Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels

by David Dalglish

  “All right.” Alaric nodded. “I think we get the idea of what the threat is and where it will be coming from. Now what do we do?” He turned to Cyrus.

  The warrior took a deep breath. “We need every single person in Sanctuary for this one.”

  Alaric raised an eyebrow. “You will have the support of every able body.”

  The warrior took another deep breath. “We also need our allies if they’re willing.”

  A grimace lit the Ghost’s face. “We will send messengers. I do not think we should wait for responses to move into action.”

  “Agreed,” Vara said. “The northern lands could be in flames before Goliath decides to move.”

  “True.” Cyrus nodded. “We move our entire force into the Mountains of Nartanis, now. All our veterans we bring down into the fire caves and leave the new inductees up top.”

  Curatio blinked. “You don’t think we’ll need them down below?”

  Cyrus shook his head. “With the head start Ashan’agar has, I doubt we’ll be down there for long — assuming he hasn’t left already. We need to move now.”

  Alaric nodded. “So ordered. Niamh, get the word to our allies and meet us in the mountains.”

  They broke from Council and an alarm sounded, blowing horns and voices filled the corridors as the entire force of Sanctuary mobilized. Cyrus found himself next to Alaric on his way down the stairs.

  “I would have you lead the force that is going into the caves,” the paladin said, taking the steps three at a time.

  “I assumed you would,” Cyrus said, voice tight.

  “I trust you to do your best,” Alaric said. “You have my full confidence. Curatio and I will shepherd the inductees above ground until you return.”

  Cy blinked. “Thank you, Alaric. I’ll do my best to make sure your confidence is well founded.”

  “It is,” the Ghost muttered, so low Cyrus could only just hear it.

  Within ten minutes nearly everyone was assembled in the foyer. Alaric stood before them on the balcony above the entryway and addressed them all.

  “We face now the Dragonlord, a treacherous foe. Our time is short so I shall not belabor the point: our most experienced fighters will go into the depths of his den while the rest of our army remains above in case the battle should spill onto the surface. Cyrus?”

  The warrior stepped forward. “Our worst case scenario involves the Dragonlord making it out of his den. If that should happen, we must keep him contained in the mountains and engaged in battle continuously. When the barrier goes down, the dragons of the south will receive a warning. Our objective is to kill him if possible but at least keep him occupied until they can arrive to deal with him. Should he escape…” The warrior’s words drifted off. “Say goodbye to your homes and families.”

  A burst of alarm ran through the crowd. “Let us away, my friends.” Alaric gestured toward the sky. Druid teleportation spells filled the room and the forces of Sanctuary disappeared in a hurricane of sound.

  36

  The Mountains of Nartanis appeared and Cyrus felt the hot air around them. He looked to the army appearing at his back. “Veterans, this way. New folks, stay here.” Without waiting for a reply, he headed west, boots crunching on the volcanic gravel.

  “Not wasting any time, I see,” came a voice from his right. He turned to see Vara, long legs straining to match his pace and jogging every few steps to keep up.

  “We don’t have any to waste,” he replied. A look back confirmed that the force had split and part of it was following him. On the horizon was the cave entrance, nestled in the shadows of a cliff. “I need someone to help me see in the dark,” he said and felt a flash of light enter his vision. “This way,” he gestured and was on the move again.

  “Short walk from the druid portal,” Vaste said from behind him. “I’m surprised this cave doesn’t get more visitors.”

  “Would you want to stumble into a dragon’s den for entertainment?” Andren said.

  “Of course I would. It’s the reason I’m here.” He paused. “Besides saving your sorry asses from imminent death. And possibly the world as well,” he added.

  “You seem a bit different since you got back from troll country,” Andren said. “What happened?”

  “You mean other than being beaten to the brink of death by my own people for trying to recruit some of them to come to Sanctuary?”

  Cyrus could hear a momentary stutter in Andren’s reply. “Yeah… other than that.”

  “I was saved by a shaman, one of the few magic users still among our tribe, and he taught me a few things.”

  “Such as?” J’anda’s voice entered the conversation.

  “I suspect you’ll see very soon,” the troll said.

  “Love the suspense,” Andren grunted.

  Cyrus motioned for quiet behind him as they reached a fork in the path. He knelt as his eyes focused on each of the two tunnels before them.

  “Do you remember which way to go?” Vara whispered in his ear. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and her breath washed over him in a warm wave.

  “I do.” Cyrus frowned. “But where does the other path lead, and might it be faster?”

  “Time is of the essence,” she whispered back. “Perhaps explore some other time.”

  “Very well.” He nodded. He charged down the passageway without further comment, bursting into a wide cavern with webbing in the corners of the chamber.

  “All too familiar,” Vara said from behind him.

  “Yeah. Go stand in the shadows over there and it’ll be just like the day we met — except this time I can actually see you.”

  “You couldn’t see me that day?” she asked, surprised.

  “Not until you jumped on the dragon,” he said, watching for danger in the four corners of the cavern. He pointed at his eyes. “Human eyesight. Not as good as yours.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “I’m surprised we haven’t run into any resistance yet. But we didn’t last time either.” He frowned at the hole in the ceiling. “Better move quickly to the bridge ahead.” They exited the room and found themselves on the bridge leading across the lava. “Where are the rock giants?” Cyrus chewed his lower lip. “Keep moving forward,” he ordered with a shout over his shoulder.

  “I hope our new recruits are all right,” Nyad said from behind Cyrus.

  “With Alaric and Curatio leading them, I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Andren said.

  They crossed the final bridge into the chamber of Ashan’agar without incident. Nothing stood between them and the entrance to his platform. Cyrus stuck his head around the archway and breathed a short sigh of relief. The dragon stood beyond, along with the black-cloaked figure. Six weapons floated around the mysterious figure as chanting filled the air. There was a crackle of magic between the weapons, and Cyrus felt it before he saw it: a flash as a wave of energy filled the cavern, emanating from the cloaked figure. Cyrus dropped to a knee and grasped at the edge of the bridge to avoid being knocked off his feet.

  “Unless I miss my guess,” Vara said under her breath, “we were about ten seconds too late.”

  Cyrus gritted his teeth. “He’s not out yet.” Stepping out into the open of the Dragonlord’s platform, Cyrus yelled at Ashan’agar. “How far you have fallen — from Dragonlord of Hewat to a petty thief, stealing other people’s treasures!”

  The dragon’s red scales stood out against the darkened cave walls around them. “I steal to garner my freedom,” the Dragonlord bristled. “And I am far from petty in my thievery.” The dragon’s face turned toward Cyrus, as did the black-cloaked figure. “Petty thieves steal trinkets and purses; I have engineered the theft of priceless relics of the gods.” The face of the dragon honed in on Cyrus, and the warrior could see the dragon’s right eye was missing, an angry scar running between the scales toward the Dragonlord’s snout.

  “I see better than you do since last we met,” Cyrus taunted. “You’ve become a low
form of life, trying to warp the minds of others to your will so you can escape this well-deserved prison.” Cyrus nodded to those behind him and the forces of Sanctuary began to spread out, encircling the platform.

  “I have not needed to bend the will of my most recent servants,” came the near-indignant reply. “They,” he gestured to the figure in the black cloak, “have come to me willingly, offering their services for a price.

  “You should have joined me.” The Dragonlord looked back at Cyrus. “Today is the dawn of a new order, one which will see me as Dragonlord of the northern lands, and soon enough, all Arkaria. Dragonkin,” Ashan’agar’s eye narrowed, “are a superior race, and those of you who survive will be ruled by us.”

  “Where are your spiders and rock giants to defend you now?” he taunted the dragon.

  “They are dealing with your rabble on the surface,” the dragon said. A cold chill ran up Cyrus’s spine and a cackle filled the cavern as the black-cloaked figure climbed onto the back of the dragon and the wings began to flap.

  “Attack!” Cyrus shouted. The force of Sanctuary assaulted Ashan’agar from all sides. Vara leapt forward through the air as Cyrus experienced a moment of deja vu — brought to a halt when the dragon’s wing extended, blunting her sword thrust and blocking her landing. She impaled the dragon’s right wing, stabbing through the shallow tissue and out the other side. Her feet failed to find purchase, leaving the paladin hanging in mid-air, holding onto her sword.

  Cyrus rushed forward, plunging his blade much more skillfully than he had a year prior, finding purchase between the scales of the dragon’s foot. Spells crackled in the air around him and the dragon roared. A burst of flames shot past Cyrus and across the chamber. I hope that didn’t hit anyone, he thought. He looked back to see people scurrying out of the way, a few narrowly dodging the fire.

  He twisted his blade and pulled up, dislodging one of the scales as the dragon let out another shriek. Cyrus sheathed his sword and dug his gauntlets into the space between the scales of the dragon as he began to climb the Dragonlord’s leg. A quick look over his shoulder confirmed Vara was still hanging from the wing.

  The ground began to recede as the dragon flew toward the top of the cave. “Wizards! Evacuate to the portal!” Cyrus shouted to the army below. He scrambled, climbing up the dragon’s shoulder. Upon reaching the wing, he wrapped his arms around it and clutched as hard as he could. “Vara!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Hang on!”

  A jarring shook the warrior as the Dragonlord struck the ceiling of the cavern, claws digging in. Cyrus could hear the crumbling of the roof as the dragon smashed against solid rock at the ceiling of the cave. The sound of cracking stone filled his ears and boulders began to drop as the dragon hung upside down and clawed, throwing aside dirt and rock. Cyrus held onto the wing, protected from the falling rock by it.

  A burst of sunlight filtered down and Ashan’agar’s head snaked toward it. A roar of triumph filled the air as the Dragonlord wrenched himself through the hole he had created, widening it and dropping more and more rocks into the chamber below.

  Cyrus could only bear to look down for a moment, but in that moment he saw the ceiling of the cavern beginning to collapse. The platform below was strewn with rubble. Please, Bellarum, let them all have made it out, Cyrus thought. The ground shook around him and Ashan’agar burst into the air, flapping his mighty wings and tasting the sky for the first time in years.

  Cyrus climbed the shoulder of the Dragonlord, hoisting himself onto the back of Ashan’agar as Vara worked her way along the wing toward the back of the dragon. The black-cloaked figure was clutching the dragon’s neck. Without much thought, Cyrus grabbed the edge of the cloak and tugged on it as he drew his sword. The dragon bucked and inverted, costing Cyrus the grip on his sword as he struggled to find something to hold onto. He saw Vara, hanging on the wing and a black cloak fluttering as he fell to the ground below.

  There was a sickening crunch as Cyrus hit the rocks and bounced a few feet in the air, only to come down on his right arm. A snapping noise came beneath the armor, drawing a cry of pain. He rolled down a slope of magmatic rock and dust to come to rest at the bottom of a hill. He blinked and looked up. The Dragonlord was gone, having flown out of sight. The black cloak was fluttering through the air; the figure it was enshrouding nowhere to be seen.

  “Hail,” came a voice from above him. Orion was on the hilltop, looking down.

  “Ah, there you are,” Cyrus said. “Wondered when you’d turn up.”

  Orion grinned. “Knew I was coming, did you?”

  “I did.”

  “Because of the call to the allies?”

  “No,” Cyrus grunted as he rolled over and used his good arm to boost himself to a sitting position. “Because you’re a servant of the Dragonlord.”

  The smile disappeared from the ranger’s face and his bow was out and raised. “How did you know?”

  “Not so fast,” Cyrus said with a grin, holding his bad arm with the good. “I’m not the only one that fell from your master. Selene fell with me, and I saw where she landed. If she died and you kill me you’ll never find her in time to revive her.”

  The bow was drawn back, pointed at Cyrus’s head. “Tell me where she fell.” The ranger drew his bow back further.

  “I can show you. Why don’t we take a walk?” Cyrus grimaced from pain in his ankle as he forced himself to his feet. “I do have to ask… why?”

  Orion scoffed. “You know why.” The ranger kept the arrow pointed at Cyrus as the warrior began a slow shuffle up a nearby hill. “Because the Dragonlord can give me everything I’ve ever wanted. He will rule our world.”

  “He will wipe out every living being in order to make way for a new dragon kingdom,” Cyrus said. “Ever heard of the Ashen Wastelands? Hundreds of miles of dust and fire? That’s their home.”

  “He can’t wipe out every living thing,” Orion said. “But you’re right: the major cities, like Reikonos, Pharesia, Saekaj — they’ll burn. There will be nothing left of them as he builds his empire.”

  “I guess millions of dead don’t matter as long as you have a new pair of chainmail pants.” Cyrus shifted his weight from his left foot to the right to alleviate his pain. “The night I ran into you in the markets, that was from what he paid you — after you liberated Ferocis from Kortran for him?”

  Orion raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re good at guessing today. How did you know?”

  Cyrus shrugged. “I’ve been with Sanctuary for a year now and I know what our stipend is. I also know that the only bonus you’ve seen from spoils of war was after I led the assault on Kalam. I’ve never seen the kind of money that would pay for chainmail like that. So after leaving me in Reikonos Square that first day, you caught a ride back to the square with a Sanctuary teleporter, paid someone for a lift to the mountains and strolled right into the lair of Ashan’agar and offered your services. He didn’t even have to coerce you with magic like he tried to do to me.”

  Orion smiled. “What can I say? I’m motivated, and the price was right.”

  “And the price was?”

  The ranger’s smile widened. “The best equipment that money can’t buy and all the gold I need for what it can.”

  Cyrus grunted. “Not enough. So why stick with Sanctuary after that? Why go to Goliath later?” The warrior shook his head, trying to brush out the cobwebs from the fall. He was having trouble seeing straight and he began to sway. “Why not just leave and follow your Dragonlord full time? You might have gotten him free even faster.”

  The ranger’s eyes looked left to right. “And what if he didn’t?” Orion shook his head. “No, I had to keep my options open until I knew we could deliver all the pieces. If we had failed, the reprisal would have been stiff and I’d have needed allies to help protect me.”

  “So how did you convince the goblins of Enterra to part with the Hammer?” Cy’s eyes narrowed.

  “I didn’t.” Orion looked around. “One of the
Dragonlord’s other servants struck a deal with them and also delivered the Staff of Death.”

  “Who was it?” Cy stopped as he felt his throat go dry.

  “It’s not my place to tell.” Orion grimaced. “I didn’t know about that servant until after Enterra.”

  “Would you have still led the expedition to Enterra if you had known the other servant would get the Hammer?” Cy eyed the ranger, measuring every word.

  “Yes,” Orion said, expression neutral. “The Dragonlord’s other servant only acquired the Hammer because he betrayed us and gave the goblins…” His voice trailed off. “…what they were looking for.”

  “Which is?”

  Orion’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s Selene?”

  “This way,” Cy resumed walking, pushing the thought of Narstron aside for a moment. “And in the Realm of Death? The Staff?”

  “I told you, I didn’t take it,” Orion snapped. “Information was not forthcoming. The Dragonlord kept us in the dark.”

  “But you managed to steal Amnis and Ventus from two of the most guarded locations in Arkaria?”

  Orion’s eyes lit up. “Do you know how difficult those were to mastermind? Two of the most difficult sites in the world to break into, and we stole from both flawlessly.

  “Reikonos was the toughest,” the ranger said. “That’s why we saved it until last. The elves, they’re so arrogant and sure of their magics, they left their barriers as the only line of defense. And they should be proud — their barriers were much more powerful than the ones in Reikonos — not that it mattered.” He chuckled. “Once Ashan’agar finally told us to use one of the weapons to breach the barrier, it was easy. Selene went in with the spider, broke the barrier and teleported herself out.

  “In Reikonos, it was a different story,” Orion said, relishing his superiority. “We both had to be there — I had to sound the alarm so you and the Reikonos soldiers would follow the spider, allowing Selene to escape and retrieve the spear from our eight-legged distraction.” He chuckled. “It would have been a lot easier if I could have cast the return spell like Selene can.” A grim look filled the ranger’s eyes. “Where is she?”