The Crown and the Dragon

by John D. Payne

  “‘Endless snake, the legion breaks the people,’” Elenn read aloud. “Almost sounds like the Vitalion.”

  “Yes,” Remembrance said. “The meaning is apparent to us now because the prophecy has come to pass. Those of us who were there, who saw with our own eyes the black days of the invasion—we understand. We remember.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “Clothed in scale armor they came, the legions of the Vitalion Empire. An endless parade of soldiers, like one vast, steel serpent.”

  “Endless snake,” Elenn said.

  “Precisely,” said Sister Remembrance. She turned the page and pointed out another verse.

  “‘Waves beat the shore like goatskin drums,’” Elenn read again. “Drumney beach, where they came ashore?”

  The Sister nodded. “Correct.” She continued to turn the book's pages, her fingers indicating other verses for Elenn to read.

  “‘With the bloom of fire comes steel, and with steel comes the bloom of fire,’” Elenn read. “‘His outstretched hand calls for a weapon, but pestilence answers.’ ‘The beast devours the land’s mighty children.’ ‘Immortality must be unborn; it cannot be quenched.’” She stopped when Remembrance stopped pointing out new verses.

  “Our brave warriors were pushing the Vitalion back into the sea,” the Sister said. “Then the invaders summoned the very beast of prophecy—the dragon. It is a weapon, a plague, a curse. It destroyed everything—man and beast, hearth and home, even the land itself. On that day, our dreams, our heroes, were swallowed in unquenchable flame.”

  Sister Remembrance stared with frank hatred at the picture of the dragon. “We can not forget,” she said. “We must not forget.”

  “Is that why you named yourself Remembrance?” asked Elenn.

  “Yes,” said the Sister.

  Elenn leaned forward. “Why did you join the Sisters?”

  “To… honor the memory of the dead,” said Remembrance.

  Elenn reached up to touch the ring that hung around her neck and thought of her mother, honoring the memory of her sister. “But if remembering is so important, why did you abandon your name?”

  “Anonymity is the rule of the Order,” said the Sister.

  “But you wouldn't have to follow the rule if you didn't join the Order,” protested Elenn. “So why renounce your old life? Why let the world forget you?”

  “Because some things are more important than one woman's miserable life!” said Sister Remembrance hotly.

  Elenn shrank back into her chair. She had never seen such fury in the eyes of a Sister, even stern Remembrance. “Forgive me, Sister,” she said, meekly folding her hands in her lap.

  Remembrance took a deep breath. “No, child. It is I who should ask forgiveness. I should not have let my feelings get the better of me.”

  “And I should not have let my curiosity get the best of me,” said Elenn. “It was wrong of me to pry, and I am sorry.”

  “Nonsense,” said the Sister. “Curiosity is a gateway to knowledge. Never forget it. And never apologize for asking questions.”

  Elenn nodded, unsure what to say next.

  “Frankly, I believe our vaunted anonymity is as much an invitation to inquiry as anything else,” said Remembrance as if to herself. “After all, is it not strange to hide one’s own name?”

  “I suppose it is,” said Elenn.

  For a moment, the Sister was silent. “My name,” she said at last, “was Ethelind Barethon.”

  “Barethon?” said Elenn. “The house of King Elfraed?”

  “Yes,” said Ethelind. “And of Ethelward. They were my brothers. When the Vitalion came to this land, Syffred Barethon had three sons and two daughters. Now only I remain.”

  “But what about the next generation?” asked Elenn.

  “You know what happened to Elfraed’s son, Aedelred,” Ethelind said. “After they put down his rebellion, the Vitalion hunted down all of that line. Likewise Erwyn’s brood.” She sighed, heavily.

  “My sister, Lioba, fled Deira to protect her son,” Ethelind continued, “but Garrick returned, and he is rash, foolhardy. He wastes the lives of the men who flock to his banner on reckless raids that would not build a kingdom, even if they succeeded. Garrick will tolerate no advisor, unlike King Elfraed, who had the wise counsel of his brother.”

  Ethelind smiled fondly. “They were great men, Elfraed and Ethelward. I hope Deira sees their like again someday.”

  “Maybe Garrick will surprise you,” said Elenn. “The House of Barethon might rise again, unite the clans, and cast out the Vitalion and their monster.”

  Ethelind regarded her thoughtfully, tapping her lips with steepled fingers. “Perhaps,” she said. “There is good metal there, if it could be tempered by patience and prudence.” She stood, and once again paced the floor.

  “I fear that Deira can’t depend on great men,” Ethelind said. She turned and gazed down at Elenn. “So we women of Barethon must do our part.”

  “You women of Barethon?” asked Elenn. “But you just said that only you survive. And if you reclaimed your old name the Vitalion would kill you.”

  “They would if they knew who and where I was,” Ethelind agreed. “But they do not. Only three living souls know my secret: myself, the Leodrine Mother, and you. Not even my nephew, Garrick—although we have met.” She twisted her mouth wryly. “That is how I know that he will not take counsel.”

  Elenn stood. “Why did you tell me this?” she asked. “You’ve put your life in my hands. Why?”

  “You are a clever enough girl,” said Ethelind. “What do you think?”

  “You have been my tutor all my life,” said Elenn, “so you know you can trust me.”

  “True,” said Ethelind. “But there is more.”

  “My lord father and lady mother are dead, because they would not bow to the Vitalion,” said Elenn. “Another reason to trust that I would not betray you to them.”

  “Again true,” said Ethelind. “But still not the whole answer.”

  “Mother made you my guardian,” said Elenn, “and since I am your ward, I will go where you go and become an acolyte and learn everything about you. You could not keep this secret from me; I would discover it.”

  Ethelind laughed. “Possibly. But think harder. Only three people in all the world know the secret of the Barethons, and you are one of them. Why?”

  Elenn frowned, and for a long time said nothing. Her delicate hands balled up into fists. She stared at the book in Ethelind’s hands.

  “Because… I am a Barethon.”

  “Yes.”

  “How can this be?”

  “Your father was my brother Ethelward,” said Ethelind. “He married your mother in secret. They planned to tell her parents, but then he was killed.” Ethelind sighed. “It all happened so fast. He never even knew you existed. When he died, your mother did not yet know that she carried you in her womb. She found out on the road home.”

  “Ethelward Barethon married my mother?” asked Elenn, with difficulty.

  “I fear I am introducing more confusion than I am removing,” said Ethelind. “Let me speak plainly. Ethelward did not marry Kaiteryn Adair, because Kaiteryn Adair was not your mother. He married Maiwenn. Maiwenn was your mother.”

  “Maiwenn?” gasped Elenn, her eyes full of tears. “My sister Maiwenn?” The gold ring was in her hand, clutched to her chest.

  “Yes,” said Ethelind. “Maiwenn, who called herself your sister, bore you.”

  “But she died when I was little! I never knew.” The ring was cutting into the flesh of her fingers, but she could not relax her grip. “Now I have no one!”

  Ethelind gathered Elenn into a fierce embrace and held her while she wept. “You have me,” she said. “You will always have me.”

  Ethelind held Elenn tight and stroked her long, red-blond hair gently. After long minutes, the sobs slowed and then ceased. Elenn pulled away from Ethelind. Her eyes were red and puffy, but determined.

  “Why didn’t you tell me b
efore?” Elenn asked. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “Because your grandparents and your mother wanted to protect you,” said Ethelind. “They feared what would happen if it were known that you were Ethelward Barethon’s child.”

  “I would have kept the secret!” said Elenn. “They should have trusted me.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” said Ethelind. “You should know that they always planned to tell you, as soon as they thought you were old enough to understand. To Mathis, this meant your tenth birthday. But—” She hesitated.

  “Yes,” said Elenn. The Vitalion had killed her father when she was nine.

  Ethelind hugged her again. “My poor dear.”

  “So why didn’t Mother tell me?” Elenn asked.

  “After Mathis was slain,” said Ethelind, “Kaiteryn became fearful. She wanted to wait until you were approaching the age of inheritance.”

  “That’s three years from now!” Elenn cried. “That’s ridiculous! I am almost eighteen! I am old enough to know who I am and who my parents are!” She balled up her fists to keep her hands from trembling.

  “Do not blame them,” said Ethelind, softly. Your grandparents were fine people. Their passing is a loss for all of Deira.”

  Elenn looked away and said nothing.

  “You and I can mourn them together,” said Ethelind gently. “And your parents as well. We can also honor them by working to free Deira from the Vitalion enemy.”

  “How?” asked Elenn. “There are just two of us, and they have whole armies full of men with swords. And the dragon.”

  “Men with swords have their uses,” said Ethelind, “but there are foes they cannot defeat, which you and I must face. Keen wits, and patience, will be better arms for us than swords.”

  “That’s not an answer,” said Elenn.

  Ethelind said nothing, gazing into Elenn’s eyes. Elenn felt like she was a piglet being weighed at the market. She tried not to blink. She kept her chin up and stared right back, as her mother had told her she must do when someone stared at her.

  As her grandmother had told her, Elenn corrected herself.

  At last, Ethelind grunted, and nodded slightly. Then she picked up the book of prophecy again.

  “Our people cling to the edge of the abyss,” said Ethelind, as she turned the pages. “But they have one hope: that a hero will rise up and deliver Deira, as our Elders have said.” Stopping on a page, she passed the book to Elenn, and pointed with her finger to a particular verse.

  Elenn took the book and read, “‘Born of light, the Paladin makes war with the abyss; to crown a dragon, to kill a dragon.’”

  “Exactly,” said Ethelind. She smiled in grim satisfaction and took back the book.

  “That’s still not an answer,” said Elenn.

  “It’s all the answer you will get tonight,” said Ethelind. “Return to your chambers. We will speak more tomorrow.”

  ***

  Chapter Two

  Aedin Jeoris was third in line to be hung. His head still rang from the sling stone that had knocked him out less than an hour ago. Vitalion justice was nothing if not swift.

  The stink of burning hair and searing skin filled the air, because the Vitalion soldiers had branded them all as robbers. All but Aedin and three others. The four of them, with a brand on each arm already, had been slated for the noose.

  “Know why they do it one at a time? Why we have to watch each other die?” asked the man behind Aedin, an ugly, bald brute named Leif. Getting no reply, he continued nonetheless. “Just to torture us. The Scales love to see us suffer.”

  “No,” Aedin said with a shake of his head, “to break us. Get us to squeal on Garrick and the rebellion.”

  “Garrick the Dragon,” spat Leif. “He’s a dragon all right—raining down destruction on friend and foe alike. Him, the Scales, the Orders—they’re all the same.”

  Aedin said nothing, distracted by the maddening sting of sweat in his eyes. He wanted desperately to wipe it away, but his wrists were bound behind his back. It wasn’t fair. He had argued against the ambush. And he had bolted at the first glint of scale armor when the fat merchant caravan had turned out to be bait in a trap set by the Vitalion. But cavalry auxiliaries had chased him down and now, here he stood, waiting his turn.

  Twenty feet in front of him, a couple of soldiers cinched the noose tight around the neck of a man Aedin knew only as Dawes, who had been set on the back of a palfrey mare. Aedin counted more than fifty Scales milling around, some guarding the prisoners, others just spectators. There was no escape.

  “Mercy!” Dawes cried, which elicited laughter from the Vitalion soldiers.

  “Mercy,” scoffed Leif. “Stinking Scales don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “Too true,” said Aedin.

  Dawes begged for his life as the soldiers threw the other end of the rope over the sturdy branch of a Renonian Oak, which grew tall up here by the Tay Barrows. A boy sitting up in the tree looped the rope around the branch a few times, tied it, and cut the slack rope free with his dagger.

  Aedin’s grandmother called Renonian Oaks “pixie gallows”, because the long stems on the acorns made them look like little heads dangling from nooses. She had warned him never to close his eyes under their branches, or he would wake up in the world of spirits. Aedin had always heeded her before, but today he would have little choice.

  “Almost wish I knew something to tell them,” said Leif.

  “Joke’s on them,” said Aedin. “You’re too bloody stupid to be a traitor.”

  Leif barked a laugh.

  “Shut your flaming mouths,” growled Orren, now the first in line. Like many Northerners, his dark hair and beard were braided in the fashion of the warriors of Minnaeus. “Another few minutes and you’ll be meeting your ancestors. Show some respect.”

  A Sithian cavalryman took the reins of the mare. Dawes was now sobbing so hard that his pleas were incomprehensible, his face shining with tears and snot.

  “Hope I don’t go like that,” Leif muttered.

  The Sithian walked the horse forward slowly. As the mare stepped away from the tree, Dawes tried to grip it with his legs, but to no avail. He slipped off the back of the horse, swinging and spinning on the end of the rope.

  “Bloody Vitalion,” said Aedin, turning away. But with his arms bound, he couldn’t stop up his ears, so he had to listen to the cruel jokes of the Scales as they watched Dawes kick and struggle for his last breath.

  “Devil take them all,” Leif said.

  Dawes stopped kicking, and one of the soldiers—a sergeant, from the emblem on his helm—pointed at the man at the front of the line. Two soldiers grabbed him roughly by the arms and dragged him forward. This left Aedin next in line.

  “This is it,” said Aedin. “No way out.”

  “What if there was, though?” said Leif. “I mean, what if we knew something.”

  “What have I got that they want?” said Aedin. “The location of a few loot caches. Think the Scales’ll let me loose for that?”

  “Depends,” Leif said. “How much loot is in them caches?”

  The scale-armored Vitalion soldiers knotted another noose, and the boy scurried out to tie the rope to another branch. As they set him on the horse, Orren was singing a patriotic hymn. So they stuffed a gag in his mouth.

  “Enough to matter to me,” said Aedin. “Not to them.”

  “You don’t know that,” said Leif. “How much?”

  “Not enough to win back my wife,” said Aedin.

  “That could still be a lot,” said Leif.

  The soldiers walked the horse away again, and as they did, Orren pushed himself up and kicked himself off the back of the horse. His neck broke immediately, provoking curses and groans of disappointment from the Scales as his body swayed gently back and forth. They cut another length of rope.

  Leif was saying something, but Aedin could hear nothing but the rush of blood in his ears. No one stood now between him and his own p
ersonal pixie gallows. Soon, he would be just another acorn dangling from the branch.

  The sergeant pointed his finger at Aedin, and two burly Vitalion soldiers strode forward and took hold of him. Beneath the tree, they were knotting the rope into a noose.

  “No,” whispered Aedin. “Not like this!”

  The Scales laughed, and dragged him roughly toward the tree. Aedin dug in his heels and struggled to free himself, but it was futile—and from their boisterous jeers, just the kind of entertainment the Vitalion had been hoping for. Even the boy sitting in the branches was smirking.

  “Torture us all you like, Scales!” shouted Leif suddenly. “We’ll never tell you how to find Garrick! We’ll die first!”

  “I don’t want to die,” said Aedin, his eyes open as wide as he could get them. “Don’t want to wake up in the world of the spirits.”

  “Should have thought of that before you joined the rebels,” said one of the soldiers. They lifted Aedin up on the back of the horse, and placed the noose around his neck.

  “At the end of a rope, or in the dungeons at Tantillion,” Leif cried, “it’s all the same to the two of us. Let Corvus and his butchers have us for a week. We’re warriors of Deira! Our secrets die with us!”

  The sergeant held up his hand, and the soldiers stopped.

  “What secrets?” said the sergeant.

  “I’ll never tell,” said Aedin, following Leif’s lead.

  “We’ll see about that,” said the sergeant. “Cut him down.”

  ***

  Chapter Three

  On a warm summer night, Elenn awoke with a start, unable to recall what had torn her from sleep. Reassuring herself that she still had her mother’s ring around her neck, she tugged the ties on her nightgown tight and wrapped herself up in the sole remaining satin sheet in the manor.

  A nervous chirp drew Elenn’s attention to the birdcage on the floor by her bed. Perched inside was her melodious parrot finch, Gawaine, his white feathers shining brilliantly in the dim light. Three years ago, when Elenn’s aunt Ethelind had become her guardian, she had bought Gawaine to keep her company. Elenn had loved him instantly.

  “It’s all right, my gallant protector,” said Elenn to the bird.