Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  “That’s right, dearie, and the prettiest one of the lot, or so old Sortick used to say,” Alanick replied. “He was always giving me gifts, sheep mostly, because he had much too many of them at the time, but as I say, eat what’s on your plate, so I became a shepherdess when Sortick passed on, and I made a good living thanks to him.” She slapped her round stomach and leaned back, sighing, temporarily lost in her memories.

  This gave time for Salick and Garet to look sternly at each other until they could speak again. In the silence, he heard a potter’s wheel rumbling in the shop below and wondered how many people in the city would be unable to sleep in these dangerous times.

  Garet asked, “In your time in the Palace, Mistress, did you see anything that would help us now? You know what’s at stake.”

  The old woman’s smile disappeared. “Yes I do, lad, perhaps even more than you do.” She heaved herself off the cushions of her chair and walked over to a set of drawers. Rummaging through them, she pulled out a small square of silk, framed in ivory and brought it over to show the two Banes.

  “Careful with this! It’s the oldest star chart in the city, maybe in the Five Cities combined,” she told them, laying the yellowed silk chart on the table before them.

  It showed familiar constellations, all in their right places, as far as Garet could discern. Writing symbols, though oddly shaped, ran in ornate notations beside each major constellation.

  “These are our stars, now, this very night,” he said. “But don’t they change over time, pass through the different, ah ‘zones,’ as you said in the market.”

  “So, you remember that, dearie,” Alanick said, smiling a bit. “I knew when I saw your stars that you would be involved in great things.” She slapped a hand to her chest. “Let your Master Tanock dispute with me now!”

  Salick bit her lower lip and, after a few deep breaths, said, “That Master has…retired, Mistress.” She leaned forward and pointed at the chart. “But isn’t Garet right, I mean, why should an old chart show the exact pattern of tonight’s stars?”

  “Because the greatest of all cycles in Heaven has just completed itself,” the astrologer replied, her voice deepening to its professional level. “The stars are as they were six-hundred years ago, when Shirath was founded. It was under these stars that the first Banehall Master and the first King together laid the stones of the city wall,” she explained. “Here,” she said, pointing at the symbols on the side of the chart. “Here is where the zones are listed. The stars that govern all our fates now pass through the Zone of Change, just as they did six centuries ago. Things are occurring now that have not happened for six hundred years.” She folded her arms and looked down at them.

  “Does that mean that the Caller De…” he started, then stopped as he saw her eyes widen at his intended word, “I mean the new beast that’s loose in the city now, is that what’s returned?”

  “Perhaps,” was all she would say.

  “But what about the Midlands?” Salick asked. “There were no problems there six hundred years ago!”

  “How do we know that?” Garet said, before Alanick could bristle a response. “And besides, change doesn’t mean the same change, over and over again.”

  Alanick nodded at that, and after a moment’s hesitation, put away the chart and poured more tea to replenish their cold cups. Planting herself on the cushions again, she leaned forward, all business, and began to speak.

  “If you want to get into the Palace, you’ll have to get past the guards and the Duelists who surround it day and night now,” she began. “That prancing fool, Shoronict, is back and in charge of them. He’s always putting his nose into everything. Some say he means to be a Lord himself, perhaps he’ll take Andarack’s place if the King has him banished.” She shook her head and took a sip of her tea and biscuit mix.

  “How do we get past them?” Salick demanded. Her hands curled around the cup, the contents trembling a bit inside.

  “I’m getting to that, dearie,” Alanick said. “There’s a baker in this street who delivers to the Palace. Trax likes his sweet buns for breakfast, Tomick says. He delivers them at the beginning of the fourth watch, only an hour or so before dawn. He owes me money, so I can convince him to let you two take the delivery there for him.” She sat back, satisfied with her plan. “He owes me too much to ask questions, though it’ll worry him half to death!” She seemed pleased with the prospect.

  “But Mistress,” Garet complained, “that will only get us to the kitchens.”

  Alanick held up her hand, the fingers bent and swollen with age. “Easy there, dearie. I won’t leave you halfway.” She leaned forward again and grinned. “You two will take the Beauty’s Way into the King’s chambers.” She fell back on her cushions and cackled. It was some time before she could speak again.

  “There’s a hidden corridor from the servant’s section of the Palace to the King’s rooms. Not many know about it. The Kings used it to bring their concubines to their chamber. That’s why it’s called the Beauty’s Way. Very handy if the king was married,” she said, wiping her eyes and wheezing slightly.

  “But couldn’t their wives stop them?” Garet asked

  “If there were no children yet,” Salick told him, “the King might try to produce an heir using a concubine.” Her tone was flat. “The Ward Lords do that sometimes as well.”

  “Yes, that’s true, dearie,” Alanick agreed, reaching across for Salick’s hand and patting it. “There’s many as is hurt in that business, but I’m glad to say that Sortick’s wife had already passed, so I never had to sneak around her. We just used the Beauty’s Way to stop the gossip; the Palace is a terrible place for it, you know.” She shook her head.

  Salick slipped her hand away and held it folded in the other on her lap. Alanick clucked her tongue and smiled at her.

  “How will we find this secret corridor, Mistress?” Garet asked.

  “Once you two are in the kitchen, drop your wares off with the cook and make for the washing rooms. Tell them you have to wash up before you go back. When you get there, look in the last bathing stall. The closet behind the tub has a false backing. You can lift it out. The Way starts there,” she explained.

  In the street below a voice called out, “All clear here, Master,” and was answered with a faint, “Come back then.” Footsteps echoed on the cobbles below as the patrol passed.

  “Thank Heaven you Banes are back on patrol!” Alanick said. “Else we’d all wake up dead in our beds.” She pushed herself up and signalled them to follow her. “Come on, dearies, let’s go give Tomick the bad news.”

  The baker grumbled, but Alanick backed him into a corner, physically with her considerable weight, and financially, with a threat of immediately recalling his many loans. In the end, he sourly directed the two Banes to cover the colourful tunics they had secured from Marick with the white canvas aprons of baker’s apprentices. Their weapons, Tarix’s steel clawed baton and Garet’s rope-hammer, were too obvious to try to smuggle into the Palace and were left in Alanick’s care. The two Banes were forced to settle for long, serrated bread knives thrust through their belts.

  “If we meet a demon,” Garet complained as they pushed a handcart of steaming bread and buns through the freezing, pre-dawn streets of the Ward, “maybe it’ll be kind enough to stand still while we saw it to death!”

  The iron-rimmed wheels rang on the stones beneath as Salick pushed beside him. “Don’t worry about demons,” she said, cursing as they maneuvered the ungainly cart around a tight corner. “Leave them to the Banes, we’re just a pair of poor bakers.”

  The Fifth Ward guards let them out without comment, used to seeing the delivery rattle through the gates on their watch. The flatter paving stones of the plaza quieted their wheels as they pushed the cart through the rear gardens of the palace towards the servants’ entrance.

  Before they could reach the door, a man’s voice called out, “Halt, who comes to the Palace?” and two guards stepped out of the shadows t
o confront them. They held their spears ready but lowered them at the sight of the cart.

  The other guard, a woman with a sharp, hawk-like face, held out a hand to stop them. “Where’s Tomick tonight?” she demanded. Her spear’s point hesitated at a spot between the ground and their hearts.

  “Ate too many of his own wares last night, and now he’s in bed with a sore gut and leavin’ us to do his job as well!” Salick said, all in one breath. She pushed her baker’s cap back on her head and asked, “Where are we supposed to take these, Mistress?”

  Her companion was pawing through the cloth-wrapped bread. Garet saw him pocket a few of the buns. “This stuff’s all right, Silat,” he said.

  The woman eyed them for a moment and then barked, “Show me your hands!”

  The two Banes held them out for her inspection. She grabbed Salick’s hand and felt the calluses on her palm. White flour came off on the guard’s own fingers when she released her.

  “All right, take the cart to the right, into that archway,” she told them, wiping her hand on the wrappings covering the cart’s contents. They faded back into the shadows, probably, thought Garet, to eat their stolen buns.

  As they approached the archway to the kitchen yards, Salick whispered, “Alanick was right about rubbing our hands with flour. She’s sharper than I thought.”

  Garet nodded. “Now we know what Marick will be like if he grows up!” But it was true, the old woman had planned their invasion of the Palace as cleverly as a King or a Hallmaster. The cart made it easily through the wide kitchen-yard gate, and Salick propped it against the curb of the yard’s well. They stacked the trays, one on top of the other as Tomick had shown them, and shouldered them before entering the kitchens.

  Despite the early hour, a dozen cooks bustled about their tables and hearths, preparing a breakfast that could feed an army. And there was likely an army of the King’s fighters to eat it, Garet thought, as he lowered the trays on to an empty table.

  “Not there!” a middle-aged woman yelled at him. She wiped her hands on a stained apron and bustled over to them. “Where’s Tomick? Have you got all the order?” She pulled cloths off trays and counted items. “There’s some buns missing,” she cried, then waved off their excuses. “Never mind, it’s those guards outside, I know.” She threw up her hands. “Claws! They think they should eat like the King just because they serve him. Heaven save us from mad times!” She called over apprentices to take the trays.

  Salick gathered up the cloths and tied them in a knot over her shoulder. “Mistress,” she asked timidly, “could we wash up before we go back?”

  “What?” the cook demanded, already turning to deal with a new disappointment. “Oh, of course, child. Over there, down that hall to the left.” She stomped away to direct a biting flow of language at a pot of burnt porridge, and the apprentice who had ruined it.

  “Come on,” whispered Salick and they slipped out of the kitchen and down the hall the cook had indicated.

  A gust of warm, moist air showed them the door to the washing room. Inside, rows of wash stands and tubs of water gave their heat and moisture to the air and made them feel they had stepped out of winter and into a humid summer day. The back wall had stalls, each with a huge tub, and each tub large enough to hold four people. Three of the stalls had the curtains drawn across their entrance. That, along with the sound of splashing water, indicated their present use. As they tip-toed down the row, Garet saw with a sinking heart that the last stall had its curtain drawn as well. He looked at Salick and she held a finger to her lips.

  Edging closer, she listened, then shook her head. Garet listened as well, but no noise came to his ears at first. Then, starting softly, but growing in volume, he heard the unmistakable sound of a person snoring. He looked at Salick. Her relieved expression showed that she had heard it as well. In fact, the snoring grew so loud, that it cut across the splashing from the other tubs.

  A woman’s voice called out from behind one of the other curtains. “Tirint! Listen to that; old Barick’s fallen asleep again,” she said. Laughter answered her from another stall and water splashed out from beneath the curtain.

  “Do you think he might drown this time?” a man’s voice answered.

  “The stars would never be so lucky for us. Claws, he’s louder than a sick cow!” the woman laughed back.

  The snores continued, unabated by the criticism. Salick edged the curtain open and dropped to her hands and knees, motioning Garet to follow her. The floor was swimming in water that washed over the side of the massive tub. Looking up, he could see a massive, grey-haired head propped against the wooden rim. Garet’s hands and pants legs were soaked, and he slipped slightly on the flagstones, bumping the tub.

  The snores changed timbre and the two Banes froze. The head moved slightly and a tide of water sloshed over the side, drenching Garet’s head and back. Salick fingered her knife doubtfully for a moment, then carefully reached for a wooden bucket resting on its side behind the tub. She hefted it. Garet held his breath. The snores resumed, perhaps a bit deeper than before, and Garet sighed with relief.

  They crawled to the cupboard behind the tub and silently removed the bright green tunic and other clothes hanging there. The tension of the moment and irritation at his soaking caused a sudden urge for mischief, and Garet placed the clothes on the floor where the water was deepest. Salick tried to stop him with soundless words and exaggerated expressions, but in the end she just shook her head and smiled. The back panel of the closet was only loosely hanging on hooks at its top and bottom. They lifted it off carefully and slid into a dark passageway, replacing the panel behind them.

  The corridor was narrow and dusty. High above, the walls were pierced in tiny, decorative patterns of outside light. They could hear faint voices through these small holes, but no words could be made out.

  As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Garet saw the corridor turned some fifty yards ahead of them. He took the lead, leaving Salick to follow. Just around the corner, a stairway led up past the rills of light into the darkness beyond.

  “Alanick said this staircase leads to the King’s chambers on the third level,” Salick whispered. She held the knife in front of her so tightly that Garet put a hand on her shoulder for reassurance. She smiled at him, relaxing her grip. “Don’t worry about me! It’s just that I hate this place,” she whispered, and squeezed past him to climb the stairs.

  Their boots made no noise, softened by the inch of dust on the steps, and Salick held her nose to keep from sneezing at the small clouds they created with their passage. When they reached the level of the wall holes, the voices became more distinct. Salick paused. She held up her hand for Garet to listen. One of the voices was Shoronict’s, the other was Draneck’s. The taller Duelist was speaking in a condescending tone.

  “Don’t worry, Draneck,” he said. “The King may have been routed, but that doesn’t mean he, or should I say we, are finished. If we can’t kill them with swords, we can kill them with hunger.”

  “That’s not how I want to end this!” Draneck said. “What about that armour you took from Andarack’s house?”

  “It may have its uses, but for now, Lord Andarack is unwilling to tell the King, or anyone, just what they are.” He gave a short laugh. “His Majesty does not want to persuade him to be more forthcoming, lest he lose the support of the other Ward Lords. Perhaps…”

  “If that armour is what we think it is, we won’t need the Lords,” Draneck cut in, “or the…”

  “Quiet, fool!” Shoronict hissed. There was the sound of something heavy being pushed against the wall, just below the holes. “If you talk like that, we’ll both end up banished, and the Duelists will cease to exist in this city!”

  There was no audible reply and the two Banes made to continue when the sound of running boots sounded from the other side of the wall. Shoronict’s voice came to them again, fading as he moved away. “What’s that? No, don’t bother the King, I’ll…”

  Now it wa
s Garet’s turn to grasp the handle of his knife and squeeze. He hated Draneck for wounding Salick, and Shoronict for assisting him in the attack on the bridge. Salick tapped his shoulder and pulled him after her as she slipped up the stairs, one hand out in front to feel for obstacles.

  After many more stairs, her fingers brushed against a panel similar to the one that had hidden the entrance to the Beauty’s Way. Listening for a long moment, she looked at Garet. He drew his knife and nodded, muscles tense. She removed the panel, only to be confronted by a dimly lit closet full of silk and fine linen.

  Garet moved up beside her, and they carefully pushed them aside. Garet paused to use a thick tunic to press the water out of his hair and mop his neck. The doors to the closet were not quite closed and gave them a narrow view of the room. A faint light came from somewhere out of sight, reflecting off dozens of surfaces in the small room beyond the closet. Garet looked out wonderingly as they slowly pushed open the door. Each wall, even the outside of the closet, was covered in mirrors. Incredibly expensive, Garet thought, but why go to the trouble?

  “Dressing room,” Salick whispered, and slipped out, her many reflections mimicking her movement on every surface. A connecting room was occupied by a single man, sitting at a desk beside a large, curtained bed. His back was to them, and as he held up a large square of silk to the light, Garet saw it was a map of the Banehall plaza, a twin to the map Mandarack had shown them of the Palace plaza earlier that night. What was he planning?

  The King, for so he must be, ran a hand through his thick, blond hair. He wore only a shirt, its collar open half-way down his chest, and black silk trousers. His feet were bare, a pair of shoes tucked under a second chair where rested a purple tunic and jewelled sword sheath. The bare blade rested on the table in front of him. Dropping the map on top of the sword, he stood and left the room, walking into some other room beyond their sight.

  “Get the sword,” Salick whispered. “We can’t talk to him if he’s trying to kill us.”