Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels

by David Dalglish

  “Now,” Saldibar said. “What we need is an army to retake Balsalom.” He sighed. “And that’s where the plan fails. How do we do that? His ministers have taken over the city. Neither of us have any influence.”

  Kallia smiled, seeing the answer that the grand vizier had overlooked. “Ah, but you forget who does have power.”

  “Who?”

  “The guilds. Nobody can break their power.”

  Kallia had fought to break their monopolies for years with little success. Without their organization and control of commerce, the city could not function. Neither, she suspected, could any of the khalifates from here to Veyre.

  “Yes, the guilds,” Saldibar said, rubbing his hand over his bald skull. “I should have guessed. And much as you’ve fought them, they would prefer your rule to the dark wizard. I can approach Fenerath and propose a truce.”

  Kallia said, “Once we retake Balsalom, the people will give their lives to hold it; they’ve seen what Cragyn will do, and if they forget, they can look down the Tothian Way at their family members on stakes.

  “And we can test what Cragyn will do with a rebellion at his back and the armies of the Free Kingdoms at his front,” she continued. “With any luck we can consolidate the rest of the Western Khalifates before the enemy even hears of the revolt. Yes, contact the guilds. Arrange a meeting.”

  Saldibar replaced the wig and pulled the hood over his head. “I’ll contact you as soon as I can.”

  She tried to stand and winced in pain. Saldibar caught her arm. She said, “Please do send someone to look after my other injuries. The dark wizard is not a gentle lover.”

  Saldibar helped her back to the bed, his face as concerned as any father’s. “Of course, my queen. And thank you for forgiving my weaknesses. I know I have failed you.”

  Kallia touched his arm, ignoring the bitter smile on his face. “Saldibar, you have never failed me.” She leaned back and closed her eyes.

  “There is one other thing,” Saldibar said as he turned to go. “My spies discovered who set fire to the Slaves Quarter. No enemy at all, but an ally fleeing from wights sent by the dark wizard.”

  Kallia opened her eyes. “Oh?”

  “You may or may not remember, but your father had a bodyguard, a barbarian. A good man.”

  “Whelan.” Her heart fluttered oddly in her chest, remembering how he had looked at her in her father’s bed chambers so many years ago.

  “Yes, I thought you would remember. He belongs to the Brotherhood of the Thorne, specifically to a fanatical band of warriors called the Knights Temperate, and has fled to warn King Daniel about the dark wizard. Or so my spies tell me.”

  Kallia knew the sect, although she hadn’t known Whelan was a member. Together with the Order of the Wounded Hand, a band of wizards, the Brotherhood had founded the Citadel. King Daniel was a patron to these strange groups, even lending credence to the teachings of the philosopher who had founded these two fellowships.

  “I’ve sent for the man and his companion, a minor wizard named Markal. Perhaps they can plead for help from the Free Kingdoms. Or perhaps,” Saldibar continued, “he will return to help you escape the city. He esteemed both you and your father greatly.”

  “Saldibar, that isn’t going to happen. If Balsalom suffers, I suffer. If she dies, so do I. But I won’t leave.” She fixed him with a sharp gaze, a look warning him not to try anything that would contradict this assertion. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  * * *

  Cragyn marched that afternoon. He left a broken city.

  Over two thousand men, women, and children sat impaled on stakes surrounding the walls and lining the Tothian Way to Ter. Their screams still carried over the walls, although they began to fade. Hundreds of others had died in the night of butchery that followed the wedding of their khalifa to the dark wizard. Torturers had spent the night with Kallia’s brother Omar and his screams could be heard throughout the palace. By late morning, they’d planted his head on a pike atop Toth’s View. The torturers welcomed the dark wizard; he’d promised them their own guild, out from beneath the corrections guild.

  Several thousand more people were led east in chains, including most of Kallia’s army and several hundred slaves. Thousands more might have fled to Horvan or Ter, or one of the cities upon which the wizard’s wrath had fallen less harshly, but Mol Khah’s soldiers guarded the gates and drove back any without legitimate reasons for leaving.

  Even the gardens were defiled; mammoths stripped branches from trees to satisfy voracious appetites. Two giants uprooted a four-hundred-year-old olive tree planted when Balsalom was still young, while Mol Khah’s twelfth phalanx destroyed the khalifa’s vineyards digging for gold coins reported buried for safekeeping beneath its vines.

  The merchant tower rang its bells to open the Grand Bazaar, but few merchants came and fewer customers.

  Balsalom subdued, Cragyn and his army marched west by midday with a blare of trumpets and a great shout of triumph from his army. He left a formidable force behind, including giants and mammoths. Mol Khah, whose enemies called him the butcher of Beltan, after the city he’d razed earlier in the year, stayed to keep Balsalom quiet and raise more troops from the Western Khalifates. He’d brought Kallia to Toth’s View to witness Cragyn’s army issue forth.

  “There marches the high khalif of Mithyl,” Mol Khah said proudly. He dwarfed her in height; his sword alone stood to her shoulder when he planted it on the flagstones.

  “Mithyl? The entire world?” Kallia questioned, resisting the urge to flinch at the expected blow. “King Daniel and the Citadel would argue that assertion. Perhaps the wizard grows overconfident.”

  “By spring, all of Eriscoba will be his. Those foolish barbarian lordlings are no match for Cragyn.”

  “Again,” Kallia said, feeling bold and taking advantage of the pasha’s buoyant mood, “the wizard overestimates his own strength. What man can defeat a Knight Temperate in combat? Now imagine five hundred such knights riding in formation. Your army will be put to flight like sheep beset by wolves.”

  Mol Khah fixed her with a cold glare. “You have no idea what power the wizard wields or you would not make such foolish statements. Perhaps if Balsalom had resisted rather than falling to its knees, woman, you would have seen Cragyn’s wrath kindled.” He smiled. “Yes, but you will see the power soon enough. Perhaps nine months from now.”

  Her stomach clenched. “What do you mean? It was one night. One night is rarely enough for such things.” She turned away, remembering with comfort the tea Saldibar had brewed to prevent such a calamity.

  He shrugged. “One night or many, it does not matter. The wizard cannot plant his seed without it taking root. And when the child is born … “ He looked out to the marching army and laughed.

  Kallia turned away. Yes, well she would see. She would drink willow and savin tea every day until she was sure his seed had not taken root. She would drink so many cups of tea that she would throw up at the mere taste of it.

  * * *

  Mol Khah let his attention slip from the khalifa, and that would prove his downfall. Kallia, who had learned the palace’s secret passages during the paranoid years after the assassinations, made her way that night to a chamber deep in the heart of the palace, where Saldibar had arranged a meeting.

  Father had used this room as sleeping quarters on those nights that he didn’t feel safe. It could be accessed by two hallways. The first from a hidden staircase, itself reached by pulling up tiles in the corner of the garden apartments’ second closet. The second came from a building behind the Fountain Court. It was small enough that the light of a single lamp proved sufficient. Ten men plus Saldibar and Kallia crowded the room, sitting on footstools and chairs. She had a representative of every major guild but the corrections guild. She’d dearly wanted their support as well, but the loyalty of their torturers was suspect. A couple of men grumbled that it was too cold this far beneath the ground, but Saldibar
glared them into silence.

  Fenerath, the guildmaster, looked about the room for a moment, before saying, “And you think we can trust everyone here?” He snorted.

  Fenerath had climbed to guildmaster from the weavers guild, a compromise between the powerful merchants and their chief rivals the masons and the wine-makers. Saldibar himself had endorsed Fenerath’s nomination to end an increasingly bitter dispute. But when appointed, the man proved a puppet of nobody, ruining reputations and drying the flow of crucial supplies to any who opposed him. Some accused him of plundering the guild coffers for his own enrichment. Indeed, the man’s ostentatious show of wealth—gold rings, chains, rich robes—did little to dispel this rumor.

  “Yes, I have faith in all of you,” Kallia said, in answer to Fenerath’s question. She held out her hands in a pleading gesture. “There are many hatreds in this room, some of them directed at me. But the one thing you all love is Balsalom.” And money, Kallia thought, but didn’t voice this opinion. “I love Balsalom too. More than my own life. I suggest we forget past rivalries to retake our city.”

  “Still,” Nabah from the merchants guild said with a shrug. He was probably the second least liked person in the room after Fenerath. The merchants guild was rather fond of using its power and wealth to bludgeon the other guilds. “How can we be sure? What if we have a spy?”

  Saldibar said, “Let us hope that we don’t have a spy.” The grand vizier was not liked by everyone either, but all respected him. His presence bolstered this meeting. He raised his eyebrow significantly. “If we do, then every person in this room will be tortured to death.”

  A few uneasy glances went around the room as they each tried to guess who might be a spy. Some eyes strayed to Fenerath, while others merely eyed their opponent from a rival guild.

  Kallia nodded her agreement with the grand vizier. She could sense them swaying, torn between fear and hatred of what the wizard had done. “Yes, and the spy himself will die as horribly as anyone else. Remember how Cragyn made an example of my brother? He doesn’t trust traitors. And why should he? What kind of man turns against his own city, against his brother, his son, his wife.”

  “The first step,” Saldibar said, “is to spirit the khalifa from the palace. Once we get her away from Mol Khah, we can spring our uprising.”

  “And then what?” Fenerath asked the khalifa. “Will you flee the city and leave us to win or lose by our own strengths and weaknesses?”

  She rose from her seat and put her hand on the guildmaster’s arm, then walked around the room, touching each man on the face or hand and looking them in the eyes. Some met her gaze, others looked awkwardly at their hands or fiddled with beards. If they looked down, she lifted their chins so they could meet her gaze. As she did, she expressed her love for her people with her eyes. She bared her soul, showing them the pain in her eyes and her hope. It was a difficult and humbling task. She didn’t know if she succeeded.

  Kallia said, “I surrendered Balsalom once. Never have I made a graver mistake, and never again will I abandon my people. I love this city more than my own life. And if giving my life is what it takes, I will gladly do so.”

  She laid out the details of her plan.

  Each guild maintained a private army from the watchmans guild to enforce city and guild law and, at annoying intervals, to skirmish with other guilds over property and trade rights. These men were not as well armed as the regular army, but they were disciplined, organized, and great believers in the virtue of Balsalom. Gather them together and you would have an army of a thousand men.

  The plan went thus. Saldibar would slip Kallia from the palace while Mol Khah drilled his men in the courtyard. After that, the watchmen would overwhelm the guards on the city walls, and free those men who languished under the corrections guild. They would then surround Mol Khah’s garrison at the palace while the guilds recruited a larger army from the city. Supplementing the watchmen with these new recruits to keep Mol Khah from breaking free, they could then infiltrate the palace through Kallia’s secret passages and destroy the garrison.

  But first, they would wait to let Cragyn’s army entangle itself in the mountains. Move too soon and the wizard would simply turn around and be at their throats before they could retake the city.

  “And now,” she said, returning to her feet, “will all of you swear an oath? Not to me, but to the people of Balsalom that you will do everything in your power to free them from the dark wizard’s tyranny?”

  They rose to their feet and raised both fists to shoulder height. But it wasn’t this gesture of oath-taking so much as the looks in their eyes that gave her the answer she was looking for. That look told her that to a man they would fight and die by her side.

  9

  Darik stood atop the Eagle Tower next to Hoffan and the others, watching the cavalry approach Montcrag. It was dark, but the enemy didn’t hide its numbers. Instead, it lit its way with torches. About thirty horsemen climbed the road that led to the gates, three abreast, which was as wide as they could get on the narrow road. They couldn’t spread out until much closer to the gates, and that would put them in range of arrow fire.

  Darik could see a much larger force making its way up the Tothian Way. There were perhaps two hundred horsemen in this second group, and Darik could see more down in the valley who would arrive soon, although he couldn’t tell from here if they were more horse or footmen.

  “Hah,” Hoffan said. “They’ll never mount an assault that way. What, are they going to send their cavalry three at a time to bang against the gates and beg us to let them in? And if they mean to simply starve us out, let them try. I’ve got enough foodstuffs here to last a year or more. One of the benefits of taxing every shipment that passes through.” He shook his head. “We won’t see the Famine Child at Montcrag.”

  “I don’t think that’s their goal,” Markal said. “The dark wizard means to pin us in place until he can bring other weapons to bear.”

  The big man looked skeptical. “This castle has withstood all manner of siege weapons and assaults. It will survive one more.” He shook his head. “No enemy has taken Montcrag by force since it was built in the wars.”

  “The castle is much older than the Tothian Wars. Perhaps a thousand years older.” Markal explained, “The writing carved into stones outside the gates is an ancient version of the old tongue. Magical bindings to the stone. That would explain why the castle didn’t fall into ruins after the wars, when the passes were deserted for two hundred years. The talismans are worn, but still hold power.”

  This bit of news clearly surprised the warlord. “All the better, then.” He grinned. “Won’t it amuse the world that the dark wizard was able to conquer the entire east but broke his army against a castle manned by eighty fighting men?”

  True to Markal’s prediction, the horsemen stopped just out of bow-shot and waited. Their bath from Montcrag’s chamber pots must have taught them a lesson, for nobody attempted to approach the gates under olive branch.

  Hoffan turned to climb down the stairs. “Come, they’ve not caught us by surprise. Let’s prepare for siege.” He looked at Darik and Sofiana. “I can even find use for our young companions.”

  Darik had hoped that this use would include sword training, but no, it meant physical labor. While Hoffan talked strategy with Whelan and Markal, he sent Darik and the girl to help the fletcher carry stacks of arrows to the towers, then had them deliver supper to the men in the towers and on the walls. Darik suspected that if battle came, he’d be left with similarly menial chores. Sofiana too, chafed at this work, but Darik remembered Whelan’s comments about how she could shoot the crossbow. She, at least, would see some action.

  Whelan told Darik of their plans after dinner. “We leave in the morning. We’ll hike over the mountain that rises behind the castle walls. Flockheart and his griffins live back in the mountains and I hope to convince him to fly us to the Citadel, where I can warn King Daniel and gather the Brotherhood.”

  �
��What about Markal?”

  “Markal is staying to defend Montcrag. He’ll catch up with us later if he can.” Whelan must have caught Darik’s concerned expression, for he added, “Don’t worry about the wizard. Whatever happens, Markal will escape. He always does.”

  But that hadn’t been Darik’s worry, he realized somewhat guiltily. If Markal stayed, no doubt he would keep the steel book with him. Darik had begun to think of the book as his own, although he couldn’t say why. The wizard had recovered it from the tomb, after all, and the book was wizardry, pure and simple. No business of a sixteen-year-old boy.

  Darik turned in for bed early at Whelan’s suggestion. It was nice to sleep on a bed rather than the hard ground or the back of a camel, but he’d have liked to see Montcrag defend itself. There would be no excitement for him, he thought as he fell asleep.

  * * *

  Darik woke in the night to a booming echo. At first he thought it part of his dreams and rolled over in bed. A moment later, another boom. He sat up in his bed.

  “Darik,” Sofiana called through the darkness. She slept in the next bed over, between Darik and Whelan. “What’s that?” Genuine fear sounded in her voice.

  “I don’t know. Where’s your father?”

  “His bed is empty. So is Markal’s.”

  Darik climbed to his feet and threw open the door. It was dark outside. A cold wind blew in, a blast so unexpected that he took a step backwards. Yesterday, Montcrag was cooler than the valleys, yes, but Darik was unprepared for this bite in the air.

  Another boom sounded, louder now that the door hung open. Shouts sounded from the walls and a fire burned on the far end of the green. He threw on his pants and shirt, while Sofiana hurried to do the same. She grabbed her crossbow and strapped a quiver over her shoulder. Darik wished he had a weapon of some kind, any kind. Together, they ran toward the front gates where the fire burned.

  A man intercepted them. “Go back to your rooms. This is no place for children.”

  “Children?” Sofiana said angrily. “We’re not children. We have work to do. Move out of our way.”