by Chrys Cymri
The dragon hissed a brief laugh. ‘In your timeline, not mine. Did I give you any message to pass to my earlier self?’
Fianna shook her head. ‘Not for this meeting.’
The dragon cocked his head. ‘What would you have of us, daughter of our blood?’
‘I am to be crowned Queen.’ The huge head came closer, and Fianna had to remind herself firmly that she could not take another step back. ‘I seek the recognition of the Family before my people.’
The dragon’s tail slapped the side of the Tower, sending a tremor down to the castle’s foundations. ‘That is not yours to command.’
Losing her temper, Fianna stripped off a glove and held up the Summoning Ring. ‘Is it not?’
‘You have but two parts of that pretty bauble. Only when it is complete could you command the clutches, and many other things besides. But the Ring is not for you.’
Fianna flung her head back. ‘It has always belonged to the royal house.’
‘It is not for you.’
Fianna bit back her retort. ‘Lord dragon, will you and yours recognise me before my people?’
The dragon lifted a forefoot, and sharp teeth lazily cleaned a silver claw. The remaining feet dug deeper into the Tower, and part of the rock began to crumble under the pressure. ‘The contract was with your sire,’ he said, lowering his foot again. ‘And with his sire before him. You will first need to renew those bonds, before we will acclaim you before this kingdom.’
‘Then tell me how I’m to prove myself before you.’
‘Even as it has always been.’ The dragon extended his wings, spreading them across the Tower. ‘Come to our mountains, climb the King’s Trail. At the summit, you will find me. And then we will discover if you can make the sacrifice needed to renew our bond.’
He dropped away from the castle, his wings spreading out. The tips nearly touched the empty courtyard, and a foot struck the castle walls. Then he was climbing again, wings beating strongly to carry him back to his clutch.
The dragons sounded their challenge cry, the harsh, trumpet call striking across the sky like a thunderclap. The people of the city cowered as the dragons flew across the buildings, banners snapping in the wind of their passing. But Fianna remained erect, and watched them disappear into the distance until her eyes ached with the effort.
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Fianna gave the cinch strap a final tug. The grey mare lowered her head and snorted softly, and she patted the soft neck in apology. She kept forgetting how better trained the castle steeds were than those in her aunt’s stables. The mare would never dream of expanding her lungs with air while the saddle was secured on her back.
Pealla marched into the stables and swung a saddlebag of supplies into place behind the large journey saddle. ‘Where is your shadow?’
‘I placed him in the kennels before I summoned the dragons.’ The mare accepted the bridle without protest, and she gathered together halter and lead rope, placing them into a saddlebag. ‘There he will remain. I can’t take him to the mountains.’
‘You may start out alone,’ Pealla said, ‘but I don’t expect that hound to wait meekly in a kennel.’
‘I fastened the chain to his collar myself,’ Fianna said grimly. She led the horse into the courtyard. The dragons had only left a half hour ago. Pealla had ventured out of the castle after Fianna, guessing from her own knowledge of dragon lore what command the dragons had given the Princess.
Pealla touched Fianna’s arm, halting her in the process of mounting. ‘You can’t carry a sword onto the Sacred Mountains.’
Fianna glanced down at the state sword hanging at her side. She reluctantly unbuckled the blade, and stared at the golden pommel. Then she held it out to Pealla. Their hands touched on the hilt. ‘I don’t have time to make full arrangements,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But if I don’t return, the Duke of Cassern must not be allowed to take the Throne.’
‘Understood,’ Pealla said quietly.
Taking a deep breath, Fianna swung into the saddle. She checked the length of the stirrups then, satisfied, rode to the closed gates. The watchmen, still on duty inside the protected towers, hurried to operate the door mechanisms.
Although she had traded court silks for more practical leather and cotton riding gear, the citizens outside recognised the red hair, the golden ring flashing on her left hand. A few cheers started, then they were quieted by their elders. They knew why she rode. A path was cleared for her horse, heads bending as she passed.
The twisting roads of the city remained in place for her, recognising her as a member of the royal family. She was suddenly reminded that her cheeks were tight under the streak of long dry blood. Guiding the horse with her knees, she drew a handkerchief from a pocket and moistened it with water. The cloth reddened as she wiped her face clean.
Once outside the city walls, she halted the mare for a last look at the city. The walls glowed in the bright sunlight behind her, the yellow rock warm, welcoming. She had always felt an affinity with her birthplace, even as a child enjoying the fact that she was one of very few who could walk the streets and know that they wouldn’t change under her feet. A breeze blew from the direction of her gaze, cooling the sweat on her forehead. Fianna turned away.
A quick flash of grey passed the mare’s nose, and she snorted in surprise. Fianna blinked as Alastair paused several yards away. A thick collar was held in his teeth, but otherwise he showed no signs of his confinement. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes not leaving hers, he laid the collar on the ground.
Fianna dismounted, dropping the horse’s reins to the grass to mark that she should remain in place. Holding her breath, she took a tentative stride towards the hound. Alastair waited, head high, watching. She risked another step, reading in his narrowed eyes and curled lips how much she had offended him.
‘I don’t know if you can understand me,’ she said quietly. ‘But where I now ride, you cannot follow. My blood will protect me against the dragons, but they would have no compunction against attacking any other being, human or beast. Do you understand? You must remain in Secondus.’
He studied her for a long moment. Then he bridged the distance between them in two quick bounds, and rose on his hind legs. She staggered at his weight as he laid forepaws on her shoulders. His dark eyes met hers, and she sensed his deep disappointment. Then he was gone, loping away from the city.
Fianna took a deep breath, fighting back her anger. A warm kennel, rich food, the colours of serving the heir to the throne, none of this meant anything to Alastair. He had traded what she could offer for the poor comforts of a pig herder’s hut. She remounted the mare, and set her into canter towards the mountains looming in the distance.
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The mare proved worthy of inclusion in the castle stables, carrying her easily at a steady pace and covering much ground over the next few days. At night Fianna tied her to a tree and slept nearby, her hand missing the feel of a sword nearby. As a page she had participated in several overnight journeys, gaining the same experience in self reliance as would be expected of any squire or knight. But she had never travelled weaponless.
The mare will be war trained, she reminded herself between fitful dozes. She will protect me against any attacks, human or beast. Until I reach the mountains, and then I am on my own.
The legends told to her as a young child made her turn the mare’s head towards a cluster of buildings near the feet of the mountains. She reined the horse to a halt inside the small village. Two men stepped out to meet her. ‘In the name of the King,’ one asked, ‘who are you and what is your purpose here?’
‘The King is dead,’ she replied. ‘I am Fianna, his daughter and heir, and I ride to the Sacred Mountains. Hold back your hounds.’
‘Give us the sign,’ the second man demanded.
Fianna held out her left hand, the Summoning Ring glittering red and gold. They nodded, then bowed. ‘May I pass?’
‘Gladly, Your Highness.’ The man hesitated,
then added, ‘But three of our hounds were set loose last night, and haven’t returned. Should you meet them, they won’t attack any human who commands them in the Name of the Family.’
‘In the Name of the Family,’ Fianna murmured, committing the phrase to memory. ‘I will remember.’ Then she cantered from the village.
She pressed on into the night, halting long after sunset at the small hut resting at the base of the Kings’ Trail. She turned the mare out into the nearby corral, then pushed open the door to the shelter. To her relief, it had been well-maintained. Fresh straw lined the pallet, and the wool blankets were free from rot or mildew. She paused only to pull off her boots, letting them thud to the dirt floor, before she rolled into the bed and fell asleep. Nothing would dare wander this close to the mountains of the dragons.
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The sun was overhead, the heat beating down on the dry trail, when Fianna stood by the corral the next day. She had slept deep last night, well into the morning. Now she was ensuring that her steed had enough food and water for a week. By tradition, when she had proven herself to the dragons, one would honour her by flying her to Secondus on his back. The guardians of the trail would watch the skies for the flight, then claim the horse as their own.
And in this all tales are silent, Fianna thought bitterly. No sovereign ever speaks of what transpires on this mountain. What must I do or say to prove myself worthy to the Second Kingdom? And what if I should fail?
Sunlight was creeping over the Four Faces. Fianna stroked the mare absently, wondering whose images had once dominated this part of the mountainside. Even the mages did not know, the knowledge having been lost generations ago.
Fianna gave the horse a final pat. Then, shouldering the saddle bags, she started up the faint path. She had but one duty now, namely to follow this trail to its end, wherever that might be, and hope that a dragon would welcome her there.
The low sweep of carrion beasts was her first warning. Then she smelled the high, sweet scent of decaying flesh. Grimly forcing herself to breathe through her mouth, Fianna followed the curve of the trail. As it turned and climbed, she saw the brown-red mass on the ground, covered by the four legged vulture creatures. She strode into their midst, her boots kicking away the shrilling animals, their tails snapping as they lifted into the air. Their sharp teeth had already removed much of the meat, but the leather collar still intact around the neck bones told her that this had been one of the hounds released by the guardians. The skull had been shattered. She could see the fragments, though the brains had been picked clean.
Fianna skirted the remains, then continued along the path. Behind her, flapping wings lowered the vulture beasts back onto their meal. So, something has come this way before me, she thought. What could kill a hound in such a fashion? Her right hand twitched, missing the reassurance of a sword hilt.
Further on she found the next dog. A larger carrion beast was feeding, its scales browned by drying blood. It lifted a long muzzle to warn her away with a hiss, feathered wings covering the hound protectively. Fianna gave it a wide berth. The creature was nearly as large as a dog, and reputedly far more ferocious. Two hounds dead, she reflected. Where is the third, still ahead of me, or also dead?
Fianna gritted her teeth. She marched on, following the trail, glancing from side to side for a dead hound, a dead foe, or anything else. But only moss and rocks met her gaze, and the occasional rodent. She was beginning to wish that she paid more attention to her unarmed combat classes. Sword play had always been her favourite. Much good would that do her now.
She paused at the next switch of the trail, and took a long drink from her water skin. In the distance she could hear the faint splashing of a waterfall. The heat of the day and the strain of her climb were taking their toll. She decided that she would reach the waterfall, then bathe there and stay for the night. She wanted to be fresh tomorrow morning in case she found whatever had killed the hounds.
A flatter part of mountainside waited ahead. Fianna lengthened her strides, drawn by the promise of shade under several bushes. But she slowed as, coming nearer, she saw that something already rested under the leafy branches. A white tail and gore-encrusted hooves rested against the ground. This must be what had fought the dogs. Fianna frowned. The hounds would have been trained not to attack horses unless they were ridden. Was she to find a wounded knight further on?
The horse lay unmoving in the scant shade. The coat was dusty, dull. Long bite marks marred a leg swollen with infection. She couldn’t tell if it still lived. Unlikely, after all this time. Best to search first for the rider, then come back to the mount later.
As she passed the head, it lifted suddenly, feebly. Fianna stepped back, then swallowed in shock. Dirt could not hide the shine of silver rising from the forehead, nor could fever mask the intelligence in the black eyes. The gaze steadied on her, recognition momentarily sweeping aside the unicorn’s sickness. ‘You,’ he whispered. ‘I thought you would have long hair, but it’s you.’
‘Who are you?’ she demanded.
‘I know you,’ he said weakly. ‘We’re meant to be together. We’re destined to be friends.’ Then the head lowered again, eyes shutting in pain.
Fianna once again felt for a sword which was not there. A unicorn had no place on the Sacred Mountains. They were the enemy of the dragons. By blood and tradition they were allied to the Third Kingdom, against whom her own kingdom had always held itself ready to war. She should finish the task begun by the hounds and kill him now. Or leave him where he lay, and allow the infection to complete its course.
But although he was the enemy, he was down, wounded and sick. She might not yet be a knight, but she knew that an enemy down was no longer a threat, but an obligation. Once battle was over, to the victor remained the responsibility of treating the injured of either army.
Her instincts were responding quicker than her mind. The saddlebags were already on the ground, and she was lowering herself down beside them. She found herself obeying more old training, and spent a long moment simply studying the unicorn. Not just out of curiosity. Her training at the castle stables had included battle surgery for both horses and humans. The horse healer had given her several lessons in identifying the herbs and treatments which could aid the healing of either horse or rider. She had been an unwilling learner, certain that his true purpose had been to teach her the other skill a healer must have, namely patience. His words now went through her mind. If you have the time, take a moment before beginning treatment. Take a look at the whole body, before becoming lost in the parts. Wounds impact upon each other, illnesses can have many sources. Patience. Use a few minutes to study the overall state, and then decide on your course.
The teaching was of benefit now. Her first impulse had been to analyse the infected leg. But now she could see that the unicorn was in more immediate danger of dying from thirst. His half-open mouth revealed a thick, swollen tongue, and his breathing was harsh, forced past a throat nearly closed from the lack of liquid. The day had been hot, and he had lain here for quite some time.
Having decided on a course of action, Fianna was relieved to finally be doing something. She steeled herself, then knelt beside the head. Tentatively, she reached out a finger, touched the red-rimmed nostrils.
Nothing happened. No bolt of energy flung her hand away, the mountain did not shudder in protest. One nostril twitched slightly under the pressure. With a sigh of relief which momentarily embarrassed her, she slid one hand under a cheek to lift the elegant head. The skin was hot to the touch, but she kept her hold firm as she brought her water skin near the cracked lips. ‘Not too much at once,’ she muttered to herself as she squeezed a small amount into the swollen mouth. The throat swallowed convulsively. After two mouthfuls had gone, she lowered the head again.
Now, the leg. She moved to the lower half, pushing the tail out of her way. The hounds, she thought dispassionately, had been well trained. An inch further back, and the tendon would have been severed, cripp
ling the unicorn. Although they had missed, and it appeared all three killed by their intended prey, the poisons left behind by their teeth had caused the leg to swell. The infection was well on the way to spreading into the belly and attacking the vital organs.
She turned her head and rummaged through the saddlebags. Yes, Pealla had had the same training in her own days at the castle stables. Fianna withdrew a pouch of herbs, dried and separated into smaller bags of their own. A special mixture only needed by those visiting the Sacred Mountains was labelled in a red and gold sack, carried just in case the guardian hounds choose the wrong prey. Fianna wrinkled her nose at the pungent scent, then upended a third of the powder into a bowl and mixed in two handfuls of water. She could only hope that the antitoxin would be as effective on unicorns as the horses and humans for which it had been designed.
She used a spoon to churn the mixture into a thick mass. The swollen leg moved feebly as she spread the grey-brown lumps across the skin, paying special attention to the bites and marking a ring around the top of the leg.
There. She put bowl and spoon to one side, and packed the herbs back into her bags. All she could do now was wait. Either the unicorn would recover, or he would die. Fianna glanced at the trail. She would have to remain by his side until whichever. The treatment had to be repeated daily until death or recovery, if there were to be a chance for the latter.
I only hope, she thought as she carried her utensils to the pool near the waterfall, that travelling freely through time gives a dragon patience. Our third meeting is going to be delayed so that I may assist one of our enemies. Who claims that we will be friends.
Friends. She paused in her work, staring down at her hands, whitened by water. Yes, and how many friends can I claim to have? Deian is far away in Lundern. Pealla follows me as Princess Fianna, not as the woman Fianna. All those whom I served with in the stables are willing to swear allegiance, but no hands are offered in friendship.
