Of Gods and Dragons

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  The Queen closed her eyes and lifted her hands. “Neihuda…neihuda, das linfos vinha arel?” Wind, what evil lurks here?

  A breeze formed around Silvia as the trees whispered their answer.

  “Bad tree dwellers…They crave raw flesh…”

  “Sinaw kepla? Sinaw burno?” How big and how many?

  “About the size of a human man, but some are bigger. Several hundred taint this forest.”

  Queen Silvia opened her eyes and called, “Move out! Hurry, we’ve no time to lose!”

  The camp took only a moment to jump to its feet, bustling around to get everything loaded and ready to go. But the noise they made while doing so drowned out the bizarre chirping sounds coming from the trees.

  Chapter Three: Spies and Witches

  Gordy saw everyone shifting and moving about near the front half of the forest. “By the Dark Moon of Eerich, I’ll bet we’re leaving already.” With a frown, he packed his few things in his sack and put it on his back. Then he started to drift deeper into the woods, where no one would see him as he emptied his bladder. He had just finished and was tying up his pants when a strange thing happened.

  Just a foot or so away from where he had aimed his urine came a fresh stream of foul-smelling liquid. It seemed to be coming out of the tree next to him and when he looked up his heart sank to his stomach. There, in one of the lower branches of the large tree was an eerie-looking creature. As big as he was, it’s body shape resembled that of a human, but with no hair at all. Clothes made from the soft branches of a weeping willow had been sewn and were worn over its privates. Strangely shaped brown wings sprouted from behind its broad shoulders, many of the feathers broken or bent. On top of its neck was something resembling a pig’s head, the large ugly snout dripping greenish slime. The thing peered down at him, its orange eyes blinking slowly.

  In one hand it held a small sword.

  It finished urinating, but didn’t bother to put its privates back under the makeshift garment. Instead it leered at him and dropped, hanging by one strong arm.

  “Yoo ink!” it grunted, pointing at Gordy.

  Appalled, Gordy just stood there trying to figure out if the creature had really just told him that he smelled bad or if that was his imagination at play. He watched the beast swing its sword with its free hand and grin. Promptly, Gordy drew his blade and did the only thing he could think of.

  He screamed for help.

  Vyto had seen Gordy go into the woods and became concerned when the man didn’t immediately return. He had already started towards the place Gordy had disappeared into the woods when the cry for help reached his ears. He broke into a run and reached Gordy momentarily. A hideous creature was standing on the ground in front of him and Vyto wasted no time in drawing his weapon and quickly decapitating it.

  But others appeared, swinging through the trees and screeching angrily. They dropped all around Gordy and Vyto, circling the pair with menace. All of them carried daggers, small swords, or hatchets and swung or jabbed these weapons at the two men.

  “What do we do?” cried Gordy, clutching his sword with both hands.

  “We fight or we die,” Vyto said simply.

  Two of the monsters charged Vyto and he parried their sword thrusts. The beasts were taken back by his size and by his showing caution—not fear. The two tried their swords again and ran away, screeching in pain as both sword arms were severed. The others concentrated more on Gordy now, sensing his weakness and his fright. They rushed at him wildly. Gordy yelled loudly and swung his sword in a wide, but semi-powerful arc. Several creatures were sliced by his weapon and took to the trees.

  They ran on all fours, but a few got around on two legs just fine. The ones which went into the boughs of the trees did so without the use of their wings. Vyto assumed they were somewhat like chickens: they had wings, but those were pretty much useless.

  Just then men came running into the woods around them, waving their swords about at the remaining beasts.

  “Well, well,” said a voice, “if it isn’t the dreamer.”

  Vyto looked back to see Stefan on his horse, a grim look in his eyes. He swallowed hard.

  “You were right, my friend,” said the Guard. “The Queen has chosen to move right now. Come on so that you don’t get left behind.”

  Gordy and Vyto followed Stefan and saw that most of the camp had already started to move out of the woods. They jogged to their belongings and soon caught up to everyone else. A long line of torches had been lit and were carried mainly on the side which faced the treacherous forest. Most had the private hope that these would keep the creatures at bay. Though only a few had actually seen the monsters, word had spread quickly that some sort of unknown beast haunted the woods.

  “If you have any more of those dreams, come and find me. The name is Stefan,” the Guard said from beside Vyto.

  “We might possibly be coming upon wild horses soon,” Vyto replied quietly. “Most of them will be able to be tamed and will help the army tremendously.”

  Stefan considered this and nodded. “All right, my friend. Keep in touch…and thank you.” He rode off at a gallop.

  “He’s not the only one who needs to thank you,” Gordy confessed. “You saved my life, sir, and I’m forever in your debt. They would have killed me if you had not shown up.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Vyto said.

  “But the way I treated you this morning after you tried to be nice to me—that was horribly rude.” Tears formed in his eyes and Vyto saw how truly lonely the young man was.

  “Look, neither one of us seems to have a whole lot of people who give a damn about us, so I think if we were to stick together we’d make a pretty decent team.”

  Emotions swirled through Gordy’s mind. “I’ve never had anything that nice said to me before. It means a lot. Thanks, uh—?”

  “Vyto.”

  “Thanks Vyto.”

  Camp was set up for the night several miles away. Silvia reasoned that the strange beasts would not follow them this far from the woods, but still had a Guard set up at every one hundred paces around the perimeter of the large encampment. Although some slept fitfully, most slept deeply, for everyone was over-done and beyond exhaustion.

  Just as the Queen was about to fall asleep, a soft voice spoke within her mind. In different places, Quentin, Zander, and Frero all became alert. Keelan, the King of Lystia, had not been heard from all day, and they wondered if she would speak of what had happened earlier.

  Though she had spoken to him briefly the night before, it seemed like forever since Silvia had talked to him. His voice was like a sweet caress on her nerves, comforting her as nothing else could. He asked how things were going and if his beloved was okay. She clutched her necklace against her skin and told him they were making good timing and might reach their destination a day or so in advance if their luck kept up. She purposefully neglected to tell him of the creatures they had encountered. Even though no one had died or had been seriously injured, she knew this would frighten Keelan (as well as herself again) and he needed no extra worries while in his condition.

  Right after she told her King good night Silvia’s head hit her pillow once more and pleasant dreams soon drifted her away on fluffy clouds. The other stone-bearers also fell asleep, thinking Her Majesty wise for not mentioning the creatures to the King.

  Three days passed uneventfully, and they learned that only about two dozen people had been slightly hurt in the flight from the queer beasts. For this Silvia was thankful; it could have been a lot worse. She eagerly awaited the wild horses they were supposed to come across, for she believed the man that Stefan had dubbed the ‘Dreamer’. Apparently the man was shy and did not wish to cause a stir or make a scene, much less become well-known. But she didn’t mind his secrecy—she of all people knew that sometimes it was a necessity to live with a secret…or in one. All the same she sincerely hoped that he would come forward and take credit for his dreams and visions at some point.

 
; On the fourth day one of the land scouts came galloping back to inform Queen Silvia of a change in the scenery ahead. “A great dark spot on the horizon,” he said, pointing in the direction of it. “I’m not sure what it is.”

  The Queen ordered her army to sit tight while she rode to the highest hill nearby with Prince Dalton, Sir Grant, and Quentin. It was a few minutes before they saw anything unusual. But then, in the distance, it appeared.

  “What is it?” asked the Prince.

  A great brown spot now sat on the horizon, but it kept growing wider and taller.

  “I know what it is,” said Grant with a trace of a smile. “It’s the Dreamer’s wild horses cresting yonder hill and running this way.”

  Cheers were heard throughout the army as the news spread over them. Several hundred experienced horsemen gathered ropes and rode out to meet the wild beasts, roping their necks and reining them in to be tamed. There must have been nine hundred horses in all, but only about six hundred were able to be captured. The rest of the day was spent on those gently rolling hills as both men and women attempted to break the horses as quickly as possible. Some of the animals obliged willingly enough however most of the others took all day and into the night before they could be ridden at all. Silvia laid a hand on some of the wilder ones and used her magic to calm them.

  The army didn’t mind the ceaseless work and activities that came with taming the wild animals. After all, there had been three days of nothing but walking on and on, so this was a sort of reprieve. The wild horses seemed to energize even the most exhausted men and women for now less people would have to walk when the army journeyed on.

  Saris woke up screaming the day that Queen Silvia’s army set out from the city. Her sister Natosha came running in, only to hear the horrible news: Saris, the one who dreamed of events that had already happened, had dreamed of the death of their husband in the far south. The other four wives were notified of becoming widows, and a great mourning began. But even during the spilling of tears and the loud sobbing the witches sent out their swiftest magical spies to the kingdom of Darkania, where Clea’s son Gregorich ruled.

  Six days after Saris had the dream the spies—ravens—returned so out of breath and exhausted that it was several hours before they could talk. They had changed back to their human form to rest and were refreshed after a while with black wine and goat cheese. Then Saris and Natosha questioned them intently, wanting every detail of what the raven-men saw. The most informative one was a man who went by the name of Claw. He was the sisters’ favorite spy and he enjoyed being the center of their attention as he went on and on about his findings.

  “Clea’s son is dead, as is your oldest daughter, Eulonda.”

  Saris stared at the man sitting before her. “My most loyal, loving child?” she whispered tearfully. “Who has done this?”

  Claw leaned forward, his thin, dirty blond hair half-hiding his scarred face. “Eulonda was killed by a man by the name of Quentin. He appears to have shown up out of nowhere and I’ve left two men behind to find out more. It seems that he killed Eulonda over a woman.”

  “What woman? His wife?” Natosha asked sharply.

  “No, no. Her name is Silvia, but the city people call her the ‘Dead Queen’,” Claw answered. “She has taken Gregorich’s throne, which is why he is now dead, and has even named a King already. She has also changed the title of the city to Lystia.”

  “Sounds like a busy woman. Do you know any more about her?” Saris inquired, wiping her tears away roughly. Schemes of revenge already toyed with her emotions.

  “I know a little,” he responded, leaning back in his chair.

  “Speak what you know.”

  “Well, she is supposedly the daughter of Queen Madeline and King Zacharias, whom everyone was told was stillborn—hence the ‘Dead Queen’ title.”

  “Very interesting,” said Natosha, twirling a long brown coil of hair. “Where is she now?”

  “Now, that’s the interesting part,” Claw said. “She is leading an army of Lystians to fight us. She left the same morning Miss Saris had her dream.”

  The sisters pondered on this, for it was not good news. Their army was divided enough already and in some places dwindling more than they liked to admit. Another army of strong, healthy people could possibly conquer them.

  Unless that army was split up and destroyed piece by piece…

  The sisters thought this at the same time, a common thing for the twins. A smile touched both pairs of lips.

  “Divide—” Saris said.

  “—and conquer,” Natosha finished.

  “I see we all think along the same lines.” Claw smiled mischievously. “But there’s something you have both forgotten about already.”

  “And that is?” replied Saris, agitated.

  “I said she had named a King, but I said nothing of him traveling with her or the army.”

  Natosha stood up and began slowly pacing the room. “Is that so?” she said. “May I ask why he didn’t tag along with his new Queen?”

  “Because in the battle against Rohedon he almost died—a combination of our two-headed furry friends and a morning star. He was too wounded to travel.”

  “Too wounded? Poor thing,” Natosha said. “I wonder if he’d be up for a little visit? Perhaps I’ll go and see later on.”

  “Well, I wonder what the Dead Queen will do with a dead king?” Saris smiled nastily.

  Emaree was woken up from her midday nap by Clea, Rosenda, and Zela. “Lunch time, dearie,” Clea said, setting down a big oval platter made of gold.

  The youngest of the six wives of Rohedon sat up, rubbing sleep from her violet eyes. She peered at the three women before her with suspicion. Emaree was the only woman of Rohedon’s that had never wished to be with him, and the other five wives despised her for it. She was hazed, whipped, kept in a locked room, and had narrowly avoided being murdered over the years. When she had heard the news of her husband being torn apart by the winds she was overjoyed. She had thought this might mean the other wives would set her free and let her go home, but the witches refused to let this happen. She wondered now, for more than a brief moment, if these three hadn’t come to finish her off for good. In a way she wished they would. Anything would be better than living the rest of her days in the chill of the stone mountain.

  “Are you hungry?” asked Rosenda.

  “Well, I suppose that depends on whether or not you’re trying to poison me this time,” Emaree said tartly. “I’d say Zela’s attempt last week failed miserably.”

  Zela sneered at her maliciously. “I’ll try harder next time, so don’t get too full of yourself.”

  “Both of you shut your mouths,” Clea snapped. “We need not speak so nonchalantly of death in the wake of finding out my child was murdered.”

  Emaree felt no compassion for Clea. All of their children were nothing short of pure evil. “Murdered? What a shame…But you know, I bet he murdered at least one person, even if not by his own soiled hand, before he died.”

  Anger flashed in Rosenda’s eyes as she defended her sister-wife’s child. “Everything he did, he did for Rohedon and for us. If he inadvertently killed someone or stabbed them with his own blade it was to bring us to higher power and make us stronger. I believe that is more than anyone could say about you. By the Dark Moon, you couldn’t even raise your own children!”

  The sixth wife made no response. She had eight kids by Rohedon—all of them by rape, for she had never given herself to him willingly. But to each of the first four children she had tried to teach good things, which went against the witches’ rules. As soon as the other wives found out, Emaree’s children were taken from her. The last four children were seized at birth and raised by the other wives. Her kids were allowed to see her now because they were all past puberty and couldn’t be persuaded to do ‘good’. But every one of them loathed her, saying she was weak and broken. This hurt Emaree to the bottom of her heart…to be abandoned by the children one bore into
the world was too much for her to bear. She felt that the only thing she could do was disown them as well.

  “I have no children,” she told Rosenda. “They’re yours—the five of you raised them, not me.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s true enough,” Zela said with a smug smile.

  “Why are you here, anyway?” Emaree asked. “Usually one of your two-headed terrors brings my lunch, with their nasty hair all over it and everything.”

  “Just thought we’d come tell you the news before the servants catch wind of it and give you a revised version,” Clea said, looking distractedly at her fingernails.