But Blaine only had eyes for Arlandra. He must have been sitting on the floor as well for she stood at eye level with him, grinning so widely he could see every one of her baby white teeth. Her skin was not as deep a blue as a normal fairy, but a faint tinge of colour caught in the firelight. She had fully inherited her mother’s silver hair and it hung down her front in a long ornate braid. One half of her face was hidden behind finely painted lines in greens and blues.
Arlandra raised a hand and shoved it towards him, palm first. “This one means you.”
“Why, yes it does,” Blaine said. “You even used gold,” he added to Kasselle. The Queen shrugged as though it meant nothing but smiled at some private joke. Darnuir recognised the symbol of the Guardian all too well.
“And this,” Arlandra said, raising her other palm aloft, “Is for mummy.” It was the Argent Tree wrought miniature in paint, a masterwork all on its own. Blaine beckoned her to come closer and Arlandra happily obliged, falling into a hug upon his lap. She looked up to him with those big eyes flecked with amber – his eyes.
“I missed you,” she said.
“I missed you more,” said Blaine.
“Why do you have to be away for so long?”
“My duties lie in Aurisha, and it’s very far away from here.”
Arlandra pouted. “Can’t you stay longer this time?”
“We talked about this sweetheart,” Kasselle said.
Arlandra gave an exasperated little sigh. “I know.”
“Maybe it’s time for your presents,” Blaine said. Arlandra perked up, looking between her parents expectantly. Kasselle moved first, opening a jewellery box, yet what she retrieved from it was neither gem nor precious metal. Rather, it was a leaf made of varnished silver wood with a simple string of twine looped through it.
Alondra’s gasp was of excitement this time. “My life brooch?”
“It’s time I gave you this,” Kasselle said. She came over to their daughter’s side, knelt again, and placed the brooch around Arlandra’s neck. “That piece of bark is from the very first tree I helped to save when I was a young princess. The sapling was almost completely blackened from magic’s poison, but my mother taught me how to save it. She also said to keep a piece of its bark for my own daughter one day, and so I did.”
“It’s pretty,” Arlandra said.
“It will bring you good health while you’re away,” Kasselle said.
“While I’m awa– what?” Arlandra looked between her parents again, for a moment unsure. Yet Kasselle was smiling and Blaine turned his daughter’s cheek gently to face him.
“Now it’s time for my present,” he said. “This time you’ll come back to Aurisha with me for a while. You’ll get to see the golden city.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” Arlandra’s words became muffled as she buried her face against his chest in a fierce hug. Blaine squeezed her back, and started to tickle her, evidently unable to resist.
“You’re very welcome,” he said. “I’m so looking forward to showing you it. Happy birthday.”
And with that, the memory began to dim, darkening as though Blaine had closed his eyes. The sound of happy laughter faded into silence and Darnuir entered a world devoid of all sensation, white and empty, until the colours began to spin once more, and soon a howling wind could be heard as he materialised into another memory; the one he was supposed to be here to see.
Rain lashed upon the plaza of Aurisha, but not a drop touched the crimson-cloaked figure before him. Blaine raised the Guardian’s Blade, a dazzling light against this starless, moonless night. Rectar’s eyes flashed red beneath his hood. Their Blades clashed with an ear-splitting screech. Then they battled upon the very steps of the Basilica, as though Blaine were barring his way.
Darnuir couldn’t help but dwell on what must just have happened prior to this. Blaine must have found Arlandra dead, and run to save the King and rescue Darnuir from Rectar’s clutches. Darnuir was glad he didn’t have to watch that. Like Blaine, he’d rather think of Arlandra as someone who lit up the world, and not as a cold body. How Blaine had found the strength to stand, never mind fight a God, after finding her dead spoke volumes of his will.
Yet while Blaine wasn’t exactly losing this duel, he was far from winning. Rectar’s strikes seemed effortless, while Blaine’s slowed or lost their power. Eventually, the enemy took his chance to speed away inside the temple itself, something Blaine had not mentioned when telling this tale before. Without the memory fresh in his mind, he must have lost some of the details. Without the courage to relive it, he’d forgotten.
Blaine caught up soon enough. With the storm raging outside and not a lantern in sight, the Basilica felt ice-cold and foreboding. Lurid shadows crept from all directions. Rectar had brought his poison into the very heart of Blaine’s faith. Their enemy was within the circle of stone swords, crouched low, muttering something in a harsh tongue and touching each stone blade in turn.
Blaine raised the Guardian’s Blade and, breathless, managed to bellow, “Be gone from this place.” And then shone such a light as Darnuir had never seen.
But did it come from Blaine’s sword or down from the dome itself?
Darnuir could not be certain. It all happened too quickly, yet when the light died, Rectar was gone. Blaine collapsed onto the marble floor and Darnuir found himself being yanked away from the memory; flying without a body once more as he returned to himself.
He awoke in the present, leaning a little on the bench but still seated. The opal’s weight had lessened greatly, yet it gained some more once he’d added in the memory of Chelos.
The sun was higher in the sky now. Darnuir stood, stretched, aware that every muscle in his body was latent with energy, poised for anything. Even the fight he knew had to come. He took another walk instead.
As before, he strayed towards the Basilica. It was gentle though, this strange pull he felt; like drawing close to home after a long journey. The temple looked peaceful under the morning sun, not the menacing nightmare as in that memory.
Someone sat alone upon the stairs and for a moment he thought it was Chelos. However, it was Blaine who caught his eye. The former Guardian looked older already. Darnuir hadn’t realised before how much of Blaine’s vigour was due to the healthy, golden glow of his skin; a shine that was now extinguished. The bloody sling which supported his arm hardly helped, nor did the black nails or the bald patches.
Darnuir met his eye, and in that moment, they shared an understanding.
Blaine was done.
Darnuir joined his grandfather and for a while they sat together, saying nothing. The few dragons, humans and fairies who passed by gave them peace, too weary to do more than stand on their own feet. For his part, Darnuir felt a little guilty for having pried into Blaine’s past without his permission. On the other hand, having seen him face Rectar and survive it, Darnuir also felt a swell of pride for the aged dragon.
He decided to be bold and broke the silence. “So, what now, Blaine?”
“You’ll go and fight our enemy. With luck you’ll succeed.”
“I meant for you.”
“For me?” Blaine said, a tired sort of surprise in his voice. “I have absolutely no idea. Only the Gods know how long I may live without the Blade, and they aren’t likely to tell me.”
“Have you asked?” Darnuir said, unable to suppress a laugh.
“Once politely and twice not so. I’ve yet to hear an answer.”
“I hope you have many good years left,” Darnuir said. “I’ll need you. I can’t do everything on my own.”
Blaine hung his head. “I hardly have anywhere else to go.”
In the semi-distance a company of fairies flew past, moving so artfully they might have been dancing with each other in the air. It was hard to believe that he, Darnuir, had some fairy blood in him. He’d never been ha
lf so elegant. If he made it through the war, he’d have to revisit his grandmother. Perhaps Blaine could come with him?
“Quite the sight, aren’t they?” Darnuir said.
Blaine took a second to understand. “Oh, yes – yes, they are. A beautiful people with kinder hearts than ours.”
Darnuir smiled and placed a gentle hand on Blaine’s good shoulder.
“She loved you. I’m sorry to have intruded on your past but I’ve seen it now with my own eyes. She loved you both. And she’s still out there, Blaine. What’s an ocean if you still love her?”
Blaine breathed deeply. “All the distance I need to stop fooling myself. To prevent old wounds reopening. She told me not to return; it wasn’t an invitation to try harder, to fight for her. Even if she hadn’t said the words, her voice said it all. I cannot go back, no matter how much I may yearn for it. What once was is gone forever; all things end.”
Darnuir sniffed, unsure why Blaine’s words struck at him so. Did two Blades heighten his emotions as well?
“I should like to see you happy again,” he said. “If I can.”
“I do feel happiness,” Blaine said. “Happiness in seeing the dragon you have become. I hope to see the new age you’ll bring. The old ways of our people have ended too. They did many years ago, I just fought against it.”
“I’m sorry for the loss of your men at the Nest. It must be taking its toll on top of everything.”
“I mourn more for the innocent who were there. Sent by me.”
“They gave us precious time, without which we would have surely crumbled. Even those who caused us strife bled their last for us in the end. I say they fought to redeem themselves, Bacchus and all the rest. And that is a noble thing.”
Blaine mused and nodded in agreement. Darnuir stretched, sighed from the relief, then slapped his hands upon his knees.
“So, one last fight, and then we can rest?”
“One last fight,” said Blaine.
“Why do I feel like we’ve said that before?”
Blaine smiled. “We? I wouldn’t say something so naïve, boy. Now, help an old man to his feet.”
Chapter 33
WORDS ARE NOT ENOUGH
“And when the dragons finally sailed back east, there was not a soul in the Dales who could rejoice. All that was left was silence.”
— From Jon Barbor’s Scorching of the Dales
Darnuir – Harbour of Aurisha
THREE DAYS AFTER the battle, the full extent of the casualties was known. Two legions, the Second and the Sixth, were so diminished they were folded. Their surviving members replenished the ranks of the others. Blaine’s Third was gravely shaken, given the loss of many of their comrades at the Nest. The Brevians had taken heavy losses as well, with several regiments entirely wiped out. The Fairies had fared best, if it could be called such, as their flyers largely stayed away from the thick of the fighting. Many still were injured or incapacitated, and what hope Darnuir had of striking out against Rectar at his stronghold relied entirely on Arkus. On that front, he’d find out soon enough.
For more ships were coming, ships with the black and white flags of Brevia. It must have been the entire fleet that Blaine had sent back months ago. Enough to carry reinforcements, if Arkus willed it. Darnuir would know today, the outrunners and flyers had reported so. His gut told him that Arkus himself was coming east. Nobody had answered his attempts at contact via the scrying orb, and he took the lack of communication as a very dangerous sign.
Arkus’ fleet entered the harbour under heavy grey-blue clouds. Any intrigue regarding how much military might Arkus would bring was swiftly laid to rest. Men and women in crisp uniforms with flintlock muskets on their shoulders marched ashore in long columns. Cannons were wheeled over the stone roads, over thirty of them.
Darnuir watched this grand procession with a wary eye. Arkus came last, ensuring his many soldiers were seen by Darnuir and those who stood at his side: Blaine, Lira, Raymond, Fidelm, and Grigayne.
The King of Humanity brought a guard as well, no fewer than fifty seasoned troops. Judging from their shoulder width, they must have been hunters once in their life, who had been retrained with even deadlier weapons. Yet it was the man on Arkus’ left who drew Darnuir’s attention.
It was Balack – a more regal, older looking Balack – but his friend was visible beneath it all. My former friend, Darnuir corrected himself. He chanced a smile at Balack, who responded with a thin-lipped grimace. Hardly encouraging.
“Do you find something amusing, Darnuir?” Arkus said, his voice higher and colder than the tallest peaks of the Boreacs.
Darnuir continued his smile, determined not to meet Arkus’ anger. It would do no good, and his people had inflicted two severe blows against humans now. Godly madness and starvation might be excuses but they could not undo the harm.
“I am joyed, Arkus, to see you bring so much strength to bear against our great enemy. It is also pleasing to have you here in person. After our last parting, I feared we might—”
“Spare me, Darnuir. Spare me your words, your lies, your false modesty. I haven’t the patience left to mince words with the ruler of beasts and butchers. Do you mock me, with your smile? Hmm? Do you think it sporting to see which members of my family you can rob of me next?”
“Rob you of?” Darnuir said. His mind clicked the pieces into place. Arkus had lost another family member, a dear one. “Cassandra?” he blurted out. “Is she—”
“She is fine,” though it was Balack who spoke. Darnuir sagged in relief and nodded his thanks. Balack said no more, withdrawing a step behind his King.
Arkus sniffed. “I see where your priorities still lie, Darnuir. I lost my second son, in fact. Dead because of your kind.”
“Thane,” Raymond gasped. He stepped forward, jerked back a little by Lira’s firm grip on his hand. “We had no idea.”
“Indeed,” Arkus scoffed. “I understand you visited Brevia briefly, stealing a company of good soldiers and some of my cannons. I must have a word with your father when I return.”
Balack opened his mouth again, but Raymond beat him to it.
“It was all my doing. Take your anger out on me.”
“You’ve grown bold,” Arkus said. “Could it be the dragon clinging onto you?” He shot Lira a venomous look. “Be careful, Raymond. If she hungers in the night you might find a piece of yourself missing in the morning.”
Arkus rounded on Grigayne next. “And you, young Imar. Know that you and your family will regret your errant decision.”
Grigayne rolled his shoulders and cricked his knuckles. “Is that a threat, my King?”
“It is,” Arkus said without an ounce of humour. He raised a hand. “The islanders attacked my city like the days of old and retribution will come.”
“We did no such thing,” Grigayne growled. “You attacked us first.”
Arkus was unmoving. “Deny me on this or insist I make peace, and I shall put my muskets and artillery back on my ships and sail away.”
Darnuir stiffened but said nothing. He couldn’t risk Arkus leaving.
Grigayne stepped forward. “You put a gun to my father’s head and are angered when I disagree with that,” he spat. “Reap what ye sow, Arkus,” and he sounded like a fierce, true-born islander for the first time. “You are no King of ours.” The young Lord of the Isles turned about and strode off without another word.
Darnuir clenched his jaw. For all the power he now possessed, he could not draw his Blades and cut the very past away.
“What of Cullen?” Darnuir asked, hoping to steer the conversation again.
“The babe is fine,” Arkus said, though he did not seem moved either way. “He’s in the care of the sister of the harlot who married Brallor. Does that please you, Darnuir?”
Darnuir bit his tongue. This was just raw emotion. Arkus mea
nt nothing by it.
“I’m pleased to hear Olive is safe and well. She was family to me once, as was Grace. Mothers to me, in many ways. Your son loved Grace dearly, he wouldn’t appreciate your words.”
“Rub salt in the old wound, will you?” Arkus said. “Does it please you, knowing Brallor loved you more than me?”
“I take no pleasure in it,” Darnuir said, feeling his lingering grief for Cosmo, for Grace, and for all those lost from the Boreac Mountains come flooding back to the surface. “A loss such as Thane is beyond words. I am so sorry, Arkus. So deeply, painfully sorry.”
“Are you?”
“He is,” Blaine said, standing shoulder to shoulder with Darnuir. “We all are. I too lost my child, my joy, and though it was long ago it still aches.”
Brow furrowed, Arkus pinched between his eyes as though fending off a fierce headache. “Do not speak, Guardian. Your voice is ragged nails to my ears.”
“I only mean to say that I understand your suffering,” Blaine said kindly. “Yet unfounded accusations and blaming will not aid you. Darnuir did not cause either of your sons’ deaths.”
Arkus’ hand reached for the butt of a pistol at his waist, toyed with the idea of grasping it, before curling his fingers into a fist. Darnuir sighed in relief while Arkus rounded on Blaine.
“I said I do not wish to hear your voice, you treacherous, lying worm. You and all your followers. Murderers now too. How dare you speak to me of false accusations and blame. You hold more blame than any of us, mighty Guardian. Or what are you now?” he added, nodding up and down Blaine’s battered body. “Injured and without your weapon, I see.”
“You’re right,” Blaine said, without a trace of anger. “I hold the most blame of any here for all that has occurred. I am no longer the Guardian. I have passed that power to Darnuir, so he may end the threat against us.”
The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian Page 39