Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  “I could lie.”

  “There are ways others will know if you speak the truth or not. Skilled in torture, they take pleasure in other’s pain.”

  Tressa folded her arms across her chest. Jarrett had been inching ever closer and she wasn’t sure how much he could see through the water.

  “Lies keep us from fully reaching our potential. If you’re not encumbered by Henry’s truth, then you can focus on your own lies.”

  “I have no lies.”

  “Just unspoken truths.” Jarrett’s eyes fell to her shoulders. “I’ve studied fighting since I was a young boy. Combat revolves around what you cannot see. If you only trust what your opponent shows, the battle is lost before it is begun.”

  Jarrett’s hand floated on the water, only inches from touching her. Tressa didn’t flinch. Weakness wouldn’t give her away today.

  “And with you, there is a secret. Something you don’t want anyone to know. Something my father died to protect. What is it?”

  “I have no secrets. I came here to fight for a place in the Black Guard. I won it. There is nothing else to know.”

  A smile spread across Jarrett’s face. He was amused. Tressa was not.

  He shrugged, turned, and began moving back toward shore. “Just don’t let the other men catch you out here alone.”

  The water lapped against his back. Then the top of his hips. And touched the arse Tressa had spied through the bush yesterday. Still clean. And firm.

  She blinked, reminding herself she was a man. Or at least pretending to be one.

  Jarrett pushed the excess water off of his legs with his palms. Tressa’s heart pounded. He stood there completely naked and unashamed. Of course he did, though. He thought Tressa was a man too, and he probably assumed she wasn’t looking at him. Religion and all that.

  Jarrett pulled his breeches and shirt on, covering the stolen view. He sauntered over to Tressa’s pile of clothes. He picked up the fabric she’d been using to bind her breasts.

  “No, you don’t have any secrets worth keeping, do you?” Jarrett looked at her, letting the fabric fall between his fingers to the ground.

  Tressa said nothing. She made fists and kept them steady at her thighs. If she had to defend herself nude and soaking wet, she would be prepared.

  “I had hoped you’d work with me on your own accord. I wanted to create a bond between us.” Jarrett shook his head. “I need another fighter on my side to protect Henry. One who won’t hesitate to step into the shadow of darkness. Unfortunately you didn’t listen to reason, so now I’ll have to blackmail you.”

  Jarrett turned back to Tressa.

  “I hope you don’t mind, sweetheart. I won’t tell the other men they have a woman in their midst as long as you do exactly as I say.”

  Instead of cowering before Jarrett’s threats, she decided to make some of her own. Warm air brushed against the water dripping from her skin as she made her way back to shore.

  Tressa knew weakness would only get her killed. Leo taught her that. So she stood in front of Jarrett, completely naked. “You tell anyone I’m a woman and I’ll slit Henry’s throat while he sleeps.”

  Tressa expected Jarrett to laugh. Instead his face remained serious. “I will accept those terms, but they go both ways. Now what is your real name?”

  “Max is all you will ever know. Now go while I get dressed.”

  “I’ll stay a bit up the path and make sure no one else comes upon you as I did.”

  “I highly doubt anyone else will wake up early from their precious nap to take a bath.” Tressa mumbled as she pulled on her breeches and then began to wrap the binding around her chest. It was hard enough to do alone, much less while Jarrett looked on unashamed. “You followed me here.”

  “And it’s a good thing I did. We share a common goal.”

  Tressa grunted. She pulled the binding tight and reached awkwardly to her back to tuck in the excess.

  “You need help with that?”

  Tressa glared at Jarrett.

  “Just trying to help.” There was that smile. She wanted to wipe it from his face.

  “I can manage just fine on my own, thank you. I thought you were going to wait a bit up the path while I dressed.” She yanked her shirt over her head and punched her fists into the sleeves.

  Jarrett looked at the ground, then back at Tressa. “I suppose I got distracted.”

  She expected a wink, but it didn’t come. The man was infuriating and impossible to understand.

  “Don’t count on it happening again.” Tressa scooped up her pack and slung it over her shoulder.

  “You might want to find another place to be this evening,” Jarrett said as he followed Tressa up the path.

  “Why?”

  “The men were talking about bringing in a few whores.”

  Tressa sighed. She stopped and turned around. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be taking Henry to a local pub, if you’d like to join us.”

  “Most men would think Henry is just the right age for such a thing.”

  “Most men don’t know Henry the way I do. It’s a bad idea.”

  She bit her lip and looked into Jarrett’s eyes. “Do you want me to take Henry to the pub?” Tressa felt awkward even asking. “I mean, so you can stay back with the other men and their, uh, entertainment?”

  Jarrett grabbed Tressa’s chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I don’t take pleasure in a woman who doesn’t take pleasure in me.”

  Tressa nodded and continued up the path. There was no more to say. Instead, she focused on how to kill Stacia and get back to the life she’d always wanted.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Tressa took a quick look around the pub. She didn’t recognize any of the regulars from The Rooster’s Wattle. She let out a little air and relaxed.

  Staying back at the compound with the others wasn’t an option. The women, with their painted faces and perfumed bodies, poured into their chambers, their laughter bringing the promise of a night of debauchery. Hutton’s Bridge didn’t allow prostitution. Keeping the family together was one of the more important rules in their town. When inbreeding became a concern, sex had to be regulated. Control was vital to their survival. Here, there were too many people. No one had to worry about the survival of their town. Pleasure and leisure were in abundance.

  Sweet smoke filled the air. Ira hadn’t allowed smoking in his pub. He was too worried it would burn down. Tressa had learned that the fear of fire was a monetary concern. The owners here were either very brave or very wealthy. One glance at the decor told her wealth was the answer.

  Golden filigree tipped the statues on shelves near the ceiling. The room glistened and glittered. The men sitting at the tables gambled at cards. Stacks of coins spilled in front of them. The thrill of the game mattered more than the money they took home at the end of the night. It was a far cry from the dirt and dust in Ira’s pub.

  Henry pushed ahead of Tressa, knocking her to the side with his elbow.

  She wanted to say something, but she’d promised Jarrett she’d keep her mouth shut. Instead, she shot him a dirty glance.

  “Come on, boys, let’s grab a table.” Jarrett flourished his black cape.

  The room went quiet.

  The servers scurried over to them before Tressa’s butt touched the bench.

  “How can we help you?” A young blond smiled at Tressa. Her white teeth spoke of wealth. Even the serving girls probably had more money than Tressa did.

  “We’ll take a side of meat, a loaf of bread, a bowl of grapes, and a flagon of your finest wine.”

  The serving girl’s eyes sparkled as the boys poured water into their cups. “We just got in a shipment from the The Dragon’s Tongue Port, sir. The wine is perfectly aged and smells of vanilla and raspberry. Very rare. Imported directly from The Sands.”

  Jarrett reached into the bag hanging at his hip and pulled out a handful of gold coins. “I hope this will cover the cost.” He held out his hand to the
girl. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. Even Tressa had to hold back her surprise. It was a sizable amount of money. More than Tressa had ever seen in one place.

  “Yes,” the girl bowed and back away, “yes, that will do, milord.” She spun and ran off to the kitchen, probably to brag about the tip she was about to receive tonight from the men in the Black Guard.

  “Impressive,” Tressa said.

  Jarrett shrugged. “It’s a small amount to me. I have plenty more where that came from.”

  Henry paid little attention to them. He was far more interested in the fireplace. He’d wandered over and stood warming his hands.

  “Who are you?” Tressa asked. Every moment with Jarrett brought more mystery and less understanding.

  “Who are you?” Jarrett leaned his chin on his fist, his elbow propped up on the table. “We both have our secrets, but we have a common goal. Isn’t that all that matters?”

  “You’re exactly like your father.” She laughed, remembering a similar conversation with Leo.

  “I’d love it if you could tell me more about him.” Jarrett leaned in closer.

  A crash on the other side of the pub wrenched their attention elsewhere. Tressa glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see a fight. They were common at The Rooster’s Wattle. Nothing worth worrying over.

  Except when Henry was involved. The boy’s arms were above his head, the man behind him held Henry in a headlock.

  Jarrett jumped to his feet, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Let him go.”

  “Just because yer in The Black Guard, it doesn’t mean you can steal from me.”

  Henry stood still, not even fighting back. Tressa had a hard time believing the boy had stolen anything, yet hanging in a limp hand was a golden trinket. She thought she’d seen it above the fireplace when they walked in. Yes, it was the golden cat statue.

  The pouch filled with gold still dangled from Jarrett’s hip. Why would Henry steal when Jarrett had enough money for all of them?

  “Are you the owner of this establishment?” Jarrett asked the man who held Henry in a headlock. The man nodded, but didn’t relax his hold on Henry. “This was just a misunderstanding. I’m sure Henry was just looking at it. Weren’t you Henry?”

  “It’s mine.” Henry stated.

  Jarrett sighed.

  Tressa stared at Henry in earnest. He’d barely spoken until then, and now he was saying the wrong thing.

  “Give it back to the man, Henry. Now,” Jarrett said. “It’s not yours.”

  “It’s gold. It’s mine.” Henry tightened his grip on the trinket.

  The owner didn’t appreciate Henry’s attitude and kicked him in the back of the knee. He let go and Henry fell to the floor in a tired heap. “Give it back, you pissant. It’s not yours.” He reared, ready to deliver an even stronger kick when Jarrett wedged himself between them.

  “I’m sorry.” He wrested the trinket out of Henry’s hand and handed it back to the owner. Then he reached into his pouch and plucked out a few more gold coins. “Take these for your trouble. We’ll leave and we won’t be back.”

  The owner’s eyes narrowed. “The two of you are welcome.” He pointed at Jarrett and Tressa. “But not him. I don’t care if he is part of the guard. There’s something wrong with the boy and I don’t want him scaring off my customers. How did someone like that make the Black Guard anyway?”

  “They protected him, they did.”

  Tressa turned around. It was a man at another table, taking a break from playing cards. Everyone in the place had stopped to watch the fiasco.

  “He was the boy who didn’t fight a lick. Couldn’t even lift his sword. Anyone who went to watch saw it. A lot of good men died. Men who could have stood proudly in the place of him. But, no, he made it in anyway.”

  Jarrett hooked his hands under Henry’s arms, pulling him to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said to Tressa. She took one last drink from the mug. The bitter wine rushed down the back of her throat.

  Henry struggled only half-heartedly against Jarrett’s tight grip. “I want it. It’s mine. Give it back.” He twitched, then shook violently in Jarrett’s grasp. Spittle formed at the side of his mouth.

  “Get him out of here. He’s diseased or something. I won’t have him ruining my pub,” the owner shouted behind them.

  Jarrett dragged Henry out into the street. He tugged him around the corner into a dark alley. Tressa followed behind. Peeking over her shoulder, she was relieved to see no one else was watching them.

  “What’s wrong with him?” she asked Jarrett.

  Henry fell to the ground, his arms and legs spasm violently. Jarrett knelt next to him. “You’re about to learn our secret. Keep guard and make sure no one comes back here.” He grabbed Henry’s collar and pulled him farther back into the dark alley.

  The sound of wretching was accompanied by a stench worse than week-old raw chicken. Tressa kept watch at the end of the alley, but no one walked by. She abandoned her post and ran into the darkness. Whatever was going on back there needed to be seen. She no longer cared if anyone stumbled upon them. If there was any chance Jarrett was in danger, she felt compelled to check on him.

  Her feet crunched on the occasional pebbles underfoot. The dirty alleyway was littered with rubbish from the pub on one side and the inn on the other. She glanced up. No windows to cast candlelight on them also meant no one could spy on them.

  “I told you to watch the entrance to the alley.” Jarrett said, his voice stern.

  Tressa held her arm over her nose. The smell was nauseating and only grew worse with each step she took. “I was worried you’re in danger.”

  “I’m not,” Jarrett retorted. “Damn it, if you’re not going to be the guard, then I have to protect us. I don’t have time for this.”

  Muffled sounds echoed in the darkness. Tressa could only see whispers of shadows until a small burst of wind rushed past her toward the alley’s entrance. A light glowed at the end of the alley, forming a shimmering barrier between them and the street.

  She stumbled backward and tripped, falling to the ground. Her fingers felt something cold and scaly. “What is that?”

  “Henry,” Jarrett said. “Or do you mean the barrier I put up over there? That protects anyone from seeing what’s happening here.”

  Tressa didn’t know where to start. Henry’s reptilian skin or the magic Jarrett had just cast.

  “Yes, it’s magic. Yes, I did it. Yes, Henry is changing.”

  Tressa gasped. “Can you read my mind too?”

  Jarrett laughed. “No. It’s pretty obvious what you were thinking.”

  A small light came to life, illuminating their corner of the alley. A bauble floated in the air, not far from Jarrett’s shoulder. Tressa glanced down at Henry. His blond hair had all but disappeared, replaced by a head all too reminiscent of the dragon that crashed into Hutton’s Bridge.

  “Dragon.” Tressa wasn’t even sure she said it out loud until Jarrett responded.

  “Yes.”

  “But Henry is human,” she said, stumbling over her words. She reached out to touch him, then thought better of it and jerked back her hand. “Isn’t he?”

  “In a way,” Jarrett said. “Now you know about us.”

  Tressa let loose a nervous laugh. “Know about you? All this has done is raised more questions. I don’t know anything. I know less than I did when we sat in the pub. No, I don’t know anything about you.” Her nervous rambling didn’t help calm her. Henry continued to convulse and change. From the neck down, his body was contorting, changing into something else, something she wasn’t even fully sure she believed in until that moment.

  The dragon that broke through the fog died within moments. She only saw the claws that pulled Connor’s body through the doorway. Both seemed distant, somehow disconnected.

  But this. Henry. He was more alive than any of the others. He’d been warm on the way to the pub when she’d put her hand on his back to guide him around a corner. His blue eye
s had sparkled. He was fully human, a fact she never doubted.

  Yet now he was something else. The metamorphosis took only a few more moments. His shoes tore, talons poking through the leather. Then he rested. It was done.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  The people of Hutton’s Bridge gathered in the center of town. Packs hefted on their backs, weapons in their hands.

  Huddled in small groups, they whispered. Nervous conversation permeated the entire town square. Bastian strode through the crowd, Farah’s hand in his. He nodded to Lukas. “Now.”

  The boy’s aunt patted him on the head, then pushed his back. Lukas smiled and came running to Bastian.

  “Take care of my little girl.” He knelt down and handed his daughter’s hand over. “Maybe someday the two of you can be joined.”

  Farah’s eyes lit up. “I’d have to choose his ribbon, Papa.”

  The little boy looked less excited. Bastian laughed. “Where we’re going, there isn’t any need for ribbon picking, Farah.” Then leaned over and whispered in Lukas’ ear, “Don’t worry. I only said that to make her interested in sticking with you. There are no promises being made today.”

  Lukas let out a long sigh. “I will protect her, sir.” He looked down at the little girl’s doe eyes. She fluttered her lashes at him.

  Carrac stood at the edge of the fog, a torch in his hand.

  “That won’t help. The fog will only extinguish it,” Bastian said.

  “It is not for you. But this is.” Carrac extended an open hand into the fog. Instead of disappearing, his hand glowed.

  Bastian took in a breath. “What is that?”

  “Tallow. I supervised the dressing of the dragon and had some fat on my hand. I must not have washed so well and when I went to bed that night I noticed my hand was glowing. I snuck out under the cover of darkness and cut the rest of the fat off. Then I made the tallow. If you rub it on yourself, it will glow. Even in the fog.”

  “Can we use it?”

  “Of course!” Carrac laughed. “It is yours to take. I had hoped it would aid you, but I didn’t want to mention it until I was sure. It took time to create and test the candles. I’ve handed them out to the torchbearers. When you’re ready to light them, just say the word. I’ve already instructed them on what to do.”