The Triumphant Return

by N M Zoltack

The being pointed, and Garsea gaped. There had been no such trail before, but now, moss grew in what could only be described as a path.

  “Take the path,” the horse-man said. “What you seek, you will find.”

  With a strange, almost hideous smile, the horse-man clopped away.

  Garsea tried to stand, but his ankle forced him back down. He eyed the moss. Was it growing toward him? He reached out to touch the wet, thick growth. Immediately, his fingers grew numb, and he jerked back.

  “Dragons three, if you could, guide me. Help me to know if this path is one I should take, or if I should continue on my own way,” he murmured, for he had been planning on heading more to the east, whereas the moss seemed to go more southeast.

  The wind died, and there was no answer to his query.

  Garsea pursed his lips and sighed. Fates, please heed me. Which path shall I take?

  A breeze picked up, swirling the leaves, rustling his robe, and abruptly, as quickly as the wind started up again, it ceased, the leaves falling to the ground.

  Two words appeared.

  Tikbalang.

  Trickster.

  The Keeper hung his head. He would not follow the moss path, but that the Fates had answered his prayer… What did that mean? Long ago, when the Fates had not given him and his wife a child, Garsea had scorned the Fates, and over the years, he had served the memory of the dragons and the dragons only. Why would the Fates aid him now?

  Perhaps the Fates wished for the dragons to return.

  He had not prayed specifically to Life or Death or Peace or Chaos. Did that mean the Four were in accord? Did they all wish for the dragons to fly once more?

  If so, what could that mean for all of Dragoona?

  16

  Cateline Locke

  Vivian and Temur eventually stopped skipping stones, and she fed him a few berries from her personal stash when a woman approached.

  “Come now. It is time for us all to decide what path we will take.” Her eyes, so dark Vivian could not see her pupil, bore into the former princess. She curled back her upper lip, not so much in a snarl but no smile either.

  Vivian stood quickly from the rock she had perched on as she watched Temur eat. Already, the woman was walking away.

  “Please, Temur,” she murmured. “This fight does not involve you, and your people should not leave the isle.”

  “And be abandoned to starve?” he asked bitterly. “I do thank you for the berries, but…”

  “Food for one meal is not all you need. I know,” she said, miserable and uncertain. “I do not have all of the answers, but…”

  “I can take care of myself,” he said gruffly.

  Her heart sank. His touch words only increased her fear. He would fight, and chances were far too high that he would fall. He would die and for what?

  She trailed behind Temur at a distance. Many more people had joined the swelling cluster of natives, far more numerous than she had expected to live here. One by one, the man in the headdress, Chieftain Mundzuk as many referred to him, pointed to each. The man, woman, or child would then say a single word.

  Yes.

  Or no.

  Many said yes, far too many, and Vivian winced when Temur’s turn came.

  He glanced in her direction and then focused on his chieftain. “No,” he said.

  Tears prickled Vivian’s eyes. He, at least, would be safe, but how would he fare when there was no food? Perhaps he could convince the others to head south to Tiapan.

  Despite the sheer numbers of natives, the chieftain quickly separated those who said yes from those who declined, and he himself then led the yeses to the ship. It was going to become quite crowded on board.

  Vivian tried to locate Temur to say goodbye, but the throng of people being left behind sank away, retreating behind a small cluster of bushes, the only vegetation she had seen. Far too many crowded around her in their haste to board.

  Once they all passed her by, Vivian started forward when a hand gripped her arm.

  Valentina glared down at her. “It is time to depart.”

  “For?” Vivian asked wearily, already suspecting she knew the answer.

  “Tiapan, of course.” The woman ran her hand over the shaved portion of her head. “Are you that skilled with a blade? Because your mind seems a little slow.”

  Vivian said nothing and mentally asked the Fates of Life and Peace to watch over Temur. Then, she followed the Vincanan to the ship. Another island, another chance for the Vincanans to turn people away from Tenoch. The entire world of Dragoona was being torn apart, and Vivian was only one person, one small, insignificant person. Try as she might, she could not change the world, certainly not for the better. Even that she had saved Temur from a possible violent end did not please her as he could very well still die from starvation instead.

  Death came for them one and all, and it seemed as if somehow, the Fate of Death had become the most powerful of the quartet with Chaos not far behind. The last time in history that had occurred, the three dragons had all been slain.

  Three days’ journey on the calm waters and they arrived at Tiapan. As with Zola, there wasn’t another Vincanan ship there. Had storms claimed the other Vincanan ships sent out to the isles? Or had the ship come and gone already?

  Several Vincanans stayed on the ship to help those from Zola adjust, but Vivian came ashore. She saw no signs of guards or any representative from Tenoch, and her stomach twisted sourly.

  A woman with her hair no longer than her ears, all strands twisted into short braids, numbering at least one hundred, stepped forward from behind a line of trees. Her dress had fur along the edges of her sleeves, the hem of the skirt, and around the upraised back portion of her collar. Despite the soft-looking material of her dress, it somehow seemed strong, capable, all the more so when she removed a dagger from her bosom and placed the tip against the bodice with slight force.

  “I do not know who you are, and I do not care. Begone,” she said, her words short and crisp, curt to the point of going well beyond rudeness.

  Julius stepped forward into the space between the Vincanans and the woman. No other native had come to stand by her. Were they hiding beyond the tree line, waiting to attack them?

  “We are from—”

  “I do not care and wish only for you to return there.”

  “Don’t you want to be free from Tenoch’s might, from their rule?” Domitia demanded.

  “We are free,” the native woman said calmly. “Do you see their guards? No. You do not. We are independent and have been for over a year.”

  Vivian started. That long had the people of Tiapan considered themselves free? Did anyone in the castle know of this?

  Hating her ignorance in matters far from home, matters the crown should have been aware of, Vivian blinked a few times. The mountains in the eastern portion of the island stretched toward the sky. A bird flew by, heading toward them.

  “Do you have need of anything?” Julius asked.

  “We provide for ourselves, and we have no needs, no wants, other than for you to leave,” the native woman said.

  She flicked her dagger high, plucked it out of the sky, the blade now pointing at them, and her other hand also now held a dagger. Where had she gotten it from, and how had she moved so quickly? Vivian was in awe.

  “I am Jarl Brynja,” she said, “the leader here, and your welcome has ended.”

  Dozens of armed men and women approached from the tree line, advancing toward them.

  “We only want to free the world from Tenoch’s tyranny,” Domitia claimed. “You are free, but many aren’t and—”

  “And they do not concern us.” Jarl Brynja could not sound more dismissive. “We are self-sufficient and self-contained. Leave now or die.”

  Vivian grinned to herself as Cicero yanked on Domitia's arm, and the Vincanans returned to their ship. The former princess would rather those of Tiapan be free than to be used by the Vincanans. Perhaps the jarl would be willing to aid the peop
le from Zola. Perhaps not but at least they would not enter the war.

  Yes, Vivian was very pleased. Now, if only the Fates would be so kind as to allow her a chance to return to the castle.

  She had seen enough of the world at this point.

  17

  Queen Rosalynne Rivera

  The days passed by, and Rosalynne was trying her best to ignore, at least for now, her renewed grief. She had known her father was not the best of kings despite what he had managed to accomplish in his youth. Once his beloved Rohesia died giving birth to Vivian, a part of her father had died too, or so the vicar had told her, and Rosalynne believed it. Despite his constant melancholy, whenever he spoke of the trio’s mother, he had a bright light about him. He turned into a being of joy and hope. His love for her had inspired him to become king, but without her, it seemed as if he had no purpose any longer.

  Their love had been great, but the toll on her father… Had such a wondrous love been worthwhile considering the cost of its loss?

  Regardless, she now realized that her father was not the best of men. In truth, he was the very worst. Who could kill an innocent babe? The more Rosalynne contemplated this, the angrier she became.

  It was this anger that fueled her now, and she could often be found where she was located at the moment, in the library, trying to read up on older battles to better learn how to launch an attack, from where, and also the best defensive measures one could take.

  A knock sounded at the door. She glanced around and realized she was alone save for the liveried servant in the doorway.

  “Yes?”

  “My Queen, there is a messenger here to see you.”

  “Please, send him or her in.” She rolled the scroll she had been reading.

  A female peasant wearing a single piece of armor—a pauldron to cover her right shoulder—entered the room and curtseyed. “Greetings, My Queen. I am here on… on behalf…”

  Rosalynne nodded, suppressing a smile, appreciating the peasant's attempt to use language that was far clearly more formal than her typical speech. While Tenoch did not train ladies to be knights, perhaps they should since clearly at least this female was willing to lay down her life for the sake of her kingdom, and what more could one ask of a knight?

  “On behalf of Ulric Cooper.”

  Now, the queen smiled wide. “Do come closer. What news do you bring?”

  “He captured a Vincanan.” The woman glanced around and then shook her head, leaving Rosalynne to wonder if she had intended to spit. “He learned that more ships are to come.”

  “More ships means more Vincanans warriors,” Rosalynne murmured.

  She rubbed her forehead, but as distressing as this news was, she could not help being pleased. A knight, Sir Edmund Hill, had been sent to spy on the Vincanans and had yet to make a report, but Ulric, who had taken it upon himself to form a militia of sorts to help defend Atlan, had already sent word to her several times now. He amazed her continually. So did many of the servants and maids. Despite the dangers of staying in the castle, which had to remain a target of the Vincanans, they refused to leave, too intent on fulfilling their obligations even after being told they could leave and return later, when it was safe for them.

  “Thank you for risking your life for coming here to bring me this news personally,” she said warmly, “and for fighting for the crown. Is there anything Ulric needs? The rest of you?”

  “We, ah, we need nothing.”

  “Would you like more armor?” Rosalynne asked softly. “For you and the others?”

  “That would be wonderful, but how could I possible transport all of that?”

  “With a horse and a wagon. And some food too.”

  The woman curtseyed. “We… We haven’t much food,” she admitted.

  “When the queen asks if you need anything, she means to hear the truth.”

  “Yes, My Queen. I’m sorry, My Queen. I… Thank you.”

  After finding a maid to give the woman a bath and a hot meal, Rosalynne sought out the butler and asked him to secure food and armor for the militia. Finally, she motioned for Bernard Belinelli to enter the nearest tea room while Wilfrid guarded the door.

  The guard from Cilla bowed. “How can I serve My Queen?”

  “I need to have every single one of our ships manned and ready.”

  “Do they need to set sail?”

  “Not yet. First, we need to find out where the Vincanans are coming from. If this wave of ships is meant to be part of a surprise attack, they might not approach Atlan from directly to the south of us as they had before.”

  “Very well, My Queen. I will handle this. Do not worry.”

  She touched his shoulder. “I never worry with you and Wilfrid to guard me.”

  He bowed again and headed toward the door before turning about. “I do not wish to speak ill of another guard, but I do not like that Tiberius Davis. He has been hanging about as of late.”

  “Hmm. Do you think…”

  “That he’s spying on you? Perhaps. Would the Vincanans have been able to find him and pay him off?”

  “No, I think the enemy would be far closer to home,” she murmured.

  The guard said nothing, but of course he wouldn’t. Despite the complete trust they had for each other, Bernard sometimes wouldn’t speak his mind.

  But he didn’t need to. Sabine was the most likely culprit, but her mother was just as scheming as the other queen.

  It wasn’t as if Rosalynne could blame either of them for wishing to spy on her. After all, Rosalynne had given over guards loyal to her to tend to both the elder queen and her mother.

  Still, Rosalynne would have to be even more careful who she spoke to and about which matters.

  “Thank you, Bernard.”

  “I will do anything for you and Tenoch Proper.” He bowed a third time and left.

  Advisor Aldus might not be the happiest that she had not consulted him first, but Rosalynne did not care. The man was far too ambitious for her liking, and he had been the one to push her father’s grief and depression and helped him to become a glutton. Her father had been so large that walking about had been almost impossible for him at the end.

  Yet, he still managed to walk far enough to kill a babe.

  Anger. Rosalynne was quickly becoming a creature of anger—anger toward her father, anger toward Aldus, toward the Vincanans, even toward the Fates of Chaos and Death.

  Anger could destroy a person, though, and she knew she must be careful before she allowed the emotion to transform her as grief had her father.

  18

  Queen Sabine Grantham

  After another night’s terrible dream, Sabine knew she had to hold off on the potion attempts for now and focus more on being the ruling queen. The chance that a potion could solve all of her problems was unlikely anyhow.

  It took Sabine until well after the sun had started her descent for her to realize that the best strategy would be to acquire as many allies as possible, and the most influential ally she could think of was right here in the castle.

  She found the younger queen in the library. Rosalynne glanced up at Sabine’s approach, returned her gaze to the parchment, and then looked up again.

  “Sabine,” Rosalynne said evenly, even a bit strident. “What brings you here?”

  It did not bode well that the younger queen seemed so upset to see her.

  “I am here to offer a truce… of sorts,” Sabine explained. “I know that neither of us likes the other, and that will never change. For the sake of Tenoch Proper, though, we must unite.”

  Rosalynne grimaced.

  “You cannot deny that a unified front would—”

  “I cannot deny that, but… is there anything you wish to confess, Sabine?”

  Sabine's heart skipped a beat, and she hesitated, stalling by pulling out a chair and sitting. "Confess? If you mean to accuse me of something, speak plainly."

  “Did you ask a guard to spy on me?”

  Sabine laughed
and shook her head. “As you did with Thorley Everett?”

  Rosalynne winced and tapped a finger on the table. "Do you deny it?"

  “I do,” Sabine said firmly. “Are you certain a guard is spying on you? Because I will be honest and admit that I think one has been following me about as of late, and I do not even know his name.”

  “Your mother,” Rosalynne suggested.

  “Why would she spy on me?” Sabine asked.

  “If she doesn’t trust you…”

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “If she wants the crown for herself…”

  “She could have married your father instead of me,” Sabine said angrily. “There is no reason to think that my mother wants anything but the best for me.”

  Rosalynne said nothing. After a moment, she slid the parchment toward Sabine.

  Instead of being a passage about any number of topics, it was a coded message to Cilla.

  “If we’re to unite, then you can help me,” Rosalynne proposed. “Before it gets any colder, we need to send out more messenger birds to every major city asking for fighters.”

  “We can send to the islands too,” Sabine said.

  “I don’t know if the messages will be ignored again, but we must try.”

  “Indeed. We should also send some messengers too,” Sabine suggested. “It will take them far longer to reach their destinations than the birds, but a person might be harder to say no to than a messenger.”

  “Good idea.” Rosalynne shuffled the parchments around and handed Sabine several empty ones.

  The two queens went to work, but Sabine was silently fuming. Rosalynne wouldn’t have been so suspicious of Sabine if the younger queen had been the one to send the second guard to spy on Sabine. Why would Rosalynne bother when she already had with Thorley? Rosalynne tried to be deceitful, but she was a little too transparent with her attempts.

  Sabine’s mother, on the other hand, was deceitful to the core, and Sabine had long been wondering if her mother had her eyes on the crown.