Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  “What did you learn in your time with Stacia?” Tressa asked Jarrett, interested only in moving on from the incident with Henry. He was nothing but a petulant boy. She wanted Stacia gone, but she wasn’t sure Henry was the answer either. The lesser of two evils. Tressa wanted a third option.

  “Not much.” Jarrett tossed another annoyed glance at Henry and sat down on his bed. He ran his hand through his hair. Bangs flopped down over his eyes. “She mostly paced. Then she tried to seduce me.”

  Henry slid across the floor and sat at Jarrett’s feet. “Tell us more.”

  Tressa was only mildly curious. She looked at Jarrett. Nothing gave him away. No blush. No anger. It was as if he said Stacia had offered him a prune.

  “There’s nothing to tell. She disrobed and ordered me to take her.” Jarrett paused.

  This time Tressa knew it was for drama’s sake. She rolled her eyes and got up off her bed. Henry drew even closer to Jarrett, hungry for details.

  “And?” Henry asked. His begging was more pathetic than Jarrett’s attitude.

  “And I said it was time to switch the guards. I walked out of the room and headed straight here.”

  Henry’s face fell. “I would have done it.”

  “Which is why you won’t be alone with Stacia anytime soon. You’d forget your mission.”

  “Mother didn’t say I couldn’t have sex with Stacia. She only said to kill her and take the throne.”

  Jarrett sighed. “Men must learn to utilize self control, Henry. This is the second time this week I’ve been in close proximity to a nude woman and managed to control myself.”

  Tressa dug through her trunk, looking for nothing other than a way to keep her pink cheeks hidden from them. If he told Henry, she’d never hear the end of it.

  “You’re a lucky man, Jarrett,” Henry said.

  His envy was misplaced. Jarrett’s kindness. His chivalry. His prowess with a sword. Those were the things Tressa wanted Henry to admire him for.

  “I choose to treat women with respect, Henry. You should give it a try once in a while.”

  “Anyway,” Tressa said, sitting back up again once she was confident Jarrett wasn’t going to tell Henry his first nude girl of the week was her, “what is our next move? I say we kill Stacia now. Before the rest of the guard gets back. There are only five of us here. The three of us,” she shot a wayward glance at Henry, “can dispose of the other two. Then we can take down Stacia.”

  “That was my thought as well,” Jarrett said. “The men left about a quarter hour ago. There’s nothing standing between us and Stacia now. Take up your arms.”

  Tressa reached under the bed for her sword. She belted the blade around her waist and let her hand rest on the hilt. She was calm. Resolute.

  Henry grabbed his sword and brandished it in the air, pretending to kill an invisible enemy. “Let me be the one to kill her.”

  Tressa crossed her sword with his, the screech of iron raising the hair on her arms. “No, she’s mine to kill. You can have the throne. I’ve no use for it. But she’s mine. Do you understand?”

  Henry looked at Jarrett and slowly lowered his sword. “She’s a feisty one, isn’t she? Too bad she wasn’t one of the naked girls.”

  Jarrett winked at Tressa. “Yes, too bad.”

  Tressa felt the blush return, at least this time she was already out the door and into the hallway before either Jarrett or Henry could see her reaction.

  She had more important things to do. It was time to kill Stacia.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Bastian’s head swam in a sea of blue and purple fists. After the fog fell, it didn’t take long for the army to arrive. He’d expected that, but not so soon. Before he’d had the chance to get to the city, Stacia’s entire army showed up and took him captive.

  They tried to fight back, but less than fifty men against hundreds of armed, trained soldiers was futile. Bastian urged them to put down their weapons. He didn’t want to lose any more men in a skirmish they couldn’t win. It wasn’t worth the loss of life. Each man had a friend or brother or wife who loved him the same way so many had loved Connor.

  That hadn’t stopped five men dressed in black from knocking Bastian out. He hoped his men were being treated better than he was. Only the sway of the horse’s canter and the smell of its well-timed droppings pulled him out of his stupor. The turd shot down the pallet Bastian was tied to, landing on the top of his head and rolling down the side to his ear where it finally came to rest on his shoulder. The sweet and earthy smell invaded his senses. If it weren’t for the sharp scent of waste, he might have stayed asleep, lost in a dream of reuniting with Tressa.

  Instead his head bonked on the wooden pallet any time it rolled over a rock. He’d have a headache, and not just from the beating.

  His hands were bound at his stomach, but his head was free to loll about. He looked to his left, the poop still resided on the right shoulder, and groaned. The forest still surrounded him, the thatched roofs of taverns, inns, and shops danced above him, their roofs mingling with the trees. People milled in the street, taking a long gander at the man bound and dragged through town. They passed the tavern where he and Tressa had sat on their first day. Then came the town square where Connor had lost a battle he hadn’t even been able to fight.

  He was back where he didn’t want to be. Bastian’s wrists couldn’t move. The rope only dug in deeper when he tried. Instead he closed his eyes and attempted to come up with a new strategy. He’d always relied on his brawn, Connor’s words, and Tressa’s ideas. With his own ability hampered, he missed his friends even more. Together they had power, greater than any of the magic or dragons in the world. Apart, he felt useless. What good was muscle when he was tied up and unable to fight?

  After fifteen large rocks, nine deep ruts, and a slight twinge of nausea, the horse came to a halt. It excreted once more, giving Bastian’s left shoulder its own companion.

  Men in black uniforms with long swords stood over his pallet arguing.

  “You cut him free from the pallet and Barden and I will hold him down.”

  “No, you cut him free. I want to have my hands on him when we present him to the queen. I’m the one who knocked him out in the first place. I deserve that honor.”

  “Only because you were lucky!”

  “We’re brothers of the Black Guard, you shouldn’t be so concerned about how this makes you look.”

  A set of hands burst through their argument and pushed them aside. “You three are pathetic.” The man, as large as Bastian, twice as wide, and as solid as a mountain jammed his foot into Bastian’s crotch.

  Stars swam, swallowing the world into a bright vortex of pinks and blues. He vaguely felt the ropes fall and thump on the ground. His upper arms were surrounded by the tight grip of two men. Only then did the pressure on his crotch subside. The world slowly came back into focus.

  “Walk! We aren’t going to drag you!”

  Someone behind Bastian kicked the back of his knee, forcing his leg to bend. He stumbled, but kept his footing. One slow step followed by another and another.

  “Good, good, keep it up now. A few flights of stairs and then you’ll be given a nice chair and a place to rest.” The guard guffawed and elbowed Bastian in the ribs.

  Bastian ignored the pain radiating through his abdomen. He pushed away the fear over how much it hurt to breathe. Instead he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Every step would get him closer to Stacia. Closer to the woman who’d killed his best friend. Step. Closer to the woman who’d turned his life upside down. Step. Closer to the woman who was probably about to kill him. Step. Closer to the woman whose neck he wanted to snap in two. Step.

  They entered the castle. Like the horse, his muddy boots left their own gifts behind on the marble floors. He smiled in triumph. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Someone, other than the guards, would know he’d been here.

  Bastian’s tongue dragged over his parched lips, sensing every rip
ped piece of flesh and tasting dried blood. He needed water. It was possible he’d never drink again. That they’d just kill him when they took him before the queen. It might be close to the end.

  He flexed an arm, but it barely responded. He didn’t have the strength to fight back. At least not enough to win. But he’d fight until the last moment. That he knew deep in his soul. He wanted to win. He needed to win. He’d give everything he had to walk out of the castle alive.

  Four flights of stairs later, the guards stopped outside a set of doors, three times taller than Bastian and carved with vines and swirls and flowers. It was beautiful. Exquisite. Far too delicate to contain a woman like Stacia.

  The man who stood like a mountain and cast a shadow just as wide stepped between Bastian and the doorway. “You will stand before the queen and you will tell her how the fog fell. You will tell her why. You will tell her anything she asks or my foot won’t be on your nuts this time. It’ll be up your ass. I assure you, you don’t want that.”

  So she was in there. Behind the doors as beautiful as a summer’s day. Bastian found that ironic. It was the last place he would have looked for her. Maybe that was the point. A beast hidden by beauty.

  The doors swung wide open. One guard stood behind the queen, his breeches around his ankles, her dress lifted. “Come in. We’re almost done here.” She looked over her shoulder. “Well, finish up, will you?”

  He stood there, jaw dropped, hands shaking on her hips.

  “Intimidated by a little audience, are you? Then stop, by all means. I’ll get it done elsewhere.” Stacia elbowed him. The guard stumbled backward, his manhood limp. He fumbled with his breeches for a moment. Bastian couldn’t bear to watch. It was embarrassing for everyone by the reactions from the other guards. Perhaps Stacia was the only one who took it in stride. “And don’t leave. Stand next to me while they present the prisoner.”

  The guard nodded. He attempted to stand up straight, but it was clear he’d been shamed in front of his fellow guards. Bastian almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  Stacia walked away from her throne toward Bastian. Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head to the side. “I know you, don’t I?”

  Bastian didn’t respond. He only stared, hoping against all hope that his strength would return. The closer she got, the more he ached to strangle her. He wanted to wrap his fingers around her snowy neck and squeeze until her eyes rolled in the back of her head and her last breath escape her red lips. His blood pumped. His eyes grew wider. Adrenaline filled his veins.

  “You’re the boy I captured months ago.” One black fingernail danced across his chest. “Though not so much a boy anymore, are you? Remind me again why I let you go.”

  Bastian’s lips didn’t move.

  She laughed. “You weren’t as worthy as your friend. You may have been bigger, stronger, but your friend had a quality you always lacked. Perhaps it was intelligence.”

  Stacia’s eyes searched Bastian’s face. He refused to offer a reaction.

  “And there was a girl with you. A homely girl with brown hair and small breasts. Did the two of you run off into the forest together and drown yourselves in each other? Enjoy a little carnal snack based off bloodlust? Did seeing your friend die finally throw her into your arms?”

  She pulled her hand back and laughed. “It did. I can see that in your eyes.” Stacia spun around. The hem of her turquoise dress brushed against his breeches. “Where is she now?”

  Even if he knew, he wouldn’t tell her.

  Stacia’s lower lip jutted out. “Aw. You don’t know, do you? Did she leave you in the middle of the night? Head out to find a man who reminded her more of your friend instead of you? Strength can only take a man so far. There has to be something going on up there.” She tapped her head with a fingertip.

  Stacia turned to the mountain of a man. “How beaten is he?”

  He bowed. “Enough, my queen. He will not be able to fight back.”

  “Excellent execution of my orders, Marden. Then leave. I want to be alone with him.”

  “My queen, that isn’t wise.” He stood between Bastian and Stacia. “I would not advise it.”

  “I can take care of myself, Marden. One man cannot defeat me.”

  “Very well.” Marden snapped his fingers. “Follow me.”

  “And leave just the guard outside my door. You men did well today. Head out to the tavern and find yourselves whores. On my coin.” Stacia grabbed a small silken purse and tossed it to the man.

  “Thank you, my queen.” He gripped the sack in his massive palm as if losing it would mean losing life and limb. Marden motioned to the other guards and they followed him out the door.

  Bastian stood in the center of the marble room. Columns rose high above them. Silks draped the walls, cascading like the branches of the trees outside the windows.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Stacia sidled up to him, not close enough to be within reach. He’d have to lunge and he wasn’t sure he had the strength for that yet. “I grew up here, climbing in the branches, swaying from the limbs. Leaves and dirt would get stuck in every crevice and my mother would force to me to spend as much time bathing as I’d spent playing out there.”

  Stacia lifted one arm, her perfectly manicured fingernails swiped through the air, taking a slice off of Bastian’s face. Blood trickled down his cheeks in lines, dropping to his chest. Still, he refused to flinch despite the burning pain.

  “So you’re the one who took down the fog. Mind telling me how?”

  Bastian stared out at the sea.

  “The fog has been there through my whole life and through my mother’s. She spent years trying to figure out how to remove it so she could bring her precious little Hutton’s Bridge back. She always worried its people had starved to death without help from the kingdom. She cared so much.”

  Stacia slapped him.

  “I wanted the fog up.”

  She slapped his other cheek. Blood covered Stacia’s palm. Her tongue slithered out of her mouth and she licked every last bit of it off. A small drop remained at the corner of her lips, glistening.

  “Now you’ll tell me how you brought it down so I can get it back up again before another kingdom makes a move on my throne.”

  Bastian imagined taking Tressa on the beach. They’d hold hands and run through the water. It would be a first for them both. Maybe a way to start their new life together, away from Hutton’s Bridge and everything they were forced to be there.

  “I’m going to kill you either way.” Stacia sighed. “I wish you didn’t already know that. I can see it in your eyes. Those damn green eyes give away too much. That’s why you’ll never succeed as a warrior. You care.”

  Bastian looked at Stacia. Her eyes were blue, ringed with a faint pink. He’d never seen eyes like hers. They were on the verge of being on fire.

  “Tell me.”

  He swallowed, the spittle running down his throat as if it were made of a million shards of glass. His lips parted, taking in a shallow breath. “Water.” He exhaled.

  “No.” Stacia leaned in, her face only inches from his, their noses nearly touching. “Tell me. Then you’ll have all the water you can drink.”

  “Liar.”

  She tossed back her head, laughter falling from her lips like a volcano spewing lava.

  Stacia threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling his face close to hers again. “If only you weren’t so beaten. I could have found another way to convince you.” She reached down with her free hand and squeezed between his legs. “You may not be smart, but you are deliciously attractive.”

  Her tongue wound its way over his face, tasting the grime and blood and maybe even a bit of the horse manure. She didn’t seem to care. The more deviant, the better.

  Her lips found his. They were soft. Fruity. Her tongue dipped into the valleys of his parched lips, filling them with much-needed moisture. She forced his lips open and let her tongue slip in and mingle with his.

  The do
or swung open with a resounding boom when it hit the interior wall.

  “Bastian?”

  It took the little energy he had to turn his head.

  “Tressa?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  “Well isn’t this interesting?” Stacia pushed Bastian to the floor and took three steps back. She raised her hands in the air.

  Tressa looked from Bastian to Stacia, trying to suss out what they’d been doing. It looked like they were kissing, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “One of my guards is a girl.” Stacia’s long braided ponytail swayed from side to side as she stepped backward toward her chair, reminding Tressa of the day Connor died.

  “A woman,” Jarrett said, “not a girl.”

  Henry wolf whistled behind them. “What about me? I’m nothing to sling mud at. Tell her who I am.”

  Jarrett elbowed Henry. “Shut up, boy.”

  Stacia’s gaze fell on Henry. “You’re the one who didn’t kill anyone during the tournament, yet none of the other guards seemed to care. Curious. Why?”

  “No reason,” Jarrett said through gritted teeth. He looked at Tressa and Henry. “Stop talking to her, she’s only delaying the inevitable.”

  Stacia’s laughter could have cut holes in glass. “Inevitable?” She swirled around, then sat in her throne. “Let me guess. You’re here to kill me.” She faked a yawn, waving her hand in front of her mouth.

  “No,” Bastian said from the floor. “I am.”

  Tressa looked down at him, her stomach in knots. She wanted to be weak, to drop to the floor and cradle him in her arms, but she was too close to finishing what she’d worked so hard to achieve. She had to put Bastian out of her mind and focus. He was dead if she didn’t.

  She laughed again. “You’re all so pathetic. A half-dead man. A girl. A boy. And,” she looked at Jarrett, “I cannot figure out exactly what you are.”

  Before anyone could answer, Henry fell to the floor, grabbing his stomach. Jarrett and Tressa stood in front of him, but it wasn’t enough to shield him from Stacia.