Of Gods and Dragons

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  Clea turned back to Natosha with a smile. “Will that do, my dear?”

  Natosha smiled in return, looking at Karen’s still figure one last time. Then her smile vanished. The King had disappeared from his horse, and the Queen had climbed atop her own mount, standing on the saddle with perfect balance. With an earsplitting roar the young woman transformed into an enormous dragon, her dark purple scales glittering in the rays of the sun and her giant wings unfolding as she soared into the air above the army.

  Natosha and Clea gasped in shock at the sight before them, forgetting all else.

  A red blur shot through the feet of the people, heading straight for the wagon. At the last possible second, King Keelan jumped up into the apples and locked his jaws onto Natosha’s forearm, shaking it roughly enough to tear the flesh. She screamed in pain, hitting him to try and free herself. Clea reached over with a snarl and poked him hard in the eye, saying something in a guttural tone. He immediately fell away, yelping in pain and trying to jump off the wagon to safety.

  “Time to go, my child,” said Clea. She grabbed Natosha’s hand and they vanished.

  The dragon above roared in anger.

  Chapter Fifteen: Discussions

  It was a couple hours later before the army could move again. Horace had insisted upon digging his wife’s grave himself, though he let several older women prepare the body for burial. An uneasiness had settled over the army, as so many had seen the dark magic of the strange women.

  Keelan had advanced to the head of the army alone, storm clouds in his eyes.

  Silvia retreated inside her wagon, her heart pounding in trepidation. So that was the woman her husband had betrayed her with? Beautiful, yes, but so mean. Horace had told her everything that had transpired between finding the strange woman and his wife's untimely death. Why hadn't she used her magic to get away in the first place? The only conclusion Silvia could come up with was that something had malfunctioned with her magic. Did the other wives of Rohedon still have their powers? Obviously one of them did, as they could only assume that the woman who had rescued the temptress was another wife.

  She balled up her fists in fury. Word had spread that Karen had been a good soldier, and could fight better than half the men in her army. Though she mourned the loss of such a loyal and compassionate person, she also regretted losing the fighter. How many more would she lose before this war was over? She shook her head sadly and leaned forward, holding her face in her hands. Would she lose herself as well? If not her body to the Hound of Death, then her sanity and love of all things that were good?

  The wagon stopped and she heard General George speaking gruffly to someone outside. Moments later, Sir Grant, Prince Dalton, Lord Cambry, and Quentin entered her wagon. Hans flicked the reins and the two horses pulling the contraption started forward again, pulling the weight with ease.

  Quentin sat next to his queen, with Sir Grant on her other side, as Cambry and Dalton sat across from them.

  Cambry started speaking first. “Milady, have you ever traveled to Nillias before?”

  “No, sir. Before going to Lystia to contend for the throne which was rightfully mine I had never really traveled anywhere. I supposed I will be doing plenty of it now, shan't I?” There wasn't a trace of happiness in her voice, only bitterness.

  “That you will, Your Highness,” Prince Dalton agreed in a quiet tone.

  Lord Cambry gave him a sideways glance, then said, “Perhaps you read upon Nillias before your departure from your great city?”

  Again, her answer was no. “We just didn't have the time. Every waking minute was spent gathering and checking supplies, recruiting, and training. We hardly had time to eat or sleep most days.”

  “For future reference, one should always study the place to which they are going so that they won't be surprised when they get there.”

  She nodded. “Point well taken, Lord Cambry. Have you come to educate me on the city or berate me for not schooling myself?”

  “Indeed I have come to do one of those, milady,” he said, “though I mean no offense to you by doing so.”

  “No offense taken.”

  “What do you know of Nillias?” he asked politely.

  “Only what was briefed to me before we left,” she replied. “That it's only nine days from Lordale and is ruled by Lady Tinaya and Lord Byarne. We think that they will probably join us as allies with Lordale.”

  “Excellent start, excellent start. A little information is better than no information at all. Now, I trust we will rest a few days there?”

  “We'd like to leave within two days of arriving, if it's possible,” Grant said. “King Rordar needs our help as soon as we can get it there. Not another minute can be spared.”

  “I am agreed with you on that, my friend, and I think that's a reasonable amount of time. But keep in mind that it may take at least a few hours to convince Lady Tinaya and Lord Byarne.” Cambry cleared his throat and looked away briefly before meeting Silvia's green eyes. “There's something else you need to know about the rulers of Nillias, milady, and I don't know if you'll like it.”

  “Let's hear it, my Lord,” she said in a tired voice. “I suppose I need to know whatever it is now and not after we get there.”

  “All right, Your Majesty. But once again, what I say is not to offend you, merely to help you.” He wiped the palms of his hands on his pants. “The city is known for extravagant parties, especially in the palace of the Lord and Lady. However the festivities which go on there are of a different sort than you may be used to.”

  “That would be putting it lightly,” Sir Grant of Crider muttered under his breath.

  Silvia gave him a bewildered look as Lord Cambry continued. “They drink heavily in Nillias: most every day is spent drinking some sort of ale, wine, or liquor, even while they work. Thus, the parties and festivals they hold tend to get, well, a little out of hand and outlandish.”

  The Queen gave him a questioning look, one eyebrow arched. “Meaning?”

  For the first time, everyone saw Cambry appear uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet, adjusted the way he was sitting and avoided the gaze of his superior. “Meaning that you may very well see things which most Royalty would be embarrassed by, things that are raw and not usually witnessed by such innocent eyes as yours.”

  Silvia looked at Grant for confirmation of this, however he would not meet her eyes. “What sorts of things would these be?” she asked softly.

  Sir Grant answered her, his voice just as quiet. “Things that are of indecent nature between men and women, Your Highness.”

  By the Dark Moon, is it too late to go around Nillias? thought Silvia, her mind racing. She didn't want to go to a place ruled by people who thought of nothing but drink and the flesh! How crude could a culture get? But she knew in her heart that there was no way to turn back, and that the survival of Lordale depended immensely on how great their numbers were. Lordale needed as many soldiers as they could get their hands on or else they would be overcome by a merciless enemy. And the said enemy wouldn't just leave it at that once they conquered Lordale...they would move on to the next city and the next, wreaking havoc everywhere they went. The evil witches of Rohedon's Realm would never stop. She sighed, and shook her head.

  “Well, it cannot be helped. Lordale needs them, and so we need them. If that means putting up with their immature and—and primitive society, then so be it. We have no control over how they run their city and I could honestly care less. We're going there to convince them to go to war, and not for any other reason.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I only wanted you to know a bit of the goings-on there so that you wouldn't be upset,” said Lord Cambry. “I don't mean to anger you.”

  “I'm not angry, so do not fret,” she said. “However I do worry for the people in my army. May word be spread to discourage them from too much drink and the women of that city.”

  “Yes, milady. It will be done before the day is out. All the regiments shall be notified.”
>
  “Any who disobey, or cause problems will have severe consequences,” Silvia said. “Once again I say that this trip is for no other reason than to recruit more men and women to fight. It is not for entertainment and amusement. Make it clear, Sir Cambry.”

  “As you wish, milady.”

  Saris treated Natosha's wounds with great care. Her twin's pain was her pain, and she wished to make it go away. “I will kill the ones who caused harm to my sister.”

  “That's impossible,” Natosha said irritably. “There's thousands of people in that army, and any one of them could have let loose the arrow.” She did not mention that the King himself had bitten her arm.

  “Then I will kill them all!” Saris exclaimed. Her eyes sparkled with wicked yellow flames as she spoke. Natosha doubted she had ever seen her sister so angry. “After they pass through Nillias they will need to go through Moseman Hills. I will call forth help from the Ground Shakers. The army will not survive.”

  “My magic may not be as great as yours,” Clea added, “however, I can do a little something to...discourage the Nillians from becoming allies in this war.” Her face was grim and ugly, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides as though she were ready to do battle right then and there.

  Saris stared at Clea hard. “Do what you need to do to make sure the Nillians don't join the war. We have enough problems keeping up our part of the war with King Rordar in Lordale. If he hadn't been so weak to begin with, we would have been defeated by now. I have sent for aid from our Wyld brethren that live where the Thurne River meets the Great Water.”

  Natosha looked at her in surprise. “When did you do this?” she asked.

  “As soon as I learned that Lystians were marching our way,” Saris replied. “The risk of being outnumbered was too great. They only number a couple thousand, but they will help us immensely.”

  Clea snorted. “The Wyld are loyal only to themselves and are not honor-bound to us. How do we know that they will come?”

  “My Ravens have told me that the Wyld have grown bored since the Battles of the Flunders ended some years ago, and that they are itching to do some fighting. We are merely giving them a means to an end.”

  “But if the Dead Queen's army merges with the Lordalens, even without the Wyld, we will be outnumbered,” said Clea.

  “I have something else to try,” Natosha said quietly. “I will make more creatures...if my magic is returned to me.” Her last words were said with a fierce bitterness.

  Saris paused in her wound-dressing. “What, pray tell, did happen to your magic, my sister?”

  Natosha's breath caught. Should she tell her sister-wives about the horrible deal Rohedon had struck with the God of the Underworld? Anger flared up within her as she fought to make up her mind. “When I went to collect Zela's body, I had an encounter.”

  “With whom?” said Clea suspiciously.

  “With Eerich himself.”

  Both women stopped what they were doing and stared, open-mouthed at her. “This is no time for games, Natosha,” said Saris solemnly.

  “I'm not playing games,” she replied.

  “What happened?” asked Clea.

  “My magic wasn't working, and I didn't know why. He appeared, along with our recently deceased husband, to explain why that was so.”

  “And?”

  “Apparently, Lord Rohedon made a deal with the God of the Underworld. In exchange for magic and wives, Rohedon would create creatures for the Hound of the Underworld. Eerich agreed to give him magic, however, I believe he wanted to retain as much control over our husband as he could and gave us most of the powers.”

  “And so all of the creatures we have created over the years are being hunted down?” asked Saris incredulously. “How can that be when so many still survive? Look at your 'quipas', for example.”

  “I know not how it is possible. But after much thought, I believe the Hound of the Underworld has completely demolished the ferlemons I created years back. Do you recall them? They were a funny animal, with the head of a badger, the body of a newt, feet like a centipede, and a tail like a dog. I sent them all to the Ciencin River, where I thought they would thrive. I went back only a short time ago to find that they had vanished without a trace.”

  “I remember Rohedon always being on the lookout for new beasts and their different characteristics,” said Clea. “He was forever trying to design an animal with such speed as it couldn't be caught.”

  “And which retained excellent hiding abilities,” said Natosha, lost in memory.

  “And with uncanny sense of trickery and outright savagery,” said Saris. “Of course, now we know what all those qualities were for: he didn't want the Hound to get bored. If the Hound lost interest, then Rohedon lost his powers...or us. Or both.”

  No one said anything for several long minutes. Each hurt in her own way, feeling betrayed by the man they had loved and respected so dearly.

  “And so now we're losing our magic?” asked Clea softly. “How fair is that? We were all born with more than a touch of great powers anyway. Why take them away?”

  “For the fun of it, so it would seem,” said Natosha. “Lord Eerich seemed most amused at the whole situation.”

  “What if we continued the deal?” Saris pondered aloud. “Would he still let us keep the strong magic we have accrued in our time with Rohedon if we agreed to take over his 'project' for the beasts?”

  “It's something to think about, and that was what I had been pondering,” her sister agreed. “But how would we propose such a thing? Has anyone ever found a way to summon the God of the Dead when they wished to speak to him? All that I've heard is that many people found entrances to the Underworld and went in search of him, or of their loved ones. Most never came back out. I myself have no wish to travel to that place just yet, even if it is for a palaver. Remember that he is the God of Evil as well, my sister-hearts.”

  From all around them came a deep rumbling, and though the mountain in which they resided did not move, all were sure it was getting ready to collapse atop of them. Then the sound changed, and the women were chilled to the bone.

  It was the sound of a god laughing at them.

  With Nillias only a couple days away, the army pushed harder. Spirits lightened at the thought of a break, and many mouths watered at the mere mentioning of ale and whiskey (although it had been forbidden to get inebriated). The proximity of likely allies gave strength to the most tired of feet; even the beasts of burden sensed a change in the people, and pushed, pulled, and carried their loads without struggle or insubordination to irritate their masters.

  They broke for a late lunch when the sun was past the midpoint in the sky. Sparse clouds dotted the deep blue above them, and gave no relief from the heat which scorched their flesh. A large creek was found not far into a thin patch of woods and dozens of men and women set to filling up water sacks for themselves and buckets of water for the animals.

  Gordy watched as Vyto hauled yoke after yoke of buckets of water for the beasts in their regiment and the regiment behind them. Gordy began helping, doing what he could, but he wasn't strong enough to carry two of the large buckets of water at one time. So he carried one bucket of water. Of course, by the time he heaved it out of the creek, up the small embankment, and into the surrounding regiments, it was only half a bucket and his pants and boots were soaked. He frowned at the bulging muscles beneath Vyto's shirt as he carried not one, but two bucket-laden yokes out into the army.

  They finally flopped together on the ground beneath the boughs of a sycamore tree, apples and stale bread in hand. Gordy's clothes were saturated with water, Vyto's with sweat.

  The skinny, freckle-faced young man sighed as he slipped off his boots and rubbed his feet. “I'll bet you can't wait to get your hands on some ale,” he said to his larger companion.

  Vyto grunted as he unlaced his own boots. “I'd much rather get my hands on a large goblet of fresh goat's milk.”

  “But there's goats here in the
army. You could do that now.”

  He shook his head. “The goats here are worn out from travel. Their milk wouldn't be as good.” He grimaced as he slid off his boots.

  Gordy held back a gasp. For the first time he noticed the blood stains on the leather of Vyto's boots. His socks were no better: the once gray fabric was now a dark, crusty red. He watched Vyto gently slide off the socks to expose bandage-wrapped feet. Gordy recalled all of the times that Vyto helped others, which was pretty much every time they stopped. He was always doing something: from cleaning out the shoes on the horses, to unhooking the animals from the burdens, to helping cook the food. The man was a constant factor in the work of the army...and he was paying the price for it. As he unwrapped the bandages, Gordy sat in shock. The blisters on his feet were worse than any he had ever seen, so large that they seemed to cover the entire front and bottom of both feet. All the blisters had busted open and were seeping with blood and pus.