The Dragon's Blade_The Last Guardian

by Michael R. Miller

  “I’ll do everything I can.”

  “Thank you,” Darnuir said. He’d half-turned to leave when he paused and turned back. “It’s not right that this is how things end. I wanted to make a better world. Perhaps if I knew then what I do now, perhaps if I’d just been better the first time… I hope something good can still rise from this. Though it may be down to you who are left to do it.”

  “What does that mean?” Cassandra said.

  Darnuir smiled. “Goodbye, Cass.”

  Before she could say anything more the orb began to swirl, Darnuir’s face dissolved and only white mist remained.

  Alone in the throne room, Cassandra considered her options. There weren’t many, in truth. Do nothing and await Arkus or leave. And of the two, there was only one choice she could reasonably make. Arkus had gone beyond the point of redemption; he’d gone beyond her very worst fears. Brevia had always felt a little cold, but her budding family had been warm. Now the city and its people chilled her bones. She would leave Brevia, and she’d take the dragons with her.

  She paced along the platform, thinking on the matter. Had it been her alone, it would be a simple affair. Taking thousands of weakened dragons with her was quite another. Getting through one of the city gates would be nearly impossible without meeting firm resistance. She needed Oranna, and Clachonn, and she needed their plans put into action to secure the city gates.

  These thoughts propelled her to the Queen’s chambers and powered her knocks upon the door.

  “Oranna? Oranna, please let me in. We have to speak.”

  The door slung inwards, but it was not the Queen who greeted her.

  “This isn’t a good time,” Clachonn said.

  Cassandra stormed in regardless. “I have news from the east. Terrible news. We have to go. We have to pa—” The word died in her throat. Four great trunks already lay opened and half filled; wardrobe doors were flung open, their contents gutted. Oranna herself was clumsily folding a blue satin dress, not even registering Cassandra was there. Her eyes were webbed in bloodshot lines.

  “What’s this?” Cassandra said sharply, though it was clear what was going on.

  “Keep your tone civil,” Clachonn said. “Oranna is still your Queen.”

  “A Queen that’s running away.”

  Oranna at last rounded on her. “And had you let me run before, when I wanted to, my son would still be alive.” Her voice was hoarse and hard. “There’s nothing left for me in this wretched city. You were just about to suggest we all run now that it’s convenient for you, so I won’t apologise for it.” She glared for a moment, then softened. “I’m sorry. I’ve tried being angry at everyone, but it doesn’t help. Not really. I was going to tell you, I swear.”

  Cassandra wanted to believe her, so decided to put aside any doubt for now. “We just need to get moving.”

  “We?” Clachonn said, as though he’d never heard of the word. “And why are you so desperate to leave.”

  So, she told them. Told them everything that Darnuir had said, and what she suspected he was holding back in order to spare them. There wasn’t much to say in the end and it only ignited the fire in Oranna to move faster.

  “Father, we can have Merrick and his men take control of the city gates as planned. We could leave tonight.”

  “And the dragons?” Cassandra said.

  Clachonn hesitated, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Very well, they can come. I can’t in good conscious let them all get slaughtered like cattle. But Arkus will surely know where they’ve gone.”

  “We just have to make it harder for him to track them down,” Cassandra said. “It’s all we can do.”

  “Agreed,” said Clachonn.

  “Then I’ll meet you both later tonight,” Cassandra said. The Lord of the Hinterlands frowned, then opened his mouth to speak but Oranna cut across him.

  “Of course, we will. Tonight. We’re all leaving tonight.”

  Chapter 39

  THREE BLADES

  “One Blade for the King to watch over their bodies. One Blade for the Guardian to watch over their souls. One Blade for a Champion for when his brothers have lost their way.”

  — From Tiviar’s Histories

  Blaine – Aurisha – The Basilica of Light

  IT WAS UNMISTAKABLE. Under the dome, stuck fast into the stone holder before the seared sun of Dwl’or, was The Champion’s Blade.

  Blaine couldn’t help but stare in amazement at it. Why was it here? It had never simply sat in the Basilica before. It had always been a myth, a legend; yet here it was. Had Darnuir freed it from Rectar’s grasp and returned it here, or had it been placed?

  What could it mean?

  Gingerly, he reached a hand towards it. He half-expected it not to be real, perhaps some apparition of his ancient mind. It came as something of a shock when his finger touched the cold metal of the pommel, so much so that he flinched as though burned. It was real then. The metal, the cloth on the grip, the bone-metal-starium fusion of the blade itself, glittering under a strip of light from the dome above. It was only the light that seemed unreal. The thin beam hadn’t moved with the passing of the day. The night before, when Blaine had arrived, there had been a pale sliver of moonlight illuminating it. He’d thought it just fortuitous timing then, but now, he was not certain.

  “What do you have in store for us?” he said aloud, then faced each relief of the Gods in turn. No answer came, as ever.

  “Blaine, are you coming?” Fidelm’s voice rang through the temple.

  He turned to see the fairy waiting for him in the middle of the hall. Darnuir had called a meeting, and Blaine had gotten distracted by the Blade. And yet, it was just as well he had this chance to speak with Fidelm alone. Perhaps the Gods would give him this much.

  “The others will be waiting,” Fidelm called.

  “A moment or two will not hurt,” Blaine said. “You’ve avoided me for so long. I know you resent me for what I’ve done to her, but would you do one last service in her name?”

  Fidelm’s wings flickered.

  “Please?”

  Fidelm flew up the hall to Blaine’s side, landing hard. “Pick your words carefully. You are no longer the Guardian, and all that shields you is her will.”

  “Would you really kill me?”

  “If you gave me cause.”

  “Such as wishing to journey back to the Argent Tree?”

  Fidelm drew his war spear, each end whistling as it cut the air. “Is that your wish?”

  “No. Kasselle made it clear I should not return, and I would be a fool to think things have changed. I do not intend to return.” Fidelm narrowed his eyes and Blaine saw the hate in them. “Will you kill me anyway, General?”

  “And what would that achieve? I know she loved you Blaine. I understand that better than anyone.” For the first time, Blaine saw Fidelm’s outward demeanour falter. His hands shook, but he lowered his weapon. “What is this task you would ask of me?”

  Blaine inclined his head in thanks, then pulled up the silver chain which had hung for many months around his neck.

  “Please take this back to her,” Blaine said. “It was Kasselle’s idea if I recall. She had it forged with the skill of your people, and it was supposed to let a piece of Arlandra be with her own beloved while he was away at war. I think its magic may have been all too real, and why Arlandra all but died when Drenthir did. But there is a small piece of her left in it. I can feel it. Take it back to her mother and let her feel it too.”

  His hand still shaking, Fidelm opened his palm to receive it. Blaine struggled for a moment, squeezing the necklace in his fist, hearing Arlandra’s song-like laugh again, seeing the swish of her silver hair in his mind, smelling the citrus scent of water lilies in her room.

  In the end, he let go. The last of his memories fell from his grasp into the hand
of another, and he felt free.

  Fidelm placed the chain around his own neck. “I will do this for you Blaine, and for my Queen.

  “Thank you. I shall remain here by Darnuir’s side until whatever end comes for us.” And feeling no more words were required, Blaine swept past, heading for the plaza and then the Royal Tower, with Fidelm following silently in his wake.

  Once they ascended the tower, they joined Lira, Grigayne and Darnuir himself in the war room to sit for the grimmest of all their councils. They all sat on one side of the crescent moon table, Darnuir was on the other. Not wanting to favour either of his roles by choosing a chair, Darnuir had employed his incredible new strength and uplifted both the solid rock chairs of the King and the Guardian, and moved them both aside, choosing to stand before them instead.

  “I do not mean for this council to be lengthy,” Darnuir said. “There is precious little time and even fewer options open to us. I hope you don’t mind my lack of debate, but I’ve made my mind up and I feel it’s the best course we can take. How like Draconess I sound now.” He paused, his eyes staring off vacantly into the past for a moment before continuing. “I have spoken with Grigayne, and his fleet will sail as soon as it’s ready.”

  “We’d stand with you if you wish it,” Grigayne said, thumping his fist upon the table.

  “I’m grateful for it,” Darnuir said. “But I don’t want to see either the islanders or the fairies caught up in this vendetta.”

  “We would have stood by you too, till the end,” said Fidelm. “This treachery runs deeper than the blackest roots.”

  Darnuir shook his head. “If I wanted to, I could kill my way to Arkus and slay him. Then I could kill and kill and kill, but what would that achieve? What fragile friendship existed between our races was fraying these past months. Now it’s utterly severed. More war won’t solve it.”

  “So, we are to flee?” Lira asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” said Darnuir.

  All the attendees exchanged looks.

  Blaine leant forward on the table. “Wherever we flee too, Arkus will only follow in time. The world is not so large.”

  “It’s dragons he wants,” Darnuir said. “And I don’t intend he’ll take any more of our people, not those I can help at least. We will leave, to somewhere Arkus cannot reach. You must trust me on this.”

  Blaine exchanged further glances with those along his side of the table. They all nodded, Blaine included. The boy had done it after all. He’d killed a God. The power he held now must grant him sight beyond what any mere mortal, dragon, human, or otherwise, could see.

  Blaine rose. “My faith has wavered of late, and for good reason. Yet now I do believe again. I believe in you, Darnuir.”

  Darnuir’s soft smile conveyed thanks in a way that words could not.

  “The fairies are welcome aboard my ships,” Grigayne. “We’ll sail first to Dalridia, then a smaller fleet will travel west with your people. They’ll take you down past the southern cape and up to Val’tarra. Fewer ships should easily outspeed anything Arkus sends, though I may need to ask that your people house and feed my own until they are ready to return. It will be a long journey for them through unfamiliar waters.”

  “It will be done,” Fidelm said. “I fear our peoples will rely on each other in the years ahead against Arkus.”

  Grigayne sucked in his breath. “Let’s hope we do have years ahead left and many of them.”

  “What of the dragons?” Blaine asked.

  “For now, let them take what rest they can,” said Darnuir. “If I’m right, we’ll need to be able to bring them all through the plaza and quickly. Lira, can I leave this task with you?”

  Lira agreed.

  “Then it is settled,” Darnuir said.

  “If I may remain behind?” Blaine said. “I have something to ask you, privately.”

  “Very well.”

  The others trooped out, Fidelm opting to take flight from the balcony instead. Once they were alone, Darnuir was the first to speak.

  “I know what you’re about to ask me. The Champion’s Blade.”

  “Do you know why it’s in the Basilica?”

  “I have a… feeling as to why,” Darnuir said. “I’m afraid I cannot give you certainty. It’s hard to explain.” He made a move towards the balcony as well, and beckoned Blaine to follow.

  Outside, the world seemed so harmonious, with a crystal-clear sky and just the right strength of breeze. Blaine took a moment to glance down at the Lower City. The destruction looked even worse from up here, seeing it all at once.

  “Terrible, isn’t it?” Darnuir said, following Blaine’s line of vision. “A shame we must leave Aurisha in such a sorry state. A gem reduced to rough-hewn rock and rubble.”

  “We’ll restore it one day,” Blaine said. “I always believed that as well.”

  Darnuir sniffed then snapped his gaze northwards as though he could see the human army beyond the horizon.

  “We won’t be coming back, Blaine. Not to fix the city. Not ever.”

  Blaine uttered stutters of ill-conceived thoughts, but the right words were lost to him. Darnuir could not be being literal.

  The King groaned, gripped the balcony with both hands and sighed. “I never wanted to abandon Aurisha again. The memory of the meeting in which Draconess ordered we evacuate the city comes back to me so plainly, it’s why we stood when the red dragons came. But this… this is different. Same city, same overwhelming odds, same decision; but a different king, a different council and a different means of escape. Strange, isn’t it?”

  Blaine still didn’t understand what Darnuir intended, but he trusted him, and right now his grandson needed encouragement, not derision or pointless questions.

  “Do you remember our time in the Hall of Memories?”

  “Of course.”

  “I mentioned that events often repeat themselves, once you look far enough back you can see it. This is something like that, I suppose. This city is our home and so long as we have enemies, we will be threatened here.”

  “It won’t be our home for much longer.”

  “I’d fight till the end.”

  “I know you would,” Darnuir said. “I know you all would. But I don’t want to fight anymore. Deep down, I don’t think you do either.”

  Blaine smiled, a weak old smile. “Not so deep down, I must admit.”

  “Every day I respect Draconess more,” Darnuir said. “I wanted to defend the city against impossible odds back then and he decided otherwise. I hated him for it. But he was right. Well, now I learn from his example. We’re leaving, Blaine.”

  A flicker of worry crept up Blaine’s spine. Just what was Darnuir planning to do without Grigayne’s ships? Yet, as though he could read Blaine’s thoughts, Darnuir took him by the arm and said, “Come. We’ll discover soon if my feelings are correct. Let’s pay a visit to the Basilica.”

  Darnuir – The Basilica of Light

  He’d been worried that he’d merely imagined the sensations he’d felt in the Basilica when he had arrived back in the city. As he and Blaine climbed the stairs to the cavernous temple, those worries were thankfully laid to rest. His mind was once again filled with a warmth and an understanding that he could not explain in words. There was a tug on his mind pulling him towards the stone holders and the Champion’s Blade, but he knew he shouldn’t try to pull it free.

  A curious beam of light still fell upon the Champion’s Blade, exactly as it had when Darnuir had first arrived back. The sense of knowing, without truly understanding, grew in him; a melody played lightly over and over in his mind.

  Darnuir drew up between the two empty stone holders, smiling as the warmth inside him let him know that all would be well; this was what he was meant to do.

  Blaine’s mouth fell open as realisation dawned on him. “Why are you so sure?
”

  “Because I believe the Gods are guiding me.”

  “They never have before,” Blaine said, with hurt in his voice. They never guided him before, he meant.

  “I’m not sure that was out of neglect,” Darnuir said. “Since gaining the Guardian’s Blade, I’ve felt their presence more. At Kar’drun it was greatest, but the Cascade is also strongest at Kar’drun. It’s the largest of the great mountains, after all. That’s why Rectar chose there in the first place, perhaps because it was the only place where magic was strong enough to fuel him and his plans. Aurisha sits on the ruins of a Principal Mountain and so its magic is far weaker. At Kar’drun I heard the voices of the Gods, as you must have on the Nail Head. Yet now I hear nothing. But they can reach out to me in other ways because of the Blades, because I am, like Brackendon was in Brevia, a conduit in an otherwise barren land.”

  “You worked this out alone?” Blaine asked.

  Darnuir gently shook his head. “I just know.” He took hold of both Blades and drew them in a single combined flourish, holding them over the stone holders. “You may want to step away. I have no idea what will happen.”

  Once Blaine was safely away, Darnuir drew in a breath. He held it and let the music in his mind reassure him. Then he plunged the Dragon’s Blade and the Guardian’s Blade down into the empty stone holders; the former before Dwna and the latter before N’weer.

  For a while, nothing happened.

  Then he began to feel it. The Cascade in its full glory, magic beyond comprehension, a world’s worth of power flowing in great currents towards Aurisha. A third door appeared in his mind, but he could not touch it. Nor could he reach for the other two and instead all three paths to the Cascade merged into one grand gateway, its opulent door covered in a language he did not understand. He could not touch this doorway either, yet it opened all the same, and beyond it the Cascade was not bubbling blue, but as smooth and golden as honey.

  In the physical world, Darnuir’s body went taut, his hands held fast onto the Blades as though welded on by a smith. Golden strands wove around his hands, then his arms, and soon his whole body. Orange strands followed, yellow, amber, and every shade of autumn leaves; bands of light moving like quicksilver to form at a point just beyond the Champion’s Blade.