Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels

by Daniel Arenson

  Kaide rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

  “Sebastian controlled much of the North, but he’d never laid claim to the rough lands nestled against the Elethan mountains. A few of us, my father in particular, spent years scouting the land, setting up exploratory mines, searching for veins. When we found them, we kept it secret, and acted fast. My father set up a guild, uniting several towns together. Sebastian was furious, but our lands were our own, and our mining guild spent enough bribes in Mordeina to keep the king from siding against us. We endured heavy taxes, taxes you couldn’t imagine, but we still had our land, our homes, and our wealth.

  “Three years ago, that ended. That coward didn’t even send in his knights, for he feared King Baedan’s punishment. So instead, he rounded up thousands of homeless and poor in Mordeina and gave them deeds to our land. He convinced them they were legit, told them of our wealth, and sent them on their way. You can’t imagine the bloodshed that followed. We tried to make peace with the first few, giving them jobs or minor parcels of land. But they kept coming. They’d spent all they had believing Sebastian’s lie. Left with nothing, they would rather die…”

  Kaide sighed.

  “And die they did. Still, it wasn’t enough. So come winter, Sebastian finally sent in his knights. They didn’t kill a soul, only came for more ‘taxes’. Every bit of food, they took. They slaughtered our animals. They burned our storehouses. The winter was harsh, and he came after the first snow. By the time we could get a messenger to Mordeina, the King had already been convinced by Sebastian that bandits were running amok because our lands were lawless, ungoverned. We received no aid. And without food, and no game to hunt…”

  Jerico put a hand on Kaide’s shoulder as the man closed his eyes and looked away to hide his tears.

  “We starved. My mother and father, they were too old … I lost a brother. My wife. Every one of these men here, they lost children, family, or friends. And what we had to do to survive … am I cursed man, Jerico? Am I doomed in death for what I did, to survive, to keep my sister and little girl fed?”

  “The stories,” Jerico said, his voice almost a whisper.

  “Kaide the cannibal,” the bandit leader said, laughing darkly. “Come spring, we were too weak to fight back. More crowds filled the roads north, carrying deeds, and this time Sebastian came with the King’s authority to enforce them. Every last man, woman, and child of Ashvale was sent south, to make a living elsewhere.”

  “You founded Stonahm,” Jerico said, piecing it together.

  “I don’t want Sebastian to know where we live,” Kaide said, nodding. “I don’t want him to strike those we love. That’s why they’re so far away. We have all said goodbye to our wives and families, seeing them only when it is safe. This we endure to make Sebastian pay. It may seem we have no chance, but I have one last secret, one I cannot tell even you. Not yet. Some of the men don’t even know. But if we can stir up enough anger, kill enough knights, I know we can retake our home…”

  Jerico closed his eyes and thought over the words. With Ashhur’s gift, he could sense anytime a man lied, and he’d not once felt that betrayal. Every word was truth. They’d been systematically assaulted, starved, and removed from their lawful home. If there was ever a rightful cause, it was Kaide’s.

  “What do you mean, retake your home?” Jerico asked, suddenly realizing the true meaning of the words.

  “Those people currently in Ashvale are thieves and robbers,” Kaide insisted. “I’ve watched the roads, and we’ve intercepted every shipment of food possible. Same for the gold they send south to Lord Sebastian. One day we’ll have enough strength, enough people, to march north and take our lands back.”

  Jerico shook his head.

  “I’ll help you, train your men and lead them into battle, but only against Sebastian’s knights. I won’t help you murder the people who took your homes. They thought they were the lawful owners, Kaide. The law told them they were right, and both lords and kings agreed.”

  “You’d have me forgive them?”

  “I’d have you let it go. You’re an honorable man. You’ve already sworn your life to vengeance. Must you yearn to repeat the bloodshed done against you?”

  Kaide shook his head.

  “You can’t understand. You weren’t there, watching helplessly as your loved ones withered and starved. You don’t fall asleep to red dreams filled with such hatred even Karak would be put to shame. But I’ll accept your help, and gratefully. Tomorrow morning, begin the training. I have a few weapons we stole from the knights, but truth be told, I haven’t given most out yet for fear no one knows how to use them. With you, I can make sure they don’t put the pointy end in themselves. We’re in the right on this, Jerico. Outlaw or not, Sebastian needs to suffer.”

  “Outlaw,” Jerico said, and he chuckled. “Is there such a thing as an outlaw paladin? Sounds like a contradiction.”

  “Hardly,” Kaide said, smacking him across the shoulder. “I have a feeling every true paladin is already an outlaw in this world.”

  Kaide led him back to the fire, where the rest of the men were busy eating.

  “Starting tomorrow, he’ll be your trainer,” he shouted to them. “And come our next ambush, he’ll be right there with us, standing against our foes.”

  “Does this mean I get my armor and mace back?” Jerico asked as the men cheered half-heartedly. Kaide laughed, his good humor finally returning.

  “All yours. You won’t regret this, Jerico. Not at all.”

  Jerico prayed he was right.

  CHAPTER NINE

  In the darkness, Darius called out for the prophet.

  “I am here,” Velixar said, stepping out from the shadows and into the light of the single torch. Beside him, the jailor slept, and with a touch, Velixar made sure he stayed that way.

  Darius hung his head. He couldn’t even look at the man in black when he spoke. But he saw no other way. He had to find out. Denying Velixar without proof, without certainty, only risked him remaining a fool.

  “One chance,” he said. His dry throat cracked his voice. “I’ll give you one chance, but that is all. I will listen, and see if Karak’s truth is with you.”

  “Do you tire of this cell?” Velixar asked, approaching the bars. “Do you tire of your chains?”

  Even swallowing hurt. It’d been a day since he’d had a drink, and he felt so tired, so thirsty. His back throbbed with every beat of his heart. His arms felt like torn, twisted limbs, never to regain their natural shape.

  “Yes. I do.”

  Velixar smiled.

  “If only you could feel the cage about your soul as keenly as you feel those chains. Be free, Darius.”

  A wave of his hand and the door opened. Another, and his bindings became like shadow, his flesh falling right through them. Darius’s back popped as he twisted left and right, gasping in pain as his muscles fired off random spasms. Despite the pain, it felt deliriously good to stand. He took an unsteady step toward Velixar, then another. The prophet held out his hand, and Darius took it. There was no warmth to the grip.

  “Sustenance first,” Velixar said, his ever-changing face smiling. “Then learning.”

  The torch flickered and died, and in the dark, they walked forward. Darius felt a momentary sickness, and then he was beneath open stars. He shivered at the cold. They stood on a tall hill, and when he glanced back, he saw the Castle of the Yellow Rose.

  “Wait here,” Velixar said. “I must gather your things the guards took from you.”

  Another portal of shadow ripped open before him, and then he stepped through, leaving Darius alone.

  “Is this your will?” Darius whispered as he shivered. “Is this what you want, Karak? My god, please, show me your way. I’m tired of being lost.”

  He looked to his blackened hand, and he wondered if the mark would ever be gone. Several minutes later, Velixar returned, tossing down a chest. It must have weighed a ton, and it thunked heavily against the grass, but the pro
phet showed no strain at all.

  “Nearby is a stream,” he said. “The cold will not harm you, though it will be unpleasant. Consider it symbolic. Once you’ve cleansed yourself, come back and put on your armor. I would see the man you once were standing before me.”

  Darius stumbled in the direction Velixar pointed, and sure enough he found a small stream winding its way south through the hills. He caught his reflection cast by moonlight atop the water, and the sight gave him pause. He looked a dead man, sleep-deprived and hungry. It’d been only a week, he knew, but even before the castle dungeon he’d been eating poorly, and sleeping little. He cast a pebble across his reflection to scatter it, then stepped in. The water was cold enough to hurt, but he clenched his teeth and fought his shivers. He’d endured far greater trials in his faith to his god. He would not falter now. When he finished bathing, he ducked his head under completely, feeling the chill seep into his bones, shocking the exhaustion from his veins. When he emerged, his entire body shook, but he did not care. After putting his clothes back on, he walked to Velixar.

  The prophet smiled, and his red eyes seemed to glow brighter. He gestured to the open chest.

  “Put on your armor.”

  Darius did so one piece at a time, showing no hurry. The water had left him numb, and his shivers lessened with every minute. In the light of the moon, he felt calm, almost peaceful. If not for Velixar’s presence, he might have felt completely at ease. Putting on his armor, etched with symbols to Karak, the Lion, as well as ancient runes proclaiming his might, he felt once more the champion he’d been. Only one thing mattered, and he knew what it was.

  Velixar knew as well, and he offered the hilt of Darius’s sword.

  “Karak is not a god of miracles,” said the prophet. “You have made but a single step on a very, very long road. I offer you your blade, your means to bring wisdom to this chaotic world. If you accept, you must swear to heed my words as truth, to know that our god speaks through me, and me alone. Do not take this lightly, Darius. Think on it. If you wish, I can return you to your cell, and leave you to the fate this world would bring you.”

  Darius shook his head. He would face this future, reveal the truth of his god. There would be no return to a prison, not outward, not within.

  “My sword is my soul,” he said, stepping forward and taking the handle. “And it has always belonged to Karak.”

  Exhilaration shot through him as his fingers closed about the leather. The dark fire was not much, just the faintest shimmer even newly anointed paladins could outmatch, but to Darius it was a brilliant blaze of the greatest significance. It flickered and burned across his blade, unable to survive the weakest of winds. But it was there, and every time the air calmed, it returned. Darius laughed even as tears ran down his face.

  “You are beloved in Karak’s eyes,” Velixar whispered. “Come. It is time we take another step down his road.”

  He created another portal of shadows, and taking Darius’s hand, led him through to the other side. Darius knew not what to expect, nor did he try to guess. For the moment, he was trying to abandon all his previous teachings, to rely only on what appeared to be truth, and what the prophet confirmed. He would accept everything with an open mind, until Velixar failed. A single false word, or moment of doubt, and he would seek Karak in his own way. At least, he thought he might. Feeling the distant touch of his god deep in his chest, and seeing that fledgling fire on his greatsword, made him wonder if he was already decided, his life already bought and earned. His promise to Velixar … he had not made it lightly.

  “Where are we?” Darius asked as they stepped out. It seemed they had not traveled far, for the terrain remained the same, just rocky hills with withering grass and the occasional barren tree. Before him was a heavy cluster of bushes, marking the outline of a small grove.

  “Quiet, and listen,” Velixar said.

  He did, and the sound of moaning reached his ears. Taking a step forward, he pushed through the bushes. Within he found a man lying on his back, bleeding from gashes across his arms and legs. His hands were gone, the bone still exposed. His eyelids were peeled. Despite his training, despite his experience with bloody combat, Darius still found himself on the verge of vomiting.

  “What grotesquery is this?” he asked.

  “Now is not the time for questions,” Velixar said, joining him in the ring. He gestured to the mutilated man. “Do you not understand that is the nature of your failure? You seek answers to things that do not matter. Look at him. Say I found him tortured by bandits and brought him here for succor? Or perhaps he tortured himself, bearing a guilty soul, and he sought me out to help him with his sickness? I might have done this to him myself, but you will never know, will you? Yet you ask, and ask, and do you know what is happening while you do?”

  Velixar pointed to the man.

  “He suffers. He bleeds. Tell me, does any of that matter in the face of his torment?”

  Darius looked into the man’s eyes, unsure if the man saw him back. He looked lost in a daze, moaning lightly as he lay there. His stubs shook, and the sight of exposed bone made Darius shiver with unease. The pain … it had to be excruciating.

  “What is it you want from me?” he asked the prophet.

  “To learn. To understand. This is one of the greatest lessons I can offer you. Here, now, realize the many paths before you, and then make your choice.”

  The man jerked back his head, and suddenly his moans turned into bloodcurdling screams.

  “What did you do?” Darius asked, having drawn his greatsword without realizing it.

  “I was numbing his pain,” Velixar said. “But no longer. The choice is before you. I will not intervene.”

  The sword shook in Darius’s hand. He saw the fire upon its blade wither and die. Looking back to the man, he knew the lesson Velixar wanted him to learn. It burned in his gut. He wanted to refuse, to deny its wisdom, but how could he hearing such horrific screams? Lifting his sword, he closed his eyes and prayed for forgiveness from Karak. Down came his blade, right through the mutilated man’s throat. He silenced the screams. He ended the pain.

  The blood on his blade burned away in dark fire.

  “So close,” Velixar said in the sudden silence. “But I saw your lips. I heard your prayer. There is nothing to forgive, Darius. Do you not understand?”

  “The intent,” Darius whispered. “It is all in the intent.”

  “Your intent was to end pain, to stop suffering. There is no sin in killing. Do not even Ashhur’s paladins kill? You must be purer. You must embrace Karak’s ultimate truth.”

  Darius stared at the corpse, and he felt cold fingers, like the touch of a ghost, tracing the curves of his spine.

  “And what is that?” he asked, fearing the answer.

  “Only in absolute emptiness is there Order, and we serve a god of Order. Follow me once more. We must take another step.”

  No guilt, thought Darius as he tore his eyes away from the corpse. No forgiveness. Seeking the cause was pointless. He had to react to the way things were. Was that not what he’d always chided Jerico about? Ashhur’s paladins fought for a world that didn’t exist. He, on the other hand, bled for the real world. But there was no comfort in these words, no strengthening of his heart with such understanding. Instead, he felt another part of himself die.

  Burn the sick branches with fire, Darius thought, one of Karak’s few axioms. Otherwise that which might live will also die.

  Just how much of his understanding of the world, of Karak, was nothing but dead branches?

  Accepting Velixar’s offered hand, he took another step, and appeared at the outside of a log cabin. To either side of him stretched acres of flat land, some recently tilled, some left fallow.

  “Where are we now?” he asked.

  “There is light in the window,” Velixar said, gesturing. “Look through, and tell me what you see.”

  Darius did, feeling fresh dread clawing at his throat. By candlelight he saw a
mother and father through the warped glass, kneeling beside a bed. Wrapped underneath covers was their child, a young boy with hair even redder than his father’s. Feeling himself the invader on something private, he looked away.

  “I see a family in prayer,” he said, the words heavy on his tongue.

  “They pray to Ashhur,” Velixar said. “Not Karak. Not to any true god. Every night they’re tucking their child away with lies and delusions. Do you know what they pray for? Protection. Safety. A long, healthy life for that child. Do you think Ashhur hears? Do you think he acts? We are here, and Ashhur is not. We are truth, and he is falsehood. Another choice before you, Darius. I pray you have learned enough to choose what is right.”

  “Intent,” Darius said again, and his sword hand shook.

  “And what would your intent be?” Velixar asked.

  “No more suffering. No more fear. Salvation from loss, heartache, betrayal, hunger, and lies.”

  Velixar’s eyes flared with color, as if he could not contain his excitement.

  “Are you strong enough?” he asked.

  Darius looked to the door. He thought of the nameless family inside, of the wounded man he’d killed, and the desires of his god. In the end, he knew what he must do.

  “Please,” he prayed to Karak. “Everything I am, I have sworn to you. I will not doubt. I will not disobey. Give me a sign. Show me the way, and I will follow without question.”

  He opened his eyes, and the dark fire on his blade fully consumed the metal. Prayer answered, choice made, he pushed open the door. The family screamed; the father fought. They died, and the fire burned all the hotter. When Darius stepped back out, his armor stained with blood, he threw down his sword and fell to his knees with a sob. Velixar’s hands were on his shoulders, his cold cheek pressed against Darius’s as his whole body shuddered with tears.

  “We are what the world lacks,” Velixar whispered in his ear. “We are what the world needs. Banish your guilt. You are no longer one of them. You are better. You are a child in the eyes of Karak, and have been made anew.”