Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  Bleeding and burnt, Okado looked up.

  The demon stood above him. Through the flames, Ferius smiled. His flesh did not burn. He seemed a stone idol trapped in a burning star. The fire itself seemed to whisper.

  “All the night will burn…”

  The mace drove down like a comet.

  Pain exploded against Okado’s head.

  He fell.

  He lay on his side. Stars floated before his eyes, shadows and light, and he saw them there—the ships sailing away, the children of Eloria upon them.

  We saved them. We die in fire, but we saved them, Suntai.

  Broken, unable to breathe, he turned his head, and he saw her there. Her body was charred, but her face was still pure, her eyes open and brilliantly blue, almost alive. He crawled toward her. He reached out and held her hand.

  “We ride now, Suntai,” he whispered. “We ride upon the plains beyond the stars. Forever we’ll ride together.”

  He could no longer feel the fire, no longer feel the mace driving down against his back. He smiled softly, holding his mate’s hand, and saw only the stars. He rode upon Refir again, and she rode at his side, lights in the sky, children of eternal night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  BROKEN

  Torin stood upon the Red Flame, flagship of Ilar’s navy, watching the port burn.

  A blaze engulfed the boardwalk, all-consuming, tearing through wolfriders and monks alike. The heat blasted him, and Torin winced, wanting to be there, to fight with the men, but most of the ships had already sailed downriver. Only three vessels remained in the port. The last of the rowboats were emerging from the blazing docks, charred and bleeding survivors upon them.

  “Where are you?” Torin whispered, eyes burning in the heat.

  He had seen none of his friends. With every rowboat that arrived, he scanned the people who climbed onto the ship. Mothers clutching babes. Elders on canes. Wounded soldiers. Crying children.

  But no Koyee. Nobody else from Fairwool-by-Night.

  “Red Flame, sail!” shouted Empress Hikari, flying above the ship upon her dragon. “Sail downriver.”

  Torin shouted up at her. “Wait! Wait—there’s still room.” He pointed at several rowboats emerging from the inferno, survivors upon them. “We can fit a few more onto this ship.”

  The empress swooped upon her dragon, nearly slamming into the masts, and nodded. “Three more rowboats, then sail downriver. Two more ships await survivors.”

  Torin turned away from the battle on the port. Stretching south along the river, he saw the lamps of a hundred Ilari ships. Each vessel was crammed full of survivors, their hulls and decks crowded like coops.

  “Are you on one of those ships, Koyee?” he whispered. “Are you safe, Bailey, Cam, Hem?”

  He stared back at the city, wincing in the heat. The fires raged across the port. Farther back, pagodas blazed, walls crumbled, and Timandrian troops chanted in victory. Thousands of soldiers were streaming along the streets, heading toward the port; only a handful of Elorians now held back the tide. Smoke billowed across the battle and ash rained.

  “We sail out!” cried the ship’s captain, a beefy man clad in leather and steel. “Sailors—raise anchor. We sail!”

  Torin raced across the deck, moving between survivors, and leaned over the railing. Three last rowboats were moving through the water, navigating between scraps of burning flotsam. In each boat, fifty-odd survivors crowded. As the Red Flame’s sails unfolded and she began floating downriver, the smaller vessels attached to her side like piglets to a sow. Survivors, most of them burnt and bleeding, began climbing rope ladders onto the deck.

  Torin scanned the newcomers, daring to hope. As one group climbed aboard, he saw a tall woman among them, her head rising above the others. She wore tattered scales, scratches covered her skin, and soot painted her black. Two charred braids hung across her shoulders, and when she looked toward him, Torin saw brown eyes peering through dust and blood.

  “Bailey,” he whispered.

  She saw him and froze.

  His eyes watered.

  “Bailey!” he shouted.

  He ran toward her between Elorian survivors. He had not seen her—his dearest friend—in so long. When had they left the burning city of Pahmey? By Idar, it must have been almost half a year ago. She moved through the crowd toward him, tears etching white lines down her cheeks. When Torin reached her, she crashed into his embrace, her body shaking, her fingers digging into his back. Her tears splashed him.

  “Bailey,” he whispered, holding her close, crushing her against him, never wanting to part from her again.

  She laughed as she cried. “Oh, Winky.” She touched his cheek. “You’re still a babyface. You’re all sooty and scruffy, but you’re still my babyface.”

  He held her at arm’s length, examining her for wounds. Blood and grime covered her, but she grinned, her teeth startlingly white in her blackened face. “Thank Idar you’re all right, Bailey. I was so worried.” He felt his eyes water again, and he knuckled them dry. “Have you seen anyone else? Have you seen Koyee?”

  She stiffened and stared at him, and her smile vanished. Her eyes hardened, and for a heartbeat or two, she seemed almost heartbroken, then almost enraged. Then the moment was gone, and she blinked and nodded.

  “I saw Koyee run into the palace. She vowed to fight alongside the emperor, to protect him on his way here. They were going to leave the palace last, only after all others were evacuated.” She looked back toward the port; the last two ships were raising their anchors. “She’ll catch the last ship.”

  But no warmth or hope filled her voice; it was as leaden and cruel as a cannonball. She might as well have added: And if she doesn’t, that’s fine by me.

  The Red Flame sailed downriver, picking up speed and leaving the port behind. Enemy arrows flew overhead, launched from a guard tower along the river. A few tore through a sail, and people wailed and ducked below. Torin winced and grabbed Bailey’s arm, about to tug her down, when a cry rose behind him.

  “Torin! Bailey!”

  He turned to see more survivors climb onto the deck from a second rowboat. A short, slim figure moved among them, worming his way through the crowd and calling to him.

  Torin breathed a sigh of relief. “Cam!”

  The young shepherd reached him, looking like a beaten alley cat; his armor was chipped, grime covered his face, and blood stained his gloves. Torin grabbed his friend and pulled him into a crushing embrace. Bailey joined them, her bitterness gone, wrapping her arms around the two and squeezing.

  “Camlin Shepherd!” Torin said. “Thank Idar you’re here. Are you hurt?” He examined his friend. “Where’s Hem? Where’s that big lump?”

  Cam said nothing. He only stared, silent. Torin and Bailey were grinning and hopping with excitement, but the young shepherd only stood, his eyes dark, his face ashen.

  Torin froze. His throat constricted.

  “Cam…” Torin grabbed his friend’s arms. “What … oh Idar.”

  Cam turned to gaze toward the distant port. The fire still burned, and ash fell like snow. “He was peaceful.” Cam’s voice was so soft Torin barely heard. “I don’t think it hurt him. He held a woman in his arms, and he was gazing up at the stars.” Cam turned back toward his friends. “The damn fool probably never saw it coming.”

  Bailey covered her mouth with both hands, eyes round and watery. Torin could not speak. He could not breathe. He could only stare at Cam … Cam who’d always been part of a pair … Cam and Hem, always together, the troublemakers of town … now only one. Now only silence.

  Torin lowered his head. He held his friends, one in each arm, and they stood together. They watched the port grow smaller, the last ships leaving the flames.

  A year ago, we left Fairwool-by-Night … four friends, four youths caught up in a war too big for us. His eyes burned and his chest shook. We sail away from fire … three.

  A soft voice rose at his side. “Camlin?”


  Torin turned his head. Through his tears, he saw a young Timandrian woman, ash and blood in her tangled blond hair, her face black with soot. It took him a moment to recognize her, and when he did, Torin reached out and held her hand, and he pulled her into their warmth.

  “Linee,” he said softly.

  She clung to them, tears on her cheeks.

  As they stood together, four children of sunlight in a fleet of darkness, Torin looked back at the city; they were now sailing past its last towers, emerging into the darkness of night.

  Where are you, Koyee? he thought. Where are you? I need you here with us.

  Darkness engulfed the Red Flame ship. Stars shone overhead. Torin stood upon the deck, holding his friends, watching Yintao burn. Upon the wind, he heard the victorious chants of daylight … and the fading song of the night.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  KOYEE’S SONG

  She stood in the palace doorway, her back to the throne, watching the last people of Yintao leave along the Red Mile.

  Beyond the courtyard and halls of the palace grounds, a hundred soldiers of Yintao—the last remaining—stood upon the seventh walls, firing down at the enemy. A hundred more stood at the open gates, pikes raised, holding back the sunlit horde. Every moment, another man fell dead.

  The rest of the Eternal Palace was deserted. Where once myriads had crowded—the survivors of the slaughter—now only dust, shattered blades and a few discarded dolls remained. They had all made their way to the port; as Koyee watched, the last survivor—an elderly woman holding her granddaughter—hurried out the gates, two soldiers protecting her.

  Koyee spun around. She stared into the hall of the emperor. Jin sat strapped into a harness upon his dragon. Fifty soldiers stood around him, bearing katanas and shields emblazoned with Qaelin’s moonstars.

  “It’s time, my emperor,” Koyee said. “The last of your people have left. We leave too.”

  Jin nodded. “We leave. Shenlai! Do not fly high. We travel down the Red Mile like everyone. We stay with our soldiers. We will not soar safely as others die upon the ground.”

  Shenlai nodded, sadness in his crystal orbs. He uncoiled and began sliding forward, moving like a snake upon the hall’s mosaic. Soldiers marched at his sides, helms hiding their faces, their swords raised.

  Koyee glanced back at the courtyard outside. She winced. With most of the city’s soldiers gone down the Red Mile, protecting the people of Yintao, the enemy was breaking in. Chanting and jeering, Timandrian soldiers burst through the gates and into the courtyards and streets of the Eternal Palace. Blood stained their swords, and they shouted for victory.

  “We must hurry!” Koyee said. “Out!”

  Shenlai increased speed, bursting out of the hall like iron from a cannon. The palace guards ran at his sides. Koyee ran with them, an arm’s length from Jin who sat upon the dragon, strapped into his golden harness.

  “Through the gates!” Koyee shouted. “Soldiers of Qaelin—cut down the enemy! Make for the port.”

  She grimaced as she ran. The enemy raced toward them. A part of her knew that it was too late, that she should have left earlier, that the last to leave would suffer the brunt of Timandra’s wrath. Okado had begged her to flee sooner, but how could Koyee have abandoned her emperor, abandoned the last dragon of Qaelin, abandoned these brave palace guards who stood their ground? So she had stayed. And now she screamed as she ran toward the enemy, knowing she would die.

  They raced across the palace grounds. They crossed a courtyard, ran around a temple, and skirted a statue of Xen Qae. Fifty yards from the gates, the enemy met them.

  Koyee did not know how many Timandrians attacked—hundreds, maybe thousands. They kept flowing into the palace grounds, firing their arrows. Koyee screamed as arrows slammed into her armor. One scratched her thigh, and she nearly fell but righted herself and kept running. Timandrian soldiers ran toward her, hands bloodied, and she swung her sword. Her blade clashed against them. They thrust their own swords, denting her shield, and she shoved against them, pushing them back, not even trying to slay them—there were too many to fight—just to break through.

  “Push through them!” she shouted. “Get the emperor out the gates. To the port!”

  She drove forward, shield held before her, shoving men down. They tumbled. Shenlai roared at her side, biting and whipping his tail, sending men flying. The palace guards thrust pikes, skewering men.

  “Push them back!” Koyee shouted. “Don’t bother killing them. Just shove with your shields. To the gates!”

  Yet the enemy was too strong.

  Two palace guards fell, pierced with swords.

  Another five tumbled to her right.

  Koyee screamed, hacked at a Timandrian’s chest, and suffered a blow to her arm. Her blood spurted.

  Another blow knocked her down; she fell hard on her tailbone, pinned between Shenlai and the enemy. More swords swung her way, and she raised her shield, her arm wet. The blows pounded against her, denting her shield, tearing her armor, spilling her blood.

  “Fly, Shenlai!” she shouted. “Fly with the emperor.”

  She saw nothing but the enemies’ leering eyes and hammering swords.

  A blow shattered her shield, and blood dripped down her forehead.

  She fell onto her back. Her sword fell from her hand. Smoke coiled above. She couldn’t even see the stars.

  A roar pierced the night.

  Blue scales flashed.

  Shenlai, last dragon of Qaelin, leaped into the air and slammed down ahead of Koyee, crushing Timandrians beneath him.

  “Take the emperor!” the dragon cried. “Take Jin.”

  Koyee’s head spun, but she managed to leap to her feet. She was wounded, maybe dying, blood in her eyes. The Timandrians roared and swords swung against scales. Koyee leaped, grabbed Jin from his harness, and tore him free. She pulled the limbless boy to her chest, arms wrapped around him. She had lost both sword and shield, but she had the boy.

  Shenlai roared his cry, a howl of ancient fury, a memory of the mighty dragon he had been in older days. His long, scaly body began to move forward, shoving Timandrians back like a plow through dirt.

  “Take Jin to safety!” the dragon said.

  Koyee stood, holding the emperor. The dragon flailed, shoving the Timandrians back, and formed a living wall. Koyee and a few last palace guards stood at one side of the dragon, the gates rising to their left. Behind Shenlai, the might of Timandra roared and hacked. Scales and blood flew.

  Koyee looked at the gates, seeing the Red Mile stretch down to the last ship in port. She looked back at Shenlai.

  “Shenlai…” Jin whispered, held to her breast. “Shenlai, please…”

  Koyee hissed, raised her chin, and placed Jin into the arms of a palace guard—one of only five who still lived. “Take him to the ship. Go! Now!”

  The guard held the boy in his arms. He gave Koyee a stare that lasted both a second and an eternity and then turned to run. With his fellow guards, he raced down the boulevard toward the last ship of Ilar.

  Koyee remained in the courtyard. She reached down and fished out her father’s sword from blood. She raised the dripping blade, leaped onto Shenlai’s back, and stood facing countless shouting Timandrians. They stretched across the courtyard. They spread through the city. They crawled across all the lands of night. They were a sea of fire, of hatred, of devilry. She faced them alone.

  “I am Koyee!” she shouted, standing on Shenlai’s back; the dragon was bleeding, many of his scales gone, arrows and swords buried in his flesh. “I am a daughter of darkness. I am a child of Eloria. You slay us. You burn us. But you cannot kill our honor. You cannot light our shadows.” The clouds parted above, and moonlight fell upon her. She tossed back her head and cried for the city to hear. “Eloria! We are the night!”

  Arrows flew her way.

  One drove into her shoulder.

  Another slammed into her leg.

  Below her, Shenlai took flight.


  She wobbled on the dragon’s back. The enemy surged forward, and more arrows flew, thudding into the dragon. Swords sliced at Shenlai’s belly. Yet still he rose higher, struggling for altitude like a hot air balloon with a guttering flame. Koyee wobbled and fell upon his back, reached out, and grabbed the harness Jin had sat in. She clung, bleeding and dizzy, as the dragon ascended.

  Shenlai gained speed. They passed through smoke, rising higher than the palace walls. Shenlai was a long dragon, but his body was no wider than the back of a horse. Clinging on with one hand, Koyee gazed at the city below.

  The armies of sunlight covered Yintao. They spilled across the palace and into the emperor’s hall. They stood upon walls and roofs. They drove toward the port where the last ship of Ilar, cannons blazing and archers firing, made its way downriver. Around them lay countless corpses.

  “After the ships, Shenlai!” Koyee pointed to the river; a hundred ships were sailing into the darkness.

  They flew over the city streets. Shenlai dipped, his blood raining, losing altitude.

  “Shenlai! Fly!”

  The dragon blinked and strained, rising several feet higher. They flew toward a pagoda, and Koyee winced, sure the dragon would slam into the bricks. They managed to clear the tower, the dragon’s tail thumping against its roof. Timandrian archers stood within, firing their bows. More arrows slammed into the dragon, and he whimpered, the sound of a creature too weary for screams.

  “Fly, Shenlai, please,” Koyee begged, clinging on as her own blood spilled. “For Jin.”

  The last dragon of Qaelin, full of arrows and shattered blades, flew across the burning streets. With a last roar, he gained speed and the city blurred below. Through fire and smoke and flying arrows, they cleared the last walls and burst out into the great darkness of the plains.

  “There, Shenlai! To the river.”

  She pointed. The Yin River flowed south, lined with the lanterns of the fleeing ships. It would lead them to the southern coast, to the sea, to the island of Ilar … to safety. Torin waited upon one of those ships. Okado would be there too. Hope. Life. All of her friends and family were sailing on that river.