The Crown and the Dragon

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1

It was spoken, by our Elders,

that a darkness would come,

a shadow that would turn

brother on brother,

a plague of fire and steel.

A plague of fear

in the form of a dragon.

Those who still live remember

when the Vitalion came,

their endless legions broke through

the people like a mighty steel wave.

And with their metal they brought fire.

They brought the very beast of prophecy.

A dragon.

Man and beast and the earth herself

collapsed beneath its curse.

The Deiran, were broken,

our heroes and dreams were

swallowed in unquenchable flame.

The dragon destroyed everything.

Even as our people clung

to the edge of an Abyss,

they had one hope.

That a hero would rise

to fulfill the prophecy,

a warrior of light to do battle

with the very Inferno itself,

to crown a dragon,

kill a dragon.

We must reach Garrick

with the Falarica by Lamma's Eve.

I'll leave at dawn.

I was pursued... A Vitalion patrol.

Vitalions?

They should have moved on by now.

Only a few patrols are left.

They're delayed

with attacks in the south.

It's alright.

- The dragon sleeps.

- Corvus has spies everywhere.

- It's only a matter of time...

- Time, time...

My niece must come with me.

It would if it were not so.

The Leode will be safe,

should anything happen...

Perhaps.

The Leodrine still awaits the prophecy.

It's getting light outside,

I'll double back toward the ford

and head north.

And then?

I'll keep them interested as I can.

Elenn. Elenn. Rise, my child.

- Aunt?

- Dress yourself.

Plain. We need to leave.

Leave? Where?

I know you were eavesdropping

so you can drop the mummer's act.

But we have no servants...

No escort

It's the plainest one I've got.

It's a wonder one of the servants

didn't steal it when they ran off.

Where are we going?

Open it.

Some say it was a great weapon,

broken in an ancient battle.

Is this the Falarica?

It is now the path

to Deiran independence.

For your impertinence.

Magister Corvus,

we found one of Garrick's men.

Very good.

I apologize.

The Guard can be a little

overzealous with traitors.

There's only one traitor here.

The Emperor is master in Deira now.

We Deiran are his subjects,

so you are traitor to him.

You plot to make Garrick King.

Garrick is no king but a low-born

pretender to a broken throne.

Beautiful aren't they?

They are despised by us Deirans,

and yet they possess

the greatest of all qualities.

They are survivors.

But I digress.

The Vitalions, in their wisdom,

pride themselves on employing

some of the finest interrogators

in the known world.

Priests from the disease

and rat ridden islands of Ravalan, mainly.

They worship some particularly

bloodthirsty gods out there,

and they have found the time,

and inclination,

to raise torture to a veritable art form.

I once saw them remove

a living man's skin in a single piece.

Not to worry,

I prefer more civilized methods.

It is painless,

after the initial discomfort

but I'm afraid you'll be dead

within the hour.

There.

Now, you will tell me everything

you know about the Falarica

and the one who guards it.

I'm sorry I brought you

into this child.

You shouldn't concern yourself

with such things.

Your father would not have wished it.

Aunt, I'm not a child anymore.

Stay calm, girl.

You have a pass?

Where are you traveling?

The Leode of Ghel.

We bear candles for the sisters.

With no servants?

They ran off,

taking everything you lot

hadn't already burned or stolen.

Forgive her.

She was raised with indulgence and

forgets the inevitabilities

of occupation.

I thirst.

No, not you. You.

Here, your wine.

Sclabia!

Scum! On your feet!

I said on your feet!

Elenn. Go.

Come on!

I'll kill you.

Lief! Get the horse!

You killed my aunt.

Whatever is in that sack

of yours killed your aunt.

Now cover the body.

You know my orders, Corvus.

Request denied.

The information is reliable.

The woman who bears the Falarica

is likely headed south

towards Anondea.

The rebels are going to crown Garrick.

- A dozen men...

- Garrick?!

I'd have thought he was too busy

wooing sheep

- and stealing Vitalion wine.

- Allow a coronation,

and the rebellion will become

a full-fledged Deiran uprising.

You are a Magister,

they're your people

and soon to be your problem,

you deal with it!

To enforce the law,

I must have soldiers!

Indeed.

Do you know where this supposed

coronation is being held?

No.

Do you have any information

that could conceivably lead

to Garrick's death or capture?

No.

Perhaps it has escaped

your attention, Corvus

but this Legion

is being transferred north.

Deira is nothing

more than a muddy little footprint

on the road to Minneaus.

A united Deira would present

a problem in the future.

The dragon will make that difficult,

may the Gods forgive us.

The Deiran should be suitably

terrorized for years to come

and Garrick would be king all of a day

before his Deiran allies

cut his throat.

Request denied.

Hey beautiful.

Goodbye, little one.

Oh, no, no.

No!

No!

Leave her be!

If it means that much to you,

then you go first.

But do us a favor,

don't use her all up.

I'd like a little fight left for my turn.

Gods, woman! Leave it.

You don't believe

that cock n' bull story

that she fed the scales do you?

She's a thieving little whore,

run away with her master's treasure,

just like every other servant

wenching in the country.

I won't say it again, Leif.

After all we've been through,

you take some giglets part over me?

And here we were gonna be partners?

There's plenty

of sympathizers blood to spill,

plenty of plunder,

and women.

I've got enough blood on my hands.

What'll you do Aedin, try farming?

My father was a farmer.

So was mine,

and the happiest day of his life,

was the day that poor bastard died.

Well, if we're to part,

let it be in friendship. Eh?

Come here.

No bastard holds a knife to my throat.

I'll not forget.

- Another time, m'lady.

- To hell with you!

Like enough,

but not this day.

Hedge-born villain!

He wasn't always that way.

War what comes after

changes some men.

This is yours.

I'm sorry for whatever part

I played in your aunt's death.

It ain't safe for you here.

Just get past Butcher's Creek,

then join the road again.

Farewell, lass.

Please, please, I need to get to Ghel.

Can you help me?

I've got my own problems.

- I am Elenn of Adair...

- I'm no sort of escort

Ghel's dangerous.

Still crawling with Vitalion patrols,

thick as fleas on rats.

And they'll be lookin' for me.

If it weren't for me you'd still be bound

and heading for the gallows.

I'm grateful, but I know enough

not to stick my head back in the noose.

My life's worth more than that.

Sorry, lass.

My aunt owned a large tract of land

south of Queen's Ford.

It takes a full day to ride the perimeter.

It's mine now.

I'll give you all you can ride around

in the morning

if you can take me to the Leode

at Ghel in three days.

It'd take two days to get to Ghel...

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