The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian

by Michael R. Miller

  They’d secluded Raymond’s cargo into one of the ancient dry docks. Blaine said that whole galleys used to be constructed here within three days, and it was certainly spacious enough. Each clank of a crate lid rang under the high roof. Blaine was here too, as was Lira and their new combined Guard, all inspecting these new weapons more closely for themselves.

  “Perhaps they do not look as mighty as your Blade,” Raymond said. “But they are powerful. Terrifying even, given that anyone may wield one.” He had a smaller version hanging at his hip right now.

  Darnuir considered the weapons again. “And how many does Arkus have?”

  “An entire arsenal, from what I gather.”

  Darnuir looked to the full company of troops that Raymond had brought back with him. The carefree way in which they rested their muskets upon their shoulders showed that carrying these weapons was already second nature to them. This was no sudden development. Arkus must have kept this from him.

  Darnuir let the anger wash over him, embracing caution instead. Until he knew Arkus’ true intentions, he’d give the man the benefit of the doubt. Raymond’s other news; the riots, the killings, that was the more pressing concern.

  Blaine scoffed loudly. “And it was Arkus’ first move to turn these weapons on our own people?”

  The human company shuffled nervously.

  “I cannot say what events in Brevia led to atrocities being committed on both sides,” Raymond said.

  Blaine wrinkled his nose.

  “We’ve had our share of failure and horror here in Aurisha too,” Darnuir said, his voice as steady as he could force it. His hands, however, were clenched. “All the more reason why we must seek an end to the war. Sooner rather than later.”

  Blaine considered the muskets again, as though someone had just served him a lump of rotting meat. “And these ‘things’ will help us to do that?”

  Lira bounded up, her youthful energy back since Raymond’s return. She had a musket in one hand.

  “Black powder is used to power them. They must have a real kick.”

  Darnuir thought there was one way to find out. “Raymond, may I borrow that?” He gestured to the gun at Raymond’s waist.

  Raymond handed it over. “They call these pistols.”

  Darnuir bobbed it in his hand like weighing up any sword or bow. He enjoyed the balance. Well crafted, he thought, pointing it towards the far away wall.

  “So, I squeeze this part with my finger,” he said, flexing his forefinger in the space beneath the barrel. He didn’t wait for a reply. He pulled; the hammer fell, a spark flicked; the bang took him by surprise. Smoke trailed upwards from the pistol and a tiny mark could be seen on the wall.

  “I didn’t feel anything,” Darnuir said.

  “Your strength must negate the recoil,” said Raymond.

  Darnuir pulled the trigger again. Nothing.

  “It must be reloaded, much like another arrow to a bow string,” Raymond explained. He demonstrated the cumbersome process.

  Lira watched intently, a mixture of curiosity and nerves battling it out on her face.

  “What’s the rate of fire?” She directed her question to Raymond, but it was the slick-haired human captain who answered.

  “Trained soldiers may unleash three shots a minute.”

  Darnuir frowned. “Experienced hunters can loose twenty or more arrows in the same time.”

  “That is why we employ the volley, my Lord of Dragons,” the captain said. He spoke quite plainly but licked his lips before and after his words. Darnuir sniffed at the air. A little sweet. The humans were afraid, not overly so, but still wary. And he supposed that made sense, given what had happened in Brevia. Darnuir scanned the company again, seeing a few soldiers gripping their muskets hard enough to turn their knuckles white. Might be best to have them unload some of that tension.

  “Could you demonstrate?” Darnuir said.

  “What, here?” Blaine said.

  “We have the space,” said Darnuir. “I’m eager to see what Arkus has created in aid of our alliance.” He nodded to the captain. The human licked his lips again, straightened his black coat, and then stepped to the side of his soldiers.

  The company was arrayed ten deep, with space between each person. They began what looked to be an intricate process, though they performed it quickly. First, powder went into the chamber. Padding was then placed into the barrel, followed by ammunition and some more padding, the soldiers shoving it all down with a long, thin stick. Weapons primed, the front row raised their muskets, at the ready. They really were highly trained. A legion of dragons could hardly have performed their drills faster.

  When the captain called to fire, it sounded like a storm unfurling within the dock. Fragments of starium stone exploded off the opposite wall. More orders were called, though Darnuir reckoned the soldiers were acting on ingrained muscle memory. The first row moved off, the second stepped forward, then fired, and marched back to the end of the line. On it went until the first man was back again.

  “Cease fire,” the captain called, though he made a broad cutting signal with his arm as well.

  As the cacophony rang out, Darnuir stood transfixed by the power of these weapons. It wasn’t quite the continuous hail that trained archers could unleash, but arrows could not make marks like that on starium. He looked to Blaine, who was staring at the damage to the wall as well, and judging from his sudden paleness, was thinking much the same.

  “Er, how was that?” the captain asked.

  “Excellent, Captain. Most excellent.”

  “We could demonstrate the cannons next,” he said, sounding more eager now that he’d earned some praise. “Firing into the sea, of course.”

  Darnuir eyed the long barrels set on heavy wheels. The balls used in them were the size of his head.

  “No need,” Darnuir said. “I feel I have a sense of it.” Realising he still held the pistol, Darnuir thrust it back to Raymond like an incriminating, blood soaked cloth. “A full demonstration can be arranged for later. You’re free to go and report to whichever of your generals you see fit.”

  “Begging your pardon, my Lord,” the captain said, “But we’ve been instructed to report to Raymond or you. Those were the orders from Lord Tarquill and from the Hero.”

  “The Hero?” Darnuir wondered aloud.

  “Your old friend, Balack,” Raymond said. “I had the pleasure of his company in Brevia. He’s gained quite the reputation, both from the Bastion and from, well, more recent events.”

  Darnuir’s throat tightened. “I see.”

  “He was instrumental in supplying these troops and helping us to depart from Brevia without incident.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Darnuir’s lips. So Balack was doing well for himself, and more importantly, he lived. There was still some hope for a reunion then, even if faint.

  “Very well, Captain,” Darnuir said. “You shall report directly to Raymond for the time being. Go and settle into the quarters we have assigned to you, they’re not far from here. One of the Guard will guide you. Raymond, please stay for now.”

  As the humans marched out, Blaine stepped lightly to Darnuir’s side. “What are we to make of this?”

  Darnuir didn’t answer right away. There was too much to consider. Too many moving parts at play.

  “I think we’re in a very precarious position, Blaine.”

  “I agree.”

  “I want to give Arkus the benefit of the doubt,” Darnuir said. “I want to believe he simply didn’t mention these weapons because they weren’t ready. But to have trained regiments and created such stockpiles as Raymond claims in this short a time—”

  “I know,” Blaine said coldly. “We have been lied to.”

  Darnuir’s heart thumped as panic tightened his chest. He hadn’t felt anxiety like this since he’d been o
n his first night patrol as a hunter, hearing wolf howls close by their camp.

  “Perhaps his secrecy was merely pragmatism,” Darnuir said. “Perhaps…” but he trailed off. He couldn’t work around it. The fact was that Arkus could have told Kasselle at any point over the years. He could have, should have, told Darnuir during their time together last year. But he had refrained.

  “At least we have powerful new weapons,” Blaine said. “Even if I do think them crude.”

  Darnuir furrowed his brow. “Our priority must be taking the fight to Rectar.”

  “We’re not ready. Not our armies, nor us.”

  They’d been training hard, but Blaine was right. They had a long to go before the thought of fighting a God became a step down from insanity.

  “I know, Blaine, but soon it won’t matter. Either our food will run out – these fresh supplies from Raymond’s family are welcome but limited – or Arkus will retaliate in response to the… troubles back in Brevia. Our people may be left to starve, or he may pull all his troops home, and then we’ll have no chance at all.”

  “We won’t let the humans go then.”

  “Is that so?” said Darnuir. “No hope lies down that road. None. I fear we will need to march before month’s end to prevent that possibility.”

  Blaine took Darnuir by the shoulder, pulling him close. “I’m not ready.”

  “We’ll have to try.”

  “And what if we do succeed? How will we handle Arkus? Whatever happened, he has slain dragons now, many more in cold blood for all we know. That cannot stand.”

  Darnuir met Blaine’s hard stare and spoke in just as fierce a whisper. “You’re right, Blaine. It cannot stand. It should not stand. But it must. War against the humans is unthinkable.”

  “Our people won’t understand—”

  “Our people will be grateful that the fighting is over,” Darnuir said. “As will we. As will the humans. Nothing may come of it, but rest assured, for as long as I am King, I shall never forget it. For now, let it go.” And he let go of Blaine, stepping away and pretending to observe the last of Raymond’s company departing.

  Lira had gone to help Raymond with some of the weapon crates, stacking them up one by one as easily as bed pillows, and earning sideways glances from the humans. The pair of them shuffled awkwardly around each other, raising hands and jumping back in over politeness if they drew too close, faces noticeably blushing all the while.

  How wonderfully innocent, and naïve, and sweet, Darnuir thought. He’d never been like that. Something of the dragon in him had always made him too serious, always training or trailing behind Cosmo rather than mingling at the station with the others. He ought to have relaxed more, yet those days felt several lifetimes in the past. And as he watched Raymond and Lira give each other foolish glances, Darnuir had a yearning to return to calmer days, before the weight of the world had been thrust upon him. To sit by the fire in the tavern at Cold Point with Balack and Eve; to run out into fresh snow, build a plump snowman from it and search for a carrot for its nose; to sleep and not dread waking.

  His reflection was interrupted by an outrunner, who came pelting into the dry dock, feet slapping loudly, artfully dodging the humans in his way.

  “There is news,” Blaine said unnecessarily, striding forward to meet the messenger. Darnuir followed, catching Raymond and Lira’s eye, indicating that the two should join them.

  “It is Damien, sire,” the outrunner reported.

  “He’s returned?” Darnuir said eagerly. News on the northern outposts had plagued his mind. “Why hasn’t he come to me at once?”

  The outrunner hesitated. “He’s… he’s trying, sire.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s injured. Very badly. He had a hard run but insists on coming to you. I thought it kinder to find you and—”

  “Say no more. Where is he?”

  “Limping up the northern road.”

  Without another thought, Darnuir started to run; out to the harbour side, along the banks and towards the switchback stairs, wind buffeting his every step. He became aware that he’d outstripped even Blaine. Lira and Raymond were well behind, but he didn’t stop. The suddenness of his fear for Damien had taken him by surprise.

  Something inexplicable drove him on and, as Darnuir emerged onto the northern road, he saw a sight that made his stomach fall further. Upon the golden road many had gathered as though watching a parade. Yet they were hushed and cowed, for the procession was made by one. A single dragon, who stumbled on, one step at a time. Blood trailed brightly in his wake.

  Darnuir ran to him.

  Cascade fuelled, he was by Damien’s side in seconds. Residue rushed down his arm, but he ignored the burn, all his fears about magic temporarily washed away.

  Damien looked a mess. He might have run through a mile of gorse thicket and come out cleaner. His eyes were two dark holes, his skin dry, flaked and reddened from exposure. His legs bulged with throbbing, torn muscles, and his feet were in ruins; marbled bloody from splits in his skin. It was a miracle he stood at all.

  Having found Darnuir, Damien collapsed into his arms.

  “Why have you done this to yourself?”

  Damien blinked blearily, his parched lips attempting to sound out words.

  “Water,” Darnuir yelled. “He needs water.” None magically appeared in his hand. The Gods were cruel indeed.

  “Sire,” Damien managed.

  “You’re not to die,” Darnuir said. “That’s an order. You’re not to die.” It was a futile effort but Darnuir found himself saying every foolish thing he’d ever heard Cosmo say to wounded hunters. Where is that damned water?

  “Had to… warn you,” Damien gasped. He coughed and more blood left his body. “They are coming.”

  Darnuir understood what he meant.

  “Had to run. They’re so fast. Barely stayed… ahead.”

  “How long do we—”

  “A day… maybe less. Bacchus, the others, they held for a time.” He motioned feebly for Darnuir to come closer. He spoke of the exiles, of a final conversation upon the walls of the Nest and a warning he swore he’d give. With his final words, it was clear he was letting go. He’d given his last message. “Forgive him, sire. For-give-him.”

  “I do, Damien. I do.” He didn’t hesitate in saying it, though he pressed this new knowledge down, so as to remain in the moment. With one hand he clasped Damien’s own, and with the other he cradled his head. “Hold on. You have a farm to tend and things to grow. Your life will not only be of war.”

  Damien smiled through the pain. “I fear that was to be our way.”

  Darnuir tried to say more but he choked. He was vaguely aware of people gathering around them, but he didn’t acknowledge them. Here lay one of the younger of his kind, one who might have helped lead the way in the better world Darnuir had dreamed. And it was now that he allowed all the grief for his slaughtered people in the west to surface. The deaths of so many he had failed to protect and, perhaps, the death of that dream.

  “I’ll see your body is taken to the peninsula,” Darnuir said thickly. “I’ll see it done. You deserve more. Damien?” But now only unmoving eyes stared back at him. Lifeless. He closed Damien’s eyes and sat peacefully out of respect. Sometime later, Lira’s shadow cast over him.

  “I hate to burden you further,” she began.

  Darnuir sniffed, then looked up at her in silent question.

  She squatted. “There are longships coming from the south. It must be Grigayne. You should meet him. We’ll take care of Damien.”

  Darnuir nodded. Without fully processing it, he got to his feet, still carrying Damien’s body. He passed him to Harra and Camen to carry. “See he’s given every honour. Wash his worn body. Without him we would not have had warning of the battle to come.”

  All eyes widened at h
is words.

  “They’re coming?” Lira said.

  “We must prepare immediately,” Darnuir said, his mind sharpening again. “A good thing Grigayne has come now. We’ll be in need of every spare warrior from the splinters that he has mustered.”

  Chapter 30

  THE BEGINNING OF THE END

  “How many dragons fell before the end? How many died to save us?”

  — Author Unknown

  Darnuir – On the Walls of Aurisha

  THE CITY WAS braced. A hush fell over the defenders. Even Darnuir stopped his pacing, taking a central position above the battered gatehouse, and peered out across the open land to the north.

  They’d done all they could in the time they had. Now would come the test of their training. In the end, it may not have mattered. This new enemy might sweep across them as easily as locusts turned to feast upon flesh. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Grigayne, stepping up beside him on the battlements.

  “You wished to see me?”

  Darnuir peeled himself away from the parapet. “I did.” He looked Grigayne once over. He had no obvious injuries, save from the scar he’d gained from the failed assault on Eastguard. “I see you made it through your latest ordeals intact.”

  Grigayne swallowed. “Many didn’t. Many of both our peoples.”

  Darnuir nodded heavily. “I still don’t think the full implications have hit me yet. This impending battle is a distraction. A good thing, or we might all be at each other’s throats.”

  “You’re not angry with me?”

  Darnuir raised his eyebrows. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure how he felt. “I appreciate what you have risked and done for me. Truly, I am. Whatever the outcome may be, you did it with the best of intentions. And if the Brevians attacked you… then you had no choice but to defend yourself. That you arrived at this hour, well, you cannot be blamed for bad timing. It was the task I laid before Raymond, even knowing the danger posed to my people here as I did.”

  Grigayne relaxed a little, his hands resting more easily upon the wall.