The Neuyokkasinian Arc of Empire Series: Books 1-3 Box Set High, Epic Fantasy on a Grand Dragon Scale! Kindle Edition

by C. Craig Coleman

  * * *

  Earwig lay on her swaybacked bed, surrounded by piles of musty old clothes and moldy food containers tossed here and there around the room. The last moth-eaten drapery hung precariously at an angle from the surviving rod holder; one-half jerked from the wall. Through the mildew and cobwebs on the window, a cold light bounced off the season’s first snow into the room’s gloom.

  The tethered badger at the corner of Earwig’s bed froze, staring at the lump nearby. Barely able to move, he watched her creaking bones shuffle under the rags that covered the frightful carcass. Her fleas were eating the badger alive, and it couldn’t even scratch or gnaw at them.

  “It’s cold in here,” Earwig muttered, then coughed amid the dander.

  She wheezed, struggling in vain to sit up. Each time her torso jerked up, it bounced off her potbelly, throwing her back into the musty rag muddle. Earwig’s wrinkled, sagging skin rippled with each convulsion as the bed crawled across the floor with each pounding. Trussed up and tied to the bed frame, Earwig’s wide-eyed badger thrust out his feet, jamming his claws into the quivering rags. He stared over his shoulder. Exhausted, Earwig rolled on her side, then began pushing her bloated body up with scrawny arms. Her legs inched toward the bed’s edge. Unable to stop, the witch rolled off, producing a great, dull thump.

  Moaning froze the trembling, wide-eyed badger. His gaping eyes shifted from bedside to bedside. Where was she? Horrified, he watched a boney forearm rise like a mushroom stem over the bed’s edge. It plopped near him on the sagging mattress. Spidery fingers clawed at the rags. There was a grunt as the other arm shot up, then plummeted to the bed.

  The badger struggled in vain to escape his mesh of chords and knots. A mat of thin, greasy gray hair bedecked with dust bunnies erupted between the boney shoulders as Earwig’s head rose at the bed’s edge. His nerve broken, the badger tore frantically at his tether. Earwig groaned as she dragged herself up off the floor, finally standing up, hunched over and wheezing.

  The badger gaped at the sight and froze.

  The witch lived on the brew and chunks torn out of that wriggling thing now lurking in the ceramic tub down the hall. The scarlet broth and slug-like flesh made the witch’s skin color marbleize in deep reds and purples. In an attempt to expel the poison, her large pores grew even larger, and her irises yellowed in the red pools of her eyes. As her muscles atrophied on her recovery bed, her nose grew bigger, more hooked, hovering over pinched lips. Her shoulders twisted and with swollen joints, she hardly looked human at all.

  She stood for a moment, then collapsed onto the bed and lay there. “No one comes to check on me. The friends I bought have found patrons elsewhere. Those that sought my favor for my influence at court are long gone. I’m alone … deserted.” She looked at the struggling, staring badger, which ceased movement. “My only friends are you and Magnosious.”

  The old witch lay on the soiled bed day after day, recovering from the coach disaster. While prostrate, she could only obsess in her hatred for the royal family. She fixated on her certainty the Calimons were responsible for all her misfortunes. They stole her throne. The coach disaster was the queen’s fault. The state should pay for her coach.

  Hatred restored her strength; nothing could restore her body. When she looked in the mirror, Earwig was petrified. “Eeeekkkkk!” What she saw was too horrible, even for her to face. The witch smashed the glass, then seething, remembered her dressing table. She brushed off the mildewed makeup, picked up the powder box, swept the cobwebs aside, and pounded clouds of powder on her face. The glob of red lipstick on her thin withered lips disappeared against her red/purple hide. Looking into a shard of mirror on the floor, she realized there was no point in appearing at court anymore. If she couldn’t restore her human appearance, she’d take another form. The witch still wielded substantial power.

  In the tower, she burned a fire day and night. She burned the bones of servants left in Magnosious’ dung, which he dropped through the window for her fire. Only the slightest of bonds and a steady supply of tasty convicts held the dragon to Earwig. As she weakened, Magnosious’ girth and power grew. He was capable of decimating entire villages if he so desired. She imagined she still controlled him, but the Dark Lord now directed the dragon. Dreaddrac’s king held Magnosious in reserve until his capacity for destruction could be unleashed on Neuyokkasin behind war’s battlefront.

  Huddled by the dung-fire in her tower, Earwig eventually found old spells that would allow her to transform herself into the form of a bat, a wolf, or a huge serpent. She meticulously memorized the spells.

  “The vile potency of the mushrooms I cultivate for that thing in the ceramic tub should give me the strength necessary to do transformations,” she said to the badger lying on its back on the floor. “I must be careful, though. I no longer have the physical strength to perform many transformations. I must be judicious in the use of multiple manifestations.”

  Concentrating on her next attack, she got up from her chair and went to toss another dung chip on the smoky fire. She’d forgotten about the badger and tripped over him.

  “Get out of my way,” she screeched, kicking the badger, which spun around, sailing across the floor.

  “Now that I’ve recovered, and learned the transmutation spells, I’m ready to put this unique plan into action. This plan can’t fail.” She chuckled to herself as she clawed her way up a chair, knowing she had no teeth left to knock out. Being so used to chronic pain, she didn’t notice a few broken bones in her fingers and toes. Her hand disappeared into the folds of her gut. It was tender in there, but she’d be fine. Even Death was afraid of her.

  She stumbled out into the garden past the hairy poison ivy vines that now covered even the windows. She wandered past the brown stinging nettles that spread out from the kitchen garden and across the former lawn.

  “I must find that one last rose I saw from my room, while I convalesced,” she told the badger, dragged behind through the dust. Its single bloom, the color of dried blood, alerted her to the fact one of those cuttings had survived Magnosious’ flames. Thinking of the vile rose, growing tenaciously in the sulfurous fumes above The Crypt, made her smile.

  A single cane grew, where it had fallen. Magnosious’ claw had accidentally thumped it, when he tramped around the kitchen garden, flaming the little rose cuttings after Earwig’s accident. The obstinate cane had managed to survive and root, where a corroded drain pipe dripped moisture for it.

  The witch forgot her rage, coveting its sinister thorns and lone orange rosehip. The old crone bent over with joints creaking, to pluck the single seedpod. Even the light snow from the night before dared not stay on the scarlet hip, which disdained the cold and refused to shrivel. She could only imagine what concentrated horrors were within it. She twirled it between two fingers. She’d use the excuse rosehip tea was such a good tonic.

  Back in the tower, in front of the dung fire, she shared her plan with the badger. “I’ll assume the guise of a bat and fly to the palace. The guards can’t turn me away then. Once in the queen’s apartments, I’ll transform again back to myself. No matter how horrible I appear, Queen Eleatsubetsvyertsin is too gracious a lady to refuse her sister-in-law a rare visit.” Earwig glanced at the trembling badger and poked it. She cackled. “I shall require tea, and then insist the queen accept my single, precious rosehip for her tea, a gift don’t you see. What could go wrong?”

  That evening, the witch transmuted into a bat and clutched the lethal rosehip in her feet. She flew out the tower window, past the smoldering face of Magnosious, who knew her plot. She flew to the royal palace far above the guards that watched for intruders, but not for bats. The witch flew through an open lit window in the queen’s private apartments high in the keep.

  Again, Earwig transformed, this time back into her malformed human state, and seated herself by the fire. The queen will be shocked, of course, but it’s the best I can do, she thought. I can only mask my body’s corruption so much.

&
nbsp; Eleatsubetsvyertsin came from her bedroom into the sitting room. Shock seized her, finding the monster in one of her private rooms. She recovered from the initial trauma and was about to call the guards when she realized the thing standing before her was none other than Earwig.

  The witch smiled and broke the silence. “I’ve missed seeing Your Majesty. I’ve brought you a special gift from my garden to ensure your good health during the winter doldrums.”

  “Irkin, how did you get in here? I didn’t hear you announced.”

  “I let myself in. You really must have a chat with the guards, my dear.” Earwig seated herself at the end of a sofa and waved her hand to suggest the queen should sit beside her. “Aren’t you going to offer me some tea?”

  “Very well.” Eleatsubetsvyertsin pulled the bell pull. A lady-in-waiting appeared at once and nearly screamed. The witch pretended not to notice the lady covered her mouth when she saw the red and purple marbled monstrosity; then, the queen put her finger to her mouth.

  “We’ll have tea,” the queen said to the lady-in-waiting, then standing with her mouth open.

  The toothless, smiling Earwig nodded a confirmation.

  The hesitant lady looked again at the queen, turned, and left.

  “You’ve surprised me, so; I’m not sure if the lady will return with tea or the guards,” Eleatsubetsvyertsin said, with a twitching smile followed by a forced chuckle. “What brings you here, Duchess? I’m so happy you’ve recovered so …”

  She can’t bring herself to say ‘so well,’ the sorceress thought.

  “I just came to visit and offer my experienced assistance in the kingdom’s administration,” Earwig said, wanting to get past the pleasantries and get to the poisoning. “The burdens are so much for one lady.”

  “I still find the kingdom’s administration exciting and challenging after all these years,” the queen responded. Her lips were tight, the glance resolute.

  She wants to end any thought of subjecting the kingdom to my ideas, Earwig thought.

  Escorted by guards, the lady-in-waiting knocked at the door and entered. She put the tray, with its shaking tinkling tea service, on the table, cast a worried glance at the queen, and departed in haste. The queen poured the tea and handed a cup to the creature across from her.

  Earwig took out and unfolded her faded, stained handkerchief, revealing the brilliant red rosehip. She admired it before looking at the queen. “Isn’t it lovely?” She gingerly broke it open with her dingy fingernail and handed it to the queen. “For your tea, my dear. Please accept this season’s last rosehip for your good health. It survived the snow, and I wanted you to have it, so I brought it for you right away. It makes an invigorating tonic.

  “How thoughtful of you.”

  “It’s been so long since I’ve seen, Your Majesty. I wanted to give you this token of my appreciation for saving me after the ghastly coach disaster.” She tried to smile without exposing her blackened teeth stubs.

  The queen flashed Earwig a nervous smile, then glared at the rosehip.

  “Thank you, Irkin, that’s so generous.” She glanced again at Earwig and forced a weak smile. Though hesitant, she reached out and took the small rosehip by two fingernails.

  The witch rocked on the sofa, re-situating her rear. It tickled her. She’s afraid to touch it, she thought. The Queen inspected the vibrant orange gift. It’s taking her too long. Come on… come on… get on with it!

  Eleatsubetsvyertsin moved the hip at arm’s length slowly toward her teacup and was about to drop it in when the witch lurched forward and snatched it back. “No! No! Look, you just bite on it like so to expose the nutrients, then drop the open fruit into your tea.”

  The queen’s face crinkled with confusion.

  Frustrated, Earwig bit into the hip with her jagged fang-stubs. The bitter juice shriveled her mouth like a green persimmon. Just as she bit down, someone knocked at the door.

  “Enter,” the queen said.

  Alerted by the lady-in-waiting, Memlatec opened the door. “Greetings, Your Majesty.”

  The wizard’s sudden appearance startled the witch, who gasped and sucked in the rosehip and gasped. She tried to cough the toxic hip up. Memlatec rushed over and repeatedly slapped the hag on the back to dislodge it. Misunderstanding, Earwig flashed raging scarlet at each swat. With a resounding gulp, Earwig swallowed the poison.

  “Stop that, you old fool!” Earwig said.

  Earwig started mumbling a curse at him for ruining her plot but confused it with her new spell of transmutation. Before she realized her mistake, she poofed into a bat. Her rage knew no bounds. The bat flashed colors of red and purple. Impossible… foiled again. Now that she had exposed her bat disguise, there was no telling what that rosehip could do. Earwig’s head began to spin as her stomach exploded in pain. She panicked and flew through the open door. At once, the guard swatted the bat with his spear. In her fright, she focused on dodging the spear and flew clumsily in circles in the stairwell. At the last instant, she saw an alert maid, cleaning the stairs, swing her broom with all the might in both her arms. The broom smacked Earwig squarely in the face, smashing her against the far wall. She bounced off two other walls before tumbling in a heap down the stairwell. Her yellow eyes rolled back in her head. She began to glow from the rose hip’s effects.

  Earwig couldn’t move. Her blurred vision watched as the cleaning woman swept her into a dustpan and tossed her in a courtyard trash bin before the shocked queen could recover to rescue her.

  Pulsing with pain on a bed of rubbish, Earwig reverted to her semi-human form. The trashcan fell over with the plop. Earwig rolled out as a tangled lump. The rose hipshot pain throughout her entire battered body. The slightest touch fired off more pain pulses as it struck the countless bruises. The poison reached her veins, and she turned a rainbow of colors. She ached all over; her stomach wrenched in knots. Lethal to anyone else, Earwig had developed a considerable passion for poison pains. Still, the waves of pain washed over her, clouding her brain. The agonized witch inadvertently said a variation on the transmute-to-bat spell, hoping to fly home for recovery. Poof! She was a copperhead snake loitering by the trash bins.

  Oh, the pain, she was bruised all over. Her energy was spent. She had no time to try again. She heard voices coming. In excruciating pain, Earwig twisted and wriggled her battered body to slither from the courtyard. Several servants followed her all the way to the gate beating her with sticks.

  “Take that!” a servant said. The witch suspected the man knew it was her. He repeatedly beat the snake with his broom until Earwig’s warped writhing propelled her through a gate and into the darkness. In the end, she hid in a pile of horse poop to catch her breath. By the time she slithered up to the Earwighof the next day, she was barely alive. Magnosious didn’t know her or at least pretended not to know her. He shot flames that scorched her already-beaten and frayed scales. She crawled through a sewer pipe back up to her tattered bed. The befuddled witch checked off another plot that didn’t quite go as planned.

  * * *

  “This seems a prosperous land, Tournak,” Saxthor said.

  “The people of Sengenwha’s northern plain have always cared deeply for their lands and livestock,” Tournak said. “They herd beasts on these rich pastures. Like the people of Heggolstockin, the Sengenwhan have enough prosperity; they try to avoid wars that might disrupt their trade.”

  “Sengenwha doesn’t have the desolate and desperate feeling Prertsten did,” Bodrin said.

  “King Calamidese has no reason to deal with the evil that dominates Prertsten.” Saxthor was admiring the rich, dark green pastures and the sprawling oaks that dotted them. “It’s a relief to see prosperity in northern Sengenwha.” He turned to Hendrel. “I’ve not heard much of this country. Even as a boy at court, I heard little mention of Sengenwha. Do you know anything current about the king or the country politically?”

  “I must confess I’ve spent my time between Neuyokkasin and Hador and have had lit
tle reason to travel through Sengenwha,” Hendrel said.

  “It has a long history of failed competition with Neuyokkasin,” Tournak said.

  Saxthor kicked a noxious weed growing up in the path. “Neither country wants another war, but after generations of animosity, neither side trusts the other either. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Tournak turned to Saxthor. “Well, having been away for seven years, I can’t say for sure, but it’s doubtful King Calamidese will be particularly happy to see you.”

  “The Sengenwhan have traded with Hoyans for as long as I can remember,” Tonelia said. “I don’t know much about the king, but the people are peaceful and quite willing to do honest trading.”

  “If they have commercial success and a stable economy, they shouldn’t be hostile,” Hendrel said.

  Astorax walked up beside Saxthor. “Before my accident, the people in the Heggolstockin Mountains traded our ceramics, high-mountain wool, and timber for Sengenwhan livestock, produce, and metal tools. The Sengenwhan are handsome people and fair in their trading. They care little for politics.”

  “Yes, and remember that in Botahar, the wharf was long and shop business brisk. That wasn’t bad activity considering the lean times early last fall,” Tournak added.

  “If Sengenwha is prosperous, and the indications support that, we shouldn’t encounter too much hostility,” Saxthor said. He stepped out in front of the troupe and turned, walking backward to face them. “Don’t reveal who I am. If the king still harbors ancient resentment, it’ll surface because of me and not with the rest of you.”

  Saxthor turned again and led his troupe down the path toward the hills, which divided northern and central Sengenwha. He reached down and patted Delia, who devotedly walked along beside him, panting with the pace.

  “You’ll keep an eye out for trouble, won’t you, Delia?”

  -

  Sitting in the higher vantage point of Astorax antlers, Twit noted the attention paid to Delia.