Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  Be careful what you wish for, Arrago.

  Tears threatened her. She jumped to her feet and walked to her side table. To pour a glass of wine meant turning her back on Arrago. She took advantage of both the undiluted alcohol and the opportunity to fight off an emotional breakdown. Her muscles clenched, sending a shiver through her body.

  “Bethany?” She heard his chair scrape against the stone floor.

  She sniffed back the defeated tears. It had been too long since she had cried. She wasn’t ready and certainly not with Arrago in the room. “A sudden headache. If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit alone for a while.”

  “Are you certain?”

  She nodded frantically. She needed him away from her.

  “I’ll see if I can find you some food.”

  Once the door to her study snapped shut, she walked back to her desk and sat down. There were no words to comfort her. Arrago had opened a pit of emptiness in her that no amount of wine could fill. Her vision had been wrong. She would be nothing more than a religious figure to him. A thing to revere.

  That hurt more than she expected. There would never be a return of affection. Never. Only his worship. She’d rather die than accept that.

  An open letter on her desk caught her attention, scrawled in a familiar handwriting. It had not been there before her talk with Arrago. She slapped her hand over her mouth, holding back the horror as she read the words:

  Sorry about killing Garran. Love, Sissy.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Diamond must be brave and take a sword to her fear. The death of her fear is the death of the Viper.

  —Prophecy of the Diamond, Second Tablet

  Bethany staggered into the north training room, more than a little tipsy from emptying close to an entire bottle of brandy into her stomach before leaving her office. Sarissa’s letter was already turned to ash. The letter’s purpose was to taunt Bethany. It had succeeded. No more discussion was needed.

  She ordered her guards to grab some food. Being surrounded dozens of armed knights was plenty of protection. As they walked away, talking and laughing, she wondered if she would ever laugh that way again.

  Most of the other higher-ranking knights had already gathered in the room. A handful of newer knights joined them as well. Yawning, Bethany stumbled into Erem. He sniffed loud enough to draw her attention. Unabashed, she cocked an eyebrow.

  “You shouldn’t be showing up three sheets blowing in the wind. It gives me false hope that you’ll be suspended from your position and I’ll be elevated to Lady Champion,” Erem said, smiling.

  “With those legs, Erem, you’d make a fine Lady Champion.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I’m not three sheets. One sheet, sure. Maybe two. But three? Never!”

  He was grinning now. “You smell like a tavern. Oh well. It’s not like we go into battle sober. At least, I never have.”

  Bethany smiled a little, lacking the energy to muster any greater emotional response. Erem was trying to cheer her up. She appreciated the effort but no words existed to rid her of the clamping, suffocating weight that pressed on her.

  A good sword fight just might be the key.

  A paisley-green flash caught the corner of her eye and she turned to see Jovan strolling through the door. He looked in her direction but did not smile. Instead, he walked with purpose to the middle of the room to join Allric.

  Allric, dressed in loose tan trousers and a traditional knee-length tunic, laughed in his deep, loud voice. The liquor-induced headache began to form, and she wished he’d be quieter. In fact, she wished they’d all be just a little quieter.

  “Good evening,” Allric shouted out, quelling the chatter of the room. “Let’s shut the doors and get at it.” He waited for the doors to close. “If I recall, Jovan won last time.”

  Jovan inclined his head and set the gleaming blade on a far table. It shone brightly in the hall, the hilt decorated with jade medallions. The thing was too pretty to be used for anything but display, but it had been used as a trophy for hundreds of years. Each man or woman who won held on to the sword until the next challenge. Jovan had been insufferable, bragging about it constantly. Bethany blinked up at the blade. Too bad she wasn’t a dab more sober; she might have a better chance at winning.

  “I had hoped for a rematch, where I pounded Bethany to the floor but it looks like she’s picked up the bottle tonight.” He leaned forward, pretending to whisper. “It would be terribly unfair.”

  All eyes fell on her and the knights chuckled. She strolled into the middle of the room in a somewhat straight line, grasping the handles of her back-mounted swords. With an exaggerated bow to the group, she said, “I was following Jovan’s example of testing temple wine to ensure its purity for Father Torius.”

  Allric rolled his eyes jokingly and he asked the crowd, “Same rules as usual?” Several people nodded around her. He eyed Bethany. “You did bring your blunted blades, I hope.”

  She offered a noncommittal shrug.

  Of course, she brought blunted blades. She wasn’t that drunk. Showing up for any session was poor judgement on her part, even if this was on their time-off. Sarissa should not have been able to upset her, but it happened and now Bethany accepted the mild consequences. Allric ribbed her a little more and she made no complaint or scowl.

  Though, Allric never teased Jovan about the time he showed up stark naked for a senior’s officer’s meeting. They had expected better from her, she supposed.

  Allric’s voice droned on as he reviewed the rules for the competition. As if they hadn’t all heard it a dozen times before. Bethany let her mind wander, taking in the keen expressions of her fellow soldiers. No one else had shown up drunk. But damn it, she’d earned a stiff glass…or bottle after fretting about Magi and prophecy all week. The whimsical letter from her sister hadn’t helped any. What a selfish, heartless way to treat Garran’s death. Sarissa had known him! Magic surely had taken all her sense.

  “Melee and mayhem! In three…two…one…”

  Suddenly, the clanging metal and grunts of soldiers filled the hall. Bethany cursed her daydreams as she dodged Erem’s swinging sword. She ducked down, lost her balance, and accidently elbowed his groin. He collapsed on the ground, holding his crotch and moaning in agony. Bethany straightened and, yanked her swords out of their scabbards. Steadying herself (the room spun for several seconds), she held her ground against the others who tried to knock her down.

  “Come on, Lady Bethany! You fight like a girl,” Tion, their youngest advanced knight, soon to be vowed, shouted between laughs.

  Having nearly a foot of height on the kid, Bethany thumped her sword’s pommel into the side of his head. As he dropped to the ground, stunned and no doubt seeing stars and sparkles, she quipped, “And you fight like a man.”

  She weaved and dodged, watching Jovan creep closer to her location. The wine had spurred her need to fight and Jovan would be a good match for her. Only he wasn’t smiling. In fact, he was scowling.

  “Only a dozen still standing! You’ve all gotten soft. Clear out,” Allric shouted above the clang of steel. Bethany held her ground for a moment while the remaining fighters also waited for the fighting field to clear. The momentary reprieve gave her the opportunity to catch her breath.

  She also caught sight of Jovan and shouted playfully at him.

  “Jovan! Let a woman show you how it’s done,” she taunted, hoping to get a smile out of him. Some of the others around them slowed a little, taking their eyes off their opponents, suffering the punishments for it. “You look like you could use a good wallop in that paisley get up.”

  “Would you prefer basic brown, like your new little friend?”

  That stunned her.

  Jovan flung his sword. It clattered against the stone floor. He grabbed her blunted sword with his gloved hands. He jerked his hands and twisted. She stumbled forward. Jovan’s waiting fist pounded into her gut, knocking the wind out of her. She fell against him before slamming to the floor. />
  Gasping and confused, she said, “I guess you win.”

  He grabbed the front of her tunic and pulled her half off the floor. “Stop fiddling with the hired help.”

  She stared at him, thoughts muddled by too much alcohol. Arrago? Did he mean Arrago? Why would Jovan be mad about him?

  Fear hit her, freezing her in place. She fought it and snorted, glaring at him. “And it’s fine for you to screw every sister in the temple, I suppose.”

  An uncomfortable, heavy silence fell over the room but she would not back down. If Jovan wanted a fight, a real fight, she was in the proper mood for it. She pushed against him and gained enough leverage to jump to her feet, this time not swaying. Her anger was stronger than the drink. She stared him in the eyes for a long moment before her fist landed on the square of his jaw, throwing his head back. “Now we’re even.”

  “All right, this is supposed to be for fun,” Allric said, sternly, walking towards them. “Jovan, Bethany, that’s enough.”

  “You’re not my mother, Allric,” Jovan snarled, his glare fixed on Bethany. “Someone needs to teach the trollop some manners before she ends up getting her smalls all damp because I called her little aide names.”

  Anger exploded in Bethany’s veins and she felt her innate Power rush, wanting to take over. “If you want a brawl, Jovan, I’m happy to oblige.”

  Kiner touched her arm which she promptly jerked away. “Back off, Kiner,” she snapped. “I don’t need you hovering around. Jovan has a burr in his saddle. Let him take it out on my face. If he dares.”

  “I’m surprised you’d let me. Wouldn’t want to look bad in front of your new toy,” Jovan said. His fists were clenched and raised just enough to be ready for her. “Or maybe you’d like it if he roughed you around a bit?”

  Bethany didn’t know what Jovan’s issue was, nor did she care at the moment. He would pay for speaking about Arrago that way. Her life, her business. She was the fucking daughter of a goddess. She was the third most powerful soldier in the fucking elven territory. No one ever dared speak to her like that without punishment.

  Channelling all of her rage, she swung at Jovan. Her promise of a brawl was quickly realized. She landed three blows before his fist crashed into her mouth.

  Fighting her natural reaction to vomit up the blood she had swallowed, she shouted, “What is your problem?”

  “You stupid woman,” he said, kicking her shin to make her stumble.

  She stayed upright, even as her leg exploded in pain. “Never call me that again,” she growled.

  Jovan cocked an eyebrow. “Prefer whore?”

  Rage overcame her wits. She threw her weight against Jovan, kicking and pounding, until he lost his balance. They toppled to the floor together, landing on their sides. Bethany felt a sharp pain shoot through her side and she winced, wondering if she’d broken a rib. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered more than killing Jovan. She flipped over, grabbing him by the throat to pin him.

  She only landed two punches before used his hips to thrust her off. He jumped to his feet first and kicked her twice in the gut. She crumpled and struggled to keep her alcohol in her stomach.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to that poor kid, Bethany? Any idea? Or is he just another person you can treat like shit to make yourself feel better?”

  Grabbing an ankle, she yanked it, knocking him on his backside. She staggered to her feet, cradling her midsection. She blinked at him in bewilderment once her head stopped spinning. “Why are you so angry?”

  Jovan lowered his voice, though the dripping hatred did not leave. “I heard about the training room.”

  A wave of embarrassment crashed over her. People had seen that?

  “You let him touch you.” And then, his voice turned softer, as though the fight was leaving him. “It can never be, Bethany. Never.” He stepped closer to her. “Stop it now before it’s too late.”

  “I have not done anything wrong. I haven’t betrayed my vows as an elf. What is your excuse for whoring around Orchard Park? Every pointy-eared bastard born there is probably from your seed.” Her entire body shook as she fought the roar of her Power inside of her.

  He stepped closer and whispered, “That’s right. Hold it back. If he sees who you are, he’ll hate you for lying.”

  Most of the knights in the room did not know about her Power. She struggled to keep it contained. Rarely had it ever been this difficult. She clenched her fists, trying to control herself. Her body shook. Blood raged. Her heart pounded.

  “You will fall in love with him and he will leave you.”

  “Shut up!” Bethany punched Jovan’s gut so hard that it sent him flying a dozen paces before his body collapsed to the ground in a heap. Allric and Kiner tackled her to the ground.

  “Get a hold of yourself,” Kiner said, trying to keep his voice low. “Apexia’s mercy, Bethany, control it.”

  The world slowed and spun. Power pulled her mind from her body. In vain, she struggled to pull her consciousness back even as her sight floated above her body. Bethany focused on the shades of their skin pressed against her skin; Allric’s pale against her ivory against Kiner’s dark. She pushed Arrago from her mind, and pulled her attention back to herself, to rejoin her spirit with her mortal form.

  “I’ve seen Bethany fight a lot of people but I’ve never seen her throw anyone that far before,” she heard the human knight, Tobias, mumble. “He must’ve really pissed her off.”

  Erem nodded. “Jovan has that effect on people.”

  She relaxed. Her secret had not been betrayed. Her consciousness merged back into her body.

  Her eyes popped open. “I’m all right. I’m calm.”

  Touching her damp lip, her shoulders slumped. Her fingers were covered in blood. She wiped her nose on her gray sleeve, leaving a reddish streak. The curse of being half god; her body wasn’t designed for the Power that came with it.

  Weak and dizzy, she accepted Kiner’s hand for support to stand. Jovan had vomited; the red chunks of whatever fruit he had eaten littered the soil and stunk up the room.

  “I’m sorry, Jovan,” she said, meaning every word. The words didn’t seem enough, near enough, but they were all she could find. She didn’t even know why she was apologizing first; he had started it. But the loss of her control frightened her. She could have killed him. Over what? Arrago?

  He pulled himself to his feet and reached out a dusty hand, which she accepted. “I’m sorry, too.” Leaning close, he whispered, “I didn’t know any other way to show you how dangerous Arrago is. When it comes to him, you have not thought clearly. You cannot even control yourself when I say a mean word about him. What are you going to do if someone hurts him? Or if he hurts you?”

  Bethany backed up, stumbling over her own feet. Jovan was right. She was not guarded around Arrago, everything about him weakened her strength and control. But he was the only good thing in her life. The one thing that wasn’t connected to the prophecy. She couldn’t bear to turn him away.

  The vision had given her a taste of a future she’d never dreamed could come to her.

  She would not give up that dream, even if she’d never act on it.

  Never.

  Not for anyone.

  * * * * *

  Agitated and not wishing to disrupt the peace of the dead any longer, Apexia weaved her consciousness and spirit together until it spun into flesh. Then, she stepped out of the wind, taking a moment to adjust to a physical form. She looked around the dank, stone walls of her mortal refuge. A shimmer of light from under the bulky doors offered just enough illumination to avoid the total darkness of the windowless room. She pondered conjuring additional light, but then decided she preferred the dimness. It provided a perfect match to her mood. Sarissa’s image may have cracked and faded, yet her poison lingered.

  Apexia sat on the cold floor and her muscles ached. Nevertheless, she gave a pleasant sigh. Some days, she enjoyed existing as she once was, as a human, with all of the aches,
pains, and limitations. Even the heartache of motherhood felt more real when in human form. It connected her to the pain of her children by grounding her in the present time.

  Today she felt the pain of her children more than ever. How different Sarissa had become now, filled with the venom of Magic. Cured or poisoned, it was all the same in the end. Sarissa did not hide all her thoughts. Apexia saw the true nature of her daughter. The thoughts revealed themselves when Sarissa spoke of Bethany. Her walls fell and Apexia stared inside the keep of her daughter’s soul.

  What she found was not pretty, nor was it kind. Sarissa’s soul had been destroyed. No cure existed for that. Her darling child would try to steal Power. She might fail, but many would die in the pursuit.

  Apexia ran her stubby fingers along the grooves where the masons had joined each stone together. Her mind traced backwards to a time of abundant happiness. Back then there was no need for prophecies, for tests, for courage. Six hundred years before, when Apexia was barely more than a girl, trotting along the road with her mute brother to sell their goods at the market in Orchard Park. It had only been a small town then, maybe a thousand people. The Temple of Tranquil Mercies was called Elven Reach Thirteen, a military garrison. No one had ever heard the name Apexia, let alone worshiped her.

  It was a time when priests bashfully smiled at her, and the soldiers fell over themselves to flirt with her. But her heart had been stolen back then and she kept it a secret. Even now.

  Secrets. It all came down to secrets. Too many to want to remember, but impossible to forget.

  Apexia shook off the spreading melancholy. The downside of donning human form was the plague of emotions and the past. Time on the wind was not a straight line; it was a circle. It was impossible to get lost in the past there. In the mortal world, however, time change and the tug of what was always weighted heavily on her mind. Tonight, she did not have the luxury of indulgence.

  “Bethany will be here soon,” she whispered to herself. A flick of her gaze caused the room to fill with the soft light of candles.

  “Best to prepare.”