Damien stood on the observation deck of the watchtower and the fading light of twilight hid some of the Nest’s decay. Repairs had been ongoing, even before he had arrived with the banished Light Bearers, but it was far from secure. Ancient stones crumbled and wood rotted unchecked. A new roof over the tower was something to be grateful for.
A biting pain ran from his toes to his ankle and he shifted his weight again, leaning on the railing of the decking to spare his aching feet. He’d run so much lately to assess the conditions of their old fortifications that he planned on walking most of the way back to Aurisha. Darnuir could wait a few extra days for him to return.
Unsurprisingly, his report would not be favourable. North of the Nest lay Kar’drun, perhaps a four-day march as dragons moved. At the edge of Damien’s considerable sight was another watchtower, though this one was solitary and abandoned – a blue outline in the gathering darkness. They’d be better served to have every tower repaired, with outrunners ready at each to relay news. They were fortunate to have the Nest in decent order, he supposed.
A cold breeze brushed against his bare feet and he decided to retire into the warmth inside. Light Bearers knelt on cushions and prayed silently. Damien tiptoed past them towards the ladder. He might be a sceptic, but he wasn’t rude, and this group had been part of the original garrison force, not those that had been sent more recently. Those zealots were housed in the barracks, so they were kept away and out of sight.
Quietly he descended, though each rung of the ladder pressed against the arches of his tender feet. Thankfully, ground level was only four floors down. Regular soldiers from the Third Legion were attending to their modest dinner and Damien joined them, finding a spare stool among the men.
He ate his meagre portion of hard cheese and some bread that had been left from the day before. He even managed to get a hold of their pot of alderberry preserve and spooned a little onto his last bite. It was one of the few remaining luxuries brought from the west. The smell of sweet fruit was a brief relief against the aroma of the many bodies huddled inside against the still cold spring nights. Damien couldn’t imagine being penned up for so long. He was used to running through wild country, feeling the wind against his face and soft grass underfoot. His meal was over all too soon, and feeling unsatisfied, he fidgeted with his hands.
“Done with that?” a solider asked him, nodding towards the preserve.
Damien picked it up, then held it close to his chest. “I have half a mind to take it back to Aurisha with me.”
“Over our cold corpses, outrunner,” the soldier said, though he smiled in jest. He extended his hand expectantly and Damien handed over the pot with a sigh.
“Does anyone wish me to take anything back to Aurisha? A message for a loved one perhaps?” He was answered by a few low coughs. The soldier with the jam carefully spooned out a portion, holding the ceramic jar delicately, as though it were a newborn babe. Damien caught his eye again.
“Do you have nothing at all for me to deliver?”
“You have my best wishes,” the soldier said. He wolfed down his dinner in three bites.
Another solider spoke up. “You said yourself, outrunner, the humans have not sent our people over the sea. Who are we to write to?”
“Brothers, fathers, friends?”
No one answered. As it dawned on Damien, he felt his chest tighten. These men here had only each other now. Through battle or time, they had no one left. Their whole race was dying, and more fell with every battle. Not even a bucket of jam could sweeten that thought.
“Letters could be stored for those still across the sea,” he said, hoping someone might salvage his mood.
“I’m afraid we can’t spare the ink.” The voice had come from near the ladder and Damien turned to see Grakon, the Light Bearer in charge of the garrison. “Or did you think I asked you to memorise your report out of malice?”
“I just thought it would be a kindness, that’s all. Some may have wished for it.”
“What we wish for is more food,” Grakon said, “More equipment, more volunteers, rather than forced labourers. And we wish for the blessing of the Gods.”
“I shall inform the King of your needs. The Gods I cannot guarantee.”
“Do you mock us?” Grakon asked.
“I meant no offence,” Damien said. He cursed himself inwardly and tapped his feet off the ground. He often did that when he was nervous, perhaps from some born instinct to run. He collected himself. “I only meant that I have the King’s ear, not the Lord Guardian’s.”
“I take my orders directly from the Guardian and have remained faithful, unlike others,” his steely gazed wandered to the doorway, as though Bacchus and the rest were lingering there. “Have no fear about my connection to the Light. I was at the Nail Head. I felt the touch of N’weer upon my flesh, heard his voice encourage me.”
Damien glanced around. The soldiers of the Third Legion watched him closely. “Truly, you and all who were there were blessed. I only wish I’d experienced it as well.” He meant the last part. To have felt what they had, to believe so strongly, it must be wondrous. He looked imploringly to those around him, hoping his words had appeased them.
What little fire was left in Grakon’s eyes diminished. His shoulders sagged and he raised his hands apologetically.
“I am sorry, outrunner. My tone was unwarranted. I’ve been on edge since the exiles arrived. We all have.”
Damien then noticed that the soldiers staring at him weren’t doing so in anger but in jealously; that he should get to return to the Aurisha when they did not.
The mix of Light Bearers and soldiers did not seem to have anything more to add. Damien rose, stretched, and thought a walk along the walls might help to settle him before bed.
“I shall leave at daybreak and not miss an hour of light.”
“You will be eager to return to the city, of course.” Grakon extended a hand. “Run fast, Damien.” They shook hands and Damien took his leave.
Outside, the crisp air was now a welcome relief to the stuffiness. After a circuit of the Nest, he climbed to the top of the northern wall and rested there a while, enjoying the peaceful silence under the stars. It was comforting to think that he might get to enjoy endless nights such as these. Spring would bloom in earnest soon, and new crops had to be sown fast if they were to be sown at all. With luck, the Tail Peninsula would groan under the weight of produce come harvest and he would have found a place by the sea to let his feet rest in warm sand. There were still other outrunners. What more could Damien do? What better service could he give than help provide for their people?
Before the fall of Aurisha, Damien’s mother used to take him through the markets of the city. On the hotter days, she’d buy watermelon for him to eat. He still remembered the taste of the juice bursting in his mouth, the sweet water dribbling down his chin. He’d grow watermelons on his farm by the sea, far away from it all. He’d even grow berries to make his own preserve, perhaps raspberries, blackberries, and alderberries too, if he could find a fruiting bush to gather seeds.
His ears pricked up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
From out of the shadows skulked none other than Bacchus himself. He was even thinner than when Damien had last seen him, his skin dry and cracked, his hair overgrown and unkempt. He bore no weapon, for the banished had been stripped of those upon arrival.
“I saw you walking around the fort,” Bacchus said. “You are to leave tomorrow, yes?” Whatever strings had produced his mystical voice were frayed now; a fitting end, Damien thought, for a charming tongue that had brought nothing but strife in its quest for influence. Despite the obvious loss in charm, Damien braced himself to remain firm.
“Grakon has warned me of your attempts to make a plea,” Damien said. “I fear it would go unheeded, even if I should wish to take it to the King.”
“Please,�
� Bacchus said, bringing his hands together as though praying. “I cannot sleep, I cannot eat; even the others neglect me now. I am utterly alone. I never wanted it – never—” His voice snapped and he made a few hacking coughs to right himself. When he recovered, his words came as whimpers. “Please. Please. I only ask you to hear me out. It could be weeks before another outrunner returns.”
Damien almost felt sorry for him. “Do not drive yourself to your own grave. What good would that serve? As for the rest of the exiles, well, they held no loyalty to the Lord Guardian. It seems fitting that they should also abandon you.”
“I did not lead them,” Bacchus said, and he was quite firm and steady now, some of his old bearing having returned.
“They named you.”
“Yes,” Bacchus hissed, “And I believed them at first. It drove me half to madness to think that my words had caused it. So, I had to know. I had to know what I did to drive them to such action, but they turned me away with cold looks and blank stares. I might even have taken it as their blaming me for their circumstances, were it not for the fear in my heart. I do not think they spoke the truth.”
Damien considered his response carefully. It was clear that Bacchus felt guilt, and that was something; more than the others for that matter. Perhaps he really hadn’t meant it or had convinced himself that he hadn’t. Either way, a few words of comfort might save him from self-destruction and spare one more precious dragon life.
“I too feel guilt for what happened,” Damien said. “Not as much, I grant you, but enough to seek to wipe it from me before I end my service. If you serve our King and Guardian well from now, forgiveness may come. But to dissuade blame, I do not think that is the best path, Bacchus. It is done.”
“I can accept the consequences for my actions, outrunner. But I tell you, something is not right. I say I did not lead them, and that is the truth. Answer this, did I take part in the slaughter myself?”
“No, you did not. But a leader does not have to lead from the front.”
“So, you accuse me of cowardice too?” Bacchus said. “If I had wanted such a thing, I wouldn’t have been so meek as to let others draw blood while I slept.”
“Then who else? No other senior Light Bearer was with them, and you would have known them best.”
“Would I? I did not recruit most of those men. That was the old man.”
Damien took a step back. “That is a very serious accusation.”
A wild energy rose in Bacchus’ eyes, catching in the moonlight. “Yes. You believe me? You will take my warning back with you?”
“I—” Damien began, unsure.
It was then that something caught his eye to the north. A glint of moonlight on something far away. Something moving.
“Did you see that?” Damien asked.
“What?” Bacchus said, near breathless with excitement. “I see nothing. Damien, will you take—”
“Quiet,” Damien said. He focused on where the outline of the closest northern watchtower had been, now lost to darkness. Even among outrunners, his keen eyes stood him apart but perhaps he was being jumpy.
A lookout had appeared by his side. “You saw it too?”
“I think so,” Damien said.
It happened again; a quick flash, like a spark.
The watchman gulped.
Two more flashes came, so distant and so quick most would have missed them.
“Return to the tower,” Damien said. “Ready the men.”
“What’s happening?” Bacchus asked.
“I’m not sure, but better safe than sorry.”
Damien peered into the night. Nothing happened for a while and he worried he’d raised the alarm for nothing. Then three more flashes came. And then a light, which grew, devouring upwards. The northern tower was on fire.
Enemies were out there, but would they come to the Nest? Did they even know about the garrison? It was likely, yes, spectres could go unseen if they wished to and learn all they needed. If this was an attack, Damien couldn’t stay. None of them could. Their numbers were too few. With unrivalled timing, his feet throbbed in pain and he closed his eyes at the thought of running on them. By the time he reopened his eyes the fire was blazing.
Grakon and the garrison arrived upon the walls in haste. The commander of the Nest turned to Bacchus and gruffly handed him a sword. Another soldier handed over a shield.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Grakon said. “Against our true foes we are still allies.”
For once, Bacchus had nothing to say.
Beyond the wall, the enemy advanced at tremendous speed. Flames from the burning tower lit up a glistening red mass. Hideous roars of battle reached the walls over the swiftly closing distance. A gentle rumble ran through the earth. Demons were not heavy enough to cause that, even thousands and thousands of them. The garrison fell silent and dread filled Damien. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the burning tower.
“We should go,” Damien said.
“Abandon our post?” Grakon said without looking at him.
“No one would blame you.”
“We have the favour of the Gods.”
“Your Lord Guardian retreated on the first attempt to retake Eastguard. If he can admit defeat, then so can you.” He forced himself to look away from the fire and face Grakon. All those with him were in full armour, with shield and sword. “You’d better take all that off if you’re going to run.”
“We’re not leaving, outrunner,” Grakon said.
“The Lord Guardian will not be angry.”
“What’s left for us to return to?”
“So, you’re just going to throw your lives away?”
“You’re young still, Damien. Most of us are not. Dranus be damned, I’m eighty-three. My wife died during the sack of Aurisha, my only son was killed in battle before that. I’m not fit enough to run like you can, and I’d rather go out fighting. We all would.”
“But your Gods,” Damien said. “You were all at the Nail Head. Doesn’t that give you hope?”
“More than anything,” Grakon said. “It gives me hope that there is a life beyond this world. Hope that I might find my wife and child again. I certainly won’t find them here. All of us have lost so many. Let us go and join them.” His gaze and those of the garrison were fixed collectively north.
Only Bacchus seemed unsure, looking between his sword and shield as though it were the first time he’d ever held such things.
Damien gulped. “Very well, if that is your decision. I’ll need to get water before I—”
“Here,” Grakon said, thrusting a heavy water skin against his chest. Damien took it gratefully. Others passed him their skins and someone had the foresight to unstrap their belt and hand that over too. Damien threaded the skins along it and strapped it all over one shoulder. With some luck, it might see him back to Aurisha.
“Go, now,” Grakon said. The old Light Bearer drew his sword and the rest followed.
Damien looked at them all again, imploringly, but their faces were resolute.
They had made their decision.
And Damien had a job to do: he had hope for a life beyond the war.
He’d made it to the stairs when Bacchus took his arm and spoke fiercely. “It seems the Gods deem this to be my fate. But I would not have my legacy be one of disgrace. Please, tell Blaine what I said. Tell him that I’m sorry I failed to notice what was going on within our ranks. Tell him I’m sorry for everything.”
“I shall,” Damien said, and he meant it. Bacchus nodded curtly; his expression hardened and then he turned his back on Damien and rejoined the ranks upon the wall.
Damien too turned his back upon it all as he descended the stairs. He jumped the last six steps and pain exploded up his legs – hardly a good omen. This was going to be a hard run. The hardest he’d ever done. So he gritted his te
eth, breathed deeply and kept going.
Within seconds, he’d crossed the ruins of the Nest to the eastern gate. Two remaining guards there hauled the door open for him, and he passed the threshold without a word. He heard the metal hinges of the gate screech as it slammed shut.
The Crucidal Road lay a few hundred yards ahead. Hard stone would be excruciating so he kept to the grass by the edge of the straight cut slabs. A short while later, the fading sounds of distant battle reached him, only to disappear as he ran on. Just as well. He didn’t want to hear the screaming and the rushing air soon rang between his ears.
Heat from his driving limbs kept any chill of the night well at bay. The smell of the grass, of wild flowers and earth was heavy in the air. After a time, his feet went numb and that made things easier. He’d feel the pain once he stopped. If he stopped. Whatever those creatures were they were fast, and Damien would need to beat them home with time to spare if he was to warn Darnuir.
No, not home. Aurisha isn’t home. I’ve still got to build mine. This is it. One more run. My last run.
He lost track of time, slowing only when thirst overcame him. During one water break, he risked looking back. Far off now, the Nest burned like the flame of a candle across the hall of the Basilica. He spared a thought for the dragons who’d stayed and died there, Bacchus included. He hoped they would find their loved ones, and their peace. Perhaps they had bought him some time, which he should not waste by watching their distant pyre burn.
He turned south and powered on. He did not stop, did not look back.
He just kept running.
Chapter 29
BEFORE THE STORM
“Mountains, dey can be scaled. Paths can be found in da forests. Yet der is no runnin’ from a black sky. Some things can only be endured.”
— Kazzek wisdom
Darnuir – Harbour of Aurisha
“THEY DON’T LOOK very threatening,” Darnuir said, leering over the open crate. Inside, neatly packed, were the muskets that Raymond had been speaking endlessly of.
The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian Page 34