The Iron Crown (Dragon Spirits Book 1)

by L. L. MacRae

  That man had been angry, but perhaps he had lost someone in the war and blamed Varlot for it.

  Perhaps Alnothen had been mistaken.

  ‘Jisyel should be ready now. I’ll help her down the stairs, then we’ll go?’

  Varlot nodded, and Calidra darted up. She knew it was probably a stupid decision, but there was no way she’d be able to carry Jisyel all the way there and back by herself. Even though Alnothen had said she despised Varlot, she was a spirit of life and nature. Killing people wasn’t something Alnothen had ever done. It was a calculated risk.

  Pausing halfway to the top, she turned around and faced him. ‘Thank you.’

  Varlot kept to his word, and Jisyel leaned heavily on him as they made their way through the forest. Small torches had been lit along the way, showing the narrow stone and wood path that led deeper into the trees—which thankfully had been cleared of all roots, including tanglethorn.

  Calidra had wondered whether Jisyel would change her mind once she realised how difficult the trek would be, but if anything, she became more determined with every step. It didn’t take long before Jisyel got into her rhythm of walking, and Varlot was more patient with her even than Calidra would have been.

  Guilt grew in the back of her mind, much like it had after Fenn had proven not to be a threat as she’d first assumed.

  Moths and biting flies swirled around the flames lighting the path, and Calidra spent most of the journey angrily waving them away. They passed several people on their way back to town from the shrine, but Selys was not among them.

  Calidra had expected to see the priestess, but she supposed there was more than one path to the shrine, and it was possible they’d missed Selys while she’d been looking for Fenn or speaking with Varlot.

  Strangely, Calidra had never bothered to visit the Shrine of Alnothen before. She and Malora only ever came to Spindleford for recreational reasons. Even Malora, who had been blessed by Chyram, had never bothered to see the shrine. Malora had never been a fan of the trees—or more specifically the insects that lived within them—and they’d always kept to the edge of the Spindle Woods whenever they’d visited.

  Calidra could see why.

  ‘As much as I can’t stand this place, at least we’re safe from the Myr here,’ Varlot muttered.

  ‘Safe? How can you be so sure?’ Calidra asked.

  ‘Alnothen,’ he replied simply, as if that explained everything.

  Trying to ignore her growing frustration, Calidra asked, ‘Alnothen? How does the spirit make any difference? We were near Neros’s shrine in Ballowtown and Meadowhill, and we were attacked.’

  ‘We’re in her domain. Dragon spirits have powerful magic,’ Varlot shifted Jisyel, who clutched his arm as they walked, ‘especially in their domains. Deadlands can’t encroach any further south because Alnothen is too strong. Their magic can’t cope with hers.’

  Calidra knew about the deadlands, the area that had been drained of life following the Battle of Marlrush. She’d never realised the Myr could have drained more land had Alnothen not been present to stop their magic.

  ‘Why don’t the dragons just get rid of the Myr? If they’re that strong?’ Jisyel asked.

  Varlot strugged, the action causing Jisyel to stumble. ‘I think they’ve been trying to. But kinda hard to wage full scale war when you’re bound to a forest or a lake somewhere.’

  ‘Toriaken can fly anywhere in Porsenthia though?’ Jisyel hiccuped. ‘Maybe further?’

  ‘Well, he’s bound to the Iron Sword, ain’t he? He’s got more freedom than most in that way.’

  Calidra thought about it. She knew dragon spirits were locked into their domains. It was what they were. The source of their power. She’d never considered how limiting it could be, too. As far as she was concerned, it had just meant something else to watch out for whenever travelling through somewhere new.

  ‘Any respite from the Myr is good enough for me. Fenn needs to keep moving, and if we can have even one night safe, that’s a win,’ Calidra said. If the Myr really were coming back, if they were launching a new invasion, perhaps hiding in Spindleford wasn’t such a bad idea, if Alnothen could keep the forest out of danger.

  Bellandri would be safe on the Isle of Salt. There’d never been a Myrish strike on the island. Not in living memory. That was certainly one benefit to being on a spit of land on the edge of the world. But if she and Jisyel were on the mainland when more fighting broke out? Flocking to hide under Alnothen’s wings might be one way they could stay safe. Malora, too. And her family.

  She was considering how she’d convince the others to listen to that idea, when Varlot broke her train of thoughts, muttering under his breath. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Really?’

  He sighed. ‘Been years since I last came this way. My wife was bonded with Alnothen.’

  Calidra hadn’t known that. ‘Was? She’s…a priestess, too?’

  ‘Alnothen blessed her. Was more of a curse, though.’

  Calidra could understand that. Malora had been in a similar situation.

  ‘What happened?’ Jisyel asked, her voice shaky but stronger than it had been in hours.

  ‘Shrine’s a minute or two away. You two can make it from here.’ Varlot let go of Jisyel, who clutched a tree for support.

  ‘What? If it’s so close, can’t you help us the rest of the way?’ Jisyel asked, her knees trembling.

  ‘I’m not welcome.’

  ‘Varlot. Don’t let us down now, not when we’re so close.’ Calidra shooed away another biting fly and stalked back to him, annoyed he’d also evaded another of their questions regarding his family. ‘I can just about see the shrine through the trees. It’s not far!’

  ‘Then you’ll be fine on your own. I’ll wait here and help you on the way back. I can’t imagine you’ll be in there very long. Foolish to even ask the damned spirit.’

  ‘Varlot!’ Calidra snapped, her voice rising.

  ‘Look. Alnothen isn’t my biggest fan, and you wanna ask her for a favour. You think having me there will help your chances?’ He walked off the path and sat down on a fallen log, careful not to squash any of the mushrooms clustered on top.

  ‘Please come with us? I don’t mind if you’re there. I’m sure the spirit won’t mind either?’ Jisyel pleaded.

  ‘You’re an idiot if you believe that,’ Varlot said.

  ‘I don’t appreciate you speaking to Jisyel like that. After what she’s been through, you’re refusing?’ Calidra wouldn’t allow anyone to speak to her or Jisyel in that manner.

  Was Varlot stepping aside because he truly didn’t want to hurt Jisyel’s chances? Or was he afraid of what the spirit might reveal? Alnothen had named him a child murderer. Would she divulge more secrets? Is that what kept him at bay?

  She gritted her teeth, angry with herself. She was always looking for a reason not to trust people, and he had brought them this far already. She needed to be less bitter. More softly, she said, ‘Alnothen is the spirit of this forest. She already knows you’re here. What difference does a handful of steps make?’

  ‘A lot.’

  Jisyel trembled slightly. It had been a mistake to go on such a long walk before she’d properly recovered. But they were here now, and it would be silly to go back to town without trying to beg the spirit’s help.

  ‘Come on, Jisyel.’ She offered her arm, and Jisyel hopped between the tree and Calidra.

  Perhaps they’d be lucky and find Selys still at the shrine. Having a priestess on their side would surely strengthen their plea.

  With a final dark glare towards Varlot, Calidra led Jisyel down the last section of path and to the vast courtyard outside Alnothen’s Shrine. More torches hung from the sides of the building—which had the largest tree Calidra had ever seen in her life bursting through it.

  Or perhaps bits of the shrine had simply been built around the tree?

  It was made up of disparate parts—a small buil
ding over roots, a steep-roofed chapel to the south, even a towering spire—all with dozens of individuals lingering around them. Most were people from Spindleford, Calidra assumed, as they wore a similar garb of browns and greens, woven from natural fibres. A small burial ground lay just beyond the treeline, tearful visitors coming and going in a slow, silent march. Flowers in a myriad of colours cascaded down the walls of the shrine, bringing brightness to the clearing and filling the air with a light perfume.

  Calidra heard many people begging for aid or blessings—hoping for a successful harvest, an easy birth, for distant relatives to be safe.

  ‘We should find one of Alnothen’s priests.’ Jisyel stared up at the vastness of the shrine and the tree which burst from it, her eyes round in awe. ‘They’ll be in robes.’

  Calidra couldn’t see any priests or priestesses, but they may have been inside.

  She was about to take a look, when the ground trembled, and she clutched Jisyel’s hand. Around them, people also held onto each other, trees, the shrine itself, whatever they could reach.

  ‘A quake?’ Jisyel gasped.

  But it wasn’t. Calidra felt something moving underground. A presence so powerful she couldn’t mistake it for anything other than what it was: Alnothen.

  With a deafening roar, the dragon spirit burst from the ground in an explosion of light and fire. Her wings spread over them, throwing everything under a blanket of shadow, her head tilted back as she bellowed her fury. Orange flames leapt from her jaws and columns of fire spread upwards. The canopy caught, but the leaves didn’t burn. They crackled, swallowed by the flame, smoke pluming from the foliage. Then the fire was gone, and each leaf was bigger and brighter than before—vibrantly green, with every budded flower now in full bloom.

  Those at the shrine gasped in awe.

  Calidra almost screamed in terror—Alnothen’s golden gaze was fixed on Jisyel and herself. Alnothen may have been a spirit of life, nature, bounty. But she was a dragon. A predator. An ancient creature of magic. And her rage washed over them like her fire over the leaves.

  Coming here had been a bad idea. A terrible one.

  ‘Cal…’ Jisyel whispered.

  ‘Varlot Keir. I warned you once that you were unwelcome. Do you forgot my blessed one lays in the ground here? Her child? By your actions?’ Alnothen’s voice boomed.

  Summoned by the spirit’s voice, Varlot appeared in a gap between the trees, sheepishly making his way along the wooden path, hands behind his back, his head bowed low. ‘Alnothen…I was not…’

  ‘You were aware. You could not forget the blood on your hands, as I cannot forget it. I see it now on you, rivers of red dripping from your fingers. Where you walk lies death. It has always been your true nature.’

  Calidra slowly backed away, dragging Jisyel with her. If Alnothen wished to berate Varlot, she had no desire to attract the spirit’s attention.

  Varlot lowered his head even more. ‘I am not here for your forgiveness—’

  ‘You cannot be forgiven for such desecration!’ More fire from Alnothen’s jaws. It set the forest floor alight, weeds and grasses growing taller in seconds.

  Calidra felt the heat of it singing the air, but there was no pain.

  Unfazed, Varlot continued, ‘I brought these two. Jisyel asks your help.’

  Calidra hated him for turning the dragon’s gaze off himself, but couldn’t blame him. She’d have said anything to get the dragon away from her if she were in his shoes.

  Alnothen’s long, sinuous neck turned, and her eyes locked with Calidra’s. A crown of moss coiled around her eyes and horns, with thin red growths spurting from it. After a moment of study, the dragon shifted to face Jisyel. Pulling her massive body through the trees, through the shrine itself, Alnothen approached the pair, her nostrils flaring. Her body flickered, transparent and then visible again. ‘You have my brother’s scent on you.’

  Jisyel looked the dragon squarely in the eyes. ‘I’m from the Isle of Salt. Hassen cursed me. Please…please…can you expel it? I can’t feel anything physical. If I’m burned. Cold. Hungry. Can’t feel the touch of someone else.’ She looped her fingers through Calidra’s, providing a united front. ‘Three years, I’ve suffered. I have been punished enough! Please free me!’

  Again, the dragon considered, and the clearing seemed to hold its breath. The fires along the forest floor died down with a crackle, and the final few flowers bloomed around them.

  Nothing else moved. No-one spoke. Varlot stared from across the clearing, his mouth hanging open.

  ‘I could remove my brother’s touch. His power is far inferior to my own.’

  Calidra’s heart skipped a beat.

  ‘But I would want you for myself.’

  ‘W…what?’ Jisyel stammered.

  Alnothen snorted and flexed her wings. ‘You ask me to interfere. I want something in return. And as Varlot took one of my blessed, he can give me a new one.’

  ‘What? I didn’t mean for that!’ Varlot said, straightening up. ‘Jisyel came here on her own.’

  ‘Wait, wait. Stop shouting!’ Jisyel yelled. ‘Alnothen…what would it mean?’

  Calidra wondered that, too. It was another reason she wished Selys was with them. The priestess could explain. Maybe even bargain.

  But the idea worried her. If it was anything like what had happened to Malora, Calidra would refuse for Jisyel. Giving up control of your body, having people beg for help, was an awful experience. And with so many people at Alnothen’s Shrine, there would no doubt be a long queue demanding aid for stupid things like wanting their pumpkins to grow. She squeezed Jisyel’s hand, hoping she’d feel the warning. She’d be trapped under the spirit’s claw.

  ‘I would gift you some of my power. You would help my people. Fight my enemies.’

  Jisyel turned to Calidra. ‘That doesn’t sound too bad…’

  ‘No, Jisyel! I’ll bet Alnothen would expect you to live here forever, too.’

  ‘Of course. My blessed must stay with me. Help the forest grow. But after a time, you could spread my word throughout Tassar. My power would rise to greater heights, and so would yours.’

  It left a bad taste in Calidra’s throat. ‘Jisyel, you wanted the curse to be lifted, and you wanted to go back to the Isle of Salt. None of this—’

  ‘If you return to Hassen’s domain without his touch, he will be most displeased. He would curse you again. Something more powerful. More lasting. This is why I do not wish to interfere…unless you become mine. Then nothing can curse you again. My protection is great.’

  Panic rose. Calidra didn’t want to lose Jisyel to some forest spirit. She took back everything she thought about Spindleford being safe. The fact that Jisyel was even considering the spirit’s request showed that she didn’t understand the dangers. ‘Jisyel. No. Don’t be silly. It’s not worth it for that.’

  Jisyel stared at the ground, one hand interlaced with Calidra’s, the other balled into a fist.

  ‘Jisyel?’ Calidra asked. Her voice carried a note of pleading. She couldn’t lose Jisyel so easily, so quickly. She couldn’t!

  ‘Why not take me, instead.’ Varlot’s voice cut through the quiet like a knife.

  ‘Why would I take you, murderer?’

  ‘If you want payment for help? Take me. I’m from Spindleford. Two of your blessed are dead…because of me. I know they’re there in the burial grounds.’ Varlot stared into the dark trees. ‘You won’t kill me. So take me. Use my strength. And heal Jisyel.’

  ‘You life is worth less than nothing, Varlot. So full of violence. You should be in the ground feeding my forest, where your rage can no longer fester and pollute my followers.’

  The barbed insult was devastating. Even Calidra winced, and it hadn’t been aimed at her. Nor could she believe that Varlot had tried to step up.

  The man’s shoulders sagged, all defiance leaving him, as if his strength had died in that moment, thanks to the dragon’s tongue. ‘I…I wasn’t in my right head back then. And
I’ve changed. I ain’t done anything else wrong since.’

  Alnothen snarled. ‘Yes. You were ill. Yes. You may have changed. You may never do it again, as you promise. But what you did was unforgivable.’

  Varlot stared towards the burial ground, saying nothing.

  Calidra followed his gaze, wondering who Alnothen accused him of killing. Then it twigged. Varlot had said his wife was blessed. If she was dead…because of him…It would explain Alnothen’s abhorrence at his presence.

  But two blessed? Was the second one…his son?

  ‘Leave this place.’ Fire enveloped the spirit as she spread her wings again, then leapt into the air. In the moonlight, Alnothen’s green scales appeared black. Ripples of silver light bounced off her horns and vegetation growing along her body, then she was gone, lost in the night sky.

  Jisyel sank to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

  Calidra crouched down beside her, giving her all the time she needed to recover. There was no point in pulling her back to her feet, not after that. Calidra wasn’t sure her own heart would ever recover from the intensity of that encounter.

  Varlot walked past them, his eyes unreadable. ‘I’m going to the burial grounds.’

  ‘Varlot.’ Calidra stopped him with a single word. ‘Tell me honestly. Are…are your wife and son buried there?’

  ‘…Yes.’

  ‘Did…did you put them there? Was Alnothen right about you?’

  Varlot said nothing, continuing down the path and into the trees, swallowed up by the darkness.

  21

  The Lost

  apollo

  Apollo ignored the stares.

  Most, he knew, were simply curious. It wasn’t every day an Inquisitor marched someone out of Foxmouth in irons. He couldn’t blame them for wanting to see what was going on, see who was accused of wronging the queen.

  But nestled among them were other, more malevolent eyes. People looking for an opportunity. Some way they could take the misfortune of another and turn it to their own advantage.