Of Gods and Dragons

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  “Well, I first noticed the tracks in a large stretch of woods about three miles back. They stayed to the trees back there, but have since mingled with the tracks of Queen Silvia’s army, and at times have been hard to spot.”

  Keelan glared from one man to the other. “Is she…do you think the creatures have caught up to the army?”

  Again, the tracker answered. “There were blood spots in several areas in the woods; however there were no bodies. It’s very possible the blood was from an injured person or an injured creature. But no, I wouldn’t think they’ve caught up with the army yet, or if they have the army doesn’t know about it.”

  “Do you know what these creatures are? How dangerous are they?” Keelan demanded to know.

  The tracker looked away, but Lord Cambry didn’t. He stared the King in the eyes and said, “I’ve only heard stories of them. And they are dangerous enough that we will be taking much shorter rests after this one, as well as picking up speed.” He paused for a moment, taking in the men before him as if measuring their stamina. “We need to get to the army—and your Queen—as quickly as possible, or they may die.”

  The inside of the wagon still glowed with candlelight, although the overall effect was eerie rather than comforting. Quentin had crept inside quietly through a tiny hole in the canvas flap and paused now to take in his surroundings. The two mid-wives were lying on the floor, their throats shredded into fleshy mounds. The metallic taste of blood was heavy in his mouth as he twitched his delicate whiskers with disgust.

  Glancing up he could see Rosenda’s body lying motionless on its side. He turned his head to look at the draperies that hung over a window cut out in the canvas. A movement caught his eye and he whipped his tiny head towards Rosenda’s body. He could almost swear she had moved. Was it possible she was still alive? He couldn’t be sure yet, but he didn’t think so. His mouse ears could detect strange sounds from the table on which she lay, sounds he had heard before but was unable to place His stomach became uneasy and he turned back to the draperies, climbing them quickly and quietly as only a mouse could.

  He had a brief thought of how he had rarely been so grateful that he could shape-shift, even though it was only people or animals that he had killed. A couple of days before they had left Lystia he had shed his white cloak and tried to shape-shift. He’d been able to do it, but only for a short period of time. The magical hooded cloak enabled him to be something else for as long as a couple of days. He remembered the night when his brother had rescued him from the malevolent spell of the white cloak. By the gods, how he had hated that robe and the evil man that had enslaved him in it. He had wanted to leave the wretched clothe and forget the blasphemous memories that seemed to be absorbed in its very threads. Now, however, he used the cloak just as it had once used him, even thinking of it fondly from time to time. After all, the robe had been with him—a part of him—for so long that to be away from it very long was just too damned strange and unnerving. In a way he supposed he felt protected by it, and it brought him a sort of peace.

  But now back to the task at hand. He scrambled from the draperies and onto the small table holding the oil lamp which dimly lit the wagon’s interior. He froze, knowing that as tiny as he was he was still in plain sight and could therefore be a target. He peered at Rosenda, who lay facing him, her eyes open and unblinking.

  She was moving. Her body seemed to shiver all over as though she was cold and one of her eyelids began to droop. And for a moment, just one moment, Quentin was almost certain she was alive…not that he cared one way or the other since he was there to finish her life anyway. Then he saw the reason for her movements.

  From behind her back rose something which had been crouching. A demon it was, and the most revolting thing Quentin had ever laid eyes upon. It was the size of a small dog and mottled gray, brown, and black in color. Patches of fur in the same colors sprouted from its thick, sickly looking skin in odd places. Its ears were horribly uneven, as were its misshapen wings that had halfway unfolded behind it; one of its wings was nearly twice the size of the other. Its face was pointed and pinched looking: a tiny nose came out to a point between two slitted green eyes. Its mouth had a river of needle-like teeth lined with thin purple lips. As he watched with a churning stomach, the demon lowered its head and buried its face into its mother’s back, holding her with four-fingered taloned hands. The same sickening sound came from the beast as it tore off a chunk of ragged flesh and leaned its head back to gulp it down. Even before it lowered its head to take another bite its body shivered and grew several inches. The short wing became longer, and its spine popped as it lengthened as well.

  Quentin waited until the demon lowered its head once more before he went back down the draperies to the floor of the wagon, which had become sticky with blood. He carefully made his way around the long table bearing the dead mother until he was directly behind the demon. He took a deep breath, thinking to himself that he had to do this for Her Majesty. He had promised Keelan to protect her person in all ways on this journey, and by the gods that was what he was going to do.

  Summoning his powers, he rose from the floor in the shape of a giant white bear, roaring in the most terrifying way he could. The demon whirled around, its green eyes wide with fear.

  But then the wagon began to lean to Quentin’s side because of his immense bulk, and he realized too late that he had chosen to become the wrong animal. The wagon fell onto its side heavily, and the last thing he saw was the demon leaping towards his throat.

  Silvia nearly cried out when the wagon toppled over with a bone-crunching thud. She stood for several precious seconds, biting her lip and not daring to breathe. Coming back to her senses she motioned her soldiers out of the way, giving the fallen wagon a wide berth. As quietly as possible she drew her sword, the silver carving of a dragon with bejeweled eyes glinting in the bright sun, and stood at the ready. She hardly noticed the soldiers around her doing the same.

  Except that now she was unsure as to what to do: Should she go charging in or wait until someone or something came out? Her mind’s feet burned as they raced around the sands of her thoughts. What to do? What to do? But before she could make up her mind on this she saw movement beneath the blood-stained canvas covering of the wagon.

  Yes, something was moving, trying to crawl out from the wreckage. Silvia began to edge closer, going very slow and careful to keep her eyes on the wagon. Beads of sweat stung her eyes, but she dared not blink. Before she had gone four small paces the canvas ripped open and with a blood-curdling screech a hideous monster burst forth, flapping misshapen wings with odd patches of multi-colored fur on them. Almost without hesitation the demon hurtled itself straight at her, its eyes fixed upon her hungrily.

  Its expression changed when it saw the tiny queen throw down her sword and instantly transform into a giant dragon. It tried to turn in midair, but Silvia drew in a deep breath and expelled the largest stream of flames she could muster. The flames devoured the fleeing demon greedily and it fell to a smoking heap on the ground. There it was immediately set upon by the Queen’s Guards who kicked, stabbed, and mutilated the carcass until they were sure it was truly dead.

  Keelan’s eyes stared at the valley from which the faint sound had come, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. “My gods, what was that?” he muttered.

  Lord Cambry had risen to his feet. The man from Jevelas looked the complete part of a warrior: His thick brown topknot protruding from his shaved head reached past the shoulders of his worn-out traveling cloak, swept to one side as usual to reveal his broadsword. His eyes were like green fire as they peered into the distance. “I know not, Your Highness,” he grumbled, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. “But I will make a grave assumption that it came from the same direction your wife is going.” He turned to his tracker. “Send scouts. Go with them if you must, but rally the men first.” He looked at Keelan. “We will try to speed things up and travel faster. If we are lucky we’ll make it to her in time.”
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br />   “You mean if she’s lucky,” Keelan whispered. He spun around to mount his horse; all those nearby could see he looked pale and shaken.

  Silvia cared no more about the creature and dismissed it from her mind as one would swat away a fly. Her beautiful emerald eyes were fixed on the wreckage and its blood-soaked canvas with a stare that was tragedy and sorrow. Throwing aside all thought she changed back to her human form and ran to the wagon, jerking back the torn canvas. Quentin lay there, his eyes dazed and barely open, his body crushed among the dead bodies of Rosenda and the mid-wives. Silvia wasn’t sure he was hurt until she saw the deep scratches on his throat. Silvia took his hands and helped pull him out from under the bodies and onto his unsteady feet. She led him away to a nearby hillock, where he collapsed as she began to examine him. Blood was pooled up on his cloak, the cloth’s magic preventing it from soaking in, and when he reached out to her his cloak shifted, the pooled blood dripping onto the grass beneath him. She worked the cloak off his body to see large tears in his shirt and skin.

  Frero fetched them some fresh water from a stream and clean rags and helped the Queen clean up the injured man. The jagged-looking tear on his throat was not as bad as she had feared, although it looked terrible. They gave him several stitches, but he was so dazed that he did not stir or even moan with pain. The only thing he managed to say was that he wished for his cloak. They donned him in it after they finished tending his wounds. Zander was brought forth to try different herbs and healing magic, but none of it seemed to work. Confounded, he told them the only thing they could do was to watch over him.

  The rest of the camp, under the direction of Prince Dalton and Sir Grant, made ready to leave. The mid-wives’ bodies were placed in shallow graves with stones atop of them. Rosenda’s body was drug out of the toppled wagon and left in the open to be trampled by the army and to give warning to any other enemies. The demon was left where it lay.

  Quentin rode in the Queen’s wagon, with Her Majesty stroking his long white hair. Maura rode inside with them, holding one of the young man’s hands and watching helplessly as her beloved mistress shed tears over him.

  Lord Cambry and King Keelan grimaced as they gazed down upon the remains of what had once been a small young woman two days later. The ‘quipas’, as Cambry dubbed the creatures stalking the army, had feasted a little on her but had found the dirt and animal manure trampled into her skin to be too overwhelming and had abandoned her for something else. What looked to have been freshly dug graves had been unearthed, the now meatless bones nearly picked clean and no sign of clothes to identify the bones could be seen.

  “Whatever happened here must not have been good.” Cambry’s nose twitched with repulsion from the burnt carcass of some unknown beast that lay nearby. “I would tell the men to mount up again, but if the horses do not rest for at least an hour…well, they wouldn’t make it far, I’m afraid. Best horses in the country they are, but they need to rest for a bit if we still want them to be of any use. We’ve ridden them far and hard to get here since we heard that awful screaming the other day.” He picked up a pebble and threw it hard against a tree. He noticed Keelan staring and said, “I am sorry, my Lord, but I am irritated with myself. If we had stopped earlier to rest the horses we could be continuing our journey now.” He looked closer at the King. “You need rest, Your Majesty. Some sleep will give you strength for what is to come. If you’d like I can give you a concoction that will help you rest deeply for a short while.”

  Keelan sighed. “For how long?” he said, his eyes distant.

  Lord Cambry knew what it was that he wished to know. “Until the quipas reach your wife’s army or until we reach them?”

  “Both,” growled the King.

  “Approximately three hours or so before they catch up to her, if these tracks are as fresh as we think, and about four or five hours before we’ll meet up with whomever’s still alive…That’s if we don’t rest the horses.”

  “Then we cannot rest!” Keelan roared in anger. “We must go now if they are so close to her! I have to protect my Queen!”

  “Be calm, King Keelan,” Cambry said. “The horses will collapse where they stand if they do not rest and your Queen has a sizable army of soldiers to protect her until we get there. Now, you need rest. Let me get you that drink.”

  Natosha was seething in anger. How could Rosenda have been so stupid? She had practically given herself away by speaking directly to the Dead Queen and giving out truthful information. She had watched through her looking glass in horror as Rosenda made mistake after mistake. She could only hope that Zela’s ambush in the mountain pass would work.

  Natosha paced the floor of her private chambers, but her thoughts were not on Rosenda’s death as they probably should have been. Her own demon child had killed her, not the enemy, and nothing could have been done about that. And she had been expendable in Natosha’s mind from the beginning.

  No, Natosha was trying to think of something to help her calm down. Back and forth her bare feet went, not feeling the cold stones beneath them. She had already killed two of the cats which roamed the palace, breaking one’s neck and throwing the other one out a window far above the ground. This had not quelled her anger, so she had seduced one of the servants later on, leading him into a private room and forcing him to please himself for her. This normally would have made her feel a lot better, however it hadn’t. What would appeal to her? She could talk to Saris, but she knew Saris was pleasantly indisposed with one of their more beastly servants at the moment, unaware that one of Rohedon’s wives had perished.

  She wondered what the new King of Lystia was doing, and this thought appealed to her. Swiftly, she cast one of her magic powders around her in a circle and as the white powder fell to the stone floor it turned the color of smoke, and then darkened to black. She quickly disrobed and checked her naked appearance her floor-length mirror, smiling mischievously. She grabbed a handful of the fine grains in the clay pot on her mantel and stepped inside the circle of powder.

  “To King Keelan of the Realm of Lystia,” she said. Instantly her room vanished, becoming a swirl of patterns and colors. The very air seemed to chill considerably, a slight breeze stirring the chestnut brown curls on her shoulders. Finally the colors around her slowed, then stopped.

  She was inside some sort of tent. It was daylight outside but the closed flaps let in only tiny streams of dusty light. A few blankets lay on the floor, covering half of the bare-chested man beneath them. She blew the contents of her hands onto his face as she looked once more at the scars littering his taut chest and arms. His brown hair was a tangled mess. Although his face was restful, one of his hands clutched the blankets; the other hand was clutching the sapphire around his neck. He had been wearing the necklace before, but Natosha had brushed it off as merely a decoration. Now she wondered…what was it for, exactly? She knelt down and attempted to pull it gently from his grasp. It came out easily enough, though he mumbled his wife’s name in his slumber. She did not slip it from his neck, only held it, ogling at its blue depths. The stone nearly pulsed with some sort of hidden magic—her own magic enabled her to feel it throbbing within. She was curious again as to what the stone was for, but the King murmured in his sleep again and she laid it back on his chest, vowing that she would take it with her when she left. She peeled the blankets back and began to untie his breeches. That done, she slowly worked them off and began kissing his body.

  If only Rohedon had been this handsome, she thought bitterly.

  Keelan opened his eyes and peered at her closely. “You?” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Yes,” she whispered back. “Your goddess has returned to her master to do his bidding.” She climbed atop of him and began moving her hips slowly.

  “Am I dreaming again?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

  Natosha smiled at the wonderful effect of her powder. It really heightened a man’s sexual arousal. “You were not dreaming the first time you had me,” she crooned, dig
ging her nails into his chest.

  “Who…who are you really?”

  She leaned close to his ear, her nipples caressing his chest. “I am your fantasy brought to life. Everything you could possibly want, I will give you…I am yours.” She licked his earlobe, flicking her tongue against it playfully.

  He moaned and shut his eyes. “I want you, but I cannot do this. I cannot have you.”

  “Of course you can,” Natosha said sweetly, moving faster above him. “You’re having me right now, are you not?”

  “Yes, but…but I belong with my wife.”

  Natosha jerked his face toward hers, a serious tone in her voice. “Listen to me very carefully, King of Lystia, or whatever you may call your city or realm, and listen well. I am a queen in my own right, and I have a realm larger than you could ever imagine. I have riches beyond your wildest imaginings. I have a youthful body that will always remain beautiful and unspoiled, no matter how many children I bear. I am unwavering, and I would love you in ways you never thought possible. I would conquer distant lands just to name them yours. I would love you until all time had faded from this wretched world. Will you let me do this? Will you take my hand and let me show you the wonders of this world that I have come to know? A King you are already, but would you be my King and sit upon my throne? Would you help me to command my people and uphold our laws? Would you like me to belong to you forever?” Many of those things had been whispered into her ear by Rohedon, or in dark corridors where she coerced with other men. People liked to hear things like that.