The Tainted Crown: The First Book of Caledan (Books of Caledan 1)

by Meg Cowley

  “If you will not give me the crown to prove I am the rightful heir,” replied Soren, subdued, “then how am I to prove myself at all? Zaki already holds the kingdom in name and by force of military might. There is no one else but he and I who could hold a claim to the throne and I have nothing to back mine with, though I am certain I would make a more just guardian to our people than he. How can I overcome that?”

  “It will not be easy, yet the seeds of his downfall are alreadysown. He has already been crowned, but not with the true crown of the dragon kings and he extends his hands holding the keys of the realm to the men of the south, who have long desired Caledan as their trophy.

  “Thus, the people know him for what he is: a fraud. He has no love for them, save for the fruits of their toil helping him meet his own selfish ends and they see this and do not trust or serve him well him for it. You have but to extend your hand to them. If your true nature is that worthy of a king of Caledan, the people will flock to your banners. You will have victory and you shall prove that you are worthy of lifting the true crown onto your head.”

  “How do you know this?” wondered Soren, distracted from the disappointment of being denied the crown.

  “I am at one with the world,” Brithilca said. When Soren did not reply, he continued. “The dragons have had a long standing pact with the Eldarkind. It is our duty alongside them to safeguard Caledan and through its peace the rest of the world. Thus I, and we, know of the world as we watch it to ensure peace reigns. Although my body rests beneath your citadel, my spirit roams free and although the Eldarkind remain in their secret realm, they see the world through their hidden eyes.”

  Soren pondered Brithilca’s answer. He wondered what he meant by roaming spirits and hidden eyes, but pushed aside his curiosity.

  “If you and yours guard the peace, as you say you do, then surely you will invoke the old alliance to help me cleanse the kingdom of Zaki’s illegitimate reign and any claim his father in law might stake to Caledan,” Soren said more boldly than he felt, hoping it would pay off.

  Brithilca did not reply immediately. “You make a daring request of me,” said the dragon spirit. “Already the world moves at a fast pace with dangers greater than Zaki growing and I fear our involvement will be needed in some way. I must speak with the Eldarkind first. You shall leave me now and return here in the morning at first light. I will tell you our decision.”

  Soren and Edmund bowed to Brithilca. The dragons lowered their necks again, all except Myrkith-visir who held Brithilca’s gaze as if in a private conversation of their own. Finally, Myrkith-visir too dropped his long neck in submission and murmured a faint “Brithilca-visir” in parting. The sound of rushing, trickling water filled their ears. Seconds later, Brithilca was gone. The pool settled to rest again.

  Dragons departed around them with great leaps into the sky. They battered and buffeted those who remained with gusts of air. Soren felt as if he were in the midst of a jewelled flock of birds as they took off and scattered into the sky. During the appearance of Brithilca’s spirit, the sun had deigned to shine and blue skies dominated, illuminating the crater lake and causing the dragons to glitter fiercely as they passed overhead and out of sight beyond the crater rims in all directions.

  Soon three dragons remained: Myrkith-visir and two others that dwarfed by his size. Both were shades of earthy brown and Soren was sure that if they curled up he could mistake them on a murky day for gnarled tree roots. Myrkith-visir entrusted the care of Soren and Edmund to the two dragons, Feldloga and Feldith.

  The flight to their overnight shelter was much rougher than their previous journey with Myrkith-visir, requiring more laboured flapping to gain enough altitude to fly over the crater rim, which jolted Soren about as he clung to a spike on Feldloga’s back trying not to vomit. Compared to Myrkith-visir’s bulk, the smaller dragons, although still towering above Soren and Edmund, felt insubstantial beneath them.

  Once they landed, Soren sat with his head between his legs until the nausea subsided. As he recovered, he lifted his head up, hair tousled, to notice the two dragons sat close by. They regarded him with tilted heads – like a dog or a cat might.

  “Is this your home?” he asked them.

  One answered the affirmative – which one he could not tell. He stood up unsteadily to survey his surroundings. Vegetation obscured his view to the right; trees and shrubs he did not recognise, though the patchy grass beneath his feet that petered out further up the peak looked familiar enough. He surveyed the rest of the panorama.

  The cave behind him was nothing more than a deep impression partly naturally formed from the rock beneath an overhang and partly scraped out by the dragons to offer some shelter. He saw dried grasses lined it, forming a thick layer of insulation from the cold stone. Structured piles of rubble to either side of the entrance extended the barrier against wind and weather.

  The most impressive view however lay before him. The land swept away and, except for one large rise which obscured the beach, he could see all the way to the sea. From here, the shallows were azure. As he gazed further afield, he could see the stark contrast of the steely grey-blue waters out to sea that swirled under matching clouds.

  “It’s beautiful,” Soren murmured. They were so high and so far north that the weather had a noticeable chill to it despite the bright sun, and when the breeze rose, Soren shivered.

  The two dragons and the two men spent the rest of the day in conversation, each race as curious about the other. Other young dragons, overcome by curiosity, continued to arrive, until there was hardly any space left around the two men. It became apparent to Soren that the dragons could tell them apart as poorly as Soren and Edmund could differentiate between the two brown dragons. This caused some amusement to both sides, although all parties were adamant that the differences between them were obvious.

  Soren and Edmund were the first humans that the young dragons had laid eyes on; they were curious to understand how such small, scale-less, wing-less, claw-less and to their eyes teeth-less creatures could hold dominion over most of the known world. Edmund and Soren showed the dragons their swords and small knives; the dragons remained unconvinced.

  A black dragon put it to them with derision, “How can you do anything with one claw?”

  “Well what if you had just one claw to fight with?” asked Soren, emboldened.

  The dragon growled in response, as his companions let out strange rumbles that seemed to be laughter. “I am Myrkdaga son of Myrkith and I am a dragon not a mouse!”

  Faced with a row of glittering teeth so close to his head, Soren reconsidered. “I meant no offence,” he said contritely.

  Myrkdaga, Feldloga and Feldith were the boldest of the dragons, Soren discovered, although Myrkdaga seemed dominant over the others, who deferred to him.

  Although still awed by their size, several feet taller than Edmund, who was no short man himself, they discovered that they were the younger dragons of the clan. Feldloga and Feldith were brood mates of twelve years old, sired by Myrkith-visir’s younger brother and Myrkdaga slightly older. So young, thought Soren, yet so huge!

  Both Feldloga and Feldith, though this was not immediately apparent to Soren or Edmund, were males, with fierce attitudes and each strove to dominate the other. The sibling rivalry was almost comical in their attempts to outwit each other and take the last word on a matter, but Soren sensed that he did not want to be in the middle of the more physical expressions of their disagreement if he could help it.

  The two brother dragons lived together because they were still too young to fight with either each other or larger dragons for a more prominent position in the clan. According to Feldith, the lifespan of a dragon was so long that it would be at least another twelve years before they would be big enough to fight or seek a mate. Soren did not dare to ask how old Myrkith-visir was.

  Their sharp minds were impressive; despite their youth, they seemed to be wise and witty beyond their years and Soren would have sworn
, had he not been able to see their bodies, that he was conversing with another human. It was bizarre to experience the contrast of their predatory bodies; perfectly designed for fighting, hunting and killing and their minds, which possessed astounding intelligence.

  That night, after being outfoxed in games of riddles by the wily dragons, Soren fell asleep to dream of sweeping away Zaki under a storm of dragon fire as he descended with the entire might of the dragon clan behind him.

  ~

  The following morning dawned bright as the rumbling of stirring dragons woke Soren with a start. He had spent the night on a pile of dried grasses in the dragons’ cave, whilst the dragons laid underneath the stars. It was sheltered and had retained enough heat to keep them warm despite the altitude and the latitude.

  Soren dressed, wishing for a hot bath. Every inch of him was caked with dirt despite yesterday’s dunking in the sea. He wore his other set of clothes – which were marginally cleaner – wrinkling his nose with distaste at the state of the last as he scrunched them up into a bundle. They were covered in grime, fish slime and probably worse.

  Next to the magnificent dragons who cleaned themselves with barbed tongues, scraping each scale until it shone, he felt disgustingly inferior. Half asleep, he wondered if they despised his scent and was glad that he had grown unable to smell himself.

  Eager to hear the dragons’ judgement they returned to the small island in the crater lake where they found Myrkith-visir waiting by the pool. This time, without the power of the entire clan’s summoning, Brithilca’s face swam beneath the surface of the tiny pool as if it were a reflection. They knelt by the poolside, with Myrkith-visir lowering his neck so it was level with their heads. Feldloga and Feldith waited some distance away, beside Myrkdaga, who had insisted on accompanying them.

  Soren addressed him today as ‘Brithilca-visir,’ understanding now from Feldloga that ‘visir’ was a special term of respect for the highest of the clan; applied only to Myrkith, the clan chief and Brithilca the great dragon spirit.

  “The decision has been made,” Brithilca said.

  Soren froze, not even breathing.

  “One of the clan will escort you to Pandora.”

  One... thought Soren. He closed his eyes in dismay. What can one dragon do? His dream of sweeping Zaki away under a mighty assault now seemed impossible.

  “My kin will take you to Pandora and return henceforth. We will take no part in your affairs.”

  Soren opened his mouth to protest, but Brithilca did not pause.

  “It is you who must unite the kingdom. Only then can you claim the crown of your forebears and then will it be your right to do so.”

  Soren bowed to the ground. Disappointment rendered the words hollow as he tried to thank Brithilca. He was not sure if the dragon sensed his insincerity or not.

  “I also bear you a message from Queen Artora of the Eldarkind. She bade me tell you this to give you hope in a dark time.” Brithilca’s voice ceased, and there spoke into Soren’s mind then a different voice; one that made his heart quicken.

  “Prince Soren, you stand out of favour and luck with life,” the rich, warm voice of Queen Artora said. Soren saw the flash of a disembodied smile in his mind’s eye and felt a strange sensation of a hand upon his head as she spoke. “Fear not, for although you face perils beyond your imagination, if you cannot unite the kingdom, no one can. This I have foreseen. Go with confidence to Pandora and speak to Caledan’s people of your hopes and desires for their kingdom and they will rise up and follow you. Ride into your city not with an army, but with honesty.”

  He saw the smile again as the light touch faded. The voice disappeared and a tear sprang to his eye at the sadness its departure left him. The voice was loving, soothing, reassuring. He longed to hear it again.

  Silence fell. Soren did not speak to break it and pondered what he had heard. Myrkith stirred.

  “You should depart immediately, Prince Soren,” he said to Soren. Any hope Soren had that Myrkith would lend him more support than Brithilca had allowed was crushed.

  Dragons were not subject to the long drawn out partings and ceremonies that Soren was accustomed to. They exchanged a quick farewell with Brithilca, although Soren would have longed to stay and talk with him for days if he could, wholly fascinated by the spirit and his knowledge. Brithilca faded from the pool and Myrkith too departed with few words or ceremony.

  Soren was delighted to learn that Feldloga and Feldith would fly alongside them part of the way to return Soren and Edmund to the mainland. However, he was apprehensive when he learnt that Myrkdaga would be the one to carry them to Pandora; because it meant flying all the way and because of their disagreement the previous day.

  The journey would take a few days, instead of weeks sailing back to land with Garth and travelling the remainder of the way on horseback. This was advantageous for Soren, who realised that speed would be of the essence, but the thought of flying such a long distance when the two short journeys he had previously embarked on upon dragon back had been so nauseating, was less than welcome.

  Soren felt overwhelmed by the dragons as they gathered up into bundles his and Edmund’s few possessions to transport in their giant clawed feet. Ever practical, Edmund had noticed how sharp the dragons’ scales were and laid, with their permission, one thin blanket over each dragon back; it was all they had that could suffice as a makeshift saddle and protective layer.

  Soren appreciated Edmund’s quick thinking. Even riding a horse saddled was sore enough. He did not want to imagine flying all the way to Pandora seated on razor sharp scales. As he watched, Edmund punctured holes in two corners of each blanket and passed through a length of cord to tie around the dragons’ bellies.

  To their credit, the two dragons were tolerating of what must have seemed to them a very strange practice. Soren, having an appreciation for the great status of the legendary creatures, felt guilty about having to treat them as if they were pack horses and made an effort not to call the makeshift contraption a saddle, for fear of offending them. He thanked them for agreeing to bear them and the other dragons for carrying their things, before he climbed up Feldith’s leg.

  Once mounted, there was one more addition to make to their makeshift riding gear. Both Soren and Edmund tied a short length of rope around one wrist, passed it around the spike in front of them and then tied it around the other wrist.

  They did not tie these too tightly, but it would mean that, if they lost their grip on the spike when buffeted with wind, they were more likely to be able to right themselves without falling off. Soren resolved to devise an easier way to ride a dragon.

  All too suddenly, they were flying. Myrkdaga took a running leap into the air and rose with strong wing beats. Feldloga and Feldith, having things grasped in their claws, crouched and with the enormous strength of their haunches, jumped into flight.

  Soren held onto the spike, and hugged it close so his face touched the smooth, almost warm, bone-like material. Then Feldith jumped, jolting Soren again and again as he flapped to gain altitude. A wingspan to his side rose Feldloga.

  The island fell away beneath them until they could not see the small pool where Brithilca’s incarnation had risen. The crater lake dwindled as they left it behind them and then they were over the rim of the crater, returning the way they had come. They soared down the heights of the rich green inactive peak, gliding around its black and scarred but now sleeping sister peak.

  “Take us down please!” Soren shouted as he noticed the tiny boat waiting for them in the bay. He was surprised Garth had waited for them, and he smiled, feeling sudden warmth for the stranger they had roped into the harebrained mission.

  “Why?” questioned Feldith.

  “The man who brought us here is just down in the bay, still waiting for news of us. I would like to go to him to thank him for his support and release him from his service.”

  Feldith conferred Myrkdaga, who grudgingly agreed to land on the beach where his father had
first appeared to Soren and Edmund. Feldith roared to announce their presence as they circled low over the ship. Within moments Garth stumbled out of the cabin in panic, with a pan on his head, clutching the most pathetic makeshift bow Soren had ever seen. Soren burst out laughing. Garth looked up, open-mouthed, as the three dragons soared over him and landed on the beach.

  Soren untied his hands and slipped down from Feldith’s back as Garth swam to shore with short, efficient strokes. He emerged dripping from the water as Soren met him at the shore, the prince grasping forearms with him. Garth looked over Soren’s shoulder at the three scaled predators, who crouched on the beach with their glittering eyes fixed on him.

  “Some escort, eh?” Garth gulped, half-frozen in the scaled behemoths’ gazes.

  Soren chuckled. “Thank you for waiting,” he said to the fisherman. “We won’t be sailing back to Pandora, however,” Soren admitted. “We’ll be flying.”

  “All the way from here to there?” Garth gaped. “Gods, aren’t yeh scared you’ll fall off? I beg yer pardon.” He backtracked.

  “I can’t say it appeals to me but the speed would hold a great advantage,” Soren said with a grim smile. “Can I ask a favour of you though, Garth?”

  “Of course,” said the fisherman.

  “Our horses will have no way to return with us, except in the stomachs of my new esteemed companions,” one of the dragons behind him snorted – a rumbling laugh, “and I regret I hold greater affection for them than that and wouldn’t wish to leave them behind either if possible. Would you send them to me in Pandora by any means as soon as you land? I will reward you handsomely.”

  Garth considered it for a moment. “It should be possible,” he said slowly. “I’ll see what I can do.” The prince thanked him and then they bade each other farewell. The fisherman swam back to his boat whilst Soren remounted Feldith. Edmund had already climbed back into Feldloga’s makeshift saddle.

  With a run and a leap Myrkdaga, had taken to the air again and his companions followed in quick succession. They soared upwards, in wide circles; over the small bay, over the boat where Garth stood with his hand raised, over the cliffs and then out to sea and south. The islands soon faded behind them as they climbed higher and higher, and soared further away. Soon, there was nothing below them but an expanse of blue.