Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

Volley after volley sailed into the air, and in the silence following the twang of bowstrings, Gregane sighed.

  The arrows hit the forest like rain. Even from their distance, Gregane could hear the sounds of pierced trunks, snapped shafts, and the screams of the wounded. Of all, it was the third that was the least. Frowning, he ordered another volley. Again the arrows fell, and Gregane struggled to see. The trees were too much cover, from what he could tell, and the men on the front lines bore heavy shields.

  “What now?” Nicholls asked.

  “Arrows are replaced easier than men,” Gregane said. “Empty every quiver.”

  The twang of the bowstrings became a discordant chorus, the archers letting loose as fast as they were capable. Gregane did not even watch, instead turning to his troops and planning strategy. His knights would lose most advantages navigating their horses through the trees. If only he could draw Arthur’s men out somehow, and then send his knights crashing through their sides …

  “Advance slowly,” Gregane said. “Tight formations, no charge. Let us see how disciplined our enemy is. And watch for traps.”

  The archers fell to the back, and then the squads of footmen began their approach. Only a third were equipped with shields, and they would be the ones on the frontlines. The rest carried heavy swords and axes, the killing men that would break through once the initial clash was done. Gregane stayed back with his knights, watching for the perfect moment to send them crashing in.

  The yards between them shrank, and Gregane found himself holding his breath waiting for the collision of bodies, the communal yell of a charge. It did not come, for behind him he heard the sound of an inferno unleashed.

  “What in Karak’s name is that?” Nicholls shouted. Gregane spun his horse, and he felt his heart hammer in his chest at the sight.

  The woods behind them were ablaze. Not just burning, not just smoking, but full ablaze, every tree consumed, every inch of the sky blotted out above it. As trees collapsed and branches fell, the grassland caught.

  “The wind,” Gregane said, fighting off panic.

  “It is with us,” Nicholls said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “The fire will not catch us. It’ll burn west instead.”

  At such a sight, it was hard to believe. Swearing, he looked back to the fight. Most were unaware of the inferno, no doubt focused on the battle. His squads had reached the forest, which remained at a standstill. Shields locked against shields. Those with the longer swords stabbed over, and Gregane knew he was killing just as many, if not more, than Arthur. But that fire …

  He glanced back, and this time saw a disturbing sight. Running low to the ground were several hundred men, racing ahead of the fire. Amid the smoke they were difficult to spot, but luck had been with him, a heavy gust pushing the smoke away so he might see. Cursing, he took stock of the new threat.

  “It must be the bandits,” he said.

  Nicholls turned, for a moment confused. Following Gregane’s point, he saw the group and frowned.

  “I see no heavy armor,” he said. “I think you’re right. What do we do?”

  The fight was not yet theirs, but they could not afford to be pressed from two directions, no matter how weak that second force might be. It seemed overkill to use his knights, but the bandits were on open ground.

  “Take half,” he told Nicholls. “Wipe them out quickly, then return.”

  “Right,” said the knight, drawing his sword. Calling out orders, he trotted ahead, two hundred and fifty men riding behind. Gregane turned his attention back to the forest, trusting his fellow knight to deal with the distraction. At first he smiled, for Arthur’s line had clearly broken, but then he saw his men remained in tight formations just within the tree line. They certainly didn’t look like an army giving chase.

  “Find out what’s going on,” he told one of his riders. The man shot off, rode a half-circle behind the lines, and then returned.

  “They built themselves a ditch,” said the rider. “Fell back, and now are killing any trying to climb across.”

  Sir Gregane swore, then spurred his horse onward.

  “To me!” he cried, and several nearby took up his cry to ensure he was heard over the chaos of the battle. “To me, fall back!”

  His men did as they were told, and Gregane clenched his teeth as Arthur’s men launched an assault. Gregane’s footmen, torn between standing their ground and retreating as ordered, suffered terrible casualties before reforming their lines outside the trees. Those that chased turned back, vanishing into the forest. Gregane rode past his lines, estimating numbers. Hundreds dead already, if not a thousand. Still, he outnumbered Arthur, but such brutal losses …

  “Get the archers,” he told his vanguard. “I want them shoving every last body into the ditch. We’ll charge across the dead, both theirs and ours. Rob, Ash, ride to either side and find out just how far that ditch goes. I want them flanked come our next charge.”

  The two knights saluted and obeyed. As the archers rushed forward, and his men reset their lines, he glanced back to see how long until Nicholls returned. Instead, his mouth fell agape at the sight. The fire had spread, ignoring the wind as if it were possessed. Already a quarter mile of grassland burned. Gregane swore at whatever sorcery had to be involved. A second fire appeared to have erupted at the feet of his charging knights. Every which way he saw horses sprinting, some with riders, some without. The leather of their saddles, and sometimes their very bodies, burned. Those that had survived appeared locked in combat, though he was too far to know how that went. Amidst all this strangeness was a strong blue light. No matter where his knights rode, no matter who struck at it, the light never faded, never broke.

  “Sir,” said Rob, returning from his side. “It goes on for at a tenth mile, though most of it appears unguarded.”

  “They’ll shift over should they see us moving,” Gregane said, but he eyed the stretch of forest with a thought. “We have numbers, though. They can’t cover it all.”

  Ash returned, the young knight telling of a similar setup. It seemed in what time they had, Arthur had done nothing but build the enormous ditch, hoping to use it as a killing ground. With the trees to hide them from the arrows that could break them, the strategy was simple but sound.

  “Pull back two squads,” Gregane said. “Send one to each side. March until you see no one guarding the ditch, then wait for my signal.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the two knights before riding off to do as they were told. Gregane watched the forest a while longer, until it was clear little combat occurred. Steadily the archers grabbed bodies, and guarded by his shielded footmen, hurled them into the ditch. Outnumbered, and with their own ditch between them, Arthur’s men couldn’t dare charge. Body by body, their only defense vanished, and from three sides Gregane would strike.

  Assuming the fire didn’t come to consume them all. Another glance back showed it getting closer, though it’d still take an hour to reach them. He shuddered to think how quick it might have spread if the wind had been toward them instead. As for his knights, he found himself stunned at how few their numbers had become. More stunning was how they turned and bolted in retreat. Anger grew in his chest, and when Nicholls came leading, Gregane let out his fury.

  “Armorless bandits?” he roared. “My best-trained, defeated by mere peasants with clubs?”

  “They hurled fire like sorcerers,” Nicholls said, refusing to lower his head or show weakness at the outburst. “And armorless or not, they wielded heavy weaponry, and struck at our horses. The fire alone spooked them, and they had a wizard whose very words sent our mounts running at random. We could not control them.”

  “The blue light,” Gregane said, trying to calm down. “What of that?”

  “Shield of a paladin,” Nicholls said. “A skilled man. He stands like a mountain, and nothing moves him. I saw Oren ram his horse straight into that shield, and it was the horse that fell.”

  Gregane was stunned. He looked about, counting, and couldn’t be
lieve it.

  “A hundred dead?”

  “Thirty to the fire,” Nicholls said. “The rest to the brigands. We killed as many as we lost, but know I mean it when I say that paladin cannot link up with the rest of Arthur’s men, or we will all suffer.”

  Gregane looked to the forest, suddenly fearful of a strange sorcerer and a holy warrior of Ashhur both guarding the line. If they could ward off mounted knights in open field, what could they do in such close combat?

  “You say the wizard could disturb the horses?” he asked.

  “He did. They turned and startled every which way. No rider can fight like that.”

  “Then don’t ride. All of you, dismount. If my own vanguard cannot defeat them, we are not worthy to call ourselves knights. Now go! Come back with that paladin’s head, or not at all.”

  Nicholls saluted, but Gregane could see the hesitation in his eyes. Damn fool. They would outnumber them near two to one. How could they lose? Only the fire posed a threat, a fire that continued toward them like a crawling monster. Struggling to keep his patience, he once more turned his attention to the forest. Alone, he marched toward his troops, drawing his sword. Enough of giving commands. Soon the ditch would be full, and both Ash and Rob would have their hundred men in position. It wouldn’t matter how many casualties he suffered in the long run. Once Arthur fell, the North would remain Sebastian’s, now and forever.

  Gregane could only hope that such an honor, of killing Lord Arthur, would belong to him, and him alone.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Valessa waited with Mallak in the lower portion of Deer Valley. Ever since waking that morning, and seeing nothing but distant campfires miles away, she’d had a nagging fear they’d been betrayed. The only question was by whom.

  “Velixar would never lie,” Mallak said when she voiced her fears. “Not to us. Not to anyone. If someone lied, then it was to him. Let us be patient, and see what becomes of this.”

  Valessa spent the time sharpening her daggers and imagining them plunging into Arthur Hemman’s eyes for what he’d done to Claire. Mallak cooked their morning meal, and she ate, tasting nothing of the nuts and salted pork slivers. The sun rose, and still they heard no sound of marching feet, saw no sign of approaching armies. Time crawled along, until at last Velixar and Darius appeared in the distance, walking into the valley by themselves.

  “No one is here,” Velixar said the moment they were within earshot.

  “As it seems,” said Mallak. “But this is where the armies were to meet, didn’t Sir Gregane say?”

  Valessa watched Velixar’s ever-changing face harden into a visage of smoldering anger.

  “He plays a dangerous game if he thinks to interfere with Karak’s doings.”

  “Might they be delayed somehow?” Valessa asked. Already she knew the answer, but it amused her to see the prophet flustered so. In the daylight, he was far from the intimidating specter he was at night. His skin seemed paler, his bones visible through his stretched skin. Even the fire in his eyes was but a dull red glow.

  “Be silent,” he said, closing his eyes and lifting his hands. “I will find them.”

  They waited as the prophet cast his spell. Valessa used the time to steal a glance at Darius. She noticed the mark on his hand was gone and felt her stomach tighten at that. Such a sure sign of Karak’s forgiveness was hard to dispute, crushing her hopes for a chance to take his life. It was because of him Claire had died, a direct result of his lapse in faith. Karak might welcome the return of the faithful, but Valessa was not her deity. She wanted blood. Darius himself looked tired, still drained and lifeless as he had been when she first saw him at Velixar’s side.

  Champion of Karak, she thought. Such a joke.

  “The fool,” Velixar said, suddenly opening his eyes. “They are in the Gulch, many miles away.”

  “We’ll not make it in time,” Valessa said. “We’ll have to trust Sebastian’s men to achieve victory.”

  Velixar looked at her as if she were a child.

  “The shadows are my doorways,” he said. “We will arrive, though not as fast as if at night. Come with me, all of you.”

  Velixar hurried them toward the closest copse of trees near the edge of the valley. On their way, they saw smoke rise to the west, first thin, then shockingly heavy.

  “Have they set the entire gulch aflame?” Valessa wondered, but none had an answer for her.

  At the trees, Velixar circled about, stepping into their shade.

  “Weak,” he said. “But enough.”

  Casting a spell, he tore a swirling portal into existence, then beckoned for them to enter. Darius went first, followed by Mallak. Valessa smiled at Velixar, then blew him a kiss before stepping through. Her stomach immediately twisted, and she nearly vomited upon stepping out. She felt herself having crossed a great distance, but it was something she could not fully understand, and her whole body revolted against the sensation. They were amid a heavy cluster of trees packed so dense they provided shade from the sun despite their lack of leaves.

  “How many times?” Valessa asked, all her mocking humor gone because of the unsettling method of travel.

  “Many,” Velixar said, his voice cold. “The sun will make this travel difficult, but I will do what I can. Arthur must lose, and Jerico must be slain by Darius. If I am denied this…”

  He closed his eyes and began casting again. Taking in a breath, Valessa noticed how focused the prophet seemed, how weak he appeared in the daylight. She felt her dagger in her hand, and looked to Darius, whose lifeless eyes stared into a world far from their own.

  “Lead on,” she said, smiling at the two of them as another portal tore into existence.

  * * * * *

  Jerico marched beside Kaide and Bellok as they kept ahead of the wildfire. Behind them burned the bodies of both friend and foe, for they could not spare the energy to carry them, nor the time to bury them, so in fire they went to their gods.

  “They come without horses,” Jerico said, nodding toward the approach of Sir Gregane’s vanguard.

  “Then I am of no more use,” Bellok said.

  “You have proven yourself to have a thousand uses,” Kaide said, smacking his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t discount yourself yet.”

  “Startling horses is a simple cantrip, Kaide. We have no more firestones, and I have gone too long without rest. I doubt I could slay a rabbit if it sat still long enough for me to cast.”

  All around them marched the rest of the bandits, few of whom Jerico knew. They’d lost a third when the horses came crashing in, and would have lost far more if it hadn’t been for Bellok letting out whistle after strange whistle, confusing the mounts and sending them crashing into each other. Jerico’s mace was caked with blood, and he knew the killing was far from over.

  “What do we do?” he asked Kaide as they marched. “We cannot hold lines against them. The two of us may kill twenty, thirty before going down, but the rest?”

  “I know,” Kaide said, keeping his voice low. “I’d hoped the fire would spread much faster, but it seems the very weather turns against us. But what choice do we have?”

  Jerico eyed the forest, knowing potential safety hid within.

  “We run,” he said. “Your men lack armor, and our chasers are burdened. If we reach Arthur’s men, we stand a chance.”

  “Sounds like the pally wants to be a coward,” said Adam, who had lurked behind them without saying anything to alert them to his presence.

  “Who says we should be running?” asked Griff beside him. He grinned despite the wicked cut across his face, which had slashed off a portion of his nose.

  “We run to a better location,” Jerico said. Though his whole body ached, he smiled. “And then we fight.”

  “There,” Kaide said, pointing to a far portion of the forest. “We’ll make it, so long as Gregane doesn’t throw any soldiers our way to cut us off.”

  “He does, we’ll crash right on through,” Jerico said. “And with my s
hield leading the way. Give the order, Kaide.”

  The bandit leader looked to his men, and he mustered one last bit of energy and bravado.

  “We run!” he shouted. “Ignore those bastards, and leave their clanking asses in our dust! We go to meet with Arthur. With us at his side, we can hold off soldiers from dawn to dusk, and spill their blood a thousand times more than our own!”

  They cheered. Jerico led the way, conditioned to run in his armor for long periods of time. At first the vanguard tensed, thinking them charging, but then they saw the angle was wrong. He heard them cry out, and then the chase was on.

  “Run!” Jerico shouted when he could spare the breath. He’d put his shield onto his back, but he pulled it off and stopped, lifting it high so that the stragglers might see its light. “Run, my friends, for the life of all you love, run!”

  As its light shone over them, they surged ahead with lifted spirits and refreshed legs. Jerico returned the shield to his back, sparing a glance backward and wishing he hadn’t. The soldiers were less than a hundred yards behind and gaining ground. Kaide’s men had fought to their last breath to survive the initial charge of the knights. Unburdened or not, they were tired, and struggled to keep pace.

  Up ahead, the forest seemed so very far away.

  “Come,” Jerico said, grabbing one man by the arm and tugging him along. “One foot after another, now move!”

  The man staggered, more pulled than running. Jerico caught up to two more, and he saw blood on them. He admired their courage, and was torn on what to do. He grabbed the arm of a second, knowing that the other he did not choose was doomed to death.

  “May Ashhur take you,” he said. The man had no anger in his eyes, only fear, and that look haunted Jerico as he rushed along. He saw one man stumble, and he let go of the first and reached down to help the second. Up ahead, Kaide shouted for them to run, but so many were tired and wounded. Jerico could do no more. Begging Ashhur for his understanding, he at last grabbed the arm of another injured man who collapsed, flung him onto his back, and ran. When those around him fell behind, or stumbled, he left them to their fate, to live or die by their own strength. Every time he saw it, though, he felt another stab in his gut.