Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  A general celebration seemed to be taking place among the characters, but Salick pulled Garet away while the play continued. “Garet, let’s leave now.” Her expression was troubled, and he followed her without question. They were soon alone in the great plaza, the crowds still following the end of the play.

  “It was an insult, I agree,” Garet observed as they approached the centre bridge gates. “But I don’t understand why you take it so seriously.” A half moon gave them just enough light to see where they walked. He shivered a bit, now that the warmth of the crowd was gone. Dorict had already chosen winter cloaks for them all, but they were still hanging in their room, and so not much use to him. He rubbed his upper arms.

  “You couldn’t know, Garet,” Salick began, her voice almost pleading. “No one in Shirath saw the Banes that way before these black days.” She shivered as well and Garet put an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t pull away. “And they twisted history! Moret was the one who freed the prince. He risked his life to hide him in the Banehall. When the King demanded him back, Moret and all the Banes of Shirath threw their sashes down on the Palace steps.” She leaned against him, sharing his warmth.

  “Why did they throw their sashes down?” he asked. They had slowed their pace as they held closer together. They were still alone in the great empty space before the bridge.

  “To warn the King that they wouldn’t fight any demons as long as he sat on the throne,” she replied. The cold wind pushed her braids across her face and she tucked the ends of them into the collar of her tunic before continuing. “The Ward Lords finally rebelled against Birat rather than live in a Baneless city. They forced the Gold that had betrayed the Hall to put the necklace on the king, against Moret’s wishes. Then they turned Birat out of the city gates, to perish, mad in the wild countries beyond Shirath.”

  Garet shuddered at the image of the tormented king, necklaced with demon jewels, struggling across an empty land. Their cold increased as they passed through the gate and the river’s wind cut across them. The Palace guards were statues in the darkness. Aware of eyes on them, the two Banes broke apart and walked up the incline of the arched bridge.

  “Wait, Garet,” Salick whispered as they reached the centre of the bridge. “What was that sound?”

  He looked back towards the plaza they had left and saw the lights of the palace had disappeared. “They’ve closed the Palace plaza gates,” he told her. “But why so soon? Some of the people at the play must live in the Banehall-side Wards.”

  Salick didn’t answer right away. She was staring off at the Banehall plaza gates. No lights showed there, either. “Garet, something is wrong. The other gates are closed too. Come on. We’ll cross and go along the river road until we get to the west gate.” She grabbed his hand and ran straight ahead. They had not covered a quarter of the distance to the end of the bridge when a voice in front of them brought them to a sudden stop.

  “Well, what’s this?” a man whispered in a harsh mockery of polite interest. “Two Banes locked arm in arm! Ignoring your duties again, children.” The voice came nearer and they saw two men, their heads wrapped in scarves to hide their appearance. Metal glinted in the moonlight and Garet saw that they both carried the thin swords of Duelists. He pulled Salick back, but the sound of steel on stone spun him around to see a third man waving his sword at the Banes.

  Salick drew herself up and marched on the two men blocking their way. “Who are you, and by whose orders do you stop us?” She slowed as she neared them. Garet backed towards her, facing the third masked man who must have followed them from the Palace plaza gates. His hand fell against the coiled rope of the weapon he bore at his side. As stealthily as he could, he slipped it off the hook that held it to his sash and fingered the coils in his hand. The spiked ball clunked softly against the hammer.

  The man who had spoken before laughed nastily. “Poor Bane. You still think you Banes are pulling our strings, don’t you.” He advanced in a crouch, sword pointed at Salick’s face. “But the time has come to show you just how powerless the Banehall is!” He straightened and lunged at her, but she ducked under the blow, ramming her shoulder into the man’s chest. He fell back with a grunt.

  “Run, Garet!” she cried and leaped over her opponent only to be confronted by his partner.

  “Claws take you, Salick!” he yelled and slashed at her face.

  Salick screamed and fell back, hands pressed to her bleeding cheek. Garet’s opponent paused, startled by the piercing noise in the quiet night. It gave the Bane enough time to begin whipping the spiked ball around his head in ever-widening circles. The man retreated, sensing more by hearing than sight that he was in danger. Timing his swing, Garet let enough rope slide through his hand to make up the distance as his attacker retreated. The spiked ball slammed against the swordsman’s shoulder, knocking him flat to the cobblestones beneath his feet. The hammer end raised in his left hand, Garet turned just in time to fend off the rush of the man who had wounded Salick. The thin blade rasped along the curve of the pick as Garet pushed the sword to one side.

  With a harsh grunt, the swordsman brought his elbow up into Garet’s face, knocking him back against the stone railing at the edge of the bridge. By instinct, Garet dropped and rolled, hearing the sword slice through air where his head had been a split-second before. Coming up behind his attacker, he flung the hammer at his back, driving the assassin down to his knees. Desperately, Garet grabbed the rope and pulled in both ends, feeling for the ball and the hammer. Salick moaned on the ground nearby. He couldn’t risk looking to see how she was, but her cries cut him to his heart.

  An anger rose in him as the swordsman recovered and turned on him with a curse. Garet now knew this anger well; it was what had first marked him as a Bane. He knew what his anger was capable of. He began to swing the metal ball in slow, deliberate circles around his head.

  “What’s this,” he taunted, “a Duelist afraid of a mere Bane?” He flicked the spiked ball at the man, barely missing the masked head as the swordsman threw himself to one side. “Come on then, Duelist,” he called, drawing back the rope and resuming his slow circles. “Let’s see which of us is truly powerless.” He advanced on the man, flicking out the ball and drawing it back, the hammer held ready in his left hand.

  Confronted by a weapon that greatly over-reached his own, the Duelist tried to cut the rope as it passed, but, as the line was braided of leather and flexible wire, his sword just bent around it, almost becoming entangled. Attack after attack drove him back across the bridge until he had no where else to go. Stone chips exploded from the railing as the metal weight just missed him. With a curse, the Duelist threw his sword at Garet, the spinning blade missing him by a wide margin, and ran back towards the Palace plaza gates. The man who had first attacked Garet stumbled after him, one arm hanging limp at his side. The last man still lay on the ground where Salick had knocked him, gasping for breath.

  Garet ran over to her where she lay curled up on the ground. Blood covered her hands and the front of her vest, and his heart came into his throat in a panic sharper than any he had felt from a demon.

  “Salick!” he cried out. “How bad is it?” But she wouldn’t or couldn’t answer. He dropped his weapon and picked her up in his arms, his concern giving him extra strength. On stumbling feet, he ran down to the Banehall plaza gate. It was closed and there was no sign of the guards. With Salick moaning in his arms, he kicked at the gates furiously, screaming to be let in.

  A commotion sounded on the other side. Metal sounded on metal and then the gates began to open inwards. He stood ready to enter or run from new attackers when a familiar voice called, “Is that you, lad?” The tall shadow of a man transformed into Mandarack. He ran up to Garet, shield held ready on his arm. Marick, similarly armed, was beside him. Dorict, Vinir, and several other Banes crowded through the open gate. Master Relict and Vinir lifted Salick from his arms and laid her on the ground. Mandarack quickly knelt and examined her. He signalled the two to
take her to the Banehall, and stepped in front of Garet when he made to follow. Relict and his apprentice linked their arms under the injured Bane and gingerly carried her across the plaza to the Hall.

  “She is not badly injured, Garet,” he said, looking into his eyes to force his attention away from Salick. “But you must tell me what happened. Who attacked you, and where are they?”

  “I can tell you that, Master,” a gruff voice called out of the darkness. Gonect, the guard from Andarack’s Ward, came out of the darkness of the bridge, dragging a man by his long hair. Garet’s rope-hammer was wrapped in tangles around the guard’s other shoulder. His captive’s scarf had been pulled from his face, showing new bruises. Dorict followed behind, holding his staff in one hand and two swords in the other.

  “Duelists, by the swords, and by this one’s face, for I’ve seen him fighting in the plaza.” He pulled back on the man’s hair, and Garet recognized him as Shoronict, the young man who had confronted them at the Duelist’s yard.

  Gonect grinned and shook the stunned attacker. “He was trying to get away when Dorict here caught up with him. Claws! I’ve never seen a staff applied with such spirit. It was a joy to see.” He winked at the young Bane. “If I hadn’t hauled him off this piece of offal, you wouldn’t have the pleasure of questioning him before we turn him over to the King.”

  The bruised man smiled at that idea, and Mandarack eyed him coldly. “No, not the King.” The smile disappeared from Shoronict’s purpled face. “Gonect, can you find a place to hide him, out of sight of the Palace guards, for a few days at least?” he asked the burly guard.

  “Not a problem, Master,” he replied immediately. “If you’ll lend me a hand cart, I’ll bundle him up and take him into the Eighth Ward and sit on him until you want him back.” He nodded at the still forms of two Palace guards crumpled on the cobbles of the plaza just inside the gate. “These two won’t tell, even when they wake up!” He bowed to Mandarack, forcing Shoronict’s head down as well. “We’ll take our leave, Master,” he said, and dragged his prisoner off towards the Banehall.

  Mandarack signalled a Gold to follow the guard and help him with the unfortunate Duelist. After scanning the darkness of the bridge for a moment, the old Bane turned once more towards Garet.

  “That was a near thing, lad,” he said in his calm tone. “When you didn’t return, I was about to send Marick to look for you, but I was interrupted by Gonect’s arrival. He had overheard some disturbing rumours about a planned attack on Banes. Even after what he called ‘considerable persuasion,’ his source wouldn’t give him the details, only that it would take place tonight.” He turned briefly away and sent two Greens to fetch water to wake up the guards. They soon brought back pails from the gatehouse and doused the unconscious men. Mandarack addressed them as soon as they could stand. “Either through ignorance or malice you have conspired to harm a Bane. This shall be reported to the King and the Ward Lords.” The guards, already unsteady on their feet, paled. Mandarack signalled the Banes to follow him back to the Hall. He walked beside Garet and continued his explanation.

  “I gathered people I could trust and brought them with me. Most I sent to check on the regular Ward patrols, but a few came with me to find you.” As they passed into the courtyard of the Banehall, Mandarack lowered his voice. “We were going to search for you in the Palace plaza, where Marick said you had intended to go, but when we arrived at the gate, the Palace Guards refused to open them for us. We heard a scream on the bridge beyond, but they still refused and menaced us with their spears when we tried to force the gates. Gonect, who had come with us, sneaked up behind them and banged their heads together.” A slight satisfaction crept into the old Bane’s voice, and Garet turned to see him smiling slightly. They came to the main door. Master Branet was waiting for them and hurriedly motioned them inside. “Gonect is quite capable,” Mandarack said as they passed the threshold. “He is an excellent ally.”

  They padded softly down the halls to the infirmary. Banerict, barefoot and wrapped in a quilted nightgown, was applying bandages to Salick’s face. He looked up as Mandarack, Branet, and Garet entered.

  “She’s got a nasty cut on her cheek,” he said angrily. “I doubt I can keep it from leaving a scar.” He handed the remaining bandages to Vinir, who hovered over her friend. “This was made by no claw. It’s a sword cut! What under Heaven’s shield is everyone up to, Mandarack?” the physician asked, holding his instruments and bristling with anger.

  Branet answered for him. “She was attacked by masked swordsmen, physician. In case you haven’t noticed, the city is up in arms against us!” He folded his arms and looked dourly at the healer.

  “Not the whole city, Master Branet,” Mandarack corrected, “but certainly the Duelists and perhaps the King.” He slipped the shield off his arm and placed it on an unoccupied bed. Leaning over Salick, he studied her for several moments, then straightened. “I know you will do your best for her sake, Banerict, but please take care of her for mine as well.” He picked up his shield, nodded to Branet and the two of them left the infirmary.

  Garet, released from any immediate concerns, felt his legs go weak. Vinir grabbed him and called to the physician, “Banerict, I think you have another patient!” She hooked a stool with her foot and pulled it under Garet before he collapsed.

  “No, I’m all right!” he protested as Banerict fussed over him.

  “Nonsense! You may not be wounded, but you’re exhausted and worried sick about your friend.” He paused while prodding Garet’s cheek, provoking a yelp from the Bane. “You’ve got a nasty bruise on your face.” He nodded to Vinir and they helped him over to the bed beside Salick’s. “You can stay here tonight,” he said and smiled. “I suspect you would have anyway.” With that, he picked up the basket of supplies he had used to bandage Salick and took them away.

  Vinir pushed him back down on the bed when he tried to rise. “Oh no, Garet. You wait here and I’ll get some hot tea and food for you.” She left at a trot and soon returned with a towel-covered tray. The aroma of stew woke him a bit and he ate with enthusiasm. Vinir pulled up another chair and drank tea nervously.

  “Dorict said that you fought three Duelists to protect Salick,” she said. Her hands twisted around her cup, and her eyes shone in the lamp light of the quiet room. Salick murmured in her sleep. The strips of cloth wrapped from the crown of her head to below her jaw gave her a strange, matronly look. Her left cheek was swollen and the folded bandages under the wrappings showed streaks of red.

  Garet sat beside her and took her hand until she quieted back into a deeper sleep. He lowered his voice to answer Vinir. “Only two, Salick knocked down the other one. That was the one Dorict and Gonect caught, that Shoronict.” He ground his teeth down on an urge to shout. “They didn’t have any reason to attack us! It’s Adrix they’re mad at.”

  Vinir patted his arm to calm him. “They just see the sashes, Garet,” she explained. “They didn’t know who it was.” She looked at her friend’s wounded face and started to cry, her tears rolling silently down her cheeks.

  Garet shook his head. “But they did know, Vinir. We had talked to Shoronict just the day before,” he paused for a moment then rushed on. “And I’m sure the one that cut her was her cousin, Draneck!” He tore furiously at a piece of still-warm bread.

  “How do you know that?” Vinir asked, shocked out of her tears. “I thought they were masked.”

  “His voice, the way he moved,” Garet replied, speaking around his mouthful of food, “and he called her by name.”

  “I know they weren’t friendly as children. Salick and I were raised in the same Ward,” she said. Tenderly, she pulled the covers up around the sleeping Bane’s shoulders. “She’s been my friend for as long as I can remember.” She smiled. “We’ve looked out for each other.”

  Salick turned her head in sleep as if she knew they were speaking of her, and her friends fell silent. He could see Salick first coming in to the Hall, a small, skinny girl
, her chin thrust out in a determination to conquer her own doubts, excel at being a Bane, protect her friends, and then growing into the young woman he felt such concern for. He sighed and returned to the other bed. Vinir helped him pull off his boots before she took the tray back to the kitchens. Garet had only enough time to think, I’ve dreamed of so much but never of this. So much good and bad together. But he knew that what he had now was worth more than all his old fantasies put together.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  MEETINGS AND MYSTERIES

  The first thing Garet saw when he woke up late the next day was Salick’s blue eyes open and looking over at him. She lay propped up in the bed, changed into a dressing gown with a bowl of porridge balanced on her lap. He rolled out of the covers to stand bare-foot and stupid on the floor between their beds. She smiled then grimaced at the effect of the movement on her cut cheek.

  “Banerict used some threads to pull the skin together. And it tugs every time I talk! But I’ll heal, so don’t worry,” she told him, putting the bowl on the covers. He sat down on the bed beside her and took her hand.

  “I’m really all right,” she insisted. Reaching out with her other hand, she touched a light finger to his bruised cheek. “Besides, you probably feel as sore as I do.” She shifted the hand to his other cheek. “Vinir told me what happened after I was injured.”

  Garet smiled ruefully. “I could have killed them, I was so angry,” he said and looked down. “I suppose those rages are in my blood.”

  Salick lifted his head. “There’s more than your father in you, and he’s not the biggest part. I have my father’s anger too.” She smiled carefully. “You should know that by now! It’s how you use that anger that makes you a man or a demon. Remember, Garet, Draneck and I are of the same blood.”