As the horses took off with much haste she glanced behind her to see if her horse was following and again noticed the man who fought with movements of liquid steel. It was as if fighting was part of his blood for it, came to him naturally. However, he was momentarily distracted by a man and woman riding fiercely towards him. She figured they were some sort of failed bodyguards to the queen. Zela turned back to guide the horses, finishing the snare she had set out for the Dead Queen’s army and hoping her horse would follow.
The army would be conquered.
Silvia slowed Rituel down so that she could grab the reins of a stray horse probably belonging to a slain soldier. The horse went with her easily, glad to have guidance during the heat of the battle. She then looked up to see Sir Grant running towards them, screaming as he ran.
“They’ve captured the wagon, milady!” Moments later he swung into the saddle of the extra horse and all three of them dug their heels in the horses’ sides.
But more men swarmed out of the mountain pass and closed in front of them.
“Kill them!” Silvia yelled and she spurred her stallion to go even faster. Her sword rang through the air like a whistle and the enemies she did not smote down fled for fear of her blade as well as the hooves of the horse that would run them down. Silvia’s head began to light up with pictures of the spring again, of the calm water in the clearing. Her mind also rang sharp with the pleas of the girl she did not know. The girl begged for help, for mercy, begged to be freed from her prison. Silvia listened to the voice with half of her mind as another, larger group of men blocked her path again. Dalton and Grant fell to them with a purpose, but a gang of the hideous beasts came upon them from behind and they were forced to defend from all sides. It took several long minutes to kill off the foes, the woman crying inside Silvia’s mind the whole time. Her heart went out to this stranger for her cries sounded genuine, but she didn’t have the time to really stop and listen better. After all, her brother-in-law had been kidnapped and needed rescuing.
It happened so suddenly that there was nothing anyone could do about it: Sir Grant’s horse stumbled and went down, and he was thrown from the saddle, landing hard on his side several feet away. As Silvia and Dalton pulled the reins on their horses, Sir Grant rolled over and started to get up.
Then the Queen’s ears somehow caught the sound of trickling water over all the noises of the battle that had quickly fallen behind as they had raced up the mountain pass. Despite the eminent danger of Quentin’s kidnapper’s getting away or having one of the enemies come crashing through the wilderness after them, she got off Rituel and ran forward, leaving everything and everyone behind. The trees seemed to reach out and grab at her, tearing her dress, cutting her face and arms, and tugging at her sword as if to convince her she didn’t need it. Pine cones, fallen branches, and shrubbery littered the floor of the forest, making her stumble every couple of steps, but she forced herself to go on following the sound of the water. Just to hear it was wonderful—it was like a soft lullaby for the soul. She charged through the trees, hearing the men a little ways behind her, screaming her name. Yet she did not care. The only important thing, the thing that drove her, was the spring. It compelled her to come to it, and she knew it lay just ahead somewhere…
Then she was in a forest glade, the trees giving a wide semi-circle berth to a flat stretch of grass and the most beautiful spring she had ever hoped to lay eyes upon. Behind the spring was a waterfall streaming down into the spring. She stopped to let the men catch up with her, leading the horses behind them.
“What in the bloody name of the Dark Moon of Eerich did you run off for woman?” Sir Grant snarled, brandishing his drawn sword at her. “I’m the one who fell off the horse and hit my head, so why are you the one acting like you’ve gone mad?” His horse nudged his shoulder gently from behind as he spoke as if to agree with him.
Silvia saw that the animal’s legs were badly skinned from his fall. “Sir Grant, lead your horse into the water.”
“What? What for? My lady, in case you have forgotten, your husband’s brother is in grave danger—“
“I have not forgotten!” Queen Silvia said sharply. “But unfortunately one man is not as important as thousands of people.”
“What are you about?” Grant demanded.
“This,” she said, gesturing towards the spring, “has healing powers. It is the Healing Spring of Aldoa.”
“How do you know this, Your Highness?” asked Prince Dalton. He seemed puzzled, but appeared to have recognized the name of the place.
“I-I’m not sure,” Silvia admitted. “I had the most peculiar visions during the battle, and when Sir Grant’s horse stumbled, I could hear it through the woods.”
“Well, let’s see if it is as you say,” Grant grumbled. He led his limping horse to the water and guided it in. The animal whickered softly, lowered his head and drank deeply. When the horse lifted its head from the water Sir Grant led him back out slowly.
“By the gods—look at his legs!” exclaimed Prince Dalton. The horse’s legs were like brand new, with no blood, wounds, or scars to show from his fall. “He’s been healed. And Grant, look at your arm. It was bleeding, but it’s fine as rain now!”
Silvia gazed at the sparkling water longingly before looking at Sir Grant. “The Prince and I shall go after Quentin. I want you to go back to the army and finish defeating those monsters. Then bring everyone to this spring in groups, whether they look infected with what those creatures have or not. Everyone still breathing is to be put into the pool of water. I don’t know what those horrible things have, but they are sick.” A remnant of the Dreamer’s letter came to her. “They are the creeping sickness,” she said to herself as she once more mounted.
“I beg your pardon, milady?” Grant said.
“Nothing…just do as I have requested.”
“Queen Silvia, with all due respect, you will need more protection if you go after Quentin,” he protested.
“Do you question my orders at such a time? My people trust you and will listen to you. You are a sword master, Sir Grant, and you can finish the battle more quickly and efficiently than most. Need I give any more reasons?”
Something close to pride found itself on the man’s face. “No, Your Majesty, you need not. Those beasts are truly sick?” He sighed as she nodded. “Then it will be as you say, my Queen.”
“Good. We shall return shortly.”
Prince Dalton and Sir Grant remounted and followed Silvia out onto the path of the mountain pass. As Grant was tying a kerchief of the brightest yellow onto a low-hanging branch to mark the spot, the others rode off.
The Prince turned to Silvia. “Is there anything else bothering you?”
“I heard a woman’s voice with those images,” Silvia admitted, not meeting his eyes. “She was begging me to save her and show her mercy. It was almost like a bird chirping in my ear.”
He frowned. “Take care that the bird does not chirp the wrong song. ‘Tis dangerous.” He kicked his heels into his war horse’s flanks and they galloped after the wagon.
Zela raced the wagon up the sloping pass of the mountain, nearly making it topple over in easy curves. The horses were in a lather, froth around their mouths and their once shiny coats slick with sweat and dust. She was driving them too hard, she knew, but they were almost there and had no signs of pursuit. Eventually a bend came into view just ahead, accented by a boulder larger than a house. As she came upon the boulder a dozen men leaped out from behind it, spears drawn and arrows notched. Zela smiled grimly and allowed the horses to slow to a stop.
“We must get the wagon out of sight quickly,” she ordered them.
A dense foliage cover was removed to reveal a hidden clearing just past the boulder and she guided the horses through the opening.
“Shall I water the horses, Lady Zela?” asked one of her men.
“Kill them and eat them, for all I care,” she spat, jumping from the driver’s bench to the ground and circlin
g around to the back of the wagon. She had been excited, for the capture of the wagon had been simple…but maybe too simple. No horses had followed, so far as she could see, which was not at all right. Who wouldn’t follow their Queen’s wagon once it was kidnapped from under their very noses? Was it possible they didn’t even know she was gone yet? Did they even care that she was gone?
She wondered…
And then there was the carriage itself—no noise had emitted from it whatsoever. Was anyone inside or had she captured an empty cart? Steeling herself for what she would see, she tore open the thick clothe and was more than shocked to see a man lying on a makeshift bed. His light blanket had slipped off during the wild ride and she saw that the white cloak he wore had ridden up his body and revealed a pair of thin brown pants. He looked young, though his hair was as white as fresh snow. He also appeared to be sick: his throat had a horrible jagged scratch on it that was stitched up, and his face was red and sweaty from a nasty fever. His eyes were half-open and glazed. His face was slack and Zela really didn’t believe him to be coherent, nor did she think he knew she was there. She ran her eyes over the insides of the wagon in anger and disbelief.
No Queen of the Lystians.
Fury boiled inside her and she nearly screamed with frustration. Where under the Dark Moon was the Dead Queen?
“Who is that?” One of her men had entered behind her and was gesturing at the man.
“Perhaps if I knew that I wouldn’t be in such a state,” she hissed. “Drag him out and burn him. With the fever he’s got he wouldn’t even know what was happening.” She stalked out, regretting that her own horse had not followed her up the pass as her soldier prepared to build a fire.
Queen Silvia and Prince Dalton rode with haste at first but slowed down, fearing a trap to snare them. After a bit they thought they heard the distant sound of voices ahead. They dismounted and tied the horses to trees a little ways off the road. They then used the trees for cover and crept along, watching the ground for twigs and branches and listening intently. It took no time at all to pick out the signs that several people had been through the area: broken twigs, a strand of hair caught in an overhanging branch, indentations of boots here and there, and grass blades bent at odd angles. Silvia herself never would have noticed these things, however Dalton stopped to point them out silently, picking up the trail with the ease of a hunter.
She admired his concentration, for there were dozens of thoughts occupying her mind at the moment and she could sum them all up in three names: Quentin, Keelan, and Dalton.
Quentin, who was still in the grips of the high fever caused by the demon’s inflictions, was in a graver peril yet nearby. If she got there too late…Oh, this was all her fault! If she had only stayed by the wagon to begin with he never would have been kidnapped.
Keelan had succeeded in ripping her heart to shreds, far away in the land of Wherever. He had betrayed her trust to some woman—some queen of another country! Could it truly be one of Rohedon’s wives? She feared it was so.
And then there was Dalton—a striking man with a good sense of propriety and goodness. He was in love with her, even as they slipped quietly through the woods to rescue her brother-in-law. He was charming, valiant, and obedient. The woman who landed him in her marriage bed would be lucky indeed.
It could be me, if I so wished it, she thought. She threw the thought away angrily. She was a married woman! Yes, but to an unfaithful husband…
Just ahead, the prince stopped.
Keelan rode his bay horse, lying close to its neck and urging it on to go ever faster. Lord Cambry rode beside him, his high topknot streaking behind and his shaved scalp shining in the hot sun. The trees were passing in a blur, the hills rolling by quickly, and the sun forced sweat to run down their backs in tiny trickles. The horses were lathering badly, but Keelan refused to let them slow down. They halted as they crested a small hill and saw before them a massive army in complete turmoil.
Strange, hairy creatures were attacking men, women, and animals alike. The people had apparently been caught unawares and were now paying for it dearly with their lives. It almost looked like an anthill that had been disturbed. Keelan gaped at the creatures with wonder; Lord Cambry bore an expression of indifference, as if he had seen this sort of thing many times before and was now tired of it. Cambry raised his arm, fingers splayed out, and Keelan heard the men behind him begin to chant:
“First the problem and the fear
Then solution, so we cheer
We will get our resolution!
Come, come all you heathens!
Bring your witches and your demons!
Try, try with all your might!
But we will stand; we will fight!
All through the land,
All through the night!”
Then, with a deafening roar, Cambry closed his fist and brought his arm down as if he were about to bash his horse between the ears. Their men screamed and made for the fighting ahead. Keelan’s shoulder was aching a little from the hard riding, but he ignored the pain and joined them.
The exhilaration of going into such a battle was so wild that Keelan nearly felt invincible. He didn’t notice the horse’s mane whipping at his hands or the throbbing in his rear end from the saddle. His horse rushed in amidst the scrambling Lystians and the raging beasts. Somewhere, somehow, he lost Lord Cambry in the fight. He was trying desperately to find his queen but nowhere did he see a beautiful redhead in a gorgeous dress battling monsters. Fear overtook him as he rode on, and desperation sent him into panic. He looked left, seeing more quipas coming out of the forest. He looked right, seeing one of the beasts take a screaming woman by the hair and jerk her head back to tear out her throat. Keelan noticed how sick the beast appeared: boils festered on its hairy face and arms and its ribs protruded gruesomely. He turned away, screaming his wife’s name as the people around him fought for their lives. He slowed his horse to a stop, trying to stare in all directions at once. He thought he saw Cambry in the distance, knocking arrow after arrow and letting them fly. His eyes moved again.
And then he saw her.
Standing not ten feet away, in a sheer gown of the finest white lace, was Natosha. Her luscious brown curls fell about her shoulders, enhancing the gray of her eyes. No one else seemed to see her; it was as if she were an apparition of sorts. Her white gown was bereft of the blood and gore around her—not a speck of dirt clung to her body. Even her bare feet appeared clean, as if she had just bathed. He took his sapphire in his hand and prayed to the gods that she would not overcome him again.
She was staring at him and when she spoke her voice was heard as clearly as if she were right beside him. “Where has your Queen led you to this time?” she asked, gazing around, completely undisturbed by the horrific scenes around her. “I have looked into your dreams of late, my King, even the ones you cannot or will not remember. The woman you cherish always seems to drag you into her schemes, doesn’t she? First she entwines you in her plans to take King Gregorich Hapshamin’s throne and with your help succeeds. Then she yanks you into a battle with Lord Rohedon, in which you were almost fatally wounded. And before you could even heal she rides off on a futile quest, leaving you far behind, knowing you would heel like a well-trained pup.” She spat the words out with bitterness. “Will you always let her lead you so? Are you not your own man?”
Anger edged his voice. “No, I am not my own man. I am her man. And she does not drag me around—I follow her willingly and with loyalty and love. She is my queen, and I her king. So it must be, so it shall be.”
Natosha frowned, creases lining her pretty brow. “But I am your queen too, my Lord, lest you have forgotten in your chase.”
Keelan narrowed his eyes. “I regretted those words the moment I said them and I do not know how you managed to draw those words from my mouth in the first place, as I do not agree with them at all. I cannot be tied to two women. Only one must rule my heart, and I have already chosen her.”
; “You chose me as well!” Natosha said in a loud voice. Tears had sprung to her eyes. “Can you throw me away so easily? Do you care so little for me?”
He ignored her tears. “I made a bad decision, my lady, and I take it back. I cannot have you and I do not want you. Lust is nothing compared to love. Besides, how can I have a wife about which I know nothing? Where do you hail from? What realm are you Queen of? Why have you taken such an interest in me?” Why had he not said these things to her before? He was so thick-headed! And the more he stared at her the more disgusted with himself he became.
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