Darkdragon Clan: The Queen of Candelor Series, #7

By JoEllen Conger

The grandsons of Dowager Queen Gwyndalin are growing fast. Lugas, age 13, is assigned a tutor to prepare him for princely duties. Grayson finds a mysterious egg, which when hatched, reveals a baby dragon, which instantly bonds with the eleven-year-old. Life at Joyous Keep is filled with intrigue, marked by an invasion by strange outsiders. It's up to Gwyndalin to guide the boys toward the future roles they inherited. Will the presence of the young dragon princess put everyone in danger? Can a wizened old Druid teach Grayson the ways of the dragon clan which he is destined to lead?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613091067

Book preview

Back History: Darkdragon

This seventh book is the continuation of the saga of the 5 th century dowager, High Queen Gwyndalin of Candelore. After King Anthony the First was felled in combat, Prince Laurance del mar, the queen’s Royal Companion, has been given the Merlin’s consent to sire upon the queen an offspring, decreed necessary by the Grand Merlin, allowable by Celtic Law: In times of need to birth a royal heir, royal cousins are permitted to mate . However, by the infant’s dark head of hair, he is recognized to not be an infant sired by the king, who has golden curls. The chamberlain steals the child away from the queen’s birthing bed, giving him away as a foundling, feeling she is saving the queen from scandal.

Fifteen years later, at the games, the boy is recognized by the color of his turquoise-colored eyes. Gwyndalin, fearful that the Christ monks will kill him as a bastard, does not tell Gallagher of his royal birth. He continues to believe he is a foundling of unknown lineage.

With the queen put out of the way, the council brings in a substitute lady-wife for the king to produce a royal male heir, and the infant born to her is named Prince Anthony II of Candelore. After King Anthony the First has been accidentally killed, Gwyndalin is sought after to serve as regent to her husband’s issue, until the royal prince reaches fifteen and is deemed old enough to take up his sire’s sword, and marry his sweetheart, Princess Bodicca of Castlerald to sit as his queen.

Dowager Queen Gwyndalin is soon retired as regent and being handfasted to her Royal Companion, Prince Laurance del mar, she lives a simpler life at the Joyous Keep property granted to Laurance years earlier for his bravery in protecting the queen.

Cheryl Lain has fallen in love with Gallagher after he rescues her from the White Christ monks, who had kidnapped her and her sire, a minor king, during the Kamlaird battle.

Both their families live together at the old keep awarded to Laurance by King Anthony the first, renamed Joyous Keep. This segment of the story begins with having reached a mature age of thirty-six, Gwyndalin delights in watching her three grandchildren by her love-child with Laurance. Gallagher of Cornrow and her youngest sibling, Princess Cheryl Lain of Kamlaird, proclaim their marriage by handfasting.

Gwyndalin’s oldest grandson, Lugas, now thirteen, suddenly discovers he has a goddess-given gift...the art of hearing a story delivered, then being able to repeat it in the same voice or mannerism as it is presented. Gwyndalin watches him mature into a gifted bard, perhaps the best known. She is concerned that he hasn’t the drive to become a king’s bard, or to seek serving the unclaimed title Chieftain to the Darkdragon Clan. Lugas has but one keen interest...the colt the Laignach Faoldh, (the weremen) had saved from being killed by the wild wolves from the north.

Grayson discovers a dragon egg of old, and is the one with whom the hatchling dragon bonds. She constantly whispers into his ear, but not a soul knows what she is saying. The dragon’s language has long been forgotten. He is, however, allowed by the High King’s decree, to be Beastmaster over the only dragon known alive.

Brian, just six, silently appraises the world through thoughtful and serious eyes as he shadows his mah and mamah, hiding behind their skirts, endeavoring to understanding the world’s sense of logic.

Prince Laurance del mar manages the keep and its three levels of income...hybrid horses intended for the King’s Messengers; barreled fine wines that surpass any other brew created in the land; and more recently his cargo ships. This tale begins in the Dowager Queen Gwyndalin’s POV.

One

540AD: Brightland

Taking a moment for herself, Dowager Queen Gwyndalin of Candelore stood on the brink of the hilltop overlooking the settlement she now called home. It had been awarded to Prince Laurance del mar by King Anthony the First years ago...for having had the bravery to rescue the queen from being poisoned by the Christ monks, in her own quarters.

Gwyndalin studied the mid-morning lighting shadowing across the square sides of the stone castle keep Laurance had renamed Joyous Keep. She had never been an artist, but today the colors made her ache, feeling she had missed something important for her soul by not having followed that desire. Now the old building housed her and her youngest sister’s family. Cheryl Lain, who had companioned her while she recovered from catching an iron arrow to her chest. Housed on separate floors of the keep, her youngest sister, Princess Cheryl Lain of Kamlaird had stayed on, having fallen in love with Gallagher, the Queen’s love child.

The three-storied open-aired tower stood staunchly between her and the sea. When she had been recovering from the iron arrow, Laurance had carried her out to the tower and there had professed his love for her. It was a sweet memory. The ever-changing blue of the open sea inspired her imagination.

Beyond the intrepid canyon that led down to the tip of the bay lay the three cargo ships at anchor. Since their arrival, they had become the bane of her new life, with Laurance being drawn away from her by his intent to use the ships his brother had gifted him.

The afternoon breeze shifted, and even from this distance she could clearly hear the deck crews working, singing a lively jig as they mended their cargo nets, or scrubbed the fish scales from the planking. She stepped back beneath the dusty-green leaves that created the mottled shade under an olive tree, allowing the fallen tresses which had escaped her head kerchief to be blown in the breeze, cooling her.

Her mind continued to wander, with one hand shielding the sunlight from her eyes. She loved watching the swarms of seagulls running down the beach, lifting as a single-minded flock to take to the skies. Since the day the Merlin had handfasted her to Prince Laurance del mar of Mann Island—her appointed Royal Companion since her fourteenth natal day—she had wondered whether the Grand Merlin had thought her widowhood to High King Anthony I. had lasted quite long enough.

These days she no longer dressed the part of a ruling queen. Nor did she hold the responsibility of a bevy of ladies-in-waiting. Her only woman-companion in these more recent days was her youngest sister, Princess Cheryl Lain, who had scandalously and irrationally fallen in love with Gallagher, who was Gwyndalin’s only living child. She giggled thinking about how Cheryl Lain had pursued him until they twere finally handfasted.

There were no longer cooks-a-plenty in her kitchen; only Maddy girl, who had replaced Laurance’s original cook. The queen no longer had a bevy of laundry maids, or a scattering of other servants within the household awaiting her every whim. Even the herdsmen in the fields were his...excepting Laurance’s wranglers...and well, the surviving Laignach Faoldh, having been offered a permanent home to bury their dead, entombed in the orchard after the battle between the weremen against the wild wolves that had attacked Laurance’s herds being wintered in the hills.

She smiled to herself. Whoever would have thought I’d find a simple handfasting so satisfying? I suppose the Great Merlin must have thought so...having lived as the High King’s widow, I twere alone long enough. I have little to do here but merely watch me three grandsons growing into handsome young men. And yet...when I told Gallagher I twere the mother of his birthing, I’m not sure he truly believed me...I tried telling him he isn’t just a foundling, but of royal birth. I’m sure Gallagher thought me only telling him a Winter Solstice tale, not the story as him, as a newborn, having been snatched away by the chamberlain from me birthing bed.

I still need to convince him that when I served as high queen to the first Anthony, me...born as Princess Gwyndalin of Kamlaired, I am truly his mah, though the records show him as stillborn. I’m almost certain he thought, due to the Yule season, that I only touted of Mary’s miraculous birthing. How might he have believed? The timing wasn’t right. I should have kept silent a bit longer.

All Gallagher thinks about these days be helping Laurance make and ship our spring wine. Even having been raised by a herdsman, ye’d think the horses would catch his fancy even more...but nay. One day our people will need him to take command of the family, and serve as chieftain of the Darkdragon Clan. If I keep my words to me self, he won’t be ready. It’s been many lifetimes since anyone has thought to claim the honor of chieftain, leader of the clans. I’m sure he hasn’t thought it through...not even after I told him me story.

Do I dare mention it again? Will Gallagher’s sons become put out with me? He has been friendly enough with them, the king be not in line of the rightful bloodline to claim serving as chieftain of the Darkdragon Clan. It be Cheryl Lain and me who carry the stronger bloodline that marks the true lineage. Unless I speak up now, who will still be alive to remember? King Anthony’s mother was only a willing substitute...not even a true lady, to mother an heir unto the throne...because it twere believed by all, that I had not fulfilled me obligation to provide me Anthony with a living child.

Gwyndalin’s smile vanished. What would the goddess have me do? I must seek out Laurance’s counsel on this matter. Or better still, speak to the Grand Merlin, who is also of the Clan’s bloodline. What wisdom would he grace upon me?

Disturbed by her grim thoughts, Gwyndalin eased down the hill, calling out a greeting to the Laignach Faoldh who lay resting in the orchard by the graves of their fallen brothers. Tatter, the hunchback, bolted up to walk beside her, sharing a bit of Faoldh gossip as they traveled together. He asked after Princess Lena Marie, saying to convey his kind regards the next time Gwyndalin saw her. Since their last dangerous encounter in Candelore, the weremen had become fast friends, during the time when she had hidden Duke, who twere injured, and Tatter, within her royal Candelore quarters.

Even as Tatter circled back to rejoin his troop, Gwyn found his bit of gossip disturbing enough that she, without proper thought, made straightway toward the landing to make report to Laurance in spite of the distance.

When a helping crewman alerted Laurance of Gwyndalin’s approach, he became distracted from the pot of tar he twere heating over a small fire. Turning, Laurance leaped up and sprinted out across the sunbaked barrens to intercept her.

Lady-wife what drastic thing has happened that it drives ye to come seek me out in the heat of the day? Who be injured? Tell me! One of the boys? No? Be it Cheryl? Gwyndalin only had time to shake her head. Gallagher sprinted out into the full day’s sun with a water skin, and dragged the two of them under a canopy awning by shire force. He lifted the water skin into her hands, coaxing her to drink.

Is the new brawn ailing? Gallagher asked.

Lifting the skin, Gwyndalin drank so thirstily the water trickled across her throat and spilled down her chest. Zounds! I hadn’t realized just how far it twere from the keep. She pulled the skin to her mouth again, gulping more water.

The men waited impatiently. What has happened? they spoke at once.

Tatter said... before Gwyndalin could deliver her horrific message, she drank again. Finally, she continued. Tatter says a seafaring ship with all its deck lights snuffed, stole past the village during the night. The Faoldh fear it might be the Norsemen again, intent on making a landing upon our shore.

How did Tatter know it tweren’t a fighting ship? Laurence pressed.

Gwyndalin rolled her eyes. They could smell the animals onboard.

Well, of course they could, they be wolves by night, blurted Gallagher. They have no love for the sea gypsies who have no respect for wolves, killing them for their pelts.

Who told ye about spotting a ship? questioned Laurance.

Tatter smelled the animals on the breeze.

They had livestock aboard? Laurance looked concerned. He turned and spoke to Gallagher. Tell ye what, he began. I’m taking Gwyndalin home. Ye take either one of the other ships, and cruise down the coast a ways to make a little look-see where they have landed. Do not engage! he ordered. Just return and report to me directly what ye discover.

Ye may want to write yer instructions down for me. I’m not sure either captain will comply to make sail just on me say so, Gallagher insisted.

Laurance looked agitated. He jerked the brush out of the tar pot and scrawled his initials on a piece of shingle. Give this to one of the captains. He’ll recognize me letters.

Which ship? Gallagher questioned, poised to comply.

Either one that can leave immediately.

Consider it done, sir.

"As for ye, Lady-Wife, we’ll drop the wagon and ride Bell back to the keep. Then ye stay out of the heat, woman, till I return. Send Lugas to warn the others." He tossed Gwyndalin up, sidesaddle, onto Bell’s withers. Then, holding the leads in one hand, he vaulted up behind her, astraddle, and pulled her back against him.

What will ye be doing? Gwyndalin questioned. She realized she was no longer as young as she once was when she had ridden off to battle, but she knew that if Laurance went, she would be right beside him. Yet her unspoken voice prattled in her ear. She’d be down in the bowels of the keep, digging through the armor and airing it out. Another defiant thought came unbidden. At least I’ll be out of the hot sun! she heard her own rebellious voice declare.

She hadn’t been to war since rescuing Cheryl Lain when the White Christers strove to take over her father’s holdings, and she...her heart froze at the thought. She began to shiver, remembering having taken an iron arrow to her heart.

How far had Laurance carried me in his arms to reach the keep? Her breath wouldn’t come. She struggled to silence the sob that lodged in her throat. Tears brimmed her lashes. I couldn’t endure losing another husband. Me heart would surely burst! This time...even without a tarot reading, she feared he could be killed.

She envisioned that only Miss Molly, the house cat, would remain to cuddle her through the night. She shook her head. How long could anyone depend upon a cat for solace?  Zounds, I must keep me spirits up. Laurance has enough on his mind without me going all gollywog.

Once they reached the keep’s kitchen doorway, Laurance lowered her by slipping her down Bell’s shoulder. If we have not returned by sundown, build a blaze on the top deck of the tower to guide us home.

Aye, of course. Consider it so, me love, she answered, as he swiftly rounded Bell to return to the landing. His mind already on what needed to be done, he coaxed the draft horse into a trot, never thinking to look back to wave.

Fleetingly, Gwyndalin stood alone in the courtyard, watching the love of her life disappear down the road. Finally, when he was out of sight she raced inside.

WHEN GRAYSON CAME RUNNING with his tale of invaders, Cheryl Lain felt obligated to investigate. All the menfolk were out and about accomplishing their chores. None was within shouting distance. When Grayson described the noisy disturbance within the keep, she grabbed up a farmer’s rake and held it high like a lance. Cheryl Lain advanced upon the armory with all due caution, wondering where the guard-dog had gotten himself, when he twere needed.

Excited by the disturbance, her eleven-year-old son, Grayson, tracked behind her, absolutely thrilled that something exciting was taking place. Close behind his mother’s skirts, he had an iron grip on Brian’s small hand, although his five-year-old brother fought to break free.

The sound of the intruder was evident. Cheryl Lain poked her head in through the opened doorway of the armory, but couldn’t see much because no tapers had been lit. Yet, was unnerved to think there might be some unknown vagrant plucking through their weaponry. Hello? she called. The sound of pilfering never even paused. You come out of there this very instant, she demanded, hoping her voice hadn’t quavered.

GWYNDALIN SLOWED IN her efforts, but nonetheless continued wiping off quantities of thick dust and spider webs clotted on the weaponry...the breast plates and the long bows. And the shields. The helmets were lined up row upon row. Instinctively, Gwyn knew not to get the armored helmets out of order. The menfolk had their favorite helmets. Getting things out of order could delay their response time.

CHERYL LAIN CAREFULLY stepped into the vast grange hall, holding her weapon protectively in front of her. Following on her heels was her grandson, Grayson, not old enough to fight yet. The only task he had been put to at the moment was to mind his five-year-old brother. Instead, he whirled around his mother to body-slam the intruder. The intruder appeared to be selecting the best pieces. Grayson and the intruder crashed together, sprawling to the floor in a tangle.

Gwyndalin landed hard, but rolled away to take up a threatening stance.  She shook her head, and struggled to identify her attackers. Her grandson jumped up determined to fight it out. Identifying her attackers Gwyndalin threw up her hands. I surrender she called before the boy tied into her.

Cheryl lowered her weapon. What are you doing, Gwyn? Grayson was so sure we had an intruder. She took the cleaning rag from her sister’s hands.

Oh, Mamah, did I hurt you? squealed Grayson. I was so sure someone was stealing from us!

They have done well by yer warrior’s training, grandson, Gwyn praised. That attack twere very effective.

What are you doing in here? Cheryl Lain accused.

Gwyndalin burst into tears. I couldn’t find you in the keep, and I wanted to see that everything twere ready...should the men need this equipment. She looked around the cavern with cobwebs and dust encrusted on everything.

Cheryl Lain set her rake aside and took Gwyndalin into her arms. All right...but why? Why this? Ye have worked yerself up into a frenzy, she chided. We’ve had no warning of threat.

Gwyndalin continued to struggle to clean the stash of weapons, but Cheryl Lain out-waited her, expecting a rational explanation. She held her sister tightly until she calmed down.

Tell me why? What prompted ye to do this...now? Cheryl insisted.

"Well, Tatter said an unlit vessel sailed down the coast last night. And Laurance be sailing down the coast after it, to see if the Norsemen have come ashore somewhere taking up our precious farming land. If