The Dragon's Blade_Veiled Intentions

by Michael R. Miller

  Unto the dawn? I’m beginning to sound like Blaine.

  The response was comforting; each dragon roared their ascent to fight.

  “Rain stone upon them,” he said to a group of outrunners. They dashed off to inform the catapult crews. Four had been placed on the western edge of the plateau while the other two were stationed upon flat roofs facing south over the switch back road, down which the legions were already marching.

  Darnuir dashed to the head of the column, leading them into position. Halfway down the first road, he heard the clunk and whoosh as the catapults let loose their first loads. With the steepness of the plateau’s slope and the buildings all around him, Darnuir didn’t see the rocks land. But he did hear the demons’ death shrieks, and their hissing, howling and shrill, chilling cries as they grew closer.

  “Shield wall,” he ordered and the front ranks held their barriers with strong arms. The second row moved forward and raised their shields to cover the heads and shoulders of those at the front. All had short swords in hand for the crushing melee and stood ready as the first demons came scuttling into view at the bottom of the road.

  If the creatures felt tiredness they did not show it, running uphill with an enthusiasm of a routing army. Many tried to jump at the golden shields, failing, and tumbling back. But on they came and the battle was quickly upon the dragons.

  Weapons scraped like talons against shields, screeching with each strike and pricking the hairs on the back of Darnuir’s neck. Beyond the front wall of dragons, the demons piled up as they found their path blocked. They began leaping upon one another without concern until the tottering demons looked likely to hop over the shield wall.

  Darnuir twisted his torso then threw the Dragon’s Blade towards the boldest demons. Before he even saw the bloody results, he looked to the red-slated roofs above and cried, “Javelins.”

  His order was repeated throughout the legions. Dragons appeared with steel-tipped shafts in hand. In unison, they pulled back, held, and threw. Javelins ripped into the demons, spraying smoke and chipped bone. More followed, raining down like oversized arrows. But still the demons stacked upon each other, caring little about trampling their comrades underfoot. They seemed driven to overcome the shield wall at all costs.

  And many did.

  Darnuir met the first one with fist alone, cracking its chin to ruin with an upwards blow. The second to land near him was killed by the hilt of the Dragon’s Blade, caving into its skull as it returned to Darnuir’s hand. Yet more came. Darnuir gutted one, snapped the weak rusted sword of another, but quickly their numbers were overwhelming. Without resistance, they began savaging the shield bearers from behind. Bile rose in Darnuir’s throat as he saw his dragons fall within a swarm of hacking knives. Amidst the agonies of the dying dragons and the delight of the demons, calls for, “Next line forward,” were bellowed, and Darnuir found himself surrounded by a new shield wall.

  It will just keep happening.

  Through the gaps between the shields, he saw the demons scrambling up their extra few feet of hard-won road and begin the construction of a new body pile to climb. Crunches and cracks cut across the battle as those at the bottom of the heap were weighed down.

  Rectar must be forcing them on. Even the spectres would not do this.

  Darnuir shoved the Dragon’s Blade through a gap in the shield wall, skewering the already dead demons on the other side, and threw the door to the Cascade open. His head cleared, his arm tensed with the flow of energy and searing flames gushed from the Blade. He swept the immediate area in a wave of red fire. His exhausted body protested quickly under the strain of it. He closed the door over, leaving it open by a crack.

  He stumbled back from the shield wall, his vision a golden blur. The shredding, zipping sound of arrows passed by in both directions. One unfortunate dragon was taken in his left eye and Darnuir felt a flash of pain from the side of his neck. An arrow had ripped his skin. Another two arrows rebounded off the thinner plate around his forearm and he groaned from the bludgeoning.

  Even as his senses refocused, the second shield wall was being enveloped by the horde.

  Something had to be done.

  “Third wall,” he cried and a new line was dutifully formed. “Hold and step back on my order. Stay strong. Ready — Step. Step. Step.” The third wall took careful, but sure steps backwards, maintaining their defence. Demons scrambling up from the carnage of the second wall were caught off guard. Some tried to make the jump, fell, and rolled backwards, tripping others, and caught more in a gathering crush.

  The blockage granted Darnuir precious time.

  He tore back through his own ranks, praetorians hurrying to keep up as he made for the top of the final road before the summit. Somehow, the sun had set without him realising. Night had fallen and the city had begun to radiate its dim glow under the stars. The legate of the first legion met him.

  “My King,” he shouted, slamming a fist over his heart.

  “We’ll need to try our plan sooner than expected.”

  “Sir,” the legate yelled in understanding and moved with intent towards the buildings lining the edge of the road overlooking the assaulting demons. On top, the javelin throwers were still launching their attacks while the third shield wall began to falter.

  “Fall back,” Darnuir called. “Fall back to the plaza.” As word spread, the dragons began an orderly retreat. Those keeping the brunt of the demons at bay bravely held their shields high. If a gap appeared another dragon hastened to take his place. Step by step, they pulled back to Darnuir. “Hold,” he bellowed.

  And hold they did.

  The line steadied against the onslaught and the demons pressed forwards with a single-mindedness no free-thinking creatures could have, creating a new build-up of demons before the wall began in earnest.

  Darnuir held for long as he dared.

  The stack of demons grew.

  He held a little longer.

  A couple of demon heads appeared above the shields.

  “Now,” he roared with the enhanced power of the Cascade. His voice boomed loud enough to make the demons flinch. And from the building at the bottom of the incline, where the curve of the road turned down a level of the switchback road, dragons charged into the flanks of the demons. They formed fresh walls, three men deep, facing both towards the bulk of the horde and back towards Darnuir, trapping the demons stuck in-between. A second wave of dragons emerged from buildings all the way up the road. A full three-hundred-man cohort slammed into the demons like golden spikes.

  “Forward!” Darnuir cried, his voice cracking under the strain of the Cascade. He kept the magic flowing as he leapt over the wall of his men, crushing both demon and paved stone as he hit the ground. He cut down every demon within reach, embraced the blood pounding between his ears as the Dragon’s Blade burned white-hot. The smoke from his flames and the demon blood grew so thick it was almost blinding, yet through the haze the dragons pushed down the road.

  Darnuir left them well behind, working himself up into a bloodlust he hadn’t felt since their landing weeks ago. He half-slid his way towards his men at the bottom of the road, facing the entirety of the demon army. With a mad draw on the Cascade, he sprang over the new shield wall with the power of an unloading catapult.

  He sent the Dragon’s Blade flying on another murderous journey when he landed, letting fire lash freely from it. With his empowered muscles, he swept his arms and bowled demons over. One he missed, but the demon was close enough for him to headbutt. Its skull exploded in a shower of rusty bubbling blood. A splash entered Darnuir’s mouth and it was honey compared to the rancorous Cascade residue.

  He stood alone in front of the shield wall, awaiting the Dragon’s Blade. As the sword sliced its way back through the demons to his hand, the draining of the poison continued. Unrelenting, the demons swarmed forwards again. Darnuir blew his out his cheeks at them like a snorting bull. He raised his arm.

  But found couldn’t lift it passed
his shoulder.

  Something in him finally gave out.

  He froze. His legs were leaden and he couldn’t move. Dragons were around him immediately. Praetorians had fought there way out to his side, forming a defence around him. Some began pulling at his waist. Pulling him back. He let them and they hastened back behind their shield wall.

  Darnuir dragged himself back up the road. At the summit, he collapsed panting. Praetorians closed in and someone handed him a waterskin. Even Raymond was amongst them.

  “Our rocks bombard them,” Raymond said, “but it doesn’t disrupt their ranks. Shall we continue?”

  Darnuir swirled, gargled and spat. He sat up but remained bent over for a second, fighting back the urge to retch. “Nothing else we can do,” he said to the ground. His head was making a strong argument for detaching itself and dying peacefully elsewhere.

  “They aren’t going to flee this time, are they?” a Praetorian asked. He was one of the youngest and blood dripped from his left arm, which hung wounded and limp.

  “If that didn’t encourage them to back off nothing will,” Darnuir said. “It must have always been the spectres who felt the fear. Rectar controls them directly now. He won’t stop until all his demons are dead or we are.”

  The shield wall took another cautious step backwards, javelin throwers warned of dwindling supplies and the demon army began to laugh hauntingly as one; as if Rectar were relishing his victory through more than fifty thousand cackling creatures. Their laughter filled the night, filled the city and filled Darnuir’s ears.

  Survival seemed a distant thing.

  Lira – North of Aurisha

  Lira ran.

  Her legs screamed, her muscles burned, but she ran. She’d been running for so long she’d almost forgotten what it was to walk. Behind her, fourteen thousand dragons stampeded through the night.

  When the outrunners had reported that the demons had wheeled around, Lira had gathered the legates, hastily got their bearings and tore after them. It had been almost impossible to tell where they were in the dark but since finding the Crucidal Road, they had followed it south. It would lead them back to Aurisha.

  How long ago had that been? A few hours? It had all vanished into the grind.

  We should break soon or we’ll all collapse before even sighting Aurisha.

  But stopping a run like this would be tricky; if she suddenly stopped she’d only get trampled. So, she slowed her pace, very carefully, gradually, and the Praetorians near her slowed too, as did the legates, and eventually their speed was close to a human’s jog. She called a halt and, exhausted, the dragons wound down.

  “We should remove pieces of our armour,” she suggested to the legates assembling around her.

  “Lady Lira,” Quintin, Legate of the Fourth began, “we cannot weaken ourselves just to make the run easier.”

  “We’ll still have our shields and our strength, or what’s left of it,” Lira said. Quintin was a hulking figure and she craned her neck to speak to him.

  Another beefy legate spoke up. “We understand this is your first command but—”

  “But nothing,” Lira said. “Legate Quintin, you will refer to me as Praetorian Prefect. I outrank you and I say we strip our armour. This is a chase, not a lumbering march. If we don’t reach Aurisha quickly we’ll lose the King. Keep your breastplates if you feel the need but have the men strip their greaves, vambraces, gauntlets, anything unessential. With any luck, the spectres will turn tail if we smash their army in the rear. Well,” she added when no one moved. “Go. Now.”

  The legates exchanged looks before leaving to spread her orders. They did so begrudgingly, Lira knew. This had been her idea and it might have backfired. But there was no time to waste on worrying or pandering to the egos of old legates. She’d hit Darnuir across the face. The legates were nothing on him.

  She hadn’t expected this, of course, when she had left her mother behind to go join their people gathering in Val’tarra. Lira hadn’t thought she’d be made the head of Darnuir’s guard. She never thought she’d be shouting down dragons nearly three times or more her age. Yet here she was, the Praetorian Prefect, whether she could believe it or not, and Darnuir was in sore need of protection. She’d bring him his five legions, weakened as they were. She would do her job.

  Lira returned to the few Praetorians she had brought with her. It was a relief to sit and she unpacked her rations. The mutton was cold and chewy with fat, the bread hard. She’d never tasted anything half-so-good. A Praetorian nearby, Sabina, removed her boots to inspect the growing blisters, releasing a rancid smell of feet baked in days of sweat.

  “Don’t touch them,” Lira told her. “It’s tempting but you’ll only risk infection if you break the skin.” Sabina gritted her teeth miserably. “Eat,” Lira implored, “and elevate your feet if you want while we rest. It won’t make getting up again any easier, though.” Sabina took the advice, propping her legs on top of her ration pack and shield whilst she lay exhausted on the flat of her back. Wrinkled and swollen, her feet almost throbbed with bulbous green-yellow puss balls on her heels. Lira turned away, not daring to inspect her own feet. She wanted to keep her food down.

  I’ll have to remember to be more in awe of Damien in the future.

  After devouring every morsel, Lira began removing her armour and the Praetorians followed her lead. The pieces clunked one by one to the ground. She hesitated with her breastplate but took it off and breathed easier. All she wore was basic leather padding, britches and a white shirt; no protection at all. Hunter leathers would have been preferable. But this would get her to Aurisha with some energy left to fight, and that was all that mattered.

  She rubbed her eyes, fighting back a yawn.

  And mother used to worry I wouldn’t get tired enough during training and reveal I was a dragon. If you could see me now. I’m going back. I’ll find our old home.

  Lira rose with determination and within half an hour the legions were running again, less encumbered by armour and provisions. They had their shields, their swords and, for now at least, their will.

  When they reached Aurisha the demon army was pressing towards the bottleneck at the gates. It was impossible to say for sure whether they even noticed the legions approaching from behind. Some did, slowly. Fiery eyes began to turn to face Lira and move in her direction as the legions manoeuvred into a giant wedge formation. Distant sounds of a battle indicated Darnuir’s men were still alive. There was a slim chance. They had to take it.

  As the number of demons turning grew from a trickle to a substantial wave, Lira called for the charge.

  Sword out, shield raised, throat ragged from cheering, Lira was the first forward. Her legs wanted to buckle, her shoulders stung deeply at the joints but she ran. With the last scrap of her strength, she ran. This was it: the last great battle. And the ground shook, and the demons came on, and the dragons roared with such might as to be beasts of old once more.

  Lira hit the first demon so hard it burst. She hit the second just as hard, and the third harder. She careened into the meat of the demon host and none held under the fury of the legions’ thunderous boots. No demon withstood her until the momentum of the charge died. Lira felt herself slow as the press of the demons became thick and unyielding. Somehow, she found herself standing still and blocking attacks from angry shrieking demons.

  They haven’t broken. The realisation almost killed her.

  Dragons closed in around her, but they were now bogged down. Before long the dragons were falling and they were all taking a step or two back.

  It didn’t seem right.

  She scanned for shadows, anticipating spectres but none came. Only now she realised she hadn’t seen any spectres. None. Only demons, howling, laughing, squealing like frightened pigs but swarming like a nest of hornets. The dragons hadn’t even made it close to the walls. Lira assumed she and all around her were doomed. But she kept fighting.

  In the east, a red dawn broke to usher in a bloody day
.

  Darnuir – the plaza of Aurisha

  Darnuir slipped in blood pooling underfoot. Fresh red rivers flowed down the switchback roads, filling the air with a coppery stench. He watched demons enter each building on the final road, overwhelming the dragons there. His trick of feigning retreat to the plaza had worked a second time. It had not worked a third.

  Now he really had pulled back, but they could only retreat so far before the width of the plaza would stretch their formation too thin. And this was it. They could give no more ground.

  Darnuir remained at the front, all his focus directed on the next demon; the next demon; the one after. Time vanished. Nothing else mattered. Just the next foe. He’d heard his men cheering from far behind at some point but he didn’t know why.

  When it became too much, he stumbled back through the legions to catch his breath. He’d drawn on as little magic as he could, but the culmination of it hit him hard as he closed the door. He lurched towards a marble column, steadied himself with one hand, and then vomited behind it. He gasped as the acrid taste lingered. He peered worriedly at the back of his right hand. His skin had turned white but not yet black.

  Looking up, he found Praetorians close about him; fewer now than when the sun had set. Dawn had come without his noticing and towards the north he saw Lira’s legions surrounded, like a golden coin on a black field.

  Darnuir pointed to them. “When did they arrive?”

  “Just before daybreak,” Raymond said. “Yet they have the same problem as ourselves. Without the demons breaking—”

  “They’ll be swallowed up,” Darnuir said. The cruel fact was that Rectar did not need to keep his demons. Their final task would be to weaken the dragons if not outright kill them, softening them for this new threat warned of by Dukoona. He stared blankly out at Lira’s forces. The golden circle contracted with each heartbeat.