Dragons and Mages: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

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  Long, Long Ago

  Throughout history war always loomed on the horizon. Even in times of peace the threat remained—lurking around the corner—waiting for the opportune time to strike. Not even a quaint valley, surrounded by picturesque mountains, was immune to the desires of man and beast, for it was in their nature to try to dominate one another. In all disputes a victor, at some point, needed to be named. Lengthy battles, however, took their toll on both sides. There came a time when rest and relaxation weren’t only wanted, they were needed.

  In the interest of signing a treaty, and ultimately bringing about a cease-fire, a union was forged between Mages and Dragon Lords. A princess, honoured and celebrated by witches and wizards, and a prince, the most feared of the mountain tribes, were bound in matrimony in a last-ditch effort to unite two bickering clans.

  Each side forged a wedding gift to be bestowed upon the bride on her wedding day as a symbol of the unbreakable agreement. A stone imbued with the magical powers to hang around her neck and a second filled with the spirits of dragon ancestors dangled on her forehead.

  Sadly, the marriage was a fool’s plan from the very start. The extremely opposing lifestyles of the two empires was far too great a bridge to span with empty proposals. Without love to bind them, the prince and princess drifted further apart. It was only by order of the rulers that a child was conceived.

  Chapter 1

  Deirdre screamed. Childbirth for mages was always difficult, but this was beyond what even the healers knew of. Tears streaked down her cheeks, exhaustion her only expression. It had been days since labour began.

  “I fear her body may not be capable of surviving,” the princess’s matron advised, waiting for a response. None came. “Did you hear me, my lord?”

  “My ears are twice as strong as yours,” Prince Randlef bellowed. “The child is the important thing. I must have a son to carry on the family line.”

  “You would sacrifice Deirdre’s life?” the matron shrieked. “Surely you must have an inkling of feeling for your wife.”

  “The child,” Randelf repeated. “What happens to his mother is inconsequential in comparison. Make sure the babe lives, or it will be your head on a platter at dinner.”

  “Then I am truly at the end of my life,” the matron replied. “The mages will not tolerate the death of their beloved princess for any cause.”

  “I suppose you are then,” the prince snapped. “You best decide which of the two will be the least painful death.”

  Colour drained from the matron’s face, her glances exchanged between the prince and his wife. “I will do my best to save them both,” she muttered, returning to the side of her ward.

  “Do what you must, but should there comes a choice, the infant survives,” Randelf ordered, exiting the room.

  Deirdre’s hand latched onto her matron’s arm. “He’s right, Punella,” she pleaded. “The baby is what matters. I would give my life for this babe, willingly.” Sweat beaded down her face as her screams returned. As the pain subsided, the princess pulled her faithful servant forward. “The child must be raised as a mage. See that the infant is delivered into my father’s care. With my death, the Dragon Lords will seize the opportunity to raise a leader... one capable of taking all that belongs to our kind away. Randelf will see our people shackled and enslaved. This must not come to pass.”

  “I understand, milady, but you must continue to fight,” Punella begged. “The child will need a mother.”

  “I fear my body was not meant to bring life to the spirit of a Dragon Lord,” the princess whispered. “It’s coming!” A blood-curdling scream echoed through the walls of the castle.

  “Push, milady,” the matron ordered. “The head is about to crest.”

  Through gritted teeth Deirdre pushed, grunting louder than a stall full of pigs fighting for the only full food trough. The sweet cry of a babe followed.

  “It’s a girl, milady,” Punella said, wrapping the newborn in clean cloth. “You made it. Things will be fine now.”

  Deirdre smiled, tears of joy replacing ones born of pain. One hand reached out, caressing the child’s cheek. “Violé,” she muttered, before letting out yet another round of shrieks.

  “There is a second, milady!” the matron exclaimed. “Push.” She inhaled deeply, holding her breath as the twin emerged. “It’s a boy, milady.” There was no answer. “Milady?”

  Deirdre was gone. With the banging on the door growing louder, the matron had only enough time to hide but one of the newborns before the door burst open. She stood, child in arms held out. “Your son, milord.”

  The child was snatched away by his aids immediately. “And his mother?” the prince inquired.

  “Gone,” the matron replied. “I will prepare her body for transport back to her parents. There I shall receive the proper punishment for my inadequacies.”

  “As it should be,” Randelf smirked. “Hurry and attend to it. Corpses tend to ruin celebrations. I want it gone within the hour.”

  “Understood, milord.” the matron’s head bowed, never faltering from the position until the room was again cleared. There was work to be done—a funeral to arrange and a baby to deliver to her grandparents. The child was the true heir to both thrones, born first of the twins.

  Chapter 2

  Oil anointed every inch of the princess, save for her hair. The ceremony was to begin as soon as possible, for a mage’s body, in death, carried with it the spirit’s magic. Only through cremation could such abilities be released and carried forward to their offspring. That was the true secret to a witch’s gift: each generation collected more than the last.

  The preparation was well underway. Flowers of all colours and types surrounded Deirdre’s body. A veil of sheer lilac covered her head to toe—her baby dressed in the same material and carried lovingly by the matron who delivered her. Violé would be the most powerful of her kind, having the blood of both races running through her veins.

  A torch moved forward, flames dancing in anticipation of the meal they were about to consume. The barge was set a float, lit arrows launching through the air. Each hit the target in a display of sparks. A magnificent blaze erupted before their eyes, turning from the norm of yellow and orange hues to a deep purple before exploding in shades of green.

  The matron placed the babe on an altar. Violé didn’t stir as a rich violet haze encircled her body, swaddling the babe until the last of the flames died away into the night and only embers remained. The smoke dissipated. The clan breathed easy, the transfer was complete. One day, when the babe was of age, there would be another ceremony—passing magic from mother to daughter.

  The matron gasped as Violé opened her eyes. They were the green of a dragon’s scales—a constant reminder to all mages of he who took the life of their beloved princess—for that was more than she could keep concealed for long. Wrapping the baby tightly in a white cloth, she scurried to the castle where the task of raising a new royal fell squarely on her shoulders.

  Chapter 3

  The caw of a blackbird stopped Punella’s heart. She rushed to the balcony. Two beady eyes stared back at her. “One bird... bad luck,” she mumbled, shaking her head. A second bird landed, squawking “Two birds,” she bit her lip, “good luck.” She closed her eyes, a sigh of relief on the tip of her tongue.

  She paused, staring at the skyline and three more figures approaching. “Shoo,” she yelled. It made no difference. Five blackbirds brought sickness to a house. She glanced back at the sleeping princess.

  A series of caws made her heart sink even farther. Punella slowly turned her head back and counted. “Six,” she gasped. Death was coming.

  Blackbirds were as final as warnings came, good or bad. It wasn’t the sam
e as a beetle. Those could be moved outside to rid a home of the Grim Reaper.

  Omens were everywhere she turned as of late and they undeniably pointed to one prediction: the princess was in grave danger. Of course that day was always going to come. Eventually, Violé’s brother was bound to show up, believing he was the rightful leader of both clans.

  War was looming on the horizon, this time it would be a battle to the end. Neither would bow to the other. Nor would either accept the princess as the rightful heir to the throne that she was. She was both saviour and destroyer.

  Unlike her younger sibling, Violé had a bit of both her parents in appearance. Punella's charms had hidden the unusual eye colour. Under the scrutiny of subjects, however, it would undoubtedly be at some point revealed. Age was catching up to the matron. Her abilities weren’t what they used to be.

  She glanced to the sky, searching for answers. The moon darkened, disappearing before stinging eyes. A light shot across the dark sky, causing a tear to fall down her pale cheek. It was official: The king would die soon. His passing would spark the fire that, in the end, meant destruction of their own way of life.

  “Punella,” Violé called out. “Why aren’t you sleeping? It’s the middle of the night. You’ll never make it through tomorrow. Remember, you promised we’d take the horses for a ride.”

  “I would never forget, milady,” Punella replied. “I’ll have the mares ready at first light. For the moment, the sky speaks and I must listen to its tale. Go back to sleep, for your fate rests not in my sight, but in thine own rest.”

  “Will you teach me to speak with the stars?” the princess requested. “You know I’ve always loved the way they shine.”

  “Perhaps one day soon we’ll have the opportunity,” Punella replied. “Being outdoors is not safe for a princess in these hours.”

  Violé rolled her eyes. “You sound like the king and queen,” she scoffed. “Stay indoors... stay out of the public eye.”

  “They are your grandparents,” Punella reminded. “And you should listen to their advice. It is for your own good.”

  “They don’t want me around,” the princess blurted out. “They don’t like me. I’m quite certain of it.”

  “You mustn’t blame yourself, milady,” Punella replied. “You resemble your mother. Her loss is still painful for them.”

  “As it is for me,” Violé complained. “I never met her. No one speaks of my father. All I have of them are a few chunks of stone that don’t even sparkle.”

  “The royal jewellery was Deirdre’s greatest gift,” the matron explained. “Both pieces were imbued with incredible magic.”

  “Then why don’t they do anything for me?” Violé questioned.

  “Perhaps one day they will,” Punella replied. “Such objects have never been made before. The day of your accession is coming. That is the moment when you will realize your gifts and those of your ancestors. No more talk. A princess must be well-rested if she is to be seen outside the castle.”

  “We both know no one will see us,” Violé argued. “You’ve made sure the paths are to be empty already.”

  “Sleep,” Punella ordered, chuckling. The princess knew her well. That would make it easier for them to run when the time came. It wouldn’t be long, either. The veil of winter was falling early—another sign of the trouble that lay ahead.

  Chapter 4

  Listening in on royal affairs was a chargeable offence. Punella's head was on the line, literally. She was neither family nor council to the king. Her loyalties, however, lay with the next in line for the throne.

  “Read your lessons,” Punella demanded, watching the young princess sniffing every flower in the garden.

  “Can’t they wait?” Violé complained. “It’s a beautiful day.” Both arms lifted outward, her body twirling.

  “We’ve been through this before. If you don’t read, you won’t understand magic when it comes to you.” Punella leaned over a birdbath, one finger asking a chickadee for its silence. The basin wasn’t ideal for spying, but worked nonetheless. Slanted eyes focused on the ripples a light breeze left as a calling card on the surface of the water. As they dissipated another scene appeared.

  A royal trumpet sounded, two doors bursting open. “Your majesty, King Randelf requests an audience,” a guard announced.

  “I think we can do away with such formalities under the circumstances.” Randelf’s lips curled up, forming an unnerving smile. “We are family, after all.” He strolled down the red carpet in the centre of the throne room. “I bring with me my son... your grandson, Leopole.”

  The king rose, examining the two standing before him. “You call him my grandson, yet this is the first I lay eyes on the boy. I beg to question why you appear before me at this hour. I highly doubt family is the reason for this impromptu visit. Speak, child. What is it you have come for?”

  “The throne,” Leopole smirked. “I am rightful heir as first-born of your daughter, Deirdre.”

  “What makes you think I plan to give up my throne to you?” the king questioned, motioning for his wife to leave the room.

  “You are old, sire,” Randelf replied. “Your time is dwindling as we speak. A ruler needs to have all of his faculties in order. We both know it is time to step down and let a new generation take over the throne of both our clans.”

  The king rubbed the grey bristles on his chin. Almost all the colour had vanished from his hair. Excessive magic had its price and it was paid in precious seconds rather than gold. “If I refuse?”

  “I don’t believe you can,” Randelf smirked. “How many more spells do you think you have left in you, old man?”

  “Watch yourself, Randelf,” the king bellowed. “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. You don’t want to test the virility of youth against the knowledge of age.”

  “Forgive my bluntness,” Randelf replied, leaning forward, “but I don’t believe you. I call your bluff.” A dagger lunged forward, easily slicing through flesh. “Now there is no choice other than to relinquish the throne.”

  The king breathed in, gasping as he fell to one knee. An eerie chuckle transformed to a sinister laugh. “Even in my death, you shall not take the throne.”

  “Leopole is the rightful heir,” Randelf argued. “Not even the most devout of your clan can argue that.”

  Blood trickled from royal lips, dripping into a pool—red on red—yet a stain still showed on the carpet. His head raised. “There is another,” he chuckled, coughing. “A first born girl. Deirdre had twins. So you see, Leopole is not the one who will sit on this throne.”

  “Lies,” Randelf bellowed, the crystals in the chandelier shaking. “Do you think you can deceive me? I was there.”

  “No,” the king disagreed. “You were never there. Only one person was with my daughter when the children were born. Only one can attest to the right of succession. She witnessed how you treated Deirdre and chose to save another princess from the same fate.”

  “The matron,” Randelf whispered, eyes bulging with the sight of events long past. “It matters not. Know this, old man: I will find them and I will kill them. Leopole shall rule both mountain and valley.”

  “Mages will never follow him.” The king gasped for air, lungs wheezing. “They will know what you have done... what he has done.” A cough brought more blood to his lips. “If you touch her, the truce will end and all will be for naught.” One hand reached out, summoning the last of his power.

  “Then we shall have war,” Randelf snarled, a blade coming down on the king before a final spell could be cast. “I prefer that idea anyway.”

  “Violé,” Punella called, out, staggering backward. “We must hurry. Gather your things. It isn’t safe for us here anymore. We flee for the hidden pass to the south. It is the only one left unguarded. That won’t last long.”

  “What’s happened?” the princess asked, rushing to her aide's side. One arm braced the back of the elderly woman.

  “The king is dead,” Punella rep
lied, “Your father has come for the throne. He won’t see you take it, either.”

  Violé gasped. “Surely I can reason with him.”

  “No,” Punella said, eyes stinging with tears for the fallen ruler. “He will see you dead along-side your grandfather. War is upon us. I have stashed bags for this purpose in the stables.”

  “My mother’s jewellery!” Violé exclaimed. “I must bring it.”

  “I have it,” Punella announced. “There is nothing else left here for you.” She glanced up at the castle flag. It rustled in the wind, tearing free from its pole. “Hurry. I fear the consequences if we do not make it through the trails before the king’s body is discovered.”

  “The mares will carry us swiftly,” Violé said. Her usual pace doubled, feet urged on by pure adrenaline.

  “Let’s hope they can move quicker than the will of dragons,” Punella said. “We’ve trained them for speed this past year.”

  “Once they know I am missing, will the come for me?” Violé asked, mounting her snow white horse.

  “Not if I can help it,” Punella replied. “Ride, I am right behind you.” She waited until the princess’s mount had vacated the building. One hand rang a bell summoning the stablehands. “The king has been murdered. Sound the alarm. Randelf is to blame. War is upon us.” Her horse neighed one last time, rearing before breaking into a full gallop.

  Chapter 5

  “I call on the sun. I call on the moon. I call on the trees. Nature, hear my will. Hide two riders in their time of peril.” Punella's eyes glossed over silver. “Neither man nor beast shall see. Protect us now in our time of need.”

  The pounding of hooves on the dirt and stone path faded into silence. Even so, their strides moved more quickly than ever before—the stench of death hot on their heels. The murder wasn’t a secret anymore.