Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  “Sounds like they’re capable of handling this themselves,” Daniel said.

  Robert handed him the scroll so he could read for himself.

  “They went into the Wedge and found monsters,” Robert said, returning to the window. “Nothing surprising about that. It says only a single wolf-man actually entered their village, and it was slain. Starvation probably drove it across.”

  “It’s far from either tower,” Daniel said, glancing back at the map. “I guess our boats don’t go there except maybe once a month. Still, worrisome that there’d be so many bunched together.”

  “They’re probably lying about the numbers they found, just to get us to help them.”

  “I doubt that. It’s signed by two paladins. Shit, one’s Ashhur, and one’s for Karak.”

  Robert raised an eyebrow. He yanked the scroll out of Daniel’s hand and scanned the bottom.

  “Tan my hide,” he said. “You’re right.”

  “If something can get a paladin of both gods to agree, I’d say it’s serious.”

  “Damn it. Two paladins, and they can’t defend themselves?”

  “Those two might be the only reason they killed the ones they did,” Daniel pointed out.

  “Fine. If you’re so overcome with boredom, take a squad and go. It might do some good to instill a bit more faith in us. And give Sir Lars an earful when you pass through Bronze. That’s his stretch he’s supposed to be guarding, and don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

  Daniel struck his breast with his fist and bowed.

  “I’ll tell you of all my legendary conquests when I return,” he said, grinning.

  “You’re not much younger than I,” Robert said, laughing. “I’ll be impressed if you even get blood on your sword.”

  “Perhaps not younger, but I’m not as fat, either,” Daniel said, ducking out the door before Robert could respond with the rightful blow to the head he deserved.

  *

  The week passed, and the people of Durham moved on best they could, given their losses. No wolf-men crossed the river. Jerico and Darius resumed giving their respective sermons, though Jerico noticed his numbers had grown by fifteen or so, while Darius’s dwindled. No doubt many still bore grudges at his pain-fueled condemnation of Bobby’s fate. All the while, they waited for the message they’d sent upriver by way of tower Gold to be received, and the response to be given.

  On the eighth day, as Jerico toiled in the field, he saw a man in silver armor approach from the distance. Straightening up, he stretched his arms and waited.

  “Jerico?” asked the man as he arrived. He was older, with a white, well-trimmed beard. His small eyes looked Jerico up and down. “Or perhaps I am mistaken?”

  “I am he,” Jerico said, offering his hand.

  “Strange to see you half-naked and working a field.”

  Jerico chuckled. “On days with nothing to preach, I like to help with what I can. It is the least I can do for what they’ve given me.”

  “You bring them truth and salvation. The least they could do is feed you and give you a roof over your head,” said the man.

  “Might I have your name?” Jerico asked, the man seeming familiar, but only a little.

  “I am Pallos. I’ve come from the Citadel to observe your progress.”

  Jerico laughed. “Well, I’ve done about a quarter of this field, and should have another quarter done by sundown…”

  Pallos’s glare showed that he was not amused.

  “Right. Sorry. I’m actually glad you’re here. Let me go tell Jeremy he’ll need to send someone over here to replace me, and then we can return to the village.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” said Pallos, saluting with a mailed fist. As he walked away, Jerico wondered just how far Pallos had his sword shoved up his ass. Of course, such thoughts were hardly worthy of a paladin, but as he hurried to where Jeremy overlooked the rest of his workers, he figured that Ashhur might not only forgive him, but probably agree over the matter.

  Pallos sat in the shade of a tree not far from the village square, drinking from a waterskin. Jerico joined him, having taken a quick detour to his room to throw on a shirt. It felt grand while out in the field working, but once at rest, his body slick with sweat, the air turned uncomfortably chill.

  “I hope you had a pleasant ride here,” Jerico said, sitting down beside his superior.

  “Pleasant enough, though I must apologize for my mood. I have lost a dear friend; we all have. That is why I have come.”

  “Who?” asked Jerico.

  Pallos leaned his weight against the tree, and he looked rather uncomfortable about the whole matter. His eyes watered, but the man’s self-control was too great for such displays of emotion.

  “Mornida died of a sickness. Sorollos has replaced him as High Paladin. I’ve been traveling north informing all of our men in the field.”

  Jerico crossed his arms and frowned.

  “A good man,” he said. “Though I doubt I knew him as well as you. But we are strong, and will endure the loss.”

  “Sorollos is a young man, but his faith is great. Still, I miss Mornida’s leadership. But enough of that. He is with Ashhur now, and we have worldly matters to discuss. I spoke with many villagers before coming to you, Jerico, and what I heard distresses me greatly.”

  Jerico knew where this was headed, but he asked anyway.

  “About what?”

  “Your friendship with a paladin of Karak. What is his name, Darius?”

  His mouth felt dry when he responded. “Yes.”

  “We knew he was here when I positioned you in Durham. You were to counter his doctrine and free the villagers from his lies. Instead I hear of you befriending him, even spacing out your sermons so the people here may attend both.”

  “I thought it best to let them hear both our doctrines, and let them see the truth of Ashhur’s wisdom by comparison.”

  “Serving Ashhur is a choice, Jerico.” Pallos frowned at him, and Jerico felt like he was back at the Citadel, being reprimanded for a wrong answer. “People cannot serve both Karak and Ashhur, and it is foolish to give them the chance to do so here. Karak’s darkness will not be defeated in such a way. You do not stop the charging bull with flowers. You kill it with a sword.”

  “Darius is a good man, Pallos. He worries about this village as much as I.”

  “Good man or not, he serves a lie, and in his ignorance, he will damn the people here. Challenge him. Watch your friendship crumble when you stop acting as if his beliefs are worth hearing.”

  Pallos looked at him, honest sadness in his eyes.

  “He serves Karak, and come a time, Karak will call him to betray you. That is when you will see your worth to him.”

  Jerico turned away and refused to acknowledge him. The silence dragged on, awkward and uncomfortable. At last, Pallos put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

  “Do not be mad with me, Jerico. I am old, and have seen the evil this world fosters. I only say this because I fear the hurt that will befall you. But let us talk on other things. Your shield…is it still your beacon? I would very much like to see it.”

  Jerico welcomed the excuse to leave his presence, if only for a little while. He seethed at such condemnation of someone like Darius. Sure, the man had his faults, but didn’t everyone? But he’d been there beside him, bleeding and fighting for the safety of the village. He called the men to be strong, the women to be faithful, for all to follow laws that, while strict, often seemed fair. They were both young, and they understood the trials each of them endured, and what it meant to stand before a crowd and speak from the heart on matters of faith. Betray him? Never.

  In his room he retrieved his mace and shield and carried them back to Pallos.

  “Incredible,” said Pallos as Jerico held the shield aloft. The blue-white glow swirled over it, not as strong as it’d been on the night fighting the wolf-men, but nothing he would be ashamed of, either.

  “And your mace?” he aske
d.

  Jerico held it closer, so he could see it held no glow, no power. Pallos drew his sword, its blade swirling with the light of Ashhur, showing the strength of his faith.

  “When I first heard of this during your training, I didn’t believe it,” Pallos said, sheathing his sword. “Even coming here, I thought it would have faded over to your mace. Ashhur has granted you a strange gift, Jerico. Never have any of us encountered a paladin’s shield becoming his beacon of faith over his weapon. I hope you study it closely to learn its reasons, its limits.”

  Jerico set the shield down by the tree.

  “It’s a big hunk of metal that glows. I think I understand it well enough.”

  Pallos shook his head.

  “You should show more reverence to the gifts of Ashhur. The people here study the way you speak, the way you act. You are an example to them, and if you show such callousness toward the miracles of our god, then you will instill them with the same.”

  Jerico felt his neck flush.

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Come now, I am no teacher, and you no wet-nosed pupil. You are a good man, and I expect greatness out of you. I would not have sent you here if I did not. There are a hundred villages, all needing to hear the word of our god. But Ashhur expects something special from you. I only pray you are prepared for it.”

  Pallos stood, and he brushed the dirt from his armor.

  “I must be going,” he said. “There are others who must learn of Mornida’s death.”

  Before he could go, Jerico stopped him.

  “Wait,” he said. “You see, I…”

  “What is it?” Pallos asked.

  “I’ve been having dreams,” he said. “The same one, really, and it comes with greater frequency.”

  The old paladin tilted his head. “Well, tell me, and perhaps I can interpret.”

  “I see the Citadel. The lower walls are cracking, and then the surrounding field bursts with fire. It’s raining, but instead of water, bones fall. I hear a sound, like the roar of a beast, and then I awake.”

  Pallos looked troubled by what he heard.

  “Perhaps you dreamt of Mornida’s death,” he said. “It is always a troublesome time when our leader falls.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Pallos gestured to the distance. On the other side of the square, Darius was gathering men and women for another sermon.

  “Perhaps it is Ashhur warning you of his presence. The Citadel is strong as ever. But to be in the company of a dark paladin…you must expect some of his shadow to fall upon you. Stay safe, Jerico. I hope to see you on my return.”

  Jerico watched him go as Darius’s speech grew louder and filled with fire. He listened for a little while, then went back to the field. More than anything, he wanted the monotony so he might think over what he’d heard, as well as calm the turmoil growing in his breast. It was only an hour later that he realized he’d not once mentioned the wolf-men that had attacked their village.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Leaving tower Bronze, Daniel felt an immense sense of relief. Their boat drifted along the center of the river, slow and deep enough they could relax and let the Gihon carry them. Daniel sat in the back, dipping his fingertips in the cold water to keep awake. Not that he needed the help. An argument with someone as stubborn as Sir Lars was easily enough to get him worked up and ready to hit something.

  “Unsupplied as I am, you want me to patrol twenty miles south to help protect some…simpletons stupid enough to go into the Wedge?” Lars had asked. He was shorter than Daniel, but still outweighed him by plenty. They’d bickered in his study, him wearing a family breastplate that enhanced his rotund physique.

  “At least those simpletons aren’t afraid of what they face,” Daniel had shot back. Lars had flustered red, and he’d tugged at his long blond mustache while trying to find words to say. During many battles with bandits in the south, as well as the initial skirmishes with the elves, Lars had earned a reputation as a cautious leader. To those with enough alcohol to loosen their tongues, he was a coward, and that cowardice had eventually landed him his position in tower Bronze.

  “Sir Godley might be a sour, quiet sod,” said one of his men as they drifted along, “but I’d take him any day over that fat weasel Lars.”

  There were twenty of them, and they all shared a chuckle. The jest was in good nature, but Daniel knew he couldn’t let the man get away without reprimand.

  “If you’ve got the energy to waggle your tongue, you can grab some oars and do a bit of rowing, Jon,” he said. “I’d hate you to end up as fat as Sir Lars.”

  More laughs, but they got the point. Jon took to rowing, knowing he’d have to be a fool to try and escape the rather lax punishment. The oars dipped in and out of the water, the sound rhythmic, relaxing. Trees lined either side of them, growing tall with their roots crawling down into the river. Worn stone surrounded both sides, soft rock and dirt half the height of a man. The sun set, the moon rose, but so flat was the river they continued along, two men at the front using poles and lanterns to make sure they had no surprises.

  “How far?” asked Jon, a man who had refused to give his last name upon enlistment. Daniel figured him a former bandit or thief, but whatever the crime, he was willing to let it be forgotten so long as he served faithfully, which he did.

  “You mean until we’re there, or until you stop rowing?” Daniel asked.

  “Either’s good.”

  “We should be arriving soon. Keep your eyes peeled for a wooden dock. They should have one, from what I gathered before we left. They rely on a lot of supplies coming up and down the river, given how they’re in the middle of nowhere. And put your oars down, Jon.”

  The man did, and he stretched his back while letting out a pleased grunt.

  “Getting shallow,” said one of the men with the poles up front. “Might consider pulling off lest we hit something.”

  “Rather sleep with a roof over my head,” Daniel said. “Keep your eyes open and your lanterns west. And hand me one of them, will you?”

  Several others joined the search, their shifting rocking the boat enough that Daniel lost the grip of his lantern. It fell to his left, hit the boat, and then rolled off the side. His fingers seemed an inch away the whole while it fell to the water.

  “Shit,” he muttered, peering off the side. As his eyes lifted, he saw a yellow pair meet his own, then vanish.

  “Gregory,” he called out, keeping his voice calm.

  “Yes, sir?” asked Gregory. He was a young man, but he was strong, and more importantly, had a keen mind. Both Daniel and Robert had wondered how Marcus had erred in letting such a man end up at their towers.

  “Look east,” he said. “Keep it quiet, and don’t make it obvious.”

  “What am I looking for?” asked Gregory. He put his hands on his back and acted as if he were stretching. The boat continued drifting, many of the men still shining lanterns and searching for the dock, or at the least, distant signs of the village.

  “If they’re there, you’ll know.”

  Gregory swore. His hand ran through his brown hair, and then it fell to his side, where his sword should have been. It was not. All their gear was stowed in three chests placed equidistant from each other along the center of the boat.

  “Eyes watching us,” Gregory said.

  “How many?”

  Daniel leaned his chin in his hand and stared east as if he were bored. Yellow eyes peered at them, and they had a hungry look that sent shivers up his spine.

  “At least six pairs. Maybe more. They’re wolves, aren’t they?”

  One of the men near them heard and glanced back, worry crossing his face.

  “Wolves, sir?” he asked.

  “Shut your mouth, right now,” said Daniel. “That’s an order.”

  The man nodded and obeyed.

  “What do we do?” asked Gregory, lowering his voice to just above a whisper.

  “If there’s that many, they
aren’t here to watch. Can’t armor ourselves, otherwise every man tossed overboard drowns.”

  “I say pass swords around, low and out of sight. And we need to do it fast. I see the eyes no more.”

  “Have they left?” Daniel asked.

  “No,” said Gregory, kneeling beside the closest chest and removing the latch. “They went into the water.”

  “Pull back your lanterns,” Daniel ordered his men, and they did so. Gregory started sending swords down the boat, arming the east side first. “Take what we’re giving you, and don’t act up about it. We got eyes watching us, and Ashhur knows how intelligent they are, and how much they can understand. Jon, Letts, you keep watching for a dock, any dock. Everyone else, scan the river.”

  Daniel drew his own sword and laid it across his lap, comforted by its weight. If the wolf-men assaulted their boat, there were advantages for either side. The wolves would have surprise, and they’d close the distance without fear of arrows or defensive formations. They’d be slowed by the water, though, and vulnerable trying to climb into the boats. Assuming they tried to climb them, anyway. They were strong, and if they were many, they might be able to overturn their vessel. If that happened, the soldiers would be easy prey.

  “Wait for a signal,” Gregory said, a sword at his side and a torch in his hand. “A wolf pack won’t attack until they get a signal.”

  The night had gone unnaturally silent. Even the men of the boat were quiet, no longer joking, calling out what they thought might be a deer, stone, or dock. No, they were watching, waiting, cold steel in their hands. Fighting wolf-men without armor, they faced a horrible challenge. Those claws could shred their skin like cloth. Those teeth could rip their limbs from their bodies. Daniel had fought wolf-men plenty in his years guarding the Wedge, but never like this, never ambushed helpless upon the water. And why were they there? The implications were just as frightening as their current situation. To have so many near the Gihon, watching, patrolling even…