Of Gods and Dragons

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  She turned to Vyto as the men and few women started speaking in low murmurs. “They’re all yours. I know you’ll treat them well.” She strode off with quiet assurance.

  Vyto gave Gordy a long side look before calling the attention of the troupe. “I know you’re just as impatient to get this over with as I am, so let us go ahead with it. I am Vyto, and this is my comrade—Gordy. As of now, I am your new General in Command, and when I’m not around you will answer to Gordy.” He paused, gazing at the lot of tired faces, streaked with dirt and wear and tear from the long travel. “Our journey is nowhere near over, and we are nowhere near ready for what lies ahead. I am no swordsman, nor am I exceptionally skilled at any other trade of battle. But I know a little about a lot, and I will teach it to you. Get your rest while you can. When we break for the evening we will split up from the rest of the camp to see where your skill level is. I’m going to be walking amongst you in a few minutes to better acquaint myself with my troupe. At ease.”

  Half an hour later, the army was on the move again. The ones who had been on horses before now walked so others could ride. Blisters atop blisters adorned the feet of everyone, regardless of how they traveled. The mood was somber; all dragged their feet along, even knowing they would be arriving at a city before the end of the next night.

  Just before they halted for the evening, a scout sought out the queen. “Your party is returning, milady.”

  Silvia frowned slightly. “Something went wrong?”

  “I do not believe so, but they are weary from travel and moving slowly. They should arrive within the hour.”

  “Thank you.” She dismissed the soldier with a slight nod of her head and turned to Frero and Keelan. “I wonder why they returned.”

  Keelan grasped his sapphire and spoke. “Brother, are you alright?”

  It took a moment for Quentin to respond. Yes. The Duke and Duchess expect Your Highnesses tomorrow. All is well.

  The Queen sighed in relief. She had been worried that Sir Grant and the others would be turned away. “Let’s stop just over that hill up ahead and rest for the night. I need to collect my thoughts.”

  A small river wound its way on the other side of the hill, and those that were lucky caught fresh fish to cook over the small fires littering the encampment. Quentin, Lord Cambry, and Sir Grant turned up a short time later, looking no worse for the wear. They talked of meeting the city’s soldiers and of the reaction of thousands of men turning up on their doorstep the next day, expected or not. Nighttime fell over them, giving a respite from the day’s heat. Silvia and Quentin took a walk, as the queen was wont to do every evening. She cared deeply for these people, who had left their homes and their lives behind to follow her to some unknown place and fight a battle they would never have dreamed of joining.

  She was tired, and her body ached from the day’s journey. But it was important that she be seen mingling with her people: it showed compassion and confidence. She was a leader, and yet still a part of the community. She was nothing without her people.

  Vyto had taken his company a little ways apart from everyone else. She watched from a distance for a few minutes as he gauged the swordsman skills of several men sparring. He would do well as a leader, whether he liked it or not. He almost reminded her of Sir Grant, only a bit younger.

  Her green eyes turned back to the bulk of her army, catching on a figure some dozen yards away. A man in a cloak stared in her direction.

  No. At her. She could feel his eyes as though they penetrated her mind. She involuntarily gasped, taking a small step back.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Quentin asked immediately.

  “That man…” she said, pointing.

  Her brother in law followed her line of vision, and did indeed see a strange fellow who seemed to be fixated upon Her Highness. “Do you know him, my Queen?”

  “I can’t…I can’t see him well enough to say. Something about him looks so familiar…”

  Quentin started towards the man but a small group of men cut in front of him, walking towards the river. When they had cleared, the man had disappeared.

  “Where the blazes did he go?” the Queen’s brother in law exclaimed.

  She fought off a chill. “I do not know, but it doesn’t matter. People will come and go as they please. Perhaps he does not wish us to speak to him.”

  Night fell in ever-thickening shades. The camp settled in for the evening, with campfires burning low, and voices lifting into the air in song. Uneasiness prickled the skin on the back of Keelan’s neck. He looked around, peering into the darkness. No one watched him. No one cared. All were too tired from the day’s trek to worry about anything but kicking up their feet and resting. Sentries walked the camp’s outskirts, keeping in contact frequently with the scouts. Several groups were practicing sword fighting by the light of the fire; they knew the chances of having to fight in the dark were just as good as fighting in broad daylight and wanted to be prepared.

  So what was it? A heaviness in the air whispered of tidings to come…direful tidings. He shivered, dropping down on all fours and sniffing the air as he Changed.

  Nothing. Yet his hackles still rose.

  “You seem vexed.” Silvia walked up to the fox and knelt beside him.

  He spoke to her through the sapphire necklace. Do you feel it?

  She frowned. “Feel what?”

  The fox shook his head and looked off towards the river. We need to double the watch for tonight. Something bad draws near.

  The Queen followed his gaze, and grabbed her sapphire. “Quentin, send word immediately to Sir Grant and have him double the watch.”

  Keelan nodded his head in approval, then gazed at her intently. I should stay near you tonight…to keep you safe.

  “If that is what you wish,” she said, though it was still slightly uncomfortable having him near. “I don’t think anything will happen, though.”

  We can’t be too careful. The witches are angry.

  Silvia clamped up at the thought of the women, jealousy stirring within. “I care not if they are angry,” she stated. “They are heartless creatures who wish nothing but pain and suffering for everyone who does not bow down before them. I refuse to bow down, and I refuse the pain and suffering they want to cause me for not doing so. I will show them that a thick hide can take one blow after the next without flinching.”

  Keelan remained silent, knowing this was the wisest thing to do. He watched Quentin in the distance as he hurried away to find Grant, his robe flowing behind him.

  Chapter Eighteen: Deadly Waters

  Hours later, she watched them from afar, atop a hill thicketed with ugly trees. This army had to be stopped. Help could not reach Lordale. The city was destined to be taken over, and the wives of the late Rohedon would expand their realm to include it. They would be unstoppable, save for Eerich’s game of taking their magic away at his whim. Saris frowned, her face still exquisitely beautiful despite her expression. She looked to her sister-wife. “Are you ready, Clea? Most of them are taking their rest.”

  “Aye, but the guards are in greater number this night.” Clea gestured to several places where sentries walked the gigantic encampment.

  The blonde woman shrugged. “They do not matter to me. What are they compared to our powers? Let them do what they will. By the time they realize what has happened, they’ll turn tail and run, if they are still alive.”

  Clea eyed the camp again, her eyes taking in all of the extra guards. “All right. Let’s get this done before we’re seen.”

  She raised her arms, and Saris raised hers in suite. Their eyes became unfocused and the very air around them seemed to stand completely still. Below them, the soldiers and their royalty slept soundly…more soundly than normal. The sentries walking slowed to a halt, looking around in confusion. Unsheathing their swords, they sat down upon the ground and soon fell onto their sides in a deep sleep. The women let their arms fall to their sides.

  “Now for the fun part,” S
aris said. The mad twinkle in her eye sparked Clea’s own mischievous side into action. They raced each other down the hill and through the sleeping soldiers, laughing merrily and only stopping when they came to the little river near the army. “This river flows into the Thurne River, which pours into the Great Sea far to the east. We can draw its waters through here.”

  She knelt on the riverbank, her knees carving soft grooves into the soil, and thrust her hands into the water. Clea knelt beside her and did the same, chanting in a low voice and drawing up her deepest magic. Saris’ voice joined in and the chant became stronger, pulling the magic within them and molding it to their liking. The cool water swirled about their hands and began to rise. Slowly, the liquid ascended the shallow riverbank. When it came to the point of breaching the bank, instead of spilling over onto the grass the water kept rising into the air. It was as though an invisible wall held the form of the water.

  The witches stood up and backed away from the river, which was pulling water from all of its streams and tributaries and steadily going further up into the air. Soon, it was a partition of water higher than their heads, with more water being drawn in.

  Saris turned to look at the sleeping army. She scanned it until her eyes fell upon a tent larger than the others. Her eyes narrowed and her expression soured. “You’ll get what you deserve, young queen. Rohedon’s death will be avenged with your blood.”

  She was outside her childhood home, walking towards the stables under a midnight sky. She could feel that something was off, and heard the horses whinnying in their stalls as though agitated. She cracked open the stable door and slipped into the gloom. The horses immediately quieted, only stomping their feet in the darkness as she approached. The air was thick with the smell of hay and manure. Something brushed against her leg as it ran by. Silvia jumped to the side, bumping into the stall door. A horse snickered loudly near her head and she shrieked with fright.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Keelan’s voice in the dark. She felt his hand touch hers and she grasped it quickly.

  “This dream feels wrong,” she said in a hushed whisper.

  “It is because I didn’t have time to design it,” came a voice from the doorway. A figure swung the stable door open wide. The moonlight seemed to illuminate him, but as he stepped into the darkness they saw that he gave off his own light—sparkling dust covered him nearly head to foot.

  “Firayis,” said Silvia, kneeling. Keelan followed suite, glancing at her curiously.

  “Rise, mortal children. There is no time for pleasantries.”

  The King and Queen of Lystia rose to their feet. “What is happening, my Lord?” Silvia asked.

  “Trouble has found you yet again, child,” said the god. “You’ve drawn great attention to yourself through heading this army to war. There are those who would choose to interfere, as they are doing now.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Nor do I,” said her husband. “Tell of this so that I may remedy it for my Queen.”

  “In the waking world your army is in a heavy slumber. Even your Guards have lain down to rest their eyes under this spell.”

  “If our sentries are down, then our army is unprotected and Silvia is in danger,” said Keelan. “Who has done this?”

  “Two witches whose husband is now with Eerich in the Underworld. They wish to stop you. You must help to keep them from doing so.”

  “How? Tell us, please!”

  The God of Dreams held out his hands for the royal couple to take. As soon as all three were connected, a great gust of air swirled about them. The stable and the whinnying horses began to fade away and the trio found themselves far away, where the army was camped. They were standing on the bank of the river, which was now bone dry.

  Firayis pushed Silvia towards the riverbed. “Go. Stand there in the middle.”

  “Where has all the water gone?” she asked, doing as she was told. She gazed at the god from below.

  “You have to draw the river water to you. It won’t want to come, so you’ll have to use your magic to coax it. Demand its attention and pull it to you.” He looked off into the distance with a look of alarm, though the silence of the dream was deafening. “Hurry, child! There is not much time.”

  Silvia started mumbling words in Kieluna, searching for the right ones for drawing water. A sense of impending doom crept through her.

  Firayis began to look nervous. “Pull it, Silvia. You shall all perish if you cannot!”

  Feelings of panic gnawed at her insides. She knelt and thrust her hands into the rocks and sand of the riverbed, cutting the skin in a couple of places. Her skin tingled where blood came to the surface. She withdrew her hands and looked at them.

  “Child, your time runs short. Summon the water quickly unless you wish a more unpleasant visit with Eerich.”

  Silvia glanced at him and then at the riverbed. Amongst the smooth river stones she found one with jagged edges. She brought it to her palm and slashed into it as hard as she could, crying out. Blood poured from the jagged wound and wound its way down her arm. With shaky hands she gripped the rock in her bad hand and cut her other palm just as badly. The rock fell from her hands, clattering down to join the thousands of other rocks and staining them dark red.

  Keelan tried to run to her, but Firayis stayed him with a firm arm.

  Taking a shuddering breath, Silvia once again plunged her hands into the riverbed, and pushed them in deeply. Tears of pain ran down her face as her hands pulsed and throbbed…and tingled with magic. She immediately felt the water respond and start coming towards her, heeding her summons.

  A grunt sounded behind her on the opposite bank. She turned her head slowly, her eyes finding none other than the Hound of Death standing there in all its hideousness. It stared at her with its many eyes, some of them looking up to Firayis and Keelan on the other bank, and its skin moved as though it were alive. One clawed foot pawed the ground impatiently. Drool spilled forth from its open mouth as it gazed at her hungrily.

  She concentrated on her spell, luring the water with more force. She glanced at Keelan and the expression on her husband’s face told her that he saw the monster that was ready to drag her to the World of the Dead.

  “By the Dark Moon, call the waters!” he shouted.

  Silvia shut her eyes and pushed her hands yet further into the earth. She screamed in pain and rage, and suddenly water exploded into the air all around her. She gasped as the cold water slammed into her and she was knocked off balance.

  Strong arms grabbed her moments later and yanked her towards the shore. Firayis helped her to her feet and the three of them looked back towards the opposite riverbank.

  The waiting Hound was still there, but wore a look of dismay. It snorted loudly and faded away.

  She woke up and rolled over, crying. Keelan came running into the tent; the sound of people running around and shouting followed him in. He helped her to her feet and looked at her bleeding hands. “You shouldn’t have hurt yourself, milady.” He quickly tore strips from the hem of his shirt and bound her hands. “My blood would have been sufficient. I do not want to see you hurt.” He was frowning with worry, and it touched her.

  “I am fine, my King. Have no worries for me. My blood was what was needed to make the magic stronger. I don’t think that your blood would have been as powerful.”

  “Well, we could have at least tried it.”

  “You heard Firayis. There was no time.” She glanced at the flap of the tent. “What does it look like out there?”

  “I’m not sure. I could only think of getting to you. I fell asleep at your side—I’m not sure how I managed to wake up outside the tent.”

  Hans and Grant burst through the flap of the tent, but were immediately pushed aside as Maura came barreling through to make sure her mistress was alright.

  “By the gods! What has happened to you, my Queen?” she cried out as she saw Silvia’s hands bleeding through the cloth.

&nb
sp; “I’m fine, Maura. Do not fret so,” Silvia assured her. She glanced up as Grant motioned Keelan outside.

  “What the bloody moon happened just now?” Sir Grant asked Keelan as they walked a short distance from the tent. By now the entire camp was full of movement; everyone had awoken.

  “Rohedon’s witches cast a spell upon our camp.”

  The older man shook his head and looked around at the encampment swirling with activity. He turned a half circle and looked towards the riverbank. “It was the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. Woke up and there was this wall of water in the river—like it had risen straight up out of the riverbed. If you had been standing on my shoulders, it would’ve still been many, many feet above your head. Then it all just...well, it seemed to just drop back down into the river. Not a drop of water spilled over the banks. I’ve never seen such a thing.”