The sound of splashing water filtered through his consciousness, and he was suddenly aware that he was terribly thirsty. I’ll feel better soon, he promised himself. Then I’ll go get some water. I’ll feel better soon. He lowered his head, closing his eyes against the thundering inside his skull. Soon.
CHAPTER NINE
‘From darkness we come,’ the mage’s voice recited as he led the caskets and mourners down the chilly passageway to the crypt, ‘and to darkness we go. We light the way with fire, and remember from whom fire first came.’
Fianna carefully held her torch slightly ahead of her, lighting the uneven ground at her feet. Her father’s casket, carried by four knights, separated her from the mage at the head of the procession. Behind her came the small oak coffin of Laran, balanced between Jerome and another knight. Then, too close for comfort, followed Marissa and Latham. The remainder of the mourners kept a distance from the family.
Her thoughts kept skipping back to six years ago, when she had followed another casket from the mourning place into the catacombs beneath the castle. Then, her father had walked beside her, his head bent with sorrow. But he had not been so far sunk in grief as to not offer comfort to his daughter. She missed his strong presence now as the passage widened into the large, oblong chamber set aside for the royal dead. The coffins were laid on two of the stone slabs in the centre, Marissa and her father taking up their positions at the foot of Laran’s. Fianna stood alone at the other as the rest of the funeral party withdrew to line the walls of the cavern. For a long moment, the only sound was that of the torches, the flames hissing and spitting in the dampness.
Then the mage took his place between the two caskets. ‘From the Land you were raised,’ he said quietly, the acoustics of the cavern carrying his voice to all the watchers. ‘On the Land you walked and drew breath. To the Land we now bring your bodies, and to her do we entrust your spirits.’
Fianna tuned out the meaningless words. They had brought no comfort to her at her mother’s funeral, and she could find no reason why it should be any different at her father’s. If only I had seen him one last time, she thought. Put aside my anger at his marriage. But too late, now. Too late for anything more than tears. Tears which I will shed alone.
Suddenly she envied Marissa. At least her step-mother had another to stand by her. Fianna stood alone, her aunt having declared bluntly that she had no intention of exposing her bones to the chill of the crypt for the sake of two dead men.
And I am the last of the royal line. Fianna let the thought wash over her. A few years will be given to me, until I reach my full majority. Then will begin the pressure to marry and produce an heir. Already there are those who approve of my choice for Jeremy as squire, hoping that I may make a more permanent arrangement with him in due course. Joining my house to the Duchy of Kaliburn would bring political weight behind my reign, and secure the loyalty of the Colonel.
And still the mage droned on. Fianna listened a moment, scowled as she realised that he had only reached the portion where he recited the names of the dragon Family over the bodies. If only she weren’t alone...
There was a scurry of movement, a quickly silenced muttering from the watchers. Then a furry weight pressed against Fianna’s leg. She lowered her right hand, touched the dog. She straightened, and gave the rest of the service her full attention, Alastair standing at her side.
Afterwards, the mage led the others from the crypt, leaving only family behind to grieve. Fianna glanced at Latham and Marissa, their heads bent over the boy’s coffin. Then she walked up the left side of her father’s casket. A small door was set into the oak, just over his hand. In a tradition as old as the kingdom, Fianna slid back the small panelling of wood. The stiff hand of her dead father rested underneath, the second part of the Summoning Ring bright against his grey skin. Steeling herself, Fianna lifted the cold finger, slid the ring free. She slipped the gold band onto her finger, the hand reaching over to the ruby. Then she closed the door, her father’s final duty done.
‘Fianna.’
The hard note in the Duke’s voice stiffened her shoulders. She turned slowly. ‘Latham.’
‘Not here, Father,’ Marissa pleaded softly. ‘Not in front of my dead.’
‘It’s here that I should speak, before the one she killed,’ Latham answered grimly. ‘I didn’t find your henchman, but that doesn’t matter. I know that you gave the order which killed my grandson.’
Fianna shook her head. ‘I would never have given that order.’
‘Enough lies!’ Latham snapped. ‘I told my daughter that you could be trusted. I was proved wrong once, and I’ll not make that mistake again. So I warn you now, Princess and Queen to be. Find yourself an excellent Champion before you approach the Chief Mage to be crowned. For once you have touched the crown, I will challenge you, and I will be the first to draw blood. I’ll not let one such as you rule this kingdom in anything more than name.’
He swung from the cave, followed by Marissa, leaving Fianna and Alastair alone with the caskets and the flickering torches.
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‘He means to make certain of my defeat,’ Fianna told the meeting later. They met informally in the first room of her chambers. Pealla was at her left, Jeremy to her right. The other knights Fianna had called to the conference relaxed in various chairs or stood by the table of drinks and food. Until she was ready for coronation, she had the time to involve various of her supporters in such strategy sessions, and decide which would eventually become part of the Queen’s council.
‘Then we must make certain of his.’ Sallah sat in the old carved chair which was as nearly ancient as the Throne itself. Until yesterday, it had resided in Stannard’s rooms. But now it had come to Fianna, as if in promise of the throne to come. ‘Who will be the Queen’s Champion?’
Eyes were quickly averted. Several knights refilled their glasses of wine. Fianna felt Alastair shift restlessly beside her chair, sensing the undercurrents in the room. ‘Aunt, that might be a question better asked before the assembly.’
‘Why not here?’ Sallah leaned forward. ‘I see before me twenty of the best knights in the kingdom. Is there no one among you willing to try your hand for your Queen?’
‘Fear does not hold them back, Lady Sallah,’ Pealla said mildly. ‘Have a look to their ages. Those who stand by the Princess are those amongst whom she served as page in stable and arms yard. They are little older than she, and into their first few years as knights. They may have the strength of youth, but they know well their lack in the experience which only years of service can give.’
Sallah tapped the end of her cane against the floor in angered rebuttal. ‘Then why not you, Colonel?’
‘The Duke of Cassern would challenge with the sword, and I would easily draw first blood,’ Pealla agreed. ‘But the next challenge might come with use of the broad-axe, and I can no sooner lift one in response than can I move Secondus castle. The Queen will need a stronger Champion than I am able to provide.’
‘Then Fianna must put herself beyond challenge.’ Sallah nodded to herself. ‘Summon the dragons.’
‘The Family?’ Jeremy gasped. ‘They’re only called in times of greatest need.’
‘Establishing authority over this kingdom is need enough,’ Sallah snapped. ‘Fianna, summon the dragons.’
Fianna studied her aunt for a moment. She felt Pealla’s eyes bright upon her, longing to announce that the Princess had already met a member of the Family. The first meeting for me, but not for him, she recalled.
She rose suddenly from her chair. Knights pulled aside as she strode to an open window. She rested her elbows on the ledge and looked out into the castle yard. Late afternoon sun slanted across the walls, etching the yard in stark contrasts of dark shadow and bright yellow. I was naive, she thought now, a breeze stirring the hair from her ears. I thought I could return and be immediately accepted by all those who had once served my father. Pealla is right. Latham’s might be only the first chall
enge. The birth and death of another heir to the Throne has divided loyalties, and there are many who feel they would be a better power behind the Throne than I would be in it.
So, must I prove that I am fit to rule the kingdom? Fianna allowed herself a grim smile. A babe may be counted as a better choice, simply because he was born male. But I must do more. Because I’m a woman, because I’m accused with plotting his death, I must do more. I must show that I have the support of the true rulers of the kingdom. ‘Very well,’ she said quietly, without turning around, ‘tomorrow I will summon the Family.’
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Twelve hours later Fianna rested once again on the window, one arm bright with armour which shone against the rough stone. The castle gates were shut, servants and knights within the safety of walls. But outside the castle waited the city’s citizenry, making the streets bright with picnic blankets and the stalls of food traders. ‘You would think it to be a holy day,’ Fianna grumbled to the Colonel.
Pealla was adjusting the fall of Fianna’s vermilion cloak, having dismissed her son earlier and taking upon herself the duties of valet. ‘For many, it is,’ she replied. ‘This material reveals its age.’
‘It was last worn in my grandfather’s time.’ Fianna was suddenly glad for Pealla’s calm presence to ease her tension. ‘My father never had any need to summon the Family. They came unannounced and unexpected to his coronation, pledging their support to him at that time.’
‘They’ll do the same for you,’ Pealla said confidently.
Fianna straightened. ‘‘Well, is all ready, Colonel?’
Pealla stepped back, glancing over her with a critical eye. Fianna waited, the armour dragging at her shoulders. As tradition demanded, the only weapon she carried was the state sword, and she wore no jewellery save the Summoning Ring on her left hand. Deian’s hope-promise tangled around unicorn horn and Champion’s Ring in their pouch around her neck. She would wear a helmet, but her feet were bare, as appropriate for petitioner to greater monarch.
The knight nodded. ‘Everything is in order, Your Highness.’
‘We’ll let the dragons be the ultimate judge of that,’ Fianna said, forcing a lightness to her tone. ‘Keep watch at the window.’
‘That I will. I’ve never seen a dragon.’ Pealla bent her head. ‘Strong arm to you, Your Highness.’
Fianna nodded in return. Then, the armour clanking against her knees and elbows, she turned and started the long walk to the Dragon Tower.
The castle was eerily silent. Fianna knew that all the residents would be waiting at windows, the choicest views being those which overlooked the courtyard. By tradition, the dragons land there, after first flying past the tower from which Fianna would summon them. Safe behind stone and glass, the castle’s inhabitants would watch as she faced the dragons alone, protected only by her blood and her claim of kinship.
A claim I very much doubt. Fianna paused by the ancient door leading to the stairs of the Dragon Tower. The memory of the dragon’s blood, seeping into the stream and poisoning the plants nearby, ran through her mind in strong contradiction. However, perhaps royal blood is poisonous enough, she found herself thinking. I see my aunt’s hand in the death of my brother, even if I dare not accuse her of ordering the act.
As she had been instructed, she pulled the door open, the heavy weight creaking back on little used hinges. Only in dire need did a sovereign enter this place. Only from here could one of the royal house summon the dragons. The stone steps chilling her feet, Fianna summoned up her strength and started up the passageway.
Unlike the stairs of other towers in the castle, these were little worn, providing a firm platform for her climb. Small windows set into the sides allowed light to filter in, revealing grit from the original construction of the tower. Although the armour was light, crafted for ceremony and not defence, Fianna found herself breathing heavily by the time she reached the last step. She paused in front of the large door, catching her breath before knocking on the ancient oak.
‘Who seeks to enter this sacred place?’ a voice demanded from inside.
‘Fianna,’ she answered, ‘daughter of the royal house.’
‘What do you offer in payment?’
‘My blood, and the blood of my family.’
‘Then enter, Fianna of the royal house, and offer your gift.’
Fianna pushed the door open, then stepped inside. A mage waited for her in the small room, the last set of stairs leading onto the top of the tower just behind his shoulder. Without a word she extended her left hand. Equally silent, the mage accepted it, then drew a knife along her thumb, reopening the cut she had made only days ago. Then, blood welling up in the wound, he moved forward and swept the thumb across her forehead. ‘I mark you with the sign of your blood,’ he said, lifting the hand to mark each of her cheeks. Then he quickly wrapped a thin cloth around her thumb, tightening it to slow the bleeding. ‘Now, go forth and call your kin.’
Fianna bowed slightly. She removed the cloak, lowered the helmet over her head, and slid on the metal gloves. Then she started up the wooden stairs, leaving the small chamber behind. A trap door led out onto the roof. She pushed it up with her good hand, and finally stood on the tallest tower of the castle.
The view, she decided, was worth the climb. The slit in the helmet was narrow, but she could still see the city tumbling away from the castle hill, spreading out unevenly within the walls. Beyond were the fields and smaller towns, broken up by the darker green patches of small forests. In that direction lay the Third and the First Kingdoms.
Then she turned, and faced the mountains rising in the opposite direction. The Sacred Mountains, home of the fierce beings called the Family. Her head reeled with dragon lore, all gathered from books and tales and legends. Perhaps now she would learn how much of that knowledge held truth, and how much was sheer fabrication.
Tradition now told her the next step. She drew the sword, placing it into her left hand, her weaker one. Then she lifted right hand above her head, the sunlight catching on the freshly hammered metal. ‘In the names of Richard and Stormbringer, by whom we are joined.’ Her voice sounded strange within the helmet. ‘I call forth the Family, joined to me by blood and duty. Come!’
The physical sound of her summons, she knew, was not enough to reach the dragons in their distant mountains. The call would be heard in the mind, if at all, through the link between the royal house and the Family. She lowered her arms, waited.
The crowds on the streets had seen her on the Tower, knew what the fall of her arm meant. The expectant roar of their voices carried up to her high perch, disrupting her concentration. It’s for them that I do this, she found herself thinking. To prove myself before them all as worthy of holding the Dragon Throne. She felt a flash of irritation, bit it down.
A sudden change in the noise from the crowd alerted her first. Fianna stepped back to one edge of the Tower, heedless of the far drop behind her heel. For now she too saw the black dots on the horizon, winging from the mountains. She blinked, then squinted, concentrating on picking them out. Seven clusters, seven in each group. The seven by seven clutches of the Family, oldest to youngest creeping from their strongholds to honour her calling. Fianna took a deep breath, relieved that she had passed the first test. The dragons were coming.
Now the city people lowered themselves to the ground, sitting with protective arms around children and old ones. It was said that the Family would not attack one of the Fourth Kingdom. It was also said that a dragon would only attack a human who dared to stand at his approach. Therefore remaining seated seemed the safest option. Fianna smiled, and braced herself on the balls of her feet.
The dots grew, became recognisably dragons. Broad wings were spread to take advantage of the wind currents, flapping occasionally when an updraft was not available. Long tails snapped behind, legs tucked up close to wide bellies. The large heads were pointed at Fianna, glowing eyes intent on what little they could see of her face.
At th
e edge of the city the first cluster halted, hovering in the air. The other clutches joined the eldest, and for a moment all seven hung in place, six dragons grouped around a largest in their midst, six clutches then further encircling the oldest clutch of the Family. Fianna swallowed, hard. They were several miles away, but she could already see that most of the dragons were several times larger than the one she had met in Deian’s woods.
The youngest clutch, identifiable as so by their size and lightness of colour, broke formation and swept past the Tower first. In order of largest to smallest, they tucked their wings in close and bowed graceful, arrogant heads to Fianna. Blue, purple, yellow, orange, green, red, and black, each marked with the distinctive colour of their roles in the clutch. Fianna tried to recall their positions. Blue was the Leader, black the Trickster, orange the Dreamer. But as they returned to the higher skies, the wind from their passing threatening her balance, she realised how little she really knew of their customs. Could she really hope to communicate with these beings?
The second clutch flew by in the same formation. Then the third, fourth, and on to the oldest of the groups, their scales so bright that they dazzled the eyes and confused the mind with the purity of their colours. Beside them, even in her bright armour, Fianna felt dull, grey.
The dragons re-formed in the sky above her, their shadows darkening the castle and the nearby portions of the city. Fianna looked up, waiting. Finally the red dragon of the youngest clutch dropped from the group, circling down to the Tower. There was only just room for him to land, his silver claws digging deep into the stone. The Tower groaned under his weight, and Fianna felt the roof shuddering under her feet. She removed the helmet, and lowered it and the state sword to lie at her feet.
‘Your face commends you, your blood confirms you,’ said the dragon, speaking first as senior in status. ‘What is your name, and what would you have of us, daughter of our blood?’
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