The Coin of Kenvard
Joseph R. Lallo
2020 © Joseph R. Lallo
Cover by Nick Deligaris
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
From the Author
Prologue
The Northern Alliance was an icy place. Even in summer, all but the southern fringe wore a heavy blanket of snow. In the freshly rebuilt palace of New Kenvard, that cold was a distant memory. Near as it was to the southern border of its land, the capital enjoyed that rarest of things for denizens of the Northern Alliance: a green summer. Even in the harshest of blizzards, though, the home of Myranda and Deacon would have been a place of warmth, happiness, and love. It was home.
Myranda turned the page in a thick book. By now, she knew the story by heart, but the daily ritual called for the book, and far be it from her to argue with tradition.
“‘And so Gilliam raised his hands and conjured a rope of glimmering light,’” Myranda read in a spirited voice. “‘He slid down the rope into the mysterious valley. Wind stirred the leaves of the five trees before him. They were massive, far larger than they had appeared from above. He heard laughter and coaxing voices from within the circle, but he saw nothing but ice and the trickle of a meager stream. It was a magical place. Of that, there could be no doubt. But what sort of magic?’”
As she spoke, an audience of two stared up at her from the floor. The first was Deacon. He sat cross-legged, and on his lap and wrapped in his arms was the second. A young boy, not yet two years of age. He had the vivid red hair of his mother and the keen, interested gaze of his father. He hung on his mother’s every word as she read.
“‘When he was near enough, Gilliam could feel the power of the tree. There was more to this valley than mortal eyes could comprehend. Finally, he would set foot within the ring. Finally, he would learn what was inside.’”
She snapped the book shut. “And so will we. Tomorrow.”
“Nuh!” objected a tiny voice.
“Leo, today is a very important day. You’ve had your story, but you are a prince and you have certain duties,” Deacon said. “You will have more of the story tomorrow.”
“Nuh!”
Myranda sighed. “He’s got your thirst for knowledge.”
“Gilliam spins a fascinating tale,” Deacon said.
“I’d not realized your former gray master was so skilled in storytelling.”
“There are those who claim it was his only skill. Half of the lessons he taught in the early days were wrapped in some half-fabricated tale of his supposed exploits that he borrowed from myth or legend.”
“Regardless of their origin, Leo can’t get enough of them. Something tells me in a few months we’ll be answering endless questions.” She thumbed at the pages of the book again. “Father hasn’t come for us yet. There’s a bit more time. Perhaps one more chapter…”
“No, no,” Deacon said, hefting the boy from his lap to turn him face-to-face. “Discipline, Leo. You are an heir to the throne of Kenvard. You must learn discipline. Sometimes that means having to wait for the end of a story. We have very important business this evening.”
“Nuh!” Leo pointed a pudgy finger at the book.
“How about the game? Hmm? Would that do?” Deacon offered.
“Game!” Leo replied.
The little boy toddled a few steps away and turned, eagerly looking to his father now. Deacon fetched an egg-shaped bit of amber crystal from his pocket and clutched it tightly in his left hand.
“Look closely now. What is this?” he said.
Deacon stirred the air. Feathery wisps of light swirled together. They coalesced into a radiant form, a sleek, elegant dragon.
“Myn!” Leo said, clapping his hands.
“No, it is a dragon, and Myn is a dragon, but this is a different dragon. Myn is red, and this dragon is—”
“Myn, Myn, Myn,” Leo insisted, pointing at the illusory dragon.
“No, no. This dragon is green. Not every dragon is Myn,” Deacon said patiently.
A steady thumping beyond the palace wall made the ground tremble. The shuttered window darkened as something outside blocked the light. Myranda smirked.
“You knew it was going to happen,” she said.
A soft scratch popped the shutter open. With a jangle of askew jewelry, a gleaming red reptilian snout poked inside.
“Myn!” Leo announced, pointing to the dragon who had heeded his call.
The dragon pulled her snout free and angled her great golden eye against the window to scan the inside.
“He is fine, Myn. Deacon is just playing the game,” Myranda assured the faithful beast.
Myn glanced to the illusion Deacon had summoned. Her expression brightened.
“Garr,” the dragon said. Though the creature had spoken at a near whisper, her deep voice echoed through the room.
“Gah! Gah! Gah!” Leo said.
“Please, Myn. Leo is supposed to answer on his own,” Deacon reprimanded.
The dragon gave him a hard look, then haughtily pulled away and slammed the shutter.
“I think she likes our boy more than she likes you,” Myranda whispered.
“I’ve never been very high on her list of affections.” Deacon focused on Leo again. “But Myn was right. This is Garr. Garr comes from the south. From Tressor.”
“Gah,” Leo repeated.
“And what is Garr?” Deacon asked.
“Duck.”
“No, Leo. Dragon.”
“Duck.”
“He is a dragon. Just like Myn.”
Leo waddled over to the illusion and bent low to inspect it. After a few moments of consideration, he pointed at the green, scaled creature and looked Deacon in the eye.
“Duck,” he affirmed.
“… We’ll try another one. Who is this?”
The light splashed away and reformed, this time assembling into an elegantly dressed creature with foxy features.
“Ivy!” Leo peeped.
“That’s right. And what color is Ivy’s dress?”
“Boo.”
“Blue is right!” Deacon said.
He leaned forward to his boy and gently pressed the gem into the toddler’s hands. Rather than risk the boy dropping the powerful mystic focus, Deacon held Leo’s hands on either side.
“Now, Leo. Can you show me green?”
“Geen,” Leo said, looking his father in the eye.
“No. Feel the crystal and show me green.”
Leo blinked at his father. He looked to the crystal. A candle flame of a glow flickered ever so briefly in the heart of the gem. It faded as quickly as it appeared. Leo tugged one hand free and pointed to the green cover of the book Myranda held.
“Geen.”
Deacon laughed. “That’s right, Leo. Green.”
There was a knock at the door. It creaked open a moment l
ater to reveal a finely dressed older man standing in the doorway.
“Is it time, Father?” Myranda asked.
“Carriages are already arriving at the gates,” Greydon replied.
“Heavens. I must have lost track of time. Leo still needs to get dressed.”
“Fah!” Leo said, dismissing his father for the far more important visit from his grandfather.
Greydon Celeste plucked his grandson from the ground. “Need I remind you that this is an official state ceremony?” he said, hefting the boy on one hip.
Myranda grumbled. “The crown?”
“At least for the introductions. It is protocol.”
“So be it,” Myranda said. “I will be along shortly.”
Greydon nodded and pulled the door shut. Deacon climbed from the ground and brushed some dust from his trousers.
“It strikes me that I perhaps should not have been sitting on the ground in my royal finery,” he said.
“Story time is more important than royal protocol as far as I am concerned.”
She slipped the book onto a shelf of similar ones. Beside the bookshelf was a table set with two velvet pillows. One pillow, embroidered with the words Her Royal Majesty, bore a golden ringlet etched with a fine design and set with precious gems. The other pillow, meant to bear Deacon’s crown, was empty.
“I never expected the most trying aspect of nobility would be the wardrobe.” She donned the crown and frowned at its weight.
“One becomes accustomed to it in time,” Deacon said, adjusting the ringlet on his head. He looked to Leo. “He’s learning so fast,” he said, his eyes sparkling with pride.
He rushed to a second bookcase and selected one of a dozen similar volumes. With a flourish of his fingers, he summoned a stylus to his hand and began scribbling fresh words on the page.
“He knows his colors very well. He hasn’t quite got dragons and ducks straight, but one can follow the line of logic. Long necks, long faces. Wings.” He flipped back a few pages. “It was only three weeks ago that he called every color pink. He’ll be casting his first spell before the month is out, mark my words.”
Myranda huffed a breath. “I am in no rush for that. He is enough of a handful without being able to command the forces of nature.”
“It would help him get to sleep,” Deacon said, jotting a few more notes down. “When I was a boy, I would exhaust myself each night trying to levitate this and conjure that.”
Myranda considered his words for a moment. “Tempting… But come. We shouldn’t keep the others waiting.”
“I’ll be along shortly. I just need to mark this down.”
Myranda stepped from the room as Deacon scratched out a description of his boy’s progress. As tended to be the case, even a hasty record of a very typical afternoon took line after line of words for him to record properly. His usually precise penmanship wavered a bit as he closed off one paragraph and began a second. A shudder in his hand traced a jagged line onto the page. He pulled the stylus from the paper. It was trembling in his grip.
“Not again…” Deacon muttered.
He shut his eyes tightly. The shudder in his hand worsened. Thin red veins traced from his fingertips to his wrist. They swept back and forth like worms held to a flame. Where they curled across his skin, the texture changed to something coarse and black. He summoned the crystal to his grip and held it firmly. The shifting change in his hand slowed and faded. His flesh eased back to its proper appearance.
Deacon pocketed the gem and twisted the silver ring on the ring finger of the afflicted hand.
“Deacon!” Myranda called.
“Yes! Coming. Mustn’t shirk my duties.” He looked to his hand and murmured, “Mustn’t lose control.”
Chapter 1
“Now announcing, Queen Caya and King Croyden of Vulcrest!”
The assembled crowd roared their approval as the pair of stately monarchs entered New Kenvard’s freshly christened grand hall. The palace was still very much on the mend. Decades of decay and far too many battles had left scars that would take years more construction to repair, but if this hall was any indication, it would shine as one of the most elegant structures in the north. Once, banners depicting victories over Tresson forces had decorated the walls. Now, the tapestries told of the true enemy, the D’Karon. Freshly milled stone gleamed. The air was thick with the smell of fresh wood.
By far the greatest achievement of this place was the effect it had on those in attendance. Queen Caya enthusiastically clutched the hands of friends and well-wishers. Her handlers had long ago lost the fight to keep her distant and regal in her decorum. As recently as five years prior, only a small circle of the northern aristocracy would have been deemed worthy of a personal greeting from the crowned head of Vulcrest. Now there were representatives from Tressor bowing their heads to her. Elves from the Crescents gave bemused smiles as the queen clapped their backs. And most astounding of all, a white-furred malthrope stood at attention, barely able to contain her glee as she joined the other ambassadors.
“Ambassador Ivy!” Caya proclaimed. “I’d feared you wouldn’t be able to attend.”
“My boat arrived just yesterday. Myn fetched me so I could make it in time.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen an outfit like that.”
Ivy took a step back and turned in a circle, revealing a sandy-yellow dress of simple but exquisite make. “Do you like it? The people of Den made it for me specially for this occasion. I begged them to send one of their own along with me as a proper delegate, but—”
King Croyden cleared his throat. “Perhaps this could wait until the banquet.”
Caya rolled her eyes. “I’d thought he was a stickler for the rules before we put a crown on his head. Very well, very well.” She continued down the line and found her place to one side of the blue carpet running the length of the grand hall.
“Now announcing King Terrance and Queen Tanya of Ulvard.”
A more reserved ovation from the crowd greeted a stately couple. They were each twenty years older than Queen Caya, with silver-threaded hair and dour expressions. What they lacked in liveliness they made up for in dignity. This was a pair of nobles who looked the part of a king and queen. They marched along the carpet, offering little in the way of greeting to the dignitaries flanking it. After Caya’s rousing entry, their appearance was somewhat glaring in its subtlety. A crackle of anticipation lit up the crowd the moment Terrance and Tanya took their place opposite Caya, as all in attendance knew who came next.
“And finally, announcing Queen Myranda and King Deacon of Kenvard, Guardians of the Realm. And Prince Leo, first heir to the reborn kingdom.”
Again the people erupted in enthusiastic applause as the new monarchs appeared in the doorway. Myranda held her son in her arms and beamed at friends and subjects all around. Deacon walked beside her, pride radiating from his face.
“I do wish Ulvard had selected someone a bit more vibrant to lead their kingdom. It must be terribly embarrassing to hear such silence for their own leaders sandwiched between such adoration,” Caya said.
“The guests are supposed to remain silent during the entry. It is intended as a sign of reverence and respect,” Croyden said. “This boisterousness is your doing, you realize. Allowing such clamor when you were queen of the Alliance.”
“Yes, Croyden,” Queen Caya said. “And I am rather proud of it. But if you are so concerned with keeping to protocol, do feel free to save your lectures until the wine and cheese course.”
Myranda and Deacon took their place at the end of the carpet.
The royal steward raised his voice. “The king and queen shall now speak!”
Silence fell swiftly and all eyes turned to the monarchs.
“Greetings to my friends, my allies, my family,” Myranda said. “It is a great honor to welcome you to the restored grand hall of New Kenvard. The road of recovery has been a long one. Longer than any of us supposed
. The hall was still in ruin when Prince Leo was born. When Queen Caya saw fit to formally dissolve the Northern Alliance and once again make Kenvard a kingdom of its own, the coronation took place in the shadow of the palace. Many grand occasions came and went, unable to wait for the resurrection of this hall. Now, we can finally celebrate a moment in the way the kings and queens of old intended.”
Myranda signaled the well-dressed men to either side of the doors leading to the courtyard.
“Introducing Myn, Guardian of the Realm, heroine of the Battle of Verril!” the steward proclaimed.
The doors creaked open and Myn marched proudly inside. In lieu of the fine wardrobe worn by the other attendees, Myn’s scales were polished to a glassy sheen. Her horns jangled with silver and gold chains. Most notably, a silk satchel hung from her neck. With the arrival of the majestic dragon, the size and scope of the grand hall suddenly seemed barely adequate. She marched gingerly along the carpet. Those less familiar or accustomed to the dragon faltered, backing away as she plodded by. She circled Myranda and Deacon and plopped down, head held high.
“The pouch,” Deacon whispered.
Myn regally lowered her neck, presenting the satchel she wore. Myranda handed Leo to Deacon and unfastened the pouch from Myn.
“To my knowledge, there has never before been a ceremony of this sort to mark this specific occasion,” Myranda said, tugging open the satchel.
“Any excuse for good friends and good drink!” Caya shouted.
The audience roared in approval.
“There is something to that. But before the wine flows, the business at hand. When the Northern Alliance formed, many became one. Three rich histories were set aside to battle what we believed to be a common enemy. Mistakes were made, and as the new shepherds of these kingdoms, it falls to us to correct those wrongs both great and small. Those we labeled as enemies when the Alliance was formed we now count as allies. Today, we restore another fragment of the identity we share as the people of Kenvard. I present to you the gold glint, freshly minted coin of Kenvard.”
She pulled a handful of the gold coins from the satchel. One side depicted the face of Myranda herself. The reverse depicted the curve and point of the Mark of the Chosen, along with the reborn kingdom’s name and its new motto.
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