Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  She grabbed Aneese’s unused glass from the floor next to her and poured it full of wine, holding back a smile over the irritated look of the priestess. She recognized the immaturity of teasing an elder, but the priestess had the best disapproving facial expressions. They reduced Bethany’s stress levels.

  She finished the glass in four gulps. Watered wine, she complained inwardly. She poured another and returned to her seat. “In the meantime, I’m stuck with Erem and the others.”

  “You can pick other guards, if Erem isn’t to your liking,” Jovan said.

  “We can arrange female guards, too, if you prefer,” Allric offered. “Especially for around your room.”

  “My problem isn’t with Erem. My problem is with having guards. I don’t want my every move watched.”

  Allric seemed stunned, perhaps even confused. “This isn’t to spy on you. This is to protect you.”

  “The dozen guards that are normally placed in every hallway aren’t protection enough?” She snapped back.

  “I didn’t realize you would take this to heart,” Jovan said in a lowered tone.

  “How else did you expect me to take this?” She tried to put herself in their place. If Allric or Jovan were subjects of prophecy and someone was tinkering with it, she would assign a small army to protect them. She frowned at that thought and it quelled her anger. Between the grief and the impotent frustration of not having someone to immediately punish for the crime, she had lost perspective.

  Bethany hated standing down, but she was wrong. She saw that now. A weary sigh escaped her lips.

  “I’ll keep the guards. However, all of you will have four guards assigned to your safety. Killing High Priest Torius or Lord Protector Allric would cause a significant and visible upheaval to the current political system. Far more than simply killing the precious Diamond of a prophecy practically no one knows about.”

  “I refuse!” Aneese snapped, her voice cracking. She turned to Torius, glaring. “I will not have this child-”

  Torius patted the old elf’s forearm with his wrinkled hand. She tensed but stopped speaking. “Allric, I will agree to whatever direction you feel is necessary to protect Bethany.”

  Bethany stared at Torius, surprised both that he defended her and that he conceded his authority to Allric. She wondered if, just perhaps, the old rift between mentor and student might yet mend. She hoped so, for their sake. “The choice is yours, Allric.”

  “You’ve been gambling too much, Bethany. It’s making you bold.” Allric looked at Jovan, who shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll agree to two knights outside of our studies. You will agree to two guards permanently outside your room with two outside your study. Anytime you venture beyond the guarded areas of the temple, you will bring two guards.”

  “I accept. With your permission,” she said, looking at Torius, “I’d like to double security throughout the entire temple. Safety is now our main priority.”

  The approving nods and smiles were proof enough that her gamble had indeed paid off. She resisted a victory smile, afraid that it would come across as smug. Her gaze swept over the platter of food on a small corner table. “Why is everyone here, anyway?”

  “I called a meeting to discuss the Garran situation with everyone,” Allric said, an apologetic, lopsided smile spread across his face. “I thought you’d rather be alone.”

  Bethany nodded. She understood her exclusion, but she needed to work. Sitting around, waiting, mourning, worrying, wasn’t her style. “I’m able to participate. I’d like to, in fact.”

  With the tension released from the room, the meeting continued with its usual ease. Three young girls interrupted the meeting with platters of food. Needing almost twice the food as a human, any meeting with elves or Elorians meant feast-like portions. Judging by their burgundy and brown robes, Bethany guessed the girls were orphans being trained by the clergy to become Honored Sisters. They had done the same to Kiner, though the military was his chosen field for most of his life.

  Desperate to avoid falling into old memories and why Kiner became a trainer not a warrior, she turned her attention to the food. She helped herself to a bowl of salt-cured olives, dried figs, and marinated radishes. She smeared three pieces of garlic and onion bread with some sort of creamy cheese. Nothing else appealed to her.

  “You will waste away eating like that.” Torius said to Bethany as he helped himself to two bowls and piled them high. He licked his fingers. “The compote is passable.”

  Aneese frowned. “It is too sweet for my taste.”

  Jovan winked at Bethany. “Bethany has human recruits to impress and she can’t do that stuffing her face with compote. They’ll want her to keep her girlish figure.”

  “You ass,” she said in an annoyed tone, though she chuckled. It felt good to laugh. The faster things returned to normal, the faster she could recover from this blow that threatened to overwhelm her senses.

  “Lady Bethany, please refrain from vulgarity,” Aneese said, narrowing her eyes.

  Bethany groaned but bit her tongue at Allric’s stern glaze.

  Jovan drew a line in the air as if he held a quill. “Fun is now off the agenda. Lady Champion Bethany, is there anything you would like to discuss at this fine and sensible meeting?”

  Bethany snorted. After taking a sip of her wine, she said, “I’d like to discuss my need for a new assistant.”

  The high priest frowned. “What is the matter with this one?”

  “Isn’t she your fifth assistant this year?” Allric asked between bites.

  “Sixth,” Aneese corrected, her tone dry. “You dishonor your station with your actions.”

  Bethany twisted her annoyance into a blank stare directly into the Priestess’s eyes. No response was often the best when it came with Aneese. She shifted back to Torius and said, “I need someone who knows what they are doing. Not some kid who is used to pouring bath water for the sisters.”

  Aneese took a deep breath, preparing to speak, but Torius shot her a look that even Bethany knew called for silence. She had seen the look often enough when she was a child.

  “To speak plainly, none of us have time to find you a new aide. You pick your own since our choices are never good enough,” Torius said in a strained voice.

  Bethany gave a short nod to Torius. At least she could get Rebecca back to the sisters and out of her paperwork. She stood up. “Rebecca over-scheduled me today. I have a meeting with Kiner regarding training schedules. If there’s nothing else…” she trailed off, waiting for objections. When none came, she said, “Gentlemen. Aneese,” she said, her voice cold when spoke the priestess’s name.

  As she exited the study, Bethany’s triumph was overshadowed by her ever-present guards clomping behind her.

  * * * * *

  Arrago whispered a prayer of thanks when they finally broke from formation drills. The backs of his heels stung from sweat seeping into the raw, open blisters. While he had never been rich, he had always worn decent boots. Considering the wealth of the temple, he thought providing proper footwear would have not been a burden. He wondered if they were learning a lesson in adversity. After three days of oozing feet, he considered himself an expert and ready for a new lesson.

  Lord Kiner had granted the recruits two hour’s peace. Arrago, along with his class, hobbled to the dining hall in search of food. He could not remember ever being as hungry as he had been since training begun. All he thought about was food and sleep…and his raw feet.

  “Catch up, limpy,” one of the recruits, Edmund shouted out to him.

  Arrago smiled and caught up to the young man whom he guessed wasn’t a day over seventeen. He wore the same uniform as the rest of the initiates - brown trousers, brown boots, and brown tunic. His hair was black like a raven’s and a long braid hung over one shoulder.

  “It’s great that the dining halls never close,” Edmund, said while they queued up to stuff their aching stomachs full of food. “I’m hungry all the time.”

  “May
be you’re Elorian. They’re hungry all the time, too.” Edmund was an aristocrat from Taftlin. However, unlike Prince Daniel, Edmund did not use his bloodline as a weapon. Arrago liked the boy. At twenty, Arrago was one of the older human recruits and it was comforting to have a friend, even if he was younger.

  “Can you see what’s up there?”

  Arrago had a full head of height on Edmund. He craned his neck to look over the mumbling crowd. At least forty people were in front of them, neatly arranged in a line. Food lined two tables at the front and servants assisted with dishing out the food, since most of the Elorians and elves held two bowls each. He held one, though Edmund had two.

  The spread looked divine, as though it was an offering for Apexia. His mouth drooled and garlic, oil, and fennel (never mind that, until yesterday, he’d never heard of fennel). “Dried fruit, cheese, olives. I think I see fish, too. Something white, anyway. A green vegetable mix of sorts. Three big pots, so I assume cold soup again.”

  “The usual.” Edmund turned up his nose. “I’d give my arm for a hunk of pork.”

  The crowd’s volume started to rise as more people trickled into the dining room. Someone opened the hazy glass doors and let the salty sea air in. Arrago sighed in relief.

  “You’ll get used to the food.”

  Arrago had long grown accustomed to elven food. After the death of his parents Arrago moved into the Bickerdyke Monastery under the guardianship of his mentor, Father Arragous. They had followed the strictest of elven menus; grains, nuts, and no animals.

  “You know, we never ate fish at the monastery. They were quite strict about that.”

  Edmund frowned as a recruit walked by with a plate of food. “I’ll never get used to eating horse food. It’s making me shit every day. That can’t be good for a man.”

  “If we ever get a break, you should head into Orchard Park. I saw plenty of food vendors there.”

  “I’d give your left arm for a kidney pie.” Edmund laughed and slapped Arrago on the back. “When we get a break, I’ll treat you to a kidney pie. My father sent me here with enough gold to rent an entire whorehouse for a week.”

  Arrago chuckled, unsure what to say. He turned to watch servants replace one metal pot with another.

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you’re a celibate. That’s fine, my friend. The ladies love being a man’s first. You’ll do fine.”

  Arrago laughed off his new friend’s remarks, thankful that their turn at the food arrived. He filled his bowl with olives, soft cheese, bread that stank of too much garlic, and white fish chucks mixed with dried tomatoes, a purple vegetable he recognize but forgot the name, and a ladle of cooked greens.

  “Edmund!” Arrago turned to see Prince Daniel already sitting at a corner bench. Even with everyone in the same clothing, somehow Daniel’s appeared cleaner, crisper, and even more fashionable. “Stop slumming with the hired help and join us.”

  Edmund gave Arrago an apologetic look. “Would you mind?”

  Arrago waved him off. “Go on. I’ll eat in the courtyard and get some fresh air.”

  “You’re a good man.”

  Gathering his food, Arrago wandered back outside and found a wicker bench underneath a large tree only a few steps from the entrance. Edmund had pointed it out earlier and said it was a cork tree. Lord Kiner had mentioned that the courtyards served several functions. Training was the most obvious, but the scattered patches of trees and bushes were also to provide additional sources of food and materials for the temple. Every level had small gardens like the one he found himself sitting in.

  Once the first bites of food hit his stomach, it growled wildly. He shovelled spoonfuls into his mouth, gulping down barely-chewed chunks. He took swigs of beer to help wash the food down. The drink was so diluted that it did not even give him the expected rush. Thanking Apexia, he took another gulp. The late afternoon heat was unbearable enough without the added heat of full-strength alcohol. One of the elves had said the real heat hadn’t even arrived yet and he worried if the summer would be hotter than the centre of a campfire.

  Popping a walnut into his mouth brought forth a foggy memory to flash in his mind. His mother used to buy nuts from the trade caravans. A chill went through him, thinking of his dead mother. In his heart, he believed the goddess had pulled back the eternal veil long enough for his parents to see him arrive at the temple. He was certain their pride fuelled his spirit.

  Thank you, Apexia, for your continued mercies towards this humble servant.

  He watched four recruits stumble out of the dining hall and towards the back entrance to their barracks; they looked as tired as he felt. Arrago opted to stay outside. With blisters ballooning inside his leather boots, walking up eight flights of stairs only to walk back down again seemed a waste of precious energy. He considered removing his boots, but the fear of being unable to put them back on due to swelling convinced him otherwise. They still had hours of training left and he could only imagine the reaction if he showed up in his stocking feet, oozing pus and blood.

  Four sprawling plants blanketed the ground to his left, nearest the stone path. “Rhubarb!” Arrago exclaimed aloud, as he dropped to one knee. He snapped off a short, tender stalk. Nothing tasted as good as crisp rhubarb straight from the garden.

  “What are you doing?” came the voice behind him. Feminine and stern, though laced with a curious lilt to it.

  Arrago recognized the voice and groaned. Slowly, he turned his head and looked up at the very tall, and very scary, Lady Bethany. Pushing against his knee, he stood up to bring himself to attention, rhubarb still in hand. She glanced at it and he added quickly, “My favorite vegetable.”

  Bethany did not return his smile, though she didn’t seem angry. Thank you Apexia for that mercy. “You’re one of the new initiates, correct?”

  “Yes.” His eyes widened against his control. He wondered if she’d remember him as the man she stared at. “I’m Arrago from Taftlin, Lady Champion.”

  She nodded at the plants. “Enjoy the rhubarb.”

  Lady Bethany turned and walked away. Wait until Edmund hears about this! He did not expect her to be so friendly. And tall. This was the first time he’d stood next to her. She edged him out by a hair’s breath, but she was the tallest woman he’d ever met.

  A cry rang out and Arrago snapped around in time to see Bethany’s knees buckle. She collapsed into the shrubbery before bouncing and hitting the ground. Arrago rushed to her side, shouting incoherently as he did.

  Limbs flailing, she pulverized the plants underneath her, filling the air with the strong scent of crushed greenery. Arrago crouched beside her, terrified as to what to do. With the roaring noise from the dinner hall, no one even noticed.

  “Help.” His voice sounded weak, stunned. He’d never seen anyone lose control over their body before.

  “Help!” He called out, his shout growing louder. “HELP!”

  Knights ploughed through the trees from all directions, swords drawn. Arrago jumped back and said, “She just fell down.” Behind him, he could hear her gulps for air as she thrashed on the ground next to him.

  The three human guards circled around him and Bethany, swords still drawn. The Elven Knight knelt beside her and pressed hard against her wrists. Arrago could see the Knight’s knuckles turn white and Arrago swallowed hard.

  “Kiner!” the elf shouted at the top of his lungs. Squawking and cawing, scared birds fled, dropping silent leaves on them. He looked at the soldiers. “Get Kiner. He might know what to do and he should be nearby. And a Rygent healer.”

  Arrago’s body shook and he wondered, for a moment, if it was from fear or if Bethany was contagious. “I know where Lord Kiner is.” Arrago spat the words out.

  One of the guards grabbed his arm. “Where?”

  He pointed towards the temple. “The dining hall,” Arrago said, his voice quivering

  Looking at Arrago and still holding a long sword, the knight growled, “I’ll get Kiner. You move, you die.”
>
  Arrago nodded and tried not to shake in terror.

  The elf shouted, “Bethany, come out of it.” She thrashed against him, gasping. Her shrill screech pierced the sky.

  What if they think I had hurt her? They’d kill me for sure. Lady Bethany seemed nice enough but his life was a lot more important than hers. He did not want to die for something that was not his fault.

  After a short eternity of nothing but Lady Bethany’s screams, Lord Kiner sprinted down the forest path and skidded on his knees at her side, stones and dust scattering around him. Arrago coughed the dust out of his lungs. Seconds later, a female dropped to the ground as well. She wasn’t quite as dark as Lord Kiner, but had a nice, round figure and expressive eyes. She gave Arrago a look of support. She shoved her long sleeves to her elbows, exposing a swirling white tattoo from wrist to elbow that seemed to glow against her brown skin.

  A Rygent.

  “Erem, how long has she been like this?” the dark lady asked.

  The scrawny, staggeringly tall elf shrugged and pointed at Arrago. “Ask him.”

  “What happened?” the woman asked. He found it interesting that a rival of his people spoke with respect and softness, something the Knights had not shown to him.

  “We were just talking,” he blurted out. He felt like a child accused of stealing. Arrago mustered up courage. Timidity would not help him. “I was picking rhubarb and she spoke to me. Then she fell down. I didn’t do anything to her.”

  “What’s your name?” the woman asked.

  “Arrago from Taftlin. I’m an initiate.”

  He waited for the woman to grimace but none came. “It seems we are neighbors, Arrago. I am Eve, of the Rygent Islands.”

  He watched Eve grasp Lady Bethany’s hands. Closing her eyes, Eve moved her lips though Arrago couldn’t make out what she was saying. Rygents made him uncomfortable. Watching this one use her Power or whatever it was that they possessed made him wince. He wasn’t certain that he believed the legend of their god, Rygous, committing suicide generations ago so that his tribe would be imbued with his Power. Regardless, it was too close to Magic for his liking. People were never meant to have the Power of a god.