The Crown and the Dragon

by John D. Payne

  The guards stopped pulling Aedin away, and the people in the hall grew silent. Aedin was shocked himself.

  “The object in question,” said Elenn, “belongs to me. Our peoples are kinsmen and I call on you to honor our bond of blood. I am journeying to the Leode of Ghel. This man is my escort and as such you may not harm him.”

  Lilith stooped down to whisper again, but Clooney lifted his hand and she stepped back. “Ethelward had issue?” he said.

  “He did,” said Elenn. “He and my mother were married in secret at Tantillion castle before the Vitalion invaded.”

  Clooney leaned forward in his throne, studying Elenn’s face carefully. Then he stood, arms wide. “Welcome to my hall, daughter of Barethon and Adair.”

  As the Taftoughins cheered, Clooney shot an angry look at the guard standing behind Elenn. “Free her, Slackjaw!” The man quickly set to work untying her.

  “Ethelward was a great warrior, and I am proud to call him kinsman,” said Clooney. “Cousin, I shall escort you to the Leode myself!”

  “Thank you, gracious Cousin,” said Elenn. “Gladly do I welcome your assistance, and long shall the generosity of clan Taftoughin be remembered.”

  Clooney beamed with pleasure, and his people cheered him—and Elenn. Aedin couldn’t believe how she had turned them around. Perhaps all that fancy tutoring of hers had been good for something after all. He grinned.

  Aedin took a step towards Elenn only to be jerked back by the guards. Outraged, he struggled, but to no avail. He looked up at Clooney, who smiled at him cruelly and nodded at his men. Once again, Aedin found himself being dragged from the hall.

  Aedin looked to Elenn, who regarded him coolly. He could not blame her. Nor could he explain himself—not so quickly, not at this distance, not in a hall full of shouting Taftoughins. Aedin’s chin fell to his chest.

  Aedin’s mind raced. He was on his own again—at least for now—but this was probably not the end. Elenn had called him her escort, which made Aedin one of the only two things that Elenn had expressed any interest in. So Clooney would probably have his men rough Aedin up, but he was too useful to kill—even as a favor to one of his wives. On the other hand, who knew what a conjuror like Lilith might be capable of?

  As Aedin considered the horrific possibilities, the guards stopped. Aedin looked toward the throne, and saw Clooney, with one finger lifted, signaling his men to wait. Elenn was leaning over and speaking into his ear. Lilith watched, red with fury.

  Clooney laughed and straightened up. “Bold as a Barethon, to be sure,” he said. Turning to the guards, he said, “Free the lady’s servant.”

  The guards released him and began untying his bonds. Aedin bowed himself humbly toward both Clooney and Elenn. He hated being called a servant, but it was better than being executed.

  Lifting his head, Aedin tried to catch Elenn’s eye, but she would not meet his gaze. She merely smiled at Clooney and said, “Thank you, Cousin.”

  Clooney nodded, grinning. He seemed to enjoy playing the magnanimous lord. “Taftoughins,” said Clooney loudly, “leave me now, but return in the evening. We shall have music, dancing, and a great feast—all in honor of my noble kinswoman, Elenn Barethon, Lady of Adair.”

  The Taftoughins cheered and left the hall. Lilith slipped out, without a word to Clooney. As she exited, she looked back and showed Aedin a satisfied smile that worried him more than her previous venom. But there was nothing he could do about that for now.

  So Aedin walked up and stood at Elenn’s side, ducking his head as a respectful servant should. She ignored him. Was she just playing her part, too—or was she still angry with him? If they could only get a moment alone!

  “Come and sit, Cousin,” said Clooney. “My wives shall entertain you with what little we have.” He got up from his makeshift throne and went to sit on the bare, dirty stone floor in the center of the hall. With one hand, he embraced the trappings of nobility and with the other he rejected them. He was a hard man to figure out—not least because he liked to keep his adversaries guessing.

  While Clooney’s back was turned, Elenn quickly turned to Aedin and mouthed the word, “Wives?” Perhaps this did not signal her forgiveness, but at the least she was thinking of him as being on her side again.

  Aedin leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “Yes, wives. And for the love of all the holy gods, don’t mention the coronation if you want to see that horn again.”

  “What about my ring?”

  “Forget it. It’s gone.”

  Elenn set her jaw, but she nodded and sat down beside Clooney, gracefully tucking her legs under her. Even in her stained and ripped attire, even with her smudged face and unruly hair, she looked regal in a way that the brutal Clooney simply did not.

  The two of them sat on the ground, laughing and talking, as Clooney’s other four wives bustled around them. One wife brought them each a jug of wine. One brought in kindling wood and lit a fire right there on the stone floor. A third brought bread, cheese, and berries in shallow wooden bowls. And one knelt behind Clooney, massaging his shoulders and cooing at him as if he were her own sweet newborn babe.

  Aedin made as if to sit down, but Elenn raised an eyebrow at him and he decided to stand. Clooney laughed, and Aedin felt his face get red.

  “Now, Caelan of Adair, your great-grandfather,” Clooney was saying, “may he even now be surrounded by heavenly pleasure, had lands here in these very highlands.” As he spoke, two of his wives sat down by the little fire and began plucking grouse to roast on spits.

  “Please, tell me more,” said Elenn, laying a hand on Clooney’s arm.

  Aedin rolled his eyes, but Clooney didn’t notice and smiled.

  “Well,” he continued, “Caelan, he was a fine laird in many ways. Very clever. Shrewd, even. In fact, he fleeced my uncle Donavan’s entire northern flock one winter’s night.”

  “No!” said Elenn, seemingly aghast.

  “It’s true,” said Clooney. “Donavan lost nearly a year’s worth of wool, and a third of the flock died within the week from the cold. Donovan never got his revenge.”

  “I’m so glad, Cousin, that you have risen above these unfortunate incidents in our families’ past,” said Elenn. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Clooney, nodding his head at her. “And the way I see it, this little trinket can settle an old score between our families.”

  Clooney pulled out the Falarica again, and turned it over in his hands. Smiling smugly, he glanced around at his wives, who all beamed at him with reasonable imitations of adoration.

  “Surely, Cousin,” said Elenn hesitantly, “that score was buried alongside the men involved fifty years ago. I don’t have the wool nor you the burden of the dying sheep.”

  “Ho, lass!” said Clooney. “Don’t speak poorly of vengeance. It keeps the spirit alive.”

  One of his wives stood and brought Clooney a roast grouse. She bent over to feed it to him, piece by piece, keeping her breasts at his eye level, pulling his gaze away from Elenn momentarily. The woman’s backside was almost in Elenn’s face—a calculated insult—but Elenn appeared to take no notice.

  “Do you kill many Vitalion, then?” Elenn asked.

  “Vitalion?” said Clooney, regarding her again. “Heavens no, girl. Halsings. It was them who sold me out!”

  “But the Halsings are your people,” said Elenn. “All Deirans are. In union, there is strength, and wisdom. In division, weakness and ignorance.”

  Aedin winced. Clooney’s four wives turned to stare angrily at her, and two of them stood, designs for violence plain on their faces.

  “No, no, let the girl speak,” said Clooney indulgently. “The courage to speak your mind is a dangerous trait, but an enjoyable one, too.” He smiled.

  Taking him at his word, Elenn proceeded. “Why are the Vitalion able to occupy our lands with such a small force?” she asked.

  Aedin wanted to warn her to tread cautiously, but he was standing behind her and could
not catch her eye.

  “Think on it,” she said with bright enthusiasm. “If we combined our might, they could never stand against us. So the Vitalion sow seeds of discontent, and we turn our strength against our brothers and sisters. The only way for us to free Deira, to raise ourselves out of squalor, is to make peace between all the clans. The Halsings should be your allies, not your enemies.”

  Clooney grunted. “Last time I checked, it was the dragon burning my farms. And that beast can not be killed. The legions will leave, but the beast will endure. No king will change that. And so we fight for what petty scraps we have left.”

  “But—” Elenn said.

  “Enough!” Clooney roared. “You’ve inherited your father’s arrogance, not to mention his idiotic notions of our people!”

  Elenn fell silent. Aedin grimaced. No one in the hall dared to speak

  “Am I to wait all day to have my bowl refilled?” Clooney demanded. He waved around his wooden bowl, now empty of fruit and cheese. “Do I not have one wife who will tend to me?”

  One of the women rushed to Clooney to refill his bowl, but he rose to his feet and pushed her away as he stomped out of the hall.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  All that day, Elenn wanted to talk to Aedin, but Clooney and his wives never left them alone. There was another person who seemed to find this frustrating—Lilith, the wife to whom Clooney had given her mother’s gold ring. The short, dark-haired woman circled around Aedin like a buzzard over carrion, as if waiting for an opportunity to talk.

  It almost made Elenn jealous, a feeling which frankly puzzled her. Why should she care? Aedin had behaved with such singular and perfect heartlessness that there could be no excuse. Last night, Elenn had sworn that whether or not they escaped captivity, she would never speak to him again.

  But then when he was being hauled away, Elenn had looked on his despairing face and her heart had melted. Despite every cruel thing he had done and said, she could not watch him die. And so she had spoken up, with a power which would have made both her Barethon and Adair forebears proud. No one had been more surprised than she, herself.

  Thus, Aedin lived, and stood behind her. But they had no chance to speak privately, other than his brief whispered warning not to mention the coronation. She still did not understand, but he had clearly had dealings with Clooney and his people before, so she had followed his counsel on the matter.

  And so it was evening, and although she had conversed with Clooney much of the day, they had discussed little of import. She had heard more than she cared to about sheep, feuds, drink, and his … romantic endeavors—far more! The man was truly bestial in his appetites, and entirely lacking in discretion, modesty, and courtesy.

  But the lessons she had been given throughout her life had instilled those virtues in Elenn, and so she sat by a roaring bonfire with this pig of a man, listening politely to his awful stories and sipping wine—slowly.

  (Now there was another lesson she had been given many times as a young girl! If only she had taken Ethelind’s warnings to heart, she wouldn’t have had to learn what a hangover was from painful personal experience.)

  Two of Clooney’s wives danced in front of the fire, to the lively music of bone flutes, wooden hand bells, and goatskin drums. Clooney himself was drunk and laughing, and giving all his attention to a third wife, seated on his lap. One of the Taftoughin men offered Elenn a swig from a jug of wine, but she declined as politely as she could. The more her captors surrendered their wits, the more advantage Elenn had by keeping hers.

  She tried to get Aedin’s attention, to signal that now would be a good time for them to talk privately. But Aedin had gone to sit on the other side of the fire from Elenn, where Lilith was serving him hearty helpings of mutton boiled in beer and liberal doses of honey wine. She flirted with him shamelessly, and he with her, but Elenn couldn’t forget the look of detestation she gave him earlier. Couldn’t Aedin see that she was dangerous?

  Elenn frowned. There were more important questions to be answered. For one, Elenn wondered where the Falarica was. She hadn’t given Clooney any information about it, as Aedin had counseled, but she was still worried. She couldn’t see it anywhere, or even the case in which her aunt had kept it. Perhaps if she kept her eyes open and her wits about her, Elenn would get a chance to recover it.

  Elenn stood and walked to an aspen tree at the edge of the firelight. The drums slowed, and the flutes now played a more mellow strain. A few couples danced, with a grace and formality that, in this rough setting, seemed strangely touching. Under arched arms, the men turned the women, who clapped delicately in time to the rhythm. Elenn leaned back against the tree, shut her eyes, and listened to the music.

  “I really thought we were both going to get disemboweled,” said Aedin, startling her out of her reverie, “back when you were telling Clooney what an ignoramus he is.” He laughed and leaned up against the tree next to her. “It’s a good thing you’ve been more agreeable since then.” His breath smelled of wine, which reminded Elenn unpleasantly of the night before last.

  Elenn sniffed and stepped away from the tree. “Well,” she said. “I just took my cue from you. You were being quite agreeable with his wife.”

  “She’s not—” He frowned. “She’s an old friend.”

  “I’m sure. She looks very friendly.”

  “Elenn, please.”

  “Maybe that’s why you’re so determined that your friend should keep my ring, which you promised to return. Remember?”

  “I know that ring means a lot to you,” he said, “but if Clooney knows how badly you want it back, he’ll just ask for more in return. What are you going to offer him?”

  “Maybe I should have let him keep you,” said Elenn.

  He caught her hand as she tried to storm off.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “for all the nasty things I said while we were captive.”

  Elenn spun around, pulling her hand from his grasp. “You mean before I rescued us both?” she asked.

  He looked up at the night sky. “Oh, gods, she’ll never let me forget that.” He laughed. “Nor should I forget. You saved my life. Again. Thank you.”

  Elenn sniffed. “Sweet words come easily enough to your lips now, I see.”

  “Everything I did was to protect you.”

  “Ha!” said Elenn, with every bit of scorn she could muster.

  Aedin shook his head. “Scoff all you want, but it’s the truth. Been in situations like that many times—”

  “As a kidnapper or a hostage?” asked Elenn.

  “—many times,” repeated Aedin, talking over her question. “Worst thing for a hostage to do is to show that you care about a fellow hostage. Tells the captors who to squeeze to get what they want.”

  Aedin stepped away from the tree. “Soon as I saw those men running up to nab us, I knew I had to play a part. That’s all it was, believe me.”

  “And what part have you been playing today?” said Elenn.

  Aedin folded his arms. “You don’t like me talking to Lilith,” he said.

  “You may talk, or not talk, to whomever you wish,” said Elenn.

  “Not talking to her for the pleasure of it,” said Aedin. “We go back a long way, it’s true, but there’s bad blood there. She’s all honey wine and batting eyelashes now, but she’s as changeable as the wind. She was the one who told Clooney to hang me.”

  Incredibly, as he said this, a faint smile stole briefly onto Aedin’s lips. Elenn rolled her eyes. Why did men always chase women who were bad for them?

  Aedin sighed and shook his head. “And she’s got the Falarica.”

  Elenn immediately turned and would have marched straight to Lilith, but Aedin grabbed her hand once again and pulled her back.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Lie low until Clooney’s well drunk. Then Lilith gives me the horn, and you and I just slip away.”

  “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight,” said Elenn, tapping her chi
n with one finger. “She tried to kill you earlier today. But now you’re sure she’s in your pocket, because she’s promised to betray her husband.” Elenn arched an eyebrow. “What part of you thinks you can trust this woman?”

  “Elenn,” Aedin began.

  Just then the music stopped, and Clooney called out loudly for more.

  “Another dance!” the big man roared. “A Twining! Sing it slow, sing it sad and sing it long. A song of lost love and brave men’s bones.”

  Clooney’s oldest wife walked up to him, and he pushed the younger wife off his lap and got up to dance.

  “He’s already getting sad and sentimental,” said Aedin. “Another half hour, he’ll be sleepy.” He smiled, and raised his eyebrows in a look that said, “I told you so.”

  “I know this dance,” said Elenn, striding away from him into the light of the fire.

  Aedin followed her, and took her hands when they neared the fire and joined the other revelers.

  “My mother used to hum this tune,” Elenn said.

  “Old song,” said Aedin. “About ties. Ties that hold things: people, ideas, strong ties and weak ones. It’s a sad thing now, but before the war it was a song for lovers.”

  Elenn looked down, moved. Aedin untied a lace from his jacket and extended it toward Elenn. She smiled but shook her head in refusal. Aedin took her hand and clasped it around the tie.

  “Don’t let go,” Aedin said.

  He walked in a circle around her, wrapping the lace once around their wrists as he did so. Glancing around at the other couples who had joined the dance, Elenn copied the steps of the women. She took turns with Aedin making circuits around each other, binding their hands and forearms together with the lace.

  Elenn felt someone watching her. As she circled around Aedin, she surveyed the other dancers. None of the other couples were paying them much attention—least of all Clooney, whose drink-impaired efforts were the source of much laughter for him and his wife both.

  During her next circuit, Elenn turned her attention to the crowd of revelers who watched the dance. And standing alone in the crowd was Lilith, staring at her with hate and jealousy plainly written on her face. Aedin thought he could buy this woman’s help with a little flirtation and the memories of their past time together. But love is a two-edged sword, as Aunt Ethelind had often said.