Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  “I used the flat side as a warning,” Jerico said. “But this iron’s heavy, and the sides are sharp. The next time I hit you, it will leave more than a bruise.”

  The knight’s sneer showed how worried he was. Taking a step closer, he swung, a simple overhead chop. Jerico blocked it with the handle of his shovel, wielding it much as he would a staff. The wood was thick, and though the sword cut an indent, it was far from breaking through. Twisting the shovel, Jerico pushed away, changed its angle, and then struck him on the return swing. The metal end smacked into his exposed face, this time blasting free a tooth.

  “I’m warning you,” Jerico said. “That was still the flat side.”

  The knight collapsed against the side of the house, holding his free hand against his mouth. He said something, but it was muffled against his wrist. Jerico twirled the shovel, hiding the pain he felt. Even the act of swinging put horrible pressure on the joint. If the man managed to tackle him, bring him to the ground, Jerico would have little chance of wrestling free. He couldn’t let him regain his confidence.

  “What was that?” Jerico asked, keeping his outward image perfectly calm.

  Instead of answering, the knight charged, no doubt hoping for surprise. Jerico had read him with ease, though. The knight had basic training, but was used to relying on his armor and sword to bully about simple farming people. Against someone like Jerico, his attacks were obvious, his strategies transparent. Flipping the shovel about, Jerico jammed the metal into the dirt, bracing it. The knight rammed himself against the other side of the handle, which slipped underneath the metal of his breastplate. The knight gasped, blood and spittle flying from his lips. The sword dropped from his hands, and then he rolled off to the ground.

  His teeth clenched against the pain, Jerico walked without a limp to where the sword lay and took it. He tossed the shovel aside.

  “Get up,” Jerico said. “Walk out of this village, and go back to wherever you belong.”

  The knight rolled onto his knees and vomited. Jerico smacked his rear with the flat of his blade. Glaring, the knight staggered to his feet and headed south. Jerico watched him go, standing perfectly still until he was out of sight. When he was gone, he leaned all his weight on his good leg and let out a gasp.

  “Jerico?” Beth asked, having stayed far away during the fight.

  “Go find whoever that woman was,” Jerico said. “Make sure she’s all right.”

  “But…”

  “Go!”

  She stepped back, her mouth open. The anger in his voice left her stunned. Turning, she ran. Jerico looked at the sword, glad to see no blood anywhere on its blade. By now, others had gathered around, whether from guilt, curiosity, or anger, he didn’t know. But he knew how he felt. Seeing the people who had stood by and done nothing, he hurled the sword at them.

  “Take it!” he shouted. “Let someone claim it as his own, and maybe next time, use it!”

  He limped back to his hut, and on his way, not a soul dared meet his eye. Once there, he gathered what few things he had. Kalgan arrived not much later.

  “You’re leaving,” he said, and it was not a question.

  “I am.”

  “You’re not healthy. We both know this. Where is it you’ll go?”

  Jerico sighed. “Back to the forest, with Kaide. I made a promise. I won’t break it now.”

  “But the wildwoods are miles away, and on that leg…”

  “The walking will strengthen it as well as if I stayed here.”

  Jerico glared at him. He felt tired, exhausted, and drained. More than anything, he felt fury at the people there, whether it was fair or not. He would stay no longer. Jerico was no fool. He knew these things happened. But at least someone could have stepped in. Someone could have summoned a crowd, provided witnesses …

  “I’ll prepare you some food,” Kalgan said. He opened the door, but his hand remained against it, as if he were reluctant to leave. “What you did, it might put us in danger.”

  “Then I hope you deal with it better than you did that knight.”

  Stinging words, and he regretted them immediately. Kalgan looked at him with sad eyes.

  “Fair enough,” he said, shutting the door behind him before Jerico could apologize. He struck the wall with a fist, and once more wished the Citadel remained. If only he could return, be in the company and comfort of his brethren. They’d know what to do. They’d know what path was right.

  Beth lingered outside when he stepped out.

  “You’ll need a guide,” she said. “Kalgan says your horse is still here, and you can ride it back. Let me go with you.”

  He almost said yes.

  “Does your Ma know you’re here?”

  Her guilty look was enough. Wanting no more reminders of Kren, the knight, or his injury, he took her by the shoulder and kissed her forehead.

  “Stay here,” he said. “And be strong.”

  Beth looked ready to cry, but she was made of sterner stuff than that.

  “Goodbye, Jerico,” she said, hurrying away.

  Jerico found his horse and followed the road for several hours, letting the agony of his knee and the wind through his hair pull him away from that last pained look she’d given him, just before turning to run.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The story had spread like wildfire throughout the North, and the ears of the gray sisters were always attentive.

  “It might be him,” Claire had said the first time they heard it, sitting together in a crowded tavern at a cross-section of the main roads leading to the mountains.

  “How could he be that stupid, though?” Valessa had asked. “Denouncing Karak to an entire crowd of gatherers? I don’t believe it.”

  They’d headed for the Castle of the Yellow Rose just in case, for the drunk teller of the story had been adamant that the man remained there, imprisoned. On the way, they heard another telling, this one less embellished.

  “A dark paladin with no flame,” Valessa said. “We’ve found him.”

  “Perhaps Darius thought leading worship would restore his faith in the eyes of Karak,” Claire said as they rode.

  “It doesn’t matter. No fire, no faith. Karak still wants him dead.”

  “Do we go in unknown, or demand an audience with Sebastian?”

  Valessa bit her lip.

  “He’s in custody, and his punishment ours. We go, and reveal our nature to their lord. It’ll be his head if he tries to deny us our rightful prisoner.”

  It’d been three days since the event, if the stories were to be believed. The wind was cold, the road hard and rocky, as they rode toward the castle. At the gates, two guards stopped them, demanding names and reasons for their visit.

  “I’m Claire, and this is my sister Valessa,” Claire said, going with their standard cover. “As for our occupation, let’s just say you soldiers would greatly prefer…”

  “No,” Valessa said, interrupting her. She leapt off the back of their horse, not worried that the guards drew their weapons. She threw back her hood and stood at her full height.

  “I am Valessa, sister and servant of Karak, come from Mordeina to speak with your lord, Sebastian Hemman. Let us through, and escort us if you must. Our business is urgent, and we will not discuss it here.”

  “Have you any proof of this?” asked one of the guards, seeming less impressed than the others.

  “Proof?” Valessa asked, smiling at him.

  “Valessa…” Claire warned, still astride her horse.

  Valessa ignored her, and instead approached the doubting guard. Slipping her hand down her shirt, she pulled out a pendant from beneath her armor. It was the face of a lion, its mouth open, its teeth bared.

  “You wonder if I serve Karak?” she asked. “If I am his powerful servant? Listen closely, dimwitted man, and I will speak to you your proof.”

  Her gaze held him. There was a charm in her words, and power in her eyes. The others watched as she slipped beside him, ran a finger along hi
s neck, and then brushed his ear with her lips. She took in a soft breath, and then unleashed the fury of Karak. It was not her voice that screamed, but that of the Lion. The others clenched their hands against their heads, but the guard stood still, his mouth open. Blood dripped down his neck, spilling from his ears. When the roar ended, he collapsed.

  “He’ll live,” Valessa said as the others lifted their swords. “Though he’ll never hear from that ear again. Would anyone else like proof?”

  They let the gray sisters through, along with an escort of six nervous soldiers. Inside the castle, they waited several minutes, until at last a knight came forward and gestured for them to follow. They came before Lord Sebastian Hemman sitting on his throne, soldiers at either side of him. Valessa snickered at the protection. So cute.

  “Greetings, ladies of Karak,” Sebastian said, rising. “Consider me honored to have such revered guests come to my home. I hope the guards at the gate did not trouble you.”

  “No trouble,” Valessa said, and Claire turned her head to hide her smile.

  “I must confess, I’m not familiar with your Order. Are you paladins, or perhaps priestesses?”

  “We are what we are, and that is none of your concern,” Claire said, her humor vanishing. “Know only that we speak for the Stronghold, and for Karak. Word has come to us of a prisoner, and we believe him one we have hunted for the past weeks.”

  “Leave me,” Sebastian said to his soldiers, holding up a hand for the two women to pause. The soldiers began filing out, and none looked too happy with leaving their lord alone.

  “No, Gregane,” he said, stopping one of the knights. “You stay.”

  The burly knight stepped back, staying at the right hand of his lord.

  “The man you seek,” Sebastian said when the rest were gone. “Would you care to tell me his name?”

  The gray sisters exchanged a look, and Claire shrugged.

  “Darius,” Valessa said. “His name is Darius, and he once hailed from the Stronghold.”

  Sebastian stroked the hairs of his chin as he leaned back in his seat.

  “Have you come to find him,” he asked, “or kill him?”

  “Does it matter?” Claire asked.

  “It does, for you see, I had a very strange visitor last night. His words of caution are … difficult to shake.”

  Valessa felt her stomach tighten, and she did not miss Claire’s eyes narrowing in anger.

  “This visitor,” Valessa asked, “was he a man with many faces, and eyes that burned like fire?”

  Sebastian looked surprised, but he hid it well.

  “He was. And he told me that while orders were initially given to execute Darius, circumstances have changed. He said I’d soon receive new orders from the Stronghold, signed by the hand of the High Enforcer.”

  “Let me guess,” Claire interrupted. “Those new orders would hand Darius over to him, the prophet?”

  Sebastian shrugged. “Something to that effect.”

  Valessa bit down a curse. She turned to Claire and lowered her voice to a whisper.

  “The commoners must never know of conflict between servants of Karak,” she whispered. “Do we dare challenge Velixar’s authority?”

  “Sebastian is no commoner. Surely a lord understands that even servants must sometimes quarrel.”

  “My ladies, if I may interrupt.” Sebastian smiled at them, and something opportunistic glinted in his eyes that made Valessa wary.

  “What is it?” Claire asked, no pretense of politeness in her words.

  “Now, for all I know, last night was just a strange dream, and gods are known to work in mysterious ways. Ashhur may have come in the guise of his enemy to save the life of a traitor, for example. To be prudent, I will wait some time for new orders, but until then, I know of another who is an enemy of Karak, whose death I think would benefit us all.”

  Valessa felt her anger grow, at both the lord and the prophet.

  “We are not assassins to be directed as you wish,” Claire seethed.

  “I understand. I am simply suggesting a wise use of your time while I wait for new orders. Now, should you perform this duty, and return without me having heard word from the Stronghold…”

  He let his voice trail off as he took a drink of wine. The sisters exchanged another glance. Valessa could tell Claire wasn’t happy about this, but short of executing Sebastian, there weren’t too many options currently available to them.

  “I knew we should have come unnoticed,” Claire whispered.

  “Who is your target, the one that is such an affront to Karak?” Valessa asked.

  Sebastian downed the rest of the glass, licked his lips, and set it aside.

  “My older brother, Arthur. He lives in his castle, quite the recluse. But those of his retinue spread word of how the worship of Karak in our lands is unlawful, our enforcements unfair, and the tithes the people pay unjust. His castle is small, but well-guarded, and could withstand a siege for at least a year. The Castle of Caves, they call it. But you two ladies…”

  “I know where the castle is,” Claire said. “Now give us your word that when we return, Darius will be ours to deal with as we desire.”

  “If no orders have been delivered to me stating otherwise.”

  Claire’s smile was rigid as stone.

  “Of course.”

  “Wait,” Valessa said before they could be excused. “I wish to see Darius first, with my own eyes.”

  Sebastian frowned. “Lady, I can assure you that he is in our custody, and properly taken care of.”

  She shook her head.

  “My own eyes, Sebastian. That is my demand, and I will not relent.”

  The lord glanced at Gregane, who nodded.

  “Very well,” Sebastian said, standing. “Follow me, but you must come alone. Gregane will have his eye on you at all times. No tricks. Any attempt made on Darius’s life will be treated as an attempt on my own.”

  Both of which you could never stop, Valessa thought, but instead she smiled and followed him past his throne and into the dungeon below. It was dark, damp, and smelled of blood and piss. She caught the jailor hiding in the corner, as if frightened to be seen in the presence of his lord. Valessa gave him little thought, for her attention was reserved for the man chained to the wall.

  “Darius?” she asked, approaching the bars.

  “Careful,” Gregane said, his sword drawn. “He is a dangerous man, after all.”

  Valessa knew that wasn’t why he kept his blade at ready, but pretended otherwise. She tilted her head, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The bound man didn’t seem like a paladin of Karak. He looked pale, tired, with his eyes sunken into his face. He was half-naked, wearing only torn underclothes. In the light of day he might have been handsome, but down there, he looked deserving of only pity.

  But she had no pity for a betrayer.

  “My, my,” Darius said, laughing. “They sent a gray sister after me? Am I that great a threat to Karak, that I must die in secret?”

  “You revealed your lack of faith before a crowd of thousands,” Valessa said. “While in full armor no less, still bearing the crest of the Lion. For that alone you should die.”

  “Perhaps. I thought killing Nevek and Lars was the greater crime, but what do I know?”

  “There, you have seen him,” Sebastian said, clearly impatient. “May we return to more pleasing environs?”

  “Are you not here to kill me?” Darius asked. He laughed again. “Such a shame. What happened, sister? Have you lost your courage?”

  Her hand reached for the dagger at her side, but Gregane was there, holding her wrist.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he said.

  Valessa glared, debating. She was in the dungeon of a castle, with a hundred soldiers waiting on call. Was it really worth dying over a pathetic, failed paladin?

  “Forgive me,” she said, pulling her arm free of his grasp. “I have little patience when in the presence of heretics.�
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  “Heretic?” For the first time, Darius spoke in anger. “Heretic? What heresy have I committed? What blasphemy have I spoken against Karak? I worship him still, with all my heart. Consider me lost, gray sister, and consider me a failure, but do not dare presume to understand the nature of my faith.”

  Valessa didn’t know what to say, so she stated the most obvious argument against him.

  “Then why does Karak not bless you? Why does he deny fire to your blade?”

  She stepped closer, and Gregane followed. The light of his torch bathed over Darius, and for the first time she saw his blackened hand and gasped.

  “You bear the mark,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

  “I know.”

  “The black hand … that is not given lightly. Save your lies. Nothing you say can disprove the truth of Karak burned into your flesh.”

  Darius fell silent, and she waited for an answer. He offered none. Turning, she glared at Sebastian.

  “You play dangerous games,” she said, “daring to interfere with the will of Karak. I’ll do as you ask, this one time, only because even in Mordeina we hear of your reputation as a faithful servant. But do not test me, and do not dare betray me.”

  “Is that a threat?” Gregane asked, but Sebastian only smiled.

  “Of course, milady,” he said. “Now let us return to the light.”

  When they reentered the throne room, a knight stood beside Claire, looking angry and impatient.

  “Lord Hemman, if I could have a word,” he said, but Sebastian cut him off.

  “Show respect, Sir Mark. I have guests not yet dismissed. Speak out of turn again, and I will have your tongue.”

  The knight looked flustered but obeyed.

  “Would you like to stay here for the night?” Sebastian asked as Valessa joined Claire’s side.

  “We should begin our ride,” Claire said. “The Castle of Caves will take us time to reach, even on horseback. Until we meet again.”

  Neither bowed as they left.

  “Is Darius there and alive?” Claire asked as they exited the outer gate.