Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  The stars turned.

  The moon waned to a sliver, then disappeared, and darkness covered the city.

  Koyee played on and on, eating little, sleeping less, collecting whatever coins people tossed her way. As she played, she thought of home, remembering her family, her hut, and the lights on the river. Sometimes when people walked by, Koyee looked up, imagining that one would be Okado, her long-lost brother. In her daydreams, he was a wealthy merchant or powerful soldier, and he always recognized her, even though ten years had gone by, and he always saved her from this life.

  Yet it was never him … only a stranger, only somebody to walk by, to ignore her, to sometimes toss her a copper. And so she played on.

  She made her music, shrinking into a skinny and weary thing, until fifty coins finally jangled in her pocket.

  “We have enough,” she whispered, running her fingers among them and listening to the jingle. “One more song and we can go home.”

  Tears stung her eyes, and she was about to say more when a yawn stretched across her. She stretched, shedding dust. When she lay down in the alley to sleep, curling up beneath the trash bin, she smiled softly; this would be her last sleep in Pahmey.

  A beetle scuttled by, and Koyee didn’t even reach out to grab it; her belly was still warm with mushroom stew. Rain pattered down, and the stench of refuse wafted, but Koyee could already smell the cooking crayfish, crackling fires, and fur beds of her home.

  “We survived, Eelani,” she whispered, her cheek on her palms, lying on her side upon the cobblestones. “We are survivors.”

  Sleep took her and she dreamed.

  She was fishing again in the river, the lights of Oshy on the water, her father with her in the boat. She was clean and warm and her belly was full, and she felt safe and happy.

  “Pull in the net!” her father said and smiled. “It’s heavy with crayfish. We will feast.”

  She smiled back at him … then gasped.

  Suddenly he was not her father, only a pile of smoking bones, bits of charred flesh still clinging to them. She no longer sat in her boat, but in a wheelbarrow in the light of dusk.

  “Koyee Mai…” whispered a voice.

  She spun around and her heart froze. She saw him there.

  The Timandrian.

  “Koyee,” he said, one eye green, the other black. “We are hungry. Your coins are mine. We must feed!”

  He reached into her pocket with a sun-bronzed hand, rummaging, seeking, tugging her coins free. They spilled across the floor.

  “Let go!” she said and writhed, pushing his hand away, but he kept digging in her pocket. “Stop!”

  She opened her eyes.

  In the shadows, two large Elorian eyes gleamed, bright blue and narrowed.

  A child hissed, baring crooked teeth, and turned away. Coins spilled from his grip. Rags fluttering in the wind, the child ran.

  Koyee leaped to her feet. She gasped. She was back in the alley in Pahmey, dirty and hungry. When she reached into her pocket, she found her coins gone.

  “Thief!” she shouted.

  Koyee ran.

  She burst out of the alley. In the wide street, a shadow darted around the bluefeather corral, the tavern, and the slumbering soothsayer.

  “Thief, come back!” Koyee cried and ran in pursuit.

  She had not left Bluefeather Corner in almost a moon’s turn, but now she ran across the streets. The shadow raced between two shops, scurried up a wall, and darted across the roof. Koyee followed, grabbed the wall, and began to climb, sticking her fingers between the bricks. She had not climbed in a long time, and she fell hard, banging her hip. With a curse, she rose and climbed again.

  When she reached the rooftop, she saw the figure running down the opposite street. Koyee tottered across the tiles, leaped, and thudded onto an awning. She rolled down to the street, landed on the cobblestones, and ran again.

  “Come back!” she shouted.

  The thief raced ahead, a child half her size, clad in only a sack. A single coin fell from his grip. Koyee didn’t even kneel to grab it; she had to save the rest of her treasure, a gleaming hoard of fifty coins, enough to bring her home.

  She raced, panting, her chest aching. The long moons in Pahmey had weakened her, but she ran on. People bustled about, and she shoved her way between them. She had always been a huntress; she would hunt here too. The child vanished around a corner, and she followed.

  She grinned as she ran. She was getting closer.

  “I will catch you!” she shouted.

  The child spun around.

  He tossed something. It flew her way.

  She cursed. It was a chain, a clay ball attached to each end.

  The snare slammed into her feet, wrapped around her legs, and Koyee fell.

  She hit the ground with a force that knocked the air from her lungs. Stars burst across her vision.

  She tried to rise but could not. Pain flared through her. Blood seeped from her nose and elbows. She could only close her eyes, lie on the street, and struggle to breathe.

  A crowd gathered around her, and hands helped free her legs from the snare. When Koyee could stand again, she found herself among a hundred people asking questions, offering aid, and dabbing her blood with their handkerchiefs.

  She stood on tiptoes, looked over their shoulders, and lowered her head.

  The thief was gone.

  Koyee returned to her street corner bloodied, bruised, and penniless.

  Moving stiffly, blood trickling down her arm, she raised her flute. She kept playing.

  She stared ahead. She played for a long time.

  The bluefeathers came and went, the bowls of stew were refilled and emptied, and slowly she collected her coins again. She no longer placed them in her pocket. In her alley by the bin, she found a loose cobblestone, and she dug there with a spoon the Fat Philosopher had let her keep. Beneath the dirt and stone, she placed her little treasure.

  The moon waxed. Five coins grew to ten, then fifteen, and soon she had forty coins and counting.

  “Soon we can go home,” she whispered, barely able to remember Oshy, but still seeing her village in her dreams.

  After another long, wearisome performance, Koyee stepped back into her alley. She pried off her loose cobblestone, added new copper coins to her treasure, and sealed the hollow.

  “Let us sleep, Eelani,” she said, rubbing her shoulder. “I’m too tired to even buy food. When we wake up, we’ll buy what we need for the journey home.” Her eyes stung. “We’ll buy so much food, Eelani. Dried fish, salted meat, mushrooms, and a sturdy leather pack to hold it all. We’re going home.”

  Eelani crept down her arm, raising goose bumps, and Koyee held her invisible friend in her hands.

  “Do you remember home, Eelani?” she whispered, and her tears streamed. “Do you remember how the lanterns would swing over the Inaro, casting light on the water? Do you remember the taste of crayfish, and the warmth of our bed—a real bed with furs, not just an alley by the trash?” Her voice shook. “Do you remember Father’s grave? We have to protect that home. We’ll protect it with our sword, you and I. Like Father did.”

  She curled up on the ground, laid her head upon her secret cobblestone, and pulled her knees to her chest. With a soft smile, she closed her eyes.

  Before sleep could claim her, pain blazed across her scalp.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  She tried to scream, and a calloused hand covered her mouth.

  Kneeling above her, drooling and pulling her hair, was Snaggletooth.

  “So … we meet again, Scar Girl,” he said, his drool splashing onto her face. He licked his single, purple-stained tooth. “You ran from Snaggletooth, but you can never hide from him.”

  She screamed into his palm. She tried to bite his hand, but his fingers held her jaw shut. She flailed and kicked, but he pressed a knee into her side, driving the breath out of her.

  “You’ve been playing for coins,” he said, his scraggly hair dan
gling like entrails. “Snaggletooth wants coins! Snaggletooth needs to buy his spice. Where are they? Where?”

  One hand firmly on her mouth, his knees pinning her down, he reached into her pocket. He rifled around as she flailed. Even through the soot covering his face, Koyee saw his skin redden.

  “Where are your coins? Snaggletooth wants them. Scar Girl was playing for money. Where is Snaggletooth’s money?”

  He released her mouth.

  Koyee screamed.

  Snaggletooth hissed, eyes bugging out. He slapped her face, cutting her scream short. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her wildly. She kicked, driving her knee into his belly, but he only grunted and would not release her.

  “Where are your coins?” he shouted, saliva spraying.

  Koyee reached for her katana. She grabbed the hilt and drew a foot of steel. Before she could finish drawing her blade, Snaggletooth raised a knife.

  She drew her sword.

  He placed his blade against her throat.

  Koyee froze.

  Snaggletooth grinned, his rotting gums gleaming in the moonlight. “Drop your sword … or I cut your throat.”

  She stared into his eyes. She saw the madness there. She dropped her sword.

  “Good … good, Scar Girl.” He pressed his blade closer against her, nicking her skin. “Now … hand me your coins. All of them! Quickly! You are hiding them somewhere. Pay for your life!”

  She whispered, wincing as her bobbing throat moved against his blade. “I don’t—”

  “No talking! Money. Pay!” He moved the blade a hair’s width farther, slicing just a bit of skin. “Pay Snaggletooth. Good Scar Girl.”

  Koyee wanted to keep fighting. She wanted to try to grab his arm, push his knife aside, and lift her sword.

  But she also didn’t want to die in this alley, filthy and thin and so far from home.

  She nodded, pulled the secret cobblestone loose, and revealed her hidden treasure.

  Snaggletooth’s eyes, already buggy and bloodshot, protruded farther, seeming ready to pop from his head. Keeping one hand on Koyee’s throat, he reached into the hole.

  “Coins, coins!” he cried and laughed, face twisted into a maniacal mask. “Snaggletooth has them. Snaggletooth is rich!”

  Like a beast digging for truffles, he tugged the coins out and stuffed them into his pockets, cackling all the while. With his treasure claimed, he finally released Koyee, shoving her against the wall.

  “Keep playing, Scar Girl!” he said. “Snaggletooth will be back for more.”

  With that, he bolted out of the alley and ran.

  Again Koyee chased a thief through the night.

  Again she found herself rushing through a crowd, weary and dizzy and bleeding.

  Finally, after what seemed like a hundred streets, she fell to her knees, held her scratched neck, and lowered her head.

  He was gone.

  “I’m sorry, Eelani,” she whispered, eyes burning. “I’m sorry.”

  She walked back, head lowered, shoulders stooped.

  She placed herself on the same street corner.

  She pulled out her flute, and she played again.

  * * * * *

  Koyee liked to think herself a strong woman, a huntress and survivor and warrior. Through hunger, theft, and misery, she had not cried. And yet when the Moon of Xen Qae rose, she could not stop a tear from falling.

  “It is our moon,” she whispered, standing in an alley and staring between the awnings. “The moon of my empire, of my village, of my family.”

  The full moon shone down upon her, the largest moon of the year. Upon its craggy surface, many claimed they saw the face of Xen Qae, a wise philosopher who had lived five thousand years ago, father of the Qaelin nation. When the great, glowing face was at its largest—only once a year—they said the old master looked down upon Eloria, blessing it with his wisdom.

  Koyee hugged herself. “Do you remember, Eelani, the Moon of Xen Qae back home in Oshy?” When her tear touched her lips, she smiled. “Remember how we’d build sky lanterns of lichen-paper, place candles in them, and let them fly into the sky? I wonder if any of them glided to Pahmey.”

  Eelani embraced her cheek, saying nothing as always; she didn’t need to. Her warmth was enough.

  “I miss him, Eelani,” Koyee whispered, and now her voice was choked. “I miss home and I miss Father. I miss those sky lanterns and the song of the river. I miss a world where I was not always so afraid, so alone.” She looked up at the moon. “Please, Xen Qae, watch over Eelani and me … and watch over Eloria.”

  Did anyone in Pahmey even know of the wise man? Did anyone in this city of dirt, jewels, hunger, and glittering lights care to worship a humble old teacher? Shivering in the cold night, Koyee pattered toward the edge of the alley. She had been spending most of her time in the shadows, a bedraggled urchin, not daring to emerge into the wider, cobbled boulevards where the decent folk walked. And yet now in this moonlight, she peered out into a wide street lined with shops and houses, seeking a hint of peace, a whisper of home.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Look, Eelani!” she whispered.

  Fresh tears budded in her eyes.

  Hundreds of people were walking down the street, slow and silent—maybe thousands. They wore white silks, and they bore silken lanterns in which candles burned. The moonlight fell upon them. Soon they began to sing, a low and peaceful chant. Koyee stood listening, smiling through her tears. They sang the song of an ancient teacher living in the wilderness, worshiping the moon, a humble philosopher who now shone above. One by one, they released their lanterns, letting them float upward, past the roofs, and into the starry sky. Thousands of small lights glowed above, stinging Koyee’s eyes and reminding her of home.

  “We are Eloria,” they sang. “We are the night.”

  A towering figure emerged around a street corner. Koyee looked and gasped. A great doll moved there, held aloft with poles and strings; it towered above the houses and buildings. Silken strands formed its beard, hair, and tufted eyebrows. White clay formed its face, a face like the moon. Robes swayed across its brass body. As the effigy of Xen Qae moved down the street, the people of Pahmey sang louder, and Koyee laughed.

  “Do you see him, Eelani? Do you see?” The giant doll walked by her, moving farther down the street. “Not all is bad in this city. Not all is dark and lonely. Light shines here too, not just the bright lights of the hilltop, but the light of old stories and dreams.”

  As if to confirm her thoughts, a wagon trundled down the street, drawn by two men. Koyee gasped to see it, and a smile spread across her face.

  “Look, Eelani. Fireworks.”

  The slim rockets filled the wagon, painted with swirls of gold, purple, and blue. Cones topped them, painted with faces of dragons, wolves, birds, and smiling philosophers. When the men carried their wagon past the alley, Koyee took a deep breath. Filth covered her, her fur was a grimy mess, and her hair lay in tangles. She felt ashamed to emerge from the shadows, but this was the Festival of Xen Qae, and so—dirty and scrawny like a starved creature—Koyee stepped out of the alley. She moved among the people, watching the wagon trundle toward a cobbled square between bronze statues of dragons.

  The first rocket blasted upward with a wake of green smoke. It whizzed toward the moon and exploded with a shower of golden sparks. Three more fireworks followed, blue and silver, blasting out like the sunlit trees Koyee had seen from the Nighttower. Across the city, she heard more explosions and glimpsed a hundred more fireworks covering the sky. The people of Pahmey stared upward, singing to the moon and lights. Perhaps all across Qaelin, the greatest empire in Eloria, people sang and prayed.

  Koyee approached a three-story building of stone and glass. She stepped into another alley, climbed the wall, and emerged onto the tiled roof. The fireworks blasted ahead of her, filling the sky with a million beads of light, a painting all in gold and blue and green.

  She sat upon the tiles, pulled her knees to
her chest, and leaned against a chimney.

  “It’s beautiful, Eelani,” she whispered.

  She smiled softly and felt her friend nuzzle her neck. For the first time in many turns, she felt some peace, some hope, some joy. The lights covered the sky, and Koyee stayed upon the roof, watching the fireworks and moon for a long time.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE WOLF PACK

  They raced through the darkness, a dozen wolfriders, heading toward the lumbering herd.

  The towering, shaggy creatures raised their horned heads. Their eyes gleamed in the moonlight, as large as dinner plates. For a moment the stonebeasts only stared, confused. As the danger registered, they bugled cries of fear, a sound like wobbling saws that rolled across the plains. They turned to flee, hooves thundering and fur billowing.

  Riding upon his nightwolf, Okado nocked an arrow. He snarled, prepared to kill.

  As a child, a fisherman’s son in a backwater, Okado had often pitied the crayfish they boiled. He had been weak. Since then, he had crushed that pity. He was a hunter now, a killer, a leader; no compassion filled his heart. He roared as he rode toward the stonebeasts, these hills of flesh that could feed a hundred people. Their horns were long, their hooves wide, their muscles rippling. Their teeth, which could grind rocks for moisture, could easily grind bone too. Yet Okado only growled, for he was a warrior, and no fear could fill his heart.

  “Chanku Pack!” he shouted, leaned forward in the saddle, and tugged back his bowstring. “Ride!”

  The herd wailed, galloping across the plains. Despite their girth—each stonebeast was large as a boat—they moved as fast as nightwolves. Okado’s own nightwolf, a great black animal named Refir, ran beneath him, fangs white and eyes blazing in the dark. At his sides, hundreds of other warriors rode their own wolves, shouting battle cries. They held their own bows, and katanas hung across their backs.

  “Fire your arrows!” Okado shouted. “Claim our prizes.”

  He released his bowstring.

  His arrow sailed through the darkness. A hundred others followed from his fellow riders. The projectiles slammed into the fleeing animals. Three stonebeasts yowled, tumbled, and crashed onto the rocky plain.