The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian

by Michael R. Miller

  “Leave her,” he said in a cruel voice which was not his own.

  The hands on Cassandra’s arms released their grip. She stumbled forwards, trying not to look Brackendon directly in his terrifying eyes.

  “She’s the only thing that will get us out of here,” a dragon said.

  The part of the hallway between the dragons and the wizard began to shake. Paintings fell from the wall, their heavy frames cracking on the floor.

  “C’mon,” the lead dragon grunted. “We’ll take our chances.”

  “No. She’s all we’ve got.” Another hand caught Cassandra’s wrist, and then the sound of more running footsteps came from behind.

  “Get back,” the lead dragon called. “All of you, get back—” But his voice was lost in the roaring of the new arrivals. This lot sounded as bestial as the one Brackendon had killed. Did he even know he’d done it?

  Cassandra reckoned there was no conscious thought in him right now. He was all instinct and wrapped magic. When he saw the new dragons running up the hall, his face darkened further and every crease and fold deepened into blue-black hollows.

  “Leaaveeee!”

  The walls shook harder than ever. Dust, chips of stone and then whole fragments of the ceiling began to break away. Cassandra raised her arms desperately as a whole sofa crashed down, its spongy innards spewing forth from a tear in the lining. Humans and dragons both tumbled from the floors above, shrieking as they fell.

  Cassandra tried to make a dash for Brackendon, for beyond him all was normal. Yet the floor was already splitting beneath her. In a last bid for survival, Cassandra leapt, her hands outstretched, fingers craning for the last solid edge.

  She missed.

  Screaming, arms flapping wildly, she fell. A sloping piece of a broken hallway rushed to meet her. She hit it hard, then rolled, thudding off debris and people as the destruction plunged into the depths of the palace.

  Another deafening bang pierced her ears.

  Her world shook, blood pounded in her head, and her whole body exploded in pain.

  With a sudden slam her descent ended, and her world went dark. What part of her that could still think panicked that she’d gone blind. Dust clogged her throat and she began coughing, fighting for breath. That fight brought her back onto her hands and knees, and her vision refocused with each convulsion. She winced as the agony from her shoulder finally filtered through. Her left arm hung limp, numbed of all feeling, and warm blood trickled down to her fingers.

  She didn’t know how far she’d fallen. She closed her closed her eyes, counting out thirty painful seconds to adjust her vision, even as her heart hammered at thrice that rate. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she reopened them.

  There had been lanterns on the walls. Some lay broken on the floor, wax creeping forth to join the dust and blood. Others were still intact, but their candles extinguished. No natural light came from windows, but it definitely wasn’t the dungeons. A smell of roasted meats, chicken and pork, grew in the air. Brackendon had sent them crashing down as far as the kitchens.

  A great sloping slab of stone made a barrier between herself and anything behind. In her vicinity lay the bodies of those who’d fallen with her, humans and dragons. Most were still, either dead or out cold. Some were stirring, but just as slowly as she was. If she moved fast she might get away.

  Pushing herself up, wobbling like an infant taking their first steps, she began stumbling through the gloom, fighting against a dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her.

  Following the smells, it wasn’t long before she came upon a crowd of aproned kitchen staff. Some held cleavers and vegetable knives in trembling hands, terror in their eyes.

  “Princess,” a few exclaimed when they saw her and dashed to her aid. She welcomed their supporting hands, taking the weight off her own battered body.

  “Thank you,” she said hoarsely.

  “What will we do,” a girl moaned. “Two royals down here now.”

  “Two?” Cassandra said, still dazed. She searched around.

  “Cassandra, you’re hurt.” Little arms suddenly wrapped around her waist.

  “Thane?” Cassandra’s heart burst into a series of rapid, fearful beats. Thane was here. He was still here. He shouldn’t have been. He should have been up north with his mother far away. Not here. It was because of her that he wasn’t safe. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

  “Why are you down here?”

  “No reason,” he said sheepishly.

  “Little Prince wanted his favourite treat,” a young cook said. “Been coming down quite a bit lately, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” Thane admitted.

  “That doesn’t matter now,” she said. “The dragons are looking for food. They’re bound to end up here eventually, we have to—” But even as she said it, the sound of a skirmish on the stairs reached them.

  Cassandra seized Thane’s hand. “Come on.” She dragged him into the kitchens. “We have to get out.”

  In her current state, the goods entrance at the back of the kitchens felt like a league away. Roaring fires made the air stiflingly hot. Sweat clung to her face. Thane panted as he struggled to keep up. Coughing and spluttering, he worked his legs furiously. She didn’t dare slow down.

  At the doors she let go of his hand to turn the handle.

  It was locked.

  “Who has a key?” She rounded on the staff who were all in various states of breathlessness. Those closest looked confused, then their jaws dropped in a realised horror.

  “The Chevaliers will have barred it as part of the lockdown. Must have done it when the bells started.”

  “Bloody Chevaliers,” Cassandra fumed. She stomped and kicked at the door, only to receive a throbbing foot for her efforts.

  “Where will we go?” Thane asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. She felt defeated.

  Guns shots sounded from the other side of the door.

  “The fighting has reached the palace gardens, so the chance of escape out there may be little better than waiting in here,” Cassandra admitted

  Dragons began entering the kitchens at the far end then, sniffing and drooling like wild animals, throwing themselves upon any piece of food they could find.

  “Group together,” Cassandra said. “Stay packed in here and don’t provoke them.” At least if they stood together they would look like less appealing targets for the furious dragons.

  Yet the dragons were too preoccupied with looting to care. Many were fighting each other now, beating one another senseless over access to vats of soup or doughy, half-baked bread. One dragon seized a chicken still burning hot on its spit from the fire and tore into it, oblivious to the searing heat.

  Despite the carnage, Cassandra’s plan seemed to be working. Some dragons drew close but avoided their large group. The chefs, pot boys and washer girls threw out any food within reach, sending the dragons running like dogs chasing sticks.

  Cassandra pushed to the back of the human crowd and pulled Thane close. She caught him wiping a fearful tear from his eye, though he was fighting to keep a straight face, trying to be brave.

  “What will happen?” he asked.

  Cassandra leaned in close to his ear. “We’ll be okay. The dragons will leave when they’ve eaten. We’ll be okay.” She hugged him closer and kissed him on his soft cheek. She wasn’t entirely convinced by her own words, but what else could she tell him.

  Her injured arm felt cold now. She tried to twitch a finger, but they wouldn’t obey her. She inspected the cut. Dark blood bubbled from it, staining her clothes and dripping down her arm. Feeling dizzy again, she swayed where she stood. Only then did someone have the sense to tend to her, tying a cloth into a tight knot above her wound.

  It didn’t take long for the dragons to pick the kitchens clean. A few sat with swollen stom
achs and satisfied grins. Others still fought for the last morsels when some new arrivals stormed into the already crowded space.

  Brevian troops cut their way inside. Chevaliers, normally so composed, looked livid and fearsome, having fought the most brutal battle of their lives. Their steel had dents now and was no longer pristine. All were covered in blood. And there was no mercy in their eyes.

  The dragons sensed this too. Perhaps they smelled no fear on the soldiers, or perhaps they read the signs as well, but most of them chose to run instead of fight. They shoved past Cassandra’s group, tossing aside those in their way, and kicked at the locked doors. After a few concentrated blows the doors gave way and the dragons fled.

  Yet not all the dragons went so easily. Some had the notion to grab the kitchen staff as human shields. The cooks nearest Cassandra were carried off like trophies, slung over the shoulders of two grey-haired dragons.

  Then two younger dragons, a boy and a girl appeared above Cassandra and Thane. Hand in hand, the pair looked to each other, a silent conversation passing between their eyes. It took Cassandra a second to register their intent.

  “You’ll be quicker without us,” she pleaded.

  The young couple looked over their shoulders, to the Chevaliers with death in their eyes. They bent down and dragged Thane and Cassandra up.

  “We’re sorry,” the girl said as her companion picked Thane up. He kicked and screamed and tried to fight, but it was no good and he sent himself into a fit of coughs, enough to turn his face beetroot red. Cassandra didn’t resist. She didn’t have the energy. She let the girl guide her with one overly strong arm to the door and they emerged into the open air.

  Away from the heat of the kitchens, Cassandra felt a little better. But it seemed they had entered a battlefield.

  Dragons ran, clashing with soldiers or trying to escape from the palace grounds with no sense of order. The sky had grown dark, threatening heavier rain. Gun smoke rose in thin, tall clouds all around and crows circled above, cawing with delight.

  The young dragons moved quickly, following the edge of the palace walls for some time before the net of Brevian soldiers began to ensnare them. It seemed to happen quite suddenly. One moment they were running, half-dragged across the palace grounds, the next they were slowing, caught up in a knot of fleeing dragons, and then they stopped entirely.

  Younger dragons threw their hands up or prostrated themselves. Older ones looked resigned, closing their eyes as though they were ready to embrace death. Whoever commanded the troops had some sense about them, calling out not to fire for they had hostages.

  Negotiations began, but Cassandra couldn’t hear all that was said. Her captor was shaking and, despite her obvious strength, seemed unable to hold onto Cassandra any longer. Her boyfriend’s chest rose and fell heavily, and he put Thane down, trusting he wouldn’t move. Thane remained where he was, as fearful as the rest of them.

  Cassandra felt very weak now. With her good hand, she searched for Thane’s, as much for her own comfort as his. When her finger brushed the back of his hand, he pulled back in alarm.

  “Thane,” she whispered. He looked up at Cassandra, his eyes still wet from fright, but he was smiling at her. Cassandra felt a rush of warmth for him. He was such a brave little boy. He shouldn’t have been here. This time he placed his hand in hers and squeezed it tight. She squeezed back and made sure he was looking her in the eye when she said, “I love you, Thane. We’ll be okay.”

  She realised that was the first time she’d ever said that to anyone. Not even to Chelos, at least not since she was a little girl. She’d always thought it went without saying. Well, that had been short-sighted of her. She’d been a stubborn, spoilt fool. She should have said it every day to the old dragon. Now, she may never have the chance again.

  “Alright,” barked the Chevalier heading proceedings. “No sudden movements. Hand over the hostages slowly, one by one, and you can leave, one by one. Nice and fucking orderly now. Any sudden movements and you’ll get a bullet in your back.”

  The process began. One by one, the human hostages were sent walking over to the soldiers and the dragons were allowed on their way. All of them were sick of killing for today. A kitchen girl near Cassandra kept glancing back at her as she walked to the safety of the Brevian line. Cassandra saw her beg the Chevalier to speak to her. Then as they spoke, he kept pointing back to Cassandra and Thane. The Chevalier’s whole body snapped to face them, his eyes popping.

  “Those two,” he called, pointing their way. “They are to come to the front. Now.”

  Dragons and hostages called out in confusion. “What?”

  “Why?”

  “I was next.”

  The Chevalier primed his pistol. “Do as I say and do it quietly. You beasts are lucky that we’ve made terms at all. Now, bring them to the front and we can continue as we were. One at a time, starting with the boy.”

  The young dragon holding Thane turned. “Celia, you go first. Take my place.”

  “No – I won’t go withou—”

  “Go,” he said. The boy had a sense that Thane was important enough to warrant some demands of his own. “Celia and her human goes first,” he called to the Chevalier.

  The Chevalier’s cheek twitched as he weighed up the situation. “Very well, very well. Come here.” He beckoned to Cassandra though his eyes remained on Thane.

  Cassandra found herself shoved forwards. She made it halfway then stopped, wanting to turn and make Thane go first, but her head felt so light she could barely stand. She swayed again. Her arm was so cold.

  “Princess, please come,” the Chevalier said.

  The young female dragon was gone but her partner still had a hand on Thane’s shoulder. The Prince wasn’t crying anymore. He stood with his chest puffed out. Cassandra wanted him to come with her, but the world started to spin. She fell to the grass.

  High above, there came a sound of smashing glass.

  A dragon landed with a wet thud on the damp earth, took one look around him, and made a break for it. Seeing a chance to run, other dragons made a mad dash for freedom too, some still carrying their prisoners.

  The boy with Thane remained rooted to the spot.

  Muskets cracked all around.

  The Chevalier bellowed for them to cease.

  But it was too late.

  It took a moment for Cassandra to realise what had happened.

  The dragons lay dead. Every single one. A small knoll of bodies and amongst them must have been—

  “Thane,” she whispered to herself. A fresh energy rose in her, blasting away her fatigue. She scrambled along the ground towards the slaughter. “Thane,” she screamed. She’d never screamed so hard in all her life.

  Sound vanished but she could still feel her throat working, her body straining as she cried out all the air in her lungs and all the grief in her heart.

  She found him before anyone else got near. His eyes were still open, his little mouth agape. Cassandra wiped at her face and noticed her hands were covered in blood: Thane’s blood.

  The sky above finally broke, drenching her and washing some of the gore away. Cassandra threw back her head, her streaming tears lost within the falling rain.

  Chapter 25

  THE TORN SON

  “Let your heart shine as bright as your steel. Always do what is right.”

  — From Nobles & Their Steeds: A Chevalier’s Compendium

  Raymond – The Bay of Brevia

  RAYMOND STEADIED HIMSELF against the wall of his cabin. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, trying to fight back the nausea. The voyage had been turbulent. Spring was not entering the world quietly. Raymond had never stepped on board a ship until he had sailed to Dalridia with Darnuir. He’d now sailed three times in half a year and was thoroughly sure that he was not bred for a life at sea.

  There came
a knock at the door. “We’re entering the Bay of Brevia now.”

  Raymond sighed. Thank goodness for that.

  “One moment, Harra,” Raymond said. He gulped, staving off the feeling of bringing his breakfast back up, before carefully making his way to the door.

  Harra awaited him on the other side. A full head shorter than Raymond, she appeared slight even in her Praetorian armour. Her blonde hair was tied up in a small bun and her youthful eyes looked him up and down.

  “Shall I fetch the bucket?”

  “No need,” he said. Yet even as he waved her off, he felt a nauseous bubble rise from his stomach and placed a precautionary hand over his mouth.

  “I’ll get a bucket,” Harra said. She started to climb the stairs leading to the top deck.

  Raymond cursed himself. Must he always appear weak to his fellow Praetorians?

  “Please, I’m really quite alright.”

  Harra paused midway up the flight and faced him with a knowing smile. “I won’t tell Prefect Lira, if that’s what worries you?”

  Raymond’s stomach clenched at this, his sickness replaced by chagrin. “My only worries are for the mission at hand.”

  Harra shook her head and carried on up the stairs. Not that he could blame her. He wouldn’t have believed him either.

  Following Harra, he emerged onto the open top deck. It was a cool morning with a bracing breeze, and their ship had just entered the Bay of Brevia. It was the busiest port in the world, yet no other ships sailed its waters today. Moreover, the city felt eerie and still. Even the water barely moved. A grey sky hung low, and Brevia’s buildings rose like tombstones towards the city’s enveloping black walls.

  Raymond followed Harra to the bow of the ship, where Camen was looking out to the southern bank of the city. He was frowning, his mouth pressed into the thinnest of lines.

  “What’s the matter?” Raymond asked.

  “I do not recall the southern districts of the city being blackened before. Those look like scorch marks.”

  Worried, Raymond looked to the south. Camen was right. The older districts of the city had suffered some terrible fire. The areas most affected were those closest to the Master Station and, worst of all, the Rag Run itself.