Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  Bethany stood inside the temple with the senior temple officials and half-listened to the stonemasons discuss structural damage. It had taken at least an hour of touring through the accessible sections for the engineers to explain the damage.

  “Obviously, we’ve lost the two east towers and then the south one. However, the two still standing can be repaired. Eventually, we can rebuild new towers into the existing mountain face and expand the temple that way. Since we are limited by the physical size of the island, I suggest that we build over the causeway with a stone dome. We could add a significant amount of…”

  She couldn’t have cared less. Just like the temple, her life would never look the same. Sure, they would patch it and replaster it, but never again would it resemble the paintings of its former glory. Her life would never resemble the quiet simplicity of being a soldier.

  “Your Holiness, what do you think?”

  It took her a moment to realize the elven engineer had spoken to her. Holiness. If it didn’t piss her off so much, she would have laughed.

  Aneese touched Bethany’s arm and glared at the engineer. “His Holiness, High Priest Torius, is the only person you use that word to describe. Bethany is addressed by either her rank or title and I believe her preference isLady Bethany.”

  It was a sad day when Aneese had to come to her rescue. But things between them had been different since the attack. Perhaps it was because she’d dragged the old hag out of the crumbling building. Or perhaps Aneese just felt sorry for her. She hoped it wasn’t that.

  “Apologies, Lady Bethany. What do you think of the plan?”

  She stared at him. “I’m a soldier not a mason.”

  The leader of the engineers cleared his throat. “I think he means to ask if you agree with the plans to change your mother’s home. Would your mother approve?”

  She blinked. She had been awake for month and they still treated her like a representative of Apexia. “I don’t know what my mother would think.”

  “Well, what is your opinion then?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “Do whatever Torius wants. It’s his temple, not mine.” This had become her standard reply. She had opinions on battle tactics and weapon creation. The reconstruction of a temple did not interest her.

  As the masons and engineers prattled on, she stared at those around her. Allric and Jovan. Even Aneese and Torius. No doubt, Eve and Kiner were nearby, wanting to be the first to hear about the temple’s fate.

  Her friends.

  Arrago was missing, of course. He used the excuse of King Daniel commanding all Taftlin citizens to return home, but he left because he didn’t love her enough. Or, perhaps he loved too much and couldn’t bear to see her as anything other than his Bethany. All she knew was the world was empty with him gone.

  “Beth? Are you all right?”

  She looked at Jovan. Still the same Jovan. At least he would never change.

  Bethany did not answer him. Instead, she turned and walked out. There was no one left to impress. Her experiment had failed. She was alone again. Only now, she had regret folded into the mix.

  Standing in what was once the main courtyard, she surveyed the mess around her. Nearly a month had passed since Sarissa’s attack and too little had been done. Too many were homeless. The causeway between the temple and what was left of Orchard Park had become sleeping quarters. Any free space had been turned into either hospices or sleeping areas.

  Chaos. They had lost their way, feeling Apexia’s abandonment. She also felt the loss as well. Only for her, it was the loss of herself. Her twin was dead. Her lover gone. The life she had known altered beyond recognition.

  But she was still a soldier. They had not taken away her rank.

  Bethany pulled a dagger from her hip belt. Twisting hair around her fingers, she sliced off the long tendrils, tossing them to the ground. She ran her hand over her head and only felt the prickle of the jagged hair. She turned on her heel and marched back inside the temple to the meeting.

  Once a knight, always a knight.

  THE SAGA CONTINUES...

  As the bodies of her father and her sister burned, Bethany refused to say good-bye. She would say it only when she saw the release of their spirits and the burning of every person connected to their deaths.

  Only then would they rest in peace.

  Thousands are dead. Lady Champion Bethany’s tainted sister is slain. Her home lost forever. And Magic yet survives. Bethany thought she’d given everything in the fight against Magic. She was wrong. When the deaths of those closest to her shake her already crumbled world, she doesn’t wilt and die. She still has one thing left to gain even now: revenge.

  Prophecy or no, half-goddess or not, Bethany vows to bring order back to the world with the edge of her blade. No matter who she must defy. No matter what stands in her way. No matter who must die.

  For what they’ve done to her, all will pay.

  * * * * *

  Pick up GRIEF today!

  Want to know the moment the next Bethany book is released?

  Sign up for the New Release Alert!

  About the Author

  Krista D. Ball is a Canadian author who spends way too much time on Twitter (@kristadb1). Sign up for her new releases at:

  http://kristadball.com/new-release-sign-up/

  * * * * *

  Available titles:

  Grief (Book 2 of Tranquility)

  Spirit Caller

  What Kings Ate and Wizards Drank

  Hustlers, Harlots, and Heroes

  Road to Hell

  Writing as K. Ball

  First (Wrong) Impressions

  Limelight

  Find Krista’s Books on Amazon

  NIGHT OF WOLVES

  THE PALADINS: BOOK ONE

  DAVID DALGLISH

  Copyright © David Dalglish

  All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jerico watched the river flow, the half-moon’s reflection sparkling atop its waters, and from its darkness the creature emerged. Despite his training, despite discovering the crossing they’d used to harass the nearby village, the paladin felt his confidence falter.

  “Be with me, Ashhur,” he whispered as it swam toward him, its eyes gleaming yellow. He could only see the top of its head, a brief stroke of its arms, and the curve of its spine. Every inch was matted with wet fur, and it shone slick in the moonlight. One of its strokes pushed its head fully above water, and he saw rows of teeth before they sank below. It was those teeth that had devoured three children and their mother two nights before. Water dripped from its long claws as it stepped upon the shore. It was those claws that had torn the entrails from their bodies so it might feed.

  A wolf-man, bastard creation of the god Karak and an unwanted relic of a war centuries past. It approached on two legs, its body hunched, its muscles taut and frightening. Jerico wondered how useful his platemail would be against those claws and teeth. The armor would do nothing if the creature grabbed his head and ripped it off his shoulders. He watched from the cover of trees that grew to the water’s edge, his right hand clutching the handle of his mace. Slung upon his back was his shield, which he kept there, deciding he needed at least one surprise come the fight.

  At the Citadel, he’d been trained to face all opponents with honor. An ambush, or stab in the back, was considered shameful. Jerico wondered if the same rules applied to the wolf-men. He’d never fought one before, only heard stories of their savagery.

  Before he could decide, the creature stopped, and he heard sniffing.

  “Man?” it growled, and Je
rico felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. “Where is it you hide?”

  With that nose, it’d only be a matter of time before it found him. Cursing his stupidity, he stepped from behind his cover, mere feet to the side of the wolf-man. It turned, and even with its hunched back, it still towered over him. His weapon shook in his hand as those yellow eyes narrowed when meeting his own.

  “Leave now,” Jerico said. “The village is under my protection, and I will kill you if I must.”

  The wolf-man laughed, its whole body shuddering. Its voice was deep and gravely. Jerico slipped his left arm back, grabbing the leather straps holding his shield. A single tug, and he’d have it at the ready.

  “You want us imprisoned in the Wedge,” said the creature, referring to the vast land beyond the river. “You wish us to starve and die. But there is food here, human. Food…”

  It lunged, accompanied by a thunderous roar. Jerico stepped to the side, avoiding its charge. His mace connected with its chest, but hit so much muscle and hair it only tore free a small chunk of flesh. The creature’s claws slashed his armor, scraping the metal with a horrific screech. Jerico swung again, this time aiming for its head. The wolf-man moved with amazing speed for its size, ducking underneath the attack and then grabbing his wrist. With its greater strength, it held his weapon back, leaving him defenseless. Its drooling teeth snapped inward, aiming for his neck.

  Jerico pulled the straps. Down came the shield, its steel shining a soft blue as he cried out to his god. The wolf-man’s teeth snapped against it, and he felt his arm jolt at the contact. The creature howled, blood spurting from its nose.

  “Back!” he cried, ramming with his shield. His heart hammered in his chest, and his eyes felt wide as saucers, but he’d survived the initial confrontation. The light of his shield grew, its power equivalent to the strength of his faith. The wolf-man released his arm, instead protecting its eyes from the light. With it dazed and on the defensive, Jerico tried to finish it off. His mace came in for the side of its head, but his confidence soon turned to panic. The wolf-man batted it aside with an arm, howled, and then attacked. The muscles in its legs were powerful, and it closed the distance with such speed he didn’t have time to brace himself.

  The creature shoved aside his poorly positioned shield and then rammed into his chest. Jerico flew back several feet, halting when he hit a tree. The air blasted from his lungs, and his vision swam from where his head struck the bark. Blood trickled down his neck.

  “Your towers stop nothing,” said the wolf-man as it stalked toward him, blood from its nose dripping across its teeth. “We come to feast, foolish man, and we are greater than you humans. We are not dogs. We are not orcs. You cannot stop us.”

  Jerico held his mace and shield before him, but his legs felt rubbery. He tried to focus, to anticipate the attack, but all he could do was stare at those yellow eyes and wonder how painful his death might be. Would he be alive when it ate him? His weight leaning against the tree, he vowed to fight until the wolf-man had no choice but to lop off his head.

  “Greet me with open arms,” he whispered to Ashhur as the wolf-man crouched down, preparing another lethal charge. But instead of leaping, it tilted to the side, and a pained howl escaped its throat. Dark fire swarmed across its body, and blood soon followed. It turned to run, one of its legs twisted at an awkward angle, but then a sword punched through its skull.

  His armor was dark, the fire on his blades darker, so when Darius pulled his weapon free, he seemed a shadow blacker than the night itself.

  “Ashhur won’t need to take you yet,” Darius said as the blood sizzled in the fire of his blade. His blue eyes twinkled. “And you can thank Karak for that.”

  Jerico slung his shield on his back and then rubbed his forehead. A chuckle escaped his lips.

  “I didn’t know you were following me.”

  “Neither did the wolf.”

  He suddenly felt ashamed for showing weakness before his rival, so he pushed off from the tree and fought through his grogginess. Gingerly, he touched the wound on the back of his head, but it felt shallow. He’d have a knot there for several days, but that was better than being a wolf-man’s meal. Jerico joined Darius’s side, and together they looked at the corpse.

  “Do you still think the villagers are liars?” Jerico asked.

  “Of course, but not about this. Even liars tell the truth from time to time.”

  “Such cynicism.”

  Darius laughed. He shook the crusted remains of blood off his weapon and then sheathed it. With its fire extinguished, it seemed Jerico could see easier in the darkness.

  “It’s merely truth, Jerico. I see the world as it is, you as how you want it to be. Doesn’t take a scholar to know which of us will be right more often.”

  Jerico used his foot to roll the wolf-man onto its back. Its mouth hung open, and even dead, those rows of teeth gave him chills. He absently ran a hand along the deep grooves of his platemail.

  “Did you hear what it told me?” he asked.

  “I did. Who knows how many it meant. A pack could be five, or five-hundred. I suppose I should have left it alive long enough to question…”

  Jerico pointed to the river. “We could cross and find out.”

  Darius laughed.

  “Into their territory? Are you mad? I’ve never considered you paladins of Ashhur the brightest of men, but I figured you would at least have more sense than that.”

  Jerico shot Darius a wink.

  “Ashhur calls the simple ones to do his work. We tend to accomplish more. Besides, if we go in the daylight, we could catch them sleeping. If they’re crossing the river to hunt, they mustn’t be too far.”

  “They’ve killed only four. That isn’t a pack. That’s hardly anything. This was a lone hunter, nothing more. Now, will you help me bring it to town, or must I do everything myself?”

  Sighing, Jerico grabbed one arm, Darius the other. Together they dragged it across the leaves, through the forest, and to the town of Durham, so the people might see they had nothing left to fear.

  * * * * *

  The Citadel loomed before him, looking tall and proud in the twilight. As the sun continued to fall, an uneasy fear set over him. Spider webs of cracks stretched higher and higher throughout the Citadel’s foundation. Fire burst upon the grass around it. Bones fell from the sky. As a great roar shook the plains, he heard a terrible crack, and then—

  Jerico’s eyes snapped open. His heart pounded in his chest. Despite the chill of autumn, his body was soaked with sweat.

  Again? he wondered. What is it, Ashhur? What is it you need to tell me?

  For the past week he’d had the same dream, and always it felt like it ended unfinished. Dread settled over him come the morning, and at least twice he’d thought to return to the Citadel to ensure everything was in order. But with Durham threatened by wolf-men sneaking out of the Vile Wedge and across the river to feed, he couldn’t dare leave his assigned post.

  As his senses slowly returned, he realized what day it was and groaned. He stayed in a small room of Jeremy Hangfield, the town’s wealthiest occupant, the room freely given in exchange for protecting them from the various menaces of the wild. They were far from the great city of Mordeina and her guards, patrols, and roads. Here there were outlaws, bandits, and now, creatures of the Wedge. But fighting wasn’t his sole duty, though sometimes he wished it was. Instead of putting on his armor, he donned his only pair of clothes that weren’t bloodstained, a simple white tunic adorned with the golden mountain, symbol of his god. He clipped his mace to his belt but left his shield, feeling silly carrying it when not in armor.

  His congregation was small, and they gathered in the town square. When he’d first come, nearly half the village had shown up, out of curiosity more than anything. As the days passed, his numbers had dwindled, now just a faithful twenty or so. Wishing he could be fighting wolf-men instead, Jerico preached best he could, often relying on songs to break the monotony. As he
neared the end, he saw Darius watching him from the back of the crowd.

  “Ashhur be with you all,” Jerico said, ending his final prayer. As the crowd dispersed, Darius remained behind, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore a brown tunic with a black belt, the drab colors making his long blond hair stand out all the more. A smirk spread across his young face.

  “Sometimes I wonder if Ashhur hopes to convert the lazy of Dezrel,” he said. “Men who would be happy for an hour’s sleep every third day, guilt free.”

  The comment stung. Twice Jerico had caught someone drifting off beneath the shade of a tree during his sermons.

  “I guess I could scream and holler as if the world were on fire,” Jerico said. “That just isn’t my style.”

  Darius seemed unoffended. Jerico had witnessed the man’s services, always held the day after his. The dark paladin was a far more animated spectacle, speaking with a passion he could never hope to match. He’d cry for strength, denounce cowardly sacrifice, and demand obedience in the face of a chaotic world. “Order,” Darius would shout at the top of his lungs. “Bring this world Order!” Handsome, energetic, and passionate, his sermons gathered fifty to sixty men every time, a fact Darius never let Jerico forget.

  “Your style should be what works,” Darius said, tossing Jerico a waterskin, for he knew how draining such a performance was. “Not what you feel like. Perhaps you should attend a few more of my sermons. You might learn something.”

  Jerico drained half of it, then handed it back with a muttered thanks.

  “How did Bobby take the news?” he asked, referring to the father and husband of those killed by the wolf-man.

  “Come,” said Darius. “I’ll show you.”

  Together they walked down the dirt path, out from the village center. Wood houses sprang up on either side of them, fairly large due to the abundance of nearby lumber. At the end of the path was a post marking the entrance to the village. Hanging from ropes tied to its wrists was the body of the wolf-man.