He bowed and did just that, returning in minutes with a satchel of the cold water.
“Watch over her,” Silvia ordered George, and she stalked off towards the carriage, eager to get this out of the way.
Dalton and Cambry hurried after her.
“You know you’re not going in there alone, don’t you?” Dalton said as they caught up with her. His hand was resting on his sword.
“I figured as much,” she sighed. “Come on then. We need to get moving soon.”
They stepped up and into the wagon. Firayis sat with the king, staring at his silent figure. Keelan had been changed back to his human form sometime during the day, and lay sweating in his sleep.
“You mean for me to wake him,” Firayis said, glancing at the water satchel. “But his sleep is deep.”
“He needs water,” Silvia said. “Let him replenish with some water and he can go back to sleep.”
Firayis smiled sadly. “He cannot be put back to sleep for a while after I wake him. Are you sure this is what you want?”
She nodded her head. “Yes, please.”
“Little mortal, I have great respect for you and so you have earned my honesty. Your husband has a sickness which I think even Aldoa cannot heal. Rohedon’s women may have done permanent damage with their drepsam.”
Tears sprung up in her eyes, and she blinked hastily to make them disappear. “How do you mean, my Lord?”
“I believe they used an excessive amount, my dear. The resulting impairment may very well be irreversible.”
Silvia did not hold back the tears when they erupted from her eyes this time. She sat next to her husband on the cot inside the wagon, and reached over to dab his brow with a cloth lying on the table beside him. It was one thing to hear Lord Cambry say such things, but to hear it from the mouth of a god was another story. Her heart grew heavier as she stared down at him.
Cambry cleared his throat. “Lord Firayis, what sort of impairment is it? What’s happened to him, exactly? I mean, I think I know, but you’re more knowledgeable than any of us could ever hope to be.”
The God of Dreams turned his starry gaze upon the man from Jevelas. “His mind has been poisoned by their magic. Imagine having two people inside one body and both of them are fighting to be in control, yet do not know it. The magic has ruined parts of him that may not be able to be retrieved. He is, for lack of a better term, unstable and quite dangerous. There is no telling what his mind will tell him to do, or who he feels like he should hurt. He is completely unaware of all that is going on inside and reality is blurred by the powder’s poison. I’m not sure he would be able to tell reality from delusion.” The god sighed, heavily vexed by the man lying prone before him. “If I wake him, Your Majesty, he should not be left unguarded. In fact…I would go so far as to keep him bound.”
“Bound?” Silvia looked up sharply, and the look on her faced pierced the heart of each man in the tent, as well as the god. “But there is still hope that Aldoa can save him…yes?”
Firayis opened his mouth to respond, but ended up shaking his head.
“I cannot show my people their king as a bound man!” she said through her pain. “They will see him for what he is not: weak and criminal! I will not have this. There must be some other way.”
“Queen Silvia, if there were any better news to give, please trust that I would give it. With my powers I can keep him resting until you reach Lordale, and his health will not worsen. Is that what you wish?”
She sniffled and asked, “You give your word that he will survive without food and water, and will rest easily until we get there? He won’t…he won’t die?”
Firayis stood and bowed low to the queen. “I give my word that this is so. His health will be the same as it is now, and I will watch over his sleeping body with my own eyes as much as I can. If that is what you wish, of course. If you’d like me to wake him at any time, you have only to give the command. But you must understand that I cannot guarantee the consequences of doing such a thing.”
Silence fell as Silvia contemplated their predicament. “Keep him sleeping,” she finally whispered. Leaning over, she placed a kiss upon his lips and he smiled in his sleep.
As the group exited the tent in melancholy fashion they were met by Stefan. “General George instructed me to come and inform you that there is something amiss with the woman at the cottage, Your Highness.”
“Has something happened?” she asked.
He shrugged, unsure of how to answer, and she signaled for him to lead the way.
The old woman was in the same position she’d been in since they’d arrived. An eerie feeling followed Silvia onto the porch. She walked over to the woman, whose breaths were shallower than before.
“Look at her face, milady,” said one of the Royal Guards who stood nearby.
Silvia squatted down, careful to remain in a position where she could move quickly, if needed. As she did so, the woman’s face came into view. Silvia gasped and nearly fell backwards.
The woman was looking right at her.
Silvia gathered her composure quickly and said, “Madam, we have taken much of your water to sustain ourselves. The supply is low, but will rebound soon.”
The old woman’s eyes narrowed at her, and then flicked over to the now muddy stream. She said nothing, but the look on her face was a strange one. Silvia noticed how red and puffy her eyes were, and that there were globs of a green mucus-like substance caked around the lids and folded up in piles around her nostrils.
“She’s sick.” Silvia frowned, backing away a little.
The woman kept moving her eyes from Silvia to the water, and back. She wheezed and opened her mouth as if to say something, but only brownish-green saliva came out.
“Your Highness, perhaps you should not be so close.” Sir Grant stepped up beside the queen.
“Yes, you’re right,” Silvia mumbled. “I do not think any of us should be close to her. Ready the army. We’re moving out now.”
“But what of the woman?” Stefan asked uncertainly. “Surely she is ill and needs help.”
“I am not sure what it is that she needs,” replied the queen, “but no doubt it is something which we cannot provide. I know of no spells which would help her.”
“So we’re just going to leave her here?”
Silvia looked at him sharply. “What else do you expect us to do? If she has something which is infectious it would spread through our entire army and kill us all. I am sure you would not wish that, Stefan.”
“No, Your Highness,” he responded rapidly, bowing his head.
“Then let’s move out.”
The Guard gave one last look at the old woman, who was staring at him and Queen Silvia, then went to deliver the Queen’s orders.
Emaree was fatigued. Between Aldoa’s endless questions about the other goddess and the traveling, she was beat. It had taken them hours to get all of the horses back after the earth moved, which had put them behind. Instead of meeting up with the Lystian Queen’s army that morning, they would most likely see them that evening, if all went well.
She snuck a peek at Quentin. He had been unusually silent since the night before, and kept fingering the gorgeous blue sapphires strung around his neck as he rode deep in thought. He had, however, expressed regret at asking her if her sister-wives had visited with her. She’d brushed it off, and told him she understood why he’d said what he did. She assured him that since she was out from under their wicked captivity, there would be no going back—ever. He seemed satisfied by this, and said no more.
Her fingers traced the bracelet on her wrist as she sat atop her mare, staring forward into the distance. It took her a moment before she realized what she saw before them.
“Quentin, look—it’s a giant cornfield.”
The white-haired man snapped to attention. “Good eye, Emaree. From the looks of the ground here, the army most definitely travelled this way.”
Half an hour later they were heading towards a quai
nt little cottage. Next to it was a pond which had been recently drained; one could tell by the dampness of the mud and all of the footprints hoof prints around the whole area. Quentin was positive it had been their army. His eyes were drawn to the porch, where a figure was lying on the old floorboards. He called for a halt and rode ahead. Dismounting, he walked up to the porch and looked through the railing at the body. It was that of an aged woman, with something nasty and crusty all over her face. He made a face and watched her very closely, determining that she had passed into the world of the dead.
“Step away from her.”
Quentin moved back, glancing at Emaree. “What’s wrong with her?”
The witch shook her head. “I am not certain, but I could swear that I feel Saris’ magic lingering here.”
“The old woman died of magic?” he asked.
Aldoa rode forward and dismounted near the pond. “No,” she answered in Emaree’s place. “Not directly, anyhow.”
Quentin and Emaree led their horses over to the water.
“Do not let your beasts drink,” said the goddess. “This water…it’s been soured with magic. Poisoned, if you will.” She stepped into the water at the protest of Quentin. “I am the Goddess of the Waters, child,” she scolded him kindly. “This water will not kill me, but it needs to be fixed.”
She stood in the shallow water silently, with the liquid and mud only coming up to the shins of her robes as her feet sunk into the mud. Her long gray and white hair fluttered in the breeze and her eyes were glowing white. A scowl formed upon her face.
“This magic is not just Saris’ magic. It has a touch of something much darker…much stronger.” Her eyes returned to normal and she looked at them. “You may let your horses drink now, though there is not much. I have cured the waters. It is unfortunate that we did not get here in time for me to help yonder woman.” She nodded her head at the body.
Emaree felt as though heavy stones had been dropped into her stomach. “Saris made her drink the water to ensure her silence when the army rode through, didn’t she?”
Aldoa said nothing, but the silence echoed her answer.
Emaree’s eyes went to all of the hoof prints and boot prints around the pond and the small waterwheel as she led her horse to water. “Quentin, how far behind them are we?”
“We are not close enough,” he said dryly. His face had paled considerably as he stared at the ground; no doubt they were all thinking the same thing. “Water the horses and let’s ride like the Dark Moon is about to fall upon us. If that woman is any indication, the army could be dead by the time we reach them.”
Aldoa exited the water solemnly. “Let us hope that is not the way this will turn out. Make haste, young mortals.”
“Sir, there is something I which you need to be made aware of.” An older man with a scar upon his freckled lips had come trotting up to them. “It appears we have a stowaway amongst us.”
Quentin frowned. “A stowaway?”
The man nodded fervently as another soldier walked up behind him with a young lad. “We found him in one of the carts that was hauling the food. Looks like he’s laid to waste a bit of our supplies whilst hiding away.”
The young child was no more than seven or so, and peered up at Quentin with stoic eyes. His brown hair was filthy, and his clothes mottled with food stains from where he’d been hiding.
“Why are you here, boy?” Quentin said gruffly.
The child stared at his hair with a trace of a smile. “I want to see what the fight will look like, sir.”
“Damn this war,” the king’s brother growled, looking around angrily. He turned back to the boy. “Where are your mother and father?”
“My mother is dead, and my father went with your queen. I’m going to watch him fight!” he said with excitement.
Quentin wiped his face slowly with his hand and glanced at Aldoa and Emaree. “Just what we need to add to our troubles.”
Saris had yet to return. Clea and Natosha paced the floor of the dining hall apprehensively.
“And you are unable to use your mirror to see where she is now?” Clea asked for the second time.
Natosha sighed. “No, Clea. When all of the pieces went back together, a couple of large pieces were still missing. Without those, the mirror simply will not work. We could use the drepsam, but I don’t think it’d be a good idea to pop up on her without warning after what you’ve told me about her spontaneous rendezvous with you-know-who.”
“What good does the mirror do us now? You should destroy the rest of it,” Clea muttered. She turned into a grouch when she did not get her way...and when she was frightened.
“Shall we focus on other things than a broken mirror?” Natosha griped back.
“Well how else will we know where she is, or what she’s doing?”
“We simply don’t. There’s no way we could appear without her being suspicious of our suspicions.”
“A simple tale made up about a servant doing something wicked, or an important idea or question about the war would be a sufficient reason for trying to find her,” Clea suggested.
“Yes, well, let me know when you come up with something that doesn’t sound like a made-up story.” Natosha absentmindedly rubbed her growing belly with one hand and picked up a hunk of white cheese that was sitting on a plate at the table. “She’s doing something against us, Clea. I have no clue why or what it is, but I feel it in my bones. My magic has been so faulty as of late too…makes me wonder if it’s connected to whatever she’s doing.”
“I do not disagree with you, sister-wife. However, while I do not trust her completely right now, we are in the middle of a war. Is it prudent to fight with your allies in the middle of a war?”
Natosha looked at her sadly. “It is if your allies are turning into enemies.” She thought of her sister giving her a truth potion the night before. Had she gotten the answers she wished to hear? She was ashamed that Saris now knew that Natosha was developing an attachment to the Lystian King…something Natosha hadn’t even known herself. “If she is not back by morning we shall both use the powder to go and find her. We will use the pretense of being worried. As for now, let us retire to our rooms and get some rest.”
They left the dining hall and soon Clea went down a different corridor to her chambers, leaving Natosha alone. The brunette changed her course, and went straight to Saris’ chambers instead of her own. She knocked first on the off chance that her sister had returned. Upon hearing nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat, she opened the door and entered the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
The giant rip in the wall sat like a hulking shadow, mocking her and luring her at the same time. Seeing Saris’ bowl of drepsam on the fireplace mantel, she scooped some of it into a tiny pocket sewn into her thin skirt. Eyeing the black rift, she moved closer, noticing the dry heat emanating from it. A bad feeling pulled at her and she bit her lip, unsure of what she was doing. Resolve hardened her and she slipped into the crack, rotating her body to the side a little so that she could move more easily. The crevice was dark, save for tiny orange glowing lines in the rock which seemed to lead the way; to where, she did not know. The lines were faint, but grew brighter as she made her way along. No rocks or pebbles littered the floor, and her footing was unhindered. Up ahead, the tunnel broadened and the walls now glowed with the light from flickering flames.
Sweat puckered on her brow and her palms felt clammy. Natosha swallowed nervously as she neared the end of the odd tunnel in the mountain. In the tunnel ahead of her came a glow—an ominous red that flickered and pulsed as though it had its own heartbeat. She came out into a massive bedchamber. To her right she could see a raging inferno in a fireplace that she could have walked into and jumped in—it was that tall. Taking a quick glance around to make sure no one was coming, she slowly walked inside the room.
Massive, she quickly realized, was an understatement when it came to the room. Everything in it was larger than normal and quite extrava
gant. She eyed the bed made of stone and thin blankets atop of what she assumed to be feather-stuffed bedding against the far wall, and a sitting area directly on the curve of wall to the left of it. The enormous fireplace was decorated with horrid masks that went all the way to the ceiling. On the left and against the walls surrounding the crevice she had walked through, was the biggest book collection she had ever seen—stretching past her vision as it went towards the unseen darkness of the ceiling.
A crackle made her jump, and she saw that there was a smaller archway on the other side of the bookshelves along the wall. She made her way over to it, cautiously eyeing the entrance to the room, which was tall and wide. The ante-chamber appeared to be a study of some sort, with books and papers strewn about a large table amidst maps and sketches. More bookcases lined the walls here, and the fire in this room was much smaller than the one in the room beside it. Two other desks were set between the bookcases on opposite walls. She walked by these, shuffling through some of the papers, but seeing a lot of things written in other languages that she did not understand. Turning, she went to the table in the middle of the room, trying to peer at the papers without moving them this time; it was obvious from the lack of dust and the dull bottle of fresh ink that this table was used much more often, and the movement of documents and books would be noticed.
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