“Yes,” she said.
Raymond nearly fell over again as he scrambled to his feet. “Yes?” he croaked. “You will?”
Lira kissed him.
“Yes, I’ll stay.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Grigayne said. “But we really must go.” Then in a softer tone he added. “Captain Cayn can officiate things for you on the voyage west, if you like?” Raymond and Lira’s cheeks turned so red they might have been branded. Grigayne threw Darnuir a wink.
Darnuir watched Raymond and Lira standing hand in hand, grinning stupidly at each other, and his own heart soared. Here was a glimmer of hope that he had not been mad to dream, that he had not utterly failed. It was all Arkus. He’d turned down a path without thought of returning, and that was all on him. It could have been so different. Perhaps it still could be.
“You better go,” Darnuir said. “And anyone else who desires to remain in this world may do so. I give you free rein.” Some dragons did join Lira, mostly the younger Praetorians who might have had family in the west like her, or who did not feel the need to pass beyond, unlike the older dragons, worn and weary of a battle-scarred life.
Raymond got back upon Bruce and the great warhorse whinnied, rearing onto its hind legs as though saluting the dragons marching passed. Lira and those leaving with her gathered beside Raymond, and then, with a final encouraging nod from Darnuir, they set off. Grigayne swept away too, giving a bow as he did so.
Blaine appeared to be taking the distraction as an opportunity to say farewell to Chelos, and Darnuir jerked his head to bring the wizened dragon over. He’d almost forgotten.
“Am I to leave with the humans?” Chelos asked quietly.
“No,” Darnuir said. “Sending you west will likely be your death, and I meant it when I said I wished no more of that for dragons. You may join our people through the portal, though you do not deserve it.”
Chelos visibly fought back tears. He gulped and found his voice. “Thank you, my King.”
“It isn’t fair that you should escape some justice,” Darnuir said. “But who knows what awaits us on the other side. Perhaps these Gods will judge you for themselves.”
Chelos shuffled off, and with a final hug from Blaine, the old steward of the Royal Tower stepped into the golden light and disappeared.
And so, it was just Darnuir and Blaine left to watch over the last of the dragons in Aurisha. And as the day turned to a crimson sunset, and distant cannons began to boom, Darnuir stood his ground. At some point Blaine had moved to be by his side, though he could not say when that had occurred. They’d stood in silence too, for what more was there to say?
His heightened senses picked up humans shouting from the lower city, then the switchback road; thousands of feet pounding the city streets, reverberating through the plateau. Thankfully, the last dragons were entering the portal.
“You should go too,” Darnuir said to Blaine. “You’ve earned rest.”
“Is that what we’ll find?”
“I dearly hope so.”
“And you’ll follow behind?” Blaine said.
Darnuir nodded, yet doubt spiked inside him, cutting even through the satisfying haze brought on by the perfect processing of the Cascade. There might still be dragons in the Highlands, those he had sent with Garon and Ochnic on their mission. Could he abandon them? They did not have the choice to leave or stay, and what sort of world was he giving them. As Guardian, his duty was over. As King, he arguably had work to do.
Blaine seemed to sense his dilemma. “I think you have earned rest as well.” He stepped closer and embraced Darnuir. “Whatever you choose, it will be the right choice. And I will have been privileged to have known you. Thank you, Darnuir, for helping me find peace after I’d despaired for more than a lifetime.”
Darnuir had no words. He felt like Blaine could be right.
Not so distantly, he heard humans entering the plaza.
Blaine took a few good breaths to stir himself, then finally turned and walked towards the spiralling light, his head held high.
And Darnuir was left alone.
His heart beat in rhythm with the boots of human soldiers. He had a choice to make, but really, he’d made it already, hadn’t he? He didn’t want to fight and staying behind would mean more fighting. Blood was bound to spill whatever he did. As Guardian he’d banished the Shadow, yet as King he’d failed to lead his people to a better future. Perhaps, for those who had stepped beyond, things would be better now. He’d like a respite as well, and if he could, find out who he was under all the deaths and memories and burdens.
The humans were running now, heading straight for the Basilica.
Quite steady, Darnuir released his grip first from the Guardian’s Blade, and then the Dragon’s Blade.
A clank reached him. A hundred flintlocks being primed.
The spiralling portal was already ebbing.
Darnuir closed his eyes, and without seeing, without knowing what would happen, he leapt through the air towards it.
Chapter 42
ALWAYS, DER IS HOPE
“At the end of every era we find the seeds of the next.”
— From Tiviar’s Histories
Cassandra – The Hinterlands – Tuath
PURPLE OUTLINES OF highland mountains sat against a blazing northern sky, every cloud reflecting the dying embers of a warm spring day. Cassandra stopped to drink in the view, huffing from their strenuous march. Already the smell of pine drifted down from the highlands. It was fresh and clean, and precisely what she desired from this part of the world.
Another new beginning.
A keen-eyed dragon at the head of their ragged column came back with reports of hunters coming down the road ahead. Cassandra and Oranna calmed him, sure that it would be Romalla’s men.
For once their hopes were not dashed. Romalla met them on the road with some supplies and fifty hunters to help lighten their loads and escort them to the edge of the town of Tuath.
That night, the dragons, nearly dead on their feet, gained some much needed rest. Cassandra walked among them, her spirits lifted by the sparks of life that had returned to many of the young children’s eyes, dolling out what food there was. Their hope was infectious.
As she finished her loop of the new camp, baskets empty, Romalla beckoned her to join her. The Hinterland Captain brought her to a private meeting on the banks of the River Dorain. A single table sat under a canvas cover, with half-drunk goblets of shimmer brew. Romalla mentioned she would return shortly and dashed off.
Lord Clachonn was already present, comforting Oranna who was still not old enough to be beyond crying onto her father’s shoulder.
As it transpired, the tears were not all shed for past events.
“I’m sorry,” Lord Clachonn told Cassandra. “I simply can’t shelter you or your nephew. Having my daughter flee back home in a state of grief is one thing, hiding dragons amongst my towns, my private guards, my keep, is doable; yet I cannot foster the heirs to the human throne without repercussions.”
Cassandra’s throat went dry. “No one need know who we are.” Even as she said it, she knew it was no good.
To his credit, Clachonn looked downcast. “Cullen could perhaps grow up in secret. Possibly. But too many people know you now. If you could be parted from him, then we could take that course.”
Cassandra stared at her toes, the fresh buoyancy she’d been feeling of late deflating in a moment. So, she was to abandon what family she had. And she would, if pressed. She’d rather not be parted with either Oranna or Cullen, but if it was the difference for him between a good life or the risk of death on some open road, then it was no choice at all.
“Father,” Oranna said hoarsely, emerging from her sobbing. “You promised Cass could stay with us. She left Brevia under that impression.”
Clachonn’s expres
sion hardened. “I did it in the hope it would spur you to leave. I would have had us leave quietly had she not come to us that day. But I knew you wouldn’t go without her then. You are my life, Oranna, and if my honour and word is besmirched in securing your safety from that lunatic then so be it.”
“Don’t force me to part with something else,” Oranna urged.
Clachonn gulped, clearly struggling. “I’m sure… I’m sure Cassandra understands.”
Cassandra nodded, fighting hard to rein in her panic and sorrow. Clachonn smiled weakly and took his leave.
Oranna gave a great sniff. “I’m so sorry. We’ll figure out what to do for you. Do not worry – do you hear me?” She sounded desperate. Cassandra nodded again, and the Queen hugged her tightly. “I’ll keep at him,” she said, then she too left.
Cassandra stood in a daze. The slap and trickling churn of the river was soothing. If she focused on it and nothing else, then it didn’t feel so bad. Whether a minute passed or ten, she didn’t know, but tingling pins and needles in her feet compelled her to move.
She drifted to the table, checking if there was still fresh brew available. There was none. She considered the half-drunk goblets then poured the remains into a single cup and threw it back. Cassandra had never drunk cold brew before and understood now why no one else did. Wincing, she felt the little kick hit her and it temporarily blotted out her darkening mood.
Atop the pile of parchment was a sheet of scrawled notes, just a line or two about the numbers of those fleeing from Brevia. The rest of the sheet was blank. The quill sat on the top right corner, dripping ink. It looked remarkably like the Tarquill symbol. With any luck, she’d never have to see one of those pamphlets again. How many would Arkus print off to justify what he’d done? Would he even need to bother justifying it? Would anyone know the truth?
A sudden compulsion came over her. She picked up the quill, dipped it into the ink well, and wrote:
I’m going to write it down. Everything that’s happened.
She knew she didn’t know the whole story, but as fairly, as accurately as possible, she’d try her best. Arkus certainly wouldn’t tell the truth, so someone ought to. Before she knew it, Cassandra had covered nearly all of the parchment in her rambling thoughts, each word a small release of her anxiety.
She was so enthralled, she had not noticed anyone approaching her, and only looked up when she heard a thud on the damp grass beneath the nearest tree.
“Ochnic?” she gasped. “What are you doing here?” She was sure it was the troll she’d met back in Val’tarra. He had the same white fur jerkin across his torso, the same ice blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through her, and a leather satchel thrown over his shoulder, although this one was clean and new. The greater difference was the strip of dark red and green tartan, wound from shoulder to waist and pinned at the top with a clump of heather and thistle.
“It is I, Cassandra. Though it is Chieftain Ochnic, now. Much has changed.”
A thousand questions raced through Cassandra’s mind but all she asked was, “What are you doing here?”
“Romalla, Hunter Captain, told me der was a meetin’. I ran ahead.”
Just then, a squawk came from above and Cassandra found an eagle with white-tipped feathers perched on a thick branch. It flapped its wings enthusiastically and snapped its beak. Relief surged through Cassandra as Kymethra landed and transformed a few paces from Ochnic.
Ochnic jumped back. “A true shifter of shapes. These things have not been seen in da north for many lifetimes.”
Kymethra squinted at him. “Ah, it’s you. You were at that war council in Val’tarra. Erm…”
“Chieftain Ochnic, of de—”
“Yes, that’s it,” Kymethra said, turning away from the bowing troll to face Cassandra. “What? You looked shocked to see me.”
“You came back,” Cassandra said. She could hardly believe it.
“The fairies will take good care of Brackers. Besides, this Pel wouldn’t stop badgering me; half-dragged me out the Argent Tree.” Kymethra smirked then winked at Cassandra’s reaction. Cassandra laughed in relief and moved to hug her. Kymethra was taken aback but returned it warmly.
Moments later, a young fairy flyer landed in their little group. She was all lean muscle and energy, with a double-bladed spear upon her back and violet eyes popping in excitement. She held what appeared to be a dirty, silver strip of wood up to Ochnic.
“A silver root,” Ochnic said in awe. “Pel, fairy friend, where did you find dis treasure?”
“Val’tarra’s full of silver trees, Och. I thought you’d like it.”
Ochnic reached out for the root as though it were an injured lamb. “Dey say such roots will take again in the thinnest soil and bear fruit all year.”
Pel nodded sagely. “We’ll plant it the moment we get back. And with the extra magic in the highlands just think of how big it will grow.” Pel only then noticed Cassandra was there. “Oh, hello there. Who are you exactly?”
Cassandra was spared answering by yet another arrival. Garon, for she recognised him, emerged at a run from the woods to join them. Upon reaching the group, he bent over double and fought for breath. Ochnic made as though to aid him but Garon raised a finger to ward him off.
“Just… just a moment.”
“You push yourself too hard, Garon, Kazzek Friend.”
Garon righted himself though his face was purple as a beetroot. His black beard was thicker now but otherwise he looked much the same. “You know I feel left out when you run off like that, Och. Besides, can’t get soft and let Marus beat me when we return.”
Pell rolled her eyes. “He’s got a maimed leg.”
“And he’s also a dragon so that makes it even,” Garon said. He too now noticed Cassandra. “Nice to see you again. I hear you’re a princess now?”
“Technically,” Cassandra said. “But I’m trying to get away from all of that.”
“Cosmo’s little sister,” Garon said. “Who would have thought? Where is he these days anyway, out east with Darnuir, I reckon. Guess I have a lot to catch up on?”
Cassandra hesitated. She didn’t relish the idea of breaking his heart. “There is much to discuss, yes.”
“Well, we’ll have plenty of time for that,” Garon said.
“We will?” Cassandra asked, now thoroughly dazed by the company she was in. For a moment there she’d forgotten her plight, but she hardly had time for idle chatter if she was to find Cullen and herself a new home.
Garon nudged Ochnic. “Go on, tell her.”
Ochnic puffed his furry chest. “We come bearin’ news. News from Rohka Chief of Chiefs. Da kazzek will no longer hide from de world. We owe our lives ta others and all are now welcome ta join us in da north.”
“Really?” she exclaimed. The Highlands were as far away from Brevia as she could get.
“Really, really,” Garon said. “Mission accomplished I dare say.” He raised an eyebrow at what must have seemed her overenthusiasm and looked to Pel and Kymethra as if enquiring about her state of mind.
Cassandra didn’t care. Grinning wildly, her cheeks felt flushed and she was nearly in tears from the joy. She had been so afraid of being alone again, but felt foolish to think that Kymethra would leave or Oranna would be so cold. There was hope. There was a lot more hope in her life now.
Ochnic cocked his head quizzically. “Dis pleases you?”
“Yes, Ochnic,” she said. “It pleases me very, very much.”
EPILOGUE
GREEN LIGHT. There was so much of it. Dukoona wondered what it was, and where he was. He seemed to be moving, though he did not feel air against him. There was no resistance. He just flew along through this blinding green, as he had done before Rectar summoned him.
But this time, he was not alone.
Other spectres appeared beside him, under
him, over him; he looked behind and saw that more were following. There was Kidrian to his right, laughing merrily as he flew, his lost limb now restored. To his left, Dukoona saw a spectre both familiar and yet new. It had Sonrid’s features, though complete and whole, as they should have been, with a mane of orange flames and a full body, neither hunched nor broken. Sonrid, for that is who it must be, beamed at him as well.
After a time, though how long Dukoona could not reckon, the green light abated. He entered a darkness, deeper and more complete than the caverns of Kar’drun. Was this to be the end of his kind? An eternal blackness for fighting against their creator?
More time passed. It might have been a second, a year, a month, or forever, but light began to flicker again. Tiny specks, like stars against a clouded sky. He thought it might really be stars, thousands of them, growing ever brighter, and between them, smaller lumps that looked like rock, some green, some blue, and some both.
He pivoted and found he swung around weightlessly. Behind him was the deep darkness, the edge of which grew more distant. He swivelled again and saw a pulsing pure light, a strand of its golden brilliance recoiling from the closest blue-green rock. A writhing part of the utter darkness was pulling away as well, leaving it stranded in the middle between the shadow and the light.
He noticed there were many things between the borders of those two forces.
He and his spectres included.
There was no commanding voice this time, no Master tethering him or controlling him.
And so, in this void between worlds, where time had no meaning, Dukoona soared: finally, he was free.
******
You’ve finished book 3! That’s it. The trilogy is complete. I hope you’ve enjoyed this series as much as I did in writing it.
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