War Against the Realm

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  Movement outside the window caught his eye, and he froze.

  “The Black Stag,” Emaree said softly from his back. “The Parent Gods could not have made a more magnificent creature.”

  Quentin had never, indeed, seen such a beautiful animal in all of his years.

  The Black Stag took a step forward. “Take her to the chambers of the head witch.”

  “I will not turner her over to them,” Quentin growled back, thrusting out his chin.

  “That is not my intention,” said the Stag. “Take her there and go to the mirror that I showed you. It is the only way either of you will leave this place alive.”

  Turning his tail, he bounded off into the forest as though the Hound of Death were at his heels.

  “Which of the witches does he speak of?” Quentin asked.

  “Natosha, no doubt. She is the worst of all of them. We must listen to the stag, my new friend. He is the last pure creature that still dwells here, and he is very wise.”

  “So be it,” he said. He was thinking of how to get back to Natosha’s room, and of the stones she had been wearing. He had to get those back before she realized that she was privy to everything the other stone bearers said.

  He looked around the empty room, grateful that no one had been in it when they’d stumbled in. It was barren except for a wooden cot with no mattress, and two chairs. A fireplace, cleaned of all its ashes, sat in the corner.

  He reached into his shirt and withdrew the white cloak. Emaree helped to slide it over both of them, not questioning the magic behind it. The robe went down to his boots, but only barely covered them. They would have to be extremely careful as they walked the halls of the witches’ mountain.

  “Do you know where Natosha’s room is?”

  She shook her head and mumbled, “As a prisoner, I wasn’t exactly allowed to roam. I can’t even walk anyway, so I couldn’t have even if I had been permitted to.”

  “Great.” He sighed heavily.

  “Wait,” she whispered before he could open the door. “I don’t even know your name.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Quentin…my name is Quentin.”

  Chapter Five: Through the Looking Glass

  The day passed uneventfully. The city of Nillias bustled in a busy frenzy as it prepared to go to war.

  The smithies had long since fired up their kilns and were hard at work repairing swords and finishing ones that were not complete. The bow and arrow makers had in the past saved up a large stockpile of wood for their crafts and were now working at a frenzied pace to make new weapons and supplies. Indeed, they were overrun with workers, as many from the Lystian army had volunteered their time and skills to help. Bows and arrows were soon being made by the dozens throughout the city. It helped that Nillias had a decent stock of weaponry that had already been started on, and only needed to be finished. Starting from scratch would have taken much too long.

  Shoemakers on every corner rapidly sold out of all manner of shoes and boots. Even though they were exhausted, their pockets were heavy with profits, and they offered to repair the Lystian army’s footwear for only a minimal charge to help out. The lines outside of their shops wrapped around the nearby buildings and down the streets.

  Clothe stores were also filled to maximum capacity. Tattered clothes were shoved into sacks with extra bone needles and thread to repair them as the soldiers acquired more clothes. The tunics of the Royal Guards were re-stained with dark purple dyes, and all of the generals had an outer cape dyed the same color to match. With an early summer sun heating them from above, the newly dyed materials were quickly dried.

  Stable-hands and the like were sweeping through the Lystian army, bringing bales of hay for the oxen and other animals. Horseshoes were cleaned out and many were replaced or re-shoed. Saddles were double-checked to make sure the straps were not worn out or dry-rotted. The manes and tails of the horses and mules were brushed out by the children of Nillias, who were only too happy to escape the chores of the hectic city and see the horses. They carefully cut out tangles and even gave many of the horses fine braids with strips of colored cloth woven in.

  The Queen’s personal wagon underwent special treatment as well. One of its wheels was replaced and several spokes were repaired in the other wheels. Extra wheels were fastened beneath the wagon in case of a crisis on the road ahead. The inside of the wagon was scoured and all of the blankets and pillows were sent to the washwomen to be cleaned with care. The outside was scrubbed and coated with beeswax to make it shine like new.

  Storage spaces that were dug out long ago beneath houses and huts to keep vegetables from rotting and the wine barrels at a cooler temperature were emptied of their provisions. Wagons were brought out and laden down with food that would keep for longer periods of time, jugs of fresh water, and jugs of wine.

  As the day wore on into the afternoon, and afternoon into the evening, the city slowed down until a peaceful quiet enveloped it tightly.

  “There must be some sort of spell that can tell us where he is,” Silvia spat bitterly. She gazed off the balcony to the rolling hills on the horizon as Frero, Zander, and Keelan exchanged glances.

  “I’m afraid that if there is, then I don’t know of it,” Zander answered softly.

  ‘Do you know of one that could tell us if he’s alive, at least?”

  He shook his head sadly. “No, my Queen.”

  “There’s no hope for it,” said Keelan glumly. “All we can do is get to Lordale quicker so we can attack the Realm of Rohedon.”

  “Keelan, are you positive you do not wish to wait another day?” Silvia asked. After the night before, guilt of her betrayal to him had eaten away at her anger over his future child. Now she only wished to resolve their problems and be as they once were. But then…had she really been with another dragon? How plausible was that? Part of her mind insisted that something so ludicrous was surely a part of an imagination running amuck. Perhaps it was a lucid dream? Either way, she wished to forget it ever happened.

  “We cannot wait any longer, my Queen. If we were to bide our time here and not move forward, he could very well perish before we got there. That is something that I will not risk.”

  “Maybe…maybe we should try to reach out to him,” Zander suggested.

  “It’s too dangerous. We don’t know who is in possession of the stones,” Silvia said.

  They fell silent and the moments in the room passed with tension.

  “What if you spoke through the stones but it was in a sort of code? Or you could avoid saying anything specific at all,” Frero suggested.

  Keelan looked up. “I don’t know of any code we could speak in, but I like the idea of saying something to at least give it a go.”

  Silvia thought on it. “Quentin knows who each stone bearer is—he’ll know our voices, as we will know his. We’ll be able to tell if it’s him if he speaks.”

  “If anyone answers at all,” Zander added softly.

  The King and Queen said nothing; they knew very well that Zander could be right.

  “Let’s all touch the stones,” Keelan said. “That way we’ll be able to hear what’s being said, if anyone should speak.”

  The four of them gathered close, each placing their hands on Frero and Zander’s sapphire necklaces. Keelan looked up at Silvia and nodded.

  “Hello? Are you there?” she asked.

  Across the countryside, and through solid rock walls, Natosha’s eyes snapped open.

  They had been lost for hours. Quentin’s body was wracked with pain and carrying Emaree, light as she was, on his back had exhausted him to his core. Glimpses of the chiseled out windows told them that night had already fallen. They needed to find Natosha’s room before he collapsed. Several times they had stopped to rest, careful to do so where servants were not near. Emaree hadn’t spoken since before they had left the empty room. He was grateful, for voices seemed to echo through the halls with ease. Besides, he needed to concentrate on where they were going
and keeping quiet.

  He was starting to worry that they wouldn’t be able to find the head witch’s room in the maze of halls when a figure turned the corner ahead.

  It was none other than Mirelda, walking along and humming to herself. A large mug was in her hand and she took long pulls from it. Quentin could tell by her walk that she’d had a little too much of whatever she was drinking.

  A grim smile curved his lips. Very softly so that Emaree wouldn’t hear, he began chanting under his breath, directing what little magic he had at the teenager.

  Mirelda leaned against the wall, still humming. After a few moments she stopped, staring at a spot on the floor. He edged closer to her and immediately felt Emaree grip him harder in fear. He wasn’t worried, however.

  His spell had worked.

  He reached out and touched her forearm, absorbing her memories. Her face went completely slack, and he stepped around her with a purpose.

  He knew where to go now.

  Less than a quarter of an hour later, he saw the little pile of stones he had placed next to the head witch’s door.

  But coming down the corridor towards them, looking angry and determined, were Saris and Clea.

  Quentin backed away to give them room, wondering why they were here. As they approached, he heard Silvia loud and clear in his mind: Hello? Are you there?

  Damn the Dark Moon! There was no way he could answer her, and his heart skipped a beat as he wondered if Natosha was still wearing the stones.

  Saris stopped at the door and waved her hand over it. The lock clicked and she opened the door. The women stepped inside and left the door open behind them. Very carefully, Quentin moved closer to the door, trying not to shuffle his feet or kick the tiny stones that had accumulated on the floor over the years. He edged his way into the room, keeping to the right.

  Natosha was sitting up in the bed, stuffing something into a leather pouch. “I am glad you have returned, sister, and that you have brought Clea with you. I have some interesting news that I think you want to hear.”

  Saris crossed her arms. “Then you’re getting ready to tell me where Emaree is?”

  Natosha’s excitement ebbed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Our sister-wife has escaped,” Clea said angrily. “No one can locate her.”

  The head witch shook her head. “I know nothing of that. But I do need to share something important with you…perhaps over a bite to eat and some strong wine? I promise you that it will be worth your time.” Her eyes twinkled.

  Her twin appeared skeptical, but agreed. “Come on then, and we’ll get to the kitchens. We’ll discuss Emaree and you can tell us this news of yours.”

  The three women left, the door swinging shut softly behind them.

  Quentin hurriedly ducked into the room at the back of the bed chambers where he remembered glimpsing the giant mirror. He shed his cloak and untied Emaree’s feet from his waist. She continued to cling to him until he carefully set her down. He stood back up and ran over to the bed, tearing it apart.

  “What are you doing, Quentin?” Emaree hissed at him. “We need to get out of here!”

  “They’re not here,” he mumbled. The stones were gone. She hadn’t been wearing them when she’d left the room though…

  He swore under his breath. Of course—she had put them in that pouch and carried them out with her! He ran back to Emaree and threw his cloak back on.

  “We must figure out how to get you out of here with this mirror.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You mean get ‘us’ out of here.”

  He shook his head. “The head witch has something that belongs to someone I love, and I must get it back.”

  “But you have to leave with me!” she pleaded. “I cannot do this alone!” Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “You have to,” he stated. “I cannot carry you to go chasing after the witches—I don’t have the strength and my shoulder is injured. Besides, if I get caught then you, at least, are free.” He gazed at the mirror thoughtfully. “If only I could find my brother…you would be safe with him.”

  The mirror began to glow and the inside of it started swirling with a gray mist. Quentin quickly scooped Emaree up to get her away from the mirror, crying out in pain from his dislocated shoulder.

  Before them, the misty image cleared and Quentin’s face broke out into a thankful smile. In the mirror were Keelan and Silvia, sitting down to a game of chess with Zander and Frero on either side of them.

  He smiled down at the woman in his arms and stepped forward. “You are safe now, Emaree.”

  As she looked up at him with questioning eyes, he heaved her frail body into the mirror. As soon as she went through, the mirror went dark, only reflecting the lightless room in which it sat.

  Quentin’s smile faded. What if Natosha tried to use the mirror to find Emaree? Or spy on Keelan and Silvia? With a grim frown set on his face he looked around. Spotting a stone pot on the floor, he picked it up and hurled it into the mirror. The glass shattered into hundreds of pieces as he flipped his hood up and disappeared into the depths of the mountain.

  Silvia moved her pawn to take Keelan’s bishop. Needing a distraction, they had decided a game of chess would soothe their nerves. Keelan scowled, and went to move his knight to capture the same pawn. He sat back, tossing the pawn into a side pocket of the chess table. His queen seemed indifferent to the taking of her piece and sat staring at the board. He was getting ready to ask her if she was okay when a woman appeared above them and came crashing down on the chess table between them as she fell.

  The King and Queen jumped back and shouts were heard out in the hall as guards came running in, with the Queen’s entourage right behind them.

  The woman lay on the floor amidst the game pieces and moaned softly, her eyes fluttering. Zander pushed everyone to the side and waved a small bag of scented salts under the woman’s nose. When her eyes popped open, three swords had their tips pointed at her neck. Her eyes widened.

  “I do not come to you with foul intentions! Do not hurt me!”

  “Who are you and how did you get here?” Keelan growled.

  “I-I was sent here,” she stuttered, looking around with fright. “I was told I’d be safe with Quentin’s brother.”

  “What do you know of him?” the King asked, stooping down to get in her face.

  The woman looked him dead in the face. “He is a brave man who risked his life to save mine, though mine was not worth saving.”

  Silvia stepped forward. “So he lives?”

  “Yes, he lives,” she replied. She stared at the Queen and cocked her head to the side. “I remember you, milady.”

  “I am quite sure we have never met,” Silvia said, puzzled

  “That is true, but yet we have spoken.”

  Silvia shook her head. “I think you may have hit your head when you landed here.”

  The girl smiled. “Tell me, Dragon Queen of the Lystians…did you find the Healing Spring?”

  They sat down at the large dining table outside of the kitchens. The table could easily seat twenty, but the wives of Rohedon were the only ones ever seated there; company was something rarely come by. The sister-wives did not care, however, as they despised being hosts.

  This evening the witches each had a strong cup of wine and a platter of roasted meat before them. They ate hungrily, barely speaking until after their second mug of wine.

  Clea and Saris then briefed Natosha on Emaree’s disappearance and the hunt for her.

  “All right, sister,” Saris said when they had finished telling of the missing woman. “Tell us this news that you have.”

  Natosha placed the small bag she’d carried from her room onto the table, but did not open it. “You are angry with me for bedding the enemy to find his weakness. But I have planted a poisoned seed into his marriage, which you give me no credit for.”

  “And a poisoned seed within your belly as well,” Clea stated.

  “That is beside the point,
” Natosha snapped. “Not every plan is perfect and that was the only imperfection that has come of this. I have not had the opportunity to tell you that which I have gained.”

  She opened the bag, but left the contents inside it as she stared at each of them hard. “Each time I visited the king, he wore a precious stone that seemed to have a magic pulse to it. The last time I saw him there were two necklaces instead of one, and I snatched them from right under his nose.”