“What?” Dania spluttered, wiping blood off of her lips. The deep burgundy was flooding out of a sharp cut on her upper lip. “Where am I?” She moved the spear point aside and saw herself staring into the eyes of a short man, approximately three feet tall, with his long hair pulled back into a ponytail. She could tell it was a man from the abundance of facial hair, and the gruffness of his voice.
“Who are ye!” the little man thundered.
“Danellia. Danellia Regionald.” Dania spluttered. She coughed a little and spat some blood out of her mouth. She had bitten her tongue hard. “I’m the daughter of Lucidia Regionald.”
The man paused and lowered his spear point. A shrill voice came from the back of the crowd that had gathered around her.
“Drumman! Bin wel mem dethomam syen! Bin ehy nict metame!” A woman on a high stepping stallion rode forward. The stallion was dark black, a nice contrast to the pale rider on it’s back.
“Aye Ballamum!” The man stepped away and grabbed Dania’s shoulder, hauling her upright with surprising strength.
Dania found herself starring up into the lady’s bright green eyes. The woman looked curiously at her and then cocked her head to the right, her dark brown hair spilling to the right side, forming a nearly impenetrable barrier.
“Saren, hen syet li Dania. Drumman! Kaywa ehet hena niguen?”
“Danellia, Ballamum.” The little man, who was presumably Drumman, answered. As he turned towards Dania, a tall lanky blond man stepped out of the crowd, coming to the woman’s right side.
“Aye Nesegata? Beawa weln des?” he asked, resting his hand on her leg, in almost a caress. Dania’s eyes focused on the woman.
“Nenemy!” Dania cried, throwing caution to the winds. She stood up, and heard the crystal tinkle behind her as it detached from the cloth. “Nenemy, it’s me! Dania! Dania Regionald!”
The woman froze for a minute, and then spoke slowly in English. She struggled with it, as if she hadn’t spoken it for a long time, enunciating each syllable clearly.
“Dania? That is impossible. Dania is dead.”
Dania glowered at the woman. “Are you Nenemy?”
“Nen, it’s me. Danellia Elizabeth Regionald from the North Side Apartment Complex that burned down a year ago.”
“Nenemy Ostangia Elise Lestinga! I am wearing your purple hoodie that you lent me after the fire torched my apartment, leaving me with nothing. Your mother and family died in that fire! You’ve been my best friend since I met you, seven years ago! You disappeared five months ago, and I couldn’t stand it, not knowing where you were. I had given you up for dead.”
Nenemy was silent. No one moved for the longest time.
Dania looked up, tears in her eyes. “Nen, please?”
Nenemy turned towards the man holding her horse. “Saren, bin ney Jais in Bariqui, metam Layette?”
“Aye missa layette chackem. Bin wim Jais in Bariqui halen.”
Nenemy dismounted slowly, letting her skirt cover her sides, not allowing her soldiers to get a peek of her most private of places. She dropped down from the ground and allowed Saren to climb up and ride away.
“So, Dania. What have you been up to these past five months. You turned I see. There’s no other explanation for the necklace being in your possession.”
“You’re now High Queen, your Highness.” Nenemy drew a glittering sabre from her belt, and laid it at Dania’s feet. “My sword is yours, my liege.”
Dania picked up the sword, feeling the engraving in the handle. It was in the same strange language that had been spoken. When she looked up, Nenemy was bowed at her feet, along with a score of men she had never met, along with the little Drumman.
“I’ve never held a sword. Nen, what was Drumman calling you when he called you Ballamum?”
Nenemy looked stunned. “You don’t know Draminian? Your mother never told you about your heritage- OUR heritage?”
“No, she’s never mentioned ‘Draminian’ at all. In fact, where am I?”
This completely took Nenemy off guard. She stumbled back a bit, as if punched in the stomach, doubling over. “You… you don’t even know where you are?”
“No. I don’t”
“Dania. You’re in Alcranibi now.”