Of Gods and Dragons

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  “You need to do something about your feet,” Gordy said. “They look abominable, my friend.”

  Vyto unwrapped more bandages and shook his head. “I'm fine. I'll soak them a good long bit when we get to Nillias.”

  “No you won't, and you know it.” Gordy's face reddened as his frustration built up. “You'll keep yourself busy helping everyone else out while your own body goes to pot. You need someone to look at them.”

  “I tell you, I'm fine!” Vyto said, circling his feet with the clean cloth.

  “So you say,” his friend replied softly. “So you say.”

  Several hundred yards away, the Queen was meeting again with her most trusted men, including her husband.

  “It is proper etiquette to send a small group of men to warn them of our coming,” she said as they all stood under the shade of the largest tree nearby. “Surely, they have received our eagle and therefore already know we are on our way to war. However, they do not know that we travel to their city on our way. To arrive without making ourselves known first would be a sign of war or distrust. We need to decide who must go.”

  “I can go,” the King said, raising his hand.

  “No, Your Majesty. You have to remain here with me and the main bulk of the army,” Silvia told him. “As royalty we must protect ourselves.”

  “Of course, my Queen,” he replied. Silvia held her breath as he walked over to her, took up her hand, and kissed the back of it gently. “As you wish, so it shall be.”

  “May I volunteer myself, milady?” said Sir Grant of Crider.

  Silvia nodded. “You are the best candidate one could ask for. Whom would you take with you?”

  “I wish to take Quentin—with your permission, of course—and Lord Cambry, as well as a small company of men.”

  She looked at Cambry with a little frown creasing her brow. “Quentin may go as well. But you don't think Lord Cambry is too...intimidating?”

  “Yes, which will let them know we mean business when we say we're going to Lordale to fight in their war. At the same time, Cambry doesn't speak much, and won't be too daunting.”

  “All right,” she said, trying to ignore how close her husband was standing to her, and the look of tension on the face of the prince. “The party will depart from the army about a day ahead of our arrival.”

  Hans and Maura approached with trays of food in their hands and a pitcher of water. Everyone took a seat in the cool grass and began to eat their lunch. Silvia bade her servants to eat with them, much to the surprise of Lord Cambry, if she was reading his expression correctly. Obviously he came from a very different background than herself. Dessica had raised her to always treat her servants with as much respect as they treated her, and she had eaten most of her meals with at least Hans, if not Maura, at the table or in the same room. She was not about to change her ways just because she was royalty, nor because of the way a near-stranger looked at her. The scars on the palms of their hands marked them as hers forever, and were their way of showing a devotion that would never be matched. For this, she respected them and loved them as she would a member of her family. Damn what others thought about it.

  Wishing to change the subject (and because it had incensed her curiosity) Silvia said, “My King, how is it you were able to follow after me with such critical injuries, only to arrive at my side in good health?”

  “By the grace of our new friend, Lord Cambry of Jevelas. He came not long after you left the city and made me an offer I couldn't refuse.”

  Cambry's eyes lit up. “I wanted to heal him in exchange for going to war and sharing in your glory.”

  “And that you shall do…if there is glory to be had,” Silvia said quietly.

  He awoke with a start, sweating profusely. He'd only been asleep for a few minutes, yet the dreams had come. He couldn't recall most of the details, only that Nillias would be talked into becoming allies and somehow they would be supplied with more animals—whether for food on the way or for riding or carrying equipment he could not say. And there was another thing as well...He scratched his head, then began to slide on his boots carefully. He was lacing them up when he remembered the smell. They were going to cross a small valley and go into the hills beyond it. In his dreams the terrain was dotted with many large, foul-smelling holes in the ground. What lived in those holes he did not know, but he was sure they weren't going to like it. He shivered, though the sun seemed to be melting his clothes to his skin.

  “You alright?” Gordy asked from above him.

  Vyto nodded, but said nothing.

  “You're having them more often, aren't you? The dreams?”

  “Yes, Gordy. More frequently than I ever remember having them. Firayis has both blessed me and cursed me.”

  “The God of the Dreamworld seems to hold you in high regards,” said Gordy.

  His friend smiled grimly. “Yes, it would seem so. I don't know whether to thank him or curse him for it. I just hope all of it is for the greater good.” He sighed and unrolled a small piece of parchment. “Now, where did I put that ink bottle?”

  A short time later Gordy was threading his way through different sections of the army, trying to get to the front without drawing too much attention to himself. Finally, he could see the wagon ahead, designed with its intricate patterns of silver and pulled by two stout horses. Butterflies swarmed in his stomach and he had to force himself to stop shaking. Would she turn him away? Would she help at all?

  He approached the Guard following the wagon, whom he recognized as General George himself—Commander of the Royal Army of Lystia. “General?” he called, walking fast to keep pace with the horse.

  The Commander looked down at him with a somber expression. “What can I do for you, boy?”

  “I carry a message for Her Majesty,” he replied.

  “Is that so?” George said. “From whom?”

  Gordy edged closer. “It's from the Dreamer, sir.”

  The Guard looked at him skeptically. “Stefan usually carries his messages.”

  “I know that sir, however Stefan's regiment is a lot further from ours today, so I told the Dreamer I would deliver it myself.” His hands had started to shake from his nervousness. Were they going to let him see her?

  General George extended his hand. “Come on, son.”

  Gordy took the proffered appendage and (with a lot of help from the man atop of the horse) managed to swing himself up onto the back of the animal behind the saddle. They sped off, passing the wagon as Gordy's heart dropped. Where in the name of the Dark Moon was he taking him? Was he being deprived of his chance to meet with the Queen, possibly being punished for not passing the message on through Stefan? Worry made him bite his lip, which wasn't a great idea. As they galloped along the horse landed particularly hard as he jumped over a rock, and Gordy split his lip. He made a small sound and touched it, only to find his fingers covered in his own blood.

  The horse came to a halt at last nearly half a mile ahead of the bulk of the army. Gordy saw at once that he had been mistaken, for the Queen sat in all her magnificent beauty atop her black war horse. In her company were several other men, including her King. Queen Silvia turned to look at them, and he was struck by how young she was. Young, yes, but with confidence and enough hardness to make an excellent queen.

  “Milady,” the Commander said, “you have a message awaiting you.”

  She guided the stallion over, looking at Gordy curiously. “Can it wait until we fix his lip?” she asked.

  “His lip?” George twisted about in the saddle and uttered a small curse that earned him a stern look from the Queen. “What did you do boy—bite it?”

  Gordy nodded, his eyes wide as he looked back and forth between them.

  “Did you get any on my tunic?” George asked gruffly. He nodded as Gordy shook his head no. “Good. You've got to watch yourself there, son, or you'll do more damage the next time you go riding.”

  The Queen's lips began moving silently, drawing Gordy's gaze back to he
r. He felt a cooling sensation on his lip as the pain faded away. When he next touched it, he found his lip had healed. “T-thank you, You Majesty. You are too kind.”

  “You are most welcome. Now tell me of this message that you carry.”

  He withdrew it slowly from his breast pocket, summoning up his courage. “Your Highness, I bring you a message from the Dreamer, but I wish to ask a favor of you first.”

  Queen Silvia frowned. “The Dreamer has yet to ask favors,” she said. “How do I know this message is from him?”

  “I-I'm sure you'll find the handwriting is the same, milady,” he stammered. “But the favor that I ask is not from the Dreamer. It's from me.” He tried to swallow the queasiness rising from his belly. Silvia did not appear any happier, so he rushed on. “The favor is mine, but it's for the Dreamer. He needs help.”

  “You worry for him?” she questioned. Her expression softened a bit.

  “Yes, ma'am, I sure do. I wouldn't ask a favor of my Queen if I did not think that he needed help.”

  She smiled radiantly, and Gordy nearly forgot everything in his mind. “Well now, it sounds like he's found a true friend in you. I will help, if I can.”

  The weight of worry lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you, milady.” He gave her the rolled up parchment and waited patiently while she read it, feeling better by the moment.

  She nodded as she read, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “I appreciate all the effort your friend puts into telling me of these dreams; however it would be nice sometimes to get a clearer picture of what he sees. I wish he knew more of this strange terrain he speaks of. Has he told you any extra details that he might have left out to me?”

  “No, Your Highness. He only said that sometimes it's better not to know certain things, for they will give you nightmares of what is to come.”

  The Queen glanced sidelong at her husband. “Yes, that is very true at times. Tell me your favor before the rest of the army catches us up.”

  “It's his feet, milady,” Gordy said, no longer nervous now that he knew help would be coming to his friend. “They're covered in blisters and sores, leaking all manner of nasty stuff constantly. He has to change the bandages several times a day, but that's not enough.”

  “Did he not go into the Healing Spring of Aldoa?”

  “We went there, but while I was standing in line to get in the water, he went off to help bury someone. After that, he said he was too tired to walk back to the Spring. The next morning I urged him to go again but he said he was too busy helping to pack up the supplies.”

  “So he's too busy helping others and not looking after his own well-being,” said King Keelan as he rode up beside them. “Sounds like he needs to be scolded and rewarded at the same time.”

  “It would seem so, my Lord, and I feel the same way as you. However Vyto doesn't like attention drawn to himself. I think he's afraid of what people will think of him, or just doesn't want to deal with the stress.”

  “Expect a visit from me tonight,” said the Queen. “Sleep near a fire that's beside a wagon and drape a shirt over your wagon's wheel. That is how I will find you.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. It will be good to see him walk without pain.”

  General George turned his steed around and began to trot back to the army.

  Silvia looked at the men around her. “Did you hear? He said the Dreamer's name: Vyto. Find out everything you can about this man and what regiment he's in. If he's working this hard, surely the person in charge of his group has taken notice. Let me know what you find.”

  They bowed their heads to her, mumbling, “As you wish, my Queen.”

  Chapter Sixteen: Sparkling Dreams

  The day had dragged on and on, the heat seeping into every pore of his skin. Every break or stopping point was a welcome reprieve, however at times he wished that they could just keep walking. The sooner they got to Nillias, the better. He felt a bit feverish, and wished to lie down on a big, soft bed for a day or two. But he knew there were too many others who needed the same comfort more than he. He wished for a large cup of ale, but knew there was a restriction on drinking too much, and he knew the headache which would hit him hard the morning after wouldn't be worth it anyway. He wanted to purchase a horse that he and Gordy could share, but felt that would be unfair to the rest of their regiment, who were all on foot. Most of all he wished to rest his aching feet and let them heal. Unfortunately, there was just too much to do and he hadn't the time for such niceties. So he passed the day away step by painful step, marching towards the Lordalen War, and a place to rest his head.

  He also worried for his friend, who had returned from carrying his message to the Queen with blood all over his shirt and hands. At first Vyto had been ready to hunt someone down, thinking that some idiot had had the nerve to rough him up. However Gordy had brushed off the mention of the blood, casually saying he had bitten his lip. Vyto saw no evidence of this and wondered if it hadn't just been a nose bleed from too much sun.

  He grunted as he shifted his heavy sack onto his sore back, thinking about how much he had disliked Gordy in the beginning. He had thought Gordy was extremely annoying but had since changed his mind...a little. Though he still found him a bit nerve-racking, he had grudgingly accepted Gordy's friendship and had come out of it feeling pretty damn good. Here was a kid who was as light-hearted as Vyto was dark-mooded, and who wanted to help others even when he physically couldn't. All in all, he liked the young man a lot better than before, and who would've thought it? Although they were a fairly mismatched pair, they made a great team together. They walked side-by-side the rest of the day, chatting amiably about their lives back in Lystia.

  The final halt of the day nearly made him sink to his knees with relief. Tragically enough for him, he could not do that. As soon as his sack hit the ground someone cried out where the nearest creek was. Sighing heavily, he went to the nearest wagon, grabbed a yoke and two buckets, and started towards the water.

  Feeling eyes on the back of his head, he turned around, eyes scanning the army. Not far away sat a horse and rider, the latter with piercing blue eyes and long white hair. They stared at each other for a moment, then the rider began to move off in another direction. But as Vyto carried load after load of buckets of water he began to notice other men in the crowd watching him too. One was a tall, well-tanned man with a top-knot who was also helping to carry water. Another was a man in his late thirties, his brown hair speckled with gray and a mean looking sword at his side. Oddly enough, even the wildlife seemed to be watching him: a large red fox kept darting around their campsite.

  The one man who really caught him the most off guard was the war-ripened man of the gray and gold hair, who stood in his long robes despite the heat. He recognized the hard gray eyes as the same ones that had watched his queen from afar as she traveled up the mountain pass that was now far behind them. This man gave him chills and brought to life a yearning to fight, though he knew not why. Vyto started towards him once, intent on having words with at least one of his 'watchers'. A fellow soldier cut in front of his path and when Vyto looked again the man had gone.

  “Bloody fast bastard, aren't you?” he muttered.

  Nighttime came quickly, and with it the long-awaited break that Vyto so desperately needed. Gordy had insisted upon camping right beside one of the wagons instead of underneath a cove of trees as they usually tried to do.

  “Gordy, would you be so kind as to get me something to eat? I'm starving.”

  “Um, yeah. Sure.” He finished hanging a shirt over the wagon wheel (why was beyond Vyto's comprehension) and darted off, returning a few minutes later with warm meat and potatoes in two bowls. “They slaughtered a handful of cattle to feed the army earlier,” he explained. “We're running out of food. Game here is sparse, though with an army this size it'll be a wonder if there's anything left at all behind us.”

  “That's not a good thing when we have so far to go.”

  “What do you mean? Nillias is close
.”

  Vyto swallowed the broth which had surrounded his meat. “I mean to Lordale. And if Nillias joins us, that's even more to feed.”

  Gordy shrugged. “We will walk that bridge when we get there. The only thing we can do after that is to go easy on the food supply, which most people are already doing.”