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Chapter 1 of Act 3 of "Obsidian and Flame"

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If you’re new to The Môrdreigiau Chronicles, welcome! You might find the Glossary helpful for some of these words. Colons indicate the sea dragon’s thought communications.

Obsidian and Flame chronicles the story of Panawr, a sea dragon prince with a deadly secret, and Arddun, who possesses a useless gift and has no desire to marry a prince. When they come together, sparks fly, but they grow aware that something more is at stake than the throne. Can they save their home, Caer Morgana, or will their quest be in vain?

Here’s the theme song for Act 3:

In “Part 1: Obsidian”, Arddun and Panawr got to know each other.

In “Part 2: Ash”, Panawr’s older brother Cynwal miscarries and lays the blame squarely at the feet of his opponent, Trachmyr, and with Panawr. There are court hearings. Arddun’s sister Indeg is used as a witness that hinted at Cynwal’s failure to adequately protect himself. We learned Panawr’s deadly secret: a monster inflicted infection that kills other dreigiau môr on contact. Arddun was used to make Panawr render a confession Cynwal wanted to hear. He doesn’t. Panawr is exonerated due to lack of evidence, but Trachmyr is condemned to death. Cynwal stabbed Arddun. We do not know if Arddun has survived.

None of the guards objected when Panawr descended to the dungeon to visit Trachmyr. They all knew him, had trained with him and Trachmyr. Keeping one of their own imprisoned pained them.

Panawr entered Trachmyr’s cell. He glanced around the small space. Slime oozed across the floor, the stone clear only where Trachmyr sat. He remembered well the pastime of swiping at the greenish gunk when he’d been kept down here.

The grille closed behind him. Trachmyr struggled to his feet. Cynwal had been relentless in his torture to find Panawr’s guilt. Trachmyr’s nose had been broken, and fresh bruises and cuts marred his face. He hobbled a few steps. :What are you doing here? Cynwal needs less than this to put you on trial again.:

Panawr’s smile thinned. :He’s not my concern right now. You are. I have a way to get you out. How well can you glamour?:

Trachmyr shrugged. :Well enough. It’s gotten me through a few inspections.: His eyes narrowed. :Why?:

:Can you cast a glamour to look like me?:

Trachmyr’s mouth dropped. :I—I’ve never tried—I wouldn’t dare!:

:Try it. You can walk out of here a free man.:

Trachmyr hesitated. :But what about you?:

:There’s rope. I’ll say you overpowered me. We’re known as sparring partners and that you win often. Try it.:

Closing his eyes to concentrate, Trachmyr began chanting the glamour spell. Most dreigiau môr can tidy their appearance. Trachmyr needed to only add the faintest of sparkles to his robe, that being the only difference between his and Panawr’s robes.

His eyes opened. His face remained unchanged. :Unbraid my hair, I think I can get your semblance, but hair is tricky.:

Panawr stepped behind him, making short work of pulling his single braid apart. Trachmyr’s hair being shorter than his by several inches, Panawr dared to weave a glamour of his own, extending it into the long ponytail. It would hold until Trachmyr left the palace and after that it wouldn’t matter.

:It’s done,: Trachmyr muttered, turning. :How did I do?:

Panawr frowned. It looked like him, and yet not quite. Wasn’t he handsomer than this? :Allow me to add a little more glamour.: At last, he nodded in satisfaction. :You cannot leave via the palace gate. The guards will not let me pass that way, but the ones at the main gate may not realise who you are. The glamour will not hold long so you must hurry. Now, tie my hands and—: His gaze met Trachmyr’s. :Hit me. Hard.:

Trachmyr bound the prince’s wrists. Stepping around him, he threw a punch.

Panawr’s head snapped back. He reeled, but didn’t fall. :Again. Don’t hold back this time.:

:But—:

:Save yourself, Trachmyr. When I gain the Esteemed’s seat, I will bring you home. That’s my promise to you. But if you don’t make it look good, neither of us will escape. Do it.:

Trachmyr let out a long slow breath. Using both fists, he drove them at Panawr’s head.

Much later, two guards discovered the bound and woozy Panawr. Late enough to hope Trachmyr had fled the caer. The two guards tended to his wounds, barely able to conceal their jubilation.

:What is this?: Cynwal’s thought bellowed in their minds. The two guards paled and rocketed to their feet. The golden prince stood in the prison cell doorway.

:The prisoner has escaped,: one reported. :We sent a squad after him.:

:No need, I have him.: From the doorway, Prince Cynwal examined Panawr’s bruised face and swollen, split lip. :Am I meant to believe he bested you?:

:He beat you.: Panawr licked at the tender spot on the inside of his mouth. :On the practice field, he beats me most times. Ask anyone.:

Prince Cynwal’s eyes narrowed. :Would he have let you win the tournament?:

:Eventually.: Panawr grinned and then hissed at the pain that speared through his cheek. :He knocked me out and tied me up. What happened?:

:He had the misfortune to be seen by Indeg. She can see through any glamour, you know. Some can. But once she pointed him out, even I could see he didn’t quite look like you. We’ll add the crime of daring to impersonate another to his list of crimes.:

:That’s a crime?:

:It is now.:

Panawr brushed the fading bruise on his cheek. He had tried everything he could think of to save Trachmyr. He paced, restless, amongst the royal guards milling on the edge of the Royal Quarter’s central park. He had failed them all.

A few pairs of eyes, male and female, glittered with tears. Others wouldn’t meet his searching gaze. Even fewer, Captain Cynddylig ap Esni among them, attempted to offer him comfort. Him.

Why, when Trachmyr’s imminent execution was all his fault? He didn’t deserve such kindness. He hid his discomfort and the constant ache of his left arm. He responded with a forced smile, a steadying hand on a shoulder, returning the kindness.

He glanced across the park’s expanse to the temporary royal dais. Cynwal paced. Panawr hoped his conscience pricked at him. He’d lost some weight, his golden skin paler than usual.

:Forgive him,: Panawr thought at his brother.

Cynwal paused and glared across the field at him. His teeth bared, fists clenched, he snarled the expected response, :No.:

Their father, seated on the dais, caught the direction of Cynwal’s glare. He shook his head. :Leave him, Panawr. He is proving more stubborn than you.:

The Esteemed Eigr on her sickbed (nobody would say the word ‘deathbed’), in one of her gasping breaths, had given Cynwal the power to act in her stead until she resumed her duties. She sat on the palace’s long balcony, with Indeg at her side.

Sighing, Panawr turned his back on Cynwal. He felt his brother’s anger bore into him. He moved deeper into the ranks, circling to a small grouping of spectators.

Not many had come this day.

He greeted each of the councillors and guild chiefs. Not so long ago, they had stood shoulder to shoulder with him, in this very park, chanting their protests toward the palace.

The idea of punishment by death disturbed many, for it had never happened before. Of course, dreigiau môr accidentally died (some not so accidentally) at the hands of another, but if discovered, it meant exile. Never death.

The chief bard clapped his hand on Panawr’s left shoulder. He steeled himself against the burst of pain radiating down his infected arm and across his chest.

:We tried, lad.: the bard said. :Now we must hope the pendulum swings back again.:

:Hope?: If protests across the entire caer hadn’t stopped this horror, what would? And what alternative did they have now, that wouldn’t be as violent as the act about to occur?

Rebellion.

The idea dropped into Panawr’s mind. At once, he dismissed it as too risky, too destructive of the dreigiau môr way of life. Life was precious. How many could he ask to die for the life of one man? Surely the Lady did not ask this of him.

As Esteemed, he could stop this from happening ever again. But to become Esteemed, he needed to keep the goodwill of his fellow dreigiau môr. His attempt to rescue Trachmyr from the dungeon had risked ruining his chances of succeeding to the role. If Trachmyr hadn’t hit him hard enough to break his cheekbone, Panawr would be back before the court in chains for trying to subvert the Esteemed’s justice. No one had claimed the throne before, without an election.

Trying to circumvent Trachmyr’s death would be seen as treason. It’s why none of the councillors or guild chiefs would take that final step of dismissing the Esteemed and electing a new one.

There would be no rushing of the field today to save Trachmyr.

Panawr willed his gills to steady breathing. If he could leave the caer with Trachmyr and Arddun, he would never look back.

But transforming into his draig môr form would spread his disease to his companions. It was far too horrible a way to die. He’d seen it before. He couldn’t do that to them.

The collective weight of foreboding deepened. Panawr saw the royal guards shift, restless. He left the Chief Bard and returned to them.

On the way, he saw Trachmyr, bound in thick black seaweed ropes, trudge toward the park. Four guards marched at points around him, bearing tridents.

Panawr sucked in a breath, pausing mid-step. Why had Cynwal chosen four of Trachmyr’s closest friends for the dreadful task of executioners? They had come up through the ranks together. Panawr had assumed the four had chosen to be absent from this dreadful event. Dread settled like a stone in his stomach.

Nodding to the captain, Panawr reviewed the line of royal guards, refusing to watch Trachmyr’s progress for fear he’d be utterly undone. Why had the four not taken the chance of freeing their friend when they could?

His hands closed into fists. Panawr willed himself to inaction. If she were here, Arddun would fly across the field, fighting to the very last to fix this wrong. But she wasn’t here, and he wasn’t Arddun.

He swallowed hard, focusing upon the five in the park’s centre. The four royal guards stood in a line, their backs to Cynwal, who couldn’t see the grief etched on their faces.

Panawr chewed on the inside of his lip, his gaze falling at last upon Trachmyr.

The man knelt, but his straight back and even expression revealed a quiet defiance.

:I’m sorry I failed you,: Panawr whispered the words, a useless burden to Trachmyr but he said them anyway.

He grew aware of other thoughts streaming out to Trachmyr, a weird inverse of the gossip current. They, all of them not on the dais or the palace balcony, were with him in this moment. Pride swelled within Panawr. Trachmyr’s stoicism melted away under the onslaught of farewells and Panawr’s heart dampened into sorrow. Trachmyr’s chest heaved and Panawr took a deep breath for him.

:Begin the execution!: called Cynwal.

The four guards lowered their tridents, keeping them parallel to the ground, aiming at Trachmyr.

They hesitated, the long shafts trembling. One trident dipped to the ground. That guard covered their face, sobbing.

Panawr took an unconscious step forwards, his action mimicked by the men around him. The water boiled with tension. Panawr knew the guards would be with him if he chose to stop this travesty of justice right now. They could overrun the field, free Trachmyr, capture Cynwal, and—

:Hold!: Captain Cynddylig’s word reverberated along the troop’s lines. :Hold.:

There would be no rebellion today. Panawr sensed the men around him sinking back one step, then two.

:Now!: Cynwal yelled.

The four guards exchanged distressed looks. One looked to their captain for direction. Another trident point touched the ground.

:Kill him now!: Cynwal bellowed.

Panawr’s gills stuck flat against his neck. He held his breath. His heart pounded with fear, with the need to break ranks, to—

Cynwal flowed down from the dais. He snatched a trident from the nearest guard and charged at Trachmyr.

The trident’s points bit deep. Cynwal drove it in hard. Trachmyr fell backward, the trident’s base buried between his ribs. Cynwal pressed down.

Panawr sank to his knees, struggling to process the awful tableau before him. Others slumped beside him. Cynwal had really killed the man with his own hands. The brother he’d idolised, now a fallen monster.

Trachmyr’s mouth opened. Black blood spewed forth, floating in a dark diffusing cloud above him.

Cynwal released his grip on the trident, staggering back. His eyes widened, his gills stuttered. Did he see the enormity of his actions for the first time?

The shaft twitched as Trachmyr convulsed. Blood flowed all around him, leaving him half-obscured by the carmine flood.

Trachmyr stilled.

Nobody moved.

Except Panawr. He rose and strode across the field to Trachmyr. He stopped in front of Cynwal, who looked a little sick. :You should have listened,: Panawr told him, his thought flat and hard. He bent to check for Trachmyr’s pulse, not expecting to find one.

He closed his friend’s bulging eyes, wanting to smooth the rictus of death from Trachmyr’s face.

Panawr stood, hands trembling, gut clenching. He’d failed Trachmyr, the Lady, and the entire caer. He should have risked it all.

Cynwal strode back to the palace. The four guards ran forward, cutting Trachmyr free of his ropes, straightening his bent, contorted body.

Once by one, their hands reached for the trident’s shaft and fell away. Sighing, Panawr braced a foot against Trachmyr’s chest and hauled on the trident. He pulled it free on the third attempt, letting it fall to the blood-soaked field.

His stared sightless at the ground, trying to bury the revulsion of having to handle the murder weapon. He barely noticed the four carry away their friend’s corpse.

It should have been him. It should have been his blood, his life ended.

Panawr didn’t cry. If Arddun were here, she’d console him, or annoy him, which was the same as consolation.

But no thought from her reached him.

He straightened, forcing back his shoulders. He had no idea how much time had passed, only that the park had emptied of all witnesses. He tilted his head, staring up at the dark, translucent membrane which protected the caer from the sea’s wilder element.

He screamed, a wordless thought directed straight up. Nobody would hear his agony, his heartbreak, his guilt.

Life resumed in the palace. Healers treated Cynwal and Indeg for their grief. The Esteemed Eigr rallied and resumed her place upon the throne. Finally freed from the dungeon, Morfudd continued dazzling the populace.

Panawr continued to work as an Advocate, haunting the solar and barracks as he always had. He circulated through the various market squares, building upon the compliments given to him on winter solstice night. He also received commiserations and murmurs of dissatisfaction. Many remained disturbed by the manner of Trachmyr’s excecution and that it had even happened.

And Arddun? Panawr flinched away from thinking of her. He’d failed her too.

Some weeks after the execution, he stood alongside Trachmyr’s spear-mates in the Great Hall. Cynwal’s need for revenge remained unslaked. Their failure to respond to his command had come up for trial.

Again, Panawr pled for clemency, pointing out the preciousness of dreigiau môr life, the uniqueness of the command, and their close friendship with Trachmyr. :Really, you couldn’t have picked four worse people to carry out such a severe sentence. Even asking them to beat Trachmyr ap Geir would have been too much. They asked to be excluded. Why were they not heard?:

Cynwal glowered from his place at his mother’s feet. :They should have obeyed.:

Dreigiau môr crowded the Great Hall that day. So many had come to see if these four young dreigiau môr could be saved.

A disturbance at the back of the Great Hall ruffled the waters. Private conversation being forbidden with the Esteemed present, whispers quickly reached the front of the Hall.

:Is that her?: … :I thought she couldn’t walk?: … :I thought she was still unconscious?:

Panawr looked over his shoulder. The crowd parted behind him. A narrow path lay open from the large dreigiau môr sized doors to the dais. The light from outside cast the figure in the doorway into a slender silhouette.

She advanced, the light fading behind her. Yet she seemed to carry a glow of her own. Perhaps he was simply glad to see her? She walked slowly, arms slightly extended for balance.

She approached the dais, looking up at the Esteemed Eigr. Arddun’s lip held a slight curl in her otherwise expressionless, cold face. :I come seeking justice, Esteemed.: Her call rang out through the Great Hall and beyond to the rest of the caer. :I come seeking justice for myself and Trachmyr ap Geir.:

The Esteemed canted her head, confused. :Those cases have been decided, girl.:

:My attempted murder, Trachmyr’s murder. Those cases have not been decided. And if you will not render true judgement, I will make justice.:

Her even voice didn’t tremble, yet all knew her rage.

:I beg your pardon?: The Esteemed leaned forward in her chair. :Girl, do you forget to whom you speak?:

Arddun bobbed a barely discernible curtsey. :Oh, you are quite right, Eigr. It’s not ‘I will make justice’, but we will.:

Several dreigiau môr fell in behind her. Panawr recognised some as mothers and wives of the royal guards. Her father stood among them, as did other elders who had protested Trachmyr’s execution.

Panawr hid a grin. Arddun had been busy.

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