War Against the Realm

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  There was one drawing on the table that caught her eye. It was a charcoal rendition of a series of passages in caves, and something about it seemed oddly familiar. Before she could put her finger on what it was, her sister’s laughter rang through the air like the tinkling of a tiny bell.

  “I can’t believe I moved a small battalion without lifting a finger!” Saris was saying. “So much power running through me…this war will be over much sooner than we had anticipated, my Lord Eerich.”

  Alarmed, Natosha hurried over to a corner of the room and quickly spread her powder around her in a circle. She reappeared in her room, her heart pounding at the thought of almost being caught. But that isn’t what bothered her the most. Saris now had a crack in the wall of her bedchamber that was a pathway leading directly to the Underworld—and to the God of the Dead’s doorstep. What were Saris and Eerich plotting?

  Chapter Seventeen: Stories of the Gods

  “Might I have a word with you, Lord Firayis?”

  The God of Dreams looked up to see a hulking figure in the doorway of the Queen’s wagon. He smiled wanly and gestured for the man to have a seat near the sleeping king. “It is nice of you to visit with me, Vyto.”

  Vyto’s face reddened and he became unsure of himself. “The honor is mine, sir.”

  Firayis looked at him intently. “You wish to speak with me about something which irks you. What is it?”

  “Your wit is unnerving, my Lord,” Vyto said, and he sat on a stool near the door.

  “Let’s dispense with the niceties, Vyto. Call me by my name, please. It sounds much more personal and I believe we are going to have a very personal conversation, are we not?”

  The hulking man clenched and unclenched his hands and pulled at his thick pony tail. “Yes, m’lord, I suppose we are.”

  The god waited patiently for the man to start. “I am listening.”

  “The dreams you bestowed upon me at a young age…were they truly necessary?”

  “Yes, they were,” Firayis responded. “I saw a little of your future here with the Lystian army and knew the dreams would help you.”

  “When I was young, my father used me for my visions. Was that part of your plan?”

  Firayis frowned. “No, it was not. I would not have wanted that to happen, yet would not have been able to stop such a subtle annoyance. It was a bad experience for you when you were young, and for that I am sorry. But now your gift has blossomed and has helped the army. You have helped your queen.”

  “I don’t know that I’m the right person to carry such a burden,” Vyto said.

  “What you call a burden is my gift,” Firayis stated firmly. “I do not give just any mortal the gift of foresight. I chose you for a reason, and that reason is that you think with a clear mind. You work things over in your mind before acting upon them. Rashness tends to evade you when it comes to decisions.”

  “I appreciate what you have tried to do for me, Firayis. However, sometimes these dreams are so real…they disturb me.”

  “I let you see things on purpose. You need not be afraid in your dreams. Let them only scare you enough to move you in the right direction.”

  Vyto chuckled, but it was utterly void of mirth. “Scare me enough to move me, eh?” He glared at the god. “So terrifying me in my sleep is your goal?”

  “It is not. I merely need someone to see what could be in the future and warn others if need be. You take this much too personally, mortal. I have not been unkind to you.”

  “I would not call the sick dream you sent my way last night ‘kind’ in any sense of the word,” Vyto growled, standing up.

  Firayis looked up sharply but kept his seat. “I sent you no dreams last night, Vyto.”

  Vyto’s eyebrows furrowed. “If you didn’t send me those dreams, then who did?”

  Firayis dared not answer. “I could not say, for I do not know.”

  “I wish you gods would quit playing games with my mind,” Vyto said. He started towards the door of the wagon.

  “Wait, Vyto. What were your dreams of?”

  Vyto answered, yet did not turn around. His tone was quiet and steady. “I dreamed that there was a stone mountain on fire, and our part in the war against Rohedon’s Realm will commence well before we fully enter his domain. I dreamt of a sky darkened by arrows, and the enemy surrounding us. And then I dreamt of holes in the ground which will swallow us, but we do not die. We will become fodder for some foul creatures I could not see.” He revolved his head around to meet the god’s eyes one last time. “We will all die.”

  Duke Byarne eased his horse up next to the Lystian Queen’s.

  “Do you think it was right leaving that woman back there?” she asked him.

  “That is for the gods to decide. Not us.”

  “I didn’t ask what the gods would think. I was asking what you think, Duke Byarne.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and rode for a moment. “I don’t think we had any other choice, milady. Your decision was sound. Do not doubt yourself…especially in front of others.”

  “Be careful, Byarne,” she replied with a smirk. “Do not mistake my curiosity of other’s opinions for self-doubt.”

  He chuckled. “You are smart with your words, young queen.”

  “My men tell me that we should be making camp just inside the Moseman Hills this evening.”

  Byarne nodded. “Yes indeed. I don’t much like the path we’re going, but I understand the need to get to Lordale faster. I feel it pulling me like a naked woman with a plate of food.”

  Silvia turned slowly to look at him and he winked at her.

  “My idea of humor, milady. Forgive me.”

  Silvia smiled and shook her head. “The more I explore this unknown world around me, the stranger it becomes.”

  A fit of coughing to her left caught her attention.

  Maura was swaying a little on her mare as she coughed into her hand.

  “Maura, are you all right?”

  The servant waved her question away. “I’m fine, Queen Silvia. Do not fret over a little cough.”

  Byarne cut in, “Do you see that hill over there? The one that looks like the top half is missing?” he asked?

  Silvia looked into the distance where he was pointing. “Yes, I see it.”

  “That’s Half-Crest Hill. On the other side of it the Moseman Hills begin.”

  Silvia’s heart sped up, though there was nothing particularly ominous about the distant hill. A small river threaded its way through a forest and went straight into the hills at an angle.

  “At least there will be fresh water to be had,” she mumbled.

  Beside her, Maura coughed again, turning her head away from her queen.

  “We should camp on this side of Half Crest Hill,” Byarne said. “I don’t think it wise to have anyone on the other side at nightfall unless it is a watchman.”

  Silvia felt uneasy about his comment. “Why do you say such things?”

  Byarne looked at her directly. “There’s a reason people do not travel through here, Your Highness, and you shall see why soon enough.”

  “More riddles,” the Lystian Queen muttered to herself.

  “My Queen!”

  The shout from behind made her halt Rituel and turn him about. General George was galloping towards her with haste. He pulled his stallion up next to hers, ignoring the way Rituel nipped at his horse when it got too close.

  “My Queen, there is something you need to see. Can we call a break for the army?”

  Silvia nodded and turned to Sir Grant. “Tell the other generals to halt for a quarter hour. We shall pick up the pace again to make our destination before night darkens the sky. Go ahead and plan perimeter guards and scouts for our camp this evening. I want only the most diligent men on alert throughout the night. Understood?”

  “Yes, milady. As you wish it, so it shall be.” Sir Grant rode off to deliver her commands.

  Silvia urged Rituel to follow George out towards the left side of the army
, shadowed by Prince Dalton, Duke Byarne, and Lord Cambry. Hans stayed behind to see to Maura, who was having another coughing fit.

  The countryside here was still relatively flat, with only the most subtle of hills here and there. At the base of one such hill, General George stopped and pointed at the ground.

  “If you could tell me what that is, it’d be appreciated. Spooked the bloody hell out of a lot of my men.”

  His finger was gesturing towards a large hole in the ground that was nearly three feet long and nearly as tall. There was no grass at the base of the hole—only an expansive patch of dirt. The hole seemed to open up out of the ground like the maw of some giant creature, leading to who knew where other than the blackness inside. A closer examination of the ground around the hole revealed all sorts of animal bones.

  And just inside the hole, half buried in the soft dirt, was a human skull.

  Silvia whipped around to face the Duke. “What is this? Is this the reason people do not travel here?”

  Byarne appeared troubled. “Yes, this is the reason, but I’ve never seen one outside of the Moseman Hills. I don’t understand why it is here.”

  “This is what you’ve been hiding from me? An animal’s cave?” she barked at him.

  He shook his head. “If only it were that easy to explain, Your Majesty. I told you before that you would see the reason soon enough…and that’s because it is difficult to explain. No one has ever seen the creatures which live in these dens in the ground. No one living, anyhow.”

  Lord Cambry spoke up. “I’ve heard tales of this place—I remember it now. My grand-mother used to tell us stories to scare us into not sneaking off in the night. She’d say the Moseman beasts would come and find us, and drag us into their underground layers.”

  “And you believed this superstition?” Dalton snorted.

  “I was young,” Cambry said with a shrug of his wide shoulders. “Every child gets a fright from such stories.” He glanced down at the hole with a dark expression. “But to find out that the stories are true is another beast entirely.”

  “Are there many more of these crevices going into the ground?” Silvia asked Duke Byarne.

  His nod was solemn. “Yes, but they were only within the Moseman Hills, last I was here several years back. They had not ever ventured out this far.”

  “Oh, whatever ‘they’ are have ventured out, all right,” George said bitterly. “We’ve found three more like this so far, though none with as many bones as this one has. The other ones are a tad smaller too.”

  “By the gods’ graces,” Byarne mumbled. “I do not like this news.”

  Silvia turned a wandering eye to their surroundings. “If there were large rocks nearby, I could close these off with my magic. But there are none that I can see.”

  “Should we set fire to a branch and throw it in to see if the beasts emerge?” George asked.

  Dalton shook his head vehemently. “We shouldn’t do that unless we’re aptly prepared to fight whatever it is inside. For all we know, they may have moved to other tunnels in the ground further back into the Moseman Hills. Do we really want to draw these things out right now?”

  Everyone turned to the queen for an answer. She stared into the hole, letting her dragon senses take over. “Whatever was here hasn’t been here in days, or I’d smell it,” she said. “Let us leave them alone for now. But be wary of them as we travel—I want no word of horses falling into these things, or of wagons and carts losing wheels trying to go over or around them. If we leave the holes alone, perhaps the beasts will leave us alone when we get to more dangerous territory. It’s worth hoping for, anyway.”

  She eyed the forest that was coming from both sides and running parallel to the Moseman Hills ahead. “Send some scouts into the woods in small groups and make sure we know if there are any holes which appear to be more used than this. Have the soldiers be vigilant…we don’t know what’s out there or if there’s anything else in the woods we should be worried about. Byarne, you had said that the other path to Lordale was frequented by indigenous tribes who were territorial, yes?”

  “Yes milady, though we may be out of their traveling range by now.”

  Silvia wrinkled her nose as a sickly sweet smell drifted out of the hole. She began backing Rituel away when a cry caught her ears.

  Sir Grant was threading his horse through the soldiers as quickly as he could, yelling at people to get out of his way. The horse’s hooves slid to a stop in front of the Dragon Queen. “My lady, we need to make camp as soon as possible. I’m afraid some of the soldiers are not looking so well.”

  “They’re probably in need of more water,” Cambry said. “Many could not drink their fill back at the pond or have lost their water satchels somewhere along the way.”

  Grant turned his horse, agitated. “I don’t think that’s what it is, but if it is, then there’s a river which seems to wind its way to where we are going. If people can drink their fill there and rest up over the night, perhaps all will be well.”

  “Very well, let’s get the army moving again and get to that fresh water. We’ll make camp there so they can have a good night’s rest tonight,” Silvia said. As they turned their horses to go back towards the front of the army, the queen reached out and tugged on Grant’s sleeve. “Why do you think it’s something other than lack of water?”

  Before he could answer, Silvia’s attention was captured by Hans, who was frantically trying to wave her over from far off.

  “Hold that thought,” she said and kicked Rituel’s sides to spur him forward. She whistled loudly and the army carved a path with enough room for her, her horse, and the men trailing behind her. She slid off the stallion smoothly as she came up to Hans, handing the reins over to a young man who was in charge of caring for the beasts of the royal entourage. With dismay, she saw that Hans stood over Maura. She rushed over and picked up her servant’s head to cradle it.

  “What happened to her, Hans?”

  The older man gazed at her in shock. “She was coughing up a storm, and fell from her horse, Your Highness. I tried to catch her, but…” His voice trailed off.

  Silvia tilted Maura’s face so that she could see it better, and immediately wished that she hadn’t. The woman’s eyes were leaking a greenish substance, as were her nose and mouth.

  Just like the woman at the pond.

  She gently lowered Maura’s head to the ground as another realization hit her: Maura was no longer breathing. A sob emerged from her throat and she reached out to put her hands on Maura’s body, summoning every magic spell she could think of. Nothing worked. Her lifetime servant and friend had passed without any goodbyes or kind words to take with her into the Underworld.

  “Aldoa, where are you?” Silvia cried out as tears fell from her eyes. “I need you—please!”

  Miles away, Aldoa’s head snapped to attention, her eyes clouding over with magic.

  “Aldoa, what is it?” Quentin asked.

  “We are too late,” she whispered. “Death is already upon them.”

  The world seemed to close in on Silvia in her sorrow. All she could see were the deep scars in the palms of Maura’s lifeless hands…scars that were sliced into her flesh as part of a vow to protect Silvia from all harm from the night she was born. This woman had been through every part of Silvia’s life, and had steadfastly stood by her side.

  And now she was gone. There had been no goodbyes, no last second life-saving gift from the gods.

  Just death, in all of its ugly beauty.

  Vaguely, she became aware of someone shaking her. The fog in her mind started to clear as she realized that Lord Cambry had her by the shoulders and was inches away from her face.

  “…to get up, milady.”

  He was speaking to her in an urgent tone yet her emotions had hold of her mind and would not let it be distracted. “My sweet Maura,” she whispered.

  A sharp pinch on her hand stirred her back to the moment and she stared in shock at the man who had just r
eleased her skin from his fingers.

  “You have to get up now, Silvia. Maura is not the only one who has gone into the realm of the dead.”