Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels

by David Dalglish

  They left the Way just when Darik thought his feet could walk no more. A dirt road led from the main road, cutting through a copse of cork and olive trees. Beyond the trees sat a sturdy mudstone house, corners anchored by timbers, with windows on both floors, and a flat roof. A placard with a sleeping camel hung from the door, which meant that the house served as an inn for travelers.

  Whelan tensed when he saw the building. He licked his lips and glanced back at Markal.

  “Go ahead,” Markal urged. “You saw him in the bazaar. Nothing happened then.”

  “That was different,” Whelan said, voice straining. “We all worried that he’d been followed. We had no time for argument.”

  Darik frowned and looked from one man to the other. He wanted to ask, but thought better of the idea.

  Whelan walked toward the front door, then hesitated before pounding his fist against the wood. Three hard knocks. After a minute, he pounded again. Another three knocks. He repeated this a third time. At last, a slat slid open three quarters the way up the door and a pair of eyes peered out. The door opened a moment later to reveal a short, muscular man who looked familiar somehow.

  “Whelan.”

  “Ethan.”

  The two men eyed each other, each standing stiffly. Whelan clenched and unclenched his right hand and Darik feared he would reach over his shoulder to draw his sword and cut the man in two. And then Ethan grabbed Whelan in a fierce hug. The two men burst into laughter and Markal and Darik joined them. The broken tension left Darik with an overwhelming sense of release, even though he had no idea what had just passed between the men.

  “My captain,” Ethan said.

  “Brother,” Whelan insisted. “There is more between us than titles.”

  Ethan’s face turned grim. “I’ve felt your exile more than any, brother. But what the Free Kingdoms need now is not my brother, but leaders. So I will call you captain.”

  Darik recognized Ethan at last. “You! You’re the man from the bazaar. The one who haggled with Markal.”

  Ethan smiled. “The bread was as good as the wizard promised.”

  Darik shook his head, remembering how Markal had feigned ignorance of the secret communication played between the two brothers. The only one played for a fool had been himself.

  Whelan asked, “Is Ninny all right? And Scree?”

  “Ninny’s fine. Your falcon, too. Here, I’m sorry. Come inside. There have been riders all morning. It’s not safe.”

  “Not safe at all,” Markal agreed. “You’ll have to leave here and return with us to the mountains.”

  “Here, let me take that.” Ethan grabbed the bundle from Darik, who held it a moment too long before realizing that he was resisting. Ethan frowned at the weight.

  “Ah, good,” Whelan said. Some of the tenseness of the last few hours slipped from his face. Whoever Ninny was—a favorite horse, Darik supposed—the man had obviously worried a great deal about her.

  The farmhouse was larger than it looked and pleasantly cool after the heat outside. The window slats were drawn closed to ward away visitors, but tallow candles burned in niches in the walls. A tapestry hung on one wall, a man on a horse following a pack of baying hounds that chased a hart with an arrow sticking from its haunch.

  “You’ll want to set out tonight, won’t you? Come upstairs and tell me what happened. But here, the boy looks ill,” Ethan said, with a glance at Darik.

  “Yes, of course,” Markal said.

  All at once, Darik was weak from hunger, thirst and heat exhaustion. Whelan caught his arm and helped him to a chair just inside the threshold.

  Ethan told him, “Follow the hall to the dining room. The girl will give you whatever you need.”

  Darik looked at Markal and Whelan, uncertain, but they nodded their approval. “We’ll be upstairs,” Whelan said. “We’ll only be a few minutes.”

  The three men climbed a staircase to the upper floor. Disappointed to be left behind like a child, but relieved at the chance to eat, Darik made his way into the dining hall. It was a small room with three tables and a stack of wine kegs in the corner. Several cheeses and a pair of pheasants hung from hooks over the wine. His stomach rumbled in anticipation. Beyond the hall, the inviting smells of a kitchen; someone whistled and he could hear the distinctive sound of bread being kneaded around the corner. He debated taking a mug and helping himself to some wine, but thought better of it.

  “Excuse me.”

  A girl appeared around the corner, younger than he’d expected. She was about twelve, thin and waifish like so many of the serving girls in his father’s kitchens. He didn’t want to assume too much, however, she might well be Ethan’s daughter.

  She eyed him curiously, and, he thought, fearfully. “Did Ethan let you in?”

  That answered that question. Not his daughter. Just another servant girl, then. Probably even a slave. “Yes, he did.” Darik pulled up a chair and sat at one of the tables. “He told me to get some food and drink.”

  “You came with two others,” she said, her voice high and excited. “A tall man and a wizard? The tall man is named Whelan?”

  Darik smiled. He knew how he must look to her, traveling with such men. He forgave the awe in her voice. “I did. Now, could I have some food, perhaps a little wine? And hurry, I’ve been on the road and I don’t think I’ll last much longer before my stomach falls out.”

  He tried to put a little humor into his voice, but the simple serving girl didn’t appear to catch it. She brought him bread and cheese quickly enough and a mug of drink. Unfermented grape juice, he was disappointed to note.

  “Have you traveled far with the others?” the girl asked, watching him drink.

  “Far enough.” He set down the mug and tore off a chunk of bread. Not bad, but nothing like they made in Graiyan’s kitchen. Still, he was so hungry that it tasted delicious. “I could tell stories, but the things I’ve seen would bring you the night terrors.” He took a long draught from his mug, thinking that it would be a little more dramatic if he were downing wine instead of grape juice. Still, a child like this would be easily impressed. “No, they’re not for little girls to hear.”

  “Is that so?” the girl asked, her friendly tone drying up.

  “Ninny!” Whelan called suddenly, stepping into the room.

  “Uncle Whelan!” the girl cried, throwing herself into the tall warrior’s arms.

  Whelan swept her around in delight. He set her down and turned to Darik. “I see you’ve met my daughter Sofiana.”

  Darik coughed. “Uhm, yes, I just did.” Daughter?

  Whelan beamed in pride, apparently not noticing Darik’s discomfort. “She once rode twenty miles while three bandits chased her, and I lay unconscious over the saddle. They never caught us, though.”

  Darik tried to disappear into a crack in the floor, but failed. Thankfully, Sofiana said nothing to Whelan, but clapped her hands in remembrance. “I’ve got Scree,” she said. “Let me get her.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Whelan said, giving her another hug. “I don’t want to let you out of my sight.” He followed her back to the kitchens. Why, if she was Whelan’s daughter, did she call the man her uncle?

  Markal came into the room, giving Darik a knowing wink. “Even the worst wizards have excellent hearing.”

  Darik groaned. “You heard that?” He tore off a piece of cheese with his teeth, wishing he’d spent more time using his mouth for eating.

  “Who do you think suggested we come down as soon as we did? I thought I’d save you before you made yourself into any more of an ass. Sofiana is coming with us, after all.” He laughed. “And believe me, that girl can make your life miserable.”

  “Is Whelan her father or her uncle?”

  “Both, in a way.” He raised a bushy eyebrow. “But that is Whelan’s business, as I’m sure he would remind me. My tongue wags too freely as it is without delving into that tale.”

  Whelan and Sofiana returned, a hooded falcon on the man’s wri
st. He whispered in its ear and stroked its chest. Whelan and Sofiana pulled up chairs next to Markal and Darik.

  Ethan came in a moment later, then made his way back to the kitchen, returning with food and drink for the two older men. They tore into the bread and cheese much as Darik had earlier.

  Whelan eyed the wine and sighed. “No ale, Ethan?”

  Ethan shook his head. “Not much demand for ale or mead in the khalifates, I’m afraid. I’m trying to turn a profit here, remember. Every once in a while I find a passing merchant who has acquired a taste for good drink in Eriscoba and pay him dearly for a barrel or two. I had a casket of good dark stuff just last month.” Ethan grinned and patted his stomach. “But I’m afraid I didn’t save any for you, brother.”

  Markal gave Darik a wink. “Ah, don’t you love traveling with barbarians?” He took a long sip of the wine. “Now, if only he’d tasted of the Aristonian vineyards before the wars. A taste of those vineyards would convert even the most provincial of palates to its charms.”

  Ethan returned to the kitchen to stoke the ovens.

  Scree sat on Whelan’s left wrist, and he reached up his other hand to stroke it.

  “That’s a pretty bird,” Darik said.

  “It’s not a bird,” Whelan said, looking up sharply. “It’s a falcon. I suppose if you saw a griffin, you’d call that a ‘bird’ too, would you?”

  Markal laughed. “You think he’s protective of Scree, just wait until you see how he is about his daughter.”

  Whelan smiled and put his arm around Sofiana, as if ashamed to be caught fussing over his falcon when he hadn’t seen the girl for so long. Whelan laughed, a welcome sound to Darik’s ears. “Sorry. I’ve been strung out like a bowstring all day. My girl by my side and a little food and drink in my belly helps the spirits, though.”

  Sofiana stroked the falcon’s neck. The girl smiled at her father. “I took good care of her.”

  “I’m sure you did. I just hope someone took as good care of you.” He looked up at Ethan. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I didn’t mean—”

  Ethan held up his hand. “Of course you didn’t. I’ve loaded your bags.”

  “Ah, yes,” Markal said. “The camels and the supplies. Will thirty dinarii do it?”

  “No need for that,” Ethan said. “I’ve got enough money.” He rose from the table to check the food in the ovens, then returned a few minutes later with goat meat on a skewer, fat chunks of meat interspersed with roasted onions.

  “I had some travelers last night who rode west in a hurry toward the mountains and had some food left over. Sorry I’ve got nothing fresher.”

  Darik gingerly pulled a chunk of meat from the skewer with his teeth. It tasted delicious, rubbed with butter and garlic. The bread and cheese had taken the edge off his hunger, but this was much better.

  “Who were these riders?” Whelan asked. “Veyrians?”

  Ethan shook his head. “Eriscobans. Brotherhood, I think. To be safe, I kept quiet about who Ninny and I were.” Ethan took a seat and picked up his own skewer. “But I suspect the time for silence has ended. Friend and enemy alike are sorting themselves into respective sides.”

  “Then you can come with us,” Markal said. “We could use an extra sword until we reach Montcrag and the mountains.”

  Whelan said, “But more than that, I need you to help me with the Brotherhood, help me win back their trust.”

  “I’m afraid Markal will have to help you with that. I’m going to stay here. Someone needs to keep an eye on the city, pass news to the khalifa, and let her know that she has the support of the Free Kingdoms.”

  “If you see the khalifa,” Whelan said between sips of wine, “and approach her as Prince Ethan, don’t tell her that I’m your brother. I spent some time at her palace several years ago and don’t want her thinking I had treacherous motives.”

  Ethan shrugged. “I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  “Prince?” Darik asked, confused.

  Whelan smiled, but there was a bitter edge to it. “We’re King Daniel’s own brothers, I’m afraid.”

  “Is nothing you told me true? What about the khalif’s captain in the Mascaras khalifate? A great warrior. Another lie?”

  Whelan shook his head. “Sorry.”

  Ethan said, “Part of that was true, anyway. Whelan is one of the greatest warriors across the breadth of Mithyl, from Veyre on the sea all the way to the Wylde. Captain of the Knights Temperate.” He hesitated. “Or used to be, anyway.” He turned back to Markal and Whelan. “When do you leave?”

  Markal rubbed at his beard. “Nightfall, I think. Too dangerous to travel before then. Do you have somewhere we can sleep for a few hours? Last night stopped short of restful, I’m afraid.”

  Sofiana rose from her seat. “The big room is still a mess from the men who came last night, but the well room has bedding.”

  She led them upstairs. The well room was a small room for travelers that overlooked the fields behind the innhouse. Darik looked down from the window and saw a small stone well off the back porch that had given the room its name. Three camels knelt in the shade of the house, dozing while their saddle bags lay stacked to one side.

  “Tell me the truth,” Darik asked when Ethan and Sofiana left the three of them alone. “Will riding a camel to the mountains end my hopes for Sanctuary?”

  Whelan nodded. “For now, yes. You are free Darik, now that you’re away from the city.”

  Whelan took off his boots and lay down on the second bed. Markal took a seat beneath the window and closed his eyes. Soft snores immediately came whispering from the wizard’s bearded face.

  Darik shook his head. “I still feel like a slave. I think I might always feel like a slave until—” he trailed off in frustration. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t feel like a slave. But my family has been destroyed and dishonored and my sister is being raised by someone else. I thought if I reached the Citadel and begged Sanctuary—” His voice trailed off again.

  “You could join the Brotherhood?”

  Darik nodded. “Maybe even join the Knights Temperate. There is honor in that.”

  Whelan said, “Great honor. And discipline, too. The problem is, there’s no way you’ll make it through the mountains by yourself on foot. Two days from now it will be too late to make it by horse or camel. It may already be too late.”

  “Are you telling me the truth?”

  Whelan nodded. “I am now. And I’m truly sorry about all of the lies to get you out of the city. We should have been honest, but I couldn’t be sure how well you could be trusted to keep your calm in danger. Now try to get some sleep.”

  Darik thought it impossible that he would fall asleep, but as soon as he closed his eyes, he fell into sleep, exhausted. He dreamt of the wights in the Slaves Quarter, who chased him through the narrow alleys, scrabbling at his robes with claws that burned with ice.

  Darik woke some time later to an insistent shaking. He sat up to find Ethan standing over him. Whelan and Markal were lacing up boots, while Sofiana stood at the door, a crossbow in her hands.

  Ethan lifted a finger to his lips to warn Darik to silence.

  “What is it?” he asked in a low voice. The sun slanted in through the window at a low angle. He must have slept most of the day away and felt as though he could have kept sleeping right through the night.

  Ethan said, “Soldiers! They’re at the house. Hurry.” He held Whelan’s falcon on his fist, a hood over its eyes.

  Darik pulled on his boots, fear penetrating his grogginess.

  “How many?” Whelan asked. “And how are they armed?”

  “Heavily armed and armored with Veyrian scale and good Eriscoban leather. Too many to fight. Come, we’ll take the back staircase.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Darik said, still trying to shake the sleep from his head. “Why are they here? I thought the dark wizard wanted to take the city first.”

  “Balsalom?” Ethan asked. “It’s already fallen. The khalifa is dead.”


  6

  Whelan’s face turned pale. “Kallia? Cragyn killed her? How?”

  “I have no idea,” Ethan said. “That’s what they said. Hurry. I need to get more wine for the soldiers. They’re devouring the rest of the goat. They’re hungry bastards. Another minute and they’ll come looking, demanding more food.”

  The back staircase was a rickety thing on the opposite side of the converted farmhouse. Ethan stored barrels of wheat and oats on the planks and the stairs, thinned and dusty from dry rot, complained noisily with every step. At last they all reached the bottom of the stairs and made their way into the back of the inn, where the three camels dozed in the sun. Ethan untied their leads and pulled them to their feet.

  Ethan handed a glove and Scree to Sofiana then helped Whelan struggle the heavy packs on the camels. Markal cinched the packs tight and then Markal and Sofiana scrambled onto the first two camels.

  Darik looked at Whelan and at the final camel, unsure what to do.

  “You ride with Sofiana,” Whelan explained, pulling her camel’s bridle until the beast lay on the ground. It bellowed once in irritation, and Darik winced at the sound, sure it would attract attention. Whelan dropped his own camel’s neck and scrambled on top. He pulled his sword from his saddle bags and slung the scabbard over his shoulder.

  Darik made to slide in place in front of the girl, but she shook her head and gestured over her shoulder. “You ride in back. Just hold on.”

  “I can ride a camel,” Darik protested, heat rising in his cheeks.

  “Darik, ride in back,” Whelan said. “Don’t argue.”

  He obeyed and climbed behind the girl. She jerked on the reins to pull the camel to its feet then fell in behind the others. Sofiana handed Scree, hooded and tethered, to Whelan.

  Ethan said, “The Brothers guide your path. Take care in the Desolation.”

  At word of the Desolation, Whelan’s face darkened. “We will. Thanks, brother.” He reached down and clasped his brother’s arm, then they rode.