Of Gods and Dragons

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  And what of his destiny? What of the things Goddess Aldoa had said to him? Something he longed for would happen, a great battle with some manner of ‘blind creatures’ beneath the ground…And what of the ‘serious turn of events’ that was supposed to occur in Rohedon’s Realm—the ones which would deny him his kingship? She had said he would not perish, so why would he not be King when his parents passed into the Realm of the Dead? Would his brother or sister take to the throne in his stead? He sincerely hoped so. Another question which bugged him was who would be the person to be linked to him? Why would the future of so many people rest upon their shoulders?

  These thoughts and a hundred more drifted through his tired mind. What would he do? He knew he would travel to Lordale and then to Rohedon’s Realm to defeat the evil things there, but after that? Where should he go? Must he find this person Aldoa spoke of, or would they find him?

  The flap to his tent fluttered in the breeze, bringing with it the smell of good cooking. Wildlife was abundant around the Healing Spring, and quite a few animals had been killed to be eaten over the next few hours. His stomach growled a little; he was hungry, yet felt no actual desire to eat. And no cook fire had he in his tent, for it was just too bloody hot. So he sat, facing the opening of the tent, barely muttering greetings to some of those who passed by.

  He was so lost in his own little world that he never saw the stranger who ducked in until the man sat down beside him tailor-style.

  “You are a quiet one,” the prince said softly, not looking up.

  “When I wish to be, yes,” the man replied, taking out his own sharpening stone to hone the blade of a boot dagger.

  Dalton didn’t speak for several moments, sliding his own knife at a subtle angle against the rock. “Have you something to say? If so, then speak it. I wish not to play games.”

  The man nodded once and began speaking without ever looking over at the prince. “What you did today was nothing short of honorable. This Queen and her brother-in-law are lucky to have such a friend…To haul two dying people down a mountain pass as fast as any horse is no small feat, my lad.”

  The prince kept his eyes on his blade. “I did what needed to be done.” There was no honor in doing such a thing, in his mind.

  “Such fealty...but a good way to think of what you did, I suppose,” said the man appreciatively.

  Prince Dalton at last glanced over at the stranger and noticed for the first time how queerly the man was dressed: he donned a leather vest with chain links all over it, and a matching skirt that would fall to his lower thighs when he stood up. And the man seemed to be covered in weapons! “Who are you and what do you want?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I thought you said you did not wish to play games,” the stranger said, not taking his eyes from what he was doing. “So let us not play them, for you know very well who I am. Your mind may be slow to catch up with your eyes, but your eyes see my famous sword, bow, and arrows.”

  The prince looked at these objects in slight confusion; then his eyes lit up and he immediately put down his whetstone and knife. He bowed from where he sat, ashamed of himself for not recognizing the God of War before him. “Forgive me, Lord Geldin. My mind is indeed much slower than my eyes.”

  “Yes, well, such things tend to happen at the end of a day like this.” He stopped running his sharpening stone over the dagger’s edge and inspected his work. The lights from a large bonfire outside the tent illuminated the golden blade. The hilt was stained a hue of the deepest, richest blue, with green and yellow vines on it that spelled something only a god could make out. “I want to ask you something: What do you think went wrong today?”

  Dalton sat up straight and laughed sourly. “What did not go wrong? The army obviously needs to practice more strictly and they need to have better order. We were spread out, unprepared, and all havoc broke loose. The Queen’s wagon should have been better protected—it shouldn’t have been captured at all. We made for an easy target for the enemy.”

  Geldin gazed at him a moment, and nodded his head, his golden hair catching the firelight from outside. “A good start. You have the blood of a general in you, my lad. You would be wise to use those skills more effectively in the future. A king must rule his army well.”

  “I should not worry about such things,” said the prince bitterly. “I have already been informed by Goddess Aldoa that I may not ever be king. She said I would want something else more, but I don’t understand. I was born to be a king. It is what I have always wanted to be.”

  “Actually, I believe my sister’s words were that if certain events occurred you would never take the throne of Wexford.”

  “Must you pour salt in my wound?” Dalton said in a grumpy tone. “I don’t need it rubbed in, you know.”

  “I, on the other hand, believe you do.” Geldin looked at him sharply. “Sometimes having something ‘rubbed in’, as you say, helps you to see other solutions. You may not ever be the King of Wexford, but does that mean that other great nations will close their royal women to you?”

  “I care only about one woman of royalty, and she is unattainable.”

  Geldin smiled mischievously. “Then I need to teach you some strategy, boy.”

  “You are the God of War,” Prince Dalton pointed out. “How can you help me in such a matter?”

  The god before him laughed. “Just because I am the God of War means I have no love for women, does it? Son, in my many, many hundreds of years of living I have loved a good number of women. In fact, there were several that I loved so much that I lived with them the rest of their lives, remaining faithful and devoted to them. Those chosen few I loved so dearly that when they died, I took their hand and escorted them to the Afterworld myself. Our bonds remain unbroken to this day. If ever I should need them, all I must do is call.

  “I may be a war god, but I know more than I should about love. Besides, who is to say this is not a battle for this Queen’s heart?”

  “And what is this strategy you speak of?”

  Geldin smiled again. “She is an extraordinary woman, this Queen Silvia of Lystia, and in order to capture and keep the attentions of such a woman you have to be an extraordinary man. Now, what is it that her husband has that you do not?”

  Silvia had grown tired of Lystians lining up outside of her tent to give her well-wishes and speeches of endearment. Maura had been informed a short while before that if she wished she could intercept the words of the Lystians for the Queen, and the maidservant had done just so. But she, too, had tired after a couple hundred people had spoken to her and had eventually sent them all away. But instead of crawling inside with her mistress, Maura had asked Sir Grant to stand guard over the Queen while she went bathe in the Healing Spring. She had returned shortly to find Hans chatting with Sir Grant outside the tent. After a bit, Grant had left them and Hans retired to his own tent.

  “Are you awake, milady?” asked Maura, poking her head inside the tent.

  “Yes I am. What is it?”

  “Someone wishes to see you, Your Majesty.”

  “Send them away please. I am very tired and have a lot to think about.”

  “I am not used to being sent away,” said a kindly voice, “but if you so wish, then I will leave.”

  Silvia jumped up in shock as she saw who spoke. “No! Please don’t leave! I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  The woman ducked inside with a fluid movement and slowly lowered herself beside Silvia. “Are you sure you feel up to talking, my dear?” Aldoa asked. “You’ve had quite an exhausting day.”

  “Yes, and with your help I lived to see the end of it,” said the Queen. “I thank you with everything that I am.”

  “What surprises me is that you had no fear whatsoever of dying,” said the goddess, raising an eyebrow.

  Silvia looked away, tears shining in her emerald eyes.

  “Tell me why you fear the trivial things and not death,” Aldoa said.

  “Because no one can hurt you if
you’re dead,” she whispered.

  “Are you afraid of living because of people hurting you? My brother, Geldin, always told young warriors that what didn’t kill them would only make them stronger. Do you not agree, child? No? And why not?”

  “In some cases I believe that to be true. However a broken heart can only take so much before it is shattered into tiny pieces.”

  “But you cannot let some silly, adulterous man ruin what you have set out to do,” Aldoa said, ignoring Silvia’s look of upset. “You must keep a strong will to live—especially since you are traveling into Rohedon’s Realm to battle the witches!”

  “And what must I do with my unfaithful King in the meantime? He now travels with me to do my task, and every time I see him my pain deepens…I think it is because I still love him very much.”

  “For one, it is not only your task—they are now his people too because he loves you. You need to embrace that love and do not let it go. Do not let your people see their King and Queen quarreling already. Try to forgive him as much as you can. It is only too obvious how much he loves you, for he has come all this way after you to help. Maybe in time your wounds will heal, and maybe not. You must stay tough in your heart and mind, yes? What lies ahead of you is not for the faint of heart, child. Your destiny and the destinies of all those around you are at stake. Will you give up the lives of thousands of people, leaving them to die horribly in the shadow of the witches’ mountain all because you have a sore heart? No, my dear. Your heart will take a long time to heal and until it does you must mend it with leather and steel to bar it against what harm others will do unto you. The witches of Rohedon will attack you more swiftly if you show any weaknesses. Do not think that they will take pity on you.”

  “It’s hard, milady.”

  “I know it is.”

  Silvia twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Do you believe it’s possible for one of Rohedon’s brides to be a woman of good heart?”

  Aldoa narrowed her eyes. “That depends, does it not? Why would you think so?”

  She told everything she knew of the witches and about the voice she had heard during the battle. The goddess listened patiently for she had not known of this ‘voice’ speaking to the Queen at all. When Silvia finished spinning her tail, Aldoa sat quietly for a while, determining how much she should tell the young girl about Rohedon’s last wife.

  “There was once a young girl of sixteen who lived in a cottage in the Moseman Hills with her two brothers and her cousin. It was almost summertime and the three young men were out in the fields tending to their bountiful crops every day. One afternoon a group of people came riding through—five women and one man. They claimed to be on a hunt for a small herd of wild boar…But it was a cover, as the young family soon found out. The travelers claimed to be hungry, and the kind family offered their hospitality. When the male traveler, a man by the name of Lord Rohedon, saw the young sister he became smitten and wanted her for himself. His ‘sisters’, as he called them, brought up the subject of marriage: They said such a beautiful young lady should not be worked to the bone in the country, but should live in luxury in a wealthy man’s estate. Her cousin believed it a good idea. But he unfortunately brought up the little-known fact that the girl—Emaree—did not work herself hard, for her magic helped with her chores. Emaree’s brothers cursed him for not holding his tongue, for the visitors began again with renewed vigor about marriage. They claimed her magic could be honed to greater skills through the proper teaching and that Rohedon, being a very rich man, could find the best tutor for her. Rohedon became somewhat aggressive in his bargaining for her hand. The brothers became uncomfortable and asked that the strangers leave their home and not return. This was difficult for the family, as they had not sent anyone away from their home since before their parents had died. But they stuck to their word, saying Emaree would marry the man of her choosing and no one else.

  “Well, the strangers left in bittersweet moods, saying that they would be nearby for a few days, should the young woman change her mind. The brothers and their cousin believed that if they ignored the strangers then Emaree would be safe…but they were incorrect and foolish for thinking in that way. That night a terrible windstorm swept through and flattened most of their crops. The next day the little family set out to fix the damages and save the crops that weren’t demolished beyond recognition. Emaree used what little magic she had and the majority of the crops were restored to normal. So naturally everyone was devastated when a giant flock of ravens came the next day and ravaged the rest of the crops. The following night a wild beast of some sort got inside their small stable and slaughtered their livestock, spreading the carnage all over the yard. The strangers visited again days later, and doted upon the ill luck that seemed to have fallen on the family. And once again the women insisted that Emaree’s wonderful hopes and dreams would come true with Rohedon, persevering the marriage proposal.

  “But Emaree and her loved ones saw through the guise and once more turned the betrothal away. Apparently this did not settle well with the strangers. Two of the women, who were identical but for their hair color, cursed the young men with Emaree. Each one was to suffer slowly and painfully until she consented to the proposal. The poor girl learned quickly how cruel the women’s magic was when her cousin became dreadfully ill. He couldn’t keep any of his food down, and had strange cravings for salt and straw. His hair fell out and great, nasty sores broke out all over his skin. Emaree and her brothers tried to help the poor chap; but when they lanced some of the sores nothing came out but horrible, fat little bugs covered in yellow pus. His eyes became clouded and he lost his hearing in one ear. His fingernails cracked all the way to his skin and became badly infected. His teeth turned brown and soft, going through a speedy decay. His feet appeared to draw up, his toes curling like talons until he could barely walk. He mumbled and moaned constantly and had to be kept from scratching at his sores. All of the horrendous things that happened to his body occurred within just a few days’ time.

  “’Twas then that one of her brothers began having an upset stomach and Emaree became desperately afraid that soon he would be going through the same thing. Not knowing what else to do, or how to reach the strangers, she ran outside and screamed, “Please! Save them—I will do as you wish!”

  “An hour later Lord Rohedon came riding into sight with the wife that was the dark-headed twin. “You have chosen wisely, my dear,” the man said to Emaree with something of a smirk.

  “’Emaree, don’t go! Don’t go with him!’ her sickened brother cried from inside the house.

  “But she would hear none of his words. “Save my family. Do not let them perish in such a way!” she pleaded. “But you must take care of them now—before I take my leave with you.”

  “The brunette’s mouth turned up at the sides in a twisted, sardonic smile. “Very well, little one.” She dismounted her horse and quickly walked inside their small cottage to where her cousin lay dying on a bed. Emaree’s healthy brother stepped in front of her to stop her from getting closer, but he collapsed in a heap of writhing pain at her gaze. The cousin looked at the woman with horror as she glared down at him. Then he closed his eyes, never to open them again. Emaree’s other brother shrank away as the woman’s eyes turned on him malevolently. His face twisted in a cruel parody of his cousin’s, but he was left alive, shaking and sweating profusely. Even as Emaree ran to her brother, crying in relief that he was still alive, strong fingers gripped her arms and pulled her out the door. Her relief became pure terror as she was put on a horse, never to see her brother or her dying cousin again.”

  “Now, dear, it is said that she is still held captive, however no one knows for sure. This voice in your mind could very well be a plot to draw you in, for all we know. I think you should listen to this voice carefully, but do not yet trust it.”

  “But the voice warned me of the sickness of those beasts and sent the images of your Healing Spring,” said the young queen. “What if she s
peaks the truth because she wants to help us?”

  Aldoa looked at her darkly. “If she speaks the truth then you have a good ally within the walls of your enemy—something most people are not lucky enough to have. She could help you with the witches’ weaknesses and the layout of the mountain. However, if she is speaking with a split tongue, we may find her serpentine tail wrapped about our feet, ready to pull us down as soon as we are found vulnerable.”

  Prince Dalton peered around, trying to find the man he sought. Men and women alike hailed him, some even shouting that he was the savior of the queen. He ignored ones who made such foolish comments, and barely lifted a hand to the ones who only greeted him in passing. The man he sought was not in his tent, nor with Frero. Dalton checked the Healing Spring, but to no avail—the blasted old codger was nowhere to be found. He angrily kicked a small rock to vent his frustration.