The Crown and the Dragon (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

After they polished off the first jug, Elenn slept most of the day away. Aedin was a little surprised that she wasn't in a hurry to leave, but he supposed it was understandable. Both of them were tired and hurt. And they didn’t know where the crow monsters had gone or if they might reappear.

About mid-day, hunger spurred him out of the cave. From the smell of smoke in the air, the dragon had set some woods ablaze, not too far away. Aedin judged that the wildfire was to the west, in the direction of their previous camp. That was a disconcerting thought.

Still, the fire was above the cataracts, and Aedin knew that wildfires usually did not move downhill. So he headed out in search of food. Most of the larger game had fled the fire, but he got lucky and felled a rabbit with a stone from an improvised sling. And on his way back, he found some late-summer blackberries, ripe and heavy.

Entering the cave, he found the fire running low. A second jug was empty, and a third one opened. This was surprising, but everyone reacted to death in different ways. “Want some blackberries?” he asked.

Getting no reply, Aedin popped a few berries in his mouth and stoked the fire with some new wood. Then he built a rough spit, and began skinning the rabbit. Elenn finally crawled out of her bed. Her difficulty extracting herself from the blanket and furs told Aedin that she was beyond tipsy.

As he put the rabbit on the spit, Aedin watched Elenn stumble out of the cave, presumably to answer nature’s call. When she returned, she went directly to the three jugs, testing each to find the one that still had wine in it.

After taking a sip, she plopped down by the fire. She said nothing, and Aedin likewise kept silent, turning the rabbit on the spit.

The rays of the setting sun came through the curtain of the waterfall that hid the cave’s entrance, lighting the cave in vivid colors. The fire, too, added its own flickering light. Shadows danced on the wall of the cave, and a mighty torrent of water poured in thick sheets right in front of them.

“What else is in that little hole of yours?” Elenn said suddenly. She got up unsteadily and stumbled to the cache. “More wine?” She put her head into the hole and rummaged around.

It seemed that Elenn had given herself license to lose control, for some reason Aedin was unsure of. Perhaps it was because she was missing her aunt, or because her near-drowning had terrified her. Aedin supposed it didn’t matter much. He didn’t like seeing her so drunk, because it would mean trouble tomorrow. But he still had questions, and he thought this might be his best chance to get answers.

Elenn stood up and clumsily brushed her hair out of her face. “You fought with King Elfraed,” she said abruptly. “Was he beautiful?” Something about the awkward way she tilted her head made her look like a child.

“I don’t know,” laughed Aedin, slowly turning the rabbit. “Spent most of my time trying to keep my feet dry and my head out of dragon fire.”

“I bet he was beautiful,” said Elenn. “All the Barethons are beautiful. Elfraed, Garrick, Aunt Ethelind.”

Aedin froze. Elenn’s aunt—one of the legendary House of Barethon? He had accidentally
killed
 Deiran royalty? And depending on how Elenn and Ethelind were related, Elenn might be a Barethon, too. He shook himself and returned his attention to their dinner.

“I don’t know about Ethelward,” Elenn mused. “He must have been, or Maiwenn wouldn’t have loved him.”

“Maiwenn?” said Aedin. Ethelward had been King Elfraed’s brother. He had died with his brother that day on Drumney beach.

“My sister,” said Elenn. She shook her head. “My mother.” She nodded. “Yes. Mother. She was beautiful.”

“You saying Ethelward Barethon was your father?” Aedin asked incredulously. Bloody gods, had Ethelward Barethon sired an heir? If this was true then her claim to the crown was as good as Garrick’s. Better, maybe. What had he stumbled into?

“Ethelward, Ethelind, Aedelred, Elfraed,” chanted Elenn. “What a funny bunch of names. They all sound the same.” She burped.

“Definitely a matching set,” agreed Aedin. And Elenn was part of the set.

“Wine?” cried Elenn happily, pulling a large bundle out of his cache. She giggled and shook it next to her ear, although it was clearly a different size and shape than the jugs of wine she had found earlier.

“No such luck, my Lady of Adair,” said Aedin. “All out of wine.”

Elenn sighed. Then her face lit up. “Is it a horse? My feet are killing me.”

“Not wine, not a horse,” said Aedin. “Nothing you’ll want.”

Elenn untied the rough burlap bundle. Inside were gifts that Aedin had intended to give to Nywen—silk cloth from Sarin, and several pieces of jewelry. Aedin watched as she ran her hands over the treasure, her mouth open in astonishment.

“Sithian gold!” said Elenn. “And this!” She held up the shimmering silk cloth. “This must have been made for a queen!”

Elenn immediately put on the bracelets, and the tiara. Aedin cursed quietly. The look of delight on Elenn’s face was just too much like the delight he had hoped these gifts would inspire in his wife.

“Do you have a mirror?” Elenn asked. She wound the silk cloth around herself and then turned to Aedin. She was resplendent, but the sight of her just dredged up painful memories.

“Best take those off,” said Aedin, as gently as he could manage. “They were meant for someone else.”

”Oh?” said Elenn archly. “What spoiled woman gets these?”

Aedin grimaced, searching for a suitable answer. Elenn finally caught his mood and took off the jewelry and unwrapped the cloth.

“I’m sorry, Aedin,” she said.

“No matter,” Aedin replied. “You didn’t mean anything by it.” He shrugged uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to dealing with someone who apologized so much, especially since each apology made him feel somehow guilty. It was unnerving.

Elenn came and sat near him, watching him turn the rabbit.

“Aedin, why are you sad?” she asked. “What happened to you?”

“Ancient history,” said Aedin.

“Tell me,” she said, touching his hand. “Please.”

Aedin was silent for a long moment. These were stories he didn’t like to share. Old wounds he had no desire to re-open. But what did it matter? She was drunk. In the morning, she wouldn’t remember much of this, if anything.

“After the invasion,” he began, “I wanted to fight. Wanted to help defend my country. Joined up.” Of course there was precious little a twelve year old boy could do in war, but he had run off all the same, thinking it a selfless act.

On the road he had met some distant Scylfing cousins, also on their way south to fight. It had wounded him when their Laird said he was too young to pledge fealty, but his cousins kept him on as a spear-carrier and messenger boy. That got him to Tantillion Castle, where he burst with pride to be among the vast host of Deiran Warriors shouting an oath to serve as “man and soldier” to King Elfraed.

That was how he had ended up on the hills near Drumney beach, twenty years gone, a witness to the fiery destruction of Elfraed’s mighty host. A few remnants had struggled valiantly against the second Vitalion invasion fleet, and Aedin had been among them. For years they fought, even after the surrender of the false Council of Knights. All in vain.

“Kept fighting, long past sense,” he said aloud. “We all did, I suppose.”

Aedin examined the rabbit, and decided it was cooked. Trying not to burn his fingers, he pulled off a small morsel of meat. It was good, so he ripped off larger pieces for himself, and for Elenn. She took the meat wordlessly from his hand, and for a while they both just nibbled.

“When I finally went home,” Aedin continued, “there was nothing left. My home and kin, just about everyone I’d ever known were gone.” Abandoning his apprenticeship in Heortigsport put his family in debt to his old master. His father had died in debtors’ prison.

He wiped hands on his tunic. “So, I fight other men’s fights now, and pick up things on my travels when I can. Things I think others might pay for…” He snorted. “It’s been a life of little meaning.”

“No,” said Elenn, “it’s romantic.” She gazed up at him, her eyes wide and adoring. “Always on the run, living by your sword and your wits.” She sighed.

“Seems that way now,” said Aedin, “sitting by a warm fire—bellies full of food, heads full of wine.” He looked down at her. She was beautiful. Young, and beautiful and drunk, and in his care. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Come morning,” said Aedin, “you’ll remember the misery and loneliness again.” But with any luck, you won’t remember this conversation, he added silently.

Aedin stood and tossed the rabbit bones into the fire. He was suddenly tired. Tired of conversation, tired of sad memories, tired of blowing down the road like a fallen leaf. He wanted to go to sleep.

“Do you know,” said Elenn loudly, “I’ve never really done anything? My aunt dragged me all over Deira, and all I ever did was make tea.”

She lay down on the furs and wrapped the blanket around her. Aedin lay down on the dirty rock across the fire from her.

“I’m useless,” Elenn mumbled thickly, wrapping the blanket around her head and hiding her face. “Ornamental only. No purpose.”

“Get some sleep,” said Aedin.

“The only thing I can do,” said Elenn, from inside the blanket, “is get married.” She blew on her hands to make a rude noise. “Marriage!”

Aedin laughed. “About sums up my experience.”

Elenn pulled the blanket down from her face and gazed over at him, starry-eyed. “But maybe it would be lovely,” she said. “He could be lovely and beautiful and rich. And clean.” She wrinkled her nose at Aedin. Her face was smudged and her hair matted.

“Clean would be nice,” said Aedin, smiling a little.

“Very nice,” said Elenn quietly. She closed her eyes. “Nice husband, nice marriage, nice little babies.” She sighed contentedly, almost asleep. “And no vows.”

“Go to sleep, my Lady of Adair,” said Aedin.

She murmured something inaudible and her breathing slowed. Aedin closed his eyes.

“Aedin,” said Elenn.

“Yes?”

“You’re nice, too. Very nice.”

He looked over at her, but her eyes were still closed, and in moments she was asleep and snoring gently.

Aedin found himself now wide awake. He lay on his back listening to the waterfall for a long while. Then he got up and took a walk in the moonlight. More than once he heard the scream of the dragon echoing across the land. Aedin supposed it was frustrated in its hunt. It was that kind of night.

Late at night, in what had once been the steward’s chambers of Tantillion castle, Magister Corvus sat dejected at the steward’s desk, looking over a report from his spies on Garrick’s rebellion. The cramped room was crowded with a chest of scrolls and papers from his previous, more spacious quarters.

Garrick and his so-called Council of Knights were on the move. Rumor said they had fled east into Ghel, or perhaps north into Minnaeus. Corvus suspected he was making his way south to Iliak. But what did it matter? He had been rendered entirely impotent. Dejected, he crumpled the report and threw it in the fire.

Just six days ago, all things had seemed possible. The Leodrine rider, Ranulf, had fallen into his hands, and had confirmed the existence of both the lost half of the Falarica and the lost Barethon sister. The revelation had left him almost giddy. And they were within his grasp, like quail eggs found in the meadow.

But the Naihmant had failed him. The ravens had returned three days after flying out, looking somewhat the worse for wear. But they could not speak; they were mere crows again. The demon spirits would not answer his summons, despite his sacrifices and entreaties. So he lacked even the knowledge of how and why they had failed to locate the Falarica.

Imperator Strabus had made it all but impossible for him to pursue the Falarica by conventional means. He had no soldiers and had lost his interrogation chamber. And the trail had gone cold, anyway. The Barethon woman was dead, slain by highwaymen. And his agents had found no sign of the Falarica among her possessions.

Corvus sighed and reached into a nearby chest. He pulled out a scroll and flattened it on his desk, holding it down with a heavy pewter candlestick and a dagger. Drawn on the scroll in charcoal was a picture of the Falarica—intact, rather than just a fragment like the one he had in his Yaltese-runed stone box.

As he often did, Corvus ran his fingers along the scroll absently as he mused on the object’s power and significance. Years of study and experiment had taught him that even a piece of the Falarica could open a breach into unknown worlds, worlds where resided both the Gods and demons that people of this world worshiped and feared, including the Deirans.

Twenty years ago, the commander of the Vitalion expedition to Deira—a Praetorian Legate named Volusus Flavius Ambustus—had summoned a dragon. It had been centuries since one had been seen, and many people had come to believe they were mythical. Since the Legate had died that day on Drumney beach, no one knew how he had done it, or how to get rid of the terrible thing now that it was here.

Corvus was convinced that the dragon had been conjured with a fragment of the Falarica, although he had been unable to find it. With his own fragment, Corvus had learned to summon otherworldly creatures like the Naihmant, and to compel them to serve him. His experiences had led him to believe that the Falarica could be used to command the dragon—although it would be folly to attempt to control a creature of such immeasurable power without more information.