War Against the Realm

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  “These necklaces…what do they do?” her twin asked.

  “I think they’re a means of communication between the king and queen, and possibly others as well.” She drew out the necklaces and held them up. “Behold these beauties. With these we can listen in on the queen’s words…I have already heard her voice in my mind while touching the stones.”

  The other witches each grasped a necklace and put it over their heads. They waited several minutes, but heard and felt nothing.

  “These don’t work,” Saris said, taking the stone back off. Clea followed suit beside her.

  Natosha rolled her eyes and pulled the stones back towards the bag, stuffing them inside. “Do you think they constantly talk? They most likely know that we’ve figured out how the necklaces work and they’re being careful.” She finished off her wine and motioned a servant nearby to refill their mugs.

  “Drink not too much wine, or you may lose the child you carry,” Clea tutted.

  Natosha held up her hand as the servant came over. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Something vexes me, sister-heart,” Saris said. She leaned back, eyeing her twin. “I keep a close eye on our black sand that takes us to other places. The sand stock remains at the same level, yet you seem to be travelling much. How is this possible?”

  Natosha’s heartbeat sped up. There was no fib to get her out of this one. “I have my own way of traveling. Being the most powerful and senior of you all, I did not need to share this with you.”

  “And how does your way work?” Clea said with a sneer. She never liked to be reminded that Natosha had been the first wife of Rohedon and the strongest in magic.

  “I think it’d be easier to show you,” Natosha replied, rising from her seat.

  Quentin hurried down the dark corridor. His mind searched through Mirelda’s memories as he walked, trying to find his way to the kitchens from his location. He had to get to those stones, and quickly. His shoulder was starting to make him see bright spots in his vision from the pain. He paused to catch his breath, and closed his eyes as a wave of nausea hit him.

  An idea began to form in his mind and his eyes popped open. He raced around, looking for a servant, but saw none that he thought could help him. He put aside his kitchen mission and concentrated on the servants he was coming across. One finally stood out to him. He picked through Mirelda’s memories, and found the man. His name was Derge.

  He watched Derge carefully for a few minutes as the servant went about his chore of pushing a wheelbarrow of wood down the hall. No doubt he was restocking the rooms of the mountain with firewood to keep the chill from the corridors out of the rooms. The man was chatted up as he went along, mostly with requests for short stacks of wood for rooms. When at last Derge was alone, Quentin changed into Mirelda and made himself visible.

  “Derge, would you please give me a hand?” he said in a pitiful girlie voice.

  The young man stopped and turned around. “Yes, Mirelda? What is it that I may do for your kind face?”

  Quentin realized that Derge must have a crush on Mirelda and nearly laughed. The servant seemed nice enough—way too nice for a brat like that teenaged girl.

  “I’ve hurt my shoulder…would you help me to reset it?”

  The man nodded eagerly, but then looked unsure of himself. “I’ve never reset an arm before. What if I hurt you worse?”

  “I’m sure you can do it,” Quentin answered in Mirelda’s voice. “Would you at least try? I’d hate to ask one of the wives to do it. They’d be angry at me for being so careless during my chores.”

  Derge nodded again. “Okay, I’ll try to do it since you insist. I don’t want to see you get into any trouble.”

  He walked over and gently took up Quentin’s wrist. He looked at whom he thought to be Mirelda and cocked his head questioningly.

  “Do it, please,” Quentin said.

  Derge gritted his teeth, grabbed Quentin’s arm, and pushed.

  Quentin fell to his knees, dumbfounded by the pain. Something was wrong. His arm should feel normal albeit very sore. He tried to move it, and promptly vomited from the intense pain which shot up his arm like liquid fire.

  Groaning, he realized the arm had tried to reset, but pinched the nerves in his arm and shoulder in the process and had not gone back into the socket.

  He was now much, much worse off than he was before.

  Natosha led them to her room and entered, tossing the bag with the sapphire necklaces onto the bed. One of them fell halfway out of the bag, but she ignored it in her haste. She went to the large ornate mirror located in her antechamber and stared in shock.

  “It’s broken!” she exclaimed in dismay. The lovely mirror she had used for years was completely shattered. Suddenly very angry, she shouted dark magic into the air. Saris and Clea stepped back in surprise, watching their sister-wife closely and with caution.

  The shards of glass on the floor began to shake, though the mountain itself was stock still. The shards continued to tremble and then shot into the air, going straight for the mirror frame. The pieces, big and small, moved themselves around as they began to fit back together. With a mediocre flash of light, the mirror was once again whole.

  Natosha grinned wickedly. “This is how I have traveled to see the king.”

  “How does it work?” asked Clea as she moved forward curiously.

  Natosha turned to the mirror. “Show me the Lystian King.”

  Colors swirled and an image started to form in the mirror.

  “The image is only briefly available, unfortunately, so it’s not much for spying on the enemy,” Natosha said. “But when you want to travel it’s perfect.”

  The image cleared and the witches stared in shock and utter disbelief: the Lystian King was in the mirror, and he was kneeling down talking to a woman lying on the floor…Emaree.

  “What in the Dark Moon is she doing there?” Natosha growled. She spun around and stormed over to the mantle above her fireplace. She grabbed a handful of black powder from the bowl in front of the stuffed monkey and came back to the mirror just as the image began to fade away.

  Her sister and the other witch watched as she bade the mirror to show the king again. When the image popped up, she charged through and the entire mirror went blank.

  “Strange how Emaree disappeared and my sister just now speaks of this mirror,” Saris said in a thoughtful tone.

  “Yes, and Emaree just happens to appear with the king that Natosha has been bedding.” Clea’s tone was not so thoughtful, and her expression was very dark.

  Neither spoke anymore, for their thoughts were already in the same place.

  Their sister-wife would need some more careful watching.

  The Dragon Queen’s emerald eyes widened. “It was you who helped us?”

  Emaree tried to smile, but the swords pointed at her frightened her. “Yes, milady.”

  “And why do you go against the other wives by aiding your foes?” Keelan asked. His face held a fair share of skepticism.

  “They are my enemies as well,” Emaree stated forcefully. “They have long held me against my will.”

  The Queen leaned forward, extending her arm. “Let’s get you up off of the floor.”

  Emaree started to protest but the young woman had already started pulling her. She tried to hold on, however quickly fell back in a hapless heap.

  “Why can’t you get up?” Keelan asked.

  “I would…if only I could,” Emaree said softly. In shame, she pulled her tunic up to her lower thighs, exposing tiny legs misshapen with scars and burns.

  “The witches did this to you?” the Dragon Queen asked.

  Before Emaree could answer, a shadow suddenly loomed large above her. Everyone was thrown back in a powerful wave of magic. Looking up, Emaree saw the last face in the world she wished to gaze upon.

  “Got out of your room, I see,” Natosha sneered. “Your sister-wives are most eager to see you return, Emaree.”

  Emaree shook h
er head fervently, knowing full and well that her time in this world would soon be ending.

  “Witch!”

  They turned to look at the king, who had gotten to his knees and was glaring at Natosha.

  “What have you done with my brother?” he yelled.

  Natosha narrowed her eyes at the man. “You mean that fool in the white cloak who tried to follow me? I had him gutted. His life blood has already left his body.” She smiled so wickedly that she nearly looked inhuman.

  Tears welled up in Emaree’s soft brown eyes. “No…that can’t be true!”

  Natosha glanced at her sharply and Emaree realized with a sinking stomach that Natosha had done no such thing because she had not known Quentin was in the mountain. She had made up what she’d said to the king. But after Emaree’s little outburst, it was apparent who had helped her escape, and now the sister-wife would be hell-bent on finding him.

  Natosha reached down and grabbed a large fistful of hair on Emaree’s scalp.

  “I would suggest you turn back, Lystians,” Natosha growled at the royalty before her. “This war is not yours. And if you decide to continue to rile yourselves against us, I will personally capture, maim, and murder everything and everyone that you hold dear to your hearts. Remember that.”

  She threw black powder onto the ground at her feet and suddenly the room disappeared from around them. As Emaree blinked in surprise, they reappeared in a large stone room next to a fireplace. Natosha let go of her hair and kicked her hard in the side.

  “Stupid girl,” she muttered.

  “That was quick.”

  Emaree regarded Saris and Clea through blurry eyes as they entered the room from the ante-chamber where the mirror stood against the wall.

  Saris flicked her arm at Emaree, who felt herself lifted off the floor. Another flick of the wrist and she was slammed so hard against the stone wall that she saw stars. Her body stayed pinned against the wall as the blonde twin sauntered over to her.

  “Tell us, little one, how you managed to escape from us.”

  Natosha spoke up, but didn’t look happy about it. “The king spoke of his brother, who had tried following me back the last time I traveled there. I didn’t see him upon my return and assumed he had not reached me in time to travel in the same spell. I now believe that I was wrong. He’s here…he’s in the mountain.” She stared at Emaree calmly. “And this one knows where he may be hiding.”

  Chapter Six: Dust and Lies

  The brunette came up to her and stood eye to eye. “Tell us where this man is, Emaree.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emaree gasped. She was sure several ribs were broken, and being slammed against the wall had taken her breath away.

  “Clea, do you still remember how to do a truth spell?” Natosha said.

  Clea walked closer and affirmed with a nod. “That I do.” She gazed at Emaree with loathing. “You will tell us everything you know, child. Everything.”

  As Clea began to chant dark words in a guttural tone, Emaree felt the pull of the magic. Her mind raced in a silent panic. They were going to kill her after they extracted all of the knowledge she had about Quentin; the looks in their eyes made that as plain as day. What was she going to do? Clea’s spell would start working any moment, and she’d be forced to tell all.

  Lifting her eyes to meet Natosha’s, she said, “I will watch you all die…even if it’s from the depths of Eerich’s deepest hells.”

  Watching their confused faces with a feeling of satisfaction, she mumbled a spell under her breath. An odd sensation came over her face as skin formed over her mouth and sealed it shut.

  “No!” the twins yelled at the same time.

  All three witches began to speak different spells to try and reverse what Emaree had done but nothing worked.

  In the air around them, deep laughter began to echo off the walls. Eerich’s voice boomed into the room, shaking everything in the bed chamber.

  “You witches are far too amusing. You get so frustrated when your magic doesn’t work.”

  His voice faded away as Clea and the twins uttered curses at their luck.

  “Keep her there, Saris,” Natosha said of Emaree, and walked over to her mirror again. “Show me King Keelan’s brother.”

  The mirror did its magic and the image soon became clear.

  “What in the name of the Dark Moon…” she muttered to herself.

  Clea walked up behind her and stared at the image as well. “I’ll alert the guards and have them brought here.”

  Natosha nodded her head as her sister-wife went out into the hall. She couldn’t take her eyes off the mirror, and was wondering what in the world Emaree’s daughter had to do with the king’s brother.

  Derge had knelt down beside Quentin. “Mirelda, I am so sorry! By the Parent Gods, I did not mean to make it worse!”

  Quentin said nothing. His stomach churned and the hall spun slowly about him. He was in serious trouble.

  Footsteps pounded on the stone floor down the hall. Moments later he was yanked to his feet. He screamed as his arm was pulled, and the feminine voice coming out of his body sounded strange to his ears.

  “Hush it up,” a vaguely familiar voice grumbled.

  Quentin lifted his head to see the blonde-haired man with the bad scar on his face that he’d first seen walking with Mirelda. Searching once more through her memories, he found the man’s name to be Claw. How fitting, considering it looked as though a claw had ruined half of his face.

  Claw’s grip was rough, and being so close to one another made Quentin acutely aware of the man’s unpleasant aroma.

  “Where are you taking us?” Derge asked. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

  “Rohedon’s wives have requested your presence, and they shall have it,” Claw said.

  Quentin’s heart began to beat faster. How was he supposed to get out of this?

  Silvia bade everyone leave the room after the witch had disappeared with Emaree. Keelan had been silent to the point where she wondered where in the world his mind had gone off to. He answered no questions and would not even nod his head. He just sat there, staring blankly at some distant point no one but him could see.

  Although everyone had wanted to believe Emaree’s words that he lived, Natosha’s thirst for blood and hatred seemed to drown out all hope that he had, indeed, survived.

  She, on the other hand, could not stop shedding tears for her brother-in-law. To know that he was more than likely dead was the worst possible thing that could be felt. She hated herself for ever keeping him in her service; she should’ve made him take the civilian life, find a good woman, and settle down. Now that would never be feasible.

  She closed her eyes and sipped on some strong wine she’d sent for. It did nothing to dull her pain; instead, it seemed to sharpen it. Her mind walked through every time he had risked his life for her and her husband. Never had there been someone so dangerous, yet so incredibly loyal in her life. She quietly vowed that when they returned to Lystia (should that day ever come to pass) that she would have a magnificent statue of him righted in the middle of the palace.

  Silvia took Keelan’s hand and led him to his bed, where she undressed him completely. She pushed his shoulders down until he sat on the bed, and then leaned him back until he was lying prone.

  “Rest, my King,” she said softly, as she stroked his reddish-brown hair out of his face. “Tomorrow we will rise early and travel to seek our vengeance for our dear Quentin.”

  Keelan met her eyes with an animalistic look that shook her to her core. “Leave me, my Queen, so that I may think about the ways in which they will die.”

  Chilled and more than a little unnerved, she nodded and rose, exiting the room quietly. She crossed the hall to her quarters and went inside. Candles had been lit for her hours before, but had now burned low, casting a dim yellow glow that didn’t quite catch the dark corners of the room. She snuffed them out one by one with her fingertips, relishing the tin
y bursts of pain from the flames against her bare flesh.

  Much less pain than what Quentin probably went through before he died, she thought to herself miserably.

  The smell of the wicks drifted out of the open balcony door and into the night breeze. The aromas of summer came back in its place, bringing the sweet smells of grass and beds of flowers nearby.

  It also, however, brought another smell.

  She rushed to the balcony and looked out at her surroundings, but the smell had already started to fade. She tried to push away a yearning in her body that had seized her at the very onslaught of the scent. Gripping the balcony, she felt her body flush all over.