Of Gods and Dragons

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  “Well, King Keelan…what would you like me to do?”

  “If this is a dream,” he said, “then do anything you think will please me.” Now why would he say that? Wasn’t he married now? Of course, how often did a woman who looked like Natosha offer herself to a man? By the gods, did his head feel funny. His thoughts were unfocused, swimming around in his mind, and the room swayed in front of him. He wished he could just go back to sleep. But the woman was speaking again.

  “Anything?” she had said. Natosha’s heart beat faster. She had not slept with any other man before she married Rohedon, though she had been with many since she became his wife. Her appetite was sometimes insatiable. But her husband had never known about any of the men she had let herself be taken by in numerous places in the mountain and across their countryside. The other wives no doubt had their own lovers as well; however she knew nothing of them and didn’t care. She thought of sharing her husband with five women over the years and grew bitter. Maybe now that he was dead she wouldn’t have to share anymore or worry about getting caught as she was being pleased. Yes she had loved him deeply, but that didn’t mean she was immune to desire. And could she not love again in time?

  Warmth spread throughout her body as she climbed onto the couch, straddling the King between her shapely legs. She noticed many scabs and a large abdominal scar but otherwise he didn’t appear to be very hurt—just drunk. His left hand found her rump and pressed her closer to him. She moaned and covered his mouth with hers. For several minutes she gyrated her hips against his hardness until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Lifting herself up a little, she tore the thin blanket off of him and began to touch him. His hands immediately went to her breasts and her womanhood, stroking and grabbing and pinching. Natosha gasped in pleasure and moved so that he entered her. They moved erratically until both reached their points of bliss. When they finished she found that her dress had been ripped away from her breasts, which were swollen with lust and very sore from his teeth. They separated, each trying to catch their breath.

  Then someone knocked at the door. Natosha disappeared into thin air as Keelan blinked and looked around in a stupor. He covered his wet erectness with shame and wondered what had just happened as Hans walked into the bedroom.

  “Are you all right, Sire?” He stood in the door in a nightgown, a candle in one hand.

  Keelan shifted on the couch, trying to get more comfortable. “Has anyone else been in here?”

  The manservant frowned. “No, Your Majesty, not to my knowledge.”

  “Must have been a dream,” muttered the King.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh, nothing, Hans. You can go back to sleep now, my good man.”

  “Thank you, Sire. Pleasant dreams.”

  Hans left the room and shut the door. Keelan shook his head and stood up. He stumbled to his bed and lay down, wondering what insane things he would dream of next.

  He didn’t realize that it wasn’t a dream and the next morning he remembered only vague details. But as Lord Cambry made the last preparations for their departure, he had an extreme feeling of guilt every time he touched his sapphire or thought of his wife.

  Silvia’s eyes were red and swollen the next morning, her mood harsh and unforgiving. Most everyone speculated at this but asked no questions as she barked out orders.

  “Work with those damn horses today—we’ll be setting off after lunch and we won’t be stopping until well after nightfall. No more time can be spent here; we must leave.”

  “But Your Highness, it’s impossible to have these horses trained in a day!” Sir Grant objected.

  “Then make it possible!” she snapped. “If I say we waste no more time then I mean not to waste any more time!”

  “Yes, milady,” Sir Grant said humbly, and he went off to give orders to the Commander of the Royal Guards.

  A hooded figure nearby, hunched over some pots and pans, stood and began to walk slowly towards the make-shift hitching posts the wild horses had been tied to during the night. Leaning close to a large chestnut colored stallion, he whispered in the horse’s ear. The horse picked up his feet and started acting antsy, only to calm down as the man ran his hand down its neck. He managed to do this with most of the wild horses before a Guard spotted him and asked what he was doing with the Queen’s beasts. The hooded man bowed himself away and walked behind the row of horses into the massive army, disappearing immediately.

  The Dead Queen stared off into the distance towards the direction of Nillias, a look of the deepest kind of pain etched into her face. Only Frero, Zander, and Quentin knew the turmoil raging inside of her. They too had heard the strange conversation between King Keelan and the unknown woman, and had heard what ensued. Frero and Zander couldn’t see the reason of it; Quentin kept trying to figure out why his brother had betrayed his beautiful wife and how easily he had done it. He knew Keelan loved Silvia to the depths of his soul; he remembered Keelan gazing at her longingly, his heart at her feet. Every move she made he was there to protect her and watch over her. So how could he have done such a thing? The very thought sickened him. He longed to tell Her Majesty all of this and more but knew she would not hear a word about it from anyone at the moment. He could see how ashamed and embarrassed she was that her companions had heard her husband’s infidelity. Was it not enough for the poor woman to have to hear such things alone? He could only imagine how she felt at the three of them knowing as well.

  Quentin swept his white hair away from his face, thinking how much better it would have been if she had listened to it by herself. She’d still be angry and hateful but her humiliation would not be as bad. As he stared at her lonely figure on top of the nearest knoll, his heart went out to her. Venicius had betrayed her at the bitter end of his life (no thanks to himself) and now Keelan, who had sworn never to do such a thing, had done the same at the beginning of their marriage. She probably thought that every man did this to their woman, which was simply not true. Quentin wished he could just grab up his sapphire necklace and tell his brother everything he was thinking. But then Silvia would hear it and be reminded of last night, hurting her more. She was so strong and proud, yet his brother knew better than anyone else how fragile she was: She was just like everyone else and would crumple under so much pressure and stress.

  Silently he watched the Prince of Wexford ride off and come back with a large handful of beautiful flowers. He tried to give them to the Queen, no doubt to try and cheer her, but she refused to even glance in his direction. The prince walked solemnly back to his horse, riding away again.

  Quentin sighed and looked around himself at the army of men and women…It was going to be a long day.

  The horses captured the previous day behaved much better than Sir Grant and the others had expected. It was as though they had been training for weeks instead of a day. Because of this and because a smaller portion of the army had to walk, they made excellent time.

  As they stopped for a brief lunch a new plan was proposed. Sir Grant and George had been studying several maps of the countryside and had found a shortcut to Nillias that would possibly cut their trip there by three or four days. Prince Dalton was adamant about staying with the original plan and not ‘drifting off the beaten path’. Quentin couldn’t make up his mind whether or not this was a good idea—the shortcut seemed to twist and turn through a bunch of mountains and valleys in the Sagara Mountains and he was worried that one of them wouldn’t let have a way out to the other side for the animals and wagons. In the end Silvia decided to think on it, for it was still three days until they would come upon the start of the other path.

  After the meeting Dalton approached Queen Silvia, extending to her a different handful of pretty flowers.

  “You didn’t appear to like the other ones,” he said softly.

  “What is it that you want?” she asked, and her tone made Quentin stop a few feet away, pretending to check his white robes for something.

  “I want you to smile, to chee
r up and act more like yourself,” he said. “I hate seeing you so withdrawn.”

  Silvia teared up. “I have my reasons to be this way. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, nor do I need to be understood.” She sniffed.

  “I’m not trying to understand. I just want to see you happy.” When she didn’t reply he added, “Look, I’m not trying to get between you and your husband if that’s what you’re thinking. I have more respect for you than that. I’m just being a friend here, if you can accept that.”

  “Yes, I can accept that and I thank you for your consideration towards me. However I do not wish to speak of my husband right now.”

  Dalton nodded. “Well, if you decide you want to talk to someone remember that I’m not hard of hearing.”

  Silvia smiled a little and some of the tension left her face. “I’m not sure what I want,” she said sadly.

  “If you need help finding that out, I can help there too.” He walked over to Sir Grant and struck up a menial conversation about the condition of the horses, sneaking a glance at her over his shoulder.

  Quentin wasn’t angry, and he didn’t really think Dalton was up to no good with his brother’s wife. He guessed that the Queen didn’t want to talk to himself because he was her brother-in-law and because he had taken a glimpse into her private world as it filled with pain. Sir Grant was too busy with maps and directions to talk and she would eventually need someone to speak to. Quentin wasn’t sure she would even talk to Maura. So why not the prince? He had always shown genuine concern for her well-being and had been a good friend to them all.

  He tried to stop pondering the whole situation, but there was one thing that irked him: Would she seek revenge against Keelan by copying his actions? And if so, who with? He didn’t really think she would, mainly because she had done nothing when Venicius had cheated on her. But then again, Venicius was murdered directly after, and Keelan was very much alive. So what was going to happen now? Could their relationship be mended? He liked to think so, but it wasn’t his decision to make. He only knew that he dreaded the tension that would be between the two when they at last met again, after Rohedon’s Realm was defeated.

  If, that was, they made it out alive.

  A meeting of the witches was called at dinner that night in the cold stone mountain in the midst of Rohedon’s Realm. Even Emaree was present. The big question of the evening was posed after everyone had had at least one glass of black wine: Which of them was to be chosen to lead Silvia and her army into a trap?

  “We all know there’s one person we can’t trust to go,” Zela stated. She gazed pointedly at Emaree.

  Saris giggled. “Why would we choose her anyway? She had to be carried in here because she can’t even walk! Or maybe she’s just too lazy.” She lifted an eyebrow and smirked at the quiet wife.

  Emaree said nothing in her own defense. She looked ashamed of her disability.

  “We can’t send Rosenda either because she’s with child,” Clea pointed out.

  “I disagree there,” said Natosha. “I think that’s the perfect reason to send her. If this Dead Queen finds out who she is, she won’t kill Rosenda because of the baby.”

  “Excellent way to see things,” Zela said. “But I don’t think she should go alone.”

  “So go with her,” suggested Saris.

  “I think I’d be more helpful here,” Zela said. “My ravens and I can help to watch the surrounding areas in case something should happen—“

  “We don’t think so,” Natosha interrupted, “and we can watch over the Realm just fine without you—you’re not that important, you know.”

  “Very well.” Zela’s face turned red, as though someone had just slapped her hard. She had not wanted to be chosen.

  “All right,” Natosha continued. “Now that it’s decided who will go and who will stay, we will go over the plans. Those who have been nominated to leave will do so directly afterward.”

  Chapter Five: A Demon is Born

  “We have some of the fastest horses in the whole countryside,” claimed Lord Cambry. He talked as though this were a fact and was not merely bragging.

  “I sort of noticed that yesterday,” Keelan replied, rubbing his back. “That means we’ll be catching up with the army sooner, doesn’t it?”

  “If we make good time and nothing goes wrong we’ll catch them up around the third, maybe the fourth day,” Cambry said. “You see, we are lucky—our whole army is mounted, even though a couple hundred are riding double. The horses can go longer than we humans can, and so we’ll go farther faster than your precious Queen. And don’t worry about losing their trail; twelve thousand people traveling in the same direction, whether by foot, wagon, or horseback, will leave a big mark on the land.”

  “Well today is the second day of our journey…” Keelan said to himself. Then to Cambry, “Can we make any extra time today or tonight?”

  Lord Cambry’s unique topknot whipped madly about as he turned and stared around him. He wasn’t looking at the men and women, but the horses they rode upon. They were tall beasts and very muscular; it was nothing for them to carry two people, although after a while it tired them. But they all appeared ready to go on for hours, even after carrying their riders for three and a half hours without a break. He shrugged as he turned back to the King of Lystia. “I really don’t see why not. I was just thinking though—what if they’ve made better time than we thought? I suppose it does not matter, as we will catch up to them sooner or later, but it is something to think about.”

  Keelan realized the man was trying to tell him something: They weren’t exactly sure when they would meet up with the Queen.

  They rested for an early dinner hours later and gave the horses a good break. But everyone mounted up again an hour before dark and rode into the dimming horizon. The night was cool and the horses had no obstacles other than the rolling hills. They passed the remains of hundreds of old fire sites and knew they were still on the trail of the army. The scouts that had been sent ahead during the day returned periodically to give reports and point them in the right direction.

  They turned northwest in the morning, the army traveling at a good pace. The sun turned hot quickly, forcing many to wrap scarves or extra cloths over their heads to keep the bright light out of their eyes and off their faces. The heat soaked everyone in sweat and runners were constantly coming and going to retrieve water for the army and its horses from nearby streams and creeks.

  Queen Silvia saw the woman before the others and saw how her body bent under the weight of the large pack she carried. A halt was called while a small party rode forward to see who the woman was and if she needed assistance. As she was brought back to Silvia, the Queen wondered how the scouts had not seen her.

  The woman was led by Sir Grant and Prince Dalton. It was immediately obvious that the woman was heavy with child. Her pack had been taken by one of the Queen’s men to rest her back, for she was alone and had no one else to carry it for her. The woman was very short, with stringy blonde hair that clung to her face in sweat. Her face was pinched and pockmarked. Her hands were red and dry and were constantly either wringing themselves or rubbing her protruding belly. Her voice was little more than a squeak, and she appeared confused and frightened. She was taken to an enclosed wagon and entered through the back into darkness. Although she sensed several presences in the wagon with her, only one soft voice spoke to her.

  “Why do you travel alone while with child?”

  Rosenda swallowed, wringing her hands harder. Zela, nor the other wives, had offered any advice or instructions on what to tell the Dead Queen; they had only said for her to make sure the army took the valley filled path to Nillias—their apparent destination. She had to be careful for she had little magic to help her, as she was the weakest of Rohedon’s six wives. Why, if it hadn’t been for a special powder that Natosha had somehow acquired, it would have taken Rosenda and the others weeks to travel as far as they had. Now, what would be the smartest way to start this pal
aver off? What should she say to this woman of the dead, if indeed that was to whom she was speaking? She steadied her breathing and prepared to answer. “My business is my own.”

  “Is it now?” the voice replied in mock wonder. “I find that it is in my army’s best interest to see why you travel alone when you are so far along in your pregnancy and so far from towns or villages. Why have you no mid-wife?”

  “I have had all of my children while alone, and I need no help,” she responded in a heated tone.

  “How many children have you?” the voice asked.

  “Four,” Rosenda answered, and then realized she should have kept her mouth shut.

  “And where are they—these four children?” the woman asked sweetly.

  “Grown and gone.” This was true, but Rosenda didn’t think she looked old enough to have raised even one child to adulthood. Apparently the woman speaking with her had seen her outside the wagon and noticed this as well.