Of Gods and Dragons

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  “Hmm…seems as though someone is a trifle bit unhappy.”

  Dalton whirled around, a grin spreading over his handsome face. “Just the man I was searching for!”

  The man’s eyebrows lifted quizzically. “Is that so? I am almost afraid to ask why.”

  “Come, my friend, and let us palaver. You may be able to help me solve a problem of complexity with which I have been pondering.”

  Hans and Maura sat side by side next to the Healing Spring of Aldoa, holding hands and watching the last of the massive army make their journey into the magical water. The moon above them was fat, heavy with light, and they could see everyone well. Lord Cambry’s army was mixed with their own, though the difference between the two peoples was noticeable. Lord Cambry’s men wore more browns and grays and many sported top knots like their leader. Queen Silvia’s people wore many colors and wore their hair in many ways.

  Though neither of them said so out loud, both Hans and Maura felt an incredible, nearly indestructible sense of peace from observing everyone go into the water wounded or sick with the strange beasts’ fever, and then come out completely better. There was just something about seeing miracles first hand and knowing the gods were much closer than you ever thought that made you feel at ease. A middle-aged woman came to the front of the line, limping a little and holding her bloodied arm. She entered the red water timidly, emerging moments later with a look of immense relief. A half-bald man went running up to her as she exited the warm waters of the pool.

  “Madame Brooke, are you all right? I have searched everywhere for you since the battle.” Worry was etched into every line on his face.

  “I am fine, Derik, thank you,” she replied kindly, and allowed him to escort her away.

  Hans and Maura smiled in quiet amazement, remembering how their Queen had once admonished this woman for beating Derik with a golden cane.

  “It seems as though she has changed everyone around her,” Maura said softly, speaking of Silvia.

  “It appears so,” agreed Hans.

  “I fear for her, Hans. Everything in her world has changed in a couple months’ time and she’s running to catch up. I only hope that all of this hurrying doesn’t end in a bad way, especially after getting her the throne.”

  Hans nodded. “I know exactly what you mean, my dear.”

  Maura gazed at the scars on her hands sadly. “We must watch out for her. She looks in a dozen directions at once, but none of them are behind her.” She gestured to those around them. “Madame Brooke has changed for the better, but who is to say that others will not change for the worse?” She sighed. “Men…well, people get weary of constant travel. After today, we must push harder so that we can reach the war as quickly as possible. Traveling to war is a trying time in one’s life and a mind set on fighting can change—as can who they are fighting for.”

  Hans squeezed her hand gently. “We will take care of her. Do not fret over her safety.”

  Maura kissed him lightly on the side of his forehead. “I must return to milady.” She left, walking with obvious tiredness.

  Hans sat a bit longer, now hardly noticing the Lystians still drifting to the Healing Spring. His mind explored darker matters and he fingered the scars on his palms as he thought about his Queen. His deep train of thought was interrupted as a quiet conversation came into his hearing.

  “…imperative that you speak of this to no one. I do not want Her Majesty finding out, for she may not like the idea at all,” said a familiar voice.

  Hans looked over to see Prince Dalton of Wexford speaking amidst the trees nearby.

  “I’ll not tell a soul,” said another man in a low voice. He was hidden from view by a large fir tree and Hans dared not move and draw attention to himself to seek his identity. “Rest assured no one will find out about what we will do until you are ready. But I must say that I do not understand the purpose for why you would want to change in such a way.”

  “That purpose is my destiny,” Dalton replied. “And for now that is all that even I know. Goodnight, my friend.”

  “Rest well, Prince Dalton,” answered the unseen voice.

  As the prince walked away, presumably towards his tent, Hans scratched the stubble on his face thoughtfully. He would have to watch his Queen closely around this man so that treachery would not occur.

  Chapter Twelve: Luck and Departure

  She slept poorly, having dreamt of Zela’s soldier once more running a cold blade through the softness of her belly. She awoke before dawn, back and ribs terribly sore. She rubbed the pink scar on her stomach and grimaced. It was a shame that Goddess Aldoa’s powers of healing could not touch the nightmares that had just finished torturing her dream world. She sighted dejectedly as she accepted the fact that she was not going to get any more sleep before the day started. She dressed quietly and slipped out of her tent so she wouldn’t wake Maura. Outside, she shooed off a Royal Guard who approached her to act as her escort, turning her face away from him. The early morning chill pimpled her arms with goose bumps. She brushed them roughly with her hands as she walked towards the Spring to wash the salty tears from her face. Not many people were up and about; most were her Royal Guard sentries patrolling the encampment, although she saw a few of Lord Cambry’s sentries as well. (She still had yet to meet the strange man who had led her husband to her aid.) Her Guards bowed to her at an angle, facing her but bending their upper bodies towards her sword hand. This was a custom for them since she had become their Queen. It was not a rule that she had given them, but rather one they had created amongst themselves to give her special honor. George had informed her when it had first started that bowing their necks towards her sword hand in this way meant they were ready to give their lives for her. By her hand or by another was of little importance to them, so strong was their loyalty to her.

  She pushed the thought of death from her mind. Had she not seen enough of it to last a lifetime now? Unfortunately she knew there was more to come, especially if the other wives of Rohedon set more traps for her. She felt a trickle of irritation that her enemies had organized a counterattack on her army already, even as far away as they were. How did they travel so fast? That was one magic she would love to lay her hands on. It would make all this dreadful traveling so much better! She knelt beside the Healing Spring, splashing the cold water onto her face and shivering.

  “You are lucky to be shivering,” said a gruff voice.

  Silvia looked up sharply, knowing for certain that she had been alone. A burly man was now sitting on a flat rock that stuck out over the spring a couple feet away. She sat down as she gazed at his curious clothes, eyeing his many weapons with wariness. A fully armed muscular man appearing from thin air was indeed something to be cautious about. Her pulse quickened as she tried to place this man as one of her soldiers or one of Cambry’s soldiers. But his tanned leather outfit would have made him stand out immensely—especially the skirt. She thought she recognized him, but from where?

  “Are you wondering, perhaps, who I might be?” he asked, glancing at her.

  Silvia flicked water off her hands but refrained from wiping the chilly water off her face. “Actually, I was wondering why you said I was lucky to be shivering.” This was not true in the least but she refused to admit it to this stranger. She concentrated on a spell in her mind that quickly warmed her face and hands, drying the water.

  The man grunted. “The arrogance of a Queen is duly noted but at least your curiosity is peeked at the important things.”

  “Will you answer my question,” Silvia asked, “or must you play riddles until the sun is higher in the sky?” He looked at her with amusement, and she marveled at his eyes. What a beautiful shade of gray they were!

  “Very well, then,” he said. “I shall elaborate. It was written in the stars long before your grandmother was born that you would be the queen of your city through blood and tears, and lead one of the largest armies that has ever been seen.”

  Silvia almost pointed out th
at during the Flendow War there were several thousand more soldiers than what she was traveling with. And how would he know when her grandmother was born? Just who was this man?

  The stranger continued. “But I have read the stars for a long time and I know they do not give all the little details in between your peaks of destiny, such as your smaller skirmishes or the choices you make for other things. As an example: the stars did not say you would come by the Healing Spring of Aldoa, nor did they reveal that you would nearly die on this mountain. Such a lucky young woman you are to have been held in the arms of the Hound of the Underworld and lived to tell of it. Not many hold such luck. Actually…no one has ever had that luck.”

  His last words were spoken with a sour bitterness Silvia did not quite understand. She nearly shuddered, remembering childhood tales of the Hound of Death, the horrid beast who hunted for the Underworld. “Maybe the Hound was not holding me in his arms, but merely standing nearby. Perhaps I was not so close to dying as everyone seems to think,” she said simply with a slight shrug of her shoulders. She turned to sit facing the man.

  He gazed at her darkly. “Some see things which others do not. The Hound had you in his grips…I saw him!” he said earnestly, leaning forward intently. “I saw him trying to hold onto you in the Healing Spring yesterday. But your will to live proved too strong for him, and your destiny too big.” He scooted a little closer, amused that she pulled back only slightly from his closeness. “Have you any clue as to what he looks like?”

  “I’ve heard the stories,” she admitted quietly.

  “Ha! The stories…The stories hold nothing against the truth. A great beast he is, with dark red flesh which is constantly crawling with the souls of ten thousand dead men. His back is littered with poisonous thorns and his great ugly head has two curving horns as that of a bull. He has seven eyes spaced in an even circle around his head so that he may see you wherever you may be, and they are black with white pupils. His feet are horribly misshapen and have four digits each. He is vulnerable here, for the skin is soft and sensitive. He goes on all fours, but can stand on his back legs to grasp the dying in his arms. And the strength in his arms equals that of no living mortal…Yet you have survived him: a mere child, with the help of your husband, a valiant friend, and the Goddess Aldoa. How your luck still holds is beyond me.”

  “I am more than grateful for their help, my odd friend, and I will be forever in debt to them for saving my life,” said the Queen, shivering at his description. She stared down into the mirror-like reflection of the pool and the water seemed to immediately flood with the images of the men and women who had perished in the battle the previous day. Most had fought so bravely, even though many had not a clue as to how to act in a battle (herself included). But the one image she dreaded was a horrifying scene she had barely glimpsed during the battle, where she had been too far away to help. Her stable boy, who had seen far too many tragedies in his young life, who had helped her sneak out to see Venicius what seemed like ages ago, had been attacked brutally. The creature had jumped upon him, eating at his face even as they fell. She knew there was no way he could have survived. Poor Jonathan. Tears slid from her eyes and landed with soft splashes in the water, disrupting the mirage of Jonathan’s demise. She closed her eyes, burning his image into her so that she would always remember that death had claimed him because of her. Many had met their ends for her, some willingly, as her soldiers had, and many unknowingly—such as Jonathan’s family at her old estate. The death toll appeared to be so high already, yet she knew hundreds, if not thousands more were still doomed to die in her quest to quell the evil which had spread so far and wide. “I know not who you are,” she said to the man, “but if you knew me at all you would see none of this ‘luck’ of which you speak. The only things I attract are secrets, betrayals, death, and worthless men.”

  The man laughed. “Sometimes men may appear worthless, but we’re really just being thoughtless. Keep your mind open when mistakes are made so that you can help others learn from them.” His gray eyes focused on hers as the first rays of the morning sun shed its light upon them. “Perhaps it is your destiny protecting you and helping you along, and not luck. How else could a new, and very young queen decide to go to war and have her whole city behind her without argument? I know of no other royalty who holds such sway over their people as you do. You captivate them more than anyone I’ve ever seen. Take my advice, Your Highness. Remember those that have died but do not dwell on them. Accept things as they happen, for most things happen for a reason.

  “I must go,” he continued. “I have other important things to attend to. I am quite certain we shall meet again.” The man started to rise, then hesitated. “Take care, young Queen.” He looked as though he wanted to say more, but instead stood up and walked away.

  He had disappeared into the last lingering darkness of the trees before Silvia even thought to speak or say goodbye. Who in the world was that man? And how did he appear out of nowhere? She had a gut feeling he was a man of great significance but she couldn’t say how or why. But he gave off the impression that he was much older than what she thought.

  Scouts had been sent out the day before, right after the battle, to scour the countryside for signs of another ambush or for enemies that might have escaped. Last night more went out to do what Sir Grant called a ‘second running’. They supplied fresh food to the first scouts, and then took over searching the surrounding areas. All of the scouts were just now returning, ascertaining no hidden dangers in store for the King and Queen of Lystia and their army. The tents were systematically taken down, things were packed away, and blankets were wrapped into small, tight bundles to tie upon the pack horses and wagons. Breakfast fires were doused with dirt, for water would only make more smoke. The sound of weapons driven across sharpening stones was heard everywhere as well as the scrapings of metal on metal where people were practicing swordsmanship.

  The Queen of Lystia was one of these. After returning from the Healing Spring that morning she had eaten a light meal, then insisted that Hans spar with her in a small clearing. As blade met with blade, and as she turned to block or move forward for a counterattack, Silvia felt her mind relaxing. They practiced until both were sweating in the already warm morning.

  Maura had quickly and efficiently packed all of their things and was having them loaded onto one of the numerous wagons. Sir Grant came along to bid them good morning and to bring Rituel to Silvia to be saddled. (There were very few days she did not do this task herself.) Minutes later, drums began to beat throughout the camp. Generals were seen walking about with grim faces to see that animals and people alike were prepared for the long day’s journey. The mountain would be well behind them by that evening and the army would be pushed hard to make up for lost time. Everyone would travel as quickly as possible until they reached the city. It was not known for sure how long they would stay in Nillias for they knew not if the city would take sides in the war or choose to stay out of it.

  Queen Silvia rubbed Rituel down with a soft, old brush and then began to saddle him briskly. She would be riding for the better part of the day at the front of the army with all of her companions. Much to her distaste, Maura informed her that King Keelan insisted that he ride at her side the whole way for her protection, seemingly determined to make up for his mistakes. In a small way she felt sorry for being so cruel and ill-tempered with him when he was trying to show his love and loyalty. But it also agitated her to an extent she had not realized she could go to. Did he understand nothing of women? And worse: would their marriage, still so new, remain this way for the rest of their lives? Would she always taste this bitterness? She prayed to Chin, Goddess of Humanity, that it would not be so. Perhaps she only needed more time to heal. Besides, the Keelan she had fallen desperately in love with would never have done that to her…would he?

  “Sometimes everyone needs to shed tears—even queens.”

  The deep voice startled her, and the words turned her face crimson.
She had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed the tears slowly going down the smoothness of her cheeks. She brushed them away angrily with the back of her hand and whirled around to see who had spoken. It was a tall, muscular man, whose head was shaved bare but for a topknot. His clothes were battle worn over his tan complexion and he looked a little younger than Sir Grant of Crider. She had seen this man from a distance around the camp and knew he had authority over some of the men. But his company was usually in the presence of her husband. Her eyes darted about before she could stop them, giving a quick search over the area.

  The man seemed to know what she was doing. “He is not nearby, as of right now, but will join you shortly,” he said, taking a step closer to rub Rituel’s muzzle.

  Had he read her mind? She stopped short of shaking her head. “I care not where he is. He is his own man, not my slave. And you are who, exactly?”

  “Forgive me, Your Highness. I am Lord Cambry, come to lend aide to your quest.

  “We appreciate your help greatly.” Silvia allowed him a graceful curtsy, and then resumed buckling the wide leather straps under her horse’s belly. She fruitfully hoped that turning her back upon him would make him leave, but she was disappointed. Could the man not take the hint that she wished to be left alone for the moment?