by Linda McNabb
Zaine nodded, and followed his father through the castle. They were going to need all the help they could get to fight the storm. Maata hurried off to her own rooms to change. A servant, seeing Zaine’s wet clothes, ran ahead of them and came back with a towel and a fresh robe.
They reached the room full of runebooks and Zaine paused outside to remove his wet robe. He removed a book from one of the many pockets inside the robe and checked that it had not been damaged by the water. It was a small silver volume and the golden words on the cover read:
ZAINE, SON OF DAVYN AND TRIANNA
It was his life-reading, which had been done by an old woman when he was born. It told of the great power he would attain and the great destruction he would cause. It was the reason his mother had abandoned him as a baby and why she despised him now. Zaine put on the dry robe and tucked the silver book into an inside pocket.
They went into the room and found Tercel waiting by the wooden table. He was still holding the red runebook and he tapped his foot impatiently.
“We only have time for one more runebook today,’ Davyn told the youth.
“This one.” Tercel held out the tattered red book.
Zaine knew there was no real reason not to do so, and took the book reluctantly. As Zaine repeated the spell, Tercel watched, looking both impressed at the runes used and jealous of Zaine’s ability.
A few minutes later, Calard rose slowly from the floor, his shredded robes barely holding together. He shot a look of dislike at Zaine. Calard’s long brown hair had come loose from the band that normally held it back neatly, and he looked like he had been dragged through a bush. His brown eyes glinted with anger, and it was all directed at Zaine.
“You took your time,” he snapped. “I should have been the first to be released!”
Zaine did not reply, as Tercel hurried forward to support his master and help him from the room. Zaine wasn’t upset; he had expected just such a reaction from the man who had bought him for a jar of silver coins. There was a time, not long ago, when he had wanted to please Calard so that he could get enough coins to free himself from the Taitem farm. That time had well and truly passed. Now, he ignored the angry outburst and turned back to the table stacked with runebooks.
“All of those weavers have waited much longer than you, Calard,” Dayvn retorted as he pointed at the stacks of books still to be done. “We could have left you until last.”
Calard glowered, but did not reply. He pushed the stack of books over and stormed out of the room, closely followed by Tercel.
“We should go to the great hall,” Davyn said quietly from just behind Zaine. “They will be waiting.”
“I’ll follow in a minute,” Zaine assured his father.
Davyn left the room and Zaine took a minute to pick up the runebooks that Calard had knocked over, and then placed them back on the table with a sigh of despair. There were so many of them. All these weavers had followed their contender into the Circle of Dreams and been struck down by the lightning. As he turned and headed for the great hall, Zaine promised himself that he would try harder to free more of the runeweavers the next day.
Zaine knew he had every right to wear the purple robes that had once been his father’s, yet he felt uneasy as he entered the great hall. He had been a runeweaver for only a matter of weeks, whereas the rest of the runeweavers had been studying most of their lives. He was grateful, though, that the hood of his robe allowed him to stay mostly unnoticed amongst the large gathering in the room.
On the far side of the room, he could see the darkened landscape through the large window. It, too, looked out over the devastation and threatening storm.
He could see Maata up one end of the room, and near her was Prince Varan, her cousin. Maata had changed into a shorter tunic and trousers, but they were still the customary white. Over them she wore a knee-length white woollen cloak. Prince Varan was dressed in a similar fashion, and he followed Maata with the protective air of a big brother. His step was slow and his face pale, as he was still recovering from his ordeal in the Circle of Dreams. He had not wanted to contest the throne but had feared for Maata’s safety, so he had followed her in to help her.
Prince Theodane stood as far away as possible, surrounded by his own weavers and supporters with Calard and Tercel among them. The prince was only a few years older than Maata, but his arrogant manner made him seem older. He was using an ornate wooden walking stick to support himself as he hobbled across the floor. One leg was heavily strapped – a reminder of the dangers the three royals had faced in the Circle of Dreams.
Between the two groups were those newly released from their long stay in either a runebook or the Circle of Dreams. They looked around uncertainly and talked nervously among themselves. Several of the weavers Zaine had freed from their books over the past few days nodded gratefully in his direction.
A howl from the storm outside reminded him of what Aldren had said about storm dragons. He looked around for the old man in the green robes but could not see him.
Davyn entered the room just as Trianna stepped up to the dais near the window. Her red robe was the only one trimmed with white fur – a mark which showed her status as the ruler’s personal runeweaver and placed her above all the other weavers. She beckoned to the dark-skinned princess, and Maata joined her.
“Weavers,” Trianna spoke loudly and firmly, and then paused to wait for everyone’s attention. “I have called you here this afternoon for the crowning ceremony.”
A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. Nobody had given much thought to the crowning since the destruction of the Circle of Dreams and the gathering of the storm. Trianna paused and glared at those closest until they fell silent again.
“There were three contenders for the crown – Princess Maata, Prince Varan and Prince Theodane. As we all know, Princess Maata was the winner of the contest.”
“What about the storm?” Maata interrupted, looking out the window at the angry clouds. “Surely we should be finding a way to get rid of that first?”
“I visited the library this afternoon and found this.” Trianna held up a thick book and then opened it. “Time is running out for the crowning to take place. It must be done as soon as possible.”
“Why?” Maata wasn’t the only one to seem unconvinced of the crown’s importance in the face of the storm’s impending danger, and many confused weavers were looking to Trianna for an answer.
“This book is the history of weaving. It tells of how to run the contest for the crown, and the rules for crowning the new royal. If the winner of the contest is not crowned immediately, the magic of all weavers will begin to fade away. We will soon be powerless to stop the storm even if we can find a way.”
Trianna’s explanation had an instant effect on the weavers.
“Does it say how long it takes before our powers diminish?” Calard argued. “It may not happen at all.”
“It does not specify an exact time, but are you willing to risk losing your weaving by waiting too long?” Trianna asked as she placed the book on the floor. “Do you want to wait to see how long before the magic fades?”
Calard fell silent and all the weavers present began to nod and turn away from the storm as if it no longer mattered.
Trianna continued when she saw that she had their full attention. “Maata was the first contender to touch the crown in the Circle of Dreams; therefore she is the winner of the contest. She must be crowned immediately.”
Again the crowd began to talk amongst themselves. Zaine could see that most of the weavers in the room were not happy. Some had pushed back their hoods, and one of Theodane’s supporters spoke out loudly. “The crown was not won. The Circle of Dreams was destroyed. We must hold another contest.”
Zaine’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of anyone having to go into a Circle of Dreams again. He was still not sorry that he had destroyed it. Nobody should have to go there.
“We don’t have a Circle of Dreams anymore,” Trian
na retorted coldly. She did not look over at Zaine, but he could feel the dislike and blame in her voice. “Princess Maata was the first to touch the crown. She is the rightful successor to the throne.”
“The crown was destroyed before she reached it,” Prince Theodane argued as he moved forward through the crowd and hobbled up onto the dais.
“And who destroyed it?” Prince Varan asked bluntly. “If I remember rightly it was Calard, your own personal runeweaver, who called down a bolt of lightning.”
“There is no proof of that,” Calard objected. He had put on a new red robe, and it was as exquisite as Trianna’s. The only difference was that his did not have the white fur trimmings of the royal weaver. “It was the Circle of Dreams that destroyed the crown.”
“It doesn’t matter who destroyed it,” Davyn said calmly from the back of the room. “Try the crown. The crown will know who won the contest – if it still works.”
Silence fell as the wise words of the weaver sank in. Trianna stepped over to a small table that stood on the dais and picked up a disfigured golden circlet that had once been the crown.
“Of course it will,” Trianna assured them all. “We should crown her now and prove it, before our runeweaving is simply pretty pictures. Then we can effectively turn our attention to the more urgent problem – how to sort out the storm.”
As if to focus their attention back on the looming danger, the room suddenly shook with a roll of thunder that sounded as if it were only a few feet away.
“Try the crown,” Prince Theodane agreed sullenly.
Davyn came to stand next to Zaine as Maata knelt before Trianna. Except for the fury of the storm outside, the room was silent and everyone’s attention was on the crown.
“I crown you Queen of Willow Castle,” Trianna proclaimed loudly and solemnly. “Ruler of your people and holder of the royal crown.”
Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, including Zaine, as the crown was slowly lowered onto Maata’s black curls. The silence seemed to last forever as the crown rested on her head, sitting lopsided due to its mangled state.
“What’s wrong?” Zaine whispered to Davyn after a full minute of silence. He could tell from the expressions of everyone around him that things were not going as planned. Prince Theodane looked positively delighted and Trianna was frowning.
“The crown has not accepted her.” Davyn’s tone was more worried than disappointed. “Either it is too damaged or she did not win the contest.”
“How can you tell?” Zaine asked, staring at the twisted lump of gold on Maata’s head.
“It is supposed to sing with the song of the dragons when placed on the head of the royal ruler,” Davyn replied absently.
Prince Theodane was attempting to kneel and almost tumbled off the dais. He steadied himself with the walking stick, and balanced on his one good knee as he waited for a turn to try the crown.
“Song of the dragons?” Zaine mused. He felt his attention drawn to the storm outside the window, and clearly saw the form of a dragon’s head in the swirling clouds. He blinked and the dragon was gone. He looked around at the runeweavers, again searching for the green-cloaked old man he had freed earlier. Aldren seemed to know something about the storm and Zaine was certain it would be important, but he could not see the old weaver anywhere.
Silence had fallen again as Trianna lifted the crown from Maata’s head and Calard jostled his way up onto the dais. Calard snatched the crown from Trianna and repeated the crowning words before placing it on Prince Theodane’s head. Zaine wasn’t sure if he was pleased or not when the crown stayed silent.
“Try again!” Prince Theodane insisted furiously. “It must sing.”
“It does not recognise you as the ruler,” Trianna said, almost snatching the crown from the dark-haired prince.
“Try Prince Varan,” Maata suggested, but her cousin shook his head.
“I never wanted to be king,” he said softly. “I was only there to make sure you were safe.”
“Then we must have another contest,” Calard announced.
“Where?” Maata asked, pointing out at the battered landscape.
“And we don’t have a crown,” Davyn added.
“Perhaps we can fix it?” Trianna mused as she examined it. Then she tossed the destroyed crown to the floor in disgust as she finally saw just how damaged it was. “I think we will need a new one.”
“What will we make it from?” Maata asked.
“It’s just gold,” Trianna replied. “We have plenty of that we can melt down,”
“It can’t be normal gold,” Davyn said with a shake of his head. “Calard’s lightning would have done more than melt it a little.”
“I heard tell it was made of dragon gold,” Calard said with a shrug. “Whatever that is.”
“I say that the first weaver to create a new crown will get to name the ruler,” Trianna said firmly. It was clear by the glint in her eyes that she thought she would be the one. She stooped down to pick up the thick book at her feet. “All those in favour?”
A short silence followed as everyone looked around, and then slowly hands began to rise. There was a clear majority to carry the motion, and people started whispering to each other, looking around to see if anyone was listening to their plans.
“It must sing with the song of dragons,” Trianna reminded them. “We will meet again when it has been done.”
Zaine frowned as the window rattled as the edge of the storm buffeted against it. Again, everyone seemed to have lost sight of the immediate threat to their lives.
“What about the storm?” Zaine asked loudly. He pointed to the darkened sky and billowing clouds.
“First, we need a crown,” Calard retorted angrily. “Who knows when the runes will start to fail? Then there will be no crown at all.”
A murmur of agreement swept through the room, and the crowd began to head for the door as Zaine stared after them in disbelief. How could they just walk off and ignore the storm that was about to batter the castle?
Tercel walked away from his master and veered towards Zaine. He waited until everyone was out of hearing and stopped next to Zaine.
“It’s all your fault anyway,” Tercel accused. “You fix the storm.”
“My fault?” Zaine asked, more than a little surprised.
“You destroyed the Circle of Dreams. The storm wasn’t there before – and now it is,” Tercel said with a shrug, and then pushed past Zaine and followed Calard from the room.
Zaine walked over to the window. He didn’t like the look of the angry black clouds that swirled so close to the castle, but he felt drawn to stare into them. Was Tercel right? Had he created the storm when he’d ripped apart the Circle of Dreams? There’d certainly been a raging storm inside the circle, and now there was one where the circle had been.
“Come along, Zaine,” Davyn called from the doorway. “We need more masters released to help make a new crown.”
“But the storm—” Zaine insisted.
“Forget the storm – this is more important,” Davyn snapped, showing he was very worried.
“Yes, Davyn. I’ll go back and free some more,” Zaine replied in a subdued voice, and his father left the room.
The room began to empty as the weavers all hurried off to find a way to create a new crown. The now-useless crown had been left at the edge of the dais where Trianna had thrown it. Zaine walked over and picked it up. He looked at the prize so many had fought to own in the past.
One side was dented heavily, and Zaine assumed this must be where Calard’s lightning had struck it. All of the dragons moulded onto the outside were inseparable and looked like a single grotesque monster with many golden heads. The gold was cold to touch, and a roughness on his fingertips made him turn the crown over and look on the inside. Runes. Faint, but just visible, were inscribed around the entire inside of the crown. Most of them were unharmed by the destructive forces of the lightning that had struck it. Only two were melted and unreadable.<
br />
“What have you found?” Maata’s voice made him jump. He thought everyone had left. He looked up and saw her sitting at the far end of the dais, leaning against the wall and partly obscured by a heavy velvet curtain.
“Runes.” Zaine walked over and sat next to her. He tipped the mangled crown so that she could see the markings on the inside.
“What do they do?” Maata didn’t sound particularly interested, but more as if she were making polite conversation.
“I’m not sure,” Zaine muttered, as he looked at the runes and studied the groupings. They weren’t hard runes, just oddly put together. “Some of them are similar to those that were around the Circle of Dreams. It’s some sort of binding spell. It’s joining something together with a very strong rune circle.”
“The dragons on it were really pretty,” Maata mused as she took the crown from him and ran a finger over what was left of the golden dragons. “Father used to let me polish it for him.”
“Dragons …” Zaine repeated. Small clues in his mind were trying to fit themselves together. He stared out the window as he tried to let his mind run free and allow the ideas to grow.
“He didn’t wear it very often, as the dragon song just kept on for as long as he wore it. It was nice to listen to at first, but after a while it was annoying,” Maata said with a small smile as she remembered happier times not so long ago.
A swirling shape outside in the dark sky drew Zaine’s attention, and he watched, fascinated, as the clear form of a dragon made from clouds darted towards the castle. It came to an abrupt halt a short distance from the castle, and then drew back, trapped within the bounds of the storm.
“Dragons!” Zaine said again as an idea leapt into his mind.
“What about them?” Maata asked, sitting up and looking interested.
“I think the dragons that were bound to this crown are out there in the storm,” Zaine said, knowing it sounded an unusual and totally weird idea. “When Calard destroyed the crown, he freed them from the crown.”
“Really?” Maata didn’t sound convinced as she went to the window. She stared into the storm, and Zaine could tell that she, too, could see the dragons racing and diving around in the clouds. She turned to Zaine and nodded. “I think you’re right, but they don’t look happy.”