Out of the Abyss

By Solitaire Parke

After traveling through time, Katherine finds herself in Iceland where she is reunited with people from her past. Cystic is an old friend and Tanis is destined to be of great importance in her future, belonging to an organization called the Thaumaturgists. She is taken to Mt. Scartaris, the home of dragons and their stewards. where she proves herself to be a worthy leader. Queen Mother/Katherine, brings change to their chaotic and undisciplined lives to protect them from future wars. But not long after, she is told of a greater threat. Mt. Scartaris is an active volcano which is currently displaying critical signs, and then there is the abyss. Queen Mother/Katherine, must engage the help of the Thaumaturgists and find a way to relocate her new family before the eminent disaster.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781435790810

Solitaire Parke

Solitaire Parke is an author of Science Fiction/Urban Fantasy, Poetry and Larger World books. He is a lover of dragons, the poetry of Edgar Allan Poe, and has a large collection of science fiction books and movies. After becoming an award winning photographer and earning a degree in music theory, he worked in graphic and web design, but he always returns to writing.When he is not writing, you can find him reading, watching a sci-fi television show or movie, or researching a new “techno gadget” on the internet. He now resides in Arizona with his family and two very spoiled dogs!

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OUT OF THE ABYSS

Solitaire Parke

OUT OF THE ABYSS

Solitaire Parke

Copyright © 2022 Solitaire Parke

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-4357-9081-0

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to Adonai, without whom it is unlikely Tanis would have survived.  If there is good in the Emerald Warrior, or the Ariella, it is caused solely by his hand.

Solitaire Parke

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A very special thank you goes out again to Brandiwine Parke and Kimberly Gippert for all the editing and support they provided on this book.  It would not have been possible without them.

INTRODUCTION

Author's Note:  As you know, I met a man at the beginning of this project who told me the story of Queen Mother, the Ariella, and I promised to write the saga and have it published.  This book constitutes the fourth installment to that end.

During our one and only meeting in the town of Bettonwood, I learned that asking him for his name would accomplish only silence.  He was willing to talk extensively about the Ariella and virtually nothing else.  He was determined to tell the entire story, and I dutifully took notes.  I have never met a person so drunk for that long a period of time (all day), or anyone so dedicated to making sure all the I’s were dotted and the T’s crossed.  His level of lucidity was incredible considering how inebriated he presented himself.

I was inordinately curious about his tale because having met her previously, I had no idea the Ariella’s past had any of the events he delineated.  It was like meeting her for the first time again.  I have attempted to leave nothing out and kept the story as chronological as possible.

Solitaire Parke...

*************

I take no credit for this story, but I was there, and watched as history unfolded in the worst location in the known universe.  My name is unimportant, but I have been around since before the Provinces of Hell were established. 

A lot of things have been said about the Ariella, not all of them kind, but until you've heard why she became Queen Mother, I beg of you to stave your opinion.

My friend, Tanis Theatra, urged me to write her chronicles, if for no other reason than to rectify some of the myth surrounding her life.  Needless to say, it cannot be easy being the first-born child of the Dark Lord.  It has the nasty habit of tainting one's reputation before they have even had a chance to make a first impression.  I passed it along to Mr. Parke instead.

It is also important to understand that her life as Katherine Pendragon was not her first incarnation.  Oh no, but hopefully will explain why her decisions weren't always immediately understood by her peers.

This story picks up shortly after her death and subsequent arrival in Iceland.

It was her destiny to become Queen of the Dragons and a champion to every form of downtrodden misfit that had ever graced her world.  It also went a long way to establish her belief in family values, and ultimately build the greatest army the world had ever seen.

Mr. Parke left out nothing, and hopefully brought a sense of honor to her life, considering what she has done for so many.

Trust me, her incarnations date back further than anyone knew and have been shaping the course of history since its beginning.

The Watcher...

************

INCARNATION EIGHT

Mt. Scartaris

Iceland

scartarisiceland

Chapter 1

Put the rifle down, Chad.  This woman isn’t going to hurt you, although I can’t figure out how she got here, that’s for sure.

You don’t know that, and why was she wearing a blindfold?  Somebody else was having a problem with her, which makes her dangerous.  You lower your gun, if you’re so sure.

Neither of the men were old enough to remember the rough times at Mt. Scartaris.  They had both recently turned twenty-one and had been given perimeter patrol, and really didn’t want to find anything or anyone that could damage the already tentative hold they had on their egos.

Both were on the thin side of stature, long brown hair, blue eyes and could probably pass for brothers to the uninitiated.

Seriously, Richard, you lower your gun first.

Queen Mother sat on the ground, cold and disoriented, but couldn’t help feeling that these two boys were new to adulthood and were probably disinclined to harm her.

What are those things you’re pointing at me.  You called them a rifle and a gun?  They don’t look like crossbows or projectors, but I assume you could hurt someone with them.  I mean no one any harm.

The two boys/men lowered the weapons and took another step forward.  Chad slung his rifle over a shoulder and blushed.

Who are you and how did you get here?

Queen Mother managed to stand, slowly at first, and then stretched to regain the feeling in her extremities.

This looks somewhat like Icelandia, still cold, but on the tail end of winter.  Care to shed some light on that?

Both boys laughed and Richard struck a pose, imitating an instructor or mage.

This land hasn’t been called Icelandia for almost a thousand years.  I don’t know where you came from, but your information is way out of date.  This is Iceland and you’re skirting on land that doesn’t belong to any man.  Best you turn and go back the way you came.

Queen Mother considered what the young man had to say, realizing she’d traveled back in time, but only about halfway to her intended destination.

What year is it here in Iceland, and is this land governed by a demon?  You said this land belongs to no man and if memory serves, Cystic is no man.  He is twice the man most men wish they could be.

Chad grabbed Richard by the arm, stared hard for a moment and signaled him to silence.

You still haven’t told us your name, so no more information until you do . . . and that’s final.

Queen Mother chuckled softly under her breath.  These boys hadn’t seen combat or even rough patches during their childhood years.  Life was nothing more than a game to them.

I am Queen Mother, the Ariella, and I come in search of Cystic, the Stewards and my dragons.  I assume you are two of the Stewards?

Neither of the two young men believed her but were obliged to carry word back to their superiors.  They argued about which one would stay, played rock-scissors-paper, and Richard won the dubious honor to retrieve the authorities.  She rolled her eyes in disbelief but stayed quiet during the exercise.

Thirty minutes later, a disgruntled Richard strode behind an enormous hooded man who was striding back to where Queen Mother waited patiently.  Richard was told to stand back in case the prisoner suddenly became violent.  The boy was obviously not in favor, having brought back unlikely news to an irritable giant.

You look a tad small to be Queen Mother, and if memory serves, she was somewhat more imposing than what I see before me.  Speak quickly, before I have these two wayward idiots toss you into the sea.

Queen Mother grinned and feigned fear at his statement.

Ooh . . . a wee bit testy today, are we?  Get up on the wrong side of the Sulphur pit this morning?  If you’re trying to scare me, you’ll have to do better than that, Demon.  You were the first person to hold me after my birth as Katherine.  I wasn’t afraid of you then, and I’m certainly not now.  Help me up Cystic, we have much to discuss.

demon

It had taken longer to convince the demon on her last incarnation. He had since learned about the Ariella’s ability to hopscotch through generations of different bodies, while maintaining the same basic personality and values.  Her memory was uncanny from life to life, rarely forgetting even the most minute details.

Cystic’s mood became melancholy when he realized it was her, and uncharacteristic tears welled in his eyes.

After I secured the area and made sure of the steward’s safety, I went back to the Henge.  I thought it possible to activate the portal and attempt a rescue, but it just wouldn’t open.  It felt powerless and dead.

Queen Mother nodded her head slowly, trying hard not to let her emotions get in the way of the memories.

They destroyed the Henge before killing me.  It effectively ceased to be a method for transportation, probably forever.  There was nothing you could’ve done.  So, hey, it took me a while, but I’m back.

Which still begs the question . . . how did you get here?  The only Henge is useless, and I doubt you flew in.  Tell us the answer to this mystery, Little Queen, it’s been a very long time.

Queen Mother had a faraway look on her face and thought about the two really large people, a man and a woman.  A small moon came down to the ground and there was poison.  She remembered food that tasted all the same and cowardly wizards.

That’s a problem, old friend. I know I was some place else before here, but it’s like something is blocking the memory.  The harder I try to re-create the circumstances, the more difficult it becomes.  It’s as if I’m not supposed to remember just prior to reaching Icelandia.  I mean Iceland.  So much time can’t be accounted for and I fear it may never come to light.

Cystic took both her hands in his and attempted to sound uplifting and casual, but failed immediately, after choking on the first few words.

The people here at Scartaris believe you to be a hero, an urban legend, but a hero none the less.  All of them believe they wouldn’t be here had it not been for your efforts.  The only problem I see is convincing them you are really, uh, well, you.  They’re not unreasonable people, but it’s been a very long time, and no one here except me has ever met you or even seen you.

That’s not true.  Surely there’s at least one dragon that lived until now.  You’re telling me not even one survivor out of the original dragons exists?

Cystic gazed off into the distance and stood for several minutes not looking at The Ariella’s face.  Finally turning, his demeanor told her everything she didn’t want to know.

It’s been a long time.  I mean a very long time.  This generation remembers their ancestor’s thoughts and feelings.  Maybe that will be enough.  Everything the stewards know is from the stories told by the dragons. It’s just that the history of your life and death haven’t really been recanted for over five hundred years.  Humans don’t live long enough to keep the memories for over a century, let alone a millennium.

Queen Mother thought about how she’d ceased to exist on the Provinces, in England and now Iceland.  She wasn’t Katherine, Elizabeth, or anyone within recent history.  The Ariella didn’t need a name and she wouldn’t be the Queen until the mountain accepted her.  There was an enormous amount of work to be done, stewards to be conquered and an entire generation of dragons to win over.

What happened to William and our son, not to mention, how is it you’re still alive old friend?

  Cystic got a wistful look that started at his eyes and worked down to his mouth as a chuckle came into being.

All of the Dark Lord’s army was told aging would be taken away from us until the dawning break of eternity.  The Light Lord wanted us to be punished, and no single lifetime would suffice against the degree of severity that constituted our crimes.  It’s given me plenty of time to consider the atrocities committed and what kind of life I’ll live to offset the consequences of my actions.  It isn’t pretty, and even though no matter how many people I save, or acts of kindness I perform, there will never be redemption, it still makes sense to try.  I thought, perhaps, if I left the Provinces the curse would be lifted, but my visage hasn’t changed, and I haven’t aged a day since I first arrived.  At least I don’t have to endure your father any longer.  That’s something.

He suddenly got a serious look on his face and the volume was cut in half.

As for your husband and son, they both lived full lives.  Your son’s son moved away from Scartaris, and we’ve never heard from him or his descendants since.  I feel certain they did well for themselves.

It seems the harder I try to make things work, the worse they become, and I’m dead longer than I live.  No wonder nothing ever gets built.  Ultimately, it’s my fault.

Cystic sympathized, but his life had not really been much better.  His virtual immortality caused him to witness entire civilizations come and go with alarming regularity.  Nothing he did stopped the flow of time, and there was very little he could say to make Queen Mother see her life through another’s eyes.  If she could stay alive long enough to make a difference, who knew what might lie in store for the people of Iceland’s mountain.  There had been no real conflict on the island for over a hundred years, however, trouble seemed to follow her around regardless of place and time.  It was 1987 by the local calendar and many changes had unfolded during her absence, all of which needed to be told before too much more time was allowed to elapse. 

What is your last memory?  Was it England and your untimely death, or is there more?

I remember Wizards.  They were supposed to send me to 1018, and then . . . well I didn’t go there obviously, but there was something else.  That’s where it gets fuzzy and messed up.  Then I was here talking to well-armed children and you.  I don’t think the Wizards knew to send me here.  I mean, how could they?  But if they didn’t, then who did?  Whoever it was, had to know you were here, and as always you’re the only one I can count on to straighten things out.

Cystic patted Queen Mother on the shoulder, pulled back the hood of a thread bare cloak and then rearranged his hair.

We’re a fine pair, you and me.  You choose a condemned prisoner and I align myself with a renegade the likes this world has rarely ever seen.  A recipe for success, if I’ve ever seen one.  Now, let’s go give the rousing speech I know you’re harboring, and win the hearts of Mt. Scartaris.  We’ll let the well-armed children lead the way.

Chad and Richard took their place in the lead, with the demon and his friend/prisoner directly behind them.  It wasn’t a great distance back to the mountain, but it would give Cystic enough time to decide what to tell Queen Mother about her new home.  He chose to allow introductions to take place before clueing her into the knowledge of the volcanic nature of the mountain.  The impending problem was still an iffy proposition; only the first of signs had been discovered and Cystic had no wish to alarm the stewards before determining the validity of his findings.  If the mountain continued along the path discovered by the demon, then it was only a matter of time before the volcano arose from its dormancy and once again became active.  If that happened, Mt. Scartaris would cease to be habitable, and the dragons would be forced to migrate to a new home that was less volatile.

*************

The Watcher casually strolled between two buildings, knowing he had plenty of time before the next event.  He glanced over to the building adjacent to where Tanis would make his entrance and took one last step.  An indigent man sitting with his back to the wall peered through a drunken haze and pointed his finger at the Watcher.

Are you, Him?

Indeed, I am, Mr. Fletcher.

The inebriated man struggled to his feet, straightened his coat and stumbled over to Him.

Got any spare change?

You’re in luck, Mr. Fletcher, there is a change needed to be made.  You are currently in the right place at the wrong time, and to expedite your change of heart I want you to witness this event.  Understand, it took you a rather long time to become what you are today, so I believe you can withstand a few more minutes of patience until I can grant your wish.

Not truly keying into what this strange man was saying, Mr. Fletcher simply nodded and shoved both hands into an equal number of pockets.  The Watcher, satisfied, turned away and silently counted

backwards from ten.  When the numbering reached one, he faded from view and Mr. Fletcher observed a single piece of paper floating down from between the buildings.  Pulling both hands from his pockets, the paper drifted slowly to the left, falling onto his outstretched fingers.

The paper’s note read:

If you wish to retrieve your suit, go into the building on your right.  Proceed to the fourth floor and enter the suite at the end of the hall.  Since the Magna will only respond to you, they will be inclined to give Walter to his rightful pilot.  Be kind to Jean, she’s special.

A Friend…

Mr. Fletcher finished reading the note just in time to witness a swirling hole in reality and a young man as he strode from within its confines.  The spinning vortex closed toward the middle of the aperture until it sealed with a hissing noise.  Tanis scanned the area, noticed the homeless man and cocked his head over to one side.

Where am I?

Mr. Fletcher glanced down at the bottle of alcohol sticking out of his coat pocket and shuddered.

I swear I’ll never drink again.  I promise I’ll do better.  I think this note is for you.

How do you know that? Tanis replied.

Mr. Fletcher cackled hysterically, thrusting the paper at him.

Because the building is on my left and the note says it will be on your right.

Tanis accepted the crumpled paper and read through the message, glancing to his right for verification.

Thank you, sir . . . and you are?

Mr. Fletcher had already started walking away and answered over his shoulder.

Just a messenger with a new lease on life, or I’ve gone crazy.  I’m not sure of anything at the moment.

Tanis stared after the man, but then glanced down again at the note.

Why would my suit be in there?

As his vision played across the page, he noticed his clothing and realized how bizarre it appeared.  He didn’t remember ever dressing this way and pulled the shirt out to read the inscription blazoned across the front.  It said: You want the universe, then think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration.

The garment was solid black with white letters and was under a light grey cloth coat.  His trousers were a medium blue, thick and coarse to the touch.  Sticking out from the pant cuffs was a pair of green low-cut shoes that pleased him on a visceral level he didn’t understand.  He felt like a clown until looking around showed him the articles of clothing were similar to others out by the street.

Where am I?

He thought hard and remembered standing in his hotel room in New York.  Ambling out to the street showed him clearly, this was not even close to the eastern seaboard, and if the cactus plant staring at him was a clue, this would have to be somewhere in the southwest.  Small mountains off in the distance told him he was probably in a desert, although it wasn’t blisteringly hot as he’d imagined.

The nearest intersection was just close enough to read the corresponding sign which said Camelback, but the reference was lost on him.

The entrance to the building in question was only a short distance behind him now, so the walk was quickly accomplished and found him making his way into the foyer.  No stairs were visible, but he did notice a gathering of people waiting in a side hall.  Doors opened and he accompanied them into a small cubicle where one of the occupants asked him the most basic of questions.

Which floor do you want?

Tanis glanced down at the paper and confirmed his destination.

Fourth floor, please.

There was a momentary jarring sensation and then the feeling of rising which no one else seemed to notice.  The other passengers exited at the third floor, leaving Tanis alone until the door opened after a dinging sound announced the number four in large red letters.

  There were no signs in the elevator hallway but only one direction was possible.  Looking both ways, Tanis spotted a left turn and took off in that direction.  Just around the bend, he spotted massive double doors at the end of the hall.  To the right of the doors it clearly said on a huge plaque, Thaumaturgy, Inc.

The overhead lights were sparse or lacked the proper amount and it only added to the somber nature of the entire fourth floor.  It gave off a depressing vibe that earth tones generate in situations like this one.  Tanis felt like being some place else, although he didn’t know why, but wanting the suit urged him on toward the door.

Inside, the foyer it was immense and devoid of people, save a young blonde sitting behind a large teak desk.  Tanis had never seen such an enormous room with so little to occupy its confines.  The number of chairs didn’t do justice to the available space, other than isolate the people who might be waiting for service.  He wondered if that might be the underlying theme and tried to imagine a company that had that as its criteria for initial business.

The blonde still had yet to look up and Tanis stood before her desk for a few awkward seconds.  He finally cleared his throat and she glanced up, showing that the noise was her first inclination of his presence.

Good afternoon, how can we help you?

Um . . . my name is Tanis and I’d like to speak to the owner of this establishment.  It’s very important.

Do you have an appointment, Mr. Tanis?

No, but I feel sure he’d want to talk to me.  It’s about an Advanced Encounter Suit.

The young blonde blinked twice and glanced over at the phone, unsure of how to process the man’s request.  After an agonizing number of seconds, she pressed one of the buttons and waited.  A man’s voice erupted over the loudspeaker.

Did you press the button by accident again, or do you have something to tell me.

Tanis noticed she wore a badge which declared her name to be Jean.  She stared hard at the phone, patted her lips with a finger and giggled.

Oh, hi Mr. Malarche.  There’s a man here to see you about an Advanced Encounter Suit.  His name is Mr. Tanis.

Tell him I’ll be out in a few minutes.

Jean tilted her head back and smiled at Tanis, swallowed and began to repeat what Mr. Malarche had said.  Shocked at the girl’s antics, Tanis stood, alarmed at the female’s inability to understand the audibility of the spoken message.  She actually believed her employer’s answer needed to be said again, to inform him of the result.

Thank you; I’ll just sit down to wait.

Jean smiled and blinked at him, then went back to whatever she’d been doing before his arrival.

Tanis chose the closest chair to the reception desk, tapping one of the arm rests as he sat down.  He determined it was an extremely shiny metal and marveled at the workmanship.

The minutes dragged on until at the half hour mark and the end of Tanis’ patience, a man appeared through a set of double doors to the far left of the reception desk.  The man, head of the Thaumaturgists, assessed the situation as if a decision needed to be made about which client should be taken to the back.  Tanis glanced around the room and re-confirmed the foyer was empty save for himself.  He watched, wondering what process the gentleman’s mind was going through, and almost laughed.

Quentin Malarche cast his eyes over the room, deliberately gazing past the only man waiting, as if weighing the need to speak or turn to leave the area.  He finally turned and stared at Tanis like a bug in a jar.

Mr. Tanis, I presume?

Tanis stood immediately and strode over, glancing at Jean as he passed.

I am, and you must be Mr. Malarche.

There’s a strange familiarity about you.  Have we met before?

Tanis had the same feeling wash over him but couldn’t place where or when.

Quentin shook hands with his guest and then pulled both cuffs of his shirt and straightened his tie.  Neither needed it but Tanis thought he wanted his clothing to be noticed for reasons unknown.  Everything about this Thaumaturgist smacked of money and supposed high class, or at least was meant to but was lost on the man he obviously wanted to impress.

I don’t see how that would be possible.  I’m not from around here.

Oh, where are you from?

Tanis had taken an instant dislike to the man, although nothing had been said to warrant the sentiment.  He didn’t understand why that emotion was so prevalent and so quick, and it took everything he had not to be rude.

Mostly England, but I’ve traveled a bit.

Quentin nodded sagely, and with a sweeping motion of his hand, indicated they should move into the next room.  Tanis glanced back at Jean who was concentrating on the work at hand and paid no attention to either of them.

They progressed through two oversized doors that closed automatically once they were inside.  The room was somewhat anti-climactic, especially if you compared it with the previous area.  It was roughly a thousand square feet, and except for a single table, surrounded by four chairs.

Quentin pointed at the closest chair and kept walking around until he stood behind the one farthest from the door.

Please have a seat.

Tanis dragged the seat back a bit and slid into the chair, placing his elbows on the table and never taking his eyes from Quentin’s.  An orchestral piece of music softly played overhead, the same selection he’d heard in the foyer.  But try as he might, the melody was unfamiliar.

Quentin folded himself into the opposing chair and attempted to smile but it lacked the genuine quality of good humor.  The man was suspicious of something, and Tanis began to tense.

I was told you are inquiring about an Advanced Encounter Suit.  Care to elaborate how you even know of its existence?  It’s not as if we advertise Magna Series 3, Advanced Encounter Suit, order yours today, not seen on TV.

I was told it was here, and it belongs to me.

Interesting . . . it clearly has the seal of Thaumaturgy on the crate, and I would like to know who told you it was here.  It seems we have a security leak, and someone within our midst should be given credit for this obvious breach in protocol.

Tanis kept his face from outward change, but his mind was seething with bits and pieces, none of which gave him the total picture.  He couldn’t tell this man he received information from a down and out homeless person in an alley outside his building.

He knew the suit was his, but how he got it was vague and foggy.  More like a dream with names, faces, and memories that, regardless of how hard he tried, just would not coalesce into a chronological story.

You have it in a crate?  Where did you get the suit?  Out of all the potential uses for a machine of its caliber, you stick it in a crate?  Why?

That’s not the important issue at the moment.  What is important, at least in my opinion, is why we should give you a piece of our tech.  Just because you say so?  Are you a Thaumaturgist, and if so, who trained you?

Tanis smiled.  He finally had something he could remember without holes in his memory or segments of his life missing.  Thaumaturgists had been the same for hundreds of years, proprietary for sure, but still brothers in a weird sort of way.  This was the very fabric of their existence and gave him a method for proving why he should have the suit.

I was trained by Nicolas Flamel.

Chapter 2

Queen Mother remembered the climb from the base of Mt. Scartaris to the cave entrance, a considerable climb even for the most-stout hearted.  What she saw today caused her to stop and stare in wonder.  An entire section of the mountain slid sideways, exposing a set of rock hewn stairs that led straight up to the entrance.

Cystic stepped up from behind and placed one gigantic hand on her shoulder, chuckling at the amazement she so clearly showed.

Turns out, your Corp of Engineers, after their education in Reykjavik, were only a step or two from sheer genius.  When the cover plate is closed, the stairs and entrance are almost invisible.  Owning all this land is a plus as well.  One of your stewards, back in the thirty’s decided to invest, and now no one comes here because it’s private property.  After you, Queen Mother.

The stairs were wide enough for a single dragon or several people and albeit they were a tad tall, made the trip up or down relatively easy.  Queen Mother noticed that Cystic’s steps were substantially larger than hers and, not for the first time, envied his size and strength.  He moved to his left after only three steps, for fear of running into his queen, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed.

The two boys and Cystic had no trouble climbing, but Queen Mother was winded by the time they had reached the halfway point.  Cystic indicated a rest before taking the last part of the journey, but she only increased her speed.  Appearing weak in front of the stewards was the last thing she desired, and she would have continued until she dropped before allowing that to happen.

I’ll rest when I’m dead…again.

Cystic turned to the two young boys and urged them to move ahead.

You two run now and tell whoever’s guarding the entrance that Queen Mother’s come back to us.  Be quick about it!  We’re going to hold back some and give the news time to soak in.

Queen Mother rolled her eyes and made a rude noise.

You really think those two bought that flimsy excuse?

Cystic chuckled and took a quick look at the retreating young stewards.

No, but they’ll say what I told them and everybody else will.  Image is everything Ariella, and this way your entrance should be greatly enhanced.  Walk slower and give your breathing a chance to slow down.  Trust me, you don’t want to appear winded when speaking.  It kind of takes the wow out of the now if less than a sentence is all that can be mustered when you address the populace.

Queen Mother looked at him sidelong but slowed both her breathing and her steps.

She realized her clothing left quite a bit to be desired, but the mountain population lived in a cave, and with any luck wouldn’t condemn her outward appearance.  None of them had ever seen her, so maybe this introduction would turn out to be a blessing in disguise.  Queen Mother had long since given up any pretenses about the visual qualities defining her station.  What they saw would be what they got, not a nit less, and certainly not anymore.

They were within eyesight now, and the number of people was growing even as she watched.  There was also a dragon head peeking out and from the size of its cranium, little more than a toddler.

The crowd had thinned by the time Queen Mother took her first step inside the mountain.  Two dozen people stared