Blaine watched, eagle-eyed as the arrows flew, the flames of Darnuir’s oil trap creating a flaming haze to see by. Red dragons jostled for position, as aggressive with each other as they were in taking the walls. He noted with interest that the arrows of the hunters more easily pierced the back of an enemy if it was turned around in the crush. The creature’s limbs jerked, froze at angles, then it fell from the wall to the streets below.
So that was it. They had to hit them from behind.
Blaine empowered his voice. “Fidelm. I need you.”
The fairy general was by his side surprisingly quickly, his expression eager.
“Guardian?”
“Time to make use of our flying archers,” Blaine said. “The enemy’s scales are weaker on their backs. Take hunters and hit them as they climb the wall. We must thin their numbers or we’ll barely hold another hour.”
Fidelm took off just as the barrier at the city gate was breached and the first of the enemy hurtled through.
“Hold fast,” Blaine called.
Their shield wall held better than it had a right to, yet the agile reds were soon jumping or slipping around the defences. Surviving dragons fell back through the channels in the human ranks and row upon row of spears thwarted the enemy advance.
For now, the northern road was held. Yet the enemy were fast swarming into the city, finding every available path and alleyway like running water; scrambling along buildings with their spiked armour and falling upon the weaker flanks of their formations.
Blaine rushed to meet them, leaving the relative safety of the back of his formation. What good was shouting for bravery, if he showed none himself?
He needed the Cascade to meet every twist and turn of the creatures, yet, while they were powerful, Rectar’s new minions were crude in style. Spectres were skilled fighters. These reds relied solely on their size and strength, and Blaine could beat that: if barely.
The Guardian’s Blade itself proved to be his greatest asset, cutting into their hard exteriors without effort. He blinded one with a burst of light from the Blade. The red howled, clawing at its own eyes, and Blaine ran it through. As its great body slumped from his sword, the first of Fidelm’s flyers buzzed overhead. He would have said a prayer for them if he thought it would help. He lost sight of the flyers behind the curtain of smoke beyond the wall but swore the red dragon numbers had begun to abate.
With fresh hope Blaine spurred on, a river of Cascade running through him, desperately keeping the brunt of the attack at bay.
Darnuir – The City Walls
Darnuir slid along the blood slickened wall, leaping over body piles. He spun in mid-air, kicking a red off the wall. He landed, skidded again, keeping his balance through magic alone, then smashed into a clump of reds, cutting or knocking them down. A group of defenders shouted their thanks, but he was already moving.
Squinting, it was clear that the red scales far outweighed golden armour upon the wall. Fidelm’s flying archers might be the only thing preventing them from being overrun.
Ahead was the section protected by Raymond’s company. Darnuir reached them and relieved the beleaguered defenders by cutting down the enemy. He looked for Raymond and Lira. The Chevalier was directing the fire of his men, wisely keeping back from the melee. Panic took him when he couldn’t find Lira, but someone took his arm. He turned and groaned with relief.
“Thank goodness you’re alright.”
Lira was breathing hard, her hair slick with sweat. “We can’t hold here.”
“The gate has been breached,” Darnuir said. “I fear we’ll have to take all fighting to the streets sooner than I would—”
“Look out,” Lira cried, pointing with her sword.
Red dragons landed amidst the musket company and more were leaping over the dragon defenders, making for the softer humans.
Darnuir called upon more magic, determined not to lose their one precious advantage. He moved so fast it was instinctive, taking down four reds in the space of an eye blink. His arm ached. Bile rose in his throat. The Dragon’s Blade seared with heat, cauterising wounds even as it inflicted them.
He thinned their numbers, and Praetorians fought the rest, fighting solo, unable to form any formation in the crush. Lira’s sword arm was knocked aside, leaving her exposed. Darnuir rushed to her side as the howling red brought its spiked arm towards her face.
Darnuir thrust his sword through the beast’s tail, pinning it into the stone. It tugged the red back, ripping its tail into bloody ribbons, but its talon-like nails caught Lira. She screamed, doubling over, and Darnuir, enraged, grabbed the fleshly ruins of the red’s tail and launched it off the wall.
The Dragon’s Blade wiggled in the stone before pulling itself free. He caught it and paid the price for drawing such force. Venomous residue pulsed down his arm, bulging his veins bright blue. He pushed past the pain, remembering Lira was hurt. Raymond was already there.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“Is that what you call bleeding like this?” Raymond said, pressing a swiftly reddening handkerchief to Lira’s forehead. He pulled away for Darnuir to see. The cut was deep but had narrowly missed her eye.
“I should’ve gotten to you faster,” Darnuir said. “Can you go on?”
“Of course,” she said and gently pushed Raymond away.
Darnuir took stock. The balance of crimson and gold on the wall had moved even further towards the red.
“Fall back,” he said grimly. “Take the cannons to the secondary positions and get your company down to help stem the tide on the northern road.”
As they burst into action, he continued along the walls, calling his order of retreat with his enhanced voice.
Blaine – The Northern Road
Darnuir’s bellows to abandon the walls felt like an age ago. Each encounter sapped at his strength and there was no respite.
The dense spear formations held well enough, but Blaine could see the faltering signs. He and the dragons couldn’t block every red dragon descending from freshly conquered rooftops.
Blaine saw that happen now but was unable to break away from his current adversary. He dove down, sprang up under its sweeping arms, and drove the Guardian’s Blade through the red’s chin. By the time Blaine reached the humans, a score of them had fallen. A nauseating sweetness laced the air, more powerful than the smoke and blood and sweat. The humans were terrified.
And Blaine shared their fear.
Perhaps their enemies could smell it too; they were dragons after all. Their slithering tongues licked the air, spewing their own foul breath. Blaine took pleasure in severing one before roundly striking the beast clean through the face.
He fought on, seeing every kill as a victory in this last stand against the Shadow. For this would surely be their last battle. He and Blaine could help to stem the tide in places. But all around their troops were dying. And where was the King? Blaine no longer spotted the fiery trail of the Dragon’s Blade upon the walls.
“Make way.”
The call came from a street to his right. Blaine turned, shocked to see Praetorians running at full tilt, carrying those black iron cannons between them. The walls were lost then. They would be heading to the harbourside to set up the cannons as planned.
He saw Lira at their head and met her eye. She nodded wildly, lacking the breath to speak. More of her Praetorians came running, carrying the human soldiers either in their arms or on their backs, all the while stalked by reds leaping from wall to wall.
“With me,” Blaine cried.
He charged down the street, meaning to cut off Lira’s pursuers. Those human weapons were their only advantage. He would not let them fall.
In the confines of the street he lost the light of the stars. He lit the Guardian’s Blade against the crushing darkness and saw the reds perched or hanging above, their eyes turning on
to him. They dropped to the ground, sending tremors upon impact. He felt it from all around, with no sound of a skirmish behind him.
Blaine realised then, that he was alone.
He had called, and there was no one left to follow.
He’d sent so many of his Light Bearers away. He would join them soon.
Red dragons surrounded him, moving slowly, wary of him but knowing he was theirs. Deep within the web of streets under the plateau, no one else would be coming. His grip felt weaker than ever, but he doubted even that would save him here. Still, he wouldn’t go down without a fight. So, he had one choice.
He raised his Blade.
Every red pounced.
Blaine swung. His strike glanced off a starium vambrace, and a huge red fist smashed into his torso. He felt hammering blows on his back, then on his entire body. Claws scraped at his armour. Starium lined plate was all that kept him alive. A tail took out his legs, and another body blow sent him hurtling backwards, hitting solid brick. Pain exploded along his spine. He crumpled. With his vision swimming, he was only vaguely aware of the red eyes dashing close to finish him.
No muscle moved for him. Nothing. He had to risk healing.
But his hand was empty.
The Guardian’s Blade lay out of reach, its glow already dimming. It lay there, as he lay here. Unmoving. This was how Norbanus had been defeated. Disarmed in a bog. Blaine had been disarmed in an alley. Both inglorious ends.
A long red snout jutted over him. Blaine feared this would be the last thing he felt; the hot breath of this monster and its gloopy saliva, dropping in thick gobs onto his face. Blaine looked defiantly into its burning eyes, ready for death.
A crack sounded. One. Two. Three – a whole volley of them.
The head of the dragon blew apart. Blaine’s world went scarlet before he had the sense to close his eyes. More firing sounded, more death screams of the enemy. It ended. Lighter human footsteps patted over, and the corpse of the red was pushed off him. Raymond proffered a hand.
“I can’t move,” Blaine said. “Need. Sword.”
Raymond scanned around. “There. Bring it quickly,” he commanded his men.
Five humans groaning with effort managed to move the Blade. They dropped it into Blaine’s numb hand and, slowly, he felt life return to his body. He drew on the Cascade, sending it to his back, wincing as the muscle and bones reknit. His spine crunched back together, and he sprang upright, gasping from the toll.
The Guardian’s Blade was built for health, but that had been a hard task. A few of his fingernails turned black and hairs were falling clean from his scalp. His left arm still hung uselessly, blood dripping from his fingers. He didn’t dare heal anymore.
“That was too close,” Raymond said. “Can you move?”
“Enough to get away.”
“We’ll take you to the northern road. We’re heading —”
“To the harbour, I know. Lira passed this way.”
Blaine struggled to his feet and began to stagger southwards.
“Blaine?” Raymond called. “Let us assist you.”
“One was never going to be enough,” Blaine muttered to himself. He was done. He had one working arm and knew in his heart that something drastic was needed if they were to see the morning.
“Blaine?”
He glanced around. “Get word to Darnuir to meet me in the sanctum. There is something I must give him.”
Lira – The Lower City
The cannon was heavy and cumbersome but with the help of Harra, Lira hauled it all the way up the northern road. Near the harbourside, she thudded it down by a collection of ammunition and powder they’d setup for this eventuality. This inevitability.
Now the huge guns aimed directly up the northern road, as though the ancient boulevard had become a great shooting gallery. Nearby, Harra doubled over, huffing and trying to catch her breath. Lira felt no better; her side was a spasm of pain, her legs burned, her head throbbed. Blood ran into her mouth from the cut, and dizzily she joined Harra in doubling over. Perhaps she’d just leave the cannons on the next retreat. They’d have to fall back towards the switchback roads next where these long-barrelled machines would be ineffective anyway.
Artillery crews – or what was left of them – arrived half a minute later, carried by dragons from the front.
“Thank ye kindly,” their commander said as he was placed down like a toddler.
Lira couldn’t help showing her surprise at the courtesy. “You’re welcome,” she managed through a wince.
The commander was already in action. “Fast to it now gents. Prefect, do we have permission to fire?”
Lira turned her attention northwards to the horror of the battlefront. The walls were lost, fire had entered the city, red dragons were crawling along the buildings and running unchecked over rooftops. Stronger formations held on the main roads, but beyond a certain point, all was lost.
Her jaw clenched. No matter how far back they aimed, friendly fire would be a high risk to those potentially trapped near the walls. But she couldn’t just let the enemy run amuck.
“Hit them as hard as you can.”
Something heavy seemed to sink through her as she made her decision, pressing down on her gut. She took her dragons and fled the scene as though it could exonerate her.
As they tore back up the northern road, she saw Darnuir running towards them, blazing a trail through the night. He was drawing on a lot of magic. It was necessary, but she still couldn’t help feeling wary about it. Even more worrying was why Darnuir was leaving the battle.
“Blaine needs me,” Darnuir growled as though sensing her question. “Raymond says he’s injured. Take the rest of the Guard.” He waved towards the dragons who were struggling to keep up with him. “And do what you can to slow the enemies advance. Fall back as you see fit.”
“But you can’t—” Lira began but he was already on his move and quickly out of sight.
The crack and splutter of musket fire cut above the rest of the battle. Lira’s thoughts abandoned Darnuir and turned back to Raymond. He and his company were still in the thick of it. He needed her.
She ran back towards the hell of the front lines without another word, the wearied Praetorians following in her wake.
Darnuir – The Basilica of Light
Darnuir skidded towards the stairs leading down to the depths of the sanctum below, jumping whole flights at a time in a Cascade induced sprint. He arrived in Blaine’s Inner Sanctum, breathing heavily, arm searing, his tongue dry and heavy from magic.
His hammering heart froze when he saw Blaine.
Chelos was carefully removing his breastplate while bloodstained linens sat over a limp arm.
“How bad is it?” Darnuir said, rushing to his side.
Blaine waved him off. “Injuries occur in battle. Do not worry about me.”
“Won’t the healing powers of the Guardian’s Blade help you?” Darnuir said, not caring whether panic had seeped into his voice. Blaine looked a mess. His hair seemed to be falling out, and there were black blotches on his skin.
“I’ve healed enough already,” Blaine said. He sat up, placing his good arm around Chelos to steady himself. “Were it our only option, I’d take the risk and heal. But I fear I’m too old for such bravery.”
“What other option do we have?” Darnuir said, fists clenched. He could not tarry here. But without Blaine, what were they to do? What was he to do?
“I can’t do this alone,” Darnuir said.
“Yes, you can,” Blaine said, biting through the pain.
“I have one Blade.”
“You might have two.”
Darnuir staggered backwards, the implication hitting him like a gale of wind.
“You cannot mean—”
“I do.”
“Blaine,” Chelos s
aid aghast. “You cannot. The balance. The system of the Gods—”
“Has not helped us enough,” Blaine said.
Darnuir’s mind raced. He was already gripping the Dragon’s Blade so hard his knuckles were stark white, his veins pulsed silver-blue as he drained the poison already in him. Would two Blades process the power quick enough so that he wouldn’t break from it? Would he find himself chained again, wailing in a cold sweat and slipping into a nightmarish sleep forever more?
Darnuir shook. “No one should have that much power.”
“Rectar does,” said Blaine. “Look at his foul sorcery. He is a God who has upped the stakes yet again. We must do the same. This was the way it always had to be. I should have known that. I cannot wield the Blade of the King, I do not have the blood. But nothing says I cannot pass the Guardian’s Blade onto you.”
“But Chelos is right. The balance. We’d shatter it.”
“This is no time for delicacy. No Guardian has dared dream of it, for it could be the ruin of our race. But if we don’t do something there won’t be a dragon race left. It isn’t lightly I do this.” He stood, took the few uneasy steps to Darnuir. “If you had asked me to do this the day I met you in Torridon, or in Val’tarra, I would never have entertained the thought. I believed I would be the one to lead our race to salvation. I was wrong. You’re a better man than I, and you’ll be a far better ruler if we make it through this.” He drew out the Guardian’s Blade, looked upon it with both old fondness and grief, yet passed the hilt towards Darnuir without hesitation.
Darnuir took another step back. “It cannot be this easy.”
“We are in their temple. There is ceremony and flattery for the Gods that usually accompanies it, but I do not intend to ask for their blessing. ‘It is not yet time,’ the Gods said to me. I think they foresaw this.” He pushed the Blade closer to Darnuir. “I know you are afraid of magic, and rightly so. And if it breaks you to kill Rectar, it will at least be a worthy end. Finish this long war and try to right my sins. Our sins.”
The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian Page 37