The Iron Crown (Dragon Spirits Book 1)

by L. L. MacRae

  ‘I ask again. Where have you come from?’

  In truth, Fenn wanted to know that himself. If he didn’t know, how was he expected to tell anyone else? Instead, he opted to ask the dragon a question to stall for time, hoping hitting his head against the tree trunk might force some of his memories back into existence. ‘Where did you come from?’

  ‘You cannot tell? Foolish creature. I am the spirit of this forest.’ Its voice was soft and languid. ‘You are in my domain. Causing damage. I heard the vines cry out.’

  Now Fenn knew he was dreaming. ‘How can you be…a forest? A spirit? You’re as real as I am.’ As if to prove his point, he reached out and touched the creature’s smooth scales, accidentally wiping mud across its warm snout.

  The dragon snarled, and realising his transgression, Fenn immediately withdrew his hand.

  ‘You dare touch the Spirit of Salt Ash? I have cursed people for far less.’ Flames danced in its open jaws.

  Despite the clear warning, Fenn sensed a little amusement from the dragon. ‘I’ve never seen a spirit before. Never been here before. How was I supposed to know?’

  Another rumble from the dragon. More amusement. It didn’t seem to care about the smear of mud across its muzzle. ‘How can you be unaware of Tassar’s Guardians? Are you sick? Tainted in some way?’

  Fenn avoided the dragon’s questions as he tried to think of a way out of his situation. The filthy mud stuck his clothes to his skin and he shuddered at the sensation. ‘Are you going to kill me?’

  The dragon considered for several long seconds. ‘No.’

  He gulped down a lungful of air as if it would give him strength and confidence. ‘Then can you help me? I don’t know where I am. Who I am! Or where I’m from.’

  The dragon’s pupils dilated. ‘You are in my domain, lost one. I told you. Salt Ash.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  Tilting its head to one side, the dragon let out a plume of smoke from its nostrils. ‘You really do not know? How fascinating…’

  The dragon’s reluctance to give him a straight answer was infuriating, and already Fenn could feel the strength leaving his knees. ‘Please! If you won’t kill me, help me!’

  Something low rumbled in the dragon’s vast chest that was akin to laughter. ‘I will watch you for a while. You are…interesting. If you harm my domain again, I shall kill you, and you shall be a feast for my forest.’

  Fenn didn’t question it. An argument was a poor choice when the predator had already agreed he wasn’t going to eat him. He licked his lips and let out a slow breath to steady his nerves.

  The dragon leaned forward and brushed Fenn’s forehead with its muzzle, then with a sudden burst of speed, passed through him and the tree, and fire sparked across Fenn’s chest for a heartbeat. The dragon again shifted into a myriad of light and silver butterflies, and disappeared into the depths of the trees.

  It was as if the entire forest burst into life in his head. Every bird, every insect, every animal that made this place its home was alive in his mind. All the flowers, grass, trees, plants. An explosion of light and sound and motion. He heard each and every one, their voices high and laughing, or low and rumbling. A perfect balance of chaos, surrounded by the dragon’s fire.

  Fenn’s headache intensified. He sank to one knee and clutched his head with both hands. He could do nothing but focus on his breathing as the fire in his body dimmed. With every exhale, the intensity of the forest dwindled, slowly softening, lessening, until he was left in the humid glade with only his own, shallow breathing for company.

  His arms tingled all over from his wounds, sweat dripped down his nose, and every muscle trembled. He wasn’t sure he could even wipe his face without passing out.

  Somewhere behind him, a twig snapped.

  Fenn gasped in surprise and fear.

  Footsteps. And a voice. Two voices. Both female.

  ‘…This stinking swamp.’

  ‘It wasn’t there yesterday! You know what Hassen is like. Just having fun when he gets bored.’

  ‘Gods, I miss the mountains. No swamps. No spirits. Just clear air, excellent views, and water that doesn’t randomly change based on a spirit’s sense of fun.’

  Responding laughter. ‘You told me if you saw another mountain again it’d be too soon.’

  ‘A lot changes in seven years, Jisyel. I’m just tired of traipsing through a forest where trees constantly shift and repulsive bogs appear every handful of days.’

  More laughter, from the one referred to as Jisyel. Her voice was flighty, constantly on the edge of giggles, as if everything amused her.

  Fenn squatted down beside the tree, leaning on it for support, and waited for them to appear.

  ‘I know, I know. “You can take the Bragalian out of the mountain, but not the mountain out of the Bragalian.” Calidra, you can go back anytime you want. Nothing’s keeping you here!’

  Calidra snorted. ‘You’re doing a good job of that.’

  The voices grew louder. They couldn’t have been more than a handful of paces away.

  Fenn gulped, wondering whether it would be better to try and get away, hide, or remain where he was. And hope they didn’t hurt him—or worse—the moment they spotted him.

  But he’d survived an encounter with a dragon spirit. Surely he could survive these two? And if the dragon wasn’t prepared to help, perhaps they would be. It wasn’t as if he had many other options. He turned to face them when his legs cramped up and he stumbled to the ground with a yelp of agony.

  Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

  Almost at the same time, the two women appeared on the far side of the glade. The taller one stopped by the edge of the mud, one hand on her hip, frowning. Sunlight lit up her pale skin and bright auburn hair, making her seem as translucent as the dragon. ‘Strange. It’s iced over. Hassen must’ve been here recently.’

  ‘A shame he didn’t bother to restore the bog to the pond it should’ve been.’ The second woman, Calidra, pinched the bridge of her nose. She was shorter than Jisyel, her skin nut brown, with quick eyes that spotted Fenn a heartbeat later. She drew a long hunting dagger from her belt and held it up, the blade glinting silver. ‘You. Boy. I see you. Step out of the shadows before my blade finds you.’ Even from across the glade, her gaze was intense.

  Fenn gulped, trembling all over. Jisyel appeared unarmed, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hurt him, too. He tried to straighten up and winced, doubling over again.

  ‘I am running out of patience. Do you have a strong desire to die today?’

  ‘Okay, okay. Wait a second, please! I’m hurt!’ Glad he’d found his voice before Calidra had decided to act, Fenn raised both hands and stumbled out of the tree’s shadow, his legs screaming in pain. He knew he must have been quite a sight, his entire lower-half was black with rapidly-drying mud, blood flowed down his arms, and the rest of him was as dishevelled as a street urchin.

  ‘What are you doing down there?’ Calidra pressed, her knife held high, with no signs of being lowered. She’d cut straight to the point, not even bothering to ask about his bizarre appearance.

  ‘I…don’t know,’ Fenn answered. It sounded ridiculous, even to him, but there was no other answer. ‘Honestly, I’m not in this state by choice!’ He offered a grin.

  Jisyel laughed and shook her head, but Calidra was unmoved. If anything, her scowl deepened.

  Licking his lips, he dropped the humour. Clearly it wouldn’t help. ‘I think I hit my head. Woke up in the middle of that.’ He gestured to the mud pool. ‘Before it was iced, I mean. Can you tell me where I am? There was a dragon, called himself a forest spirit and—’

  ‘Hassen cursed you?’ Calidra interrupted, raising an eyebrow and lowering her blade slightly, her demeanour softening.

  ‘Cursed me?’ Fenn repeated.

  ‘He’s been known to’ Jisyel gave a cautious smile and pressed on Calidra’s arm, forcing the other woman to lower her dagger. ‘What about before that? Where are you from?’r />
  Fenn shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. It…my head hurts so much.’ He clutched it with one hand, swaying on his feet. ‘Please, I…I need help.’

  Calidra pulled away from Jisyel and raised her blade again. ‘Could be a trick.’

  ‘I’m not lying!’

  ‘Relax, Cal. I don’t think it’s hogshit. He seems desperate,’ Jisyel said. ‘Why not bring him to gran? Not like he can hurt us in the state he’s in.’

  Calidra huffed at Jisyel’s words and brusquely sheathed her dagger, evidently deciding he posed no threat. ‘Can’t take him back. Bell will throw a fit, and he’ll stink up the whole place.’

  ‘Nonsense. A bath and some new clothes and he’ll be fine. Can’t just leave him out here, can we?’ Jisyel gestured towards Fenn with an open palm. ‘Look, he doesn’t even have both his shoes!’

  ‘Of course we can leave him. Who knows what some raving lunatic will do? Especially if Hassen’s cursed him. You don’t have to help everyone who wanders through the forest! Best march him to port and send him to the mainland. The Inquisitors will pick him up soon enough. They can deal with him.’

  ‘With what papers? Look at him, Calidra. Poor thing’s been dragged through that mud. Hassen’s obviously had some fun with him. He wouldn’t last two minutes in Bragalia by himself, and you know it.’

  Calidra rolled her eyes as if this was an argument she’d had many times before. ‘Well, just leave him here, then. Perhaps a bear or a pack of forest wolves’ll have him and—’

  ‘Please!’ Fenn hobbled around the bog towards them, leaving muddy prints across the vibrant green grass. His vision flickered in terror at the thought of being thrown to the wolves. ‘I’m no good for eating! Just give me a chance? A bit of help? I’ll do what you need. Clean. Cook.’ He thought desperately for some way he could make himself useful. ‘Whatever you need! I just need to get my head sorted and—’ Fenn swayed again, the stabbing headache almost crushing his ability to speak. Desperate, he tried to argue his case. ‘A few days, I just…I…’

  With a groan of agony, he collapsed.

  Soft cotton sheets. A pillow stuffed with goose down. The richly floral scent of lavender soap.

  Fenn forced his eyes open and found himself lying in bed in a small room. His skin tingled, and he looked down to see a thick, green paste smeared over the cuts on his arms. Touching it with his fingertips, he brought them close to his face and, after a cautious sniff, frowned. It smelled awful—worse even than the swamp sludge. It had to be medicine of some sort. Medicine always smelled awful. The paste had numbed his wounds, however, and even his headache had lessened to a more manageable level.

  Most of the mud had been washed from his arms, but he could still feel it caked around his waist and legs. He shuddered at the feeling and sat up gingerly. Glancing around, he tried to recognise something, anything. Three more beds were nestled against the far wall of the comfortable room, which had been furnished with a bookshelf, wardrobe, a low table with a large bowl of steaming water and a nub of soap, and a wooden chair at the end of each bed. There was a painting on the wall depicting a farmstead and pigs bristling with hair wandering around in front of a gate. The door to the room was made of heavy wood, but was closed.

  Nothing stood out. He drew a blank. Clearly several people could sleep in the room, but he couldn’t tell more than that.

  Had he been here before and forgotten, like everything else? Or was this place somewhere new?

  An open window beside his bed let in the deep, orange light of sunset, and he wondered how long he’d been asleep. Dust motes fluttered in the shaft of light, oddly calming as he watched them.

  Muffled voices drifted up from somewhere below him—so he was upstairs. He held himself still, trying to listen. He couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like Calidra and Jisyel, along with other voices. The floorboards were too thick for him to make much sense of what was being said, but he could tell the voices were raised with some emotion he couldn’t place.

  He lifted the sheets off himself, desperate to get to the bowl of water and clean off the sticky mud, when footsteps thundered towards the closed door.

  Sinking back into the pillow and closing his eyes, he held his breath as the door burst open.

  ‘Calidra, please! Wait!’

  Aware that two people had entered the room, but afraid to open his eyes and show he was awake, Fenn concentrated on his breathing and keeping as quiet as possible.

  Someone threw open the wardrobe in the room’s corner and began rifling through the clothes, contents spilling out and rolling onto the wooden floorboards.

  ‘Tell me what the message said! No-one ever bothers to send us stuff out here, don’t hog it all to yourself!’ Jisyel’s voice pleaded.

  More shuffling of clothes. Drawers were opened, then aggressively slammed shut. Feet stomped around the room, and Fenn felt the radiating anger even through his closed eyelids.

  ‘Please? Cal?’ Jisyel’s tone was no longer light. Utterly serious.

  Calidra took a deep breath. ‘Jisyel…’ She sounded distant, as if she stood far away and not on the other side of the room. ‘It came from Fellwood. It…it stated that a terrible sickness had taken the life of the Laird, and I am requested at his funeral, one week hence.’

  Unable to resist any longer, Fenn turned his head minutely and opened one eye.

  Jisyel rested a hand on Calidra’s cheek, the rest of her cheeriness diminishing. ‘Calidra…’

  The other woman trembled and looked away, her hands balling into fists as she whispered, ‘It’s father. He’s…finally gone.’

  The Beginning

  calidra

  ‘Oh. He’s awake!’ Jisyel gasped.

  The young man glanced up from his bed, looking far less disoriented than Calidra had expected given his earlier bewilderment. She narrowed her eyes, waiting for any sign of deception. Had he been listening to her conversation with Jisyel?

  ‘Um. Guessing you two brought me inside? Thanks.’

  ‘You feeling any better?’ Jisyel asked, ever eager.

  ‘Ready to tell us who you are?’ Calidra added before Jisyel could get too carried away with the pleasantries of hospitality. She wasn’t entirely certain she trusted his amnesiac story, it was too convenient. Thieves and opportunists used any excuse to manipulate you, and she didn’t put it past this lad, no matter how pathetic he appeared. Whatever he was hiding, she’d find it.

  He pushed himself up onto his elbows. ‘Hey, I’m not that much younger than you!’

  Calidra folded her arms over her chest, her earlier sadness and rage about the message she’d received evaporating. Her familial obligations could wait. This boy was a potential threat right in front of them. And she’d caught him, now. ‘So how old are you, then? Telling the truth would be a good start to gaining our trust.’

  She saw him think, screwing up his face like a toddler. Eventually, he shrugged. ‘I…I’m not sure. And I’m not lying, either, before you accuse me of that again!’ He sank down a little in the sheets. ‘Were those vines really talking to me? Or did I hit my head before I almost drowned in that bog?’

  Calidra scowled, her eyebrows furrowing. How could he not have been in a living forest before? Something was off about him.

  Jisyel put a hand on Calidra’s shoulder. ‘Hey. Hassen is capable of all sorts of things. The lad is clearly hurt. Maybe you could try to be nice?’ She crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m Jisyel, lovely to meet you! This is an inn in Hogsbrook, on the Isle of Salt. That’s Calidra,’ she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, ‘and my gran, Bellandri, owns this inn. She’s downstairs. And yes, the plants here can talk. Lots of forests are the same. It’s pretty common when it has a spirit.’

  He took it all in, and nodded. ‘I’m Fenn.’

  Jisyel smiled, politely waiting.

  ‘I…can’t tell you much more than that. My mind’s blank. I don’t even know how I got here.’

  Calidra fought to hold her
snort in. ‘That’s rather convenient, don’t you think?’

  ‘I guess it looks bad, but I’m the one shaken up by it. Imagine if you woke up in the middle of a mud bog with no idea who you were or how you’d got there!’

  He made an interesting point, but she wasn’t convinced.

  Jisyel leaned forward. ‘In all honesty, that bog wasn’t there yesterday. Hassen—the spirit of the forest here—has a habit of playing games and messing us around. He even—’

  ‘That’s enough, Jisyel. Don’t need to tell him your whole life story,’ Calidra interrupted, speaking between gritted teeth.

  Jisyel coughed and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ears. ‘Yes, well. Strange things occur on this island. You turning up in the middle of it with no memory isn’t even the strangest thing to happen this month!’

  ‘Stupid cursed rock.’ Calidra looked out the window at the sunset and the dark forest beyond.

  Jisyel grinned broadly. ‘It’s not cursed, that’s just what the mainlanders say about the island. And anyway, she claims to hate it, but she’s stuck around for seven years!’

  Calidra stiffened, the only way she could hold back the tide of emotions that threatened to flood her at the mention of seven years. She didn’t like showing emotions at the best of times, and she had no intention of letting the stranger see her weakness. ‘Well, that’s about to change, isn’t it? So, Fenn, where are you from? Your accent isn’t Porsenthian. Nor any of the Bragalian dialects. Not Olmese, either.’

  Fenn visibly gulped.

  Jisyel continued the line of enquiry, ‘Castrin? Ulnoth? Any of those names helping you remember? Spirits bless me, don’t say you’re Egyean!’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Fenn threw up his hands, exasperated. ‘I can’t explain how, or why. I know night follows day, rain follows grey clouds, fire burns. But when it comes to me? Who I am? My home? My family? There’s…nothing. A fog, maybe. I know my name is Fenn. Bar that? Nothing…But, maybe if I rest for a few days, some of the confusion might lift?’ He gripped the bed sheets tightly, though Calidra couldn’t tell if it was in frustration or fear.