Rise of the Dragon Queen

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  Keelan very nearly squeezed the breath out Silvia, he hugged her so hard. Tears were running down his cheeks, and he knew then that he would die before another man married her. “I would have saved you anyway, my love,” he whispered fiercely.

  When she had quit crying, Keelan told her to wet her hair and let him wash it. He lathered the red mass thoroughly with soap, and plunged his hands into it. He massaged and scrunched and scrubbed until it was clean, loving its length and thickness. She rinsed her hair and he told her to stand so that he could wash her body. His gentle hands, with the help of the soap, scoured her skin. He washed her neck and chest; he washed her waist, and then held it with one hand while the other washed her hips and her womanhood; he washed her long narrow back and the roundness that was her rump. Afterwards she slid into the water to rinse as Keelan spread one of the towels beside the tub and held another one open in his arms to dry her with. She stood and stepped onto the towel and gratefully allowed him to wrap it around her. He held her just that way: the towel over her smooth skin and his arms over the towel. She leaned her head against his chest, content.

  A few minutes later he slid her nightgown over her head and towel-dried her hair. He put out the torch and took the flagon of wine she had sipped on before dozing off in the tub and led Silvia to bed. There they drank the rest of the wine and fell asleep holding each other.

  Both had sweet dreams.

  Horace was playing poker with his wife, who (all tales be told) was a much better player.

  “All right,” he said in a gruff voice. “This time…three of spades and seven of diamonds.” The wild cards told, he reshuffled the deck and dealt five cards to each of them. He picked up his cards: a king of spades, a deuce of hearts, a four of hearts, a four of clubs, and a ten of diamonds. Cursing silently he laid down everything except the pair and picked up three new cards: an eight of hearts, a six of spades, and a jack of clubs. He eyed his wife over his hand. She had discarded two had taken two more, and was smiling serenely at him. He grumbled something unintelligible and stared at his hand. Just a damn pair of fours. He sighed and threw down his hand for her to see.

  Still smiling, she laid hers down as well: three queens and a pair of jacks.

  “Damn it Karen, you always win!” growled the burly man.

  “That’s only because you always lose,” she said.

  “Well you should at least let an old man win from time to time.”

  “Old man? I don’t see any ‘old man’ in this room,” she laughed. “I’m only nine years younger than you, so don’t call yourself old; it makes me feel like I’m getting old, and I prefer not to act my age.”

  They were both laughing at this when the heavy brass knocker on the door sounded.

  “I wonder who that is?” said Horace.

  “I don’t know, husband of mine, but I would suggest they have a good reason for disturbing this household so late at night.” She was walking towards the front entrance briskly; a tall woman, and a bit on the beefy side, she could be a slightly ominous figure when irritated.

  Horace expected whomever it was to get the worst tongue-lashing of their life, but to his complete surprise she let out a shriek of pure delight. He could see someone quite smaller than his wife entrapped in Karen’s burly arms. He got up and sauntered over to them.

  Karen let go of the person and he saw that it was none other than his great-niece, Hanovi. This time it was he who wrapped his arms around the girl in a great bear hug. When they parted Horace said, “By the gods, girl! How you have grown! Why, I haven’t seen your pretty little face in five or six years! How have you been faring?”

  “Very good, Uncle,” Hanovi said in her small voice. But then her smile broke and tears appeared in her eyes. “I hate to say this, Uncle, but we need your help.”

  “We?” he said, then looked beyond her in the doorway. A freckle-faced young man stood gazing at him timidly. He was holding a much younger boy by the shoulders. Both of them were obviously afraid. Horace motioned them all inside and noticed that the back of the young man’s cotton shirt was soaked in blood, fresh and old. “What in Eeirch’s Hell happened to you?” he asked him.

  The lad said, “A terrible event has occurred in our Mistress’ home, sir, and several died.”

  A grave expression came over Horace and Karen’s faces. They knew very little of Mistress Dessica, but she had a very respectable reputation in the community of the people on the outskirts of the great city. They themselves had taken Hanovi and her mother to Mistress Dessica. Horace ushered the three travelers and their few bags into the sitting room, locking the front door again behind them. Jonathan and Jason were introduced to Hanovi’s great uncle and great aunt. Horace asked again what had happened.

  “Sir,” Jonathan said, “is it possible that we could wait to talk until my brother fell asleep?”

  The older man looked at Hanovi sharply and she nodded her head solemnly. “All right.”

  Hanovi asked her aunt to help to clean Jonathan’s wound. Karen went off to get healing herbs, clean rags, boil some water and get needle and thread. While she was doing that Hanovi cut his shirt off; some of the cloth, however, was caught up in the old stitches of the wound and the dried blood. When Karen returned Hanovi dipped one of the clean rags into the hot water and pressed it against Jonathan’s shoulder. She let it soak for a few minutes as he sucked in his breath and then she removed it. The last piece of his shirt came off with it, holding on to a scab from the knife wound. She grabbed another cloth and began cleansing the cut. The ride on the dusty road to Darkania had apparently infected it badly and two of the stitches had been ripped out of the flesh from mounting and dismounting his horse. The skin around the wound was a sickly color.

  Karen grimaced as she peered closely at his shoulder. “You should not have been moving this arm at all, young Jonathan. How exactly did you two travel here?”

  “Our Mistress lent us two horses and some food,” Hanovi answered.

  “Where are the horses now?” Horace asked.

  “We paid a man who was traveling in that direction to take them back to her.”

  “You can’t trust just anybody these days,” Horace told her. “You should have brought them here and the wife and I would have arranged for the beasts to be taken home.”

  “Hush about it—nothing can be done to change it,” Karen said. “They did what they thought was right and proper, is all. And it was very kind of the Mistress to lend you her horses.” She had neglected to say that it was also kind of Mistress Dessica to take care of poor Hanovi after her mother ran off, leaving the young girl to do all of her duties in Dessica’s home. Karen busied herself taking all of the stitches out of Jonathan that still remained. The wound was swelled badly; Karen squeezed it, forcing out the thick yellow and white infection. Jonathan gritted his teeth and moaned. More was squeezed out, along with a nasty helping of dark blood mixed in. It looked very bad. He was lucky not to be sick with fever from the infection. The wound was cleansed thoroughly and stitched again, much to his utmost disappointment. When that was finally over Hanovi wrapped a long cloth around it, going under his arm, around his neck and back over the wound, and tied it securely.

  “Thank you,” he said weakly. “But if you ever expect me to let you restitch it you are sorely mistaken.”

  Horace guffawed heartily and the women joined in. By this time Jason had fallen asleep in a large chair near the fireplace. Karen gently scooped him up and took him to an extra bedroom to sleep more comfortably.

  As his wife walked back into the room her smile vanished and she said, “Start talking and don’t leave anything out.”

  It had been rather early when Keelan had taken Silvia and the flagon to the bed, so Silvia got up at the crack of dawn and was able to watch the sun rise. She watched from her terrace and thought about the night before. She wondered why Keelan had not made love to her; they had many opportunities, and he had chosen to hold her and give her peace and comfort instead. She wasn’t
complaining in the least, however. She found it sweet and endearing that Keelan had not taken advantage of the situation, or of her vulnerability.

  And so it felt perfectly normal when he came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist lovingly. Her terrace could not be seen from any other balconies, and someone on the ground would have great difficulty seeing through the high stone railings that came up to her chest. She and Keelan could stand right in the middle of it and not be seen by anyone. “I will be going into the city on an important errand today,” he told her. “Will you be all right with Dalton by yourself?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m going to hate being away from you.” And he would hate her being alone with that fool of a prince.

  Silvia smiled, turned in his arms, and kissed him deeply. “Me too,” she said.

  They stayed that way until Silvia needed to get ready for breakfast. An hour later she was dressed in a soft pink dress with her riding skirt beneath it. Her hair was plaited tightly under her white nuuisaket. Her boots and riding skirt were both white, making the pink of her dress stand out more. Her sapphire shone brightly beneath the cloth of the ample curve of her breasts as she walked downstairs. Keelan walked beside her in fox-form; he had said he’d stay with her until she left the stables.

  Breakfast was served in a small foyer on the main floor of the palace. Dalton was already eating when they arrived. Flapjacks with hot blueberry syrup, bacon, fried eggs, warm cow’s milk and goat cheese soon filled them. It was a delicious meal and Silvia enjoyed it immensely.

  The walk to the stables would have been just as nice but for Dalton’s insistence that she take his arm. During the walk she was only too aware of Keelan glaring at the prince from below. She chose Windfall again and still wanted the thinner bit. Dalton chose his own horse, a large white male who supposedly was battle-trained. When they started off towards one of the nearby hills on the steeds, Silvia looked back and saw a tiny red streak heading towards the city.

  “Will he be alright on his own, do you think?” asked the prince, who had seen Keelan running off.

  “Most certainly. After all, this isn’t the first time we have been separated.”

  “I see. Are you up for a gallop?”

  Silvia smiled and spurred Windfall to the appropriate speed. Dalton’s horse caught up quickly and they galloped over many hills in the sloping pasture as it wound its way down to the flats below the grand city. Before long, they were slowing the lathered animals down to a walk.

  “There’s a stream nearby that they can drink from. I found it the second day I was here. Follow me.”

  She followed and they came to the stream ten minutes later. While the horses quenched their thirst Silvia inquired as to how long he had been in Darkania.

  “Just a couple of weeks,” he replied, staring into the distance. Several minutes went by before he spoke. He turned to her and said, “I don’t know why I am telling you this, so let us get that straight first. I feel as though I can trust you not to say a word to anyone—I beg it of you.”

  Silvia furrowed her eyebrows and nodded, wondering what a prince would have to say to her.

  “Five nights ago I was having the worst trouble sleeping. I took out my sightseer (an extraordinary device that allows you to see things far away as if they were up close) and I went for a walk outside. I had my sightseer pointed upwards, watching the sky. Then, out of the blue I saw a large bird flying overhead and I trained my special device on it to see where it was going. It landed on the edge of the King’s balcony outside his bedchambers and I saw that it was an over-sized raven. Evidently Gregorich knew the creature was coming because he was outside waiting for it; he even bowed before it, which I thought was a queer thing to do. Who would bow to a beast? Not I, for certain. Then he began to talk to it, and I moved right below the balcony to hear him better. I did not hear everything Gregorich told the bird, but a lot of it was about the Lordalen War. And then I thought I lost my mind, for the bird started speaking! I make no mistake, Lady Serena, so please believe me. I saw its beak move as it talked and it sounded nearly human. It kept telling Gregorich that he was going to have to do more to help his father in the war. It said that his father needed more men to fight because they were saving as much of their magic as they could for the next stage of the war. Then it said that another raven would be back in five days for another report and that Gregorich had better have more to say and send to his father. The raven flew away and the King went back inside his room. I returned to my own bed to contemplate things. Who is the King’s father? I do not know. How can a raven talk? I do not know. Why did Gregorich seem so intimidated by the raven and the conversation about his own father? After all, he is a King—what is there to be frightened of? I have wondered about this since then, and cannot come up with anything that will help me figure this out. It’s none of my business anyway, but it has my curiosity at its peak. So I decided to tell someone trustworthy who may be able to come up with something more: you. This was the purpose of going riding with you, other than enjoying your company of course.”

  “I do not know what to say, except that the King has some strange ways,” said Silvia. The image of the King talking to a raven disturbed her, though she didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because every time she saw a raven it was feasting on the rotting flesh of some poor animal. A bird that fed on the dead was not top on her list of animals to trust. And was it a coincidence that the King’s emblem was a raven as well?

  “What is making me worried is that the raven kept implying that Gregorich’s father has been keeping the upper hand in the Lordalen War,” he went on. “I admit that an end to the war would be a blessing, if only Lord Rohedon wasn’t winning.”

  Her eyes widened. “My word! Are you saying that there is a possibility that the King is plotting with the enemy?”

  “I am afraid so,” Dalton said. “But do not breathe a word of it to anyone or the both of us shall be put to death for treason against him.” His face darkened.

  She nodded. “Yes, but what are we to do?”

  “Well,” said the prince, brushing back his black hair, “we have to find out who he is coercing with first. I don’t know how other than go and spy on him when the raven comes tonight. If we find that it is the enemy he’s conversing with, well…I don’t know. We will have to see what’s in the water when we come to that bridge.”

  Dessica and Geremy had been getting along rather well, but each could tell the other was tiring of the trip. Dessica had said they would arrive sometime tomorrow, though this cheered them little.

  It was around noon that Geremy spotted a cart up ahead. “You don’t think that she has somehow passed us, do you?” he asked with alarm.

  She knew he was speaking of Raena. “I don’t think so. Besides, that cart is coming this way.”

  And it was. But as it got nearer, Dessica thought the whole ensemble—horse, driver, cart—looked familiar. A quick calculation in her mind told her that if all had gone well in Darkania that they would be meeting Silvia sometime today on the road. She had not thought about that. How foolish she was! Surely everything had gone fine and this was her adopted daughter returning home to her. However, there was only one cart and she had sent two with Silvia to the great city. Where was the other one? She suddenly had a gut feeling that something was terribly wrong with Silvia and her trip. Dessica dug her heels in the horse’s sides and Rituel raced forward to meet the cart. Geremy, uncertain of Dessica’s odd reaction to the cart, followed at a slightly slower pace.

  The cart had pulled to a stop and the driver was standing up, peering at them. “Mistress?” the man said with a heavy accent.

  “Dilliby.” Dessica pulled to a stop beside the driver’s seat. “Where is my daughter?” she demanded harshly. Worry made her anger more pronounced.

  The man nearly hunkered down before her gaze. He spoke, but his words were hard to understand. “She give me letter to give you. I have here.” He produced a white piece
of paper that was folded and sealed with wax.

  Dessica grabbed the letter and tore it open. It read:

  Beloved Dessica--

  All is well, although we have had some difficulties. We were staying at the Home Away From Home, but His Eminency, King Gregorich Hapshamin, has ever so kindly insisted that my company stay at the palace. Isn’t that dear of His Highness? I do hope none of my company decides to make mischief, for I do not want to perish from the King’s good graces.

  I have sent Dilliby to deliver this letter unto you personally so that you will know what has been keeping me. Perhaps, if you should come and visit, you could stay at a friend’s house just outside the city. His name is Zander, and he is very kind. He will surely take a sweet soul such as you into his home. To find him, enter Darkania and keep to the main road. Look for a shoe shop that is called ‘Souls for Soles’. Just past this is a wide dirt road that turns right. Follow this road until it forks. Take the left road and you will soon enough come to a quaint cottage near the river. Zander will inform me that you have arrived {if you should even come} and I will come and visit with you. Be kind to old Zander—appearances can be deceiving. I will rejoice in hearing from you.