Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels

by David Dalglish

  Rune leaned forward, clutching his mug like a sword. “And you killed him,” he whispered.

  “Well… I tried to,” Valien said. “Thrust my sword at him, but he saw me in a mirror, and I was too weak, too wounded. He blocked my blade, and our swords shattered in a rain of steel. We fought with fists upon the floor. He grabbed my throat. He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. I saw stars. I thought he would snap my neck. I kicked. I punched him. Still he squeezed. Finally—stars, I must have been seconds from death—I kicked down the mirror, shattering it. I grabbed a shard the size of my fist. I drove it so deep into his eye it scraped the back of his skull.” He gave a gruff laugh. “He released me then. I wheezed and coughed on the floor like a wretch, every breath like a saw of fire working at my throat. He couldn’t kill me, but he did ruin my voice; left it all gravelly and scratched, the bastard. Since that day, I’ve sounded like a man dying of consumption.” He gave Rune a squinted, sidelong look and spat. “If you ask me, you weren’t worth it, boy.”

  “Maybe I will prove you wrong someday,” Rune said. “You kept me alive for a reason. You need me now. We’re going to kill that bastard Frey Cadigus, and we’re going to rename my city, and stars, Valien—we’re going to get you a bath. You stink.”

  And I’m going to see Tilla again, he thought. I’m going to save her from whatever fort they dragged her to. We’re going to return to Cadport—to Lynport!—and rebuild the Old Wheel, and Tilla and I will live there together.

  “Aye!” Valien said, leaned back, and slammed his boots against the tabletop. “You know what they say. Good men stink of soil, oil, and other toil; villains smell of roses.”

  Rune was about to reply when the door slammed open behind them.

  Kaelyn burst into the room. Her eyes were wide, her hair wild, and her fingers clutched her bow like a drowning woman. Her chest rose and fell as she panted.

  Both Rune and Valien leaped to their feet and gripped their swords.

  “What is it, Kaelyn?” Valien demanded.

  “It’s Beras,” she said, panting. “He’s back with news. He claims this one’s worth gold. Oh bloody stars. He’s waiting in the main hall.”

  They rushed down the corridor, boots thudding. As they moved, Rune frowned. Beras. Surely she didn’t mean Beras the Brute, the infamous enforcer of the Cadigus Regime, the man Rune had seen deliver a trembling girl to her death in Lynport?

  As they burst into the main hall, Rune’s stomach sank.

  It was him.

  Rune cursed and drew a foot of steel.

  The burly man stood in the crumbling hall, facing them. Circles hung under his eyes, black rings upon an ashen face. His armor was a tattered jumble of buckles, scraps of chainmail, rusted plates, and beaten leather. In his fists, he clutched his axe—not the axe of a soldier, but a great thing of wood and steel built for felling trees. Rune had seen this man in Lynport before, but only from a distance. Facing him in the hall, Rune felt a chill; Beras stood nearly seven feet tall, his shoulders wide as a wagon. Even before Frey Cadigus had taken power, Beras the Brute was feared across the kingdom, the most bloodthirsty outlaw in Requiem, a thief and murderer and rapist.

  He raped a child once, Rune remembered and snarled. He strangled her and buried her body in the woods.

  Frey Cadigus had been so impressed, the stories whispered, he had hired Beras at once, elevating him from outlaw to bodyguard.

  “So this is the boy,” Beras said, fixing Rune with a dead gaze. His lips peeled back, revealing rotted teeth. “So here is the so-called Whelp of Aeternum.”

  Rune growled and drew his sword. He doubted he could defeat Beras in battle—the man was twice his size, and his axe was larger than the Amber Sword—but rage pounded through Rune, drowning his discretion.

  “You’ve stumbled into the wrong lair, Beras,” he said. “I saw you in Lynport hiding behind the skirts of Shari, your mistress. You will find no such protection here.”

  Beras grinned—the grin of a feral beast. “The pup’s got some spunk. You’re a feisty one, aye. Normally I like me a nice girl to warm my bed, but you’d do fine. Come here, boy—let me take that sword from you.”

  Valien marched forward and stood between them.

  “Enough!” the fallen knight said. “Rune, sheathe your sword. Beras, tell me your news.”

  Rune fumed. He wanted to leap toward Beras and stick his sword in the man’s neck. Yet Kaelyn took his arm and pulled him back.

  “Let them talk, Rune,” she whispered. “Sheathe your sword. It’s all right. Beras works for us.”

  Rune’s head spun. He took a few steps back with Kaelyn until they stood in a shadowy corner.

  “What?” he said and shook his head wildly. “Beras the Brute—the outlaw, Shari’s henchman, the murderer and rapist—fights for the Resistance?”

  Kaelyn sighed and kept her hand on his arm. “I wouldn’t say he fights for us, no. And I wouldn’t say he holds much love for us either, or for anyone. Beras is a mercenary, that is all. My father was a fool to hire him. Beras loves his wine, his women, and his blood, but one thing he loves more than all—his coin. Frey pays him to murder and torture. We pay him for information.”

  Rune growled, and it took Kaelyn’s hand to guide his sword back into its sheathe.

  “How could you employ scum like that?” he demanded. “Folk whisper about the Resistance being a rabble of outlaws and killers. When you pay Beras, you are only—”

  “—gaining information we need,” Kaelyn finished his sentence. “Rune. Listen to me. I have no love for Beras. I hate the man, and he knows it. But I hate my father more. What is Beras? Nothing but muscle. Frey Cadigus is the heart of the Regime; with Beras taking our coin, we can learn what we need to stab that heart. The wise work with small devils to slay the big ones.”

  “You cannot trust anything Beras says,” he told her. “The man is a rabid beast. Anything he tells you will be tainted with lies.”

  Kaelyn raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? It was Beras who told us Shari was flying toward Lynport to kill you. His information saved your life that day. Beras is a rabid beast, it’s true, but you owe him your life. And so do many others among the Resistance.” She sighed. “War is rarely black and white, rarely goodness fighting evil; we are all different shades of gray. There are no pure means, only pure ends.”

  Rage still bloomed in Rune, and he wanted to retort, but more than that, he wanted to hear what Beras was saying. The brute was smirking and reaching out his hand to Valien.

  “This one’s a real gem,” Beras said and spat. “Pay up! Gold this one’s worth. No more of your silver. One gold coin now, another once I deliver your news. Go on! Still less than what you pay for your booze, I wager.”

  Rune’s rage crackled with new vigor. He didn’t know how Valien managed to stay calm. Yet the leader of the Resistance only nodded, fished through his pocket, and produced a golden coin. He slammed it into Beras’s outreached, craggy palm.

  “Talk to me, Beras,” Valien said. “Share your tidings and I’ll toss you another treat.”

  Beras chuckled, spat again, then bit the golden coin. “Aye, this is good gold, it is. All right. I’ll share my tale.” He leered at the shadows where Rune and Kaelyn stood. “You want your pups here while I speak?”

  Valien nodded, and it seemed like all the drunkenness had drained from his eyes; those eyes now burned with an intensity Rune had never seen.

  “I have no secrets from the emperor’s daughter,” Valien said, “nor from our king’s son. Speak freely, Beras. Tell me all you know.”

  “A wedding,” Beras said and barked a laugh. “The boy Leresy is making a grab for power—and for some young arse. Got his eye on Nairi Blackrose, daughter of Lord Herin, the bald bastard.”

  Valien nodded slowly. “It’s a smart move for him. Leresy is second in line for the throne. Nairi’s father could threaten Shari, if push comes to shove between the siblings. But this news is hardly worth gold, Beras. These rumors of Leresy cour
ting Nairi have been flowing since the boy took command of Castra Luna.”

  Beras was chuckling—a horrible, bubbly sound like grime rising in a sewer. “Ahh, but you haven’t heard the best part yet, my grizzled old friend. The wedding, you see! Ah, the wedding. The pup insisted on it.”

  “Insisted on what?” Valien demanded. His shoulders had lost their stoop, and he stood tall and proud as a knight. “Tell me your news, Beras, if you want your second coin.”

  “Oh, I’ll have my second coin,” said the brute. “Leresy Cadigus, that whore of a pup, demanded to have his wedding in his new home—Castra Luna itself. The whole clan will be attending—Frey Cadigus, Shari Cadigus, and Herin Blackrose. The whole bloody echelon of Requiem. They’ll be there in ten days at noon—the first day of spring.”

  Valien stood silent for a long time. His face hardened into a blank mask. Finally he reached into his pocket, pulled out three more golden coins, and placed them into Beras’s palm.

  The brute grinned, barked a laugh, then turned to leave. He trundled out of the hall, gurgling his chuckle. The sounds of wings beat outside, and through the windows, Rune saw the bronze dragon take flight and vanish into the distance.

  Rune stood still, fingers tingling around his sword’s hilt.

  Frey Cadigus. His children. Herin Blackrose. In one fort.

  “Castra Luna is a training fort,” Valien whispered. “It lies in the middle of nowhere, leagues away from any other fortress or town. The entire high command of Requiem… in an isolated fort full of young, green recruits.”

  Kaelyn shook her head mightily, her wavy hair swaying. “No. I know what you’re thinking, and no. I know my father; he will suspect an attack. He will bring the Axehand Order with him, hundreds of his finest warriors, fanatical priests who worship him as a god. Valien!” She glared at the knight. “You can’t seriously be considering this. We’re not ready.”

  Valien stared at the wall as if he hadn’t heard her. His leather glove creaked as he gripped his sword. His jaw too creaked, tightening under his salt-and-pepper beard.

  “Valien!” Kaelyn said again. “We’ve talked of attacking in force. We agreed that we must first enlist more warriors. With Rune here, we can rally hearts. We can bring more men to our side. We can—”

  Valien turned toward her, his eyes haunted.

  “This is the best chance we’ve had in years,” he rasped. “The echelon of Requiem—together, isolated. We’ve not seen such a thing since Frey Cadigus seized the throne seventeen years ago. We might never see it again.”

  Kaelyn’s chest rose and fell as she panted. Her eyes flashed and she bared her teeth.

  “Will you have us crash against the walls of Castra Luna now? Will you dash our hopes so soon after Rune joined us? Will you douse our flame just when it begins to burn? Valien.” She held his hands. “Valien, listen to me, please. We need more time. We need to send men to every city, to spread the news of Relesar Aeternum fighting on our side. Many remember him. They will flock to his banner. They will fight with us. But we need time.”

  “Time is what we do not have.” Valien grunted, gripped Kaelyn’s shoulders, and stared into her eyes. “If we don’t attack now, we might lose this chance forever. I’ve been fighting Frey Cadigus for seventeen years, and now is our chance to strike. To kill him. To reclaim our kingdom.” He snarled and flames burned in his eyes; his face turned demonic. “Blood must now be shed. We will fly out in force. Kaelyn, you’ve been flying at my side for two years; fly with me now.”

  She pulled herself free and glared at him. “No, Valien! No, I will not. I will not let you just… just fly out and die. We had a plan. We’ve had a plan for years. Bring Rune here. Rally the people around him. Raise the kingdom in rebellion. Not this—not flying to face Frey in open battle.” She looked away, eyes damp. “You don’t know him. Not like I do. You haven’t seen the Axehand Order, how they train… Oh stars. They murder babes for sport. I saw it. In their training, they… they snatch babes from mothers and use them for crossbow practice. They complete their training by severing their own hands; they do this with glee. We cannot face these men head on—not with the forces we have now, weary men of these ruins. My father would kill us, Valien. He would kill you.”

  Tears filled her eyes, and she embraced Valien and clung to him.

  Rune watched from the side, feeling somewhat like a third wheel. He was not sure who he agreed with. He had seen the cruelty of the Cadigus Regime—Pery beheaded in Lynport Square, men broken upon the wheel simply for speaking the wrong word, and his friends carted out of the city like cattle. Rune did not relish flying to battle these people; the mere idea churned his belly with so much fear he almost gagged.

  And yet… was Valien right? Was this a chance they had to seize?

  If we kill Cadigus now, he thought, I’ll have my city back. I’ll have Tilla back. The entire kingdom will be freed. No more breaking wheels, troops patrolling every street, or statues of Frey in every square. No more youths carted off and broken into killers.

  Valien turned to look at him, Kaelyn wrapped in his arms, a pale and fragile doll in his bear-like grip.

  “It seems to me,” the haggard knight said, “that it should be Relesar Aeternum, our future king, who decides.”

  Rune couldn’t help it; he barked a laugh. The room swam around him.

  “You want… me to decide?” he said, eyebrows firmly raised. “Only last moon you were calling me a green boy who knows nothing of the sword. Now you want me to choose whether we fly to battle?”

  Valien raised his own eyebrows. “You are our king, or will be. And you know a bit of swordplay; I taught you. So what say you? Do we do as Kaelyn says—bide our time, rally the people around you, and eventually, years down the line, strike at the capital with greater forces? Or do we fly to uncertain battle now—seize this chance to end the war in ten days and crown you?”

  Rune clutched his head and laughed again—a mirthless laugh that sounded almost like a sob. Valien’s voice sounded far too casual to him.

  “But…” he said, “but… stars, Valien! Don’t ask me. You’re the knight. You’re the leader of this Resistance. And you, Kaelyn.” He turned to look at her. “Kaelyn, you know your father better than anyone here. And you’ve been fighting this war for two years now. How can I decide this?”

  He raised his hands to the ceiling, and his legs shook. Stars! Thousands of warriors hid in these ruins. Thousands of warriors would be waiting at Castra Luna, guarding the emperor. Millions of souls suffered throughout Requiem, and their only hope for salvation was the Resistance.

  All these people, Rune thought, all their lives… depending on my decision.

  “Oh stars,” he whispered.

  “It’s true, Rune,” Valien said. “I’ve been fighting this for a while now. So has Kaelyn. We’re both experienced, seasoned warriors, and we both know exactly what to do. Only problem is… we want to do exact opposite things.” He gave a rare smile. “It seems fair that you, who will be our king, give your first decree.”

  Kaelyn looked at Rune too, her eyes damp but solemn. She tightened her lips and nodded.

  “Let us hear,” she said, “what the heir of Aeternum decides.” She stepped toward him, clutched his hand, and squeezed it. Her eyes softened. “Choose, Rune. I will respect your choice. Do we rally more men to our cause, or do we strike the snake as he leaves his lair?”

  They were both looking at him, waiting.

  How could he decide? How could he possibly know what to do? The fate of the empire—hinging on his word!

  I am the child of great kings, he thought, but today he felt like only a boy, alone and afraid. Even Amerath, which hung at his waist, did not comfort him. It still felt like a foreign object, the weapon of greater men. He had accepted his dynasty but still felt like only a brewer, only Rune of Cadport, not King Relesar.

  I miss you, Tilla, he thought. Whenever troubles had found him at home, he would talk to Tilla, and they would find a solution t
ogether. So many times they would walk along the beach, discussing their problems—a bad brew of ale, not enough customers buying ropes, or a hinge needing repairs.

  But this… this was the world itself awaiting his word, and Tilla was far away.

  What do I do, Tilla? What would you tell me?

  He closed his eyes and tried to imagine her beside him. They were walking on the beach again in darkness. They flew over the water as two dragons, him black and she white. He held her hand, kissed her lips, and looked into her dark eyes. Tilla—pillar of his childhood, light of his life, the beat of his heart.

  “You are in danger now, Tilla,” he whispered in his dream. “You are in pain. You are a soldier of Frey Cadigus, the man I must kill. I have to save the world, but I also have to save you.”

  He stood in silence, eyes shut, and closed his fists at his sides. All his life, he had hidden in shadow. Walking in the night. Flying in the dark. Withering in his tavern as the Regime crushed his city under its heel. But now—now he stood among the Resistance. Now he had Valien, a great leader, and Kaelyn, a great light, to guide his way, to fight at his side.

  “It is time,” he said softly, “to rise from ruin. It is time to light the darkness with fire.” He opened his eyes and stared at his companions. “It is time for war.”

  23

  LERESY

  He stood upon the northern wall, hand on the pommel of his sword, and watched his father’s procession fly toward Castra Luna.

  “Bastard always knew how to fly in style,” Leresy muttered.

  The dragons—five hundred or more—still flew a league away. Most were dragons of the Axehand Order; they wore black dragonhelms topped with blades, the steel engraved with the red spiral. They were missing their front left paws; great axeheads were strapped to the stumps, mimicking their human deformity. They flew in five phalanxes—four framed the procession, while the fifth brought up the rear.