The Crown and the Dragon (24 page)

“You may die yourself,” she said, regarding the remaining fiery mannikin. It shivered, lost its shape, and once again capered across her hand. “That is hidden from me.”

Feeling a sudden chill, Aedin tugged the skin a little tighter around himself. “Put that fire away, or put it out, or… Just, please get rid of it.”

“You always curse my gifts,” she said, with a teasing smile, “but you never refuse them until after they have served you.” Closing her hand, she made the eerie flames disappear. Lilith stepped closer and ran a hand along the scar on his side.

So, that was conjuring as well. He should have known. “Maybe I’ll have to stop cursing them,” he said. He stepped carefully around her and loosed the horse from the tree.

“A woman does like to be appreciated.”

“And I thank you,” said Aedin, “for everything.” He led the horse toward her and waited.

“You’re welcome,” said Lilith, springing lightly onto the animal’s back. “Now, time for me to show you that cache.” She nodded her head, indicating the spot behind her.

He mounted awkwardly, trying at first to keep the skin girt about him before finally giving up on modesty and dignity. Although she laughed at him the whole time, Aedin found himself smiling.

As they rode together, Lilith talked about the Ghellish great sword and the set of armor that she had kept in the cache for her husband when he returned from the war. And he decided that he would tell her about his own secret cache in the cave behind the Cataracts. It was about time for her to have that dress.

***

Chapter Thirty-Three

Elenn sat cross-legged in her dungeon cell, envisioning a flame dancing above her hand. Focusing on the image, she willed it to come into being. Nothing happened. She tried to empty her mind of conscious thought and emotion, as her Aunt Ethelind had taught her, but found it impossible to silence her fears.

Today was the day on which she would be executed if no champion stepped forward before noon. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she suspected that she had little time left. Abandoning her attempts at conjuring, she said a silent prayer.

Gods of my fathers,
she thought,
in two days begins the festival of bread. Tomorrow at dawn, Garrick will come to Iliak to be crowned King and to swear an oath to free your people from the wicked ones who plague this blessed land. Please let me be an instrument of your justice. Please deliver me, and all of Deira, out of the hands of the wicked and their servants. So let it be.

Elenn felt a rush of warmth flood through her body. She opened her eyes and smiled. Her prayer had been heard.

Footsteps on the stones in the corridor outside her cell brought her to her feet. The heavy iron lock turned with a click, and the door opened.

A grim-faced legionary stepped into the cell, carrying a length of rope. He barked at her in Vitalae. Elenn was not sure what he was asking her to do, but she nodded and stepped forward hesitantly. He grabbed her hands roughly and then bound her wrists in front of her.

Tugging on her bonds until he was satisfied, the soldier then gave her a shove to get her moving out of the cell. In the stony corridor outside stood five other Vitalion soldiers. Each of them was armed with the ugly, forward-curved falcatas.

The oldest looking of the legionaries gave an order, and all six arranged themselves around Elenn—in front, in back, and on either side. When the pair in front of her began walking, she followed before someone shoved her again.

The soldiers escorted her down the corridor, out of the dungeon, through three halls, and finally into the courtyard. In the center stood Corvus, dressed in armor, flanked by a dozen Vitalion soldiers. She also saw the big man with the blond moustache, who was evidently Corvus’s superior. Standing beside him was a man richly dressed in Vitalion robes whose smirk looked familiar for some reason.

As she approached, Corvus caught her eye. He looked miserable, and angry. She didn’t know if this meant that a challenger had been found, or that one had not. The soldiers led Elenn to a spot in front of the big blond man and the Vitalion. Corvus stood about ten feet away. Now that she was closer, Elenn could see that behind them was a deep pit in the center of the courtyard. The bottom of the pit was sandy, with several large, dark stains on the walls.

Smiling, the blond man stepped forward and asked her a question in Vitalae. Elenn had learned some, but the man’s accent was difficult to understand. She could only shake her head and shrug. The man and his Vitalion friend laughed.

“Elenn of Adair,” the blond man said, “I am Imperator Theodoricus Aelius Strabus.” The man’s accent was even more pronounced in the Deiran tongue. From his speech, his stature, and his moustache, Elenn thought he must be from Baiohaemum.

Elenn curtseyed as best she could with her hands bound, though not too deeply.

“I believe you know Magister Corvus,” said Strabus. “He is representing the interests of the Empire in your trial and execution.”

Corvus, dressed in a suit of Vitalion scale armor, bowed rigidly to Strabus and to the other man.

Imperator Strabus acknowledged Corvus’s bow only with a faint smile. “And this,” said Strabus, gesturing to the smirking Vitalion at his side, “is Procurator Manius Puponius. He is here from Anondea, as a… spectator of sorts.” He laughed, as did his friend.

Corvus’s shot them both a look of intense hatred but remained silent.

Elenn curtseyed again. She had never actually spoken to the Procurator, but Ethelind had pointed him out when they had been in town. He had a reputation for treating his servants and underlings with great cruelty.

“Now that we are all introduced,” said Strabus jovially, “I hereby charge you, Elenn, with the crimes of sedition and treason, for which you will be executed. How do you plead?”

“I do not plead,” said Elenn bravely, “since I do not recognize your authority to judge me. I am a Deiran. And you are in a Deiran fortress upon Deiran lands!” She held her chin up proudly.

The soldiers muttered to each other in Vitalae at this. Strabus frowned. Alone among the Vitalion, the Procurator from Anondea laughed. Grinning, Puponius stepped forward and grabbed her face roughly in one hand. She shook her head, trying to free herself from the indignity, but Puponius only laughed. He shouted something to Strabus in Vitalae which sounded rude and suggestive. It made the soldiers snicker. Even Strabus looked amused.

Flushed with sudden anger, Elenn tried to spit on him, but Puponius shoved her face to the side and avoided the spittle. Still chuckling, he went back to Strabus’s side.

“No plea, then,” said Strabus. “Trial by combat has been petitioned on your behalf, but to my knowledge, no champion has emerged. Do you have a champion?”

Elenn said nothing. She closed her eyes in prayer. She heard more laughter from Strabus and his friend, and then it seemed that the whole courtyard fell into a hush. Hearing the creak of heavy iron chains, Elenn opened her eyes to see the portcullis rising.

Elenn’s heart leapt when she saw Aedin striding in, ducking to get under the portcullis. He wore in a glorious set of Deiran armor and carried a great sword from Ghel on his back. Every eye in the courtyard was on him as he raced up to her side, panting as if he had run the whole way from the Leode. Elenn thought she had never seen a sight so beautiful in all her life.

“Pretty dress,” Aedin said with a wink. “Like the color.”

Elenn blushed.

Then, in a loud voice, Aedin declared, “I am Aedin Jeoris, of clan Scylfing. I am a warrior of Deira, proven in battle. I am here to sustain with the sword the just rights of the lady Elenn of Adair.”

Strabus stroked his moustache and then exhaled slowly. “Very well,” he said grudgingly. Turning to Elenn, he asked, “Do you accept this man as your champion?”

“I do,” said Elenn happily.

“So be it,” said Strabus. “As Imperator of the Vitalion Empire in Deira,” he announced in a booming voice, “I hereby proclaim that this woman’s guilt will be determined by combat between her champion, and the champion of the Empire.”

While Strabus repeated his announcement in Vitalae, Corvus stepped forward and saluted. His face was grim as the assembled Vitalion soldiers cheered him, rattling their swords and thumping the butts of their spears against the stone courtyard.

Aedin turned to Elenn, meeting her gaze. He looked tired, and worried. His lips parted as if to speak, but before he could do so, Imperator Strabus pointed to the pit, and shouted something in Vitalae. Several soldiers got in between herself and Aedin, jostling and prodding him toward the stone steps that led down into the pit.

Aedin looked at her helplessly. Elenn stretched out her hand in a blessing and said, “Gods favor your blade, Aedin Jeoris.”

“So let it be,” Aedin said, bowing. With one last smile for her, he turned and walked down the steps.

Corvus, who had said nothing since Elenn entered the courtyard, gazed at her with regret. Saluting her with his sword, he joined Aedin in the pit. For some reason, his sadness made her angry. He didn’t have the right to mourn for her—especially before the trial had even started!

She stepped up to the lip of the pit, her hands still bound. Two guards stood behind her, their hands on their sword hilts. One of them was the soldier who had led her escort to the trial. Strabus and his friend the Procurator joined Elenn at the edge of the dueling pit. The other soldiers gave them a wide berth.

Elenn glanced at the two men, wondering if there was something she could say to soften their hearts.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, child,” Puponius said, leaning over to her. “This will all be over soon.” He smirked. “And then the real fun starts.”

Please
, Elenn prayed,
let Aedin live.

As he pulled the scabbard from his falcata and tossed it aside, Corvus blocked out the noise of the crowd and focused on the familiar crunch of sand under his booted feet. Having fought in this circle countless times, he knew every square inch of this pit, including the origins of many of the bloodstains on its stone walls. Today, though, he felt something new and strange: doubt.

It was not his opponent that troubled him. True, the man was younger. And he wielded a Ghellish great sword (although its longer reach would be of limited benefit in the confines of the pit). Balanced against those dubious advantages were three distinct handicaps. First, he wore only a bullhide targe and a leather plait-jack, far inferior to Corvus’s own scale armor. Second, he carried himself like a man recovering from a recent wound.

Third, and most importantly, the ruffian kept glancing up at Elenn—love written plainly on his face as well as hers. His feelings were understandable. She was a remarkable creature; Corvus himself found her fascinating. But he never let his emotions dictate his actions, no matter what Strabus said. A man who let love control him was easily mastered by others.

“Champions!” called Strabus, standing above them. “Are you ready?”

Elenn’s man, Aedin, gave Strabus and the Procurator a cursory salute with his sword before saluting Elenn as smartly as if she were the Emperor himself. A gallant gesture, but it meant taking his eyes off his opponent.

Wasting no time, Corvus rushed in to attack. Thrusting expertly at his opponent’s unprotected right side, he was disappointed at the younger man’s slow and clumsy riposte. If this was the best he could do, defeating him would be child’s play.

Maneuvering so that he could see Elenn over his opponent’s shoulder, Corvus saw her going pale. Her champion was completely outclassed, which meant her own death as well. Most people in her position would be thinking of nothing but their own impending demise, but Corvus wagered that she was thinking of this poor fool instead. Truly, an exceptional woman.

Unfortunately, as soon as the duel was over, she would be executed. Such a waste! The girl could be an invaluable resource to the Empire. Was Strabus truly unable to see it? Corvus lashed out with a series of serpentine strikes at his hapless opponent, irritated that he couldn’t deal with his true adversary so easily.

The ruffian now fought half-sword style, with one hand below the hilt and one above it on the ricasso, the unsharpened base of the blade. Gripping the great sword like a spear, he advanced, trying to pin Corvus against the wall.

It was a valiant attempt, but, after a few parries, Corvus slipped away. He could have finished the fight there and then, but why not stretch it out and annoy Strabus? Petty, perhaps, but at this point there was little else he could do to disturb the Imperator’s plans.

Using his own small shield to protect him, Corvus slid along the length of the great sword to deliver a quick jab at his opponent’s left shoulder, the heavy tip of the falcata slicing through the leather of the plait-jack. The younger man winced as he brought his sword around to swat ineffectively at Corvus, already dancing away.

“First blood,” murmured Corvus, circling.

“Last you’ll get from me,” said Aedin, shifting his feet.

Magister Corvus smiled at his pluck. He was certainly putting on a brave show—not that it would do him much good in the end.

Corvus feinted high and to the left, and when his foe took the bait, he slipped around his guard to the right, slashing at Aedin’s exposed right leg. He jumped back, but Corvus pressed the attack, relentlessly stabbing and slashing with his heavy, sickle-curved blade. The legionaries all jeered at the ruffian’s ineptitude, but Elenn called out encouragement to her champion.

“It’s just a scratch,” she said. “Nothing to slow down a demon-slayer!”

Aedin smiled and stood a little taller, a little straighter. He renewed his attack with greater vigor and determination.

No one else took note of the girl’s words, but they gave Corvus pause. Had this ruffian slain a Naihman? One of them had been lost while hunting Elenn, and this Aedin named himself her protector. It was possible.

He suffered a second surprise as he watched the blood stop flowing from the cut in his opponent’s shoulder. There was only one explanation. Either by instinct or by accident, the girl had performed a charm. Corvus had seen conjurors struggle for decades without being able to sway men’s minds, much less alter the physical world as she just had.

It was a sickening shame that she had to die. A tragedy. A sin. All his life, he had labored to dig up the mysteries and secrets lost to other men, to become one with the unseen forces that transcended this shabby mortal world. And now the Paladin stood before him—power unimaginable, in the flesh. It had been his destiny to find her, to unlock her full potential. Could he now allow her to be destroyed, even to preserve his own life?