The Crown and the Dragon (6 page)

Chapter Eight

Aedin Jeoris was on fire, his whole body blazing with pain. His head ached and his feet throbbed with each step. His wrists chafed where they were bound, and his shoulders ached from being yanked along by his Sithian guards when he could not maintain their pace. His lungs gasped for air after eight hours of keeping up with men on horseback. His chest was scratched and bruised from being dragged over the bare ground when he had stopped walking. His throat was raw from screaming at his captors, before he finally admitted to himself that his insults and taunts only made them laugh.

So Aedin kept moving, kept quiet, and kept his eyes on the road in front of his feet to avoid stumbling. His world contracted: he was aware of nothing but his own body, the rope that pulled him forward, and the labored breathing of Leif beside him. The forced march in the late summer heat was hard on the big man.

“They’ll water the horses soon,” Aedin lied. In truth he had no idea when they would be stopping, or how long it had been since their last rest. But he could hear the Shirbrook babbling not far off, and he could surely use a drink. “Keep moving.”

Leif nodded his bald head raggedly and kept staggering forward

Aedin owed the ugly brute his life in a way, but Leif’s gambit had only kept the two of them alive long enough to be dragged down the road to Tantillion for a friendly chat with Corvus and his butchers—assuming they survived the trip. So Aedin wasn’t sure they were much better off than poor Orren and Dawes, still swinging from the branches of an oak up by Tay Barrows.

The Sithian cavalryman holding their leash, a young man with wisps of blond hair peeking out from underneath his pointed steel helmet, abruptly stopped. Aedin nearly stumbled into the horse, which kicked at him absently, but missed. Beside him, Leif collapsed onto the road, exhausted.

“Get up, you big girl’s blouse,” said Aedin quietly. If they were not ready to move when the Sithians spurred their horses, they would be dragged. “Not going to carry your fat corpse all the way to Tantillion.”

“Leave me alone,” Leif rasped.

“Come on, you great, ugly goon,” said Aedin, unable to pull the big man up out of the mud. The cawing of crows in in nearby trees sounded like the cackling of ghouls. “Listen, even the birds are laughing at you.”

“Mingin’ crows,” Leif growled, struggling to his feet. “You’ll not pick my bones.”

Aedin helped him stand up, wondering why they had not been whipped or even berated by their captors. Glancing up at the Sithians, he saw them looking down the road.

Following their gaze, Aedin finally noticed two female figures walking alongside a horse pulling a small cart. They must have been desperate to be traveling alone in the Riverlands in such troubled times.

Ignoring their prisoners for the moment, the Sithians strung their bows and conversed in their own tongue. Aedin did not understand their speech, but he had so far gathered that the older one, dark-haired with a neatly trimmed beard, was named Tuliyek, and the younger was called Nurzod. He had also gathered that each took pleasure in the suffering of others. Aedin did not envy the women.

“So… stinking… hot,” Leif said. “Thirsty.”

“Sharp now,” Aedin whispered. “This might be our chance.”

Tuliyek glared at Aedin and Leif, stroking his straight, pointed beard. Then he barked an order to young Nurzod and trotted over to the women. The blond cavalryman tied the rope to his saddle and then slowly deliberately placed an arrow on his bowstring. “You run, I shoot,” the Sithian said in muddy Deiran.

Aedin said nothing, but contemplated the arithmetic of one arrow and two targets. His eyes darted over at Leif, who stared murder up at their young captor. Any other day, the bald brute would’ve pulled Nurzod off his horse and strangled him with the rope. But they were both wounded and exhausted.

The young cavalryman glanced over at his fellow, who was officiously questioning the women about a hundred yards down the winding dirt road. Nodding in the direction of the cart, Nurzod said, “Walk.”

Aedin walked, supporting Leif with one arm. Nurzod followed behind on his horse, and Aedin didn’t have to turn to see the young Sithian’s arrow pointed at his back. He felt it.

Rounding the bend, Aedin saw the two women more clearly. One was tall, sturdy, and dressed like a nun. She was answering Tuliyek’s questions, standing protectively in front of her companion, who modestly averted her eyes. She was young, dressed in an elegant scarlet kirtle and linen smock, her fair hair covered with a yellow-gold cap. Her unspoiled beauty had not gone unnoticed by the Sithian, who stared at her intently.

The older woman, still shielding her young companion, produced a few folded pieces of paper from within her robes, and handed them to the Sithian. Tuliyek took the papers without looking at them and nudged his horse forward so that his view of the lady in scarlet was again unobstructed. He gave the girl a smile, the same smile he had given Aedin before dragging him behind his horse for half a mile. It was not a good smile.

“As you can see,” the older woman said, “we are on official business of the Leodrine Order.” She paused. “Our authorization is written in Vitalion as well, of course.”

“Of course,” nodded the Sithian, stroking his neat black beard. Aedin didn’t suppose he could read or write in any language. “What is in the cart?” He tossed the papers carelessly back to the older woman, who snatched them before they could fall to the muddy ground

“Candles,” the woman replied, “and other supplies. We are bearing them to the Leode of Ghel. You’ve seen our documents. May we be on our way?”

“Bloody Orders,” muttered Leif. “Think they run the whole world.”

“Rather tip my hat to a nun than bend the knee to the Vitalion,” said Aedin. “Or their dogs,” he added, glancing back at Nurzod, who was watching them.

“No stinking difference” said Leif. “I bow to no man. And especially no woman.”

“Some I wouldn’t mind bending for,” said Aedin, taking a step forward.

As he did, Nurzod tugged hard on his rope, nearly causing him to lose his balance. Glancing back, Aedin saw the blond cavalryman lift his bow and point the arrow once more at his prisoners.

“I shoot,” he said.

“You shoot,” muttered Aedin. “Got it.”

Turning his back on his captor, Aedin tried to catch another glimpse of the girl in the scarlet kirtle. In a few days, he would likely be tortured to death. It would be nice to drink in a little beauty before all that ugliness.

“Two women, all alone,” said Tuliyek, stroking his black beard. “Where are your men?”

“My men?” the woman repeated, sounding offended. “My niece and I are quite capable of looking after one horse and a little tub cart.”

“You sure?” the elder Sithian asked, patting the horse harnessed to the cart. “He is a very fine animal, but he needs better care. You work him too hard.”

Nurzod laughed and called out something in their own tongue which had the rhythm of a proverb.

“My friend reminds me of a saying,” said Tuliyek, grinning. “‘The donkey refuses the heavy burden, but the horse will work to death.’” He straightened up in his saddle and set his hands on the pommel. “We say this to the young man when he marries. Because the man is like the donkey, and he does not understand that the woman is like the horse.”

“Like a horse?” said the older woman flatly.

“Beautiful creatures,” said the elder Sithian. “Loving. Selfless. They serve man and delight his heart. But they need the man’s care. Because they are not wise.” He smiled.

At this, the older woman’s eyes widened and her chin rose, but before she could speak, her companion in scarlet leaned in and whispered something in her ear.

“Thank you,” the older woman said at last, “for your counsel on horses. The man who cared for this noble beast left us two days ago. If our own efforts have fallen short, may the Gods forgive us for our poor stewardship.”

“The shame is the man’s, for leaving you,” said Tuliyek. “There are wicked men in this country, who prey on the weak. A terrible thing, this.”

“See?” said Nurzod, pointing at Aedin and Leif with his bow and arrow. “Bandits.”

The older woman merely glanced in their direction, but the girl regarded them with some interest. Seeing Leif puff out his great chest, Aedin felt stupid for straightening up.

“They ambushed a merchants’ caravan two days ago,” said the older Sithian. “But Vitalion soldiers caught them.” He nudged his horse closer, and leaned in towards the younger woman. “Many we branded, others we hung. These two we take to be questioned. All this we do for your safety.”

“We offer prayers of thanks for your service,” said the woman, “on behalf of all the gentle women and children of Deira.” She bowed to the Sithians in the manner of the Leodrine Sisters, who do not curtsey. The Sithians returned the bow, with no sign that they perceived disrespect or immodesty.

“It is our pleasure,” said Tuliyek, “to rid the world of such as these.” Looking at Aedin, his nose wrinkled as if he were passing by a tannery.

“Gods protect us from such men,” the woman said, crossing her middle and ring fingers and placing her hands on her chest in an appeal to heaven. “And since our journey takes us where you have already been, we thank you doubly for having cleared the roads.” She bowed again, more deeply, and this time her young companion curtsied.

“We appreciate your thanks,” said the Sithian, inclining his head graciously toward the women, “but we are merely soldiers who serve the Vitalion Empire, as all subjects of the Emperor must.” He smiled.

“Naturally,” said the woman.

“And speaking of this reminds me that we still have a service to perform today,” Tuliyek said. He glanced at Aedin and Leif and stroked his beard, an expression of slight regret on his face. “These men must go to be questioned, and as humble servants of the Empire, we must take them. And you must take your candles to Ghel.”

“So here we part,” the woman said. “And Gods watch over us all.”

“Yes,” said the Sithian. “But first,” he added, removing his helmet, “you will serve me.”

***

Chapter Nine

Elenn’s heart nearly stopped at the bearded Sithian’s leering insinuation. All his talk of protection and service, and now this! Even one of the two wretched prisoners—the lean one with short brown hair, not the big bald one—looked abashed. Elenn opened her mouth to rebuke him for his rudeness, but Aunt Ethelind was already speaking.

“We are happy to serve the Empire,” said Ethelind, as cool as a river rock, “but we have little to offer.”

“I thirst,” said the man. With his pointed steel helmet removed, Elenn saw sweat dripping down his brow. She didn’t know how soldiers tolerated all that heavy armor.

“The Shirbrook is very close,” said Ethelind, “and a drink would refresh us all.” She took Seissylt’s bridle in her hand and turned his head toward the brook.

“No,” said the Sithian. He pointed to a small wooden barrel in the tub-cart. “Whatever you have in that cask.”

“Everything in our cart belongs to the Leode,” said Ethelind, “including the ale.”

“Are we not all under the same sun?” the Sithian asked. “Children of the same Gods?”

“Neither your idols nor the Emperor you bow to now fathered the Deirans,” said Ethelind.

“Were you there when the world was young, to see how its peoples came to be?” asked the Sithian, stroking his neatly-trimmed beard. “Perhaps your gods and mine are closer kin than you think.”

Ethelind raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps.”

The Sithian smiled and said something to his young compatriot in their own tongue. Elenn saw nothing funny about this exchange, but both cavalrymen were laughing. Neither of the two prisoners seemed amused, either. Maybe it was something only Sithians found humorous.

“Now we see why woman needs man,” said the older Sithian. “Because otherwise she would never admit ignorance.”

“Thank you for helping me to be humble,” said Ethelind drily.

“Even in humility she is proud!” laughed the Sithian. Then he leaned back in his saddle and sighed. “Ah, if we had met when you were sixteen…”

“But you did not,” said Ethelind, “and instead my path took me to the Sisters of the Leodrine, as it does again today.” She gestured at the cart. “The goods we carry are needed to celebrate Lammas Eve. These ceremonial candles are from the shrine of Enid the Prophetess, where bees gather nectar from the flowers that grow on her grave. Her essence is literally distilled in that honey, so her wisdom will give us light on this most sacred and joyous day.”

Both Sithians looked impressed by this speech, as was Elenn—although she tried to keep it from showing. The candles in the wagon were from her grandparents’ estate, and quite ordinary as far as she knew.

“Those are blessed candles indeed,” said the Sithian, stroking his beard. “Is the ale also holy? Perhaps the tears of sea nymphs, brewed in the skull of a visionary hermit?”

“No,” said Ethelind, with the ghost of a smile. “Just ale.”

“Then, surely,” the Sithian winked, “you would not deny me one drink.”

Ethelind leaned back where she stood, looking down her nose at the Sithian on his horse above her. “One drink,” she said at last. Then, with a deep sigh, she murmured, “If only I had found you when you were sixteen…”

The Sithian roared with laughter. While he repeated the conversation to his young companion in their own tongue, Ethelind went to the cart and poured amber ale from the cask into a clay mug.

“Vile men,” said Ethelind quietly to Elenn, “both of them. Be glad you don’t know what they’re saying about us.”

“You understand?” Elenn asked.

“I learned to ride in Sithia,” said Ethelind. She turned the cask upright again, stoppered it, and stepped around with the full mug.

The elder Sithian abruptly stopped talking and held up his hand. “No. Not from you. From her,” he said, pointing at Elenn.

Elenn looked to her aunt, who bowed and said, “Of course.” Ethelind turned and handed the mug to Elenn. With her back to the men on horseback, she silently mouthed, “Be careful.”

Elenn approached the bearded horseman with the mug in her hand. She kept her eyes modestly turned down, but she felt his gaze intently on her as she walked. Reaching him, she curtsied and lifted the mug.

The Sithian sat silently, his eyes traveling up and down Elenn’s body, lingering in places that brought a hot blush to her face. She lifted her eyes defiantly, but instead of looking ashamed of his rudeness, he smiled—a frank hunger in his grin.

His companion called out impatiently, and Elenn glanced in his direction. As she did, the older Sithian snatched the mug from her hands and took a sip, smirking at her triumphantly.

“Good,” he said. Then he drained the mug in three gulps, spilling some of it on his neat black beard. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he tossed the mug back to Elenn. “Another.”

“One drink,” Elenn said slowly. “That’s what we agreed.”

“One for each,” said the Sithian, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the younger, blond horseman. “Unless, perhaps, you love me better than him.”

With a frown, Elenn went back and had her aunt pour another mug.

“With luck, this will be the end of the game,” said Ethelind quietly.

Elenn walked toward the younger horseman and the two outlaws. Nurzod had an arrow nocked on his string and a scowl on his face as he watched his two prisoners. They returned his glare in silence.

“Move,” he growled, pointing to the right with his chin.

The captives stepped aside and backed up as far as their rope leash would allow them—about twenty feet. Nurzod walked his horse forward to meet Elenn, placing himself between her and the prisoners. Then he hopped off his mount, bow and arrow still in his hands, giving each outlaw a look that promised murder.

“I shoot,” he said.

The leaner prisoner snarled a curse, but made no move.

Apparently satisfied, Nurzod turned to Elenn and said, “Come.” She walked closer and lifted the ale to his lips, slowly tipping it back. He drank, pointing his bow and arrow at the prisoners. Though they kept still, they looked like coiled springs, ready to pounce at any second.

As he got halfway through the ale, the Sithian stepped away. “Finish,” he said.

“Plenty left,” Elenn said, offering it again.

“Finish,” he said, shaking his head. Setting one foot in his horse’s stirrup, he remounted without using his hands.

“How about a swallow of that ale for us, pet?” said the larger, bald prisoner. “I’m thirsty enough to lick the sweat off the dragon’s tail.”

“No,” said Nurzod.

“Hot out,” said the lean, dark-haired outlaw. “Come on. One sip.” He had the odd, clipped way of speaking common to sailors from the north coast.

“I shoot,” said Nurzod, waving his bow.

“I shoot, I shoot,” mimicked the lean outlaw. His fellow joined in, likewise imitating the Sithian’s thick accent.

“If you want a drink, mind your tongue,” said Elenn.

“For a swig of ale,” growled the larger prisoner, “I’ll be quiet as a wee little mouse. And so will Aedin.” He shot a look at the leaner outlaw. “Or I’ll shut his gob myself.”

“Good,” Elenn said. “Now, I’ll set this mug down, and then you can come get a nice cool drink.” She looked up at Nurzod, her eyebrows raised. He gave her a fraction of a nod. She stepped forward, set the mug down on the ground, and then backed away. “See? No trouble.”

As she withdrew past the horse, the prisoners rushed forward. But before they reached the mug, Nurzod spurred his horse on, smashing the mug to pieces and trampling the ale into the mud. “Drink it!” he cried.

“Villain!” screamed the lean outlaw.

“Villain, villain,” Nurzod sang back in a childish singsong. In moments, all three of them were yelling at the top of their lungs.

Elenn watched in dumbfounded silence. It was all so senseless. Pity had moved her to what she thought was an act of kindness. And this was the result.

Hearing a cry from her aunt, Elenn tore herself away and ran to the tub-cart. Their chests stood open, and Gawaine’s cage had been knocked over. Inside, the little finch hopped about anxiously and chirped with evident alarm. Ethelind sprawled on the ground, wiping blood from her lip. The elder Sithian stood over her, holding the travel sack.

“I am sorry it was necessary to strike you,” he said, “but this road belongs to the Empire, and so does everything on it.”

Elenn knelt by her aunt to help her, but Ethelind waved her off.

“I cannot speak for the road,” said Ethelind, regaining her feet. “But everything in this cart belongs to the Sisters of the Leode. Our papers were approved by the Manius Puponius, the Procurator in Anondea.”

The cavalryman frowned. Elenn prayed silently that the mention of this powerful Vitalion agent would be enough to frighten him off.

“We offered you refreshment,” Ethelind continued. “But don’t mistake our kindness for a license for malefaction. Desist at once, or I will give your names to the Procurator.”

“You do not know my name,” said the Sithian.

“I know many things… Tuliyek,” said Ethelind. Then she tilted her head and said something that had the sound of the Sithian tongue.

“You speak my language well for a Deiran,” Tuliyek said, stroking his black beard. “But your threats are idle. Who will punish us—you? This girl? The Procurator?” Smiling, he hefted the sack. “I do not know what is in here, but I wager you do not want him to see it.”

Elenn prayed silently, her hands clutching the fabric of her kirtle tight.

“By all means, let us go speak with him,” said Ethelind. “I don’t know what the Vitalion punishment is for a mere auxiliary who questions the seal of the Procurator, but I am eager to find out.”

“We shall learn together,” said the Sithian. “Turn your cart around.” Without taking his eyes off Ethelind, he called loudly over his shoulder. “Nurzod! Come!” He hefted the sack again and smiled at Ethelind.

Elenn ground her teeth. The man was toying with them. Nothing stopped him from opening the sack, other than his own obvious delight in watching them squirm. She wanted to rip it open herself and pull out the Falarica and be done with it. Instead, she touched her mother’s ring and prayed for a miraculous deliverance.
So let it be.

“You must think very little of me,” said Tuliyek, “to believe that a breathless mention of the Procurator could spook me and send me running.”

“You don’t understand,” Ethelind pleaded. “I am trying to spare you. A terrible doom has been pronounced on all those whose eyes would pry into the sacred mysteries of the Gods and their humble servants.”

“Tell it to the Procurator,” said Tuliyek, unimpressed. “Nurzod!” the Sithian called again. “Come! We go to Anondea.” When no response came, he turned and looked over his shoulder. Cursing loudly, he dropped the sack to the ground and quickly reached for his bow and arrow.

Behind them, Nurzod’s horse was capering about as the leaner prisoner, Aedin, tried to calm it. The young Sithian was no longer mounted, and the bigger prisoner had a rope wrapped around his neck. His horsetail helmet rolled in the dirt, his feet scrabbled in the mud, and his fair young face was purple.

“Release him,” Tuliyek said. “Or you die this instant.” He stood high in his stirrups, an arrow drawn and pulled back to his cheek. His horse’s ears were pinned back and it snorted and tossed its head, but the Sithian kept the arrow nocked in his bow and regained control of his horse without using his hands.

“Throw down your bow,” growled the big prisoner, pulling Nurzod in front of himself as a living shield. “Or I kill him.”

Tuliyek said nothing. His mount’s tail swished back and forth, though, and it stamped at the muddy ground in a mirror of its rider’s unvoiced agitation. Elenn sprang forward and snatched up the sack with the Falarica inside before it could be trampled under the hooves of Tuliyek’s uneasy horse. Retreating to crouch behind the tub-cart, she saw Ethelind boldly standing, her lips moving as she recited a charm under her breath.

Aedin dropped the reins and picked up the bow and arrow which the young man had dropped. Nurzod’s panicked horse immediately fled, galloping south down the muddy road. Aedin drew the arrow back, pointing it at Tuliyek. “Drop your bow and we’ll let you live,” he shouted. “You and your man both.”

Elenn tugged on her aunt’s dress, trying to pull her down to safety, but Ethelind wouldn’t budge. The tall woman stretched out her hands, her fingers twisted in conjuring knots. Her eyes almost closed, she continued to murmur her silent spell.

“The word of a condemned prisoner—ha!” Tuliyek scoffed. “More worthless than the promise of a woman.”

“I don’t have any problems with women,” boasted Leif. “They give me what they promise. Maybe because I’m not an ugly horse-kissing knave from Sithia.”

“Right,” said Aedin. “You’re an ugly sheep-kissing knave from Garlic Island.”

“Aye, and proud of it,” said Leif.

“Shut up, both of you!” shouted Tuliyek angrily. His horse reared and churned the air with its hooves, but the cavalry soldier maintained his balance effortlessly, holding himself in the classic archer’s posture—bow up, and arrow against his cheek, ready to release.

“There’s two of us,” said Aedin, “and one arrow. Shoot me, and your man dies. Shoot Leif and I’ll shoot you. No good choices here. Drop your bow.”

“I can imagine nothing more foolish than to surrender my bow to criminals,” Tuliyek said. “But as you say, no good choices remain for me.”

Ethelind’s murmured spell was growing louder. As she crouched beside her, behind the protection of the cart, Elenn heard her aunt saying, “Fear, fear, terror, anxiety. Give in, surrender, flee.”

Atop his increasingly upset mount, Tuliyek sighed. His arms dropped, and he held out his bow and arrow toward the prisoners. “Here,” he said. “Take them.”

Leif smiled. Aedin hesitated. For a moment his own bow and arrow dipped slightly, and he glanced at his fellow prisoner. In the very instant of this distraction, faster than Elenn could follow, Tuliyek somehow shot an arrow at Aedin. At the same time, his mount bucked and the shot went awry.

As the arrow flew past his head, Aedin turned and loosed his own shaft. It went wild and sailed sailed harmlessly past the Sithian on his bucking horse—to lodge in Ethelind’s right breast.