The Crown and the Dragon

by John D. Payne

  The Sithian sat silently, his eyes traveling up and down Elenn’s body, lingering in places that brought a hot blush to her face. She lifted her eyes defiantly, but instead of looking ashamed of his rudeness, he smiled—a frank hunger in his grin.

  His companion called out impatiently, and Elenn glanced in his direction. As she did, the older Sithian snatched the mug from her hands and took a sip, smirking at her triumphantly.

  “Good,” he said. Then he drained the mug in three gulps, spilling some of it on his neat black beard. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he tossed the mug back to Elenn. “Another.”

  “One drink,” Elenn said slowly. “That’s what we agreed.”

  “One for each,” said the Sithian, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the younger, blond horseman. “Unless, perhaps, you love me better than him.”

  With a frown, Elenn went back and had her aunt pour another mug.

  “With luck, this will be the end of the game,” said Ethelind quietly.

  Elenn walked toward the younger horseman and the two outlaws. Nurzod had an arrow nocked on his string and a scowl on his face as he watched his two prisoners. They returned his glare in silence.

  “Move,” he growled, pointing to the right with his chin.

  The captives stepped aside and backed up as far as their rope leash would allow them—about twenty feet. Nurzod walked his horse forward to meet Elenn, placing himself between her and the prisoners. Then he hopped off his mount, bow and arrow still in his hands, giving each outlaw a look that promised murder.

  “I shoot,” he said.

  The leaner prisoner snarled a curse, but made no move.

  Apparently satisfied, Nurzod turned to Elenn and said, “Come.” She walked closer and lifted the ale to his lips, slowly tipping it back. He drank, pointing his bow and arrow at the prisoners. Though they kept still, they looked like coiled springs, ready to pounce at any second.

  As he got halfway through the ale, the Sithian stepped away. “Finish,” he said.

  “Plenty left,” Elenn said, offering it again.

  “Finish,” he said, shaking his head. Setting one foot in his horse’s stirrup, he remounted without using his hands.

  “How about a swallow of that ale for us, pet?” said the larger, bald prisoner. “I’m thirsty enough to lick the sweat off the dragon’s tail.”

  “No,” said Nurzod.

  “Hot out,” said the lean, dark-haired outlaw. “Come on. One sip.” He had the odd, clipped way of speaking common to sailors from the north coast.

  “I shoot,” said Nurzod, waving his bow.

  “I shoot, I shoot,” mimicked the lean outlaw. His fellow joined in, likewise imitating the Sithian’s thick accent.

  “If you want a drink, mind your tongue,” said Elenn.

  “For a swig of ale,” growled the larger prisoner, “I’ll be quiet as a wee little mouse. And so will Aedin.” He shot a look at the leaner outlaw. “Or I’ll shut his gob myself.”

  “Good,” Elenn said. “Now, I’ll set this mug down, and then you can come get a nice cool drink.” She looked up at Nurzod, her eyebrows raised. He gave her a fraction of a nod. She stepped forward, set the mug down on the ground, and then backed away. “See? No trouble.”

  As she withdrew past the horse, the prisoners rushed forward. But before they reached the mug, Nurzod spurred his horse on, smashing the mug to pieces and trampling the ale into the mud. “Drink it!” he cried.

  “Villain!” screamed the lean outlaw.

  “Villain, villain,” Nurzod sang back in a childish singsong. In moments, all three of them were yelling at the top of their lungs.

  Elenn watched in dumbfounded silence. It was all so senseless. Pity had moved her to what she thought was an act of kindness. And this was the result.

  Hearing a cry from her aunt, Elenn tore herself away and ran to the tub-cart. Their chests stood open, and Gawaine’s cage had been knocked over. Inside, the little finch hopped about anxiously and chirped with evident alarm. Ethelind sprawled on the ground, wiping blood from her lip. The elder Sithian stood over her, holding the travel sack.

  “I am sorry it was necessary to strike you,” he said, “but this road belongs to the Empire, and so does everything on it.”

  Elenn knelt by her aunt to help her, but Ethelind waved her off.

  “I cannot speak for the road,” said Ethelind, regaining her feet. “But everything in this cart belongs to the Sisters of the Leode. Our papers were approved by the Manius Puponius, the Procurator in Anondea.”

  The cavalryman frowned. Elenn prayed silently that the mention of this powerful Vitalion agent would be enough to frighten him off.

  “We offered you refreshment,” Ethelind continued. “But don’t mistake our kindness for a license for malefaction. Desist at once, or I will give your names to the Procurator.”

  “You do not know my name,” said the Sithian.

  “I know many things… Tuliyek,” said Ethelind. Then she tilted her head and said something that had the sound of the Sithian tongue.

  “You speak my language well for a Deiran,” Tuliyek said, stroking his black beard. “But your threats are idle. Who will punish us—you? This girl? The Procurator?” Smiling, he hefted the sack. “I do not know what is in here, but I wager you do not want him to see it.”

  Elenn prayed silently, her hands clutching the fabric of her kirtle tight.

  “By all means, let us go speak with him,” said Ethelind. “I don’t know what the Vitalion punishment is for a mere auxiliary who questions the seal of the Procurator, but I am eager to find out.”

  “We shall learn together,” said the Sithian. “Turn your cart around.” Without taking his eyes off Ethelind, he called loudly over his shoulder. “Nurzod! Come!” He hefted the sack again and smiled at Ethelind.

  Elenn ground her teeth. The man was toying with them. Nothing stopped him from opening the sack, other than his own obvious delight in watching them squirm. She wanted to rip it open herself and pull out the Falarica and be done with it. Instead, she touched her mother’s ring and prayed for a miraculous deliverance. So let it be.

  “You must think very little of me,” said Tuliyek, “to believe that a breathless mention of the Procurator could spook me and send me running.”

  “You don’t understand,” Ethelind pleaded. “I am trying to spare you. A terrible doom has been pronounced on all those whose eyes would pry into the sacred mysteries of the Gods and their humble servants.”

  “Tell it to the Procurator,” said Tuliyek, unimpressed. “Nurzod!” the Sithian called again. “Come! We go to Anondea.” When no response came, he turned and looked over his shoulder. Cursing loudly, he dropped the sack to the ground and quickly reached for his bow and arrow.

  Behind them, Nurzod’s horse was capering about as the leaner prisoner, Aedin, tried to calm it. The young Sithian was no longer mounted, and the bigger prisoner had a rope wrapped around his neck. His horsetail helmet rolled in the dirt, his feet scrabbled in the mud, and his fair young face was purple.

  “Release him,” Tuliyek said. “Or you die this instant.” He stood high in his stirrups, an arrow drawn and pulled back to his cheek. His horse’s ears were pinned back and it snorted and tossed its head, but the Sithian kept the arrow nocked in his bow and regained control of his horse without using his hands.

  “Throw down your bow,” growled the big prisoner, pulling Nurzod in front of himself as a living shield. “Or I kill him.”

  Tuliyek said nothing. His mount’s tail swished back and forth, though, and it stamped at the muddy ground in a mirror of its rider’s unvoiced agitation. Elenn sprang forward and snatched up the sack with the Falarica inside before it could be trampled under the hooves of Tuliyek’s uneasy horse. Retreating to crouch behind the tub-cart, she saw Ethelind boldly standing, her lips moving as she recited a charm under her breath.

  Aedin dropped the reins and picked up the bow and arrow which the young man had dropped. Nurzod�
��s panicked horse immediately fled, galloping south down the muddy road. Aedin drew the arrow back, pointing it at Tuliyek. “Drop your bow and we’ll let you live,” he shouted. “You and your man both.”

  Elenn tugged on her aunt’s dress, trying to pull her down to safety, but Ethelind wouldn’t budge. The tall woman stretched out her hands, her fingers twisted in conjuring knots. Her eyes almost closed, she continued to murmur her silent spell.

  “The word of a condemned prisoner—ha!” Tuliyek scoffed. “More worthless than the promise of a woman.”

  “I don’t have any problems with women,” boasted Leif. “They give me what they promise. Maybe because I’m not an ugly horse-kissing knave from Sithia.”

  “Right,” said Aedin. “You’re an ugly sheep-kissing knave from Garlic Island.”

  “Aye, and proud of it,” said Leif.

  “Shut up, both of you!” shouted Tuliyek angrily. His horse reared and churned the air with its hooves, but the cavalry soldier maintained his balance effortlessly, holding himself in the classic archer’s posture—bow up, and arrow against his cheek, ready to release.

  “There’s two of us,” said Aedin, “and one arrow. Shoot me, and your man dies. Shoot Leif and I’ll shoot you. No good choices here. Drop your bow.”

  “I can imagine nothing more foolish than to surrender my bow to criminals,” Tuliyek said. “But as you say, no good choices remain for me.”

  Ethelind’s murmured spell was growing louder. As she crouched beside her, behind the protection of the cart, Elenn heard her aunt saying, “Fear, fear, terror, anxiety. Give in, surrender, flee.”

  Atop his increasingly upset mount, Tuliyek sighed. His arms dropped, and he held out his bow and arrow toward the prisoners. “Here,” he said. “Take them.”

  Leif smiled. Aedin hesitated. For a moment his own bow and arrow dipped slightly, and he glanced at his fellow prisoner. In the very instant of this distraction, faster than Elenn could follow, Tuliyek somehow shot an arrow at Aedin. At the same time, his mount bucked and the shot went awry.

  As the arrow flew past his head, Aedin turned and loosed his own shaft. It went wild and sailed sailed harmlessly past the Sithian on his bucking horse—to lodge in Ethelind’s right breast.

  Elenn heard someone screaming as she watched her aunt crumple to the ground beside her, sinking as slowly as if the air had somehow turned to water. From a great distance, she heard shouts and commotion from the prisoners and the Sithians, but paid them no heed.

  Elenn cradled her aunt’s head in her lap. The feathered shaft of an arrow jutted out from below Ethelind’s collarbone, a few inches from her heart. Elenn pulled off her cap to stanch the bleeding, but there was surprisingly little blood.

  “Forgive me,” said Ethelind. She spoke and breathed with difficulty.

  “There is nothing to forgive, Aunt,” said Elenn.

  “I failed you,” said Ethelind. “So you must continue alone.”

  “No,” Elenn said. “Don’t say that.”

  “Let me speak,” said Ethelind. “There is so much you don’t know.”

  “We have time,” said Elenn. “You will heal. Use your magic.”

  “Please, don’t argue,” said Ethelind softly. The quietness of her voice terrified Elenn.

  “The Falarica,” said Ethelind. “It has a greater purpose. Put the pieces back together. It must be restored.” She stopped, grimacing with pain.

  “But what can I do?” asked Elenn.

  “Tell the Leodrine,” said Ethelind. “The silent ones. Enid’s sisters.”

  “I will tell them,” said Elenn.

  “Tell her,” said Ethelind. “The Leodrine Mother.”

  “I will,” said Elenn.

  “Do not fail,” sighed Ethelind, closing her eyes.

  “I will try,” whispered Elenn. Tears flowed freely down her face and her nose ran, but her hands were busy holding up her aunt’s head. She couldn’t move them.

  “You will prevail,” said Ethelind.

  “But I am alone,” sobbed Elenn. “I have no one to guide me.”

  “You are… stronger than you think,” said Ethelind, with difficulty. “And older. This is the last secret.” She opened her eyes and looked into Elenn’s. “You were born… early. We hid you.”

  “I know,” said Elenn. “You told me. You helped my mother hide my birth.”

  “No. Tantillion. Light of fire,” said Ethelind thickly. “The dragon.” She coughed. “Ripped… from the Glyderinge. Born early. Both of you.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Elenn.

  “Paladin,” gasped Ethelind. Her eyes were wide with pain, but no longer focused. “Leodrine. Crown. The Dragon.” She gripped Elenn’s hands with a terrible strength. “Tell her.”

  “I will tell her, I promise,” sobbed Elenn.

  Ethelind made no reply, her eyes staring and her jaw slack.

  Elenn pulled her aunt’s body close and abandoned herself to weeping.

  ***

  Chapter Ten

  Aedin cursed his misfortune as his shot missed Tuliyek completely and hit the nun square in the chest. It had been his one chance—all the other arrows were scattered in the muddy road. He threw down the stolen bow and dashed into the nearby trees.

  Since Leif would run, too, most likely leaving behind their hostage with a broken neck, Tuliyek would have to choose between two moving targets. Aedin had been first to run, and he was quicker and less badly hurt. Perhaps the Sithian would chase Leif, and allow Aedin to escape.

  The whisper of an arrow zipping past his left arm to embed itself in an elm told Aedin that Tuliyek had chosen to follow him and not Leif. Aedin cursed, weaving through the trees as he ran for his life.

  Behind him, the mounted Sithian crashed through the undergrowth. Aedin was thankful for the momentary advantage that the wooded terrain had given him, but he knew that sooner or later, Tuliyek would ride him down. He needed a weapon, like the ones the younger cavalryman had dropped Aedin began bearing left, doing his best to circle back toward the road.

  The road was not far ahead, but it sounded like the Sithian was getting closer. Aedin thought it increasingly unlikely that he would make it in time to find a weapon and ambush Tuliyek. His whole body ached, but Aedin forced himself to run faster.

  Gasping for breath, he emerged from the elms and found himself once more on the muddy road. A hundred yards to his left lay the cart, along with the body of Nurzod, and his weapons lying in the mud. Too far—Tuliyek would overtake him.

  Praying for deliverance, Aedin ran anyway. Less than halfway to his goal, he heard his mounted pursuer burst out of the trees. Tuliyek whooped and his horse’s hooves pounded the road in the mad rhythm of a gallop.

  Aedin darted right, into the woods, but instead of following him, Tuliyek raced ahead on the road to cut him off. Cursing, Aedin decided to make for the Shirbrook, where the current would help carry him south. But as he turned, he heard the twin screams of horse and rider. Looking back, he saw Tuliyek flying through the air as his horse tripped and crashed to the ground, its front legs broken

  “Leif, you cunning brute,” Aedin murmured.

  Running back to the road, he met his fellow prisoner, striding out from the trees on the other side. “That was a piece of luck,” said Leif, holding a large stone in his left hand. “You led him right into my trap.”

  “Wasn’t luck,” said Aedin, still out of breath from his run. “I was praying.”

  “And I answered,” said Leif, throwing his arms wide. Aedin looked at the road behind them and saw that Leif had strung his rope between two trees, pulling it taut as Tuliyek had galloped past.

  “Awful ugly for an angel,” said Aedin.

  “I’m a fallen angel,” said Leif. “We have more fun.”

  A moan from Tuliyek, who was struggling to stand, got the attention of both men. Leif jogged quickly up to the soldier, who seemed still dazed from his fall. Pulling off the man’s helmet, Leif hit him in the face with his rock
. Tuliyek sank to the ground with a groan.

  “Ah,” said Leif contentedly, dropping his rock. “Now that was heavenly.” He wiped his filthy hands on the Sithian’s tunic and then folded them as if in prayer. “A few words for the dearly departed?”

  “Rabbit-sucker had it coming,” said Aedin. “Check his purse.”

  “So let it be,” said Leif, opening his eyes.

  Behind them, the horse continued to scream. “Poor beast,” said Aedin.

  “Put it out of its misery, will you?” said Leif. He took a sheathed dagger from the Sithian’s belt and tossed it to Aedin.

  Aedin caught the dagger, pulled it from its sheath, and cut the horse’s throat. “Rotten shame,” he said, unbuckling the animal’s saddlebags. “Why’d you break his legs? Couldn’t you set that rope higher?”

  “The real shame is,” said Leif, ignoring his question, “we don’t have time to cook him.” He threw a small purse to Aedin. It hit his palm with a metallic clink.

  Peeking, Aedin saw a glint of silver. “Not bad.” He tucked it inside a saddlebag, which he threw over his shoulder.

  “How do I look?” said Leif, now wearing the Sithian’s long cavalry saber, quilted canvas jack, and helmet.

  “Prettier than Riverlands sheep on a cold night,” said Aedin. He walked to the other soldier’s body and stripped it. As he took the saber, he admired the fine craftsmanship on the pommel, which was fashioned in the shape of an eagle’s head. Sithian metalsmiths were some of the finest in the world.

  The Sithian’s saddlebags held no drink, and only a few scraps of food. Hopefully the cart would have more. The cart itself could be useful, but it would also slow them down. So once it was looted, the cart would be pushed off the side of the road along with the three bodies.

  That just left the girl. Aedin didn’t want to kill her. But they couldn’t very well leave her alive—a pretty young girl, crying out for vengeance. And taking her along invited disaster, especially with Leif around. The man simply could not be trusted.

  So what was to be done?

  “A face so fair,” he heard Leif say, “shouldn’t be marred by tears.”