Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels

by David Dalglish

  Larana squeaked loudly in muffled outrage from somewhere in the crowd, but did not say anything.

  The argument stopped for a moment before it started again, full force, with both sides yelling at each other. “Don’t you call her that—”

  “Afraid to tell it like it is, typical of a coward—”

  “DON’T YOU CALL ME A COWARD, YOU KNEE-HIGH PILE OF SHIT!”

  “WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” A voice like thunder rocked the room, overriding any other sound. Alaric strode down the stairs, commanding the attention of both parties. The crowd parted for him to make his way through. When he reached them, they launched into their stories at the same time.

  “—attacked Selene and myself—”

  “—said nothing but the truth, one hundred percent—”

  “SILENCE!” Alaric commanded. “Are there no officers present besides Orion?”

  The crowd moved aside as Terian approached. “I saw the last few minutes of it. Sounds like a dispute between the two of them. Maybe we should send them outside and let them duel.”

  Alaric held his tongue, and his enormous helm contained most of his expression, but his mouth was etched into a thin line. “Did you not intervene, Terian?”

  The dark elf shook his head. “I did not.”

  Cyrus could see the narrowing of the Ghost’s eye, the clenching in his jaw, but he breathed not a word of critique on the dark knight’s handling of the matter. He turned back to Brevis and Orion. Selene stood behind her husband, shoulders shaking as she cried quietly. “What prompted this, Orion?”

  Orion looked shocked. “Terian, you were here and you didn’t step in on our behalf?” He looked at the dark elf in amazement. “You left me twisting in the wind?” The ranger’s brow furled. “I’m a fellow officer!”

  Alaric clapped his gauntlets together, catching everyone’s attention. “Orion, I asked you what happened.”

  Orion blinked and his attention shifted back to Alaric. “We were coming into the foyer and Brevis just started attacking us — telling us we’re awful guildmates—”

  “Because you are—” the gnome said.

  “SHUT UP!” Orion cut him off again. Alaric raised his hands to restore order, and Orion continued. “He verbally attacked us — insulted us — called me worthless as an officer and a General.”

  Alaric turned to Brevis. “What caused you to verbally assault your guildmates?”

  “I have seen them continue to slide, month after month, into a spiral of selfishness,” the enchanter began, chin high, eyes defiant. “I have seen them turn their backs on guildmates that are going into mortal harm and do things for their own self-aggrandizement that risk lives, like that Enterra incursion. Narstron died, and for what reason?” He sneered. “I haven’t heard of the goblins marching on the warpath! It was a smokescreen, an attempt to get us to go somewhere that was pointless and unprofitable for us.”

  A few nods and words of agreement answered him over the crowd. Orion looked around, stunned by the condemnation, while Selene put her face in her hands, sobbing.

  Brevis turned back to Alaric. “I said nothing that others weren’t thinking. I just had the courage to speak up. Neither will I apologize; someone needed to say it.”

  Alaric Garaunt shook his head. “Brevis, this is not the way. In Sanctuary we treat each other with courtesy and respect. While you may have a disagreement or a conflict with Selene and Orion, you should have addressed it behind closed doors, or to the Council.” He continued to shake his head. “This ambush is unworthy of you and your guildmates and will not be tolerated. You will apologize to Orion and Selene,” Brevis looked as though he’d swallowed something particularly bitter, “if not for the content of your message then for the method of delivery.”

  “That’s not enough, Alaric,” Orion said. “He should be cast out for what he did.”

  Alaric was still for a long moment. “That is a matter for the Council to decide. With Vara on leave of absence attending to family matters,” Cyrus blinked in surprise, having not heard this, “Niamh and Curatio away for the day and yourself involved in the dispute, it leaves only Terian and I capable of rendering a decision.” He straightened. “That is not enough for a disciplinary matter. I will not settle this without more of the Council involved. All I will do for now is demand Brevis apologize. Any consequences will wait until we have a quorum—”

  “I will not apologize.” Brevis’s comment was lost in the shuffle of what happened next.

  “—until the Council rules on the matter,” Alaric finished.

  Orion looked evenly at Alaric. “And what of Terian, who stood by and let this happen? You are the leader of this guild, and you don’t seem concerned at all that one of your officers committed a total dereliction of his duty.” Terian was silent, but his eyes burned into Orion’s until the ranger was forced to look away first. “What are you going to do about him?”

  Alaric watched the ranger, eyes betraying no emotion. “We will discuss it in the fullness of time.”

  Orion shook his head, lower lip jutting out. “That’s not good enough.” He looked around the foyer. “All this time, all this effort, and this is how you would treat us? We’re leaving.” He took Selene’s arm and led her to one of the staircases.

  Alaric moved closer to Brevis, and the two of them began a discussion in hushed tones. The hall was silent, the crowd still present, waiting to see what happened. A few minutes later, Orion and Selene emerged from the stairway again, laden with bags, a host of large trunks hovering behind them.

  “This is your last chance, Brevis,” Alaric said to the gnome, low enough that only Cyrus and a few others could hear him. The enchanter shook his head like a child refusing to eat his vegetables.

  Orion and Selene reached the entryway and he looked back, across the crowd one last time, seeming to take in the whole view of the scene assembled, turned on his heel and walked out, Selene at his side.

  Alaric waited until they had descended the steps, then took a step back from Brevis as though he were a plague victim. “Brevis, you have failed to keep a civil interaction with your guildmates, and now you have refused to apologize. We will debate this disciplinary matter in Council, and decide on the consequences.”

  “No need,” Brevis replied. “I said what no one else had the courage to say, and I won’t be hung out to dry for it.” The little gnome set his chin high. “I will leave as well.” Gertan and Aina behind him, he walked toward the stairway and out of sight.

  On their way up, they passed Celia and Uruk coming down, laden similarly to Selene and Orion, everything they owned on their backs or magically following them. Nyad let out a great sob at the sight. They made their way through the crowd, exchanging hugs and saying a few farewells, but avoiding Alaric, whose gaze watched them from the center of the foyer.

  For the next thirty minutes, a steady flow of guildmates in ones and twos came down the stairs, carrying with them all their worldly possessions, saying goodbye and walking out of the enormous doors of Sanctuary. One by one, Alaric watched them all go, strangely silent the entire time. When nightfall had come, and the outpouring had stopped, they had lost nearly a hundred members of Sanctuary.

  “Terian,” Alaric spoke, breaking his silent vigil. “We must confer.” He turned, heels clicking on the stone floor and walked toward the stairway. Terian followed behind him, a little slower.

  Cyrus looked at the faces of those around him — J’anda, Vaste and Andren. In them he could see indifference and determination. Nyad and Larana were crying, clinging to each other for comfort. But in other faces, he saw a different sort of determination, another decision being made, and he knew that those who left today would not, by any means, be the last.

  23

  It had been only a few days since the ‘explosion in Sanctuary’ as Alaric had taken to calling the exodus, and Cyrus’s instincts had proven correct. There had been a steady flow of exits in the days following the departure of Selene, Orion and Brevis. When the
final tally had been done, they’d lost one hundred and thirteen guildmates, two of them officers.

  One of those departures had been particularly painful. Cyrus had come back from a walk around Sanctuary’s grounds to find Terian on his way out the door, a knapsack on his shoulder, axe slung behind him. “Terian!” he’d shouted. “Where are you going?”

  The dark elf had looked up at him and waited before replying. “I’m going to roam the world for a while.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Only the trace of a smile showed on Terian’s lips as he answered. “It means I’m going to roam the world for a while. Wander.” He gestured over his shoulder. “I left a note for you, with a gift. It’s in your quarters.”

  Cyrus had run up the stairs and into his room, only to come to a sudden stop. His leg hit the side of the bed — not his old, regular sized one; it was gone, replaced by another made from the bones of Kalam, the ones he’d seen Terian and the others carrying away on the day of the Alliance call to arms. It had been framed with four enormous elephant tusks as the posts, and took up most of the quarters. It was big enough that three trolls could comfortably lie in it, and had been crafted beautifully. There was a small note lying on the sheets, which he picked up and read.

  Cy,

  You should always celebrate your triumphs and keep something around to remind you that when things are bad, they weren’t always bad. I’d feed you a line about how although I’m gone, I’ll always be in your heart, but we both know that’s all a bunch of crap that girly elves and pansy-ass dwarves would say to each other to keep from crying. Here’s a bed: use it a lot, and not just for sleeping if you can find a woman who won’t run screaming from you — gold might need to be involved. You’re a hell of a warrior, but I’m a way better fighter. I’ll see you around the world.

  —Terian

  In spite of himself, Cyrus couldn’t help but laugh at the words his friend had left behind. Though not filled with profundity or a sorrowful farewell, they were the ones Terian Lepos would have wanted said to him if Cyrus had been leaving. Looking around, he realized that with the bed in the room, there was no floor space. “What the hell am I going to do about this?” he murmured. Looking back at the parchment, he saw a small postscript.

  By the way, if you’re worried about having this bed in your quarters, I wouldn’t sweat it. I doubt you’ll be in them much longer.

  Raising an eyebrow, Cyrus turned in the doorway and bumped into the Ghost of Sanctuary. Although Alaric Garaunt was half a foot shorter than him, it mattered little to none. He was still intimidated by the man, though not in a physical sense. The Ghost did a double take upon seeing the bed, and looked at the warrior. “How many women sleep in there with you?” A slight frown creased his face. “Where do you change out of your armor?” He paused. “Do you change out of your armor?”

  Cyrus looked back into the room, and closed the door behind him. Alaric seemed to regain his concentration. “Odd to see you down here, Alaric. Did you need something?”

  The paladin refocused on Cyrus. “Yes, I need to speak with you in the Council Chambers.” The Ghost turned and extended his hand toward the staircase, indicating that Cyrus should go first. They walked in silence up to the Council Chamber. Cyrus had not been to this floor since the day he had met Alaric.

  The Ghost opened the door to the Chamber, and inside was a massive round table with eight seats. A stack of parchment waited at a chair in front of set of double doors that led to a balcony, framed by windows on either side. Alaric marched to the chair and sat down, gesturing for Cyrus to join him.

  The Ghost studied him for a moment before he began to speak. “Though it has taken many days, and many conversations, I think we have turned the corner on this dramatic explosion within our guild.”

  Cyrus sat back in the chair, thinking before answering. “I hope this exodus is winding down.”

  Alaric nodded his agreement. “I believe the worst losses have been our officers. Here is my conundrum. I’ve sent a few druids and wizards looking for Niamh and Curatio, but in all likelihood they are fine and decided to spend a few days out of contact, in some elven village or another looking for some obscure artifact. Under normal conditions, that would be fine.” Alaric ran his hands over his helmet before resting them on the back of his head. “Unfortunately, we are by no means operating under normal conditions. Although I am confident they will return soon, Vara could be gone for an indeterminate length of time. We have things to accomplish in the interim.”

  Cyrus blinked. “That is a problem.”

  “It was.” Alaric smiled. “I believe I have it solved. Are you still willing to serve Sanctuary?”

  “I am, but—”

  “Then I hereby promote you to Officer of Sanctuary.”

  Cyrus was stunned. “According to the charter, don’t I have to go through an election? And be in the guild for a year?”

  Alaric exhaled heavily. “Under normal conditions, yes, but frankly I have no time for this. We have work that needs to be done. You will not be the only one dragooned into service. I will also be placing Vaste and J’anda into the service of the Council.”

  Cyrus looked over the parchment at him, which were summons to each of the individuals he had just named. “You said there’s work to be done. What do you mean?”

  Alaric broke into a smile. “We have to rebuild.”

  Cyrus felt the excitement from Alaric’s words, and leaned forward in anticipation. “What do you need me to do first?”

  24

  Vara returned from her mysterious leave that night in a bad temper, speaking to no one. The next day they were arrayed around the Council table for his first meeting. Alaric headed the table, with Cyrus sitting next to Vaste, and on the other side of the table, J’anda, wearing no illusion today. A soft cough brought their attention to the Ghost and he began to speak.

  “I hereby convene the new Council. We are here on urgent business, but the two of us in the ‘old guard’ would like to welcome the new officers—”

  “Ahem,” Vara interrupted him. “I would prefer not to welcome the new officers. I am still wishing the old officers were here, along with the other guildmates we lost.” The paladin folded her arms. “I can’t leave for a week without everything going to hell.”

  Cyrus smirked at the elf. “You think your diplomatic skills would have mitigated our losses? I suspect that your absence was fortuitous in aiding our retention.”

  Alaric wiped the grin off his face and moved on before Vara could respond to the warrior’s jibe. “Our first order of business is our wayward officers. We haven’t sent a full search party yet—”

  The door to the Council chamber opened, interrupting him. As Niamh and Curatio walked in, he finished his thought. “— and apparently we won’t have to.” Without his helm, Alaric’s emotions were much easier to discern: he glared at them like an angry mother. “Where have you been?”

  Niamh’s face was suffused with excitement and even Curatio looked more lively than usual. “You would not believe what’s happened!” Niamh began, ignoring the new faces around the table.

  “I have a feeling they’ll say that about what happened here, too,” J’anda said under his breath.

  “They’ve discovered the entrance to the realms of the gods — they’re open to mortals!”

  A moment of silence greeted this pronouncement. Cyrus looked left, then right, to see if anyone else was going to say it. They didn’t. “Uh, Niamh… we were just in the Realm of Death last week…”

  Her eyes flared and her red hair swished back over her shoulder. “Yes, I know that. But before we only had access to Death, Darkness and Purgatory. There’s a new gateway opened and it leads to all the others: Love, Wilderness, Storms, and the Realm of War…”

  Cyrus’s spine straightened. Alaric looked around the table before focusing again on Curatio and Niamh. “What effect do you think this will have immediately on Sanctuary?”

  Curatio scrunched his face
in consideration. “Every major top-tier guild is scrambling to explore the new realms. They’ve abandoned their excursions to Purgatory and other locations so they can focus on these new realms because they believe the legend — that there’s a path to the upper realms: fire, air, water, earth, good and evil.”

  Alaric shifted his gaze to Cyrus. “Can we hit some of those realms?”

  Cyrus looked down in contemplation for a moment. “With the forces we have? I doubt it.”

  Curatio looked around the table at the new faces. “Not that I’m sorry to see you all in here, but where are Terian and Orion?”

  The story was told as the two of them took their seats. Niamh’s face became a horror-struck mask. Curatio took it better, reserving comment until the end. “We’ve spent the better part of two years building to have more than half our number blown out the door because of this sort of stupid, petty squabble.”

  “Agreed, it is unfortunate,” Alaric said. “However—”

  “Unfortunate?!” Niamh shrieked. “Unfortunate is when you go to bed with an elf after a night of drinking and wake up with a troll. This is a disaster, Alaric! Two years of effort lost in one day!”

  Vaste leaned close to Cyrus and murmured, “I want to know where she’s been drinking.” Cyrus looked at the troll and nodded in understanding.

  “As I was saying,” Alaric began again, “this is an unfortunate setback.” He pointed to Cyrus. “We have an officer capable of leading excursions, which is the most attractive factor in growing a guild.”

  “You had an officer capable of that before,” Vara said with only a trace of annoyance.

  “Yes, but willingness is key,” Alaric said, causing Vara to narrow her eyes. “Now we merely require a larger army. Our first priority is recruitment.” He looked around the table. “Ideas?”