The dragons blade, p.1
The Dragon’s Blade, page 1
The Dragon’s Blade
Christopher Mitchell is the author of the epic fantasy series The Magelands. He studied in Edinburgh before living for several years in the Middle East and Greece, where he taught English. He returned to study classics and Greek tragedy and lives in Fife, Scotland with his wife and their four children.
By Christopher Mitchell
The Magelands Origins
Retreat of the Kell
The Trials of Daphne Holdfast
From the Ashes
* * *
The Magelands Epic
The Queen’s Executioner
The Severed City
Needs of the Empire
Sacrifice
Fragile Empire
Storm Mage
Soulwitch Rises
Renegade Gods
* * *
The Magelands Eternal Siege
The Mortal Blade
The Dragon’s Blade
The Prince’s Blade
* * *
Copyright © Christopher Mitchell 2020
Cover by Miblart
Map by Doug at Fantasy Map Symbols
Cover Copyright © Brigdomin Books Ltd 2020
Christopher Mitchell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems (except for the use of brief quotations in a book review), if you would like permission to use material from the book please contact support@brigdominbooks.com
Brigdomin Books Ltd
First Edition, October 2020
Ebook Edition © October 2020
ISBN 978-1-912879-42-7
For all the guys in my old team
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the following for all their support during the writing of the Magelands Eternal Siege - my wife, Lisa Mitchell, who read every chapter as soon as it was drafted and kept me going in the right direction; my parents for their unstinting support; Vicky Williams for reading the books in their early stages; James Aitken for his encouragement; and Grant and Gordon of the Film Club for their support.
Thanks also to my Advance Reader team, for all your help during the last few weeks before publication.
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Dramatis Personae
The Royal Family – Gods and God-Children
God-King Malik, Co-Sovereign of the City; Ooste
God-Queen Amalia, Co-Sovereign of the City; Tara
Prince Montieth, Recluse; Dalrig
The Royal Family – Demigods
Aila, Fugitive
Naxor, Former Emissary of the Gods
Marcus, acclaimed Prince of Tara
Kano, Commander of the Bulwark
Amber, Elder Daughter of Prince Montieth
Jade, Younger Daughter of Prince Montieth
Ikara, Governor of the Circuit
Lydia, Governor of Port Sanders
Doria, Courtier to the God-King
Vana, Prisoner of Prince Marcus
Mona, Chancellor of Royal Academy, Ooste
The Mortals of the City
Rosers
Daniel Aurelian, Young Militia Officer
Emily Omertia, Young Noble of Tara
Lord Chamberlain, Advisor to the God-Queen
Nadhew, Taran Lawyer
Dalrigians
Hellis, Grey Isle Captain
Reapers
Talleta, Servant
Icewarders
Yaizra, Convicted Thief
Evaders
Nareen, Co-owner of Blind Poet
Dorvid, Co-owner of Blind Poet
Bekha, Rebel
Blades
Maddie Jackdaw, Young Private
Rosie, Maddie’s Younger Sister
Tom, Maddie’s Older Brother
Hilde, Blade Captain
Quill, Wolfpack Sergeant
Hammers
Achan, Convicted Rebel
Torphin, Conscripted into the Rats
The Outsiders
Corthie Holdfast, Champion of the Bulwark
Tanner, Wolfpack Soldier
Buckler, Champion of the Bulwark
Blackrose, Prisoner
For printable maps, please visit:
www.christophermitchellbooks.com/printable-maps-eternal-siege
Please note - this book was written in British-English
Reference material on the Gods and the City can be found at the end of the book.
Contents
1. Hiding Out
2. No Name
3. A Last Lesson
4. Corporal Jackdaw
5. In the Pits
6. Greylin Palace
7. The Dress
8. Non-Essential
9. Whiteout
10. Life and Death
11. Acting
12. The Roadblock
13. The Straits
14. Seafood Diet
15. Law and Order
16. An Answered Prayer
17. Grey Isle Raiders
18. Uprising
19. A Little Scrap of Paper
20. The Bond
21. The Smuggler’s Cave
22. The Scent of Power
23. Night Blade
24. Beyond the Walls
25. Making Contact
26. Into the Snare
27. The Rat and the Wolf
28. Another Name
29. The Mask Slips
30. King-in-Waiting
Author’s Notes
The Magelands Series
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Chapter 1
Hiding Out
The Circuit, Medio, The City – 6th Marcalis 3419
Bekha shook her head, her eyes on the news sheet. ‘Lady Aila.’
Aila frowned. ‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ said Bekha; ‘I was just reading that there’s been no sign of her for a month, when every Blade in the City is hunting her. It’s like she’s disappeared.’
Aila glanced away. She had been hiding in the Circuit as Stormfire since her cousin Naxor had rescued her from Pella; living with a band of dissidents who were all wanted by the authorities for one reason or another. She glanced at Bekha, whose boots were up on the table as she read the news sheet.
‘I wonder if she’s dead,’ said the mortal. ‘That would explain it.’
‘Maybe she’s just resourceful.’
Bekha snorted. ‘Lady Aila wasn’t the worst of them by any stretch of the imagination, but she’s still a demigod and, deep down, they’re all the same. Arrogant, spoiled, entitled. I’d bet this Aila wouldn’t have the first idea of how to survive without all the comforts and wealth that have cushioned her life for so long.’
Aila narrowed her eyes. ‘But she’s been alive for nearly eight hundred years; she must have learned a thing or two.’
‘You’re the last person I thought would be defending them,’ said Bekha, raising an eyebrow.
‘I’m not defending them, I’m defending her,’ Aila said. She rubbed her face. ‘If she’s standing up to Duke… I mean Prince Marcus, then she’s fine by me.’
‘A lot of Evaders would disagree with you; the prince has restored order in the Circuit, and we’ve not had a riot since he took over. The place is actually starting to recover.’
‘Come on,’ said Aila; ‘he paid for the riots, and now that they’ve stopped, he’s taking the credit for bringing peace back to Medio? He set the whole thing up, and now he looks like a hero?’ She shook her head. ‘It won’t last. Once the ordinary folk in the City see that he’s only interested in power and helping his Roser lackeys, they’ll realise how good we used to have it with Khora in charge.’
Bekha stared at her. ‘Khora? Stormfire, are you feeling alright? For years, I’ve heard you say nothing but bad things about her, and now you’ve decided that she was actually all right?’
Aila felt a tight knot form in her stomach, and she looked away. While she was using her powers to appear as Stormfire, she knew that Bekha wouldn’t be able to see any tears if she cried, but she was determined to keep her composure.
‘Well?’ said Bekha.
‘At least Khora never sent Blades into the rest of the City.’
‘Most Evaders would rather have them in the streets than the Tarans. The best thing Marcus has done is to pull the Rosers out of the Circuit.’
‘Yeah, but where has he put them? In the fortresses along the Union Walls. Why?’
Bekha shrugged. ‘They needed to go somewhere.’
‘But why the Union Walls? It’s to keep the folk of Medio out of Auldan.’
‘Now you’re just being paranoid.’
‘No, you’re being naïve. Do you think the new Prince of Tara cares about the people of Medio? His government’s made up of Rosers who think Evaders are barely human. I’d have never put you down as gullible, Bekha, but I guess I was wrong.’
Bekha frowned, and went back to reading the news sheet. Aila glanced at her for a moment then sighed, her eyes drifting over the damp walls of the cellar. She watched as a spider dangled from its web in the corner of the room, and wondered why her powers wouldn’t allow her to appear as an animal. A massive scary spider or a roaring dragon might be a useful disguise to terrify people. It would also be handy to appear as a rock or a tree.
She shook her head. After a month of hiding in damp cellars amid abandoned slum housing, she was starting to fray around the edges. Unable to reveal who she really was, she had been given no opportunity to talk to anyone about Corthie, or about what had happened in Pella. Sometimes she felt as if it had all been a dream, and she often wished that were true.
The handsome champion that she had loved was being portrayed as the murderer of Princess Khora, and Lord Kano as the heroic warrior who had apprehended and executed Corthie for the horrific crime. The new authorities had produced evidence that appeared to show Khora conspiring to have him killed, and, thus, Corthie’s motive had been revenge. The most frightening aspect of Marcus’s re-writing of history was that so few people seemed to question it. It was neat, and simple. Apart from Aila and her brother Kano, only a handful of Blades that had been present at the time knew the truth. As Stormfire, Aila had forced herself to sit in silence whenever she heard someone repeat the official version of events, and the only way to do that had been to suppress the memories herself. Because of that, she had hardly wept, not for Corthie’s death, nor for Khora’s; as if she were in denial about everything that had happened or, as if it had happened to someone else.
‘Do you want a drink?’
Aila glanced up. Bekha’s news sheet was lying folded upon the table and the woman was looking at her.
‘What?’
‘A drink? Do you want one?’
‘I don’t know. Do I?’
Bekha shook her head. ‘What’s the matter? You’ve been in a mood for days.’
‘I’ve been stuck in here for a month; no wonder I’m in a mood.’
‘You’re not stuck in here. As far as I know, the Blades aren’t looking for you; you could get up and walk out any time you like.’
‘Are you throwing me out?’
‘Of course not; after everything you’ve done for us, you can stay as long as you like. But, if you don’t tell us what, or who, is chasing you, there’s nothing we can do to help.’ She sighed and put her elbows on the table. ‘Look, we like having you here, but you seem… different, Stormfire, so I can only think that something bad has happened to you.’
Aila nodded and tried to remain calm, but was squirming on the inside. Different? She thought she had been playing the role of Stormfire well, but over time her own personality had been coming to the surface in her less-guarded moments. She had never appeared as someone else for anything close to a month before, and the mental effort had exhausted her.
‘I’m here for you,’ said Bekha, ‘if you ever want to talk about it.’
A young man barged into the room before Aila could respond. He rushed over to the table where they were sitting, panting. ‘Blades are approaching.’
Bekha swung her boots off the table. ‘From which direction?’
The young man stared at her. ‘All of them.’
‘Malik’s ass. They’ve found us.’
Aila got to her feet. ‘We need to get out of here.’
Bekha remained silent for a moment, then nodded. ‘Go and get your things, then meet me at the gate by the canal.’
‘They’re coming that way too,’ said the young man; ‘there’s no time.’
‘Calm yourself,’ said Bekha, rising.
They went through to the adjoining room and climbed the steps to the ground floor of the ruined warehouse where they had been staying. A handful of other dissidents were by the top of the stairs, their expressions lined with anxiety. Twenty yards away, by a massive set of gates, another one of their number was standing, her face peering through the broken glass.
She turned. ‘They’re everywhere,’ she cried; ‘hundreds of them.’
Far off to the right, another gate was smashed in, its doors battered open, and soldiers started running through the entrance. The group of dissidents panicked, and began scattering. One shoved past Stormfire, nearly sending her flying back down the steps into the cellar.
‘Bekha,’ Aila said, grabbing her friend’s arm, ‘I can’t get caught.’
‘I don’t intend to get caught either,’ Bekha said, her eyes hardening. ‘Follow me.’
She bolted away through the warehouse as cries came from the soldiers. Aila raced after her, hearing another entrance being smashed in, and the sound of glass shattering over the concrete floor. Bekha sped into a row of offices and workshops, a layer of dust and debris covering the ground. Ahead of them, a squad of Blades burst through the doors, and Bekha skidded to a halt, then turned left. Aila rushed after her, and they came into a derelict toilet block at the back of the warehouse.
‘In here,’ Bekha cried, gesturing to a dank storeroom. They hurried inside and Bekha closed the door. ‘Where is it; where is it?’ she said, pulling boxes and crates to the side.
‘I can hear their footsteps,’ said Aila by the door as she watched Bekha turn the room upside down.
She shoved a heavy crate to the side, revealing a wooden hatch cut into the wall by the floor, then turned to glance at Aila. She put a finger to her lips, then pulled the hatch open.
‘We’ll need to squeeze through,’ she whispered, crouching down by the opening. ‘Follow me.’
She clambered through the small entrance, and Aila watched as her legs disappeared into the darkness. She heard the footsteps get closer and dived over to the corner of the room, climbing through the hatch. It was too narrow to turn in, so she eased the hatch door shut with her foot, plunging the tunnel into darkness.
‘Don’t stop,’ she heard Bekha whisper from the darkness in front of her.
Aila nodded, and began to crawl.
* * *
The next two hours were spent in utter darkness, as Bekha and Aila scrambled along a series of narrow drainage and sewage tunnels. For a while they could hear the sounds of pursuit, but they had faded slowly into the distance the further they had crawled. Aila’s clothes were wet, and stank, and her self-healing was continually patching up the abrasions on her hands and knees from the rough, concrete surface. As she was beginning to wonder if Bekha knew where they were going, she heard a loud splash ahead of her.
Aila paused, her hands feeling the ground in front of her in the darkness.
‘Watch out for the drop,’ said Bekha, her voice coming from below. ‘Wait a minute; I can get us some light.’
Aila heard the noise of someone wading through water, then a harsh creaking of metal. A grey light spilled into the tunnel and Aila squinted. The floor ended a yard ahead of where Aila was crouching, and below were concrete walls and a pool of water. Bekha was standing next to a grille in the wall, through which the dull light of evening was filtering. Aila crawled forward, then lowered herself; dropping the last few feet into the pool.
‘Where are we?’
Bekha peered out of the grille. ‘A canal by Ironbridge Fleshmarket. There’s a pavement right over our heads.’
