by Meg Cowley
The horns rang out as he charged alone, ahead of his men, across the plains towards Harad’s camp. The king of Roher reclined under the shade of a pavilion when Zaki found him. Zaki leapt from his horse and flung his helmet away.
“What in God’s name are you playing at?!” Zaki shouted at him.
“You would do well to compose yourself,” Harad remarked in a benign voice, but this infuriated Zaki further.
“Compose myself! You abandoned me to a humiliating defeat! With your help we could be sitting in that castle – my castle – right now! You told me to crush them without mercy and yet you will not follow your own advice!”
Harad rose from his recliner, more swiftly than Zaki expected, and stood in front of him, fists clenched. “You will not address me thus,” Harad said, his voice iron. “You were too hasty in your attack. I will not suffer my men to die to satisfy your trivial ego when there are better ways to achieve our goals.”
Harad turned away and dismissed him with a wave as he strode into his tent. Zaki made to follow him, but the tent flap closed, and guards barred his way. He kicked the recliner in anger and stormed off to take his frustration out elsewhere.
Soren
Just before sunset that evening, Harad and Zaki, backed by a hundred of Harad’s men, approached the city gates where Soren still waited. He made his way down, flanked by Behan and Edmund. The gates opened as armoured cavalry waited in the courtyard where they would be visible to Harad.
“Greetings, Prince Soren,” said Harad, as Zaki dismounted to stand beside him. Their horses were led away to the side. Soren could see how close Harad’s men stood to Zaki in neat formation and could see the trap that would soon spring into motion, if Harad were to keep his word.
“I trust that my daughter is awaiting our arrival, yes?” Harad questioned, after Soren had greeted him in return. Soren and Zaki did not acknowledge each other. Soren refused to look at his uncle. He signalled Edmund, who gestured to the men by the gate to reveal Demara.
Demara dressed simply, shadowed by her maid and carrying no possessions. She stood in silence as she saw her father for the first time since she had married. Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face. Soren admired her courage. He allowed her to approach closer so that Harad could see she was in perfect condition.
Harad smiled – a cold smile that showed no emotion at the sight his daughter. “She is well. I am glad. Seize him.”
The trap sprang into motion. Harad’s men overpowered Zaki, who had no time to resist. A man to each limb, they forced him to the ground, as he hurled abuse at them. When he rose again, supported by guards, his clothes and face were smeared with dirt where he had been pushed face first into the earth. His hands were bound behind him and his ankles tied together.
He continued to swear at Harad, but his father in law gazed around at Pandora’s walls as if admiring the fortifications. Last of all, a guard moved forward to shove a rag into Zaki’s mouth. The guard recoiled with a suppressed cry as Zaki bit him.
“Give up,” said Harad disdainfully. “You have lost.” Zaki stopped moving and glared at him with malevolence instead. “Take comfort in knowing your wife still lives and bears you an heir and be done with it.” Harad turned away.
Zaki responded with insults and curses, which were nothing more than muffed, indistinct sounds. He struggled against his bonds but he could not free himself. Soren dared to look him in the face as Zaki looked between Harad and Soren with such hatred that Soren was taken aback.
“My daughter, please,” requested Harad. He opened his arms.
“Zaki first,” Soren said, his eyes narrowing.
“As you wish.” A click of King Harad’s fingers and the guards dragged Zaki forward and sent him sprawling across the ground in front of Soren, where he lay writhing on the floor. Edmund gestured and five of Soren’s men ran forward. They grabbed Zaki bodily and rushed him within the city gates.
“My daughter,” said Harad. When Soren paused, the king glowered. “Do not double cross me, for it would be a grievous mistake.”
“I would do no such thing,” replied Soren, stung. “I wish you to reiterate your promise that you will leave my land peacefully and immediately, as we agreed earlier, in the hearing of all those present, before I release Demara to you.”
Harad surveyed the wall towering above him that bristled with armoured soldiers. Soren knew the king would be calculating his chances if they commenced a battle. The prince stood tall to portray confidence he did not possess. He hoped the bravado would cause Harad to retreat.
Slowly, Harad inclined his head. In his deep voice, he stated what he had promised earlier loud enough so that those present could hear it. Without further hesitation, Soren signalled for Demara to step forward. Her maid scurried behind her. Demara stood opposite her father, who helped her mount Zaki’s now abandoned horse. Without a backward glance, he mounted and rode swiftly off.
Soren called for the word of victory and the capture of the false king to be spread everywhere throughout the city and sent riders to share the news further afield. A great guard was set on that night, but when dawn broke, there was no sign of Harad or of his men. More worryingly, Zaki’s men had also vanished, though Soren could not spare much thought for them.
~
It took weeks of labour to make the city good once more; days flowed from one to the next as Soren oversaw the restoration of hundreds of houses and businesses destroyed by fire. He could do nothing to save the lives that had been lost, but he was determined to help salvage what was left for those who remained in whatever way he could, regardless of their status or wealth.
At first, the people were apprehensive and avoided him, unsure how to react to his presence amongst them. Yet, as his perseverance shone through, their affection and familiarity for him grew, for taking his time and spending his money freely to help them. In return, Soren found himself rewarded by their appreciation and his own satisfaction, not to mention a growing confidence from making so many new acquaintances.
The prince had not spared a moment of time for Zaki since his detainment, happy to be distracted by more pleasing things. His uncle’s trial had yet to be arranged and although the shadow of his fate hung over Soren, he buried the decision in the business of helping Pandora’s people, until the city was restored and he safely enthroned. He was glad to have what his senior advisers would agree was a reasonable cause to divert his attention. He still felt unable to confront the man – who was a monster in his mind.
He relied on Behan for support and guidance; the steward of Pandora was a respected and reliable figurehead for the people, with connections spreading like a spider’s web throughout the city. In truth, Behan’s wealth of contacts unnerved Soren. The man was powerful to be sure, but the prince was so desperate for allies that he grasped the opportunity.
Behan offered his help so freely for the present, which Soren appreciated, but there grew a suspicion that he would have a debt to pay to others, mostly Behan, sooner rather than later as a reward for their loyalty. Edmund also provided a source of constant morale, though in contrast to Behan, after their adventures and ordeals, the prince trusted Sir Edmund far more and spent much more time confiding in him than anyone else.
From the noble houses sprung up the sons of now-dead lords to take up his cause; with their youth they brought inexperience, though also vitality. Soren was glad that members of the older generation remained. Although few, they knew the ways of the world far better than their sons. To Edmund’s great delight, his son Dane appeared from the wilderness, emaciated and bedraggled – but alive – having travelled all the way to Pandora on foot after escaping his father’s occupied estate.
For all their enthusiasm, the naivety of the young lords saddened Soren; a few months ago, he had been identical to them in hopes and dreams, and their lives in a sheltered environment. Now he saw what a disadvantage that upbringing had been.
~
Meanwhile, Eve busied herself in the healing houses
; the line of casualties was overwhelming. The infirmary was full, makeshift beds lined the corridors and the healers wore identical looks of exhaustion and dogged determination. Some patients died, some Eve healed, yet more would be there for longer stays.
Eve sealed away the grief of so much death and pain and focused unthinkingly on healing after healing. Luke shadowed her night and day to ensure that she slept and ate. She appreciated his constant care more than she could say – and they were both glad when she was no longer needed so much, and they could return to some normality in schedule.
~
Once Pandora had been restored, there was one event remaining to prepare for and it sparked joy in the city: Soren’s coronation. Pandora was cleaned and decorated from bottom to top, flowerpots and troughs liberally adorned buildings and streets were swept whilst homemade bunting, strung from roof to roof, fluttered in the breeze. Each citizen seemed more house proud than the next and the further into the city and the wealthier the occupants, the more extravagant the displays of flowers, exotic shrubs and other shows of celebration.
Guests and revellers poured in from all corners of the kingdom to join in the celebrations. Before Eve had had a chance to consider returning home, her father arrived from Arlyn. She had been dreading their eventual meeting, but her father greeted her with an unexpected embrace and betrayed no hints of anything other than genuine affection. For this, she was glad.
They dined and drank together as they always had at home, until it seemed that no time had passed and they had not ever parted. There was the slightest awkwardness in the occasional lull in the conversation that betrayed what remained unspoken between them. Eve knew they must soon have a reckoning, but the thought of it sparked dread in her heart.
To Soren’s surprise, Garth also appeared with his daughter Lindy in tow, atop Soren’s own horse with Edmund’s riding alongside. Soren greeted them with delight, astonished that the fisherman had returned the horses himself. He invited them to the coronation and gave them the freedom of the city for their help. Garth, typical of his gruff nature, which Soren had come to be fond of, shook off the thanks, uncomfortable with being made such a fuss of, but he seemed genuinely pleased that Soren appreciated his efforts nonetheless.
Once the city returned to business as usual, Soren’s mood became much lighter, as though he had been relieved of a huge burden. In the small family meals that he shared with Irumae, Eve, Karn and a few chosen others amongst his extended family and cohort, he almost seemed to return to his former self. He appeared carefree and witty in his conversations, although the dark shadows under his eyes, which had not quite faded, betrayed his continuing stress.
He was increasingly nervous about his coronation; he required both Eldarkind and dragon blessings to ensure his success. Neither race had yet graced the capital with their presence, although Soren had made sure that Nolwen had conveyed Soren’s invitation to his queen and ensured that she in turn, would notify the dragons.
A small group of the Eldarkind, sent by Artora, arrived two days in advance of the coronation and were welcomed into the city by its people, to Soren’s relief on both counts. East of the great lake, the Eldarkind were regarded with intrigue and reverence, being ingrained in royal history and folklore.
~
On the morning of the fifteenth day of the seventh month, the great cathedral in Pandora played host to the great event, bedecked in colourful decorations. Lords, ladies, clergymen, special guests and all those who could fit, packed into the huge building to see the spectacle of coronation as it should be.
Queen Naisa’s standard hung from rafters and balconies wherever it could be draped, spreading blue and gold across the grey stone and complemented by flowers woven into ornate structures adorning the columns and altars. They filled the vaulted space with colour, matched by the ceremonial capes of scarlet and white, fine fur adorning the shoulders of the highest-ranking parties there, who occupied the front rows of seating.
The Eldarkind stood in flowing robes of white along the central aisle that ran the length of the cathedral’s nave, as Soren entered dressed in simple but smart trousers and doublet, wearing the crown of the heir to the throne. Hador met him at the head of the aisle – as the new abbot, it was his duty to preside over the ceremony, but Soren was glad for his presence. He felt a bond with the monk after their shared experiences.
The Eldarkind sang as Soren entered and their melody floated into the heights as the ceremony began. Hador passed the crown of the heir from Soren to Irumae, who sat in a smaller throne by her brother, atop the huge dais. The abbot charged Soren with the fair running of the country and treatment of its subjects and Soren promised to govern it so. Two pages draped the purple mantle of kingship over Soren’s shoulders as he stood before the dragon throne.
Impassive, silent, motionless, it towered before him. He accepted the royal ceremonial sword that represented honour and chivalry. Then he took the golden sceptre and promised rule in line with the law and knelt to accept the blessing of the abbot upon his brow. Soren prayed under his breath. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Nowhere had he found the crown of the dragon kings and he wondered whether Brithilca watched over him.
The Eldarkind’s song increased in complexity; harmonies emerged through the melody that flowed through the summer air, bewitching their audience. Eve, watching on, felt a shiver down her spine and her hair stand on end all across her body as she listened to the magic infused words of the old tongue.
They sang for prosperity, wellbeing, good harvests and all manner of things to the sky, blessing the coronation of King Soren and calling their allies, the dragons, forth to do likewise. The sun brightened in the sky and flowers blossomed spontaneously, called forth by the magic of the song and radiant joy was mirrored on the face of everyone who listened.
As they sang, repeating the verses again and again, a piercing crack split the still air and then another, and then a rumble. All looked up in wonder as the stone dragon rose and spread its wings.
“You have proven your worth, young prince,” Brithilca judged to Soren privately.
Soren breathed again and a great smile crossed his face as the unrealised tension pent up in him released; he had been so terrified the dragon would not bless him, that he had not slept for days.
“All hail King Soren,” Brithilca rumbled, releasing a column of spectral flame into the air, before a great flash of light split the sky. The great dragon was once more immobile, now standing guard over the dragon throne with open wings. Soren knelt on the steps, with the weighty crown of the dragon kings pressing down on his head as the citizens of Caledan erupted into raucous cheers and applause around him.
“All hail King Soren!” roared the crowd as one. “All hail King Soren! All hail King Soren!”
In unison, the crowd bowed low to their new king. Soren sat on the throne as the nobility paid homage and swore their allegiance to him in a great long line, before proceeding onto the brightly lit steps of the cathedral where it seemed the entire city’s population was trying to cram into the square to see him.
The ceremony was not finished with yet, however. The crowds parted way for Edmund, who had slipped off to fetch a horse and now rode proudly dressed in full armour on a black stallion into the square, bearing aloft Soren’s standard and a black leather glove. He rode to the very centre of the square, where there stood a thin, square plinth raised to waist height.
“I name myself Sir Edmund Arransson, champion of His Majesty King Soren. Let all those who seek to challenge him fight me in his stead. Take up the gauntlet if you dare!” He cast down the gauntlet on the plinth where it lay, an open invite. Not one person moved; all waited in eager anticipation, until a man’s voice called from the back of the crowd.
“I’ll challenge you if you will give me the other glove, good sir!”
A ripple of laughter spread out amongst those in hearing and Edmund grinned and shook his head as he turned away.
As was customary
on coronation day, the new king, adorned in his robes and crown, rode to the very gates of the city before walking all the way back up on the main road, to view his subjects and press a coronation coin into the hand of anyone who came to pay homage to him. There were so many people in the city that the prince required bags of coins, drawn in waggons behind him by horses sweating in the sun under their burdens.
Soren enjoyed the task of meeting his people, tiring though it was. It took all day to reach the castle for his coronation dinner, as he stopped to talk with many of the residents personally. He was surprised at how many people he now knew by face or name and even more so by how much he could relate to many of them now; be it the carpenter who had a similar sense of humour, or the smith’s apprentice with a fascination for swordplay.
Last of all that day, Nelda drew him aside, still dressed in the robes she had worn to his coronation. She led him to the castle gardens in the fading light until she reached the wall covered in honeysuckle ready to flower that led to the castle cemetery. He hung back with misgiving reflected in his eyes, but she beckoned him with a knowing smile. Through the gate, a dozen of her kind, identically adorned, stood waiting for her, barring the way.
“Your Majesty,” they murmured. They bowed and parted like water to allow him past.
“Our gift to you,” Nelda said.
As Soren stepped towards his mother’s grave, he saw that the tombstone had been replaced or reworked by their magic. Where there had been rough stone there now lay an intricate, lifelike carving of his mother. Veins and flecks ran through the stone and it was rose hued, giving a warm glow to the statue. Soren drew closer. He searched the face and gasped when he realised how perfect a likeness it was. Her eyes lay shut and her face was peaceful. Her hands clasped across her belly. Detail of lace and gold leaf inlaid in the form sprang out as Soren absorbed each minuscule detail of the statue.
When he could look no more he turned around. Nelda’s kin had vanished – he had not heard them leave.
