectar attacked—” he stopped himself. It would always be a hard thing to speak of, the night when their enemy had murdered his daughter, beat Blaine half to death, and set everything that had happened since in motion.

  With an unspoken look of knowing, Chelos told him it was okay. He understood after all.

  “But there are some earlier memories too,” Blaine said. “Happier ones. Those that I couldn’t let dissolve away with time. You’re free to delve in, if you want.”

  “I might just do that,” Chelos said. He beamed at Blaine, the strain on his face unearthing new wrinkles.

  “Time I got moving,” Blaine said. “I’ll see you in the evening for pray—” No. No, he wouldn’t. They’d forgone formal worship for weeks now and absolutely nothing had happened. No signs. And no voices.

  Blaine believed. He’d believe until his dying day after what he’d seen and heard. But after so many of his Light Bearers, and Bacchus, had been sent away in exile, he hadn’t the heart to continue the façade. For that was what he thought it now.

  The Gods were real.

  That was certain.

  And they would know of his faith, with or without ceremony.

  “I’ll see you in the evening,” he said to Chelos, leaving the Sanctum to meet Darnuir along with the
remnant of his Light Bearers.

  The soldiers of the Three Races had already gathered on the plains outside Aurisha by the time Blaine arrived. For many, it was the first time they had left the city boundaries in weeks, maybe months. They stretched their legs and entered strange new formations. Darnuir had worked tirelessly with Fidelm and the human officers to devise strategies for mixed units and the drills to practice them.

  Blaine walked wide-eyed through gathered troops, watching as human, fairy and dragon learned to move together.

  It wasn’t easy.

  There were accidents, collisions, but spirits were high. Activity and fresh purpose were wondrous things.

  Blaine watched one formation, which seemed to have a better grasp of their orders. Dragons stood in a wedge at the front. Behind them were humans carrying their long spears, with three clear channels leading through their ranks to archers at the back. The archers were in two groups, one group carrying short composite bows near the spearmen, while longbowmen stood considerably further back.

  A Legionary Legate marched to the head of the formation, the plume of his helmet flapping in the wind. He inspected the dragons at the front then bellowed, “Begin.”

  The dragons raised their shields with trained alacrity, fending off imaginary foes while the longbowmen notched invisible arrows, pretending to aim high. Blaine supposed they didn’t have the spare arrows to practice for real. The dragons feigned a fight for a time then stepped back carefully until breaking rank and bolting down the three channels in the human lines. Spears fell forwards at this, presenting a brush of steel to the pretend foes, and the humans closed into tight-packed ranks as the dragons retreated. Those archers with composite bows, more impactful at short range, pretended to notch and loose arrows, while the dragons, still running, came bursting out from the sides of the spearmen to attack any enemies that may have slipped down the formation’s flanks.

  It could use refinement, but Blaine thought it a bold starting point.

  At the head of the training grounds, he saw Darnuir. The King was gesturing animatedly to Fidelm as the young Praetorians trained in swordplay with the largest and most brutal fairy warriors; wingless fairies who had packed on muscle to compensate.

  Blaine approached with the remainder of his Light Bearers and suffered a grim look from Fidelm. Such was the General’s stare that Darnuir turned to see what was causing it. Blaine had an inkling why Fidelm scorned him so, he’d suspected this for a very long time, and knew that he’d have to have it out with the fairy. Perhaps not here on the plains, in front of all their men. Fidelm made the decision for them both and took flight before Blaine could reach him.

  Darnuir watched Fidelm fly away, a vexed look creasing his face. “Will you two sort out your issues?”

  “He isn’t able to feel angry at his Queen, so I get it all.”

  Darnuir flicked his gaze from the sky to Blaine, his eyes piercing. “Is it true what he says? That Kasselle cannot have more children.”

  “Is this really the time to discuss it?” Blaine said. A pain seared in his chest and he felt sick at the thought of it. “It can’t be changed. It can’t be fixed.”

  “No, not now,” said Darnuir. He nodded towards the new formations at their drill. “What do you think?”

  Blaine frowned. “I think it’s impressive. It may need refining but I can see what you’re trying to do.”

  Darnuir raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

  “Slow the enemy down or pin them in place as best you can while arrows are showered upon them. Useful, if the enemy has superior strength.”

  “You believe me about these enhanced dragons then?”

  Blaine shrugged. “I’m opening my mind to the idea of them. Best to devise some countermeasures either way. If all we end up facing is regular demons and spectres, then we can go back to what we know.”

  “The spectres are done,” Darnuir said. “Rectar may have killed them all. Dukoona wanted our help in killing him and I doubt he got off lightly for that. No, I’m sure we face a deadlier enemy. I just wish I knew more. How much stronger will they be? Castallan made humans to be our equal. If a similar increase in strength is possible…” he trailed off. “Well, it might not matter what tactics we try.”

  “Yet try we must,” said Blaine. “What of the fairies? I don’t see them involved in these formations.”

  “We haven’t factored their ground forces in yet,” Darnuir said. “But I have managed to convince Fidelm to experiment with flying our best marksmen around the battlefield.” He turned and pointed.

  “What the—” Blaine’s shock left him speechless. Fairy flyers were hovering in the air, carrying hunters on their backs like pack mules.

  “They can’t fly as fast like this, of course,” Darnuir said. “I’m hoping enough of them working in unison will help to punch a hole through the enemy, shore up weak points, or cover a retreat. Unless Rectar has also made these dragons of his fly, they likely won’t have a counter measure.”

  A cry of victory split the air, coming from the duelling Praetorians and fairies. Blaine looked over to find Lira standing over four yielding fairies, their weapons thrown out of reach. The fairies were panting; Lira breathed easier, though her brow glistened with sweat. She grinned and said something that Blaine could not hear. The Praetorians laughed. The fairies were sporting and laughed too as they clambered to their feet.

  “You did well, keeping her close,” Blaine said.

  “I don’t deserve such a loyal Prefect,” Darnuir said without taking his eyes off Lira and the fairies. “And she deserved far better treatment than you gave her.”

  “She did.”

  Two of the fairies grasped Lira, trying to pin her arms in place. She fought them, her face turning purple from the strain, then lunged forwards, throwing the fairies onto their backs. More appreciative laughter and clapping erupted from the onlookers.

  Blaine inspected his own Light Bearers. They stood silent. Unmoving. A little lifeless, truth be told. With them, Blaine had nothing like the brotherhood Darnuir and Lira had with their own men.

  Inspiration came to him.

  “You know, as the soldiers are beginning to work together more cohesively, perhaps it is no longer… necessary… for us to have separate Guards.” He’d not intended to sound so sheepish, but he couldn’t stand the thought of asking directly. It would be too close to admitting yet another failure, and he’d had plenty of that already.

  “Blaine, are you suggesting that we combine our elite forces?”

  “I am,” Blaine said, if a little stiffly.

  Darnuir smirked. “I’m all for it. But it won’t be me you’ll have to convince.” He nodded towards Lira, engaged once more in wild fighting with the fairies.

  Blaine swallowed what remained of his pride. “So be it,” he said and made his way over. “Prefect Lira,” he called over the clangour of steel. She didn’t stop and instead knocked a fairy to the ground with a thrust of her forearm. “Prefect Lira,” Blaine called again, “A moment of your time, if you’ll indulge me?” Still Lira fought, not giving any sign that she’d even heard him. The Praetorians nearby watched nervously, their eyes darting between Lira and himself.

  “Prefect Lira,” Blaine called again, louder still. “I’m sorry.”

  Lira stopped dead where she’d parried a blow, a screech of metal ringing.

  “I’m sorry for all of it,” Blaine said. “Every missed council, every cold remark, every belittling look and every prejudiced thought an old dragon like me has ever held. As for that night… there is only one thing I regret more than that in my long life.”

  Lira drove her sword into the earth and turned. “And what could you possibly regret more?”

  Blaine’s answer sprang from his lips before he’d considered it. “Sending another in my stead to war eighty years ago; the dragon who became Rectar.”


  The world turned still.

  Dragon and fairy alike gawked or gasped.

  Blaine found he didn’t care what they thought. He even felt a little liberated by it. It was gratifying to know he could still have that effect on people, even if their stunned silence was not brought on by admiration.

  Lira, however, was different. She did not drop her jaw like a fool nor inhale sharply. She approached Blaine slowly as though either to kiss him or slit his throat.

  “Is that the truth?”

  “A shortened version of a very long tale, but yes. It is the truth.”

  “That must have taken a lot of courage to admit so openly.”

  “Half a lifetime’s worth.”

  Lira extended her hand. “Let’s put it behind us,” she said. Blaine shook her hand. She squeezed firmly though not as aggressively as he’d expected.

  “I have something to ask you.”

  Lira blinked. “Looking for favours already?”

  “I feel it’s high time we abandoned the barriers between the Light Bearers and the Praetorian Guard.” He looked around, trying to gauge the reaction from the Praetorians nearby. “Darnuir and I have vowed to work together, with no further pettiness. I’d like it if my older dragons could train with the young. I’d like us to learn from you, and perhaps we too can offer something in return.”

  Lira shuffled her feet then widened her stance, hand on her sword. “Would we need a new name for a new Guard?”

  “That can be for you to decide,” Blaine said. “Although, as I am taking Darnuir’s lead now in matters, it makes sense if we were all his men. All Praetorians.”

  Finally, she smiled. “I like that idea.” She walked a few paces then doubled back. “I wouldn’t have fought Darnuir on it, if he’d wanted it. You know that, right?” She saved him the trouble of answering. “How about a sparring match? No magic. See how you fare?”

  Darnuir arrived by Blaine’s side at those words. “I’m afraid the pleasure of duelling Blaine belongs to me. We’re here to train, after all. And we with the Blades only have each other to test ourselves against.”