Of Gods and Dragons

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  The Lord wasted no time. Kicking his stallion into a gallop he shouted, “Ride! Ride as though Eerich the God of Evil and the Underworld is on your heels!”

  The army broke into a panicked rush and were soon following their leaders, albeit in disarray for the first few minutes.

  And they rode…rode like the wind.

  Emaree had been having horrible nightmares but she didn’t think they were all in her head. She had dreamed of the Dead Queen and her massive army traveling to Nillias. She also dreamed of a second, much smaller army following in their wake, led by the King of Lystia and a handsome, well-tanned man. But she also dreamed of nasty, hairy creatures that hovered between the armies and they reeked of death and destruction. She had seen (or believed she had seen) the death of Rosenda and her demon child. Did the other wives know these things? Were they, perhaps, having dreams of their own? She had never been one to dream of such things, and felt that this was important.

  Her thoughts were disturbed as the lock on her door clicked. She looked to see which of the other widowed wives would enter and was repulsed by the sight of their favorite manservant, Claw, standing in the doorway. His thin blond hair hung limply around his sallow, scarred face, and he was only half-dressed. His breeches were filthy, as though they had not been washed in weeks and his bare feet were no better. He was smiling at her in an eerie way and she saw how yellow and disgusting his remaining teeth were.

  “What do you want?” she asked sharply. She did not like this malicious man in her private chambers.

  “I’ve come for my reward,” he sneered, closing the door behind him.

  “And what reward would that be?” she asked warily. “And who am I to give it to you?”

  “I gave Saris and Natosha some valuable information yesterday and they decided to reward me by letting me take pleasures from you.”

  Emaree snorted loudly. “That will never happen so long as I’m breathing.”

  “So be it,” Claw growled. He ran to her bed and shoved her onto her back, grabbing her arms and pinning them above her head. He noticed the feeble movements of her legs beneath him and grinned unpleasantly. “Yes, my sweet, I’ve heard about your legs. Have problems moving them, do you? Well, don’t worry, I won’t care if they’re wrapped around me or not.”

  “Get off of me!” she screamed, struggling to free her arms.

  “No can do, Miss Emaree,” he chuckled.

  Only one gnarled hand gripped her bony wrists now. The other was pulling up her old gray dress roughly. It was drug up to her breasts, where he began biting painfully. Emaree cried out and wished in vain that she could move her scarred legs more than just a couple of inches. And then a thought occurred to her—she did have her magic…

  Claw deftly untied his breeches and wormed out of them, but just as he prepared to enter her, she spoke between clenched teeth.

  “Beware…it has teeth.”

  He cackled madly. “Does it really? Well, shall we see how hard it bites?”

  “Suit yourself.” She narrowed her eyes and concentrated.

  As Claw thrust himself inside her, her womanhood indeed sprouted teeth and bit into him hard before letting go. He screamed and fell backward, clutching himself and rolling off the bed. Howling in agony, he hobbled out the door, leaving it open behind him.

  Emaree hastily shoved her dress down and shuddered. She sat up and grabbed the horrible man’s breeches, balled them up, and threw them into the fire. As the flames hungrily ate at the dirty cloth she eyed the open door with yearning. Did she have time? Could she possibly escape? Would she even be able to make it outside? She tried moving her legs and groaned with pain. No…she could not; she would never make it, no matter how appealing going outside was.

  Why, it had been a little over eighteen months since the witches had allowed her to even be carried outside. She cherished the memory, although it was nothing spectacular. The witches mountain was nothing more than a big, rocky part of the earth, surrounded by stony outcrops with little grass to be seen anywhere. Windows and doors had been magically created to let air inside, though it still kept a musty smell in some areas. A small lake of black water and blacker creatures lay at the foot of the mountain and wicked trees sprouted out beyond it, becoming a thick forest all around the stronghold of the mountain. Emaree had often seen the evil things which lived in the forest, creeping across the dark land in secret, watching and waiting to attack anything they saw fit to kill.

  All of them were servants of the witches…all except for one: the gigantic Black Stag with golden hooves, eyes, and horns. Try as they might, the five wives had never been able to bend it to their will, and so (although they would never admit it) were frightened by it. Emaree didn’t understand the Black Stag but for unknown reasons its presence in the dark forest comforted her. She even liked to imagine that it was there to watch out for her.

  She had to smile as she remembered a day last summer when she had been gazing out of her small window, breathing the fresh air. Saris had strolled out one of the doors far below and had started to walk along the lake, every now and again dipping her toes into the cold water to watch the ripples on the surface. But then something in the woods behind her had engrossed Saris’ attention. A minotaur, tall and hideous, had emerged from the forest, bowing to its mistress. She had begun to tease it then, walking around it in slow circles and caressing its hairy body. Then she turned and waded into the lake, beckoning it to follow her…knowing full and well minotaurs could not swim. The beast went behind her without hesitation.

  Saris swam out into the middle of the lake, smiling serenely and not worried about the dark creatures within. The minotaur followed again and drowned in short time.

  Emaree had been horrified by the whole scene, even though she disliked minotaurs. Saris seemed bothered not at all as she swam back to the edge of the lake, still fully dressed, and walked out. She began to wring out her hair and then her dress. In fact she was so wrapped up in herself that she did not see the giant set of golden antlers materialize amidst the thick black trunks before her. Then the Black Stag had stepped forth, exposing its body to the heat of the sun. Saris had only glimpsed the beast before and was surprised to see it right in front of her. Its head alone towered two feet above her and the golden antlers rose nearly three feet above that. It had a sleek black coat over a muscled body, with great golden hooves beneath it. Its large, round golden eyes held her steady in their gaze.

  The Stag regarded her for a moment, and then spoke in a deep voice. “Your very presence taints my lands,” it said disdainfully.

  Saris forgot her shock. “Your lands? I think not!”

  “Then you think not at all, blind one,” said the Stag with sadness. “Just as you did not think of the poor creature you just drowned. What use is he to this world if he is dead? And yet you remorse not, though he died trying to follow you.”

  “A simple test of his faith,” Saris replied. “My sister can bring him back any time she wishes.”

  “Your lack of respect for the world around you sickens me. You are disgusting.”

  “And who are you to say this to me? Do you know not who I am?”

  The Black Stag sighed heavily. “I care not who you are. I care only for the creatures and the plants of this earth, and their well-being.”

  “What master do you serve?” she asked suspiciously.

  “My master is the earth: the trees around me, the dirt beneath my hooves, the water I drink, the air I breathe, the sky above…”

  “I believe I understand,” she said sardonically. “Do you not believe in material things? Do you not crave for something more? Some power or control?”

  “I have no use for those things,” said the Black Stag, “and you put too much faith in them. Beware of the things you seek.”

  “Beware? Ha! Nothing trivial will harm me.”

  The Stag narrowed his eyes. “Would you so calmly stare your death in the face? You are foolish, child, and more ignorant than I thought. I am
sorry to say that talking to you has not influenced your thinking to kinder things. Good day.”

  And with that, the beast turned about, disappearing into the tree trunks.

  She awoke from her reverie, hearing a cold voice sounding in the doorway.

  “That was a cruel thing you did to Claw. Luckily he is healing well now and sleeping off his anger. Did you think you were being funny?”

  Emaree was peering at the doorway, trying to see which wife it was that was in the outside hall. Then, with a blinding flash of orange light Saris appeared directly in front of her, eyes glowing with hate. She poked hard into Emaree’s chest with a long, dark green nail and whispered, “I have made a promise to my manservant, sister, a promise that he shall have you. That promise will be kept if I have to hold you down myself. Understood?”

  She didn’t answer right away; when she did her voice was heavy with loathing. “I pity you Saris, for the day you hold me down so that a man may rape me is the day on which you will die.”

  “And what do you know of death, child? Have you ever watched someone die? Can you raise the dead as Natosha now can and make them fight your wars? I think not; you know nothing.”

  She started speaking before she could stop herself, not knowing where her words were coming from but knowing they were true nevertheless. She said, “If you could know your fate, you would not speak so lightly of death…especially when your own is so near.”

  Saris’ grimace of hate faltered and for a second she showed uncertainty. “We have all talked about your fantasy of being rescued by the Dead Queen,” she finally said, “and we mock you for it. The wives of Rohedon are too powerful for a mere woman to kill, so you dreaming of my death means nothing to me.”

  “Who said I was dreaming it?” Emaree spat. She was tiring of this conversation quickly and was angered that Saris was close to the truth of her fantasies. “You will have to make a choice soon: one decision will let a man have your precious black heart upon his sword; the other will send you into the forest to be killed by a creature you hate.”

  “Enough of this!” Saris yelled, turning and walking towards the door. When she reached it she whipped about, her blonde locks flying wildly about her. “Whether I live or die your fate is already decided. Every last one of the wives of Rohedon has vowed to keep you here at all costs, alive and miserable until the day your very body withers away into dust and blows away with the wind.”

  “You are wrong!” Emaree said fiercely. “I will leave here one day soon, and you will all be dead behind me when I go.”

  “You really think you’re going to go with the Dead Queen when she gets here to try and destroy our legacy?” She cackled madly, slapping her thigh as if Emaree had told a funny joke. “She would kill you just as she would kill us! Besides, she will never arrive—Zela is seeing to that on a mountain pass near Nillias as we speak. Your Dead Queen will not come for you, my child. Only misery and death are in your future now.”

  After she left Emaree thought for a long time about their words, tensing every time she heard voices, for she was afraid Saris would return with Claw and make her promise to him true. She wished there were some way to reach the Dead Queen and warn her of the eminent attack from Zela, but she did not know of any easy way. So, she reached out with her mind and touched upon Zela’s thoughts, immediately getting glimpses of a strange countryside unknown to her. She saw flashes of a giant army being forced apart and an important woman, whose face was in shadows, taken captive. Outlandish creatures riddled with disease drove the army further and further apart.

  So this was Zela’s plan—to cause a distraction by the beasts, split the army up, and take the Queen? It was a decent plan, and Emaree again wondered if she could still help the Dead Queen somehow. She had never tried such a thing with her magic. She looked about her room in hopes of finding something useful. She saw just the thing in a book lying on the mantle that was about the surrounding regions. She summoned the book to her bed and began flipping the pages, ripping some in her haste. A moment later she found what she was seeking: a map of the area the Dead Queen was traveling to. As she peered closely at the pages, her breath caught. There in the midst of the mountain pass was the thing she had been wishing to see for almost two years now: the Healing Spring of Aldoa. Maybe, just maybe she could concentrate enough to send a message of some clarity to the Dead Queen and warn her of the perilous road ahead and of her only chance of salvation.

  Chapter Eight: Flight on the Mountain Pass

  Queen Silvia flew to her army upon Rituel’s back, followed closely by the Prince. The quipas were flowing out of nearby copses of trees and had already begun attacking her unprepared men and women. She rode valiantly to battle them, catching many off guard and using her dragon-hilted sword to behead the ones she surprised. Everyone was screaming and milling about to gather their weapons; a panic overtook the army. The quipas were difficult to count, being so spread out, but she guessed they numbered nearly a thousand. She wondered if there had been quite that many when they had previously attacked. They were vicious, these beasts. The soldiers outnumbered the creatures greatly, but they were in too much of a disarray to see that. The people who ran from them were jumped from behind, the quipas biting the backs of their necks and ripping open their throats with their yellowish claws. Many people were fighting back but were not skilled enough with sword or bow to do much good. Silvia made a mental note to change that.

  She and Dalton charged into a small group of oncoming animals, slashing at them with their swords. One of them grabbed at Silvia’s leg, leaving a shallow but bloody gash nearly the length of her forearm. She cried out and drove her sword through its chest, then kicking it away to ride ahead. So wrapped up in fighting she barely heard Prince Dalton shouting beside her.

  “Milady, your private wagon is under attack!”

  Her breath caught in her throat and she spun Rituel around, riding hard and fast towards her wagon, where Quentin lay completely helpless.

  Sir Grant was doing his damnedest to ward off his aggressors and had so far kept himself and the wounded brother of the king inside the wagon alive. He had great skill with the sword and moved as one with the blade. The beasts had killed all but a few of the wagon’s guard. Maura had taken the driver’s seat and was trying to make the horses go forward, but they were too frightened. Sir Grant moved around to the back of the wagon to protect the entrance. He did not know how much longer they would last if no other soldiers came to aid them. He tried to dodge a small dagger thrown by one of the beasts but it still grazed his arm. They had encircled the wagon but were backing up, most likely to draw Sir Grant and the few others away. He growled and stood his ground.

  Everywhere she looked the Queen saw the beasts. How could there be so many of them? Their numbers were increasing, as was the number of human casualties. She was still trying to ride to the wagon when an image of a beautiful spring formed inside her mind out of nowhere: A crystal-clear pool of sparkling water, surrounded by a clearing in a forest, and a tiny waterfall. The smells of the enchanted place filled her nostrils, pleasing her as much as much as warm sunshine on her face. She could almost see little fish swimming about over the colorful rocks of the pool and she began to relax.

  “Travel here, my Dead Queen,” said a woman’s voice in her mind. Dead Queen? Was this a nickname of sorts for her, or was someone mocking her? “Healing Spring of Aldoa,” the voice whispered faintly. “Look carefully on what you see and you will know what you have to heal…” Then the voice became desperate, pleading with her. “Please, milady, save me from this mountain! Do not let me perish in the grasp of my fellow witches! Save me, Dead Queen! Take me away from here and let me perish not!” This last was said with a sob, and then the voice was gone.

  Silvia blinked and was surprised to find herself still atop Rituel, galloping away towards her wagon. “What madness is this?” she said softly as she gazed at the creatures attacking them more carefully. The beasts were scrawny fur and bone sacks, th
eir wild eyes sunken in, and their breathing coarse and labored. Many were drooling profusely and some even staggered a bit, lumbering from side to side as they ran for her soldiers. “My gods, they are sick,” she mumbled, a new fear lurking behind her green eyes. She turned to the Prince and yelled, “The creatures are sick! They will spread their plague to us all!”

  Prince Dalton narrowed his eyes at the creatures, peering at them as close as he could while trying to ride them down. His eyes widened as he saw what she meant.

  Death was upon them all.

  Zela drew her men into a tight knot and burst out of the woods towards the intricately carved wagon. She had originally planned to wait for the army to start up the pass, but when she saw how disorganized they were she changed her plans. It would be just as easy to dart in, snatch the queen, and make off with her. The army would be divided by the beasts in a straight-forward way. She had sent them with her magic, and diseased them as well. To Zela, everything was disposable.

  “Charge!” she yelled, and her men fought with tooth and nail to get to their target. They were brutal and made a path to the wagon with ease. But there was still an enemy fighting off her men and beasts from the back of the wagon. He fought like the wildcats of the far west and was matching her men’s sword moves swing for swing. His technique was a rhythm, smooth and strong, and she knew that if given the smallest opportunity he would kill every one of her men to protect the Queen inside the wagon. Zela smiled grimly and galloped forward. When she was close enough she steered her horse closer to the wagon, and jumped onto the driver’s platform. She knocked over a startled older woman, who fell off the wagon in an attempt to stand up. Zela laughed and snapped the reins hard.