The Crown and the Dragon

by John D. Payne

  Corvus nodded. It was the other rumors, then—the rumors of sorcery and witchcraft. Unlike the talk of torture, Corvus did try to keep this quiet. In fact, one of the reasons he tortured prisoners in the culverhouse was to provide an explanation for the other rumors. Torture was unbecoming, but magic was unforgivable.

  The Vitalion had once happily allied themselves with the dark arts. But twenty years ago that had changed on Drumney beach, with the appearance of a Dragon that could not be killed, and which menaced Vitalion and Deiran alike. The disastrous backfire of this magical weapon had contributed to the later downfall of Emperor Valerius, who was posthumously named an apostate. His successor, Diovian, declared any study of the unseen world to be anathema—forbidden.

  “I understand you completely,” said Corvus.

  “Good,” said Strabus. He pulled out a scroll and tossed it on the desk. “Now, do you know what this is?”

  Corvus looked at the scroll, seeing his own wax seal broken on the outside. “My request for more soldiers?”

  “No!” bellowed Strabus, pounding his fist on the desk. “It’s a waste of my time!” He sat silent for a long moment, glaring at Corvus. Corvus, surprised by his sudden passion, said nothing. The only motion in the room was the heaving of Strabus’s chest and the movement of his moustache, disturbed by his heavy breathing.

  “I am sorry to hear you thought it so,” said Corvus eventually. “I based my request on information which I know to be reliable.”

  Strabus unclenched his fist, and put his hands in his lap, but made no reply.

  “My sources,” Corvus continued, “have revealed the existence of a final member of the house of Barethon—a woman, true, but of the house of the last two men acclaimed king of Deira. My sources further declare she bears the Falarica, an artifact used in coronation ceremonies. As I wrote, the inescapable conclusion is that the rebels will crown Garrick king.” Corvus stopped, seeing the blood rush to Strabus’s face.

  “To say that Garrick Kilkarrin is a drunken sheep thief,” said Strabus with barely restrained fury, “is an insult to all the other drunken sheep thieves in this miserable country!”

  “I agree,” said Corvus, “but both his mother and his father come from old and respected families. He’s a powerful symbol to the rebellion. If he is crowned, the uprising will spread. And it’s bad enough as it is. Just this morning I learned that they recently burned and looted an outpost near the Teivy.”

  “You are Magister,” said Strabus. “You’ve been Magister for almost nine years, seven of which you’ve had the imperium here in Deira. And yet in that time the rebellion has done nothing but spread. I think that speaks for the efficacy of your methods.”

  “Respectfully, Imperator,” said Corvus, “I disagree with your characterization. At no time in the last nine years have I had the kind of military manpower necessary for my methods to be implemented completely.” He stepped closer to the desk. “I need more soldiers.”

  Strabus snorted. “These are your people. This is your country. I would think in nine years, you would figure out something smarter than throwing away increasingly large amounts of the Empire’s blood and treasure.”

  Corvus exhaled. “Even a dozen men would be invaluable.”

  “Indeed,” said Strabus, clapping his hands together. “Well, do you know where this supposed coronation is being held?”

  “No,” said Corvus.

  “No?” Strabus said, stroking his moustache. “And do you have any information that could conceivably lead to Garrick’s death or capture?” asked Strabus.

  “No,” said Corvus.

  “Perhaps it has escaped your attention, Magister Corvus,” said Strabus, but this Legion is being transferred North. Deira is nothing more than a muddy little footprint on the road to Minneaus.”

  “A united Deira would present a problem in the future,” said Corvus.

  Strabus grunted. “The dragon we’ve cursed this place with,” he said, “will make that difficult, may the Gods forgive us. The Deiran should be suitably terrorized for years to come and Garrick would be king all of a day before his Deiran ‘allies’ cut his throat.”

  “My lord, if—”

  “Request denied,” said Strabus. He pushed the discarded request scroll across the desk to Corvus, who picked it up.

  “This audience is now concluded,” said Strabus. “Go talk to the steward and make the arrangements. I’ll have your things sent to his chamber tomorrow morning.”

  Corvus saluted curtly and left the room that was no longer his study.

  ***

  Chapter Twelve

  Deep in the forest, Elenn set her bird cage on the ground next to a stream and pulled off the cover. Seeing the sun, her little white parrot finch Gawaine sang a cheerful morning song that complemented the burbling of the stream.

  Elenn sat herself down on the mossy bank to listen. Then she cried.

  After a while, she dipped her hand in the stream and scrubbed away her tears.

  “Time to be brave,” she said to Gawaine, “right, little warrior?”

  She had to get the Falarica to Ghel—which was far off—before Lammas Eve—which was not far off. Worse, she had no idea how she would get there. Since leaving the road with Aedin and Leif, Elenn had been lost. The three of them had traveled for hours, only stopping when Seissylt had needed to feed or drink. Elenn couldn’t think of a time when she had ever been so tired. But as frightened as she was of the two bandits, she was even more frightened of being left behind in the forest. So she had stumbled along after them until they made camp—well after sunset.

  Aedin had told her that she could travel with them one day only, so unless she could change his mind, she would be journeying alone today. She had no map, but she knew Ghel was east. Elenn looked up through the leafy treetops at the rising sun, and oriented herself accordingly. This meant the stream at her feet was running to the south, where it should join the River Mareys.

  “I think we might be going the right way,” said Elenn to Gawaine, “more or less.”

  Gawaine chirped back enthusiastically.

  “You’re awfully optimistic,” said Elenn. She sighed. She looked down at herself. Her beautiful scarlet kirtle with the yellow flowers was muddied and torn, as was her smock. Her hands and arms were covered with angry red scratches. Her feet were blistered and sore. She couldn’t see her face, but she could feel the tangles in her hair and imagine how she looked.

  “If I can’t take care of myself,” she whispered to Gawaine, “how can I take care of the Falarica?” She wiped her eyes again. “How can I keep my promise?”

  Gawaine cocked his head and looked at her, then he hopped off his perch and pecked around at the bottom of his cage. Finding nothing edible there, he began picking his own feathers.

  “Oh, you’re hungry, poor thing,” said Elenn. “And here I am, thinking of myself. What kind of lady am I?”

  Before things had gone bad, the woodsman’s boy had come by every few weeks with bird seed to sell or trade. When he disappeared, Old Rodbert had done his best to make up the difference—until he left as well. Nowadays, Gawaine mostly foraged for his own food, tethered to Elenn with a cord of fine silk.

  Gawaine chirped in eager anticipation, but Elenn could not find the cord. She wondered briefly if she had left it on the tub-cart, or if it had fallen somewhere in the woods as she walked, but then dismissed this as unknowable and unhelpful. Elenn looked down at her clothes again, searching for anything that would serve as a suitable makeshift bird tether. The drawstring she used to lace up her kirtle, but it seemed like too much trouble to remove.

  “Perfect stands between us and good,” Elenn recited. Scowling, she pulled out the drawstring and attempted to tie the string around his leg. The bird was not in a cooperative mood, though, and the string was too thick for his tiny leg.

  Reaching through the bars of the cage, Elenn stroked his beak. “Be still, now. If I can’t tie this on you, I can’t let you out, and then you c
an’t eat.”

  It was no use. Gawaine pecked at her fingers defiantly and refused to be tethered.

  “Fine, then,” said Elenn. “Just stay close, please.” She opened the cage and let Gawaine hop out. Stretching his wings, he sang out, and then flew away and disappeared into the trees.

  Elenn ran after him, to no avail. “Oh, no! Come back!” The forest swallowed up her cries, just as it had swallowed up her beloved little finch.

  She sank down onto the bank of the stream, and tossed a handful of pebbles into the water. “Probably just wanted to go home,” she murmured, wiping away yet another useless tear with the back of her hand. “Me, too.”

  “You want your bird back, lassie?” said Leif, stepping out from behind a nearby tree. “I can get him for you.” He smiled, but the blood on his clothing made him look sinister.

  “No,” said Elenn, rising to her feet. “He’s gone.”

  “Oh, aye, I’m great with snares,” insisted Leif. “My brothers and I used to catch wee songbirds all the time back on Garlic Island. Larks, warblers, goldcrests, bluetits, even parrot finches like your friend.”

  He strode down to the stream bank. Elenn stepped back to make room for him. As he got close, she smelled ale on his breath. He had taken the cask from the tub-cart after they pushed it into the woods, and had been helping himself last night. And this morning, apparently.

  “Pretty little things, they were,” said Leif. “But we never kept them caged long. All the fun’s in the catching.” He smiled wolfishly. He pantomimed snatching a bird in his hand, and laughed uproariously.

  “Thank you,” said Elenn, stepping back, “but I set Gawaine free on purpose. It wasn’t easy carrying his cage. And feeding him this morning was difficult. I thought it would be for the best this way.”

  “All for the best,” repeated Leif, moving in closer. He glanced down at her unlaced kirtle. “Missing something, aren’t you?”

  Elenn clutched at her kirtle to keep his greedy eyes from spying the chain holding her mother’s gold ring—or anything else. “I think you should go,” she said, trying to get around him.

  “Just got here,” murmured Leif, continuing to step in closer, maneuvering to cut off her retreat.

  “Then perhaps I should go,” said Elenn. “Thank you for your offer.” Stepping backward, she stumbled over a root and fell back against a tree.

  “Ain’t heard my best offer yet,” Leif breathed, setting a thick arm on the tree to either side of her. He smiled and leaned in close, his lips slightly parted.

  Elenn ducked out of this unwanted embrace and stepped away from the tree. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I must go.”

  Suddenly, Elenn was caught roughly from behind by a muscular arm seizing her around the waist. She cried out, but Leif clapped a thick hand over her mouth and muffled her scream.

  “Don’t fly away, pretty bird,” Leif chuckled.

  Elenn struggled, trying to slip out of his grasp and run, but Leif lifted her up off the ground and then flung her to the mossy bank of the stream, knocking the wind out of her. Leif came down on top of her, pinning her to the ground.

  “Let me go,” Elenn shouted, trying to rise.

  “Not until you sing for me,” Leif said. “And don’t tell me you don’t know how.”

  Elenn screamed as loud as she could and slapped his face.

  Leif took her hands and laughed coarsely. “Oh, aye, you sing all right. Gods, you’re loud as a dirty little wren.”

  Elenn spat in his face, and Leif belted her so hard she saw stars.

  “Enough of that,” Leif said.

  Leif used one massive arm to hold her down, his meaty hand turning her face away toward the stream so she could no longer spit. Elenn felt his other hand fumbling for her skirts. She kicked, trying to knee him in the groin, but she couldn’t get one of her legs between his. She screamed.

  Suddenly, Elenn felt Leif’s terrible weight lifting. His hand no longer pushed her face into the mud. Looking up, she saw Aedin standing behind Leif, holding a dagger to his throat.

  “Leave her,” said Aedin.

  Leif’s face split into a ragged grin. “Sorry, friend. Didn’t know you had your eye on her,” he said.

  “I said, leave her!” shouted Aedin, pressing the dagger close enough that a ribbon of red blood appeared on Leif’s throat.

  “All right then,” said Leif, rising awkwardly. “Go first, if it means that much to you. Just leave a little fight in her for me.”

  As Leif found his feet, Aedin shoved him away hard. He looked down at Elenn, and for an instant, her heart sank. But it was pity, not lust, she saw in his eyes.

  “Sorry,” Aedin said, extending a hand to help her rise.

  She wanted to take his hand, but instead, Elenn drew her knees up to her chest and began to sob. Her whole body was shaking.

  “You’re a real villain, Leif Maulduin,” growled Aedin.

  “And you’re no stinking fun,” said Leif. “If you’re not going to take her yourself, why couldn’t you have given me five minutes?”

  “Fun?” cried Aedin incredulously. “She look like she was having fun to you?”

  “They’re all the same,” muttered Leif. “Every lousy one of them fights it before, and comes begging for more after. This one, too. After the tears were gone, she’d have been fawning over me for weeks, ’til I got sick of it and left her somewhere.”

  At this, Elenn launched herself at Leif in a mad frenzy, raining furious blows on him from all sides, including a vicious kick to the crotch that left him largely incapable of defending himself. Aedin quickly wrenched her off, but Elenn took satisfaction in hearing Leif howling in pain, and seeing the bloody tracks of her nails across his cheek, where she had nearly gouged his left eye.

  “You owe me for that, lass,” said Leif, with difficulty.

  “I owe you, all right!” shouted Elenn, trying to break free of Aedin. “Come over here and I’ll pay you back properly.”

  Leif straightened up and advanced toward her, breathing heavily, his face red with anger.

  Aedin released Elenn, and pushed her aside so he could stand between them. He held the dagger a little above waist height, and turned it slowly so it shone in the morning light. Leif stopped, and eyed the blade.

  “That’s the end,” said Aedin. “End of this.”

  Elenn stepped forward.

  “Leave it, woman!” cried Aedin, half turning.

  Elenn stepped back. “You’re right,” she said. “Better not to sink to his level.”

  “Oh, don’t try feeding us that cockalayne again,” said Leif, “about you bringing supplies to the Leodrine bloody Sisters.”

  “We were!” said Elenn indignantly.

  “You’re a thieving little strumpet,” shouted Leif. “You’re a serving girl who ran off with her lady’s treasures, just like every other wench in this country.” He stepped forward menacingly, his hands clenched into fists.

  Aedin raised his dagger slightly. “Won’t say it again, Leif.”

  “After all we’ve been through,” said Leif, “you take some giglet’s part over me?”

  Aedin said nothing, and kept his dagger held at the ready.

  After a moment, Leif laughed. “We were going to be partners, you and me. The Riverlands are aflame, and there’s plenty of traitors still to punish in the West, or Renonia. Plenty of plunder, ours for the taking.” He stopped and looked over Elenn. “Aye, and women, too.”

  Aedin looked down at the blade he held. “Big plans were all yours. Got enough blood on my hands.” He sheathed the dagger.

  “What’ll you do, Aedin?” asked Leif caustically. “You going to go back to Heortigsport and work the docks? Or maybe stay here, herd some sheep?”

  “My father herded sheep,” said Aedin.

  “So did mine,” said Leif, “and the happiest day of his life was the one the poor fool died on.”

  Aedin said nothing.

  “Well,” said Leif, “if we’re to part, let it
be in friendship.” He held out his hand, grinning broadly.

  Aedin hesitated and then stepped up and extended his hand.

  They clasped forearms, and as they did, the larger man pulled Aedin in close. As his face appeared over Aedin’s shoulder, it was dark with anger.

  “No stinking dobber holds a blade to my throat,” Leif whispered loudly, his face next to Aedin’s ear, “not even you.”

  Elenn listened for Aedin’s reply, but she heard nothing, and his back was to her.

  After a moment, Leif said, “I’ll not forget.”

  Aedin nodded. And then, as quickly as it had come, the moment was past and Leif was grinning again. The two men broke their embrace.

  Leif gave Elenn a wink. “I’ll see you another time, milady,” he said.

  “I’ll see you in the abyss,” said Elenn fiercely.

  “Sure enough,” said Leif, “but not today.”

  ***

  Chapter Thirteen

  Aedin cursed himself silently as Leif strode away from the stream. How had the situation got so far out of control? The man was a pig and a liar, but he was a stout fighter and an excellent woodsman. Leif had not been a friend exactly, but their interests had been aligned. Now he was an enemy, and Aedin would have to watch his back. Leif held grudges.

  As he disappeared into the trees, Leif whistled and the horse whickered back. Another terrible loss. And for what? A girl, who would only slow him down. They should have left her on the road for the next patrol. It hardly could have turned out worse.

  “Mongrel cur,” said Elenn, glaring angrily in Leif’s direction. The girl was a mess—her kirtle torn and stained, the drawstring missing, her hair tangled and her face pale.

  It was just as well she was so young and sheltered, Aedin thought. A more experienced woman might have wondered if Aedin could have been ignorant of his traveling companion’s proclivities. A more suspicious woman might have asked where Aedin had gone and where he had come from. A more cynical woman might have speculated that a gallant rescue from a vicious assault would be one way a man could get a young girl to trust and depend on him.