by Meg Cowley
“Nevertheless, I suppose compared to man we have lives that are far longer; several spans at least and we retain more than enough magic. Petty human politics aside, that is the history of the world.” Artora observed Eve’s face as the young woman tried to comprehend her words.
“So elementals and dragons are real..?” she dared to ask, “And magic and mythical creatures?”
“Quite.”
“What is the pact that you spoke of?” asked Eve. “Is that the reason your magic is fading?”
“No, it is not the reason our magic is fading. The diminishing of our powers is partly due to time. It has been so very long and magic has a tendency to spread itself about. Alas, we cannot keep it to ourselves it would seem!” The queen smiled at some inner joke, but the light upon her face faded. “There is a growing darkness in the world, so black that even we cannot fathom it with our magic and it seems to be causing our powers to wane faster than should be the case. We have noted a much quicker decline in recent generations. It is a great worry in our minds.
“Of mythical creatures, they are quite real and nearer than you may think. As humans spread throughout the land and across the seas, the leviathans of the deep that had become lonely and dumb and angry over the eons were not their friends. Many hundreds of men would die when the sea monsters rose to claim a ship – such a waste of life – and ere long we knew we had to act.
“We banished the sea monsters to the deeps. There they live now. Perhaps it was not our finest action. We were intended to be impartial to all of the species but I fear our similarities with the humans, our weaker cousins, bred a sense of protectiveness that we could not ignore.
“In a similar fashion, the dragons infringed on the human lands. As the humans grew their settlements, they took for their own livestock the animals they still farm now – sheep, cows, fowl, deer and so on. The humans also prospered financially, mining precious ores from the land and becoming skilled in fashioning works of great art and value from them.
“The dragons coveted their wealth and tamed livestock that was effortless for them to hunt. Their coming was inevitable. Soon, the humans found to their cost that here was an enemy they could not slay. Dragons have very few weak points in their hardened scales and they are most determined.
“Again, we aided the humans. We tried to banish the dragons to their strongholds – fire mountains and hot deserts – as we had done with the sea beasts. Unlike the sea beasts however, the dragons were too clever and we were forced into a mutual agreement. They would leave the human territories if we would do the same.
“It was a difficult decision, but it seemed we had no option. The war was costly to both sides and even with our magic we could not presume to defeat creatures also made from the very flesh of the elementals, especially those as wily as the dragons. They knew that.
“The solution, before we both tore each other’s races to extinction was to accept. We did this with one caveat; if the world is threatened, we must come together to protect it. Caledan’s ruling line was created. The kings and queens were guarded with the magic of the Eldarkind and the power of the dragons, ready to awaken should the need arise. The Kingdom of Caledan was born and the Eldarkind and the dragons faded into legends and petty fairy tales though we are both as present and real as ever.”
“This is amazing,” said Eve in hushed tones. “To think all these years of hearing about all those legends and stories that really live on. I wonder if I will ever see a dragon.”
“Well, given the strife in the kingdom, which I will soon be forced to act upon as no doubt will they, there is every chance you will do,” remarked Artora, to Eve’s great excitement.
“Where are the dragons now?” Eve asked.
Soren
The long night stretched before them as, sleep deprived, Soren and his companions cared for the injured men. More slipped away into the void and as the dawn sun peered over the trees in a red haze, those tending to the sick wandered blank eyed and increasingly quiescent. Hador beckoned to Edmund and Soren and drew them away and above ground. Seated amongst the wreckage of the monastery, they said little.
Hador eventually spoke, his voice weary. “You must leave,” he said. “They or others may return to loot the place. You cannot be here if they do so.”
Soren and Edmund looked at each other. “Where are we to go?” mused Edmund.
“There’s something I did not tell you,” admitted Soren. He told Edmund of the abbot’s dream, whilst Hador listened in silence.
Edmund was pensive and the pause lengthened. “So we must search for dragons then,” he murmured wondrously. “What a pity he did not tell you where they are to be found.”
“I believe he gave me a clue, whether he meant to or not; I think we must look to the east for the crown,” Soren explained.
“I would agree with you,” said Hador. His words surprised Soren. “The abbot recounted his dream to me and I inferred much the same conclusion when I mulled it over. Seek the dragons and you may find the crown.”
Edmund pulled out his weather worn map of Caledan and the surrounding lands, laying it upon an almost flat-topped boulder. Almost in the centre lay Pandora and to the north their present location. He placed his finger upon that point and traced it eastwards, murmuring as he went.
“Where would we find them though? The forest stretches east from here – what of the Helm Mountains?” Edmund asked.
“I think not.” Hador shook his head. “We would know if there were dragons hereabouts. Think of the stories at the very least; of livestock and child stealing terrors of the night. We have no such tales here.”
Edmund continued his path across the map. “Then there are the open moors and wastes beneath the gap to the north and I think not much would choose to live there – too open, too bare. The Grey Mountains?”
Hador shook his head, though with less conviction. “Caledan’s people live on both sides of those peaks and there are no reports of dragons there; I do not think they would remain so hidden. Think of the uproar there would be if they resided there! Perhaps once upon a time they did, but now I think not.”
“Then there is just the sea,” said Edmund. He traced his finger up and down the coast and squinted at the tiny writing that labelled the sparse towns and villages there.
“What about Kotyir?” Hador said.
Edmund found the point on his map. Far to the east of them and to the north lay an unobtrusive archipelago of islands, historically named the Isles of Kotyir.
They were so unknown and unexplored that they were on the edge of the map as an afterthought; several tiny markings no bigger than a fingernail. Past them lay vast leagues of sea and beyond, the complete unknown.
“I know little of them,” Edmund confessed. His estates were in the south of Caledan and he had never visited the area, he explained.
“I may do,” said Hador with a frown. “My home town lays across the Grey Mountains, south of that region, though I know a little of them. Travellers from the north around those parts have a special name for those islands. They call them the Dragon Isles.” Soren exclaimed, but Hador raised a hand to quiet him.
“Do not jump to that conclusion,” Hador said, “for those are volcanic island that belch out fire and smoke and are dragons in themselves. Perhaps there is be more to that name than ever I thought. Certainly no one dwells or travels near them.”
“It is as good a lead as any we have as to where the crown may be.” Soren tried to gauge Edmund’s mood.
“You are not safe here, Soren,” Edmund said. “I fear this is the path we should take, although it will be long, arduous and dangerous.”
Within hours they rode east through the forest. Hador sent them on with blessings and provisions, and all those able to move came above ground to bid them farewell. Even those who had seemed so hostile to him in the days before seemed genuinely saddened to see him go, which puzzled Soren. He wondered whether it had been his efforts in helping their fallen that had caused
their dislike to lessen.
Using little known tracks, Soren and Edmund travelled east and south through the vast forest. They spoke little and rhythmic drum of hooves lulled them into a tired stupor. Before long, the well-marked track disappeared and they rode through wide spaced trees in a light and airy part of the forest, keeping their bearing by the sun’s place. The mountains to the north fell away in the distance, until had they flown above the forest, the entire world would have seemed to be an ocean of trees.
~
It was the following evening, where, with a rapid decline in density, the forest gave way to the empty plains that stretched all the way from the frozen tundra beyond the Helm Mountains almost down to Pandora. They camped that night just within the forest. The abbot’s death had weighed on Soren’s guilt-ridden shoulders during their ride. He was not sure how to broach the subject with Edmund.
A distance grown between them in the silence of their ride, each man mulling over his troubled thoughts. As they sat in a small hollow in the forest, each with a back to a tree and the horses picketed nearby, dusk closed in around their still and silent forms.
“We must talk, Edmund,” stated the prince, his voice loud in the quiet forest.
Soren was almost invisible in the darkness, so Edmund quickly ignited a lamp with a flint and some dry tinder.
“Do not think I haven’t noticed your worry,” Edmund said. “Talk with me.”
“I cannot think what to say,” Soren said, with a shake of his head. He took a few moments to consider. Edmund did not press him to break the silence. “I watched the monastery being destroyed on Zaki’s orders and it made me stop and think; how many people have to die because of others?
“I suppose I began to question whether what I’m doing is right,” Soren said in a low voice. “I feel guilty that the abbot and his men had to die so that I might live. What’s the point of it all Edmund? All this discord and fighting and pettiness – what’s it all for? Why should others die for me?”
“You are our rightful king,” replied Edmund as if the matter were that simple.
“And that justifies people dying for me? Being heir to the throne does not make me deserving of that, or even the throne.”
“And it is good that you consider that,” said Edmund, “but do you think that your uncle would be a better ruler than you?”
“That’s what I can’t decide,” murmured Soren. He looked away.
“You cannot consider that he would prove better?” said Edmund, vehement.
“And you would not consider it at all?” retorted Soren. They fell into silence for some minutes again. “Zaki aside,” he said at last, “I have to consider my own fitness for the role. For all of my life I have been a prince who would someday become king, as surely as the sun rises each day. Yet, I’ve never stopped to think about what that means.
“Being king means that I will affect every person’s life in this kingdom and perhaps far beyond its borders; my choices will change lives perhaps or perhaps not for the better. My choices could kill people. They already have. I’ve stayed on this path because it’s been my life and all I’ve known, but now it’s all gone: my family, everything. Now, I only have myself left and I’m not sure who I am.” The words came tumbling out as Edmund listened, barely moving.
“I am realising that I cannot go back to that life again. None of this can be erased. I don’t know if I can live with the consequences of controlling other people’s lives. Would I sacrifice another monastery full of good men for what I believe in? My conscience would not allow it. I have been frightened and grieving and confused, but this has made me realise that I cannot run from my choices and I will have to decide sooner or later whether this is worth it for the sake of those around me. If it is in the interest of the kingdom that I not pursue the throne, then I would honour that.”
“What do you believe in?” Edmund questioned the prince, who took a deep breath before he replied.
“I would like to believe that peace in Caledan could be restored, so that every man woman and child doesn’t have to live in fear of Zaki. I would like to believe that I can make that peace,” Soren added in a softer voice, “but I’m not sure if I can. I’m not sure if the cost is too high.”
“They are just goals, Soren. No man is perfect,” said Edmund. “But the value in him is that he always tries his best. If you were to take the throne and possess that power, would you?”
“Of course,” replied Soren.
“Well, why should you not be a good ruler?” challenged his companion. “You want to do good things for the benefit of your people. Why would that make you anything less than the finest kings in your lineage?”
“What of my uncle?” asked Soren. “Surely he believes in his motives just as strongly as I do in mine?”
“Perhaps he does, but do you think they are as altruistic as yours? He covets the throne for his own gain. Moreover, what of your sister? Can you guarantee her safe conduct or even your own if you relinquish the throne to your uncle? Do not assume that someone else other than you could and will step up to be a better ruler. The kingdom at present has two choices and no other: yourself, or Zaki.
“Besides the fact that you are both of the royal bloodline and thus both have the right, Zaki would not permit anyone else to rise so high; he would crush them before he saw them make a claim to the throne. So you must make the choice, not based on your merit compared to that of every other living person, but on your merit when placed beside your uncle. From his actions so far, and who you understand him to be as a person, do you think he will be the better ruler?”
“I had not considered it as such,” murmured Soren, “with just he and I in contention. But, I can see the sense of your argument. No, I don’t think he would make the better ruler. I cannot know if he would act in the best interest of others, after how he has already acted.”
I really have no choice for now, Soren realised. If I ever want to see my sister again; if I ever want to live without constant fear of my safety in exile; if I want to be sure that the kingdom is in the hands of one who will respect and protect it, then I have no choice. It has to be me.
“So you will pursue the throne, whatever the cost?” asked Edmund.
“I will,” said Soren, after a moment’s hesitation. He felt strangely calm and sure of himself for the first time. “I don’t want anyone else to die for me, yet Zaki must be brought to justice for what he has done and I cannot let him claim the throne for fear of what he may do. I could not abandon my sister and flee like a coward in any case; I have to try for her sake.” He frowned, but Edmund’s smile was radiant.
“You have grown much more in this time than I would have thought possible, Soren. You already have the makings of a great king,” Edmund said proudly, to Soren’s surprise and pleasure.
“I am most happy that I have your confidence and support,” Soren replied. “I fear I’ll need many more like you before I’m to confront Zaki with any hope of success.” I have no idea where to find such allies. I pray they materialise. I can imagine Zaki’s amusement if I rode up to the gates of Pandora alone and bedraggled on my horse. He would surely laugh at me before he killed me.
“We may find allies where we least expect it,” said Edmund, who must have sensed his concern, “so do not despair quite yet.”
The atmosphere between them disintegrated. The niggling doubt that had occupied his mind since their flight from Pandora had vanished at last.
Zaki
It was a bitter return to Pandora. Zaki clattered through the almost deserted late evening streets in a foul mood, driving his exhausted horse as his company straggled far behind him. He reached the citadel alone, abandoned his mount in the courtyard, stormed into the castle and scattered surprised servants with orders to summon the council.
As he awaited them in the council chamber, dirty and travel stained, his mood brewed further discontent until they finally assembled about the vast table.
“How do preparations for
my coronation proceed?” Zaki asked Behan. He needed some good news to cool his rage.
“Very well, Your Royal Highness,” Behan replied. “It will be held two days hence if that is agreeable. We await the final arrangements.”
“It will be a grand affair?”
“Naturally, sir.” Master treasurer Lord Asquith cut in. “The coffers have been replenished with the seizure of traitors’ assets, so the event will be magnificent.”
“Good,” replied Zaki, ever curt. He drummed his fingers upon the table. “You will need to source me the finest crown in the vaults, Lord Steward,” Zaki ordered, “and organise that Pandora’s archbishop conducts the ceremony.” He rose to leave but could not miss the shared look between Behan and Lord Heligan sat across the table from him. “Do you have an opinion to share on that?” he asked them.
Behan coloured. “No, sir. I merely wondered if the absence of the crown will be a setback. Historically…”
“History is in the past,” Zaki said through gritted teeth, “and will bear no reflection on my reign. A crown is a crown and the finest we have will be more than adequate.”
“As you wish, sir,” Behan replied. Zaki had already left without a backwards glance.
~
The council exchanged glances nervously.
“Are we missing something?” Asquith looked quizzically at Reynard, who exhaled in resignation.
“He did not retrieve the crown from the monastery. The boy – Soren – we heard rumours that he sheltered there, yet we turned over every single stone and found not one trace of him or the crown. Needless to say, Zaki is not well pleased.”
“Why does the abbot not come to conduct the coronation as he usually is wont to do?” Behan asked.
Reynard regarded him with a calculating look – there was no love lost between the two men – before he answered to the room at large. “The abbot is dead.”
