The Dragon Throne

by Chrys Cymri

  Carola lifted the crown and placed it on the red head. ‘Then rise and take the Dragon Throne, Queen Fianna of the Fourth Kingdom.’

  Fianna lifted her chin, gazed proudly at the Prancer, then across the waiting crowd. She climbed the last step, then sank into the heavily carved chair. The court broke into a loud cheer, only Latham and his family glowering and silent.

  The Prancer took the Champion’s place at the foot of the dais. As heir to a kingdom himself, he did not take part in the procession of nobles swearing allegiance to the new Queen. But each had to pass under his stern gaze, reminded of whom they would have to face should they break their vows.

  The afternoon dragged on, the same words pledged again and again to the Queen. The Prancer was only slightly relieved when the celebrations began, the elegant dishes and haughty conversation little better than the formal ceremony. He remained dutifully at Fianna’s side, speaking only when courtesy required.

  The Prancer had been forced to withdraw when, at one point during the evening, a strange knight was carried into the room. The assembled company cheered as squires sweated and swore in their efforts to place the stiff metal man near the throne. The Prancer sensed from it the same wrongness he had felt at Anton’s nightly workings. He could see no reason why the humans slapped at the armour and challenged the silent man to speak.

  ‘You don’t like the mechanical man?’ Jeremy asked, standing near him. ‘It’s been long dead.’

  ‘It was never alive,’ the Prancer said with absolute certainty, eyeing the tendrils which emerged from broken joints.

  ‘It once was,’ Jeremy said sadly. ‘There are hundreds deep in the castle vaults. Even in my grandfather’s time, a few would move and speak. But now they are all silent.’

  The Prancer took comfort in the fact that Fianna finally appeared to be happy. Her cheeks were flushed with a mixture of excitement and wine, almost as bright as the rubies glistening in the crown heavy on her head. The Prancer drank sparingly of the ale Jeremy brought to him. Not all of the knights had given their oaths willingly, and there had been a distinct flash of anger when she had touched hands with her aunt. He was determined to remain alert.

  The stilted arguments and polite nothings wore down at the Prancer’s patience. He had never realised that so many human words could be spoken and mean so little. Once courtesy allowed him, he withdrew to an edge of the gathering, and waited patiently for the ordeal to end.

  When the presence entered the castle, the Prancer felt his body sing awake, every muscle responding to the sudden, fresh reminder of the Land. He strode eagerly towards the entrance, wondering who could have come into the castle. A great mage, perhaps, or even another unicorn?

  No one else had come to the doors to greet the new arrival. The Prancer arrived alone, hooves skidding across the tiles as he halted. The young man looked at him, the peace of the Land resting along the sun wrinkles lining his eyes. The Prancer had never felt her so strong in another being, let alone a human, and he lowered head and knee to the man. ‘May I have the honour,’ he asked quietly, ‘of serving you?’

  A grey hound slipped up to the man’s side. His hand caressed the upturned muzzle as he answered, ‘No one serves me. I’m looking for Fianna.’

  ‘I will bring her to you.’ The Prancer wheeled, working his way quickly through the crowd around the new Queen. Heedless of her conversation with several high ranking knights, he told her, ‘One of the Land stands at the door. He has come to speak to you.’

  Fianna waved him away. ‘Later. Tell him to see my squire for an appointment.’

  The Prancer snorted. ‘Shall I tell the same to his hound?’

  Fianna’s face suddenly altered, blood draining away to leave her pale beneath hair and crown. ‘It can’t be. Not here. Not now.’

  She brushed past him. The Prancer followed, noting absently that the surrounding nobles trailed behind, curious. She stopped so suddenly that he almost bumped into her. Voice flat, Fianna spoke the man’s name. ‘Deian.’

  He met her gaze without apology. ‘I sensed you needed me.’

  ‘I don’t need anyone now.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I’m the Queen. You can go back to your pigs.’

  Deian shook his head. ‘I sold them to come here.’

  ‘Pigs,’ a man in the crowd muttered. ‘I wondered whence the smell came.’

  Titters of laughter answered his words. The Prancer blinked, now seeing the man through their eyes. His blonde hair was straggly and unruly, and several days growth of beard dusted his face. Unlike the bright mail and flashing silks of the court, he was dressed in heavy wool and leather, and mud caked his boots. But don’t they know? he wondered. Don’t they sense the Land strong within him? With a sinking feeling, he realised that these humans could only see the surfaces of each other. Even Fianna seemed to feel nothing but embarrassment at Deian’s presence.

  ‘Then I suppose I’ll have to take care of you.’ She stepped back. ‘Jeremy.’ Her squire hurried to her side. ‘Take Deian to a guest chamber. And see that he’s given attire more suitable to the occasion.’

  Jeremy bent low. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’ He politely but firmly took Deian by the elbow, and led him from the room.

  The court drifted back to the food, Fianna smiling at the jokes being made about pig herders and farmer’s daughters. The Prancer watched a few minutes, then decided he had had enough. A page obligingly opened the doors for him, and he strode away from the increasingly drunken laughter.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Deian turned away from his window. The view only reminded him that he was in a city, far from his beloved woods. Nor could he return, not with his pig herd now sold to buy him passage here. Many of the sows had already been slaughtered, and their final cries in his head had been many times worse than those of the hogs he’d sold every autumn.

  The silk shirt sweeping from his shoulders rubbed against his travel sores. Deian rolled back one sleeve, studying the bruise he’d gained when the goods carriage had come to a sudden stop. The stacks of vegetables surrounding him had broken most of his flight, but his out-thrown arm had cracked against the wooden side. The merchant, he recalled, had been more concerned about the state of his merchandise than his paying passenger.

  Alastair opened his mouth in a soundless laugh at the memory. ‘You were right to pace along outside,’ Deian admitted.

  The hound’s ears pricked forwards suddenly, and his tail swept an arc in greeting. A moment later a thud against the door announced a visitor. Deian strode forward to pull the door open.

  The unicorn filled the doorway, looking down at him with eyes dark beneath the glowing horn. Deian took a deep breath, discovering that the unicorn smelled like fresh earth, young flowers, green fields. ‘May I enter?’ the beast asked.

  ‘Yes.’ He stepped back, and watched the unicorn manoeuvre through the doorway. Alastair came forward to touch noses, ears pulled back and tail carried low in respect.

  ‘I met Fianna on the Sacred Mountains,’ the unicorn said, answering Deian’s unasked question. ‘I agreed to become her Champion after the dragon revealed her identity.’

  Deian smiled. ‘She came to my fields, and never said who she was.’

  ‘Why do you come here now?’

  He shrugged. ‘I felt she had need of me. I’ve come to protect her.’

  The unicorn snorted softly. ‘I don’t intend any unkindness, but she has a unicorn as Champion, and the knights today pledged themselves to her as their Queen. What do you need to protect her against?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I am here.’ Deian glanced away, continued shyly, ‘And she wears my hope-promise.’

  ‘What’s a hope-promise?’

  ‘I asked her to marry me.’ Deian felt his cheeks flush slightly. ‘She wears a bracelet as my hope that she will promise herself to me.’

  ‘A mating ritual.’ The unicorn dipped his head. ‘I understand. Has she yet agreed?’

  ‘I await her answer.’

  The unico
rn dipped his head again. ‘Yes, true, it’s for the filly to agree. I have the holding of your name, but not you of mine. I am the Prancer, son to the Dancer of the People of the Trees.’ There was a pause, then he added reluctantly, ‘And son of the Painter.’

  Deian smiled suddenly. ‘And your tree is the rowan.’

  The white head jerked back in surprise. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I’ve touched your trees.’ Deian shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘My apologies if I shouldn’t have.’

  ‘The trees speak to whom they will. They are part of the Land.’ The Prancer lowered his head again. Now he spoke quietly. ‘I would ask a boon of you, Deian.’

  Deian met the dark eyes. ‘Name it.’

  ‘May I touch you with my horn?’

  Deian nodded. He held still as the unicorn stepped back, bringing down the long twist of silver. The tip was honed to a fine point, and his gaze was drawn to the delicate end. His eyes followed the movement as the bright horn was lowered to his shoulder.

  Rowan, strong and proud, roots deep in the Land and the branches reaching to the skies. He felt a shock of recognition travel down the horn to the Prancer as he was suddenly joined to his birth-tree. Messages from friends and family followed the welcome, the community of the People of the Trees reaffirming their bond with the one who had wandered far from their forest.

  Slowly, deliberately, the Prancer raised his head. The connection ebbed away. Deian closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the Land to retreat from his immediate consciousness. Then he looked up at the unicorn.

  ‘When I’ve touched humans before,’ the Prancer explained, ‘I’ve felt something go from myself to them. But you took nothing from me. You only gave.’

  Deian shrugged. ‘I’ve spoken to your trees before.’

  ‘For a human, you have a great awareness of the Land.’ Deian felt him come to a sudden decision. ‘I left the forest for several reasons. One was a task set to me by my sire.’ Anger tinged the air, then was gone. ‘The Land’s magic is dying, and with it the Land herself. Have you felt it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the mages of the Third Kingdom, and I come here to speak to those of the Fourth.’ The Prancer straightened, arching his neck and billowing his tail. ‘Deian of the Land, will you join me for this part of my quest?’

  ‘The Land is strongest here, under this castle,’ Deian told him. ‘But if Fianna will allow me, I’ll go with you to speak to the mages.’

  <><><><><><>

  Fianna stared moodily at the latest petitioner, her head fogged by a mixture of boredom and hangover. The morning after her coronation, and already her new role was changing from excitement to tedium. You knew it’d be like this sometimes, she reminded herself, wishing she’d refused those last two glasses of wine and that her squire had thought to leave the morning free of appointments. Then again, looking at the state of Jeremy’s handwriting on the diary, he’d probably been drunk when he’d agreed to the requests last night.

  The minor lord finished his monologue, concluding that although he had been unable to attend the ceremony yesterday (Because you weren’t invited, Fianna thought peevishly), he was certain that her reign would be long and prosperous. And he hoped that she might rule in his favour in that small matter regarding the border between his lands and those of his neighbour...

  ‘Thank you, Lord Attam,’ Fianna said finally. ‘If you will deliver the appropriate documents and maps into the hands of our squire, we will direct him to review the matter. You will have our decision in due course.’

  Jeremy accepted the heavy bundle of parchment, his face paler than the bleached skins. He flicked a glance in Fianna’s direction, but he knew better than to complain. He too was suffering the effects of the celebrations last night, and from his pained expression Fianna felt certain that there would be better control over her diary in the future.

  Attam was escorted from the room by a page. Fianna yawned widely, then winced at the band which seemed to stretch across her forehead. She suppressed the urge to remove the state crown and scratch underneath. ‘Who’s next, Jeremy?’

  ‘Only one last petitioner, Your Majesty.’ Jeremy handed her the date book. ‘Deian of Lundern.’

  Fianna felt her heart give a frightened jump. The gold bracelet was suddenly warm in the pouch under her clothes. Was he requesting her answer here, now? ‘Let him in.’

  The heavy doors were pulled back. Deian stepped through, bright and uncomfortable in court silks of yellow and green. His hair had been trimmed, his face was again clean-shaven. But he still looked like a villager, out of place beside the knights standing stiff on either side of the entrance. How dare he demand an answer, a mere pig herder? Fianna’s lips thinned.

  Then she blinked in surprise. Hooves rang out against the tiles as the Prancer followed Deian into the chamber. The braids were gone from his mane, but the Champion’s Ring still glittered against his bright coat. Looking obviously coached, Deian stopped mid-way into the room and sank to one knee. He lifted his head up at her, waiting.

  ‘Name yourself and your purpose,’ Fianna said, grinding out the traditional words.

  ‘I am Deian of the town Lundern. The Prancer has asked that I join his quest to the Mages’ College, and I seek your release to accompany him.’

  The Prancer had come to his side at the mention of his name. Fianna met the unicorn’s dark eyes. ‘Of what use is a pig herder to your quest, Queen’s Champion?’

  ‘He has a great affinity for the Land.’ The unicorn snorted. ‘More so than many a mage I have met.’

  Fianna leaned back in her throne. Suddenly new possibilities were presenting themselves. ‘Lord Unicorn, do you think his talent worthy of testing in the Mages’ College?’

  The Prancer studied her for a moment, as if trying to decide what lay behind her words. ‘That’s for the Lord Mage to say.’

  ‘Easily done.’ Fianna turned to her squire. ‘The Lord Mage is still in the castle. Bring him here.’

  Prompted by a nudge by the Prancer, Deian rose to his feet. He seemed unconcerned by her new position, and Fianna was caught between annoyance and pleasure. Her head hurt, her left leg was falling asleep from several hours of sitting on the uncomfortable throne, and now she had to decide what to do about a man who had once been the only good thing in her life. But of this she was certain. The court would think little of a Queen who married a pig herder. A mage, however, would be a different matter. If he did have the talent, if he trained in the College, then at least that opened up her choice.

  The Lord Mage was ushered into the chamber. He bowed to her before coming to the throne. ‘My Lord Mage,’ Fianna said, ‘we have before us a young man who would try his talent in the College.’

  The mage’s gaze flicked over Deian. ‘There are two tests for entrance. Firstly, he must be able to find his way through the City streets to our gates, alone and without guidance.’

  Deian’s gaze came back to Fianna. ‘I have your permission?’

  ‘You have it.’ She turned to the mage. ‘The Lord Unicorn seeks to visit your college. His petition has our support. Will you accompany him to the gates?’

  His hazel eyes met hers. ‘Not even the Queen can command the mages within their College.’

  ‘We do not command,’ she said evenly. ‘The Lord Unicorn requests, and we add a personal recommendation. The decision rests with you.’ She waited a beat, then added, ‘We would be grateful if the College did grant his request.’

  The man’s lips thinned. ‘Lord Unicorn, it’s not the practice of the College to welcome unicorns. We cleave to the Family and the ways of their magic. What reason have you to seek an audience with ourselves?’

  ‘I come on behalf of my sire, Herd Stallion and Dancer to the People of the Trees. The magic of the Land is dying, and she with it. Do you not feel this?’

  The mage studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded, almost grudgingly. ‘We have noted difficulties in the use of magic. If you
can add anything to our own knowledge, we welcome you to the College.’ He turned to Deian. ‘You will leave here now, and begin your search for our gates. You are not to follow me, you understand? I’ll know if you do.’

  Deian met his gaze, looked past it. ‘I understand,’ he said quietly. His words seemed to release the mage, who shook his head as if awakening from a momentary lapse of consciousness. With a nod towards Fianna, Deian broke all conventions and turned his back on her to leave the chamber. She waved a placating hand at the knights, and they settled swords reluctantly back into scabbards.

  ‘We will give the lad some time to leave the castle,’ the mage told the Prancer. ‘I’ll meet you outside the gates.’

  Fianna leaned back in throne as only the knights, her squire, and the unicorn remained in the room. ‘Is that all, Jeremy?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Good. Finally.’ She removed the heavy crown, placing it into her lap as she closed her eyes and rubbed her aching forehead. ‘You are all dismissed.’

  Three pairs of boots clacked across the tiles and through the doors. Fianna waited a moment, but no hooves joined them. She opened her eyes again. The Prancer watched her, his tail flicking gently across his hindquarters. ‘You don’t seem pleased to see your betrothed.’

  Fianna straightened, startled. ‘He told you about that?’

  ‘Should he not have done so?’

  She grimaced. ‘It’s not something I want the court to know about. Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘Why? Is there some shame to the proposal?’

  ‘Of course there is.’ She rose, leaving the crown on the throne behind her as she walked down to the unicorn. ‘He’s nothing more than a pig herder. Not the sort of occupation to make him a proper consort to a Queen.’