Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels

by David Dalglish

  First, an arrow sailed into the titan’s upper lip, causing him to emit another startled yelp. Orion followed his arrow with a second that caught the titan squarely in the shoulder and caused him to drop his sword.

  Second, Narstron jumped onto the last survivor’s leg, and drove both his blades into the side of its knee, slipping them under the kneecap and causing the leg to buckle and to drop the titan to the ground. Vara added a powerful sword-swipe to the afflicted area.

  Finally, Cyrus charged into the opening created by their attack and jumped up to bury his sword into the side of the titan’s neck. With a wretched sound the titan fell to his hands and knees, then lay down and died. Cyrus looked around. The four of us just took out three titans with no healer! Not bad.

  “My goodness, that took forever thanks to the two of you,” Vara grumbled. Cyrus rolled his eyes while Narstron clenched his teeth.

  “I thought it went rather smoothly.” Orion favored the two warriors with a smile. Vara exhaled impatiently as she turned back to the Sanctuary army.

  Cyrus turned to find the Sanctuary army running out the door in a mass, one titan dead on the ground, the other missing. He took off at a run, Orion a few steps ahead of him. The elf, Erart, was nowhere to be seen, Cyrus noticed as he flew through the door. Where is the other titan?

  He and Orion pushed their way through the army, accidentally stepping on a gnome. He saw Niamh wielding twin bursts of fire from each hand, blasting the retreating titan’s leg, bringing it down. Terian was striking it with his sword. Vara jumped from behind Cyrus to land on the it’s back, delivering an impaling strike with her sword as the wounded titan let loose a cry.

  Vara cut it short by stabbing into the titan’s lungs, but it was too late. The silence created by the titan’s death was filled with the sound of doors opening, bells ringing and shouts filling the air.

  “RAIDERS AT MAJANI MANOR HOUSE!”

  Other voices took up the call as titans poured into the streets of Kortran. Above the shouting, a fell voice cut through all others. “DESTROY THE INTRUDERS! TALIKARTIN, CLAIM THEIR SKULLS!”

  Two titans stood above the rest. “That’s Emperor Razeel and Talikartin the Guardian. We cannot defeat either of them,” Orion breathed. “RETREAT!”

  “I hate retreating!” Cyrus shouted — but didn’t argue.

  The rangers’ bows hummed with arrows as they fell back, dashing past the titans that were swarming from every house into the narrow alleys and avenues. Cyrus stayed with the rear guard, but no titans had caught up to them yet - the arrows were proving a discouragement. Nyad let loose a spell that rained fire upon any who crossed beneath it. While it didn’t stop the titans, it certainly slowed them, as they stopped to put out the flames upon emerging from it.

  Cyrus charged up the ramp, one of the last to go, the closest titan only fifty feet behind him. Narstron was moving fast enough that Cyrus was having trouble keeping up. The titans had a stride five times that of a human and near ten times that of a gnome. There is no way we can all make it, Cyrus thought as he watched the fastest of their pursuers close the distance.

  Cyrus passed Niamh, who had stopped to cast a spell. Cutting his momentum for a beat to aid her if needed, she completed her incantation and blazed past him. He watched as roots burst from the ground, breaking through the wooden road in front of them, wrapping around their enemies’ feet and then ankles, dragging them down. As the roots reached their legs and pulled them to their knees, more burst forth and wrapped around arms of the titans, yanking them to the earth in a firm embrace.

  Faces askew with anger, the trapped titans screamed in outrage, vines and roots clawing at them, grasping for purchase. Behind them, those that were free of the roots were attempting to climb over their trapped brethren.

  Cyrus’s attention turned in the direction they had been retreating: a lone giant stepped over him and rushed into the ranks of his ensnared comrades, killing a few of the surprised titans before they reacted and brought down their traitor. Cyrus looked back to see J’anda salute his enslaved titan as it was killed by three of its own.

  Orion’s voice rang over them, just behind him now. “Spell casters, fall back to the entrance — warriors, paladins, hold the line as the rear guard!” Orion caught an irritable look from Terian Lepos before adding, “Yes, you too.”

  A few of the more enterprising titans used their trapped fellows as stepping stones. One front runner was ahead of the rest. Fresh meat, Cy thought.

  The warrior feinted to his left as if to slip past the titan but instead dodged to the right at the last second and plunged both swords into the titan’s foot. Shocked and in pain, he screamed and plunged face first into the ground.

  Cyrus scrambled up his fallen adversary to the back of its neck. He drove his sword blade into the base of the titan’s skull. He looked up to see Narstron, already covered in the blood of the next titan. They locked eyes for a moment and he could hear Narstron utter the warrior’s cry of exultation: “Ye gods, the battle!” Cyrus shot him a smile. This is what warriors live for, he thought with great satisfaction.

  “Uh, boys?” Niamh’s voice rang out. “Care to join us in the retreat?” She gestured at the Sanctuary army, almost back to the ring road. Vines sprung up from Niamh’s spell, covering their escape as the three of them retreated up the ramp. A roar behind them startled Cyrus. He looked back to see the one called Talikartin the Guardian, his helm a shining silver to match his armor. Black sleeves flowed from beneath his chest plate and rough skin, scarred all over, covered the titan.

  Beyond Talikartin, Cyrus caught sight of Emperor Razeel. He had a crown of gold shaped like the skull of a dragon and a green dragonskin cloak wrapped around him, buttoned at the collar. When he spoke, a terrible, cruel voice echoed through the caverns. “Intruders! I am Emperor Razeel of Kortran, the City of Titans.”

  “Thank the gods he spelled that out for me,” Narstron quipped from behind Cyrus. “I was certain I’d stumbled into a troll brothel purely by mistake.”

  “You would know from experience what those are like,” Vara’s voice came from behind them.

  “You may win this day — as you did yesterday,” Razeel continued, “and some of you may escape like the cowards you are — but your transgressions will neither be forgotten nor forgiven by the citizens of Kortran.” The Emperor clenched his fist. “Talikartin the Guardian, make them pay with blood for the citizens they’ve killed and the priceless treasure they have stolen from us.”

  Talikartin was a titan among titans. Massive, his muscled frame bespoke of a power both physical and mystical. He broke free of the vines that clawed at his feet with ease. With a swing of his arms the titan swept his own people from his path, scrambling to get to the rear guard.

  Niamh whispered behind him, “We are not going to get away on foot — not from him.”

  Cyrus looked back at her, a question on his lips. “Can you cast a teleport spell like you did in Ashan’agar’s den? Get some people out of here?”

  She shook her head. “Too many people; they’re too scattered and far from me — one of the wizards needs to—” She stopped. “Nyad! We need an area teleportation spell!”

  The blond elf looked stunned for a moment. She stopped and concentrated, whispering to herself. A bluish burst of fire engulfed her from toe to head — shocking Cyrus, who wondered for a moment if she’d accidentally scorched herself by mistake. He turned back to brace himself for Talikartin’s assault. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Narstron doing the same. A burst of blue fire shot past Cyrus’s eyes and hovered in front of him, a little ball of cerulean flame. Looking back, Cyrus saw the Sanctuary army, one by one, disappearing into the bursts of blue fire.

  “Grab the orb!” Niamh shrieked. Talikartin was only thirty paces away now. The Sanctuary army was gone. Narstron grabbed the orb hovering in front of him and disappeared into blue flames. A whirlwind engulfed Niamh and she too was gone.

  Alone, in the city of Kortran, Cyrus looked for
a moment across the mass of titans, ensnared, and caught sight of the Emperor Razeel again, whose eyes were afire in outrage.

  Talikartin was close now, reaching back, intent on raining a crippling blow on the lone warrior in black, a blow he could not stop or avoid. “Return Ferocis to us and I will make your death painless.”

  “Ferocis?” Cyrus’s hand remained at his side. Twenty paces.

  “Do not be coy! Return Ferocis — the Warblade of Bellarum — that you took from us, and I will make this fast. Otherwise, your death will not be swift.”

  Cyrus’s eyebrow raised. Ten paces. “Tempting. But I didn’t steal it.” His eyes moved from Razeel to Talikartin, locking on the shocking blue pupils of this titan among titans. Five. And the warrior smiled. “So long, Tali,” he mocked, scorn dripping from his words. “I’ll be back for you — and your Emperor.”

  His hands reached out and grasped the orb as Talikartin’s hand arced forward. Blue fire exploded, encompassing his vision and Talikartin the Guardian’s killing strike vanished before him.

  9

  The magics of teleportation faded from his eyes. He had arrived at Reikonos Square and no one from Sanctuary was anywhere in sight. Just another day: no dragons, no titans — just people going about their business. Most were headed to the markets or the commercial district, a few perhaps to the slums and the illicit trade within, others heading toward the Citadel or the city gates. Unsure what to do next, he turned to head back to the guildhall.

  “Hey.” The voice startled him. Floating a few feet above, smiling from ear to ear, was Niamh.

  He returned her smile. “Glad to see you. Everyone made it out okay?”

  She scowled. “Everyone but you, we thought. Another five minutes and I was going to assemble a search party.” Her smile returned. “Glad I didn’t have to. Ready to check out Sanctuary?” She cocked her head.

  He hesitated. “I can’t go without Andren. I give my blessing to join Sanctuary without reservations. But we have to get Andren first.” He gestured in the direction of the slums. “Our guildhall is just through there; I’ll go and be right back.”

  She floated down and grabbed him by the shoulder as he was turning to leave. “Hold it right there, hotshot. Nyad caught up with Narstron here at the same time I did. They’re probably already at Sanctuary right now; Nyad has a teleport spell that can bring them right to the foyer.” Her grin was now from ear to ear. “You and me? We got a ways to run. Hope you’re not too tired…”

  A few moments later Cyrus felt his feet touch the ground as the teleport spell died away and found himself in the long, wild grass of the Plains of Perdamun. Finding Niamh next to him, still floating, he finally found the moment to ask the question that had been on his mind. “How do you do that?”

  She grinned again. “How do I do what?” She flipped her flaming red hair over her shoulder. “You mean, how do I fly? Walk on air?” She laughed, a sound that harmonized with the breeze rustling in the grasses of the plains. “It’s magic, silly ass.”

  “I figured that much out for myself.”

  She paused, murmuring under her breath. Cyrus felt the light touch of magic, flowing from his feet up to his head. He looked down… and he was floating. “Because I’m a druid, a servant of nature, most of my spells are based on using nature’s power. For example, the roots of the trees of Arkaria? I can command them, like I did in Kortran. I also have a spell that imbues you with the essence of a falcon — which means you can fly.”

  Without warning, she took off running north at top speed. With only a moment of delay Cyrus’s reflexes kicked in and he followed her. Not bad, he thought, wind rushing in his face. They flew across the plains, the tall grass swaying in their wake. The grass here was much less dry than that of the Gradsden Savanna. It was lush and green, and swayed in the autumnal wind.

  Niamh had been exaggerating the length of the run. After only five minutes, enormous stone gates appeared before them, parting a very tall wall. Over the top of it he could see a large building peeking out. As they ran through the gates, he was momentarily breathless.

  It was a building unlike any he had seen; towers were topped by spires at the four corners of the building. The front had multiple archways leading from the towers to the center of the structure; an arch larger than the rest peaked at the roof. An enormous, circular stained glass window placed roughly twenty feet above the largest doors Cyrus had seen other than in Kortran. The tallest spire of all was a tower in the center of the building leading several hundred feet above the rest of the structure.

  Niamh stopped at his side. “Welcome to Sanctuary.”

  Looking around he found the grounds were impressive as well. To his right were stables, and beyond them he could see an archery range. On the other side of the main building was a smaller stone building with a wooden roof that belched smoke from three different chimneys.

  “Oy!” Narstron called out, coming from the stables with Andren and Nyad in tow. “Thought you might not have made it out.”

  Cy looked at him, eyebrow raised. “Yeah, I can see you were torn up about it, too.”

  He looked at Andren warily; the elf looked sober, for once, and a bit put out. “Thanks for bringing me along.” His expression was sour.

  “Sorry.” Cyrus shrugged.

  Changing his focus to Nyad, he bowed slightly. “Thanks for saving us all in there, Nyad. How long does the orb from that teleportation spell last before it disappears?”

  Looking slightly baffled, she answered, “I think a minute or two? I’ve never stuck around long enough to find out. I do know,” she said, “that it will follow you around ‘til it goes out.”

  Niamh surveyed them anxiously. “So, are you gonna apply to join us or what?”

  Cyrus looked at her, then looked at the expectant eyes of Andren and Narstron. “After consideration, I think Sanctuary is the kind of people we can rely on. So, yes.” Nods of approval from Andren and Narstron followed.

  Niamh beamed at them. “Well, all right. Ready for the grand tour?”

  After they nodded, she led them through the entryway and into an enormous foyer. Hallways exited from all sides, but ahead of them was another, slightly less massive set of doors that were open wide and led into a great hall — complete with dining tables. “Great hall,” Narstron mused aloud. “‘Tis truly great. Is this where the meals are served?”

  Niamh looked down at him. “Sure is. Three squares a day, plus there’s always food available. There’s a pretty extensive kitchen. Most of the cooking is done by Larana Stillhet. She’s the handiest person around. She can cook, sew — almost any skill you’d need, she has. That’s her workshop out back.”

  “The one with the three chimneys?” Cyrus asked.

  Niamh nodded. “She tends to the domestic side of Sanctuary.”

  “What about ale?” Andren asked before Cyrus could follow up on his question.

  “Larana is a master brewer, too.”

  “I can’t tell you how excited I am to be here,” Andren said.

  After seeing the empty great hall, they went back to the foyer in time to see Vara crossing the room from the nearby lounge. She made no move to stop and talk to them, but Cyrus caught a glance from her that she averted after she noticed him looking.

  “Vara!” Niamh called out, halting the paladin’s progress. “Don’t be rude to our guests.”

  The elf stopped, her armor heaving from the exertion of her pace across the floor. She faced away from them for a moment, seeming to compose herself before turning back with a wide smile that was disingenuous. “So pleased to see you all.” Her voice was honey-sweet. “I do hope you find your way around well enough, and if you need any assistance in finding the exit, by all means, let me know.” Her expression reverted back to disdain.

  “You know,” Narstron said, outraged, “I have no idea where your attitude comes from. You don’t even know us!”

  Her eyebrow raised but the rest of her face stayed in the same unpleasant express
ion. “And you think that would improve your case?” Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and left, striding up the staircase across the foyer.

  Niamh had a pinched expression. “Don’t worry about it. Vara is really… prickly. But she’ll warm up to you all; it just takes time. “

  “How many centuries, approximately?” Andren said.

  “Vara is who Vara is,” came a deep voice from behind them. “Asking her to change would be like commanding the Torrid Sea to be still.” Cyrus tensed as he realized who was speaking. Vaste the troll joined them. Looking down at Cyrus, he graced the warrior with a smile that carried a surprising warmth.

  Cy looked evenly at him. “So you’re Vaste.”

  “And though we haven’t been introduced, I know your name to be Cyrus Davidon.” Vaste’s enormous hand came up to his mouth in a motion that made the green troll look reflective. “But what’s in a name? Is it a name that’s more important… or the content of one’s character, would you say?” He paused, regarding the warrior, waiting for an answer.

  Cyrus looked at the troll suspiciously, pondering the question, trying to look beyond the obvious answer. “Of course the content of someone’s character would be more important than their name,” he answered finally.

  “Well said,” the troll said with a nod. “So even if someone, say a gnome, had a suspicious name, something that sounded like it might make them goblin-born, would you look to the content of their character before you judged them?”

  Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes.”

  “Very decent of you. That’s a wise sentiment indeed. How would you judge the content of that person’s character? Through their deeds? Actions? Words?” The troll’s stare once more locked on to the warrior, brown and black eyes shining down at Cyrus.

  Cyrus could feel himself being verbally backed into a corner. “I suppose… that would be the usual way you would divine someone’s character. See if their deeds matched their words.”