War Against the Realm

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  Firayis leaned back, taking the dream with him and leaving her to sleep peacefully. He turned to Dalton and opened his palm again for another grain of sparkling sand to land upon. Dalton’s dreams came more swiftly, and were aggressive. He was defeating enemy after enemy and trying to reach Silvia, who was calling out to him from afar. The enemies, however, were numerous, wild, and fierce. They came at him in droves, and no matter how many he killed there seemed to be more to take their place.

  Exasperated, he threw down his weapons and transformed into a dragon, his black form towering over his foes. He watched as they ran away, screaming. Yet there was no use in running away when a stream of flames followed their feet. Soon, all was laid to waste and Dalton hurriedly transformed back to his human form to find Silvia. He searched for what seemed like eternity in a world that was disturbingly quiet. At last he came upon the one he was searching for. Bound up in chains, she pleaded with him to set her free. And he would have, but she was holding the key to her chains in one hand. He tried to tell her she could free herself, yet she could not seem to comprehend his words. Determined to wait on her to figure out her imprisonment, he lay down and put his head in her lap, her chains lying upon his back.

  Firayis backed out of this dream as well and carefully put it away amidst the other shiny dreams upon his person. He looked back over towards the Lystian Queen, and to the man who lay behind her. King Keelan was sick, and there could not be any doubt that the witches were entirely at fault. Firayis remembered the man’s dreams from all the years before and knew he adored the queen. The old Keelan would have done anything in his power to protect her. The problem was that it was hard to see that side of the king anymore. Although he was not certain he wanted to see them, Firayis opened up his palm again to see what Keelan would dream.

  The visages came fast and hard, and jolted Firayis right out of the dream. He closed his fist, destroying the dream. His breath came in shallow gulps as he stared at the Lystian King. His dreams were not normal. Blood, death, and destruction ran rampant in his mind, clouded by odd hallucinations. The witch’s drepsam had been used too much on him: there would not be a recovery from this state, no definite cure, and an end that would come sooner than they all realized.

  For in Keelan’s dreams it was the queen next to him that he was hurting…over and over in different ways. He was dreaming of different ways to kill her.

  Firayis wiped his mouth with one hand and took a shaky breath.

  Chapter Twenty: Stories of the Gods

  Her surroundings were fuzzy at first. She blinked her eyes several times, and things began to come into focus. The room was becoming dark, but she recognized the inside of her tent. Moaning, she sat up. As she did, a flood of memories came, and threatened to overwhelm her. Her breath shortened and her hands clenched at the light blanket covering her.

  “It’s all right, my Queen. I am here,” said a comforting voice.

  Hans was sitting on a stool in the corner. The sight of him made her feel more relaxed, until she thought of her other most-trusted servant.

  “Where is Maura?” she asked softly. She wanted desperately for him to tell her it had all been a nightmare, but his face revealed that was not so.

  “You know where she is,” he said sadly. Do not make me say it.”

  Silvia’s heart ached. “It’s not true.”

  “Aye…but it is true.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she whispered.

  “Her body is cold and her soul is no longer in the land of the living. I buried her myself. What more do you want me to say?” The pain in his voice was enormous, and she saw how red-rimmed his eyes were. They sat in the dimming tent for several long minutes. “I am now the last of your original protectors,” he said more softly. “And I am getting too old to do much protecting anymore. We will need to appoint more people to be your guardians.”

  Silvia did not respond to his comments. She was numb from the loss. She pulled her riding boots over and slid them on. “Take me to her, Hans.” When he didn’t move, she said, “She was my servant and my protector, but she was also my friend. She deserves for me to say goodbye.”

  Hans thought for a moment, and nodded. “Then I shall take you to her.”

  The ride in the dark on Rituel’s back seemed to stretch on for hours and yet take no time at all. Silvia saw the mound of dirt well before Hans pointed it out to her. They dismounted and he walked a few feet behind her to give her privacy as she came upon the new grave. Rocks had been piled atop of it to keep wild animals from digging out the body; otherwise, there was nothing else significant about the tiny hill in the midst of a field. She knelt and bowed her head.

  “Oh Maura…you do not know how sorry I am to have lost you. If I had only known about the water sooner I could have saved you.” She spoke for several long minutes, reminiscing on times past and shedding tears. At last she rose, and turned around to face her manservant. It was then that she noticed the much larger, longer grave stretching out next to Maura’s where the army had been fighting hours earlier.

  “Hans…how many? How many did we lose today?”

  “A little over twenty-two hundred were claimed by the sickness,” Hans answered soberly. “To the Wyld men that served Rohedon’s Realm…we lost another twenty-five hundred. By the Dark Moon, it may be even higher than that. Almost half of our beasts have died as well. What is left of the army is largely on foot now.”

  A more crushing blow could not have been dealt to their people, and now they had a considerably lower number of soldiers going to war.

  “Damn,” she muttered. She turned to get back onto Rituel but paused when she heard a voice.

  “Your Highness?”

  General Vyto ran up to them, panting. His clothes were stained with blood and dark mud and his long hair was frayed in all directions.

  “My Dreamer…have you something to tell me?”

  He seemed to hesitate. “Possibly, yes, but first I need your help.”

  “Go on,” she prompted.

  “My friend has disappeared. I saw him last as the fighting began, but we were quickly separated. I spent hours looking at each one of the dead before they were buried…he was not among them.”

  “Was it the young man with the red hair and freckles?”

  He nodded. “That’s him—Gordy. Have you seen him, milady?”

  “I am afraid I have not,” she admitted.

  The burly man shuffled his feet as though he wanted to say more.

  “What have you to ask of me? I can see there is something that you want to say,” she said.

  “It’s just that…well, we all know of your incredible skill with shape-shifting, milady. I was hoping that you might consider using those powers to track him down.”

  His face was as red as a beet, and both Hans and Silvia could tell it was something he hadn’t wanted to ask in the first place. This was a proud man, and a strong-willed one at that. To ask this meant he felt compelled to help his companion by any means necessary.

  Silvia sighed. Although tiredness still tagged along at the back of her mind, there was no reason why she couldn’t acquiesce to the man’s request. “Do you have anything of his, by chance?”

  Vyto slung a bag off his shoulder and opened it up. “This is his satchel. Everything in it is his.”

  “Very well. But please take into account that I make no guarantees on locating him. I’ve never done this before.”

  He handed her the bag and bowed deeply. “I understand entirely, Your Grace. Your help is invaluable to me.”

  “Milady, the gods wish a word with all of us,” called Quentin as he rode up to join them.

  “They will have to wait a few moments. I have to do something first.”

  Quentin looked at her quizzically. “You know, most mortals usually do not have the gods wait upon them, Your Highness.”

  One look at Vyto set her resolve. “They will have to just this once. I need to track someone down for our Dreamer. I have given my wor
d that I would do this.”

  Quentin sighed and got off his horse. “Then let me help. It can never hurt to have an extra nose.”

  Vyto gave the man a strange look, unaware of Quentin’s many abilities.

  The white robe and the figure within it melted down into a small white hunting dog. Quentin barked and Vyto, who was quite stunned, immediately stooped down to let him sniff the contents of the bag. Silvia shifted into her dragon form and waited to do the same. Once she had the man’s scent, she put her nose up in the air and breathed in deeply. She picked up the scent at the same time that Quentin did, and both took off towards the far end of the open field. They moved swiftly, with Hans and Vyto trailing behind them carefully with the horses. It wasn’t long before Silvia stopped and stared ahead. Quentin stopped as well, the hackles on his back rising.

  Before them was the large hole that General George had pointed out to them earlier. The dirt was freshly turned in front of it.

  The two trackers reversed to their human forms and spoke quietly.

  “I don’t like this,” Quentin said.

  “Nor do I,” the queen agreed.

  Vyto was perplexed. “Where is he?”

  Silvia pointed at the hole. “He is inside there. He followed someone into the hole.”

  “Followed someone? Who in their right mind would go into that thing?” Vyto said, looking down at the black gaping tunnel going into the hill.

  “I believe I know who,” Quentin groaned. “We had a stowaway from Nillias—a young child. I can smell him here too.”

  “I think I smelled him as well,” Silvia said. “He must have come here to hide from the battle. Either your friend was hiding here too, or he followed him in.”

  Vyto shook his head. “He wouldn’t hide. He’s not the bravest of us, but hiding is not one of his habits. Maybe he was trying to help the boy and hid him here?”

  Quentin shrugged. “I can only tell you that their trails end here. Both went in and neither came out.”

  “Is there…do you smell blood? Are they dead?”

  “They were not dead when they went in,” said Silvia. “Look at the ground—it looks as though someone crawled into the cave on their belly.”

  Neither she nor Quentin disclosed the fact that a person could have been dragged into the hole as well; it was nearly impossible to tell in the dark. A cold air with a bad smell emanated from the hole and they rubbed the chills on their arms uncomfortably.

  “Okay so how can we help him?” Vyto asked. “If he was alive when he went in, then he could be alive now.”

  Silvia and Quentin flicked their eyes towards each other, but it was not missed by the general.

  “We are going to do something…right?”

  Silvia put her hand on the man’s shoulder. “I have a counsel to go to with the gods that travel with us. Let me seek their advice on this matter and see what we can come up with.”

  With a slight squeeze upon his shoulder, she turned around and mounted her horse. There was so much on her mind that she did not remember that Vyto had something to tell her.

  Vyto stayed behind, staring into the cave. He kept getting glimpses of his dreams from the night before about holes…and death.

  After leaving her sword and dagger behind with the still-sleeping Keelan in the wagon, Silvia and Hans followed Quentin to a flat place adjacent to the river that was near their tents. Her entourage awaited her arrival in the dark. As per Geldin’s instructions, no fires had been lit and the camp was eerily quiet.

  Aldoa and the others waited patiently for Silvia, Quentin, and Hans to join them. She sat between the other two gods in attendance: her brother, Geldin, and Firayis. A woman came up to Silvia and bowed deeply.

  “Milady,” she said.

  Silvia took the woman’s chin and lifted it up. It was the crippled witch of the mountain that Quentin had rescued. The queen looked her up and down appraisingly. “You seem to be faring better these days.”

  “I healed Emaree,” Aldoa stated. “She is not like the other witches. Her heart is good.”

  Silvia nodded and took a seat over next to Geldin. Prince Dalton and Quentin very nearly trampled each other trying to sit beside her, and in the end Dalton seemed satisfied to let Quentin sit between them, with Hans on his other side. Sir Grant was next, and Lord Cambry and Duke Byarne after him. Duchess Tinaya sat beside her husband, and Silvia was pleasantly surprised to see her servant girl, Brielle next to her. Beside the blonde headed-servant sat Emaree, and Frero and Zander closed out the circle with Firayis on her other side.

  “Let me make things more private,” Aldoa said. She gestured towards the water in the riverbed, which rose and wrapped itself around the entire group. It rose up into the air well above their heads and made a soft rushing sound as though there were rapids within the wall of water. They could not see well through the water to the encampment outside—just vague shapes moving through the darkness as people went about their night.

  “No one can hear the words we choose to speak within this circle,” said Aldoa. “There are certain issues which I feel need to be discussed. The first, and most important, is that Eerich partook in the battle today in his own way. It is obvious that he is, or has been, helping Rohedon’s witches in this war. He is not the God of Evil without reason, and being the God of the Dead pleases him to no end. He is always looking for ways to bring more souls to the Underworld. Yet he does not help mortals for free. I have wondered what bargain Saris has made with him to receive his assistance.”

  “Well…she wasn’t the one to initiate the bargaining.”

  Everyone looked at Emaree in surprise and she blushed.

  “I overheard the other witches talking about it. Apparently Rohedon had struck a deal with him—something about creating monsters for Eerich’s Hound to hunt in exchange for power and magic. From what I could gather, the god gave him the opportunity to marry many wives, and the wives would be the ones to keep most of the magic. Since Rohedon was killed, their magic has been faltering. But part of the original deal was that Eerich would take their magic from them upon Rohedon’s death at his whim, and when they died…they would belong to him in ways they would not want to.”

  “What a scoundrel,” Quentin muttered. “Bargaining with other people’s lives to better himself...” He shook his head with disgust.

  “Put yourself into the mind of one who has nothing to lose and everything to gain, even at the expense of others,” Emaree said.

  Silvia was looking at Emaree curiously. “Sounds like you have some useful information for us, which is appreciated. I am glad Aldoa did a lovely job healing you,” she said. “You are lucky to be in her good graces.”

  Emaree nodded. “Indeed I am, and I shall do whatever is necessary to repay that debt.”

  “Hush child. Do not speak of repayment,” Aldoa admonished.

  “Emaree, when the other witches’ magic began not working correctly, was your magic affected?” Silvia asked.

  Emaree frowned. “No, it wasn’t. I was never the strongest of them though. My magic is weak compared to theirs.”

  “You are stronger than you think,” Quentin said, and Aldoa nodded in agreement.

  “He is right, child. And the same goes for you, Lystian Queen. Today you used more power than any of us thought you had in you,” said the goddess.

  The Queen looked over at Cambry. “I didn’t know I had that amount of power within me either. I suppose I needed to be pushed in the right direction to expose it.”

  “She’s not the only one who used powers we didn’t know about,” said Quentin, staring at the Prince of Wexford pointedly.

  Dalton’s eyes flicked over to Silvia. Her heart fluttered as a realization hit her: she had not dreamed or imagined coupling with another dragon while in dragon form. It had actually happened. Now it was apparent why she’d kept smelling dragon musk.

  A dragon had been near her the whole time.

  And how did that make her feel? Delving deep inside she
tried to find anger or resentment at him for not disclosing that information to her. Instead, she found none at all. It had not been the right time to tell her, and she had been extremely preoccupied with other important things. She didn’t hold any animosity towards him. If the circumstances had differed at all, she knew he would have told her everything.

  “Yes, I think no one missed you saving the Queen’s life when the Hound of Death jumped for her,” said Geldin. “How’s the back?”

  Dalton shrugged. “I cannot see it, but it feels fine.”

  “He will have scars because the wound were deep and from a creature made from evil,” Aldoa stated. “I cannot make them go away, unfortunately.”