War Against the Realm

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  The Hound reared up on its hind legs and adjusted its balance to look its opponent eye-to-eye. A thick glob of saliva dripped from one side of its mouth. The swarms of moving souls on its chest suddenly seemed to reach out towards Cambry, climbing over one another to make a sort of ladder. They quickly stretched to the point of nearly touching him, and he jumped back out of their reach. A sword cut through the air in front of him, slicing through the souls. As the souls were carved through, they darkened to black and dissipated into ashes.

  Cambry looked at Silvia, still holding the sword that had helped him, and nodded.

  The beast roared as though the swift dismemberment of the souls from its body had hurt and returned to having all four paws on the ground. Even though it was much lower now, it still stood as tall as Cambry’s waist. Cambry tried to keep Silvia in his peripheral view, but she moved around so much that it was hard to stay between her and the beast which craved her soul.

  The rest of the Wyld men encircling them were disposed of and Cambry had to do a delicate balancing act of not tripping over their bodies as the Hound still tried to go around him. The God of War began circling the beast as well, joined by Sir Grant and the King’s brother. Together, they kept the creature from getting any nearer to Silvia, who had Dalton at her side to protect her. The Queen watched the dance of death, unsure of how she could help. Geldin fired two quick arrows into the beast, but they barely seemed to graze its crawling flesh. It snarled in response and kicked out one of its hind legs, catching the god on his shin guard and slicing it open. Geldin merely flinched, but didn’t back down.

  “Aim for its legs just behind the paw,” Geldin said calmly. “It’s the only weak spot that will slow him down, unless one of you wants to get close enough to take out all of its eyes.”

  “Not bloody likely,” Sir Grant muttered, taking a jab at the beast. His movement was cut short as it turned its head towards him.

  Those damn eyes saw everything from every direction. But the men all saw one thing clearly: it always had an eye on Silvia, and each time an opening came up, it would dart towards her before being blocked again.

  “Well, well, well,” said a voice nearby.

  A woman had appeared behind the group enclosing the beast. Her long blond hair hung in beautiful curls down to her waist and framed a face that would have caught any man’s attention. Her green dress was form-fitting and cut so low in the front that it was a wonder to all that she did not completely expose herself.

  “All of these strapping young men trying to play with an animal…is this normally how you amuse yourselves?”

  Quentin threw a dark expression towards her. “Save your words for someone who may better heed them, for they are infected with the vilest of venoms…witch.”

  His last word caught Cambry’s ear and he scowled. “One of Rohedon’s enchantresses, are you?” He thought he had seen her before, but with different hair.

  The blonde woman frowned, yet her face retained its sultry beauty. “I am afraid he can no longer claim me, little warrior.”

  “Little?” Cambry said incredulously, for he towered above the woman by over a head.

  The woman peered at Quentin closely. “How do you know me, white-haired one?”

  Quentin let out a chuckle, though it lacked mirth. “I have walked the halls of your mountain and escaped,” he said. His body melted into the visage of Mirelda, and then back to his normal form. “And trust me when I say that I will return to help finish the rest of you witches off. I regret not doing it whilst I was there.”

  She hissed. “I know who you are! The lost little puppy which follows the Lystian Royals as though your very life depended upon their existence. Such a pathetic excuse for a man.”

  “Your version of ‘pathetic’ sounds like my interpretation of ‘loyal’,” he retorted.

  “She is using her words to stir you up,” Grant said. “Beware of her.”

  The Hound of Death seemed soothed by her voice and sat on its haunches as though it were waiting for a fight to start betwixt them.

  The witch turned around to gaze disinterestedly at the scattered army behind her, shaking her head. “Your men are not well-trained. How do you expect to defeat me if your army is dead before you get near my mountain?”

  “Let me run my blade through you so you don’t have to worry about that,” Silvia called out to her defiantly.

  “And the Dead Queen speaks.” The woman clucked her tongue, turning to take Silvia in from where she stood. “What a pretty young thing you are…it must burn knowing that your husband’s seed grows within my sister.”

  Silvia’s face reddened, for there were still many soldiers around them. She hoped fervently that they were still too fixated on the battle and weren’t paying attention to the witch. “It must be shameful for your sister to not be able to take a man without spelling him first.”

  All around them, a loud chuckle boomed out of the thin air. Behind the witch, a tall red-bearded man appeared. He put his hand around the woman’s waist, and many of the soldiers in her army now turned to stare at the newcomers. “Saris, are these mortals causing you problems?”

  Geldin began to glow with a strange gray and green light; his face bore an angry countenance. “Eerich, go back to your hole under the ground. Let this witch pay the price for her sins.”

  Eerich stepped up to stand beside Saris, his face amused. “Are all of the gods coming out to play then?” His smile sent chills up many spines.

  “I do not play.” Geldin stood his ground fiercely. The glow around him brightened.

  Eerich’s amusement vanished. “Neither do I,” he growled.

  Suddenly, the Hound of the Dead coiled and sprung into the air. Its body soared over Quentin and Cambry as it aimed itself for the Lystian Queen.

  Prince Dalton threw down his sword and roared as his body transformed into a magnificent black dragon. He wrapped his thick, leathery wings around the queen and hunkered down over her as the beast landed on his back. The Hound was heavy and started to slide off; it buried its claws into Dalton’s scaly back, drawing blood-oozing gashes between the scales as it slid down to the ground. Before it could launch another attack, Cambry ran towards the Hound and dropped into a slide, his blade held sideways as it sliced through the back of both of the Hound’s hind legs, severing them above the paw.

  The beast howled in pain and tried to paw at Lord Cambry as it shifted its mass away from the black dragon hulking behind it. Cambry rolled out of the way with ease and stood to look back.

  With a roar of immense rage, the God of the Dead faded into thin air, the witch fading with him.

  Geldin and Sir Grant were edging closer to the death throes of the beast; those nearby in the army turned to stare at the Hound as its cries of pain worsened. The souls that had for centuries been damned to crawl upon its body were turning a dark red. Soon, that red turned to black as though they were rotting away before the group’s very eyes. The Hound tried to drag itself away, unable to stand on its crippled legs, yet still attempting to escape. Cambry hefted his sword in his hands, tightened his grip, and swung with all his might at the back of the beast’s head.

  The Hound’s screech was cut off as its head rolled onto the ground with a sickening thud.

  The ground shook just below the dead creature, and a fire sprang up to engulf it. Cambry jumped back, falling onto his backside as he sought to get further away. In the fire, the God of the Dead could be seen kneeling at the Hound’s body, his head bowed. Seconds later, the fire, the body, and the god had faded away, leaving only a scorched patch of earth where the beast had lain.

  The Hound of the Dead was no more.

  Geldin’s glow diminished until he was normal again, or as normal as a god could be among mortals. As one, they turned to the giant black dragon that was beginning to move. It slowly changed back into the Prince of Wexford. He unwound his arms from the Lystian queen and sat back on his haunches to behold her.

  She was unharmed, but couldn�
��t stop staring at the prince. He met her eyes, and something seemed to pass between them. She began to reach out to him but he fell to the side. Silvia saw his back and gasped: the man barely had any skin left.

  “By the gods, help him!” she cried.

  “You called?”

  The Queen looked up to see none other than the Goddess of Healing, resplendent in her long white robes.

  “Help him…please,” Silvia whispered.

  The goddess knelt down, frowning at all of the gashes. It looked as though someone had ripped giant lines into his skin with a thick, sharp blade. Aldoa placed her hands upon him and her eyes immediately started glowing white. Several long minutes passed before anyone could see that his skin was ever-so-slowly repairing itself. The skin wove its way across the gashes as the muscles beneath magically sewed themselves back together flawlessly. Soon enough there were only long pink scars in place of the wounds.

  Exhausted, Aldoa stood and looked at the others. “He shall be fine. No organs were affected. Carry him to the wagon and let him sleep out of the way of the sun’s rays next to the Lystian King.”

  A sigh of relief rippled through the Queen’s entourage.

  A sharp look from the goddess pierced Silvia. “You have used too much magic to be of any use without rest, Your Highness. Perhaps you should retire to the wagon as well.”

  Silvia nodded and she realized how tired to the core she was. Quentin helped her up as Cambry and Geldin transported the Prince of Wexford to the black wagon. Lord Firayis rose so that the prince could be laid upon the bench lining that side of the wagon. King Keelan, blissfully unaware of all the goings-on, snored softly in his sleep on the other side. Firayis helped Quentin scoot the king over so that the queen could lie next to him to rest. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow; Firayis made sure of it.

  The God of Dreams stared solemnly at Geldin. “How does it look outside?”

  Geldin held his gaze and gave a slight shake of his head. “We have a lot to bury.”

  Firayis touched Quentin’s arm. “Can you watch over them while I help?”

  The white-robed man nodded, sitting down on a stool near the back where he could see all three people easily.

  The gods exited the wagon, and walked into the devastation of the army outside.

  With their godly strengths, Firayis and Geldin, amongst dozens of the mortals who still had the strength, dug a trench along one side of the army. A steady procession of men and women shuffled back and forth, weighed down by the bodies of the dead. The atmosphere was a solemn one, and the shock and grief of all that had happened in such a short time quickly took its toll among the soldiers. The bodies of the Wyld were piled atop one another and set aflame, along with the beasts of burden who had succumbed to the tainted water of the pond. No one dared to risk eating the meat for fear of further contamination. As the evening fast approached, the surviving generals met with Lord Geldin and Sir Grant.

  “We need to move to a safer location to rest for the night,” Stefan said. “I don’t trust these woods flanking us on either side.”

  Sir Grant nodded towards Half-Crest Hill. “Let’s get everyone moved over there. No one should be left behind except for those who are no longer living. Do you agree, my Lord?”

  Geldin was peering into the distance towards Moseman Hills. He had heard the stories of what lived there, but it was their only option to rest safely for the night. If they could make it through the night without being disturbed (or without disturbing something), then they would be okay. They could pass through the area in one day if they rose early enough in the morning. The quicker they traveled through that land, the better.

  “Yes,” he said absentmindedly. “Yes, I agree. But you know the stories which circulate about this place. I want everyone to be as quiet as possible traveling over there, and no fires can be lit this night. The bonfires over here should be far enough away to not make a difference; I wouldn’t trust any that are close to the Moseman Hills. Make sure this is understood by all of the soldiers or they may not live to see the morning.”

  Stefan bowed and took off with haste. Sir Grant sidled up to the god and followed his gaze.

  “What is out there?”

  “You don’t want to know,” Geldin answered. “I’m not even sure that I want to know.”

  “Let us hope this night passes in peace. The men have been through trouble aplenty today.”

  Geldin nodded in agreement.

  “Lord Geldin?”

  Cambry approached them. His clothes were dirtier and more torn up than they had been previously, and he was covered in bruises and scrapes.

  Geldin turned to face him. “I watched you fight, young man.”

  Lord Cambry stopped, and tilted his head to the side. “You watched everyone fight today.”

  “Ah, yes, but I watched the way that you fought. I like your style, and your bravery is quite up to par. Not many mortals would have dared taking on Eerich’s pet.”

  “That ugly thing was a pet?” Cambry made a face. “Whatever happened to owning a cat?”

  “I’m afraid the God of the Dead probably would not play nicely with a cat,” Geldin chuckled.

  Cambry shrugged. “Well, his pet as you call it shall stay with him forever in the Underworld now. Can’t say as I’ll miss seeing it around.”

  “None of us will. That beast was evil and its sole purpose of killing for Eerich made it so.”

  “Is it true it was hunting the queen?,” Cambry said.

  Geldin’s mouth tightened. “I do believe it had a thirst for her soul, no doubt brought on by its master. It is good that thing is dead and can do her no harm now.”

  “Speaking of Her Highness, that’s what I came to talk to you about.”

  “Is she all right?” Grant asked, worried.

  “Of course. She’s still sleeping. Firayis went a little bit ago to relieve Quentin so that he could rest, and they were all still out cold. The thing is, we need to move the remainder of the men someplace better, and I think it’s best to do so before nightfall.”

  “We were just discussing the same thing,” Grant said. “We gave orders to set up camp at Half-Crest Hill.”

  Lord Cambry looked out towards the hill in particular. “That’s what I would have suggested as well, though it wouldn’t be my notion of an ideal place.”

  “We have no choice in the matter right now,” Geldin cut in. “It is no safer here amongst the dead and what may prey upon their flesh in the night.”

  The trio set off towards the wagon to prepare to move.

  Firayis sat very still, his eyes on the Lystian Queen. He saw her chest move up and down slowly in rhythmical breathing; once in a while her eyes would dart about under her eyelids. She was in deep sleep, as were the prince and the king. Firayis had purposefully made their sleep dreamless so that their bodies could absorb every second of the much needed rest that they so desperately needed. But now his curiosity was piqued.

  He concentrated on Silvia, and his form became less human and more like a silhouette dusted in stars. He opened her mind to allow her to dream, wondering what visages she would conjure as her unconscious mind began to work. He held out one hand with the palm up and one of the sparkling specks of glittery sand floated from his shoulder to rest upon the palm. It looked like the rest of his sparkly silhouette, but it soon began to glow brighter. Firayis leaned closer, peering into Silvia’s dream as it formed.

  The dream began in the house she had grown up in, and he saw memories of happier times in each room that she passed. She ran out the front door of the estate, throwing her arms up with joy at the gorgeous weather. Her parents, Zacharias and Madeline, appeared nearby, leading Rituel towards her. They looked so happy to see her but as she ran to them with open arms, they disappeared. Confused, Silvia reached out and took the horse’s reins, looking around. Her brother-in-law showed up on the other side of Rituel and bowed deeply to her. Warmed by this show of respect, she curtseyed deeply. As he stood
erect once more, Quentin pointed behind her.

  Turning around, she saw two figures walking towards her. Both of them were blurry, yet she could tell they were men. The one on the right dropped to the ground and ran to her, pressing himself up against her legs in the shape of a fox. She knelt down and scooped him up in her arms, her heart bursting with joy at having him near. Then the other man began to change, and a dragon soon appeared and kneeled before her. Her heart now began to have a different pattern, and confusion returned. The black dragon watched her and the fox diligently, seeing their every move, but did not interfere nor try to gain her affection. Something about the dragon pulled to the queen, and she set the fox down to stand up. As she began to move towards the dragon, sharp teeth sank into her ankle. She looked down in shock to see the fox attacking her and gazing at her with eyes that were now blood red. She gasped and fell backwards, but the dragon caught her and carried her away to safety.