Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  The door opened again, but before the man could slam it on them, Bastian stuck his foot between the door and the frame. He pushed it open, sending the physic sprawling backward into the room.

  Tressa strode in ahead of him. “Where’s Connor?” Her head whipped around as she searched the room for him.

  Bastian grabbed the man by his collar. Then he noticed the bed Connor had been on when they left was empty. The sheets were changed and tucked in so tight and cleanly it was obvious no one had lain on them.

  “Connor? Who’s that?” the man asked, his voice practically a squeal.

  “Our friend. The one you just said wasn’t awake yet.” Tressa closed in on him, her nose only inches from his.

  It was never a good idea to annoy Tressa, particularly where Connor was concerned. Bastian gripped the man a little tighter, letting the collar of his shirt dig a little bit more into his neck.

  “He’s been moved. Temporarily.”

  “Why?” Tressa bared her teeth at the man. She couldn’t hurt a fly; Bastian knew that. Still, she put on a good show.

  The other man didn’t. He trembled in Bastian’s grip like a scared kitten.

  “Tell us where he is and we’ll let you live.” Bastian said it matter-of-fact. Tressa wouldn’t kill him, but Bastian had no qualms about ripping his head off. His muscles quivered and his blood rushed at the thought of finally unleashing the anger he’d tempered most of his life.

  It was hard being born a warrior in a town where peace was paramount. Tressa understood that about him. Her hand found its way onto his bicep, calming him. She knew the effect she had and had exercised it many times throughout their lives. Not since they’d been uncoupled. Those were the three hardest years of his life.

  The man sputtered, a tiny trail of spittle leaked from the side of his pursed lips. “I don’t know.”

  Bastian squeezed his collar tighter.

  “I don’t. The soldiers came back right after you left and took him. I have no say in the matter. I would have saved him if it were up to me. I don’t kill!” Tears slipped out of his eyes and down his cheeks.

  Tressa nodded at Bastian. So she believed him. Bastian wasn’t sure he did, but he couldn’t kill the man for no reason. Slowly he let go of the man’s collar.

  He scrambled backward, putting two arm’s lengths between him and Bastian’s unclenched fist.

  “Can you tell us who took him?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” The man shook his head from side to side, his grey hair falling in stringy strands over his eyes.

  “Why not?” Bastian asked.

  “He’ll never be the same. Not after they’ve taken him.”

  Bastian’s heart thundered in his chest. “What will they do?”

  The man shrank farther away from Bastian.

  He could feel his cheeks taking on a red glow as his anger swept through him. “What will they do?” he repeated.

  “I don’t know,” the man stuttered. His eyelids snapped shut, squeezing so tight his face turned into a melted of wrinkles. His fingers pawed at his eyelids, trying to force them open.

  “What’s happening to him?” The panic in Tressa’s voice rose with each word.

  The physic’s mouth wrenched to the side. Garbled words mixed with vomit spewing from his lips. Bastian put an arm in front of Tressa, holding her back. She ducked, slipping out from underneath it before he could stop her.

  “You don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Bastian yelled at her.

  She glared at him over his shoulder. “I don’t care. He’s the only one who knows where Connor might be. I’m risking it.”

  Tressa slid into to a crouch, avoiding the growing pile of vomit on the floor.

  “Help me.”

  “I don’t know how.” Tressa placed a hand on his shoulder. Bastian shuddered, wanting desperately to yank her away from the man. “Tell us where they took Connor. Please.” The desperation in her voice got to the physic. Either that or he knew his time left was short.

  “Seek absolution,” he said, his speech garbled.

  A large crack startled both Bastian and Tressa, sending her backward into his waiting arms. The physic’s neck fell to his shoulder in at unnatural angle, broken. His chest no longer lifted with life-sustaining breath.

  “Dead.” Bastian said. He rested his chin on Tressa’s head.

  “Magic,” she whispered. She pushed out of his arms, the immediate shock dissipating.

  “Does that surprise you, considering what we’ve seen so far?”

  Tressa shook her head. “What do you think he meant about seeking absolution?”

  “For his sins?” Bastian asked. “Or for Connor?”

  “Or for us? You were about to kill him. I was threatening him. Maybe he thought we were in the wrong. It’s possible he didn’t know anything.”

  Bastian nodded. “I think he did, though. He said no one ever came back the same. He was expecting Connor to be like them, whoever they are. This isn’t the first time.” Bastian licked his lips and cleared his throat. He’d stayed silent and stoic most of his life, protecting everyone from his temper. He couldn’t do it to Tressa, not now, not when Connor was missing.

  “That’s right. He did say that.” Tressa tapped a finger against her chin, gazing at the dead man. She whirled around, her hands on her hips. “Then we have to seek absolution. Find the nearest holy place. Maybe they’ve got Connor there. Or someone there knows something.”

  “Agreed.”

  A knock at the door startled them. “Rangar, are you in there? I need some herbs for Mahina’s cough.”

  Bastian nodded toward the back of the room and a door. He hoped it led outside. Tressa ran toward it and flung the door open. Bastian tried not to let out a sigh. He would have checked carefully first, before exposing them to whatever lay on the other side. Luckily it was a door to a back alley, just as he’d hoped, and no one jumped in to apprehend them.

  Tressa waved to him. Bastian took one last look at the dead man. Regret cut through his chest as he bolted toward the door. They might’ve gotten answers out of him, if only someone, or something, else hadn’t intervened and ended the conversation forever.

  He didn’t say it to Tressa as they ran down the alley, but if someone had purposely ended the physic’s life to keep him from talking, it meant someone knew Bastian and Tressa had discovered Connor was missing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Buildings flashed past her vision, but Tressa didn’t stop to marvel at how different some of them were from Hutton’s Bridge. Only Connor mattered. She picked up her pace.

  “Tressa!” The strained whisper came from behind her.

  Tressa slowed down, allowing Bastian to catch up.

  “We can’t leave the alley in a run. Maybe if we slow down, we’ll fit in,” he said.

  “Fit in?” Tressa held back a snort of laughter. “We’re not dressed like anyone else out there.”

  She looked down at her rough, woolen dress. Her breeches were still hidden underneath. Tressa grabbed the waistband, her fingers fumbling with the ties holding her skirt tight around her waist.

  “Do you need some help?”

  Tressa looked at Bastian. Memories flashed in her head of the night they’d been coupled. The night he’d first undone the ties of her dress. A blush spread over her cheeks. She looked down, her hair covering her flaming cheeks like a veil.

  “Of course not. I can take care of my own clothes.” Her fingers finally found the knot. She deftly released the ribbons from their balled prison. The skirt slipped easily over her hips. Tressa stepped out of the skirt, balled it up, and put it in her bag. “At least I look somewhat like the other women now. I haven’t seen one woman in a skirt. Have you?”

  She looked at Bastian, who opened his mouth, then closed it without uttering a word. Tressa remembered the dancer in the tavern. She’d been wearing a skirt. At least she had when they walked in. Tressa was pretty sure she’d taken it off before they left.

  “And
you…” Tressa reached up, running her fingers through Bastian’s hair. He tensed under her touch, but she didn’t stop. “The men here comb their hair back from their face. Yours is too messy.”

  Bastian didn’t respond again. Typical. He’d grown more and more silent with her every year past their uncoupling. That was why they’d stopped talking to each other. Tressa didn’t believe in one-way conversations. Once she’d stopped addressing him directly, he’d never taken the initiative to communicate with her. If it weren’t for Connor, the two of them might never have spoken to each other again.

  She stepped back and looked at him. “Okay. You look a bit better now.”

  “We both look like outcasts,” Bastian mumbled. “They’ll know.” His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, hanging from his hip.

  A loud clanging startled them both. Bastian and Tressa peered out of the alley. “Can you see anything?” Tressa stood on her tiptoes, but the gathering crowds were blocking everything in the distance.

  Bastian strained his neck upward. “No, probably not much more than you.”

  He was taller than Tressa by a head. Even that wasn’t enough. It looked as if the entire town was streaming into the square. The crowd pushed, elbows flying in every direction as they all clamored to get closer to the wooden building in the center of the square.

  The bell continued, getting more frantic with each clang. Tressa’s heart beat in time with the sonorous ringing. The crowd fell to its knees, their heads bowed in supplication toward the building.

  Women began to wail, waving their arms in the air. Men beat their chests, creating a thundering so intense, Tressa had to wonder if they were actually hurting themselves.

  She looked up at Bastian, her eyes wide. “What is this?”

  “I don’t know. Do you remember any stories like this from Sophia?”

  Tressa closed her eyes and thought, trying to remember anything that might help them know what to do. “No.” She shook her head. “But we’re more conspicuous standing here than we were a few moments ago worrying about our clothes.”

  “You’re right. Let’s go.” Bastian grabbed her elbow, steering Tressa into the crowd of people.

  They dropped to their knees. Bastian thumped his fist against his chest. Tressa threw her arms up in the air in imitation of the women around her. She opened her mouth, but didn’t utter a sound. The wrong noise at the wrong moment would mark her as an interloper.

  The bell stopped. Silence draped over the crowd like a blanket. Tressa dropped her arms to her sides, mimicking the woman next to her. Bastian shuffled closer to her until their shoulders were barely touching.

  “Gaze now upon the glory!” The voice came from the front of the crowd.

  Tressa lifted her chin, only after seeing the woman next to her do so, and glanced at the spectacle on the steps to the building. The woman who’d plucked them from the edge of the fog stood on the top step, her arms spread in the air.

  Her braided ponytail hung to the ground, woven with ribbons shining against the rays of moonlight. The blue leather hugging her body looked recently buffed.

  She grasped the large knockers on the door, flinging them open. Her braid swayed to the side, glinting as if a million stars were woven into it.

  A puff of smoke preceded a loud scratching noise.

  “Are you ready to seek absolution?” She screamed at the crowd.

  The wailing and beating began again, drowning out her words. People rose to their feet. The crowd closed in on them. Tressa’s breath caught in her chest. The people squeezed in tighter, cutting off her view of the building.

  Bastian leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Seek absolution? That’s what the physic said to do.”

  “Then I guess we’re in the right place.” Tressa jumped up, trying to see over the masses of people blocking her view.

  “Quiet,” the woman next to her hissed. “Let Queen Stacia speak.”

  Queen? Tressa mouthed it to Bastian. The woman who’d captured them wasn’t just a military leader, she was their ruler.

  “Will he forgive the trespasser?” Stacia shouted. She gestured to somewhere in the crowd.

  Tressa could only see her arms and head, the rest cut off by the crowd. More heads appeared above the crowd, climbing the steps toward her. They held something between them, their muscles bulging with the effort. A shock of sandy hair rested on the shoulder of one of the men in back.

  “Connor,” Tressa whispered to Bastian. He didn’t need to respond. The automatic tightening of his bicep told her he saw the same thing she did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Bastian strained against Tressa’s grip, holding him back from pushing his way through the crowd to Connor’s side. He was so close, but assuming everyone there would be against them, Bastian knew trying to rescue him now would only get Tressa and him taken hostage too.

  Bastian relaxed, forcing himself to take steady breaths. His muscles unclenched. Tressa’s hand dropped to her side. His eyes focused on the scene at the front, burning holes into the backs of those who carried Connor.

  Stacia raised her arms higher in the air. “Let us pray!” she shouted.

  As one, the crowd intoned, “Lead us. Forgive us. Take the trespasser. Make your judgment on all.”

  Tressa put her hand on his arm again, but this time it wasn’t enough. Bastian pushed his way through the masses, elbowing anyone who wouldn’t move. He didn’t even look behind him. He knew Tressa was there, following. She wasn’t the type to hide.

  Bastian advanced on the woman in blue. His chest heaved with every breath, pushing the apprehension down and replacing it with grit determination. The crowd parted, now aware someone was breaking tradition. Women cowered in front of him. Hands pawed at his feet. He trudged on until he arrived at the wooden dais.

  The twelve men in black surrounded Stacia. Bastian couldn’t see more than the blue boots on her feet. The shiny toes peeked out between the black boots of her guard.

  “Fools! Let me be!” The men parted and Stacia stepped toward the edge. She held out a hand to Bastian.

  He grasped it in his. With a surprising strength, she pulled him up. Bastian’s knees scrambled over the edge, gaining purchase on the rough wood. He stood up and reached out to help Tressa up, but the guards surrounded him just as they had Stacia a moment ago.

  “She is not allowed on the sacred stage. Her,” Stacia wrinkled her nose, “womanhood will sully the ceremony. You interrupted us. Pray for forgiveness. You’ll need it.”

  “You’re a woman too,” Tressa called out from below.

  “You have no idea what I am.” Stacia’s lips turned up in a snarl. Her head snapped back to Bastian. “Step forward. Come see your friend.”

  Bastian followed her to Connor’s side. Connor’s head lay limp, lolling on his shoulder. Eyelids closed. Bastian willed them to open, for his friend to spring to life. Together they might be able to fight their way out.

  The men crowded behind Bastian, cutting off his view of Tressa completely.

  Bastian looked closer at Connor’s neck. He reached out a hand, but Stacia slapped it before he could search for a pulse.

  “He is alive. If he was dead, someone else would be in his place.” Stacia looked Bastian up and down, starting with his head and ending with his feet, as if she were tasting every inch of him. “Perhaps you, though perhaps not. You’re not exactly what we’re looking for.”

  “And Connor is?” Bastian asked. “Why?”

  Stacia threw her head back. Her braid, studded with metal spikes, scraped the wooden planks, leaving scratch marks in its wake. Her neck rolled to the side, her braid following like a snake. “Because you’re far too scrumptious to sacrifice!”

  She pushed him backward. Bastian fell on his ass, his hands smarting from slapping the wood. Stacia’s head wound again, faster this time. Her braid ascended, sparkling in the waning light of evening.

  “Sacrifice is ours. We commend his spirit to the cycle!”

 
The crowd ululated, their voices reaching a fevered pitch. Bastian scrambled to his feet, but he couldn’t match the speed of Stacia’s murderous braid. The sharp tips of metal lashed at Connor’s body. Flesh and blood sprang from his body, showering Bastian with tiny pieces of his best friend.

  “No!” Bastian lunged toward Connor, but three of the men held him by his arms and waist.

  Stacia chortled as her braid ripped Connor into a blur of maroon streaks. Bastian gagged at the copper scent tickling his nose. He’d smelled it a million times before helping with the slaughter of animals in Hutton’s Bridge. Knowing it came from his best friend forced bile to rise from his stomach. He swallowed it back, refusing to show any weakness in front of the people he wanted to destroy.

  Stacia stepped back. Blood ran down her face to her chest.

  The tall door behind Connor opened slowly. A puff of smoke preceded a clicking noise. Bastian looked back into the crowd. Tressa stood at the edge, her eyes wide, frozen in place. He swung back to the door. Three claws scraped on the wood planks.

  With each tap they moved ever closer to Connor’s body. He was so still. Bastian could only hope he was dead, unable to experience the horror surrounding him.

  The claws marched closer and closer, each second more agonizing than the last. Bastian realized he’d stopped struggling against his captors. His arms were slack, defeat pouring out of every vein. Still, the men held onto him with grips tighter than newly forged manacles.

  “Let me go,” Bastian growled at them. Their heads were trained on Stacia, refusing to acknowledge Bastian’s command. He stepped to the side, crushing the toes of the man on his right. Faster than lightning, Bastian yanked the injured man to the side, knocking out the guard on his right. With his newly free hand, he slammed his fist into the nose of the man behind him.

  “Get Connor,” Tressa yelled from behind him.

  Bastian bent over, prepared to rush through anyone in his way. Until the claws snapped forward, curled around Connor, and pulled him through the doorway.

  The crowd erupted in cheers. Bastian shot Stacia a look of hatred. She replied with a smile. Her tongue crept out the side of her mouth, licking Connor’s blood and pieces of his flesh off her lips. She blew Bastian a kiss. “Go now. Run. There’s nowhere for you to hide. We will find you again.”