Emaree was curious, despite herself. “What news is this?”
Clea smiled. “I know that ever since you heard about our husband dying valiantly during the battle against the Dead Queen you’ve hoped to be set free. As you heard earlier today, the Dead Queen has gathered an army and is coming to challenge us. Now, what you’re thinking—or hoping rather—is that the little girl will defeat us five ‘bad’ witches and set you free. Am I right so far?” She had sat down on a small chair as she spoke.
“You’re traveling in the right direction and your sense in detail is impeccable,” said Emaree with heavy sarcasm. In fact, she had been thinking of that exact same course of events, and now a stone weight settled in the pits of her stomach; she knew Rohedon’s witches would inevitably destroy those hopes, dashing them to the depths of her mind.
“Yes, we figured as much. Corrupt ideas like that seem to abound inside your little head,” Clea went on. “Unfortunately for you, that will not be in any of our futures.” She stood and swept across the room, placing her tiny form on the edge of Emaree’s bed. Her luscious red hair was, as usual, pinned up in a bun so tight that it stretched the features of her face. She and Zela both wore their hair in this manner on any given day to keep it out of their faces. “Well, the sisters have devised a plan to separate the army and destroy them, group by group. By the time the Dead Queen arrives in our Realm, if she makes it this far, her army will be so small that we will defeat it easily. And you, my dear, will stay here forever with us as punishment for not loving and obeying your husband when he was still alive.”
Fury boiled inside Emaree. She threw the thick comforter off of her body to reveal the heavily scarred legs and feet below her rumpled dress. “Husband, you say? What ‘husband’ would give his ‘wife’ a new scar for every time that he raped her?”
“What kind of wife would refuse her husband the rights to her body?” Zela said.
“He never had a right to my body.” Emaree was seething as she carefully placed her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet almost didn’t feel the sharp coldness of the stones beneath them. She could barely feel anything from her knees down from the constant cold in the mountain in which they dwelt and from the innumerable cuts, bruises, burns, and scars she had acquired over the years. With what appeared to be immense effort, she slowly stood up to Zela, Clea, and Rosenda. Surprise showed on the three witches’ faces at this feat: Emaree had not been able to stand up on her own for two years, and had to have help if she wanted to leave her bed. Otherwise, she crawled like a babe to wherever she wished to go in her room. She smiled bitterly. “Didn’t think you’d ever see me do this again, did you?” A look of triumph flared in her eyes.
But before the other women could answer, her knees buckled and she collapsed onto the bed beside Clea.
Clea sighed and stood up. “No wonder your children do not claim you. You’re a weakling, Emaree, and always will be. We don’t expect you to ever change, but we want you to remember something: only the strong survive here in this mountain, and soon enough nature will take its course and eliminate you.” She and the other two wives made their way to the door.
“I want you to remember something too,” came Emaree’s voice from behind them.
They all turned to look at her expectantly, watching Emaree wince as she picked up her legs one by one and placed them on the bed.
“Before I die I will see each one of you fall and assist with your undoing. Beware, witches of Rohedon, for soon enough we will all be dead.”
Chapter Four: Heal the Cheater
Keelan had been having a rough time. He hadn’t talked to Silvia in two days because he knew she was busy and worried enough with the army, and it troubled him that they were so far apart. However, he had other things on his mind as well.
His kidney wound still looked gruesome, and the stitches made his skin itch; of course, the itching was also attributed to the heat and the sweat that seemed to cling to his body constantly. The wound was the most painful part on his body because every time he urinated he had to clench his teeth against the pain. He could only sleep in certain positions and his right arm was still quite tender from being out of its socket two weeks before. The vicious and numerous bite marks from the two-headed heathen beasts had nearly healed; only scabs and the beginnings of scars remained. The three healers the Queen had instructed to stay with him had done their jobs well. They were currently making several different elixirs to help with his arm and his kidney wound. The concoctions would supposedly heal the kidney completely and make the wound clear up. If it worked, the stitches would be taken out a lot sooner and he would be able to travel…
“Your Highness?”
Keelan looked up from the book he was staring at. Hans was standing nearby, a serious expression on his long face.
“There is a man here to see you, sire.”
“Really?” He bade Hans to help him sit up, comb his shoulder length hair and straighten the blanket covering his thin pants. His shirt was off, but he didn’t bother putting it on; at least one of the healers would be coming shortly to change his bandages and hopefully bring him an elixir. He removed his sapphire necklace as he always did before the healers came; he did not wish Silvia to hear him moaning and groaning as they checked his wounds. “Who is this man?”
“Lord Cambry, from the city of Jevelas,” said a booming voice from the doorway. A tall man was walking in, a billowing cape fluttering behind him. He was very tan and had a completely shaved head, save for one topknot which sprouted a thick ponytail. His clothes were dust-ridden from travel, and his leather boots were faded and worn. There was a big tear on the right thigh of the man’s pants, and bandaging could be seen underneath. His eyes were a wild, intense green and he didn’t seem to mind staring, for his eyes never left Keelan. He wore a broadsword on his side, several daggers on his wide belt, and a bow and quivers on his broad back.
Hans’ face flushed as he stepped forward. “I informed you that I would come back and lead you to the King after I made sure he was decently covered for your visit,” he said testily. “I also told you not to come before His Highness so-armed.”
“Oh, I heard you fine—I’m not deaf, you know. I just didn’t want to listen to orders from a manservant,” Lord Cambry replied, still not taking his eyes away from the King. He bowed quickly and sat across from Keelan on a short sofa. “Besides, I have been most eager to meet this new King.”
“Well, now you have,” Keelan said. “You have also insulted his servant on the way. Now what is it you wished to see me about?” He tried to keep the pain out of his voice.
The strange man smiled. “The husband of my sister was here in your city when Gregorich was kicked off the throne—it was about time someone did that, by the way—and he rushed back to Jevelas to tell us of it. So naturally I gathered almost two-thousand men and practically made our horses sprout wings to get here this quickly.”
“And for what reason?”
“To help you go to war,” Lord Cambry answered stoically. “We knew of Rohedon’s death too, you see, and we figured you’d be going to his realm with all the men you could gather to get the rest of his barbarian people. But as I arrived today I saw that your army has evidently departed prior to my coming. I was very surprised to find that it was the King who was left behind and not the Queen.” He appeared amused by this remark, smiling at the corners of his mouth.
One of Keelan’s healers walked inside the library, waltzing past Lord Cambry without so much as a glance. He leaned Keelan back on the couch and deftly unwrapped his bandages, revealing the nasty wound beneath. The healer cleaned it thoroughly with warm water and a fresh cloth.
“No wonder you stayed behind,” the King’s visitor said, gazing at the wound and allowing himself to be surprised by the severity of it. “That’s pretty bad. Was it a mace or a morning star?”
The healer ignored him, as did Hans, though the latter shot him a stern look.
The King said, “It sounds as if you know yo
ur damages from battle…it was a morning star with spikes nearly as long as your hand. It knocked me off my horse and when I landed I threw my right arm out of its socket. Then those hideous creatures of Rohedon’s swarmed over me and tried to eat me alive.”
Lord Cambry’s face was grim as he stood up and came closer to examine Keelan’s scabs and such. He pretended not to see Hans move to stand over him to protect the King. “How did you survive?” he asked, and his voice showed genuine awe. “You must have hundreds of teeth marks that I can see and some look…some look as though you almost lost a piece of meat.”
“My wife saved me, and I had great friends who stayed with me at all times the first few days to ensure that I lived.”
“You are a lucky man.”
“Not lucky enough. I wanted very badly to go to war with my Queen.”
Lord Cambry visibly brightened. “Oh, don’t worry about that—you still can, and I’ll help you do it.”
When the healer left, Keelan and Lord Cambry had a short discussion. The plans were made and when his visitor departed Keelan ate a small meal and went to sleep. Upon waking, he found that evening had fallen and it was time for the plans to go into effect.
His father, Cornelius, joined Hans in helping him to his bedroom. Lord Cambry joined them minutes later, carrying a large leather pouch. Keelan was laid upon blankets, which had been laid outside on his balcony so that the moonlight would shine directly upon him. His sapphire necklace was removed and put to the side so that Silvia could hear nothing of what was happening. Cambry emptied the pouch and placed strange leaves in Keelan’s mouth that were soaked in rum. His wound was uncovered and tiny white and black stones were placed all around the stitches, much to Keelan's discomfort. The stones were also placed on his shoulder. Cambry spoke in another language very softly, raising his hands towards the moon as though invoking it.
“Take his hands,” he ordered Cornelius and Hans. “This will hurt terribly for a minute or two, but it is necessary.”
“You’d better hope it’s only for a minute or two,” Hans growled. He did not trust this stranger one bit and had it been his choice the man would not have been allowed back inside the palace.
The men took up the King’s hands and Lord Cambry put one drop of rum on each of the stones, starting with the ones on the shoulder first. At first Keelan only moaned and broke out into a sweat. But by the time Cambry put the last drop of rum on the last stone the King was doing all he could not to scream and jerk away. The pain escalated to the point where Keelan saw stars that weren’t in the sky, and bright flares of color lined the edges of his vision. The pain did not last long, and when it went away he passed out, sweat dripping all over his body.
He came to minutes later, sitting straight up. He looked down at his wound and saw that the stones were gone…as were the stitches. He spat the rum-flavored leaves onto the balcony in disbelief as he touched the long pink scar. It felt so strange.
“It doesn’t hurt!” he said smiling. “Whatever you did, it worked!”
“Now you’ll still be a little sore, Your Majesty, so be careful,” Lord Cambry warned.
Hans and Cornelius breathed sighs of relief and hugged the King. They looked intently at the scar, and then shook hands with the outlandish visitor. Keelan got to his feet slowly and they traversed back into the bedroom to have some drinks.
Keelan grabbed Cambry’s arm. “You came from out of nowhere and did what my healers could not. How can I repay you?”
“Go with me to war.”
“To war?” Keelan questioned.
“Yes. I wish to catch up to your bride’s army and accompany her on her quest. I want to share in the glory when she claims victory over Rohedon’s Realm.”
The King nodded his head slowly. “That I can do. I never wanted to stay behind in the first place, and if it wasn’t for my injuries I wouldn't have. Were you able to find anyone else to go besides your two thousand?”
“Just a few hundred,” Cambry replied. “But everything will be ready for our departure in the morning. You’ll be with your precious wife in no time.”
“I cannot wait to see her. I want to see for myself that she is okay.”
“I must say that I can’t wait to meet her,” the Lord admitted. “She sounds like quite an extraordinary young woman.”
“Yes she is,” Silvia’s husband said. Then he noticed the tone of voice Cambry had used. “Wait…why would you say that?”
“I’ve done some asking around and have learned some incredible things, such as her unique quickness at learning magic and her ability to shape-change.”
“It is all true,” said Hans. “But you shall see for yourself soon enough if you think we can catch up to her.”
Keelan looked over at Hans. “I think it best if you stayed here.”
“Nonsense,” the manservant said. “I helped raise her and helped her to get her throne. Now that you are well enough to travel I shall accompany you and help my Queen defeat our enemies.”
The stunning brunette let her hips sway sensuously as she walked down the cold stone tunnel to her private chambers. All that crossed her path, whether it was man, woman, or beast, stopped to gaze upon her scantily clad form. Her yellow dress tied behind her neck, leaving her back uncovered, and formed two narrow strips that barely concealed her more than adequate chest. The strips kept tapering out until they joined the skirt at the hips, exposing her entire stomach and almost letting her rump escape from the extremely low back. The front of the dress from the wide hips cut straight to her inner thighs and went straight down to her knees in a thin line. The back and sides of the dress were cut to show the outside of each of her buttocks and went down to her feet. Her curly brown hair was pulled away from her perfect face and pinned with pieces of silver. Her feet were ensconced in matching yellow slippers with flat soles.
Natosha entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She didn’t bother to lock it because the servants, as well as the other wives, knew better than to walk in without her assent. She was by far the most powerful of her dead husband’s wives and they all answered to her, even her twin, Saris. Natosha was also the first of his many wives, marring him six years before Saris married him. Natosha had born Rohedon eleven children, but at seventy-five years old she still had the body and appearance of a twenty year old girl. Rohedon himself had looked like he was in his thirties when he had died, but had really been seventy-nine. It was amazing what one could do with certain spells.
She went to the mantel where there sat an oval bowl held by a small monkey statue. Inside the bowl were miniscule grains of black sand. She scooped up a good handful, stepped back a little, and threw it in a circle around her. She grabbed a small handful of a different powder kept in a large clay jug and held it in the palm of her hands. She whispered a few harsh-sounding words of magic and closed her eyes to wait. When she opened them again she found herself in an entirely different room. It appeared to be a bedroom, although the bed must have been hidden behind one of the stone walls. The floor was covered in silks, rugs, and animal skins, and the couch and chairs were very plush.
A closer look at the couch revealed a handsome young man with shoulder-length reddish-brown hair, broad shoulders, and a lean but muscular body. He was naked except for a thin blanket over his lower body and a long necklace which held a sapphire around his neck. She opened her hands as she stepped closer to him and blew the powder into his face. It disappeared in a golden fog as the man stirred in his sleep and then woke up. Seeing the beautiful woman in his room he sat up, staring in disbelief.
“What a dream I am having,” he muttered.
She gave him her most gorgeous smile and moved towards the fireplace, although she was nearly sweating already. “Do I look like a dream?” she asked sweetly.
He shook his head as if to get the last remnants of sleep out of his eyes. “You look like a goddess.” He swayed on the couch and hiccupped. The smell of liquor hung heavy about him. “Who are you?”
“My what?” the young man replied, obviously inebriated. He blinked stupidly and shook his head again.
“Your goddess,” she said calmly. “The only difference between me and other goddesses is that I am here to please and worship you. Would you like that?” She played with a coil of her hair, staring at him intensely.
“Sounds enticing.” The words slurred together. “Does my goddess have a name?” What a strange dream this is, he thought.
“My name is Natosha.”
“And you are here to worship me, you say?”
“In any way you wish, Master,” she said in a husky voice, kneeling in front of him on a silk blanket.
“My name’s not ‘master’,” he said. “It’s Keelan. King Keelan of Darkania or Lystia, or wherever.” Just what was the name of his city? It was hard to think; his mind was very muddled.
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