Something hummed nearby. “How bad is it?” asked Pel, landing beside them.
“Nicked an artery, I think,” Garon said. Marus rustled again, knocking Garon on the chin. His tongue jolted in pain and he tasted blood.
“Lift the material,” said Pel. She bent low and produced a small box like many fairy healers had carried at the Argent Tree. “This should stem the worst of it,” she said, dabbing a generous portion of a thick silver paste to the wound. Marus stopped thrashing.
“Dat will still need fixin’,” Ochnic said.
“He needs a surgeon,” Garon said, rolling off Marus. “Griswald,” he called, hoping the larger man could carry the dragon. “Griswald!”
But he did not respond. He did not even move.
“Griswald, da pack leader calls,” Ochnic said. Some moments passed before Griswald reacted. Hunched over Rufus, he rolled back his great shoulders, which looked like small snow drifts in his white leathers. At last, he walked mechanically over to them. One foot. Then the next. All in silence. He picked up Marus’ limp body and trudged off.
Pel’s face showed nothing; nothing that Garon could read at least. Without a word, she took off, beating wind back into Garon’s face with her wings. Then it was just himself and Ochnic. And the body. Poor Rufus lay as crooked as his nose.
“In da north, we burn our dead,” Ochnic said. “Der is no tellin’ what will happen if dey go into da ground.”
“What?” Garon said, his head spinning. “No. We bury them here. I’ll bury Ruf—” his voiced snapped. The word died. And then he felt a strong squeeze on his upper arm.
“Den I shall help you, Garon, pack leader.”
Chapter 2
HELPING HANDS
Aurisha and Dranus were brothers. Together they ruled the dragons, but a discord arose. Dranus thought magic would better serve the gods while Aurisha thought they should serve through faith. While Aurisha dwelt in solitude in the Highlands, Dranus contrived to speak to the gods themselves. He flew to what was then the largest of the Principal Mountains, where the city of Aurisha now stands. There he called upon the Cascade in such strength he managed to touch their minds. In doing so, he brought down their wrath.
From Tiviar’s Histories
Darnuir – The Crownlands
“NOT EVEN I could jump that,” Darnuir said, gazing out across the breadth of the River Dorain.
“Be a shame to waste time finding a bridge,” Brackendon said. “I’ll make one.”
“That won’t be too much magic at once for you?”
“Not with this,” Brackendon said, twirling his staff affectionately. Perhaps it was the magic in the silver wood, but its tip somehow shone diamond bright in the light. “Stand back,” Brackendon added.
The ground around them began to shake. Darnuir stepped away as instructed, returning to the rest of their company. Forty young dragons, the beginnings of his new personal Praetorian Guard, were refilling their waterskins in the river. Beside him, Lira, Prefect of the Guard, splashed some water into her own face. She sighed in relief as the cooling water hit her and pushed her ebony hair off her face.
“Have you caught your breath?” Darnuir asked.
“Enough, my Lord.”
He smiled and said softly. “Lira, what have I told you?”
“Darnuir, sorry, sir,” she said flustered. “I’m still not sure I feel right in addressing you by name alone.”
The vibrations in the ground intensified. Brackendon slowly raised his free hand and clumps of soil, grass, flowers, small stones and unfortunate insects orbited his extended palm. Then Brackendon brought his hand swooping down.
The earth fell into position; piece collapsing upon piece, creating a curving arch up and over the river. About halfway, Brackendon dropped his staff to raise his other hand, bringing in more earth to pad out the bridge to reach the opposite bank. When it was done, Brackendon swayed a little by the riverbank. His right arm shook and his knees wobbled.
Darnuir ran to his side. A lot of colour had left the wizard’s skin.
Damn it. I should not have allowed this.
To Darnuir’s relief, the wizard was fine. Brackendon snatched up his staff, and even chuckled lightly when he saw the look on Darnuir’s face.
“No need to look so panicked. I just required both hands for a moment.” His health was already returning to him. His skin brightened, his silver eyes sparkled although his hair remained short and grey, and his blackened hand would forever be damaged.
“Is that staff truly so powerful?”
“I have yet to find its limits.”
“Powerful enough to deal with Castallan?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Hmmm,” Darnuir mused. “You won’t be alone at least. I’ll—”
“Come nowhere near that fight. You’ll recall what short work I made of you back in Val’tarra?” Darnuir did. The cage of wind and taste of damp leaves was still vivid in his mind. “We should move on,” Brackendon added.
“Yes,” said Darnuir. He faced his budding Guard. “Over the bridge.” They hurried, three abreast, across the river. Once they were upon the other side, Darnuir heard a colossal splash. He glanced back to see Brackendon’s earthen bridge had vanished. He looked to Brackendon, who gave him a wink.
“You didn’t think that mud heap was stable on its own, did you? Eyes forward now.”
Darnuir retuned to face the Crownlands before them. It was the most heavily populated region of the human kingdom and the capital city of Brevia lay on the coast to the east. Darnuir had to get there with all haste. The sooner he got to King Arkus, the sooner humanity’s full strength could be summoned for the war to come.
First, we deal with Castallan, and then we scramble to counter this invasion Rectar is sending. We’re always a step behind.
He braced himself, sucked in a deep breath and yelled, “To Brevia,” before settling into a slightly uncomfortable run. Dragon or no, his new kingly golden armour, trimmed with starium stone, was thick and heavy. The carved bestial dragon that draped over his shoulders felt particularly heavy and made it sorely tempting to draw on Cascade energy, to creek open the door in his mind and let a small current through. A wandering hand inched towards the hilt of the Dragon’s Blade and it was with some effort that he withdrew it. He had drawn on plenty during his duel with Scythe at the Charred Vale and his body had made him aware of it the following day. The cut he had taken on his leg throbbed gently and the bitter aftertaste of the Cascade still lingered in his mouth, no matter how many sips of water he took. He settled for grunting loudly.
“Are you alright?” Brackendon asked.
“For now. Come, let us concentrate on running.”
And run they did. On and on and on, across green fields, past towns and villages. They generally tried to keep clear of people, but it wasn’t easy to hide forty running dragons. Not when they hurtled by, scattering livestock and causing farmers’ dogs to bound after them, barking at their heels. They took what roads and paths they could for the sake of speed. Hurried stops to take a bite of their limited food or fill up their waterskins was all the rest they took. They ran some more. Even at night they carried on, being able to see better in the dark; forty twinkling pairs of eyes picking up the light that spilt from Brackendon’s staff. They drove on until the earliest signs of dawn came upon the world.
Dew covered grass wet Darnuir’s boots and a fresh day filled his nostrils. He breathed it in deeply, as if the air could clean him from the inside out. At the first sign of real light he heard the many feet behind him slow to a stop.
“Is something wrong, Damien?” came Lira’s voice. Darnuir thought she sounded more confident in front of her charges, which was good. He turned to see what the matter was.
The outrunner Damien stood by Lira, looking a little anxious. Unlike the rest of the dragons, he was barefoot, wore looser linens for comfort and was in better control of his breathing. For an outrunner, a run like this was second nature.
“It is dawn, my King,” Damien said. “Will we not stop in reverence to D’wna?”
Darnuir did not understand D’wna, nor any of the gods that Blaine held service for. He hadn’t in his past either. It was one of the few consistencies that spanned both his lives.
“I do not follow the Way of Light,” Darnuir said, keeping his tone neutral. He did not wish to offend Damien, but he had not known the outrunner was a believer in the old ways.
“You… don’t?” Damien asked, looking around as if to check he had heard correctly. When Lira and the Praetorians did not look shocked, he turned back. “I only thought… as king… your father always—” but he stopped there, cautious perhaps on how far he should go.
“Draconess, yes, he did believe,” Darnuir said. “I have some memory of that. My old self thought it was what brought the dragons such hardship. He – that is to say – I felt my father spent too much time on his knees; saying words rather than taking action. I admit I am ignorant of the gods of our people. Yet my father spoke to them every day and under him our kind were forced from our lands, our city and our homes; nearly wiped from the face of the world.”
“There is truth in what you say, sire,” Damien said.
“If you wish to take a moment, please do,” Darnuir said, gesturing with open hands. “I will not rebuke those who follow Blaine’s way. Who am I to judge? I’ve only known that I am a dragon for months, not even years. I don’t want division, and I certainly do not want to cause one amongst my own people.” He made sure to look over to his new Praetorians, catching a few in the eye. “But I am not going to start saying praise either, especially when these gods never seem to answer back.” He was pleased to find that Damien did not look disheartened.
“I was never fully convinced by the old ways,” Damien said. “Though some say it is our lack of faith that has gotten us here.”
“Gotten us where? On the way to Brevia?” Darnuir said. “I believe that Brackendon saved me, not some god. I believe Blaine saved us at Torridon by gathering the dragons. I believe in everyone here and we cannot rely on a greater power to save us.”
“If we abandon the gods, what will we do?” Damien asked.
“We must forge a new way. All of us. Dragon, fairy and human together. Will you help me, Damien?”
“I watched you charge into an entire demon army alone and come out alive. Of course, I shall follow you.”
Brackendon cleared his throat loudly. “I might point out that, apart from me, it is only dragons here.”
“For now, that is how it must be,” Darnuir said. “Humanity is divided. Castallan has poisoned the minds of many against dragons. With the memories I have now, and after seeing how our elders talk about humans, it is small wonder. How can we expect anything to change if we will not? You are not just my new guard. I hope you will be the new symbol of our people. A bright new future, free from old hatred and prejudice.” He hadn’t meant this to become a speech but it felt right.
“My father married a human,” one called out.
“My mother and I were saved and taken in by humans,” said another.
Lira spoke next. “I would never have been granted this position, were it not for you. Humans allow their women to be captains and hunters. Why not us? We’re all in your debt, Darnuir.” The other young women amongst his Praetorians nodded along at that.
“There is no debt you owe me for that,” Darnuir said. “Let’s continue. We have paused for long enough.”
They ran on.
By the second evening, Darnuir’s lungs and legs were beginning to give. At least he thought it was the second evening. His mind felt muddled and he blinked fiercely in the dying light. It felt like nails were driving into his feet and knees with each step. It was far worse than the run from Torridon, what with this armour and their lack of proper breaks. At least then they had taken shifts, and gotten food and sleep.
A large inviting barn lay on a quaint estate ahead. It looked warm, homely and big enough to house them all. As his thoughts drifted towards the comfort of sleep, his legs stopped moving of their own accord. His mouth was dry, yet he felt sweat under the armour of his arms and torso.
“Something the matter?” Brackendon asked. The wizard looked and sounded perfectly fine.
“I think I’m done,” Darnuir said, a little breathless. A series of loud gasping and coughing came from behind them. “I think we’re all done.”
“We should rest for a while.”
“Think anyone is in?” Darnuir asked, pointing towards the little farmhouse by the barn. “It looks quiet.”
“I don’t imagine the farmer will try to stop you.”
“Unless he has a host of red-eyed men hidden in that barn.”
Brackendon shrugged. “We’ll find out. None of you can continue like this.”
Feeling utterly spent, Darnuir agreed.
As Darnuir lead his Praetorians to the farmhouse, he caught sight of an old woman staring gormlessly at them. When spotted, her eyes popped and she snapped her wooden shutter across the window, as if this would make Darnuir forget she existed. He thought, therefore, that there would be no need to knock on the door with the chipped orange paint. But no one came to greet them.
Anger began to coil within him, gathering like a clot around that piece of his old self he had taken from the rubies of the Dragon’s Blade. He pushed the feeling down.
Darnuir knocked lightly upon the door.
Nothing.
Huffing, he knocked again. This time a little harder.
No one answered but he heard voices this time.
“They’re at the door, Walt.”
“I gathered that, Belinda dear.”
“Don’t open it!”
“If they’re here to rob us or kill us then a door will hardly stop them.” There was another muffled and hurried exchange. Then, at last, the door creaked open and half a face peered at Darnuir from the other side. The man’s skin was brown and leathery – evidence of years toiling in the field. “Hello,” he said.
“Please, there is no need to be afraid,” said Darnuir.
“No?” gulped the man, presumably Walt. “Dragons, yes?”
“All of us except for my friend Brackendon, here. Though he is a wizard.”
“A wizard?” Walt said, rather highly.
“My name is Darnuir, King of Dragons. We’ve run long and hard, and recently fought an army of demons. I’d like to speak with the owner of this estate, if you could point us—”
“I’m the owner,” said Walt. “Foulis, is my name. Walter Foulis. You might have heard of my family?”
“I’m afraid I cannot say that I have,” said Darnuir. “But if you would allow my Praetorians and I to take shelter in your barn for the night, you would be doing us a kindness.”
“I… I err, well,” Walt stammered. “I shall, um, just check with my wife.” And he disappeared, leaving the door ajar. A squeak of a whisper soon followed.
“Check with me? No, no, no. Just say it’s fine – it’s fine and maybe they’ll leave us—”
The door opened a fraction more and the full face of Walter Foulis appeared.
“The barn, you said? Yes, I think that should be fine.”
“My thanks to you,” Darnuir said.
“But it ain’t perfect,” Walt qualified. “Holes in the roof, and some of the bays are cluttered.”
“That won’t be an iss—” Darnuir tried to say.
“And part of the enclosure nearby is broken, so we had to move the sheep into the barn,” Walt rambled on.
“It need not be luxurio—”
“I admit to not being able to afford the repairs, but it isn’t the first shame brought on my family. It’s been impossible to find extra manpower since the King called up all able-bodied men to fight.”
“All of them?” Darnuir said. “King Arkus has taken every man?”
“Those who can hold a spear or pull a bow,” Walt said.
“He has,” ca
me the voice of his wife. The door was jerked wider, the little woman seeming to have found her spirit. “All of them. All the boys from all our tenants and they’ve had it hard enough already, just like everyone. So many, called up to fight again. Fight your battles,” she added pointing a shaking finger at Darnuir.
“Belinda,” Walt said, aghast.
Darnuir was unsure of the pair. As they had a family name and tenants, they must have been some minor nobility, although very, very lowly judging from their surroundings. Whoever they were, they were angry with both himself and Arkus. That gave Darnuir an idea.
“What your own King does or does not do is no fault of mine,” Darnuir said. “But perhaps a deal can be struck? I have many strong dragons with me. We could fix your barn, your enclosure and other small jobs in exchange for a place to rest and a hot meal, if you can spare the food?”
“You – what?” Belinda began, evidently caught off guard by the offer.
“We shall earn our keep,” said Darnuir.
“They are quite handy,” added Brackendon.
“Oh, well that’s very generous of you, my Lord Dragon,” Belinda said, completely taken aback, her cheeks growing a shade pink.
“Very gracious indeed, my Lord,” said Walt. He made a clumsy bow. “We thought that… well, it doesn’t matter.”
Darnuir smiled at the couple. “Perhaps you could show us what needs doing?”
Despite their fatigue, the Praetorians set to work within the hour. Some hammered up on the barn’s roof, others repositioned the stakes of the enclosure’s fence, and the heavy clutter in the barn itself was cleared. The hardest task was given to Lira, who attempted to encourage the shorn sheep back into their pen, but the animals ran enthusiastically in any direction but the open gate.
“A good farm dog might have served better,” Brackendon said.
“You could help,” Darnuir said.
“As could you.”
“Yes, but I want to speak to you about Castallan. You keep saying it is a fight I must stay out of. But there must be something I can do? Surely you cannot duel him alone.”
Brackendon frowned. “Your kind aren’t suited to magic. That sword of yours might process the Cascade quicker than a hundred staffs for all I know, but the energy is a poison, and dragons are made weak by it. There’s a reason you can’t handle your ale.”
The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions Page 3