Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels

by David Dalglish

  Rune dived after her.

  “Shari!” he screamed.

  Dragons flowed between them. Rune crashed into one, shoved the beast aside, and kept diving. Shari tumbled. Rune reached out his claws. He had to catch her, to kill her before she could escape. Another dragon shot between them. Rune cursed and slammed against scales. He leaped off, pulled his wings close, and roared fire. He kept swooping. He saw Shari below. He could almost catch her. He reached out his claws—

  A white dragon streaked below.

  Rune howled.

  The white dragon caught the tumbling Shari, flapped wings, and flew westward over the forest.

  Rune stared, heart freezing.

  Stars no.

  “Tilla,” he whispered.

  He hovered in the sky. His eyes burned. His wounds blazed. Then a dozen dragons charged toward him, roaring fire.

  31

  TILLA

  She flew, the wounded princess of Requiem in her claws

  Her eyes burned and her belly roiled.

  I saved her. Oh stars, I saved her. I could have let her die. But I stopped Rune. I chose Shari over him. Oh stars.

  She flew through smoke and fire, tears in her eyes. She looked down at Shari; the princess was writhing, and her eyes rolled back, and her lips mumbled. Blood poured from her shoulder blade. The forests streamed below them; half the trees were blazing and raising smoke that nearly blinded Tilla.

  “I’m taking you to safety, Commander,” Tilla said.

  The fortress of Castra Luna rose ahead from the inferno. Cannons were firing from its walls. Smoke unfurled and the fortress shook. Dragons flew above it in defense; the Resistance had not yet broken through to the walls themselves. There would be safety inside those stone halls.

  Why did I save her? Tilla thought as she flew over the walls. Stars, she could have let Shari fall! She could have tried to escape with Rune. She…

  She was a soldier of Requiem.

  Tilla nodded and blinked tears from her eyes.

  She had sworn a vow when receiving her rank. She has sworn to fight for Requiem, to defend her lands, to protect her commanders.

  I will keep an eye on you, Tilla the ropemaker, Shari had said that first day in Cadport. Tilla had sworn to prove her worth to the princess. She would prove it now.

  She shot over the walls. The cannons fired beneath her, shaking the fort. Tilla dived toward the grand hall; its doors stood closed. Corpses of resistors, those brazen enough to have flown this far, lay strewn outside the gates.

  Tilla hovered above the courtyard, her wings scattering dust, bits of armor, and a severed leg. She placed Shari down upon the cobblestones, then shifted into human form too.

  “Princess Shari,” Tilla whispered, kneeling above her. “You’re safe.”

  Shari moaned and her eyes fluttered open. Blood filled her mouth.

  “Tilla Roper,” the princess whispered, voice hoarse, and spat out blood. “Tilla of Cadport.”

  She remembers me!

  Despite the blood, terror, and pain, Tilla felt pride well up inside her. Hundreds of thousands served in the Legions—and Princess Shari remembered her.

  If I save her life, Tilla thought, she will reward me. I can rise above the Black Roses. She will promote me. She will grant me power.

  Tilla tightened her lips. She had sworn to survive in the Legions; this was the greatest thing she could do now.

  “I’m going to save you, my princess,” she said. “Can you stand? I’ll get you inside. There is safety behind the walls. The enemy still fights above the forest.”

  She helped the princess to her feet. Shari slung her arms across Tilla’s shoulders, and the two began to limp toward the doors. Tilla was the tallest woman in her phalanx, possibly the entire fort, yet Shari stood even taller, her body lithe but heavy with muscle and steel. Tilla struggled to support her; her knees ached and nearly buckled.

  When she reached the doors, Tilla pounded against them.

  “Shari Cadigus is here! Open the doors!”

  Arrowslits lined the walls and turrets. Behind them, shadows stirred and men called out.

  “Shari Cadigus!” The cry echoed behind the doors. “Open the gates!”

  The doors creaked open, and Tilla entered, supporting Shari. The princess limped, most of her weight pressed against Tilla’s shoulders. Once they were inside, the doors slammed shut again.

  Axehands stood in the hall, arranged in battle formations, their namesake blades raised. The low, vaulted ceiling and crowded columns left no room for dragons; if the battle reached these halls, it would be a battle of blades.

  Prince Leresy stood behind the Axehand formations. His eyes widened and he gasped.

  “Shari!” he said. He ran between the axehands, shoving them aside. “Move. Move! Let me through.” He reached Shari and stared at her, eyes narrowed. “You’re wounded.”

  Still leaning on Tilla, the princess snarled. “Go back and hide behind your thugs, brother. The battle still rages.”

  Confirming her words, howls sounded outside. The archers at the walls cried out and began firing through the arrowslits. Thuds shook the doors, and fire burst around their frames.

  “Break down the doors!” howled a voice outside. “Kill the prince and princess. Kill them all! Break inside!”

  Tilla laid her princess on the floor, drew her sword, and stood above her.

  She bared her teeth, sucked in her breath, and watched as the doors cracked.

  32

  VALIEN

  The sky darkened into night, clouds brewed into a storm, and Valien flew through dream and memory.

  Rain fell in sheets, thunder boomed, and lightning flared. Dragonfire reflected in every raindrop. Smoke rose like demons and blood spilled. All around, through ash and rain, the shadows of dragons spun, rose, fell, and crashed together with bursts of light. Valien flew through a nightmare, a single dragon in a sea of ghosts.

  “Marilion,” he whispered as he flew, still seeking her. “Do you fly among these ghosts?”

  Cannons boomed ahead. A cannonball cut through the clouds and slammed into a dragon beside Valien. The dragon collapsed into human form. The cannonball kept flying; the man fell, limbs torn and tumbling.

  Valien snarled.

  I’ve come here to save the living, he thought. And to avenge the dead.

  “Resistance!” he howled. “Follow my fire—to the fort! We break through.”

  He blew a pillar of flame skyward, a beacon for his warriors. Behind him, he heard them answer his call. Thousands of flaming pillars pierced the clouds, spinning and roaring. The rain steamed.

  “Claim this fort!” Valien roared and flew forward. “Death to Cadigus!”

  He beat his wings madly. He could still see little of the battle; all around, the smoke, fire, and blood curtained the forest. The battling dragons were nothing but shadows and firelight upon scales. Yet Valien drove onward. He could hear the enemy ahead: their cannons firing, their dragons calling, their emperor shouting for the red spiral.

  Yes, you await me here, old friend, Valien thought. You who killed my king, who killed my wife. I hear your call, Frey. I come to answer.

  He blew more fire, clawed an imperial dragon who charged his way, and kept flying. From smoke and fire, he saw them rising: the black walls of Castra Luna.

  Years ago, Valien himself had served in this fort. Back then, the Aeternum dynasty had ruled here. Ivy had covered pale walls. The sons and daughters of Requiem had studied swordplay, dragonfire, and justice. Today no ivy covered the walls, only black tiles draped with banners of the red spiral. Today the youths studied no justice, only cruelty and murder.

  Today, Valien vowed, we cleanse this fortress.

  Cannons boomed.

  Balls of iron flew through the smoke and clouds.

  Valien howled, rose higher, and dodged a missile. Behind him, dragons screamed and blood sprayed him. Dark shadows leaped from the walls below, and pillars of fire blazed his way.

>   “Break down the walls!” Valien cried. “Resistance, follow—take this fortress!”

  He swooped, claws outstretched. More dragons flew toward him, their bladed helms engraved with spirals. Valien bathed them with fire, then clawed their blazing bodies. He dived. A cannon fired toward him. He dodged the missile, landed on the gun, and roared his fire. Men burned and fell screaming from the walls. Casks of gunpowder blazed, and Valien soared, the flames licking his feet.

  “Slay the enemy!” he howled. “Show Cadigus no mercy.”

  The Resistance descended from the sky, a rain of scales and claws. Hundreds of dragons landed upon the walls, towers, and courtyards, roaring their flames. Arrows shot from inside the halls and towers. Dragons clad in armor—frightened youths only moons into their service—fought and died.

  Valien stood in the courtyard, tail lashing, breath blazing. Arrows clattered against his scales. A dragon shot toward him, and he flamed it; it crashed down in human form, a charred young man crying for his mother.

  “Break down the doors!” Valien howled, pointing a claw at the main hall. “Slay all who lurk inside.”

  The main hall of Castra Luna rose from the fire, its columns wreathed in smoke; the Regime’s echelon would be lurking inside. Arrows flew from slits. One slammed into Valien’s shoulder, and he roared.

  We end this tonight, Valien swore and let flames fill his maw. He flapped his wings, prepared to charge at the doors and smash into the hall.

  A cackle from above froze him.

  Old pain flared in dark shadows.

  Valien knew that cackle. He had heard that cackle the night his wife died. He heard that cackle every night since in his dreams. It was a rumble like thunder, like demons in the deep, like the death of all Valien had ever loved.

  He looked up.

  Through the rain and fire, he saw him there, a great golden dragon upon the clock tower—burly, demonic, wreathed in fire.

  Frey Cadigus. Emperor of Requiem.

  The man who killed you, Marilion.

  “Valien!” the beast cried from above. “Valien, come to me! You have flown here slaying youths. Now face an emperor. Or will you run again, coward?”

  Valien snarled, beat his wings, and took flight.

  The clock tower rose before him, the tallest spire in Castra Luna—in all southern Requiem. As Valien flew past the great dials, the bells chimed midnight. Each chime clanged across the palace, as loud as the cannons. Valien kept ascending until he reached the tower’s top. Black crenellations rose here like jagged claws reaching skyward.

  Atop this dark steeple, the emperor waited.

  “Valien!” shouted Frey Cadigus. “You’ve at last come to join your wife.”

  Frey’s wings beat, churning cloud, smoke, and fire. Lightning blazed against the emperor’s golden scales. His teeth shone. Flames crackled in his maw like a smelter. He seemed less a dragon than a primordial beast, a demon of the Abyss.

  “You will die this night!” Valien called, hovering before the beast. “Your stronghold falls, Frey. Your reign ends here. Aeternum has returned; you cannot survive.”

  Frey cackled again, the sound of tar bubbling from the deep, and blasted his fire.

  Valien howled and blew his own flames.

  The two streams crashed together and exploded, showering sparks across the sky. Valien drove through the inferno, opened his maw, and slammed into the emperor.

  The two dragons thudded together. They fell. They crashed against the tower, and its obsidian cracked. Lightning slammed into a jagged crenellation; its light revealed thousands of dragons still battling around the fort. Thunder pealed.

  “You cannot defeat the power of the red spiral,” Frey said. The gold dragon lashed his tail, shoving Valien aside. “The pup you brought here won’t save you, Valien. Nothing can save you now.”

  Valien slid across the roof. The knob of a trapdoor drove into his flesh and snapped off, remaining inside him. Valien roared and Frey’s fire blasted him.

  Agony flared. Frey’s tail cudgeled him again, and a spike pierced his scales. Valien howled, slid another few feet, and dangled over the tower’s edge. Below him, hundreds of dragons battled across the walls and barracks.

  “Now you can only die, Valien,” said the emperor. The golden dragon loomed above him, a god of scale and flame. “Only die.”

  Frey’s fire blasted down.

  Howling, Valien leaped up.

  The dragons crashed together in a shower of fire.

  “You have already failed, Frey!” Valien howled, driving the golden dragon back. He clawed and bit at the beast. “Your daughter left you; she fights at my side. The heir of Aeternum flies with me too; the people rally around him. Your reign ends tonight. You—”

  “Your wife, Valien!” Frey said, biting and clawing. “What was her name? Marilion, was it not?”

  Rage flared in Valien, blinding him, spinning his head. He howled and blew flames.

  “You will not speak her name here! You will—”

  “I bedded her that night, Valien!” the emperor shouted, still laughing maniacally. “Did you not know? She spread her legs for me, and I thrust into her, and she loved it. She moaned with pleasure. I gave her a taste of a true man before I stuck my blade in her gut.”

  Claws lashed Valien. His scales fell like jewels. His blood poured. Frey roared his fire, and heat blasted Valien, and he howled. In the flames, he saw her again: His Marilion, his wife, his love. He saw her smile—that smile that always seemed so hesitant, trembling, a ray of joy breaking through her sadness. He saw her eyes again, kind eyes that carried so much old pain, yet which shone whenever he held her, whenever he kissed her cheek, whenever she sang to the birds they kept in a golden cage.

  Marilion. Scarred and afraid, pure and loving, a moonbeam caught in a storm.

  And he saw her dead. He saw the blood soaking her gown. He saw Frey’s sword stuck inside her. The cage had fallen; the birds had fled. Her eyes had stared. Her smile had died.

  Marilion. Timid and strong. Hurt and beautiful.

  I will join you now, Marilion, Valien thought as the fire washed him, as the emperor’s claws cut him, as his blood spilled. I fly to you now, and we will meet in the starlit halls of the fallen. I will never let you go again, and your eyes will never know more pain.

  “Valien!” cried a distant voice, high and afraid. “Valien!”

  Was it Marilion calling? Did his beloved shine down from the starlit halls?

  “Father, no!” cried the voice.

  Valien opened his eyes. Through the blood and fire, he thought he could see her—a green dragon in the storm.

  Kaelyn.

  Above him, the emperor chortled and turned his flames away.

  “My daughter!” Frey called. “You’ve returned to me, traitor of Requiem! Come die too in my fire.”

  Welts and blood covered Valien. He wheezed and gagged for breath. He flapped his wings weakly and struggled to stand. Frey held his claws against his chest, pinning him down; Valien struggled and lashed his tail, but was too weak to rise.

  “Kaelyn,” he whispered.

  The emperor was still laughing. “Fly to me, Kaelyn! You’ve betrayed your empire and your family. Come die in my fire.”

  Valien drew flame into his maw.

  Kaelyn—a new light in his life. Kaelyn—daughter of his enemy, beacon of his soul. Kaelyn—the woman who looked so much like Marilion, the woman who stirred memories he feared, the woman Valien had vowed to defend.

  I will not let you die too, Kaelyn.

  She came flying toward them, a green dragon caught in the wind. Frey roared and blasted fire her way.

  Valien howled, shoved himself up, and crashed against Frey.

  The two dragons fell against the tower, cracking stones and shattering the trapdoor. Valien bit down hard. His fangs drove into Frey’s shoulder, tore through scales, sank into flesh, and drew blood.

  Frey screamed.

  Valien lashed his claws. He pulled h
is head back, blasted Frey with fire, and thrust his horns. He pierced the emperor’s chest, and blood spurted, and Valien kept clawing, kept biting, kept blasting his fire.

  With crackling heat and shimmering scales, Kaelyn landed upon the tower and joined her flame to his.

  Frey Cadigus burned.

  His scales cracked.

  His skin peeled.

  And yet he laughed. He kept cackling. He spread his wings wide; they rose in flame like burning sails, spreading smoke. And still he laughed.

  “Your fire makes me strong!” he called. “You are like me, Valien. You are like the thing you hate. You too are a killer. You too lead hordes to blood. You fight to slay a monster; you’ve become one yourself!”

  With that, Frey Cadigus fell.

  The golden dragon slammed against the tower top… and lost his magic.

  Frey’s smaller, human form—charred and clad in armor—crashed through the shattered trapdoor and vanished into shadows.

  Valien leaped, shifted into human form, and jumped after him into the darkness.

  He crashed down against a ladder, reached out, and grabbed a rung.

  “Frey!” he shouted. “Face me, Frey! Does the great emperor run like a coward?”

  He could not see the emperor; darkness cloaked the chamber. Lightning blazed outside the windows, illuminating tapestries stained with blood. Valien descended the ladder, placed his boots upon the floor, and drew his sword.

  Located above the tower clocks, this was the chamber of Castra Luna’s lord—once a benevolent princess of Aeternum, today the foul Leresy Cadigus. The prince was away now. A mirror stood against one wall, framed in gold, and firelight glowed behind a stained-glass window. A bed stood by a table topped with wine jugs. A trail of blood led across the floor toward a shadowy corner; groaning rose from those shadows.

  Valien grunted, clutched his sword, and marched across the floor.

  His torchlight fell upon a charred, bloody Frey Cadigus.

  It ends now.

  Valien raised his sword and kept marching, only feet away from the emperor.

  A dagger gleamed.

  Frey snarled and tossed the blade.

  Pain burst across Valien. The dagger pierced his chest beneath the shoulder.