Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  “As far as I’m concerned, your brain is the same as a rock. Now please be quiet and don’t draw attention.”

  Grumbling under his breath, Cam looked around the street again, hoping nobody heard the argument. Fortunately, the Verilish soldiers who walked here all seemed too drunken to pay Linee and him any heed. Cam was thankful. Linee and he wore Verilish furs and armor—relics of their battle along the road—but they stood a good foot shorter than everyone else. The Verilish, dwellers of the snowy pine forests north of Arden, were a towering folk, their shoulders broad and their bellies ample. They wore breastplates over fur, and their wooden shields bore paintings of bears. Most were men, their beards brown and bushy, but women moved among them too, nearly as broad and powerful, their cheeks round and red, their laughter raucous. Like the men, these bear-maidens drank from tankards of ale, and war hammers hung across their backs; they too towered over Cam.

  “Sheep’s droppings, it’s a wonder Torin’s father ever survived a war against these people,” he mumbled under his breath. He had heard the old soldier speak of Arden’s invasion of Verilon; Cam had always thought the stories of giants riding bears mere tall tales for the fireside.

  A bear lolloped down the street ahead, grunting with every step. The rider atop the beast—a woman with hair as brown and shaggy as her mount’s—shouted down at him.

  “Move, dwarves! Out of my way.”

  Cam and Linee leaped aside, landing in a puddle. The bear rambled on.

  “Come on, Linee,” Cam said softly. “Let’s keep walking. The port must be around here somewhere.”

  They made their way through the crowd of soldiers, stepping between wandering bears, drunken warriors boasting of their kills, and the odd pile of bear droppings. The city of Eeshan, located on the northern coast of Qaelin, bore little resemblance to the fallen city of Pahmey. Cam saw no crystal towers here, only rows of squat brick homes, their green roofs curling up at the corners like sneering lips. Lanterns lined the cobbled streets, the tin shaped as fish. A few pagodas rose here and there, and public fireplaces belched out heat and light, but he saw no grand castles or temples. This seemed to have once been a city of traders and merchants; he saw many workshops with pottery, candles, silks, and other goods in the windows.

  It was a smaller city than Pahmey—Cam guessed that perhaps twenty thousand people lived here—though he saw few of its denizens. The Elorians hid inside their homes; Cam caught only brief glimpses of their large, bright eyes peering from windows before disappearing into shadows. Only once did he see an Elorian outside on the street; the poor man was a prisoner of war, naked and chained, a Verilish soldier tugging him along.

  From the drunken boasting of soldiers, Cam could piece together the story. Verilon had invaded the place a few months ago, it seemed, and the city had fallen after only an hourglass turn of battle. Since then, most of the Verilish troops had left the city, streaming toward some eastern campaign.

  “It’s the capital we sack next!” one Verilish soldier shouted, standing at a street corner and waving his hammer. “The sun will rise on Yintao.”

  Cam grumbled. Yintao. Capital of Qaelin.

  It’s there that we must bring aid, he thought and swallowed. It’s there that I’ll meet my friends again. It’s there that the fate of the night will be sealed.

  He shuddered, remembering the great Battle of Pahmey last year. Thousands had died fighting for that city, the forces of Arden clashing with the city defenders. Nightmares of the blood and fire still filled Cam’s sleep. But that battle would seem like a mere wrestle with Bailey compared to war at Yintao. If Cam and his friends could bring aid to that city, empires would clash. Hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of troops would kill and die for the night. Cam felt faint and his knees wobbled. More blood would spill. More cannons would fire. More soldiers would die around him, armor cleaved open, innards leaking, and—

  “Look!” Linee pointed down the street. Cold wind ruffled her stolen furs and clanked her crude, iron armor. “I see masts. The port!”

  Cam shook his head wildly, clearing it of thoughts. He squinted and peered along the street. The cobbled road sloped downward, lined with brick homes, pagodas, and swinging lanterns. Beyond a crowd of Verilish revelers astride bears, he could just make out the tips of masts. He counted a dozen. Beyond them loomed shadows.

  “Let’s go.” Cam tugged on Linee’s hand. “Do you still have your jewels?”

  She sniffed, bit her lip, and nodded. “You promise to buy me more jewels once the war’s over, right?” She reached into her pocket and produced chains glittering with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. “My Cery gave me these, and—”

  “Not here!” Cam hurriedly pulled her hand down, glancing around and hoping no one saw. “We’re supposed to just be Verilish soldiers. Verilish soldiers don’t have the jewels of a queen.”

  “But I am a queen—” she began. “Oh.” A sly look spread across her face. “Now I finally understand! I was wondering why we were dressed in furs and armor and carrying hammers.” She giggled. “It’s a disguise! Like at the masquerades back home.”

  Cam’s jaw hung open and his eyebrows rose. “You just now…” He shook his head again and sighed. “Come on. And keep your jewels in your pocket.”

  They made their way down the road. A stone archway rose ahead, topped with bronze statues of leaping fish and whales, candles inside their eyes. Linee pointed upward, gaping at the statues, as they walked under the archway and emerged into the port of Eeshan.

  A boardwalk stretched along the coast. Piers drove into the sea, topped with lighthouses. Fifty-odd boats docked here, while further out in the ocean, Cam could make out the lamps of anchored carracks, vessels too large to moor at the piers. Two breakwaters engulfed the port like wings of stone. Most of the ships had wooden hulls, canvas sails, and bear figureheads—Timandrian ships. Others were Elorian junks, their hulls smaller, their sails battened, but they too now bore the bear banner—ships captured in battle, Cam surmised.

  “We’re looking for a civilian ship,” he said to Linee, walking along the boardwalk. “A merchant would do nicely, even a mercenary or smuggler.”

  “I don’t like any of these boats,” Linee said. “I hate water, unless it’s a warm bubble bath. Can we just look at the boats, then walk the rest of the way?”

  Cam held out his hands, exasperated. “How can we walk to Leen, an island?”

  “The same way we walked here!” She tapped his helmet. “Think, Camlin.”

  He groaned. “Linee, do you even know what an island is?” When she shook her head, Cam covered his face with his palm. “Oh thorny sheep hooves … just … just be quiet then and let me choose a ship myself.”

  He returned his eyes to the ships. Right away, he ruled out most of them; they bore the banners of Verilon’s navy, and soldiers in armor guarded their decks. Cam and Linee walked along the boardwalk, scanning the piers. Hundreds of people moved around them. Most were soldiers of Verilon, their wide breastplates snug atop their fur tunics; they sang between gulps of ale, their tankards as large as their hammerheads. But Cam saw other Verilish folk too: bearded peddlers hawking food from the homeland; ladies in fur-trimmed gowns, golden bear-paw amulets hanging from their necks; and every sort of tradesman from engineer to doctor to haberdasher. Even a few Elorians stood on the boardwalk, seemingly unperturbed by the forces occupying their city: yezyani batting their eyelashes and giggling at soldiers’ jokes, buskers playing flutes and juggling torches for coins, and—Cam cringed to see it—three Elorian prisoners in stocks.

  “What about that one?” Linee tugged his sleeve and pointed. “I like that ship. There’s a nice puppy painted on it.”

  Cam looked and groaned. “That’s a military vessel. See the soldiers on deck? And that’s a bear on the hull, not a puppy. We can’t travel with Verilon’s navy.”

  She pouted. “Why not? I like that ship. It’s painted nicely and it’s the biggest one.”

  “Li
nee! For pity’s sake, a Verilish warship isn’t going to give us a lift to recruit Leen to fight them. Think! Ah … here we go. This one is more like it.”

  He began leading them toward a creaky old cog with a single mast. The unpainted hull bristled with barnacles. A ragged Verilish man stood on the deck, his head bald but his beard thick, sorting through piles of furs.

  Linee froze, planting her feet firmly on the ground. “That ship stinks! I can smell it from here. And the sailor looks like a disgusting gutter rat.”

  “He looks like a disgusting fur trapper.” Cam smiled. “Just the sort of chap we need. If he’s not a soldier, he might take us north to Leen for your jewels.”

  Linee looked ready to burst into tears. “I’m not giving my jewels to him! I’ll only give them to a nice, beautiful lady like me.”

  A growl fled Cam’s throat. “If you don’t come with me to this ship right now, I’m going to tell you another ghost story.”

  Her bottom lip wobbled. “But I’m scared of ghost stories.”

  “I know. And I’ve got a cracker of a story for you. It’s about a ghost who was haunting a young queen, and—”

  “All right!” She stamped her feet. “You don’t have to be so mean. You’re worse than Suntai when you try to scare me.”

  Three bears rumbled by, soldiers waving tankards upon their backs. When the beasts had passed them, Cam and Linee walked along the docks toward the old fur trapper’s cog. Linee gave a little squeak, and even Cam wrinkled his nose; she was right, this boat did stink, a sickening aroma of sweat, rotten food, and dried blood.

  “Ahoy!” Cam shouted up to the man on deck, deciding it was a good nautical greeting. “Ahoy, friend!”

  The bald, bearded man leaned across the railing and squinted down at Cam. He hawked and spat noisily, narrowing missing Linee; the exiled queen whimpered and hid behind Cam.

  “Bit short for soldiers, you two are.” The man scratched his backside. “Show me your coin before I sell you fur. I got deer hides, rabbit slippers, squirrel tails, fox scarves, raccoon cloa—”

  “We’re not looking for fur,” Cam said. “We’re looking to book passage north. We’d like to hire your ship.”

  Linee whispered behind him, “I’d like a scarf.”

  Cam shushed her and looked back up at the fur trapper.

  The bearded man snorted. “I don’t sail back to Verilon for another month. Got me plenty more furs to sell round here.”

  “We’re not going to Verilon!” Linee said, stepping from behind Cam. “We’re going north to a magical, beautiful kingdom called Leen. It sounds like my name! They say it’s full of crystal forests and wise sages in silken robes, and maybe there are butterflies there too. Will you take us?”

  The fur trapper gaped at her, hands dropping to his sides. He blinked, then burst into laughter, a hideous sound like a strangled animal.

  “You two are drunker than half the navy!” he bellowed. “Get lost, you two, before I skin you and sell your own hides back to you. Go on, get lost!”

  The two turned to leave, Cam grumbling and Linee sniffling. As they walked along the boardwalk, searching for another ship, Cam spoke in a low voice.

  “Next time, you might try to break the news about Leen a little more gradually. And try not to sound like an empty-headed fairytale queen.”

  “But that’s who I am!” She covered her face with her palms. “I can’t do this. I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t wear this stupid, stinky fur and armor, traveling around the night like this.” Tears streamed down her cheeks and dampened her fur cloak; Cam didn’t understand how eyes could even produce so many tears. “I thought I could do it, but … you’re right. I’m just an empty-headed fairytale queen, and I’m not strong. I’m not smart. I’m not brave. I’m not like you, Camlin.”

  A few soldiers, rambling along the docks, noticed her tears and began to mutter among themselves. Heart sinking, Cam took Linee by the arm and guided her toward the awning of a fish shop. Her lips trembled as she wept.

  “Linee,” he said softly. “Linee, look at me. Do you see me?”

  She nodded, blinking tears away.

  “Good,” he continued. “I’m no hero. I’m not strong or smart or brave either. I’m only a shepherd’s boy from a village. I’m short. I’m just as lost and scared in this huge, dark land as you are.”

  She gasped. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Really. Being brave and strong and smart … that’s not just for people like Suntai or Bailey or Okado. It’s just about … doing the right thing. Fighting on. Moving forward step by step. You can do this. I know you can. I believe in you.”

  A smile trembled on her face. She embraced him and squeezed.

  “All right. But I think you are a hero.” She grinned. “Even if you’re short and stupid and stinky.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Great. Now let’s look for another ship.”

  * * * * *

  They passed several more ships along the docks: three military carracks, a fisherman’s dinghy too small to navigate the ocean, and a mercenary’s galley whose tattooed, scarred, sneering sailors sent Cam and Linee scurrying away. It was at the edge of the boardwalk, right by the eastern breakwater, that they found the creaky caravel. A vessel with two triangular sails, it bore a figurehead shaped as a woman with a bear’s head. Words scrawled across the hull in Verilish script; it used the same alphabet Cam spoke in his homeland, spelling out “The Bear Maiden.”

  “Aye, I’ll ferry you north to Leen,” said the ship’s captain when Cam and Linee stepped on board. “Came here all the way from Verilon to sell ale to soldiers. They drank the lot and now are marching south. Off to fight in Yintao, they are, some great alliance of the eight sunlit kings.” The man gulped down ale from a tankard of his own. “Got no business left but ferrying you miserable two.”

  Cam placed a few jewels on the table. Emeralds, sapphires, and rubies glimmered upon the scarred wood. “You get these now and the rest when we arrive in Leen. It’ll be Linee and I joining you, our Elorian prisoner, and two nightwolves too—beasts as large as horses. You ask questions, we take our business elsewhere.”

  They sat in the captain’s chamber, the ship anchored in the port. Candles burned in an iron holder. Casks, rolled-up scrolls, and bundles of canvas lay upon a dozen shelves. The captain, an aging Verilish man, sported a mane of wild auburn hair and an even wilder, redder beard. He scratched his veined nose and picked his teeth.

  “No questions?” He sloshed his ale, dribbling some into his beard. “I see here two Ardish youths dressed in Verilon’s furs, their disguises as pathetic as their fake accents. They got an Elorian stashed outside the city and two bloody nightwolves—them’s illegal beasts in these parts. And you want to sail to an enemy empire.” He chortled, spraying ale onto the table—and some onto Linee, who squealed. “No questions will cost you extra. Toss in another emerald and might be I’ll keep mum.”

  Cam grumbled, reached into his pouch, and rummaged around. Ignoring Linee’s whimpers, he placed another emerald on the table. “There’s more where those came from. You’ll get them once you drop us off at Leen.” He managed a crooked grin. “You’ll be the first Timandrian sailor to see the mystic island.”

  The captain brought the emerald near his eye, squinted, and pocketed the stone with an approving grunt. “First Timandrian? You’ve been on the road too long. Orida’s been raiding Leen’s coast for months now. Bloody barbarians probably burned the entire island down by now. You might want me to just ferry you back home to sunlight.”

  Cam groaned. He had heard of Orida, a Timandrian island far north in the arctic, their banners bearing the orca—killer of the sea. Folk spoke of great warriors, seven feet tall, with golden hair and thick mustaches, their swords wide, their oared galleys the fastest ships on the seas. He had never seen the warriors of Orida, but stories of their cruelty had reached south all the way to Fairwool-by-Night. If these men were attacking Leen, would Cam find only death and destruction, more co
nquered realms like here in Qaelin?

  He cleared his throat. “Our journey leads to Leen. We sail on. We leave now. Our Elorian companion—that is, prisoner—and her wolves await us two miles east along the coast. When we pass by, she’ll swim to join us.”

  The captain croaked a laugh—a hideous sound. “A prisoner willing to wait in darkness, then swim toward her captors? Aye, sounds very much like a prisoner indeed.” He roared with laughter, revealing yellow teeth. “Ah! Wipe the shock off your faces. I don’t care if you’re marrying the damn savage, so long as you pay me. Aye. We set sail. I just got one rule.” He pointed a finger at Cam; it ended with a scarred nub, the tip missing. “You stay away from my crew. They’re not just my sailors—they’re my daughters. You lay a hand on them, I cut it off.”

  Cam nodded and reached out his hand. “You got a deal, old man.

  The captain spat into his hand before shaking Cam’s. “My name’s Captain Olor, boy. And you definitely got yourself a deal.”

  Cam winced, pulled his hand free, and wiped it against his pants. Linee stuck out her tongue in disgust, then giggled and elbowed Cam’s stomach.

  They set sail that very turn.

  As the Bear Maiden sailed out of port, Cam stood upon the deck and watched the city of Eeshan grow smaller. Its pagodas, cobbled streets, and lamps faded into a smudge of light in the endless darkness. Beyond the city Cam could see a trail of more lights flowing south—the forces of Verilon traveling down the Iron Road.

  “They will join with Ferius’s army,” Cam said softly into the wind, leaning over the railing. “All across Moth, armies muster to join him. And they will march east.” He turned to look at Linee who stood at his side. “They will fight against Yintao, the greatest city in Nightside. It is there that Eloria will survive or fall. We must bring aid. We must succeed.”

  Linee nodded and took his hand. “We will.” She spoke softly, the wind billowing her hair. “When I first came into the night, I was very scared. I thought the Elorians were monsters—their eyes so large, their skin so pale, their clothes so foreign. But … they’re not monsters, are they? We are the monsters.” She sniffed and lowered her head. “I see that now. I still see it in my dreams—Ferius killing him. He just … just stabbed my husband in the back, and … he killed so many others.” For once she shed no tears; she squared her jaw and stared at the lights on the coast. “And so I will fight him. You were right, Camlin. Heroes don’t need to be tall or strong or wise. They just need to keep going. And that’s what I’ll do.”