Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  Looking over her shoulder at them, Suntai spat and shook her head sadly. “Like children you two ride.” She spurred her nightwolf. “Now follow.”

  * * * * *

  The three nightwolves began to move—Suntai ahead upon her white wolf, Cam and Linee sharing the gray one, and the third animal bringing up the rear. This last beast, a scarred male with brown fur, carried sacks of their supplies. At first Suntai had insisted that nightwolves were not pack animals but noble beasts; the Elorian warrior had tried to place Linee upon the brown male, but the former queen kept squealing, weeping, and falling off. Finally, with a string of curses, Suntai had given up on ever teaching the young woman to ride. Since then, Cam and Linee had shared a mount.

  For a while they rode in silence. Cam heard nothing but the wind and the occasional wolf’s snort; their paws padded silently upon the rock. Cam had ridden a pony once and remembered bouncing in the saddle, but the nightwolf moved as steadily as a boat upon smooth waters. If not for Linee’s hair which kept entering his mouth, he would have enjoyed the ride; the damned saddle was too small for two, and he could barely breathe with the back of her head pressed against his face. He tried to distract himself by looking up at the stars, counting the blue ones that shone among the silver specks.

  “Camlin,” Linee whispered, wriggling in the saddle; Suntai now rode too far ahead to hear. “Camlin? All right—Cam!”

  “What?” He spat out a strand of her hair. “I can hear you.”

  She twisted in the saddle and looked at him. “Do you think…” She bit her lip, lowered her head, and twisted her fingers. “Do you think when we finally reach the kingdom of Leen, they’ll let me be a queen there? I mean … not queen of the whole island. Maybe just … a small part of it?”

  Cam’s jaw dropped and he raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

  Her eyes watered for the thousandth time. “No! Well … maybe. I don’t know. I guess I kind of thought that … well, that if I joined you on the journey to Leen, and if they learned that my name is Queen Linee—it sounds like their kingdom!—they’d … I don’t know…” A teardrop hung from her nose. “I guess that’s just stupid and it can never happen.”

  Cam gaped. “You didn’t actually think that—” He blinked. “I mean, you really—”

  She spun away from him and crossed her arms. “Forget it, Camlin. Just don’t talk to me. Look at your stars.”

  He shook his head in bewilderment, sighed, and looked back up at the sky. Most turns upon the road, Cam didn’t know who frustrated him more—Suntai with her glares and blades or Linee with her nonsense. He missed his friends. He wished Hem could have come with them—lumbering, stupid Hem with that ridiculous appetite of his, that mellifluous singing voice, and pockets full of treats. He missed Torin—quiet, wise Torin who could always make sense of things that confused the rest of their gang. He even missed Bailey … a little.

  I hope I see you again, he thought, feeling alone and cold even with Linee pressed against him, her mane of hair tickling his face.

  Loneliness in his belly, Cam was about to strike up another conversation with Linee when roars sounded ahead.

  He tensed up, leaned around Linee, and stared north along the road.

  “Camlin?” Linee began. “I—”

  “Hush!”

  The roars sounded again, deep and rolling across the plains, still distant but closer this time. Suntai had heard them too; riding a hundred yards ahead upon her nightwolf, she drew her katana. She looked back at them and gestured urgently, then doused her lantern, disappearing into the shadows.

  “What—” Linee began again.

  “Shh!” Cam reached forward, grabbed her lantern, and extinguished its flame.

  Darkness fell.

  Nothing but the stars and crescent moon lit the night.

  Cam gave a tug to the reins, and his wolf fell still beneath him and Linee. He could no longer see or hear Suntai ahead. The night became a silent, black cloak wrapping around him. Linee began to shiver, and Cam wrapped his arms around her and held her close, not even minding her hair in his face now.

  For a few long moments, he heard and saw nothing.

  Then the roars rose again, inhuman and definitely closer now. Laughter and the language of men rose among them; the sound was still too low for Cam to make out the words. Lights gleamed ahead—torches, he thought. People were moving southward along the Iron Road toward him.

  As the lights grew closer, the voices grew louder, deep and raspy. Cam frowned. He knew that language. These men were from Verilon, a sunlit kingdom north of his homeland of Arden. Torin’s father had fought the Verilish in the war years ago; the man would often tell stories of barbarians riding upon bears, their bodies nearly as hairy as their mounts, wielding war hammers that could shatter steel like clay. Cam had even met a Verilish man once—a bearded peddler, clad in old furs, who’d come to Fairwool-by-Night to swap pelts for barley and wheat.

  More enemies, he thought, clinging to Linee. The northern invasion of the night.

  Something rustled to his left, maybe two feet away, and Cam nearly leaped and fell from the saddle. Two blue orbs glowed in the dark. For an instant, Cam was sure a ghost or spirit was lunging to rip out his innards, but it was only Suntai upon her wolf. He could make out nothing more than her eyes, the twin stare of her wolf, and her finger pointing east. Then she was riding off the road. Cam didn’t even have to heel his wolf; the beast followed its alpha. Behind them, their third nightwolf—Telshuan, the shaggy brown animal who bore their packs—followed silently.

  Suntai led them to a group of boulders; Cam only saw them once they were a couple feet away, but Suntai’s large eyes had always seen better in the darkness. They led their nightwolves around the boulders and stood still, waiting and watching the road.

  The sounds of conversation grew louder, and another roar rose, pealing across the land. When Cam peered around the boulder, he saw them approach, and his heart sank.

  There were five of them—Verilish warriors just as Torin’s father used to describe them. Each rode a bear, beasts Cam had only seen in bestiaries; spiked armor hung around the animals’ necks and helmets topped their shaggy heads. The five riders were almost as shaggy, their beards thick, their hair long and brown. Each held a lamp, and war hammers hung at their sides. Two were drinking from tankards of ale.

  They conversed as they rode. Their language was similar to Cam’s own. A thousand years ago, Verilon and Arden had been parts of Riyona, an empire stretching across the north of Dayside. Even now, so many generations after that empire’s fall, the kingdoms of Old Riyona shared many words. Cam was able to understand most of what these men said. They were speaking of an attack on Eeshan—a port city in the north of Qaelin—and how many Elorian “savages” they had slain with their hammers.

  “I killed three!” one man was boasting. “Cracked their skulls with my hammer, I did, and bedded their wives.” His accent was thick and a couple words were different from Ardish, but Cam understood enough.

  One of his friends roared with laughter. “Three? I killed fourteen of the little creatures—my bear ate one of their children.”

  An older rider, this one with grizzled eyebrows and a leathery face, glared at the two braggarts. “Hush! This road is swarming with Elorians. The bastards lurk in shadows. You don’t see them till they leap right at you.” He flipped and caught a dagger. “Men say there’s a great city of them in the south; thrice the size of Eeshan, they say it is. The bloody Ardish conquered it, but Verilon will have a bite.”

  The bears and their riders rode close now; soon they would go south along the road. Hiding behind the boulders, Cam bit his lip, praying the men wouldn’t hear or smell them. Cam could have perhaps convinced Ardish soldiers to ride on, but Verilon held his people no love, despite being a fellow kingdom of sunlight.

  If they see me here with an Elorian, they will attack, Cam knew. They will kill Suntai and me, and they will take Linee as their captive.

&
nbsp; The riders kept moving down the road; soon Cam could only see the backs of the men. He remained very still, holding Linee close in the saddle; she was trembling. Suntai waited at his side, eyes narrowed to slits.

  The Verilish riders kept speaking as their bears headed south.

  “I hear Arden’s got a pretty little queen,” one man said, contorting to scratch his back. “They say she got blond hair and green eyes and is all young and fresh.”

  One of his friends snorted. “I reckon if we find her here in the night, she’s ours to keep. Would like to have me a queen, I would.”

  Linee’s trembling grew more violent. A whimper rose from her, barely more than a squeak. Cam tensed and held her more tightly.

  Hush, Linee, in Idar’s name …

  The bears kept rambling farther south, lanterns bobbing.

  “I hear she’s called … what was her name again?” one of the Verilish riders said. “Queen Linee! That’s it. Queen Linee of Arden.” He barked a laugh. “I think I’ll grab her right up—take her back home in chains. Could serve me ale and warm my bed, Queen Linee can.”

  This time Linee’s whimper was louder—a plaintive sound like a flute that wafted across the night.

  Cam cursed and covered her mouth with his palm.

  The bear riders stiffened, their armor creaking. Heads spun around and a bear sniffed and grunted.

  “I heard something,” said one rider. “I heard—”

  “Elorians on the road,” said his companion, the older rider with the thick, grizzled brows. “Men, raise your hammers! Find them.”

  Cam’s heart pounded as the five riders spurred their mounts. The bears came charging off the road, their riders readying their hammers. Lamplight cascaded across the land, falling upon Cam and his companions.

  His heart seemed to freeze and shatter. Linee screamed. Cam reached for his sword, but his fingers fumbled. The five Verilish men stared at him, eyes wide. Their bears reared beneath them, clawed the air, and roared. Strings of saliva glistened between their teeth.

  Cam drew his sword, gulped, and prepared to die.

  A high-pitched yowl tore across the night.

  White fur and steel flashed.

  Shouting battle cries, Suntai raced past him upon her wolf, shield and katana raised in her hands.

  With a yowl, her wolf leaped toward the five bears. Her blade lashed. Hammers swung her way.

  Before Cam could even take a breath, his wolf reared beneath him and Linee. The gray beast leaped after his alpha, claws lashing.

  Sitting ahead of him in the saddle, Linee screamed. Cam cursed and swung his sword blindly.

  “Camlin!” Linee cried.

  A bear came lolloping toward them. The rider atop the beast snarled, saliva spraying into his beard, and swung a hammer. Linee shrieked. Beneath them, their wolf clawed and bit. Unable to breathe, Cam raised his shield.

  The hammer slammed down.

  Cam cried out. The hammer drove into his shield, denting the metal; Cam thought his arm almost dislocated.

  “Linee, duck!” he shouted.

  When her head was lowered, he swung his sword, trying to hit the Verilish soldier. His blade only sliced the air. The bear and rider pulled back then leaped forward. Cam’s wolf bucked beneath him. The two animals slammed together in a storm of fur, fang, and claw.

  Shouting, Cam slipped from the saddle, slid across his wolf’s back, and thudded onto the rocky earth. The air jolted out of his lungs. Before he could breathe again, Linee slammed down onto his chest.

  “Linee, get off!” he said, struggling to rise from under her.

  He managed to shove her off just in time to see a rider, burly and brutish, leaning down from his bear to swing a hammer. Cam winced and raised his shield again. The steel took another blow, bending around his arm; even with the shield, it felt like his arm had come close to snapping. The brute above laughed and raised his hammer again.

  Cam grimaced, knowing he was going to die.

  White fur flashed.

  A nightwolf leaped.

  Suntai yelped a battle cry, swung her sword from her saddle, and raced on. Blood flew in a curtain.

  The Verilish rider’s head drooped, revealing a cut that all but severed his head. The man collapsed upon the saddle, tugging the reins and driving his bear sideways to smash into another one of the beasts.

  Cam leaped to his feet and stood above Linee; the queen still lay on the ground, whimpering. He raised his dented shield and sword, prepared for more fighting, and gaped.

  The battle raged on without him. The three nightwolves—Suntai atop one, the two others fighting riderless—were tearing into the enemy. Two bears and riders already lay dead, their blood trickling. As Cam watched, eyes wide, Suntai leaped from her wolf’s saddle. She rose several feet in the air, then plunged, her sword pointing downward. She landed atop a bear, driving her blade into the poor beast. Her shield drove upward, crashing into the bear rider’s neck, tearing open the flesh. As both rider and bear collapsed, Suntai leaped again and landed back upon her wolf.

  “By Idar’s beard,” Cam whispered, standing with his sword raised, feeling rather unnecessary as Suntai tore into the enemy like a fox tearing through a chicken coop. Linee finally rose to her feet and stood beside him, gaping. She drew her dagger—the one Bailey had given her back in the city—and held the blade before her.

  As they watched, Suntai drove her wolf into another bear. Blood sprayed. Her face splashed with her enemy’s blood, Suntai turned toward the last surviving bear.

  The shaggy Verilish beast was battling Telshuan, the brown nightwolf, pack animal of their expedition; sacks of food, rolled up blankets, and packages of oil and candles still covered the wolf’s back. The bear was a towering thing, scarred and one-eyed, the largest of the beasts. Blood soaked the nightwolf’s fur.

  Suntai leaped from her saddle. She landed atop the one-eyed bear and swung her sword, slicing into the rider. Its master dead, the bear reared, howled, and slammed its paws into Telshuan’s muzzle.

  The brown nightwolf whimpered and fell, face lacerated. Suntai still stood atop the bear, driving her blade into its flesh. The beast fell atop Telshuan, biting at the nightwolf even as Suntai stabbed it again and again.

  Both animals fell still.

  Suntai stood upon the furry corpses, panting. She gazed around, eyes wild.

  All her enemies lay dead around her.

  “Telshuan…” Suntai whispered. She leaped off the bear and knelt. The brown nightwolf lay crushed under his enemy, only his head visible; no life filled his eyes.

  “Telshuan!” Suntai cried, voice hoarse. She tossed back her head and howled at the moon.

  Cam bit his lip, standing several yards away, daring not approach. Linee moved gripped his hand; her lips wobbled but she made not a sound.

  “Suntai,” Cam said softly; the woman was whispering and touching the dead wolf’s face. “Suntai, I’m sorry. I—”

  The wolfrider raised her head, and Cam took a step back, the breath leaving his lungs. Suntai’s eyes blazed with rage. Her lips peeled back in a horrible snarl in her bloodied face. She leaped to her feet, drew a dagger, and came stomping forward.

  Linee squealed and squeezed Cam’s hand.

  “Telshuan did not have to die,” Suntai said when she reached them, voice strained. She stared at Cam, her eyes withering; Cam thought that they could burn through steel. “The girl made a noise. Now he is dead.”

  Linee did not speak more than a couple words in Qaelish, but she tried to stammer an apology, gesturing at the wolf. “I sorry, Suntai. I sorry. I—”

  Suntai spat and thrust her blade.

  A bloody line blazed to life on Linee’s cheek.

  Linee clutched the wound, stared for a moment in shock at her attacker, and burst into tears. She turned and ran into the darkness.

  “Oh wormy sheep’s livers,” Cam whispered. He looked at Suntai, but the woman left him and returned to the fallen wolf. Cam stared at her for a mome
nt longer, then spun around and began running after Linee.

  He ran for a long time through the darkness, following the sound of her sobs. A thump sounded ahead, followed by a curse and whimper. A few more steps and Cam stumbled upon a lump in the darkness—Linee curled up on the ground, weeping.

  Cam knelt beside her. “Linee, it’s me.” He touched her hair. “It’s all right.”

  He expected her to hide her face, cower, or tremble. He gasped when she leaped up, wrapped her arms around him, and clung.

  “I’m scared, Camlin,” she whispered, squeezing him. “I’m so scared. I’m so sorry. You don’t have to take me home anymore. You don’t have to say I’m a queen. You can even call me Linlin if you want. Just please hold me. Hold me tight because I’m so scared.”

  He nodded and kissed her forehead. “Of course.”

  As the sound of Suntai praying rose behind them, he held Linee for a long time in the shadows.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE GAUNTLET

  After nearly a moon on the river, their supplies dwindling, Koyee and Torin reached the southern coast and beheld the buffalo banners.

  Koyee stood at the prow, hand resting on her sword’s pommel. Her breath left her lungs like a deflating bellows.

  “Sinyong,” she whispered into the wind, watching the port city grow nearer. “The southern jewel of Qaelin. The city burns.”

  The Water Spider still sailed several miles away, but it was close enough for Koyee to see the carnage. The hosts of sunlight surrounded the city. Their ships sailed upon the river ahead, pushing into Sinyong like worms up an artery. Their ground troops surrounded the city walls, sprawling across the plains—footmen, horsemen, and charioteers, thousands in all. Their banners rose high—not the raven banners that had flown in Pahmey, but ones sporting the crimson buffalo, its horns long.

  “Mageria,” Torin said, standing beside her. His eyes darkened. “We followed their path of rot to this pulsing heart.”