Rise of the Dragon Queen

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  “Oh, sorry,” he stuttered. “I did not think about how nasty the weather was earlier this day. All right, you asked what ails me, and it is this: Rohedon has slaughtered the Lordalens. But he is no longer satisfied with the their lives and their city. He wants to stretch his reign farther than that.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. She had thought the Lordalens were holding up a little better than that, even if they weren’t winning. How could they have been defeated already? Surely others in the palace would have known about it by now, and Zela the raven would most likely have mentioned such events…

  Dalton sighed. “A message was sent to me from my parents. Rohedon has Wexford nearly surrounded and intends to conquer them.”

  “How horrible,” Silvia whispered. She despaired for this young man, knowing it would not be long before his mother and father were slain if Lordale was already taken over. And after Wexford was taken over, who would be next? She vowed not to let it be her great city…not Darkania.

  “I must leave tomorrow morning,” he continued. “I have to lend aide to my country…my people. I cannot leave them to die.” He gazed up at the stars.

  “What does Gregorich say about this?”

  Prince Dalton laughed darkly. “Your precious king cares not, milady. He persists in saying that he can send no men with me, that he would be hard put to defend his city if he were to do so. Yet he sits here with a multitude of able-bodied men in his great city...”

  Rage flared up inside her. “If you will but wait for several days, I will send help with you.” Silvia’s heart was racing, and she only hoped that what she was saying would be coming true; there was no trust in false promises. “I will send forth an army to conquer Rohedon’s legions, and all will claim what was once his land.”

  Be careful my dear, Keelan said. I sense his anger. He was watching the prince carefully.

  Dalton spun around, his eyes lit with black flames. “Do not even joke of such things! No one can do that, and I will hear nonsense about it no more! Do you know you speak with a prince? If so, show respect while I mourn for a country that may already be lost.”

  Silvia stood up straighter. “How dare you! Do you think I would jest about the lives of thousands of people? Do you think I take it lightly when I talk of defeating Rohedon’s army? I may be young, but I am no fool girl!”

  “And just what do you think you can do?” the prince growled. But he was slightly interested, and his temper was abiding. “What is it that you know which I do not?”

  Silvia baited her hook with as much truth as she could lay out. If Dalton were to join in her cause, he would be a considerable ally. “What do I know? I know that Gregorich is one of many sons and daughters sired by Rohedon himself and that in four more days the evil lord himself will be paying a visit to Darkania.”

  Prince Dalton’s eyes glowed with hate. “How do you know he is coming here and why would he be coming to this city? And you plan on defeating him how?”

  “Dare you question so powerful a sorceress?” she asked quietly.

  Silvia, perhaps you are pushing a bit hard, Keelan said in her mind with a light tone. How do you know you can trust him with all of this information?

  “I have to,” she barely whispered.

  “You have to what?” Dalton said, looking at her funny. “And what do you mean about being a sorceress?”

  To counter his disbelief, she lifted her hands, speaking quietly in Kieluna. The prince rose off the ground nearly ten feet. His sword unsheathed itself and glided to the ground beneath him. There it stood, blade pointed into the open night air. Next she dropped Dalton until the blade slid between his legs, the sharp point just below the bulge of his black pants.

  She prayed that as she spoke to him her concentration would hold, and she wouldn’t drop him onto the blade. “Don’t ask questions. We are on the same side. If you will stay here until Rohedon arrives, I will show you his defeat. If I need any help at all, I want you to assist me. Do I have your word?”

  The young man nodded his head. “If you really can defeat him, then you have my oath: On my word and on my sword I will help you.” He did well not to look at his own sword as he spoke, and she took it as a sign of good faith. She let the weapon fall and Dalton landed on his feet a moment later, light as a feather.

  “You have my sword too, if it counts at all,” said a voice from behind her. She turned to see the stout figure of Sir Grant walking out of the shadows. “I hope you’re not angry with me for eavesdropping, but Dalton invited me here as well. I was a bit late, and I did not want to interrupt your, um, discussion. But I see this sample of your powers, sorceress, and I too am with you in word and sword. I knew there was something different about you!” He chuckled and bowed. “What are we to do first?”

  “One moment,” Dalton said, looking at Silvia. “We have indeed seen a sample of your powers milady, but that does not mean that you can come anywhere close to defeating Rohedon. I mean no offense, it’s just…”

  “I understand what you are trying to say, dear prince. A little bit of proof does not necessarily go a long way, especially when it comes to magic. I can only say that I am going to try and that I have a decent chance at coming out on top. And as for your loyalties, they are much appreciated and will be rewarded in time.” She turned to Sir Grant. “The first thing we need to do is save the homeless.”

  “Be careful, Lady Serena, for I am about to tell you that you sound like a typical woman,” he said with a grin.

  “I am not your typical woman, so we shall set all of that ranting and raving aside.” Her smile vanished quickly. “Gregorich is planning to send all of the homeless to war. That includes all the men, women, and children.”

  “That’s preposterous!” Grant exclaimed. “Who would use children in a war? Certainly not the Lordalens—even in their greatest hour of need they would do no such thing. And women are rarely used in battle.”

  “The children would be used as food for creatures called Battle Eaters. As for the women, they wouldn’t be fighting for the Lordalens,” said Silvia softly. “They would be fighting for Rohedon.”

  “Must have missed that part,” Sir Grant said in a puzzled tone.

  “I have found out some disturbing news,” Silvia stated. She glanced at Dalton. “I had someone spy on the King last night, Sir Grant, and Gregorich claimed Rohedon as his father…He is to send off men to fight for Rohedon in two days’ time, so we must get the homeless out of his reach. If he doesn’t know where they are, he cannot send them away and his father will not have more soldiers. But where could we hide them? I do not know this city well enough to say that anywhere is safe for them. There can’t be a lot of places to hide a large group of people.” Her shoulders slumped.

  “There is an old temple on the southeast side of the city,” said Sir Grant. “I remember it from my last visit here. It could serve as a temporary hold for them.”

  “What was worshiped there?” asked Dalton.

  “I am not certain. It was over twelve decades ago when it was abandoned.”

  “Well, let’s saddle up some horses and ride to what is left of the shelter and collect the homeless,” Silvia said. “I won’t let him do harm to anymore of my people.”

  Silvia, say no more! Keelan said. He growled for emphasis.

  But it was too late. “Your people?” said Grant. “How do you mean?”

  Silvia had realized her mistake, but didn’t feel like covering for it; she was tired of hiding. “In a few days’ time you shall see. Until then, speak not a word of this to anyone, or it will be our necks on the cutting block. Now, if you would be so kind as to prepare three horses, I will go and change into my riding skirts.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Dalton.

  “All right, then I shall ride side-saddle in my dress. We need to go before someone notices all of us are gone.”

  Dalton shook his head. “It will look questionable if you were to go trolloping around on a horse so late at night.”
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  “He is right milady,” Grant agreed. “He and I can handle the situation ourselves. You go on and rest, Lady Serena.”

  She nodded at them both, knowing they were in the right. Why was she saying such hair-brained things? She was going to walk off a cliff before she knew it was there if she was not more scrupulous. “Goodnight, gentlemen. Let me know tomorrow how everything went.”

  She turned and walked away. On the way back to her chambers, she remembered the secret key still in one of the hidden pockets of her dress, and she went instead to the locked room on the third floor. She peered around for signs of anyone coming, and quickly unlocked the room. She shut the door behind her and breathed in the musty smell of the storage room. She let her eyes adjust to the darkness and started to walk around the room. She stared at the paintings of her family, and touched their faces tenderly, tears flowing from her eyes. Finally she sighed, resigning to come back as soon as Gregorich was off the throne so that she could see the room without worry that it would land her in a dungeon cell.

  Half an hour after they left Lady Serena, the prince and Sir Grant approached the charred remains of the homeless shelter cautiously. The wood had not stopped giving off a burnt stench that singed their nostrils, as if someone had tried to re-ignite the ruined wood several times. The building had been quite large when it had been standing, and had left a lot of debris. Burned furniture and debris littered the dirt.

  “Who goes there?” called a deep bass voice from the surrounding darkness.

  “No one, until we learn your name,” yelled Sir Grant in a gruff, no nonsense tone.

  A man appeared out of the shadows nearby. He was short and slim and his voice was grave. “I am called Gordon. My sister, Lita, and I run the shelter…or ran the shelter when there was one to run.”

  “I am Prince Dalton of Wexford, and this is Sir Grant of Crider.”

  Gordon looked surprised, but undaunted. “And what is your business here? Royalty has no place in such a part of the city. If you wish to burn us down, you will have to wait a while until we build the shelter again.”

  “We could care less about this shelter,” said Grant.

  “Then speak your business and depart,” Gordon spat unkindly.

  “Our business is the safekeeping of the lives of yourself and the rest of the homeless,” answered Dalton. “The King has given all of you to Lord Rohedon to fight on his side of the war. All of the homeless, even the children, shall be marched off in two days.”

  “I know Gregorich Hapshamin has no love for people who pay him no taxes, but I cannot see him selling us to that evil man!” Gordon said incredulously. “And no one would be fool enough to send children into any war!”

  “Oh, he didn’t sell you to Rohedon, lad. He gave you away as if you were a herd of sick cattle,” said Sir Grant. “And he did it because Rohedon is Hapshamin’s father. And you don’t even want to know what will happen to the children.”

  The thin man shook his head in shock and despair. “If this is true, what are we supposed to do? I have nowhere to take these people where Gregorich won’t find us. And the whole city is in danger if that bastard on the throne is in with a man known for his love of blood and battles.”

  “We know of a place that you may stay in for the next couple of days. After that, you shouldn’t need to worry about being in danger when you come back,” Dalton informed him. “We will find you the help you need.”

  “Why are you helping us?”

  Sir Grant slid off his horse. “Because you have a friend in the King’s palace, Gordon. She whispered to us in a secret meeting that Gregorich had plans for you. She sent us to help you escape, so we have come to take you to a safe haven.”

  “Who is this blessed woman you speak of?” asked Gordon.

  “Lady Serena of Alwak,” replied Grant. “But you may call her your savior.”

  Quentin appeared to the King as soon as Silvia had left the room. He materialized behind Motilda’s hanging form as King Zacharias. Stepping into the light of the torch, he relished the look of horror on Gregorich’s face. He glared at him with what he hoped looked like pure malice. “Your reign of lies is about to end, you fool. Soon the Darkanians will have a new leader and it won’t be a child of Rohedon,” he said in a voice much deeper than his own.

  Gregorich’s eyes had widened considerably. “Y-you’re just in my imagination,” he stammered. “You cannot be real—you’re dead!”

  “I am real enough, and so are my warnings. Beware of your doom.”

  Quentin willed himself to disappear and left the cowardly king quivering with fright. He hoped what he had said was enough to put Gregorich on the edge of insanity, but it was almost too much too hope for. For some people, a scene from the past would mean so much more, but he wasn’t sure how far Gregorich could be pushed before fighting back.

  When Silvia had bath water brought into her room, she and Keelan took a nice, private bath. They were discussing all of the mistakes she had made in her meeting with Prince Dalton and Sir Grant, and how events would turn out in the end of things.

  “I only hope they are able to protect the homeless,” Silvia said. “Innocent lives shouldn’t be given away like that. It is cruel, and…What’s this?” Her fingernail was tracing a large scar on his back. It nearly looked like a picture, for it was round and appeared to have a small, four-legged animal with a bushy tail and a slender snout. Or were her eyes playing tricks on her tired mind?

  Keelan glanced over his shoulder at her and shrugged. “It is how I came to be able to change.” He told her the story of his first encounter with Zander. When he finished, he realized Silvia was grabbing for the towel outside of the tub. She picked it up and he moved aside so that she could exit the tub. Her lips were moving a little, as if she were speaking to herself in an internal conversation. “What is the matter?” He saw that her eyes were distant and glazed as she toweled herself off. He stood up, and took the towel as she finished drying off and got out himself. “Silvia, will you speak with me?”

  Her green eyes began to move around, a whisper coming from her parted lips. “The carving on the stone pot beneath my parents’ statue in the courtyard, the one that shows my birth…It showed a dragon being born instead of a child.”

  Keelan became confused. He was also getting chills, but did not want to speak for fear that she would lose her line of thought.

  “And then,” she continued, “in my mother’s diary, she said she had dreams right before I was born of a dragon…of me being a dragon.” A smile placed itself gently on her lips and it seemed to bring her out of whatever reverie she was in. “That is the answer!”

  He was now more than bewildered and getting on the verge of frustration. “What are you talking about, woman of mine? Are you suggesting that we find a live dragon to scare Gregorich off the throne? That will be a rather daunting task, as there are none left on this side of the Great Water. Remember they vowed not to return until the Parent Gods were recovered.”

  Her gaze fell upon him with sweetness. “Do you not see? It is a sign of my fate! It was in Mother’s dreams, was carved in stone, and now the mark on your back makes everything clear. Tomorrow morning I shall ride to Zander’s and ask him to make me a special coin—like the one he branded you with—only mine will be a dragon!”

  Keelan looked at her strangely, his eyebrows arched. “My dear, are you feeling alright?”

  Chapter Thirteen—The Special One is Called

  Quentin now flew like the wind to Zander’s home in the shape of a horse he had killed long ago. Strange how he was no longer uncomfortable using the white cloak to shape-change; in fact, he was beginning to be grateful for the unique abilities it offered and was more than glad that they would help to get Silvia in her rightful place. He could not wait to see her on her throne, ruling the people she had been born to rule nineteen years ago. Finally, he would do something that was for the good of someone else. Maybe peace would be in his future after all.

  The stre
ets of Darkania were deserted, allowing him to move quickly and unseen. When he at last arrived at the old man’s home, he saw that the windows were shut against the cool night and he wasn’t sure if anyone was awake. His horse’s coat quivered from the run, and he helped himself from a pail of water near the small pen at the barn. When he turned to face the tiny cottage again, his white robe had returned, along with his human form. He threw back the hood of the cloak and walked up the steps of the porch. His hand trembled a little as he knocked softly.

  Zander opened the door a moment later, his face flushed from drinking. “Quentin! Come in my lad!” He moved out of the way so the young man could enter and saw that many candles were still lit about the little house. “I would have prepared some hot tea, had I known you were coming tonight—I thought maybe tomorrow at the soonest. You said nothing when I spoke to you earlier.” He fingered his stone, and winked at Quentin.