The Shattered Crown: The Third Book of Caledan (Books of Caledan 3)

by Meg Cowley

  Soren took advantage of his lull. “How is this possible? From the reports, we cannot get close enough to have any chance. Your kin kill us from a distance with fire, or attack with such speed from the dark skies that we can neither see you coming, nor defend against you. Even if we could catapult huge volumes of water at a distance with perfect precision, we would be hard pressed to triumph. As I see it now, we are hopelessly outmatched.

  “I have ordered the evacuation of many outlying villages to the larger towns and cities to keep them from harm’s way. Whether they heed my warnings is their own choice, but, even if they do, they are not safe. Do you know how that feels, to not be able to help the people who depend upon you? I could as easily be sending them to their deaths, depending on where Cies chooses to destroy next. If you value our alliance as you say you do, you must help us,” Soren implored.

  “There is nothing we can do without openly engaging with Cies,” Tarrell said, “and we are not ready to do so yet.” He averted his gaze.

  That enraged Soren further. “Whilst you wait, my people die. Make yourselves ready soon.”

  With that, the mirror plunged to black and returned to reflect Tarrell’s own troubled face. He did not need to look at Farran to know the dragon felt as he did: their two races were too much at odds to unify yet.

  Chapter Ten

  Far to the north of Roher, on the border with Ladrin, the desert breeze blew warm and stifling under the baking sun as Tulia toiled in the fields alongside the other women of the village. It was a hard life she led now, far from the glamour of being the future king’s concubine, but she was glad for it. It was a much simpler existence. In the village, no one asked questions. No one cared where she had come from, what she had done, and why she was there. As long as she worked alongside them to sow what they would reap, they welcomed her to share what little they had.

  She wiped her brow with a dirty hand and stood for a moment to shrug the sling into place. On her back, bound by the fabric, her son babbled.

  “Hush, Haroon,” she said absentmindedly, bending over to toil again. He babbled back at her, and she knew that behind her back, his bright blue eyes, the spitting image of his father Zaki’s, would be watching the world around him with quiet intelligence. One day, he would grow strong, and then… what? She did not know. Named for her own father, she had no doubt he would grow into a fine man.

  “You’ll get used to it soon,” said old, wrinkled Sarana with a wink and a toothless grin. “I bore twins one year. Now they were heavy.”

  Tulia smiled fondly at the old lady. Sarana had taken her in when she’d been at death’s door with starvation. “You can carry Haroon if you wish.”

  Sarana laughed and wagged a hand at her. “No, no, I think not, Tulia. My turn is done; now it is yours.”

  With a smile, Tulia bent over again to dig furrows in the earth with her sharpened stick. Soon it would be time to sow a new year’s crop here in the hook of the river where the earth was full and rich. The ground is soggy today, unusually so, though we haven’t had rains for a while, she thought absentmindedly. She dug shallow trenches, well above the waterline, but today the water rose in the bottom of them, bubbling up as if it were trying to break free of the earth. In minutes, her feet were surrounded with water—unnaturally icy in such a warm climate. Tulia paused, and looked about her. The other women were already muttering in confusion. And then the water started leaping into the sky.

  “What demon’s work is this?” Sarana shrieked, making warding signs with her hands.

  Tulia looked to the sky and gripped her stick tighter at what she saw, as if somehow, it could protect her from nature itself.

  What had been a hazy, sunny sky minutes before, was now piled high with black clouds. Shivers crawled down Tulia’s spine as she stood, still and alert, scanning her surroundings. This is not natural.

  The women were already gathering, clutching hands in fear. Some chanted prayers whilst others spat upon the ground and kicked up the dust to keep back whatever demon was at work. They watched, as the earth continued raining upwards, under the piling storm.

  The water drew to one single point, where it began to form a great ball and then into a being with arms and legs, as tall as the sky. Its legs reached down to the earth and its head was crowned by the storm. The air rushed with wind and an unnatural roaring and keening that set Tulia’s nerves on edge. The ground under their feet shuttered as it raised a giant leg and stepped towards them—again and again. The women scattered, screaming.

  “The Gods have cursed us!” wailed Sarana. “Come child!”

  Tulia followed, dropping her stick as the others had abandoned all theirs. What good was a stick against a god—or a demon? She had never seen Sarana run so fast, but the fear of gods had taken her.

  Tulia’s own heart beat in a frenzy as she ran, barely keeping her own fear at bay. She clutched Haroon to her chest just as the storm broke over their heads. Water lashed upon them so hard and fast, Tulia could see naught but a wall of water. The ground was slick beneath her feet and she laboured, struggling for balance.

  She looked back, and wished she had not. Impossibly, the river had broken its banks and was rising into the air as if by this god’s will. More water than could possibly be in the river crashed down and raced across the fields towards them all, and the village some distance away on its spindly stilts.

  Tulia let out a fearful whimper and pressed herself even harder. Behind her, the surge of water churned up crops and furrows and was an advancing dark wall of debris.

  “Run!” Tulia shrieked as loudly as she could to anyone who could hear her, ripping her voice apart with the force. She knew the village would not withstand this; the stilts were meant for gently rising waters, not an assault. But her voice was lost in the maelstrom and she could neither see nor hear any others. There was only her and Haroon. For his sake, if nothing else, she knew she had to escape.

  The area was littered with rocky outcrops and she altered course, sprinting towards the nearest one as the roar of water grew behind her. Tulia threw herself onto the rocks and clambered as high as she could, reaching with her bare toes and grimy fingers for every crack and crevice that could bear her higher, away from the water. She wedged herself in a fissure twice her height off the ground and paused, shaking as exhaustion rolled over her. She looked out just as the water hit.

  Not a moment too soon had she arrived. Already, the village was swept away, a jumble and tumble of broken wood, and the water battered the bottom of her own sanctuary with a force that rattled her. She braced with all limbs against the rough rocks through the worst of the impact, watching helplessly as her new life was swept away.

  The watery god—or demon—advanced still, every step an earthquake. Tulia shrunk into the shadows, clutching her son tighter as it approached. It was so tall now that she could not see its head. Closer and closer. It stepped over the rock and, for one yawning moment, Tulia could see great legs of swirling water with vortexes of debris smashing inside. Freezing cold drops showered upon her. And then it was gone.

  Tulia did not emerge for a day, until the water had subsided, and all that remained was muddy debris baking in the sun. She descended from the rocks and returned to the village, dazed and scared. The previous day seemed a surreal nightmare; a figment of her imagination. The sun was once more hot and baking upon her skin. The breeze warm and comforting. The birds wheeling in the sky. Yet reality left clues; a ruined field, debris piled high, and a missing village.

  It was nowhere to be found. Where it had been was a flat plain, with a few snapped foundations.

  Tulia combed the area for the rest of the day, but she found no one.

  The next morning, only two other survivors could be found: the village dog and a boy half her age, who was wide-eyed and would not speak.

  Tulia had to admit defeat. She murmured a silent prayer, knowing she would not see kind, old Sarana again, nor any of her new family. No tears came; she had learned long ago how t
o wall away her emotions from even herself.

  “Time to find a new home.” It was not the first time Tulia had had to start over. She knew it probably would not be the last, either. She beckoned the boy, chose a direction, and began walking.

  ~

  “What is this nonsense?” snapped Harad as he rose from his throne. The figure prostrated on the ground before him shrunk further into the floor, as if trying to press himself through it.

  “I beg your pardon, wondrous and mighty majesty,” stuttered the figure. “But I swear on my life, every word is true! The demon destroyed everything in a great flood. There are only four of us that survived, and—”

  “Silence!” roared Harad. He gestured at a guard, who kicked the prostrated supplicant for him. The man suppressed a cry of pain. “You dare to spread news that the gods are displeased with Roher and seek to punish us? I will not hear another word of this treason. Punish this man accordingly for his lies.” With a sharp slash of Harad’s hands, soldiers jumped forward to grab the man. He protested, shrieking, as they dragged him from the throne-room.

  “Let that be a lesson to anyone who seeks to spout such filthy, treasonous poison,” said Harad. Eyes dropped to the ground as his gaze stabbed at each of them. Climbing back onto his throne, he scoffed and beckoned the next supplicant forward with a sharp twitch of his finger.

  It was the first, but not the last time that week, that Harad heard tell of a great demon or god of water drawing forth floods that destroyed lands and killed entire villages. By the middle of the week, he was apoplectic that he could not suppress such nonsense. By its end, he was concerned it was true, though he would never admit it.

  So many rumours coming from such a widespread area could not be all a lie, surely? His troubled thoughts recalled his devastating losses in Caledan. He had blamed them on Zaki. Incompetent rat, curse his soul. Yet if the gods punished Roher, perhaps they instead held Harad responsible? It was an uncomfortable thought.

  We are too weak to resist an invasion or wage war now that our army is devastated and our weapons, too. Perhaps the gods punish me for overreaching. Perhaps they punish me for weakness. He growled at the thought. Never before had he felt so vulnerable. It was not a feeling he enjoyed. Life was much more comfortable with a stockpile of weapons and a fully garrisoned army waiting to do his every bidding.

  He paced his quarters like a caged animal, waging war inside his own head. He could not speak of this to anyone. To admit an insecurity was to invite defeat. Least of all could he speak to his family; even Janus, his son and advisor, was a snake he would sooner kill than trust. He wants my throne almost as much as I do.

  “I shall have to increase operations,” he said to himself. He had already ordered the conscription of all men above the age of sixteen. Now, he would have them from fourteen. Plenty more young, strong bodies to bolster his ranks and keep his throne secure.

  ~

  After the third nobleman had reported an attack by the next week amidst other tales pouring in from the north, however, Harad was forced to dismiss his ideas it was a fabrication of treasonous minds. He summoned Janus at once. He may not have trusted his son, but he knew he could rely on him for this.

  “Find me the truth of the matter, Janus.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Eve perused the letter with interest. As she read, her fingers rubbed over the now broken royal seal and the grain of the parchment. With each line, her cousin, Soren asked, and at times even begged, for her help with the Eldarkind and the dragons, explaining that they had joined forces in Ednor and were for now withholding assistance from Caledan, leaving it at the mercy of rogue dragon attacks. He explained everything; the struggling relationships between the three races, the attacks across Caledan, which left a gnawing worry in the pit of her stomach, and his own need for eyes and ears in Ednor.

  “I need you, Cousin,” Soren wrote, “to aid me as never before. Be my eyes and ears in Ednor. You are their kin; they will not look to you as an outsider as they would anyone else I could send in your stead. I need you to advocate for me, strengthen my position, and ensure my voice and Caledan’s pleas are heard and answered. We are in grave danger and desperate need of their help if I am to have any success in defeating the rogue dragons and saving our realm. I tell you in confidence and to impress upon you the urgency of the situation. If left unchecked, Caledan as we know it could well be destroyed.”

  Eve let the wad of parchment fall into her lap. It took many minutes to digest its contents, and she re-read it thrice. Her hand tremored as she fought back frustration at what Soren asked of her.

  I have only just returned home, she thought bitterly, and settled back into the fold. She thought of her father, frail and in need of her care, Luke, and their blossoming friendship as they both settled back into their own lives, and her own promises to herself to never again do anything she did not want. That did not stand when it came to the orders of her king. She swallowed. I have no choice, yet again. Unbidden, her fists clenched around the letter. She crumpled it and with all her might, threw it at the wall.

  Confound it!

  ~

  Her father took the news better than she thought. He understood the cost of duty above all else, so, perhaps, it was not surprising.

  “I shall be fine,” he said, smiling his now customary wan, tired half-smile, half-grimace. “I have run Arrow county for more summers than you have seen, my little dove.”

  Eve was not at all convinced, but she had no choice. “Take care of yourself,” she told him sternly, feeling more nursemaid than daughter. “I will return as soon as I am able.”

  Karn grasped her hands in his own. His skin was dry and cool to the touch, almost insubstantial. She clasped his hands harder, as if to imprint the memory of them into her skin. “Be safe, Eve.”

  “I will, Father.”

  Before she left, her last visit was to Luke, with some trepidation. Of all the times to leave, she mentally berated Soren. Would that it be whilst we fought. Luke was less than pleased at her sudden mission, but she could not discern whether it was because of the nature of the task, or the fact they were no longer in harmony.

  “Will you come with me?” she asked on impulse, though her voice wavered a little with uncertainty. “I leave at once.”

  Luke shook his head. “Mother needs me.”

  Eve swallowed and nodded. She had expected nothing less, given how frosty things were after their last meeting, though she had hoped for more. “I… I thought as much. Here.” She pulled a small wrapped parcel from her pocket and handed it to him. “A scrying mirror. I enchanted it so that at my bidding, sight and sound shall pass through it, so we do not have to truly be parted.”

  Luke issued a gruff, “Thank you.”

  “Look to it at sunset each day?” Her statement turned into a question.

  Luke nodded.

  There was an awkward pause, a long, yawning silence between them.

  “Well, I must leave,” said Eve. She stepped forward to give him a tight embrace, which after a moment of surprise, he returned, and then she stepped back, turned around, and walked away without looking back.

  Eve left as quickly as she could. She saddled Alia, checked her saddle bags had been packed with everything she had requested, and rode out into the valley, hoping the faster she rode to Ednor, the sooner she could return home to mend what was broken.

  ~

  Eve arrived in Ednor just as the sun set, casting all in fiery red light as it dipped behind the mountains. Each day on her journey, she had scried Luke and spoken to him, though briefly. Things were still cold between them, as much as she hated it. Tonight, she had forewarned him they would not speak, knowing she would be still on the road for the final push to make Ednor before dark.

  As she rode, Alia’s hooves were a rhythmic drumming upon the grassy meadows of the mountain valley. Her tumultuous thoughts over her troubles with Luke and her worries with her father calmed as she soaked in the familiar sights and sound
s.

  The valley was as it had been on her first visit: lush, green, and full of life; far different to the barren and eerie valley she had last visited. Yet, on the breeze drifted birdsong and the strangest roaring she could not identify. Her heart leapt into her mouth with a burst of fear-soaked adrenaline as she sighted dragons flitting high above distant peaks.

  Quickening Alia’s pace, Eve rode faster until she reached the cover of the woodlands and familiar Ednor—once more bustling, and thrumming with life, vitality, and beauty. Magic hummed through her veins and she was almost dizzy with the strength of it. Her skin tingled and the very air seemed to vibrate with energy. For a moment, she simply closed her eyes to be lost in the full flow of the energy stream and reveled in the power of magic returned as she had never felt it before. It was good to be back.

  Eve had already scried ahead and Tarrell awaited her at the gates of Ednor’s simple palace. He helped her from Alia himself and sent the horse away with a groomsman. Tarrell offered her a sweeping bow and greeting in Eldarkind, and she took the chance to examine him. Tall, refined, and with a hint of steel, she determined from his stance, eyes, and the set of his jaw. He dressed in sweeping robes, far more ceremonial than his predecessor, Artora, and Eve gauged he would not be so informal as she. Eve returned the greeting and bowed herself, noting Tarrell’s surprise in his raised eyebrow. She suppressed a smile. Not all ladies curtsy.

  They walked leisurely into the complex with Tarrell engaging in small talk, much to her growing frustration.