Darnuir’s heart stopped. “We make no claim to the world. It belongs to us all. Human, fairy, dragon, troll, and anyone who comes after.”
Arkus’ face was unreadable, his features, and perhaps his will, set in stone. “Fine words, Darnuir. Fine words. But centuries from now, what is to stop this madness occurring again?”
“I have the Guardian’s Blade. If I do not pass it on, I might live forever. I could be your guarantee.”
“So, I am to let a wielder of not just one but two of these mighty Blades walk freely? I am to put all my faith and trust in you?”
“I want what’s best for all of us. Please, Arkus, put your hatred for my kind aside. You must. We’ve all lost so much—”
“Don’t you dare, Darnuir,” Arkus cried. “I warned you before. And as for your offer to maintain the peace singlehanded, I’d rather not place the future of my people solely in your hands. You have more power than I can possibly fathom, but you have a mind like any other and a mind can change.”
“I will give up my positions,” Darnuir said. “Dragons will find a new way to select their rulers if it comes to it. I shall claim no control over any man or woman from any race; no armies and no lands.”
Arkus shook his head. “Even if it could be done. Could you truly be neutral in affairs? You are a dragon – we’ve all seen the extent of that now – and you will always be a dragon.”
Darnuir took a step towards the humans, his hands outstretched, unarmed. “What do you want from me? You think me some God, but I cannot bring back the dead, no matter how much I too may wish it. I’m sorry Thane died. I’m sorry Cosmo died. I’m sorry for every death caused in the long wars we’ve faced, but it’s over now. Let go of your anger and weep instead. Weep, and we’ll all weep with you.”
He extended a hand, begging Arkus to come down from his horse, walk out and take it.
Arkus’ small black eyes narrowed further, then his whole body sagged. But he did not come down from his mount.
“I must do what I think is right,” he said. “Companies, prepare to fire.”
A dead weight plunged from Darnuir’s throat through his stomach as thousands of muskets clicked into place. Dull thuds in the earth spoke of legionaries bashing shields and forming ranks, as if it would do any good.
“Stop this,” a new voice cried. “Stop this now.” And soldiers near Arkus were shoved aside as Balack emerged into the empty field to stand beside Darnuir.
“Balack,” Darnuir said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “You don’t have to—”
“I do,” Balack said, waving Darnuir down.
Darnuir lunged for his arm. “I’m sorry, Balack.”
Balack looked taken aback, but returned the gesture, grasping Darnuir by the forearm in a brotherly shake. “Me too,” he said, then he faced the gun points. “Lower your damned weapons.”
Some did; others hesitated, pointing their barrels to the ground but not fully lowering. Many stayed in place, either through discipline, loyalty or from sharing Arkus’ beliefs. Ripples flowed along the whole front line as human troops either wavered or held their nerve.
Arkus looked livid. “Balack, you might think you’re being noble, but you are not. You of all people understand the damage their kind can cause. Return to my side.”
“I won’t. Darnuir is right. It’s over. It’s all over. How can you think of spilling more blood now?”
Arkus played with his sleeve, apparently buying time to think. When he looked up, his face held no emotion. He might as well have been dead.
“You’re right. So much blood has been shed already. A little more won’t hurt.”
Arkus raised his arm high.
But he didn’t bring it down.
He held it in place, a single finger trembling as his muscles began to strain.
Darnuir sniffed at the growing sweetness upon the air. Whether fearful of a battle with the dragons or simply fearful of being given the command to fire, the humans weren’t all as strong in their conviction as their King. More muskets began pointing towards the ground. And Arkus had not yet dropped his arm.
Perhaps, Darnuir thought, just maybe, they could yet get out of this—
A lone crack sounded, some ways down the line.
Darnuir near enough snapped his neck turning towards the noise. He saw the tiny smoke trail rising from the fired musket. His heart stopped beating again. A few more cracks sounded, first sporadic, then growing in number though haphazardly so; individuals firing rather than whole companies.
Officers were screaming. Balack cried again for all near him to put their weapons down. Darnuir caught Arkus’ eye, looked imploringly at him, and poured magic into his voice.
“You do not have to do this.” His words rang across the plains. “Throw down your guns, all of you and return to Aurisha as friends.”
But the avalanche had already begun.
There was no turning back.
“FIRE!” Arkus bellowed.
To Darnuir, the horror unfolded slowly. Flashes from the triggers heralded the doom, stretching a mile to east and west. The deafening bang seemed to come a long time after that.
Darnuir dropped to the ground, pulling Balack with him as a hail of lead cut overhead, slamming with sickening crunches into the dragon lines.
The next row of humans stepped forward, angled their muskets down at him. Darnuir drew the Guardian’s Blade and cast a light forwards, strong enough to truly blind those who looked upon it. The screams of the blinded were drowned by cannon fire. Darnuir twisted around, only to see his people falling in droves.
“Run,” he ordered, powering his throat with enough Cascade to yell above all else. “Flee to Aurisha. Do not fight.” Hoping Blaine and the others would do as he said, he turned to check on Balack.
His friend was lying face down and unmoving. Dreading what he’d find, Darnuir rolled Balack over, and was met with a vacant stare, a half-formed cry caught in his open mouth. Darnuir only noticed then that his own hand was slick with blood. A couple of entry wounds oozed from Balack’s chest, soaking those brilliant white leathers.
Tears welled and fell before the impact of the death fully hit. His blood-covered hand found and cupped Balack’s head as though it might bring him back.
Above, the humans were rearranging their lines, bringing non-blinded troops to the fore. Through the chaos, Darnuir saw Arkus still sitting there upon his horse.
He could kill him. It wouldn’t be hard. If he threw open the doors in his mind he could gouge a bloody hole through half of humanity before he was finally brought down. He did throw open the doors and let the Cascade wash in, but he did not start forward for revenge. Doing so would only prove that black-hearted bastard right. And he had to save his remaining dragons, if he could. He couldn’t do that as a corpse.
So, Darnuir grabbed Balack’s body and ran. He ran faster than the wind could blow and caught up with the fleeing dragons in seconds. He tore past them, meaning to reach Aurisha first and relay news of Arkus’ treachery. That was about as far as his plan went. What they did next, only these Gods could know; if they would deem to tell him.
Chapter 38
ROTTEN TO THE ROOTS
“When arrows fly, the wild beasts die. A dragon dies the same.”
— The Way Of The Beast, a Hunter’s song
Cassandra – Oranna’s Parlour
CULLEN GUFFAWED MERRILY, flashing his big babyish smile and windmilled his arms in fat little circles. He’d been set off by Cassandra sneezing, of all things. He laughed at most stuff; someone entering the room, someone leaving the room, and getting his hands on absolutely anything was a cause for great joy.
Cassandra blinked, fighting back fatigue, and bounced Cullen on her knees. He giggled again, and she couldn’t help but smile back at him, despite everything. What a blessed little existence he led, no thought no
r worry beyond what he would next put in his mouth to bite on. Arkus had left no instruction where Cullen was concerned, but he would be the next heir, she supposed.
Or I might be.
“Do you want to be King, Cullen?”
He made a gooey ‘ohhh’ sound in response.
“I thought not,” Cassandra said. “It’s no fun, I can tell you.”
Sometimes, she felt guilty for enjoying her time with Cullen. A mean little part of her raised its eyebrow as if to say, ‘How can you enjoy this when Thane has so recently left us?’ She forced herself to ignore that guilt, at least while she was with her nephew. To do otherwise would be to drown in grief, and she’d rubbed her eyes raw plenty of times.
Oranna did not have such an escape. The Queen spent most of her time alone in her chambers, seeing few visitors and taking on fewer matters of state. Those tasks, such as they were – mostly painful decisions dealing with the consequences of the riots – had fallen to Cassandra.
Cullen burped and laughed at the noise, looking around for the source of it.
“You silly thing,” she said affectionately.
A knock came at the parlour door and Cassandra called to enter, expecting Olive with Cullen’s milk horn. Olive did enter with Cullen’s refilled milk but Kymethra too followed in behind, looking flushed. The witch had a fresh crease of worry on her brow, which left Cassandra’s throat dry. What else had happened?
Cullen accepted the horn greedily and began to suck. He’d gulped through his first of the day in no time at all. Cassandra reckoned a royal cow might be needed to maintain a steady source at the rate he was going. She moved him off her lap to on the plush sofa and, contended, his eyes rolled upwards as he continued to drain the horn.
“I had this batch warmed,” Olive said. “He was up so early this morning, so I’m hoping he’ll nod off and get some… get some sleep,” she yawned. It triggered a reaction in Cassandra, who couldn’t hold back a yawn herself, followed by Kymethra, whose eyes were darkest of all.
“Is something wrong with Brackendon?” Cassandra asked.
Kymethra shook her head. “No change there. It’s the scrying orb, I’m afraid. It’s activated.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure of the details,” Kymethra said hastily.
“Is it my father?”
“It’s Darnuir,” Kymethra said. “You need to hear him out for yourself.” The witch shuffled awkwardly. “But after hearing what he said… I… Well, I’ve decided I’m going. Today. Straight away, in fact. I need to get Brackendon away from here – to Val’tarra. I should have gone long before—” She caught herself before bringing up that day. Cassandra wanted nothing more than to leap to her feet and hug the witch, but word of her departing left her numb. Kymethra always had to go, at least for a time.
What she had to ask was, “Will you come back?”
Kymethra’s lower lip trembled. “Not now, Cass.”
“What’s happened?”
“That’s for Darnuir to tell you, it’s not my place.” She sat herself down by Cassandra, perhaps sensing her inability to move. Gingerly, Kymethra moved closer and wrapped an arm around her as though she were a wounded animal. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
A lump had formed in Cassandra’s throat. She could barely speak. “You too.”
Kymethra turned one last time before leaving, giving the smallest of waves. Then she was gone. Even Olive, always so stern, seemed moved. Were those tears in her eyes?
“I think he’s settling down,” Olive sniffed, ruffling Cullen’s tuft of sandy hair. He was still sucking dreamily at his milk, his eyelids beginning to droop. “I’ll take him to his chambers, Princess.”
Cassandra handed him over mechanically and came back to her senses some time later, when she was very much alone in the parlour. Taking a deep breath, she found the strength to stand and started on her journey to speak with Darnuir.
Before departing Brevia for the east, Arkus had ordered that the scrying orb be moved from his council chambers into the throne room. This was to enable him to announce victory and the end of war to the whole court, the Assembly and as many people as they could cram into the hall. He was never one to miss a chance at pageantry.
Right now, Cassandra entered the throne room alone and the creak of the old door rang terribly under the high vaulted ceiling. With the shutters over the closed windows the place was dark and cool. What slivers of light that did creep in reflected off the white marbled floor, glistening as though it were a still lake under moonlight.
She took the steps to the throne’s platform. Front and centre before the throne stood the scrying orb atop its black iron plinth. Its misty contents were drawn to the edges, revealing the unmistakable face of Darnuir at its centre. Yet, though it clearly was Darnuir looking out at her, he was not the same man. He looked older though his skin was somehow brighter, lacking any blemishes. His hair had white streaks running all throughout it, even more than Kymethra’s, yet the most changed of all were his eyes. Magnified in the orb, she couldn’t help but notice the flecks of silver, but it was more than that: she saw a deeper weariness she’d only seen before in Blaine. And was that the hilt of a different sword poking out from behind his head?
“Cassandra —” The King of Dragons hesitated. “Thank you for coming.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Darnuir nodded behind her. “You won’t sit down?”
Cassandra glanced to the tall black throne. “It doesn’t suit me.”
A silence followed. It seemed Darnuir did not wish to say whatever he had to, and he avoided meeting her eye.
“What’s happened?” she asked nervously.
“I’m not sure how to say this but Arkus has – has—”
“He’s been killed?”
“No,” Darnuir said sharply. “If only.” He grimaced, trying to recollect his features. “I’m sorry. I know he’s your father—”
She waved him off, bracing herself for the worst. “Just tell me.”
“Arkus has betrayed us. We marched on Kar’drun and were victorious. Afterwards, Arkus ordered his army to open fire upon my people. I believe he intends to wipe us out.”
Cassandra had surely misheard. That could not be true. Never, never had she thought – not even in her darkest dreams. It couldn’t be.
“What?” she said like a frightened child.
“I assure you it’s true,” Darnuir said. “I ran ahead to Aurisha at great speed. The remainder of my own forces should return within the next few days. Arkus and the humans will take longer, but if he presses his troops—” He hung his head, lost for further words.
“I’m sorry,” Cassandra said. What could she say? What did you say when you heard that your father and King was exterminating a whole race. “Won’t you fight back?”
“No. My people here are starved and terrified. My soldiers are worn beyond words.”
“Are the islanders still there?” Cassandra said. “Perhaps they could take them away like they di—”
But Darnuir shook his head. “I won’t have Grigayne risk his people’s lives more than they already have. I fear Arkus has some retribution in store for them already. But I do have a plan, of sorts. A last, mad plan. More of a feeling really. It may work. But if it doesn’t, well, we’re doomed as it is.”
“But you defeated Rectar, you must have?” Cassandra said, unable to keep the awe from her voice. “You actually did it?”
“I did.”
“How?”
Darnuir reached behind his head and drew out the sword there. Now she could see the Guardian’s Blade clearly, she gasped.
“Blaine is still alive,” Darnuir said. “He granted me the Blade in our darkest hour. With two Blades I defeated Rectar, with some help from Dukoona – do you remember telling me of him?”
She nod
ded, the memory of that spectre would never leave her. A lot had happened out east that she’d never know about. That nobody would know, if Darnuir and the dragons—
No. The thought was utterly unbearable. She felt ill as her mind considered the pathetic excuses Arkus would bleat to the Assembly and their people, and how they would applaud it.
“I turned into a dragon, Cass,” Darnuir said, sounding much younger again, far more like the anxious boy her own age she’d met in the Boreac Mountains. “I flew, and breathed fire, and felt unstoppable. I was also completely terrified that I wouldn’t turn back.” He met her eye, then became suddenly solemn. “I am afraid I have more bad news.”
Cassandra braced herself again. “Go on.”
“Balack fell.”
The punch to her stomach was just shy of Thane.
“He died trying to get Arkus to reconsider,” Darnuir went on. “He stood by my side and told those fools to put their weapons down. He said he forgave me,” his voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Cassandra. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this. All this strength yet I was powerless.”
She reached out instinctively, as if to rub his shoulder, but met only hard crystal.
“It’s not your fault. I’m sorry too. I tried to get Arkus to change and I think I nearly did manage it, but then things unravelled too quickly. But it’s not over yet,” she said, her voice hardening. “Oranna and I had started putting contingency plans in place. We could overthrow Arkus even before he returns and—”
Darnuir was smiling weakly. “I know you could overthrow him if you set your mind to it. But I doubt Arkus would accept a change bloodlessly. He’s too far gone. Spare yourself from further harm.” He looked away, as though something on his side was drawing his attention. “Cass, I don’t have much time. If I can ask one thing, if I’ve earned it, please do what you can for my dragons still in the west. Send them to Val’tarra for safety, if that’s possible. Anything you can.”
Cassandra opened her mouth but caught herself. What dragons remained had been herded into the empty city barracks with the army gone. Getting them out wouldn’t be easy, but Darnuir didn’t need to know that.
The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian Page 44