The Crown and the Dragon (25 page)

And there it was—the thought he had been trying to push down since the instant that Strabus had ordered him to be the Empire’s champion. The Imperator’s schemes were built on the assumption that Corvus would fight to survive, as any rational man would. But what if he didn’t?

Death was not the end of all things. It was a belief so common that many learned men dismissed it. Corvus, on the other hand, had looked for proof—and found it in the teachings of Yaltese shamans and the writings of Volusus, the Vitalion Legate and scholar who had summoned the dragon twenty years ago on Drumney beach. With years of careful study, he had prepared diligently to enter the world of spirits, knowing that that day would surely come.

Was that day today? Was the life of the Paladin worth more than his own? How sure was he of his own ability to escape the endless cold silence of the grave?

As he danced through practiced sword forms, fending off his enemy’s ham-fisted attacks, he contemplated the unthinkable choice. Death for himself, or the destruction of the most precious artifact he had ever encountered. Neither option was acceptable.

Corvus cursed, and circled around his opponent, searching in vain for a way out of his conundrum.

***

Chapter Thirty-Four

Her heart pounding, Elenn watched Aedin and Corvus clash in the dueling pit, their swords ringing out a deadly song. She didn’t know if Aedin could hear her whispered charms, but they seemed to be helping, so Elenn kept her fingers twisted into the Leodrine gesture of blessing and protection.

To her left were the two Vitalion officials, Imperator Strabus and the Procurator from Anondea, Puponius. They chatted idly, neither one seeming very interested in the outcome of the fight. What could so interest them that they would ignore this life and death struggle? Were they just that jaded?

Elenn tried to listen in, but they spoke in Vitalae and she could only catch about half of the words. She wished she had her aunt Ethelind’s gift for languages, so that she could follow their conversation.

The clash of swords brought her attention back to the fight. Aedin was staying near the wall of the pit, clearly on the defensive.

“Keep running, boy,” said Corvus, stalking after him, “but there’s nowhere for you to hide here.”

“That’s what your mother said to your father on their wedding night,” Aedin threw back.

Corvus merely laughed and ran at Aedin again, throwing kicks in with his sword thrusts. Somehow he slipped past Aedin’s great sword again and punched his small buckler shield into Aedin’s side, eliciting a cry of pain from Aedin’s gritted teeth.

“I didn’t expect such fervor from Corvus,” said Strabus. “He seemed quite taken with the girl.”

Surprised to have understood, Elenn glanced at the two Vitalion officials. Strabus had his back to her, but in his hands was a small case made of darkly polished Renonian oak which he was toying with. Although it was closed, Elenn knew somehow that the Falarica lay safely inside.

“She’s quite pretty,” said Puponius, who faced her. Elenn returned his smile and then turned away, trying to conceal her comprehension.

“Still,” Puponius continued, “Survival is the stronger instinct. Without it, none of us would be here.”

“True,” said Strabus, “which makes the occasional deviations all the more fascinating.”

Puponius laughed. “Indeed. So, who is she?”

“Some Deiran witch,” said Strabus. “She had an old horn that Corvus was truly obsessed with. The Falarica, I believe he called it.” He opened the case and removed the lower half of the Falarica, holding it up and waving it for Puponius to see. Elenn’s stomach turned to see this sacred relic treated so casually. The Gods surely frowned on such sacrilege.

“Positively garish,” said Puponius, curling his lip in a sneer. “Still, it has a certain barbaric splendor. What is its purpose?”

“If I’m not mistaken,” said Strabus, “it has some significance to the Deiran kings.”

“When I was last in the Central Provinces,” Puponius mused, “I heard that the Emperor had been expressing an interest in royal artifacts of all sorts—even from quite backward cultures. I would think that the man who presents him with that horn would be well rewarded.”

Strabus tapped his chin with the Falarica absently before returning it to its case. “I am obliged to you for this information. I am now doubly glad for your presence here today.”

“I serve the Empire,” said Puponius, nodding humbly.

“As do we all,” said Strabus. “One way or another.” He smiled cruelly, gazing down on Corvus. Elenn wondered what he meant, but the two men fell silent as the duel reached its climax.

Sweat ran down Aedin’s forehead, blood dripped down his arm, and he limped. He had thought himself a fine swordsman and had dispatched his share of foes. But Corvus had an almost supernatural gift for being in the right place at the right time. And unlike Leif, who had just hacked like he was cutting wood, Corvus wielded the heavy, curved Vitalion blade as nimbly as any tailor’s needle.

Still, the long, punishing minutes of the duel had not left Corvus unscathed. His left arm hung useless at his side, and his small buckler shield lay in fragments on the sandy floor of the pit, shattered by a blow from the Ghellish great sword from Lilith’s cache.

“You call yourself a champion?” Corvus taunted. “You’re pathetic. Five minutes from now, your woman will be weeping fat, useless tears, promising noble Puponius anything he desires if he will only let her live.” One of the Vitalion officials standing at the lip of the pit laughed and clapped.

“Five days from now,” said Aedin grimly, “they’ll still be scrubbing you off these walls.” He rushed forward with a furious assault, this time managing to smash his elbow into Corvus’s face, breaking his nose.

Incredibly, Corvus smiled. “Not bad for a sheep thief,” he said. Then he kicked Aedin in the side and lashed out with even greater speed and ferocity.

The Scales above them all howled for blood, screaming for Corvus to finish him off. The two officials cried out for “Vitalion justice.” Aedin was beginning to wonder why he wasn’t dead yet. He knew now that Corvus was the better fighter. And although Lilith’s great sword was a fine weapon, in this small space it was more a hindrance than an advantage.

Corvus could have ended the duel more than once, but instead tormented him with painful flesh wounds, missing vital organs. Vocally, he continued to goad and antagonize Aedin, and then made small mistakes that left him vulnerable—which was how Aedin had broken his arm and his shield.

For all that, though, Corvus smiled. The longer the fight had gone on, the more exuberant he seemed. Aedin could not understand why. Unless, perhaps, Corvus wished to die.

“Time for this to be over, mud farmer,” said Corvus.

Holding his left arm close to his body, he ran at Aedin and unleashed a whirlwind attack with his one good arm and both legs. Every instinct told Aedin to pull away, but instead he stood fast and watched for his opportunity. Sure enough, with his shield arm broken, Corvus left himself open for attack—just for a moment.

In that moment, Aedin stepped into Corvus’s swing and smacked the Magister hard in the head with the pommel of his great sword. Corvus flew backward, dropping his weapon. Aedin advanced slowly, wondering if this was all some clever stratagem. But Corvus made no move for his sword.

The crowd above fell silent. Corvus struggled to his knees, smiling a bloody smile. “Go ahead, boy,” he whispered. “Death and birth are one.”

“Why?” Aedin said, stepping back.

“Not for you,” said Corvus quietly. “Not for some reprobate bandit from the North. For her.” His eyes darted toward Elenn. “For what she is. For what she can be.” He took a deep breath. “We cannot escape our destinies.” He closed his eyes.

Holding the great sword like a spear, Aedin ran Corvus through. His opponent gasped in pain, and then slid backward down the blade to rest on the ground.

The angry mutters of the soldiers were loud in Aedin’s ears, but he could not take his eyes off of Corvus. The Magister’s eyes fluttered open and he reached out with his right hand, beckoning for Aedin to come closer.

Aedin knelt on the sandy floor of the pit. Corvus stared up at him, his features twisted in pain, his right hand seizing Aedin’s own in a vicelike grip.

“It… must die,” Corvus croaked, “where it… was born.”

“It must die where it was born,” Aedin repeated, not understanding.

Corvus smiled. His eyes closed and he let go of Aedin’s hand.

Aedin stood. He looked up. The Scales all stared down at him murderously, but the two Vitalion officials looked pleased. With a conspiratorial exchange of glances, their smiles grew even broader.

“Well,” said the bigger of the two officials, the one who had identified himself as the Imperator, “I suppose the victor is to be congratulated.” He stroked his moustache and smiled. “Legionaries, congratulate this man. Perhaps a flogging or a fustuarium would be an appropriate way to celebrate. Then throw him to the dogs.”

“What? No!” Elenn cried out, shocked. “How can you do that? He won the trial by combat!”

“He won, yes,” said the big man with the moustache, nodding to Aedin. “And by the strength of arms, he has proved that you are not guilty of treason and sedition. But he himself is guilty of numerous crimes.”

“That’s a lie!” Aedin shouted. But of course it was true.

“It’s not fair!” cried Elenn. “He wouldn’t even be here except to defend me.”

“Deliciously tragic, isn’t it?” the second Vitalion official said.

“You named yourself Aedin Jeoris, did you not?” the Imperator asked. Aedin nodded dumbly, and the big man continued. “Approximately two weeks ago, you were captured in the act of banditry by one of our legions near Tay Barrows. You and three others bore two brands for previous acts of banditry and as such were subject to immediate execution.”

“Your attempt to hide these brands by wearing armor,” said the second Vitalion, “is another offense worthy of execution.”

“Quite right,” said the Imperator. “Now, after your capture, the legion commander sent you to Anondea for interrogation, but you escaped during the transfer, killing two cavalry auxiliaries and one innocent bystander. These also are capital crimes.”

“It was an accident!” Elenn cried.

“Hush,” said Aedin.

“Procurator Puponius has furnished a sworn statement from the legion commander. And I myself am in possession of another sworn statement from one of your accomplices, a man named Leif Maulduin. He also names you guilty of various other crimes, but this is irrelevant.”

“Blackguard!” cried Elenn. Aedin didn’t tell her to hush this time.

“Aedin Jeoris,” said the Imperator, “you have been tried in absentia and sentenced to death. May your gods have mercy on your soul. Guards, take this man into custody while I consider the most fitting method for his execution.”

As the Scales surrounding the pit all drew their swords, Aedin briefly considered resisting, but it was futile. There were far too many soldiers, and he was too badly wounded.

There was no way out of this; there never had been. But if he could buy Elenn’s life with his own, it was a worthy purchase. Feeling a strange sense of comradeship with Corvus, Aedin shook his head and smiled.

“And for me?” demanded Elenn. “How will I be killed?”

“You, my dear,” said the Imperator, “are now a ward of the Empire, since you have no legal guardian. You will accordingly be placed in protective custody until you reach the age of inheritance—or until a man can prove himself able to assume the burden of your care by providing a worthy dowry.”

“On that note, friend Strabus,” said the Procurator, “you and I have much to discuss. Shall we continue this conversation somewhere more private?”

“Indeed,” said Imperator Strabus, stroking his moustache. “Sergeant, escort this minor to her chamber and ensure that she comes to no harm. She is now a ward of the Vitalion Empire.”

The two officials turned and walked away. Aedin knelt down in the bloody sand, cradling his injured arm, as the legionaries poured down the stone steps into the pit. He could not help but think of the little green flame-person Lilith had held in her hand, and the pitiful squeak that it had made when it was extinguished.

***

Chapter Thirty-Five

As the soldiers escorted her back to her dungeon cell, Elenn felt strangely calm. No—more than that, she had a song in her heart. She said a grateful prayer, thanking the Gods for sending Aedin to be her champion. It was only a matter of time now before she walked out of this castle. The thought made her so light and happy that she almost skipped.

She stifled a giggle, glancing at her escort to see if they had noticed. None of them were really looking at her. Perhaps something else was on their minds. Perhaps it just never occurred to them that a twenty year old girl could give six Vitalion soldiers any trouble.

After all, Elenn wasn’t physically strong enough to defeat them with violence. And that was the only kind of strength, the only kind of battle they understood. Other possibilities didn’t exist for them. She smiled, remembering what her Aunt Ethelind had said. Valor had its place; what she needed now was wisdom.

Interlocking her middle two fingers into the sign of blessing, she laid her hands on her own breast. She thought of the Falarica, located somewhere in this very castle, and she thought of herself, walking with these six men.

“You’re taking me to my cell,” she whispered. “You’re taking me and I’m going, because what else would I do? I’m just a girl. A weak, pliant, helpless girl. No need to pay attention to me. I won’t cause problems. I’m not important. I’m beneath your notice. I’m invisible.”

Inhaling deeply, Elenn fixed in her mind the image of herself continuing to walk, meekly following the soldiers to her cell. Then she closed her eyes and stopped. The soldiers strode on without missing a beat. Even the two behind her just passed around her and continued down the corridor.

“I’m with you,” she said quietly, almost singing. “I’m a good girl, doing what I’m told, going where I should. I’m so meek, you don’t even need to look at me.”

While the soldiers proceeded toward the cell, she turned around and slipped away. She continued to whisper her spell as she walked, and no one that she passed gave her the slightest notice. She didn’t know why her conjuring was working so well, but surely it was a sign of divine favor. Elenn thanked the Gods again for hearing her prayer and hiding her from the searching eyes and grasping hands of the wicked.

As she stole quietly down the halls and corridors of Tantillion, she worked her way upward, and inward. She knew she didn’t belong in this place, but something here sang to her. It was drawing her deeper, pulling her to the heart of the castle. Two weeks ago, marching further into the den of her enemies might have frightened her, but today Elenn knew that nothing could keep her here. Her destiny was elsewhere, and nothing could stop her from fulfilling it.

As she ascended the stair in the central keep, she saw two Vitalion soldiers standing outside an elaborately carved cherry wood door. She approached them, humming quietly and imagining herself being too small to see.

One of the two soldiers looked around, as if hearing something. Elenn froze. “I’m nobody,” she said quietly. “I’m little and harmless. I don’t bother anyone. If there’s a problem, it’s not here.”

The first soldier looked up and cocked his head as if listening. Then he shouted something in Vitalae to his compatriot and they both ran down the stair, right past her.

Elenn smiled and opened the door. An ornate bed with a finely embroidered silk canopy dominated the room. Against the wall was a wardrobe, dressing table, and chair. Like the door, all of the furniture was cherry wood, beautifully crafted.

Rich tapestries of hunting scenes hung on the wall. Above the dressing table were two small throwing axes, crossed. There was even a small window, letting in sunlight through a pane of colored glass. This was the bed chamber of someone powerful, someone wealthy, someone important.

Amid all this opulence, the only thing that caught Elenn’s eye was a small wooden case sitting on the dressing table, plain and rough and marked with strange symbols. It called to her.

She opened the case. Inside was half of a unicorn horn, decorated with silver filigree and intricately carved with tiny figures and strange characters. Being careful not to touch the fragment of the Falarica, she picked up the case.

The instant her fingers touched the box, all the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Outside, there was a sound like rolling thunder, and she stepped to the window.

The door opened. Elenn turned to see the imposing figure of Imperator Strabus. His bear-like frame nearly filled the doorway, and he looked irritated. Perhaps she could conjure her way out of this.

“I’m not here,” she said quietly, closing her eyes and imagining an empty room. “I’m where I’m supposed to be.” She could feel the warmth of the sunlight as it streamed in through the colored window glass. If only she were out there in the sun, free as a bird.

“If that’s supposed to persuade me,” said Strabus in his deep voice, “it’s not working.” He closed the door with an ominous click.

Elenn opened her eyes.

“I don’t know how you got up here,” he said with a frown, “but it’s only going to mean more punishment for you. Of course, you will not be executed—not while you’re my ward. You’re far too valuable. But that doesn’t mean you can’t suffer. Now, be a good girl and give me that case.”

She held tightly to it and took a step back. “The Falarica belongs to Deira, not to you.”

Strabus blinked. “Of course it doesn’t belong to me,” he said. “It belongs to the Emperor. And I’m going to take it to him.”

He pulled Ethelind’s polished Renonian oak case out from inside his robe. “Take
them
, I should say. It bothers me to be presenting the Emperor with a gift that’s broken in half, but I suppose there’s no fixing that.”

Corvus’s dark wooden case felt hot in Elenn’s hand. Her own body began to feel warm. “Stay back,” she warned him. “These are fragments of the Falarica, the lance of fire. It was given by the Gods to protect Deira. This castle is built on holy ground. Do not tempt the Gods.”

“Nonsense!” he laughed. “If there are gods in Deira, then there are gods in the Empire, and our gods must be stronger, or we wouldn’t be here on your holy ground.”

Again, thunder boomed—this time so close that it shook the castle. Her eyes darted to the window. The skies had been clear during the trial by combat, so the storm must have come up quite suddenly.

Strabus smiled. “If I were a superstitious man, I’d say that was a good omen.” He stepped closer. “But my faith is in the tangible.” He patted the sword at his hip, which had a large metal ring set in the hilt.

“Whether you believe in it or not,” she said, “the Falarica is more powerful than you can imagine. And it belongs to Deira.”

“Once, perhaps,” said Strabus, but it belongs to the Empire now. So, give me that case.” He held out his hand and advanced, backing her into a corner.

Elenn retreated again, putting the box behind her back. “I’m warning you,” she said, “something bad is in the air. I feel it. You should leave. We both should.”

He shook his head. “The stupidity of you people. Honestly, you’re as bad as that idiot Corvus, nattering on about nymphs and unicorns and gods. Even that dragon is nothing but an overgrown lizard. But give it time, and the lot of you will be praying to it, too.”

With the next crash of thunder, Elenn dashed away, trying to escape. But the Imperator caught her with one of his long arms. She struggled to free herself from his powerful grip, and he slapped her hard across the face with the back of his hand.

She was tossed backward like a rag doll into the stone wall, knocking the colored window pane wide open and dislodging a tapestry, which slid to the floor. The case fell open, and the fragment of the Falarica rolled away across the floor.

“That’s the problem with you Deirans,” Strabus said. “You don’t have the sense to see when you’re beaten.” He bent to pick up the fragment.

“Don’t touch it,” she said, struggling to regain her feet. “It’s not for you.”

Strabus rolled his eyes and picked it up. Opening the other case, he pulled out the second fragment and taunted Elenn by shaking both fragments in her face. He grinned. “Your gods must be busy smiting some other heathen.”

There was a noise like standing under the Cataracts and in an eternal instant Elenn’s vision went white, and then black.

Aedin found Elenn in a room that was on fire. Even the door was burning, which didn’t make it any easier to kick in. Coughing from the smoke, he stepped into the room and saw a body lying against the stone wall, directly across from a small, open window. The body was clearly dead—so badly burned as to be charred black. The bed in the center of the room was collapsed, ruined. Below the window lay Elenn, completely still, but with no visible burns.

He dragged her from the room, staying low to keep the smoke out of his lungs. Praying, he rubbed her wrists and face, trying to bring her life’s blood back, but she did not breathe.

He heard men calling to each other in Vitalae as they ran throughout the castle, but no one disturbed him. Aedin wasn’t surprised. They had more important things to do than fight. So did he.

Elenn needed water. He remembered seeing a dressing table and washbasin in the bedchamber, so he ran back in and brought it out. The porcelain basin was warm to the touch and smudged with soot, but the water was not uncomfortably warm. He shook his head in disbelief and said a prayer of thanks. Tipping her head back, he poured water slowly down her throat.

At first, she did not react. Then she gagged, spluttered, and tried to sit up.

“Thank the Gods,” Aedin said. “Thought I was just drowning you again.”

She coughed. “Once was enough, I think.” She opened her eyes. “What is all this smoke?”

“Dragon,” he said. “Swept in a few minutes after you left. The Scales are trying to chase it off, but not having much luck. Poor devils. Bad way to go.”

“I’m sure,” said Elenn, still coughing. She held out her hands, and he handed her the washbasin. She took a long drink and set it down.

“How did you find me?”

“I just…” Aedin began. “I don’t know. Maybe the Gods love you. Blasted lucky thing I made it all the way up here with no sword, I know that.”

“You keep losing those,” she said, picking up the bowl and taking another long drink.

“I’ll find another one,” he said with a shrug. “Can you walk? Or crawl? We need to get out of here.”

“I think so,” said Elenn. She took his hand, and he pulled her up.

“Wait!” she gasped. “The Falarica! It was—” She turned to face the chamber, looking distraught.

He glanced at the still-smoldering door, hanging askew where he had kicked it in. Smoke was pouring out of the room, filling the upper part of the corridor outside.

“If it was in there,” he said, “I don’t think it survived.”

“
I
did.”

“The other fellow I saw in there sure didn’t,” he said. “Who was he, anyway?”

“Imperator Strabus,” said Elenn, her face pale beneath the sooty smudges. “I told him not to touch them.”

This utterance made no sense to him, but it hardly mattered. “We need to go,” he repeated.

“No,” she said. “Not without the Falarica.”

Aedin gritted his teeth. There was no time to argue. “Where was it?” he asked, tearing a strip of cloth from the bottom of her garment.

“Strabus had the fragments.”

“All right,” he said, tying the cloth around his mouth. “Stay here.”

He crawled over to the burning bedchamber. Coughing and cursing as the smoke worked its way into his lungs, he wondered if the strip of cloth was doing him any good at all.

Entering the room, he took hold of the charred corpse and pulled it out into the hall. In each of its dead hands, the body held a fragment of the Falarica. Although everything around them was blackened and burned, the two fragments were not just intact but pristine.

Aedin cursed again, with greater feeling. “How is that possible?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“The Falarica has a destiny.” She tore off another strip of cloth from her hem and used it to carefully wrap up both fragments. “And so do we. We need to be at the summit of Iliak by dawn tomorrow for the coronation.”

“Don’t see how we’ll do that with no horses,” he said. “Not to mention no map, no food, no allies, and no weapons.”

Elenn smiled and pointed to the Imperator’s body. Seeing a glint of metal among the char, Aedin turned the corpse over to find a sword still hanging from its belt—a Baiowarian ring-sword, so called because of the sturdy metal ring set in its hilt. Unlike everything on the front of the body, it was barely smudged.

Using a strip of cloth to retrieve the weapon, still hot from the fire, Aedin looked up at Elenn. She slowly raised a single eyebrow.

“We also have no whisky,” said Aedin, casting his eyes heavenward. “Meant to mention that earlier.”

She laughed and coughed. They crawled to the stairs and ran down out of the tower. As they rushed through Tantillion castle, they encountered several Scales running here and there. Elenn kept mumbling to herself, which Aedin was sure didn’t help things. But in the end, they were just two more soot-faced people trying to get out. No one gave them a second glance.