The Crown and the Dragon

by John D. Payne

  The dragon fled, but in front of it the clouds grew thicker and darker, with an unnatural greenish cast to them. Lightning struck all around, such that the thunder was an almost-constant rumble.

  In the center of this storm, Aedin saw the night open up like the mouth of a hungry god. The storm clouds swirled around and disappeared into that inky blackness like they were being pulled down through a funnel.

  “Gods alive,” he said to himself. “Something is drinking the sky.”

  The dragon balked, and turned around, preferring to deal with the sea-serpent rather than whatever lay beyond that nightmarish maw. Aedin glanced at Elenn and saw her dispel her watery behemoth with a quick flick of her wrist.

  She pointed the Falarica directly at the dragon, and beams of pure light reached out from its tip to lash at the dragon. The monster screeched in agony and was driven backward as Elenn unleashed ray after ray of blinding white light, like an archer loosing deadly shafts from a bow.

  As the dragon was pushed back, great tongues of green flame lapped out from the middle of the hole in the sky. They wrapped around the dragon, encircling it in fire and pulling it inexorably into the gullet.

  With a pitiable squeal, the dragon was swallowed up by the infernal maelstrom. Lightning stabbed out and thunder rattled the ground. With one last blaze of light from the Falarica, the terrible maw shuddered and closed.

  The winds lessened in ferocity, and the seas became more calm. The clouds lost their greenish hue, but rain still fell—which would probably help douse the remaining forest fires. Lightning struck here and there, but the whole of nature seemed to be breathing out a deep sigh of relief.

  Cradling his broken arm, Aedin turned to observe the uncanny light fading from the Falarica and from the sea beneath Elenn. She, too, looked to be fading. Her whole body sagged with exhaustion, and, as he watched, her arms dropped to her sides and she fell through the surface of the water, which no longer held her up.

  “Elenn!” he cried. He peered down, but the light was gone and he couldn’t see her.

  Cursing, Aedin looked about for a way down the cliff, but in the dark he could see nothing. To the west, he knew that the cliffs sloped into gentler bluffs and then finally to Drumney beach. But it would take him a half an hour at least to make his way to the bottom. Anything could happen in that time.

  He looked out from the cliff to the sea thirty yards below. He glanced down at his broken arm. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Time for a magic trick.”

  He unbuckled his heavy leather plait-jack and shrugged it off. With another deep breath, he backed up and took a running leap off the cliff.

  Aedin screamed with anguish as his impact with the water sent pain shooting through his broken arm. Closing his mouth to keep out the sea, he kicked furiously and struggled to the surface.

  Gasping for air, he swam toward the point where he had last seen Elenn. With only one good arm, he knew his progress was slow, but he gritted his teeth and tried not to think about the odds.

  As he drew near, Aedin felt something like seaweed brush his feet. No. Not seaweed. Hair. He dove down and grasped, but found nothing. Surfacing, he took a deep breath and dove again, this time pushing himself farther.

  His lungs burned for air, and Aedin knew he must surface. But in the dark, he was suddenly confused about which way was up. Turning about frantically, he once again brushed seaweed.

  Reaching out, Aedin encountered fingers. Pushing himself in that direction, he broke through the water and up into the air. In his confusion, he had been only a short distance below the surface.

  In front of him, in the dim starlight, Aedin saw a female form, face-down in the water. Frantic, he turned her over and was relieved to hear her splutter and take a breath.

  “I found you,” he said. “Thank the merciful Gods, I found you.”

  Feeling like she had just emerged from a long dream, Elenn found herself floating in the water, in total darkness, with rain falling on her face. Disoriented, she tried to turn around but found someone had an arm around her.

  “Glad you’re awake,” Aedin said. “Among other reasons, it’s not so bloody easy to keep your head above water when you’ve got a broken arm. Much harder to keep you afloat, too.”

  Elenn was relieved to find that the Falarica was tucked into her belt. She supposed that she must have done this herself, although she had no memory of doing so. Her memories of everything that had happened after she jumped into the sea were quite hazy.

  As they stroked for the shore, Aedin told her that the dragon had been defeated—destroyed, or perhaps banished. If Aedin’s telling of it could be believed, she had performed the most incredible conjuring since the days of Kaiteryn the Magnificent, a legendary sorceress in her mother’s line.

  After long minutes of awkward swimming, the two of them helped each other out of the water at the edge of Drumney beach. The rain was ceasing now, although distant rumbles of thunder spoke of the storm’s passing north.

  They collapsed together on the shore. Elenn rested her head on Aedin’s chest, the grit of salt and sand on his shirt rubbing roughly against her cheek. She was exhausted, and her whole body ached, but with Aedin’s arm wrapped protectively around her, she felt she could have swum another ten leagues—although lying here on the beach until morning would also be lovely.

  “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said.

  “Any time, my Lady of Adair.” He sounded happy.

  “So,” she said, “how many hours do you think we have before the sun comes up?”

  “Maybe… eight,” he said, looking up at the night sky.

  “Eight hours to the coronation, then,” she said.

  “And thirty leagues to Mount Iliak,” Aedin added. He grimaced. “Shame the horses ran off. Take us three or four days on foot.”

  “Maybe we’ll find them again,” she said.

  “Well, it does seem like a night for miracles,” he said.

  Elenn sat up. “Let’s see that arm of yours.”

  “It’s a pretty bad break,” he said.

  “Are you sure?” She reached down and tore another long strip of cloth off the bottom of what had been a beautiful white and gold silk gown not so many hours ago. Aedin had torn off a wide strip during the fire, and it was now almost scandalously short—showing quite a bit of her calf.

  “I’m pretty flaming sure,” he said, still lying on the sand. “It is my own arm. And I’ve broken bones before.”

  “Maybe it just hurts right now because of your fall,” she said, “and all the swimming. By morning, you might find it’s not so bad at all. Just you wait and see.” With one hand on the Falarica, she fixed in her mind the idea that Aedin’s arm was whole.

  He raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Well,” he said, “it does feel a bit better—now that I’m out of the water and can support it properly.”

  She leaned over and used the strip of her gown to fashion him a crude sling. Then she bent down and planted a kiss on his arm where the dragon had broken it.

  In the dim starlight, she could see him looking at her, the dark outline of his form barely visible as he sat up. She heard the gentle crash of the surf as waves lapped at the sand. She could smell the salt of the sea, mixed with his own scent, and she felt the warmth of his breath. He leaned toward her. Her lips parted. Another inch, maybe two…

  Aedin cleared his throat and found his feet. “That sling helps,” he said. He took a few steps. “I… I think maybe I should come see you next time I break a bone.”

  “Any time,” Elenn said, smiling sadly up at him. She reached up for her mother’s ring, hanging from a chain around her neck—the ring she had been heartbroken to give to Aedin as collateral, the ring she had been somehow disappointed to get back.

  Aedin laughed and offered her his left hand to help her upright. His hand was warm and strong, and she had difficulty letting go of it. But he didn’t pull it away. Instead, he laughed again, a little nervously. T
hen he drew her close.

  Their eyes locked for a rapturous instant that stretched out into a long heart-stopping moment. Then he leaned down slightly and, after a second’s hesitation, kissed her with a fierce tenderness that took her by surprise. Finally, Elenn thought, closing her eyes and kissing him back.

  Reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, she collapsed against his chest like she was sinking into a feather mattress. Feeling his hands running through her hair, she never wanted it to stop.

  The first time he had kissed her, in the cavernous upper halls of the fortress of the Leode, they both thought that they were about to part forever. So Elenn had told herself to forget about it. He was a thief; there was nothing remarkable about him stealing a kiss from a girl he thought he would never see again.

  Since they were still going together to Iliak, this kiss was not a goodbye. Despite the deliciousness of the moment, Elenn couldn’t help but ask herself what it meant. Was it a promise? An invitation? An assumption?

  Elenn didn’t even know if she could return his affections. He was an outlaw, and she was from a line of kings. More than that, she was the Paladin. She had been given a gift from the Gods, and with that gift surely came the obligation to serve. Would she have to join the Sisters of the Leode, become married to the Gods? The thought of leaving all this behind was agony, but as Aunt Ethelind once said, some things were more important than one woman’s life.

  As her head swam with a thousand thoughts, Aedin broke off from kissing and stepped away.

  Had she done something wrong? Elenn had only kissed one man, but Aedin had been married. Perhaps he had sensed her turmoil, and wanted to talk before continuing further. Or maybe he had been repulsed by her distraction. Why hadn’t she just allowed herself to surrender to the moment?

  “Aedin?” she said, taking his hands in hers.

  Unable to look her in the eye, he opened his mouth, but he hesitated, saying nothing. His brows were knit in puzzlement.

  “What is it?” said Elenn, searching his face for clues.

  “Is that… my sword?” said Aedin, looking over her shoulder.

  “What?”

  “It is,” said Aedin, dropping Elenn’s hands. In the dark of the starry night, she watched as he strode away across the beach, the waves coming in around his shins. He reached down into the surf, and pulled up a naked sword, with a sturdy metal ring set in the hilt. “Look!” he cried.

  “I don’t know how you managed to see that,” said Elenn, somewhat irritated. Her own eyes had been closed during the entire kiss.

  “Gods, neither do I,” he said, holding it up to catch the starlight on its polished steel blade. “Unbelievable. It came back. How is that even possible?”

  “You think it’s the same one?” said Elenn, rubbing her arms. The sea breeze was quite cool, and her hair and clothing were still soaked from the long swim.

  “Oh, I know it,” he said, taking a few practice swings as he waded through the surf back to Elenn. “Can’t explain it, but I know it.”

  “Not everything needs to be explained, I suppose,” said Elenn.

  “Exactly,” said Aedin. He replaced the sword in its scabbard with a satisfied grunt. “Nice to just… enjoy the magic.” He grinned.

  Was this finally an acknowledgment of their kiss? Elenn couldn’t be sure, in the dim light of the stars, but she thought his gaze had flickered to her lips. She was tempted to lean in and see what happened, but instead she just smiled and patted him on the cheek.

  “Now,” said Aedin, “let’s go find those confounded horses and get that fool Kilkarrin his crown, before we run out of miracles. You ready?” he said, offering her his hand.

  Elenn took a deep breath. There were a thousand things she wanted to say. But there would be other times, other places. For now, there was work to be done, as Aunt Ethelind would have said.

  “Ready.”

  Together, they walked hand in hand up the bluff, whistling for their horses.

  ***

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Epilogue

  On the broad, flat summit of Mount Iliak, Elenn fidgeted in borrowed robes, waiting anxiously for the breaking of the dawn. Iliak was a lone ridge, rising up from the vast, flat grasslands of central Adair. In Ghel, they would have called it a hill, if they called it anything at all. But here were found the footprints of Anyon, the first king, burned into the stone by lightning. And here were crowned Deira’s kings.

  “Why can't the sun hurry up?” Elenn whispered aloud.

  The Sister who had loaned her clean clothing for the coronation was six inches shorter, and rather plump. Still, it was better than wearing the silk gown that Corvus had given her—now ripped, scorched, and stained with sea-salt.

  “Eager, are you?” Aedin muttered.

  He also wore borrowed clothes and a sling for his right arm. It made her wonder if she really had healed the break, despite the certainty she had felt in the moment. Perhaps the Falarica’s power—or her own—was exhausted. All her attempts at conjuring during the night’s ride had failed.

  “Of course I am,” she said. “And I should think you would be, too. Especially since you’re part of the ceremony.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Wish I wasn’t.”

  It was not false modesty. She had heard him argue with the chieftain and ranking Lairds who wanted him to bear the standard of Clan Scylfing, protesting that he was no hero. But fishermen from Drumney had identified the two of them as the dragon-slayers, and the tale had circulated widely. So with his good arm, Aedin held a verdant pennon aloft, the wind displaying the clan insignia: a hare holding a crown.

  Elenn had been chosen for an even greater honor, to carry the Falarica for the Sisters of the Leode. She had wanted to refuse. She was only an initiate, not even an acolyte. And despite what Aedin told her, she had no recollection of slaying the dragon—only confusing fragments of memory, like the scattered impressions of a dream.

  Despite her misgivings, she had accepted. She was the Paladin. Although Elenn was still unsure what that meant, she knew she had a responsibility to serve. And so she stood in borrowed robes with four other women representing Deira’s most powerful Orders, waiting to invest the new king with the sacred relics their institutions zealously guarded.

  Bringing these precious artifacts to the mount where the dragon made its lair had been an act of profound faith. Even coming at dawn, when the monster was most quiescent, was a terrible risk. Yet, as the new Leodrine Mother said, the prophecies were clear—the coronation must be at this place, on this day. And so they had come, trusting that the Gods would prepare a way for them to fulfill their destined roles in the anointing of the new king.

  They were not alone. In truth, Iliak’s broad, flat summit was positively crowded. In the dim gray light of pre-dawn, Elenn saw nuns, chieftains, Lairds and Ladies, bannermen, and warriors with their great swords. Even Clooney Taftoughin was here, the old villain. Humble peasants, too, had come for the crowning of the new king, or to see for themselves if the dragon were truly gone. More arrived every minute.

  Aedin and others said that it had surely been more than twenty years since this many people had graced the mountain’s slopes. Elenn imagined that many of them were refugees, or the children of refugees. Having seen the dragon's empty lair, they might be staying here in Adair to farm lands they had abandoned twenty years ago. Many others, though, would be returning to other provinces, recounting the story of Garrick's crowning.

  “It is a proud day,” Elenn said. “A glorious day.”

  “Bit ominous, to my mind,” said Aedin. “Better to wait for tomorrow.”

  There was no fixed date for the crowning of kings, although several had been anointed on Lammas Day, the festival of bread. It was a time to give thanks for the first fruits of the harvest and to celebrate new beginnings.

  This morn, however, would begin Lammas Eve, a day for endings. In Ghel, this meant fasting and penitence. Crofters in Adair feasted, emptying their lard
ers to make room for the new harvest. Many Riverlanders gathered to share their oldest wine and recount stories from days gone by.

  “In Renonia,” Elenn said, “no man can refuse an apology on Lammas Eve. It is a day for forgiveness and reconciliation.”

  “Course they need a day for pardons,” said Aedin, “treacherous lot that they are. Corvus was Renonian, in case your memory’s still shaky.”

  “It’s good enough to remember you telling me how he gave his life to save us.”

  “Maybe,” Aedin said. “Man like that gives you a piece of fish, look for the hook.”

  Elenn shook her head. “He’s dead and gone. Let go of your hate.”

  “Someone told me our hurts are part of who we are,” he said. “That our wounds make us strong.” He was staring at Garrick. Perhaps he was the man Aedin had been talking about all along.

  Elenn reached up to touch the ring hanging from a chain around her neck. “Remembering the sacrifices of those who loved us,” she said, “is not the same as letting bitter feelings fester in your heart. That’s a hook you set yourself. Time to let it go.”

  Aedin’s response, if he had any, was preempted by a wave of gasps and exclamations as the first rays of light reached up over the horizon, stretching out to touch Iliak’s broad peak. Then the assembled host hushed as Garrick Kilkarrin and his Council of Knights knelt in silent prayer before a wooden throne, decorated with intricate carvings of heroes from history and legend.

  “Someday we will tell our children we were here,” Elenn whispered. Flushing, she added. “All of us, I mean. Every one of us will tell our children.”

  Aedin didn’t appear to notice her slip. “I want it to be true,” he said, “but how can one man make all this right? The monster is dead, but the Vitalion remain. The clans are united today, but how long will it take for us to be at each other’s throats again?”

  “The blood of the dragon will heal the land,” said Elenn. “That’s what the prophecy said. If Garrick the Dragon can’t finish this work in one lifetime, then maybe his heirs will. In time, his line could heal this land. And we can help. Each of us has our part to play.”