Magic, Myth & Majesty: 7 Fantasy Novels Read online

  He met her gaze but did not answer for a long moment. “I won’t,” he finally answered. “They may be better equipped, but they won’t know how to pull off what I’m going to do.”

  She looked at him, eyes narrow, visible skin along her thin neck an angry red shade all the way up her cheeks. “Malpravus has warriors armored well enough to take a blast of fire. What if your plan fails and that dragon sends a jet of flame your way?”

  “Then the temperature in my armor will rise rather severely in a short period of time, and you’ll be free of one annoying warrior.” She blanched, but his face remained expressionless. “Honestly, why do you even care?”

  “Of all the people I’ve known that have died while battling dragons,” she spat back at him after a moment, “you’re the first I’ve met that fully deserves the fate that awaits him.” She turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd, ponytail dancing behind her as she stormed away.

  17

  After a brief conversation with Elisabeth, Cyrus set everything in motion. The Alliance army crept down the hill toward the nest. Kalam had begun to snore loudly from within the rocky enclosure. Cyrus waited, staring at the dragon’s closed eyes while he waited for the signal. Cass waited with him.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Cass said. “I’ve never heard of anyone using this strategy to take out a dragon before.”

  Cyrus nodded. “That’s because I came up with it myself and it’s unproven.” He saw Terian wave from where the melee fighters were stationed. “What I’m most concerned about is making sure no one gets fried while our army is doing their job.” Catching sight of Elisabeth, waving from the side of the nest, he slapped Cass on the shoulder. “Just be ready to jump in if I die.” Favoring the warrior with a wicked grin as Cass paled, Cyrus left the cover of the last boulder between him and the black dragon.

  His boots crackled in the magmatic rocks as he crossed the ground to Kalam. Cyrus smiled as he saw Elisabeth approaching much more stealthily than he was, and also more quickly. In her hand was an old spear. She approached Kalam’s left nostril as Cyrus reached his position in front of the sleeping dragon. What was that old proverb about letting sleeping dragons lie? Cyrus watched as Elisabeth raised the spear and stabbed it into Kalam’s exposed and snoring nose, puncturing into the nostril on the other side of the dragon’s face.

  The reaction was immediate. A screech of outrage and pain rose forth from Kalam as he screamed awake and scrambled to his feet, spear hanging like a tribal nose piercing in the cartilage that separated the dragon’s nostrils. Raring back onto his haunches, smaller front legs attempting to grasp the source of the pain, Kalam finally got a glimpse of Cyrus, standing before him.

  “Good morning!” he said as the dragon settled its angry eyes upon him. “Sorry to wake you so unpleasantly, but I needed to get your attention. Do I have it now?”

  The dragon didn’t respond verbally, though Terian had mentioned that Kalam, like Ashan’agar, was capable of speech. Cyrus could see the smoke rising from the dragon’s mouth, as he prepared to send down a flame that would destroy the warrior. He began to draw in a breath…

  …and stopped suddenly, screeching in pain, unable to breathe through his nose. He coughed a small burst of flame that didn’t reach even halfway to Cyrus. The warrior grinned. Now all I have to worry about is a dragon that’s fifty feet long and thirty feet tall, Cyrus thought. With claws the size of a dwarf.

  Letting loose a fearsome bellow, Cyrus charged forward at the same time as the Alliance forces began to attack from behind. Spells hit the aggravated and injured beast, but he ignored them in favor of the scornful, agitating human that was taunting him after causing grievous bodily harm. The dragon lunged for Cyrus, and the warrior felt the claws of the beast hit him, too fast for him to dodge. He slammed into the ground, hard at the same time Erith’s mending spell was cast upon him, curing him of all wounds. He staggered to his feet, glaring at Kalam.

  By this time the rangers, warriors and knights were attacking Kalam’s flank, carving through his scales bit by bit. Cyrus saw Vara, her sword a blur, opening wounds for the other battlers to exploit. The dragon’s neck extended and the head lanced out toward Cyrus, eager to finish his foe so he could deal with the other injuries he was sustaining from the army behind him.

  Cyrus was able to barely dodge but managed to bring his sword around for a glancing blow against Kalam’s face as it shot by. The cut continued down some of the more sensitive tissue on the dragon’s neck. Cyrus could hear an indignant scream from the dragon as it brought its head up; whether from his wound, the frustration of missing Cy, from the fighters tearing into his flanks or the spell casters that were hitting him with damaging magics, the warrior could not tell.

  Spots of dragon blood were hitting the ground all around them now, and every place they fell let out a puff of black smoke as the heat of it burned the ground. “Stay away from the blood!” Cyrus shouted. He knew he was late as someone behind the dragon screamed.

  Kalam twisted again, repositioning himself to get a better angle of attack on Cyrus. This time, the warrior was prepared. The dragon’s head dived at him with full force; Kalam had fully committed to this attack. Cyrus thrust his sword skyward and prayed to Bellarum that Erith was feeling charitable. The dragon hit him with the top of its skull, crushing him against the ground. Cy felt bones break, organs mashed to a pulp…and then a cool breeze of another mending spell, this one from Curatio, and the wounds faded and his bones knit back together.

  Kalam’s head rolled to the side, and another small burst of flame issued from his mouth making it look as though his head was on fire. Cyrus rolled to his feet, sword still lodged in the dragon’s head. Before Kalam could finish shrugging off the effects of the impact, Cyrus grabbed the hilt and brought the sword downward, lengthening the wound into a gash before pulling the blade out.

  At the rear, the fighters had hacked away at Kalam’s haunches enough to allow them to cleave his back legs off while the head was stunned, immobilizing the dragon. With a final roar, Kalam rolled over on his side. Vara soared from the back of the dragon to land a dramatic sword thrust between the scales and into the dragon’s heart. With a scream and a burst of smoke, Kalam, the black dragon breathed his last.

  Cyrus looked at the body. Tongue hanging out his mouth, the dragon’s face was wrecked: Cyrus’s slashes had opened up the dragon’s face and the vein down his neck, where hot blood oozed and dripped, searing the ground. Spell damage checkered Kalam’s torso, with scales ripped off sporadically from the blasts of spell casters. Rejoining the fighters at the back of the dragon, he saw the rear legs cut off with messy sword strokes, and not a single scale left anywhere on the back of the beast, nor any meat left on its bones in the rear.

  “All right!” Tolada’s shout echoed through the Mountains of Nartanis. The dwarf’s daggers were clean; by comparison, Elisabeth’s dripped with steaming dragon blood.

  Cyrus turned to the crowd grouped around the rear of the dragon. “Everyone okay back there?” he asked.

  Terian broke his way to the front of the crowd. “Everyone’s fine. A couple of people suffered burns from the dragon’s blood, but other than that, things went smoothly.”

  Niamh and Andren came running up from the spell casters’ group. “That was amazing!” she exulted. “We’re all fine; he never got anywhere near us.”

  Erith, Curatio and Cass trotted up from behind, catching the last bit of Niamh’s statement. “Looks like no fatalities and only a couple minor injuries, already healed,” Erith said. She looked around and nodded, impressed. “When I heard you had an idea for taking the dragon out, I thought for sure that because you were a human and a warrior, it would be a stupid idea. But,” she grudgingly admitted, “that worked well.”

  Malpravus approached, entourage in tow. “That was impressively led,” the dark elf said with the same leathery smile. “I’ve never heard of a tactic to hamstring a dragon like that. We’ll be adapting it for use the
next time we go to the Ashen Wastelands,” the Goliath leader said.

  Elisabeth smiled. “Making it so painful he couldn’t breathe through his nose really did kill his ability to project his fire breath.”

  “Couldn’t have done it without your help,” Cyrus said.

  Elisabeth blushed. “Any ranger could have done that.”

  “Would you mind,” Cyrus asked her, “helping to divide the spoils between the guilds?”

  “An excellent idea,” Malpravus said. “In fact, we should go now and see what sort of hoard this dragon has left behind for us.”

  Dividing the dragon’s hoard took less than an hour. The gold and other assorted treasures were split equally. The dragon had gold and baubles, armors and a variety of other items. How did he carry this? Cyrus thought.

  Cy had found a small rock and was sitting on it, watching all the goings-on. Terian approached him from behind and clapped him on the back with a low whistle. “You enriched Sanctuary’s guild bank by a considerable amount today.”

  Cyrus smiled but didn’t move or turn his gaze. “Goliath didn’t take everything?”

  Terian’s smile faded, replaced by a dark expression. “No, they didn’t, but not for lack of trying. There were a few treasures that became points of contention. Malpravus tried to claim that a solid gold statuette was worth only a few coins.” The dark elf shook his head in annoyance. “Even Tolada couldn’t find it in his black little dwarven heart to agree with his Guildmaster on that.”

  “I thought we were already wealthy as a guild.”

  “No.” Terian snorted. “You’ve seen the little stipend we pay to our members on a monthly basis, maybe a little extra if we have a windfall month — like this month, thanks to you — but we haven’t had a month like that in the last few years.”

  Various tradespeople from the Alliance were disassembling the dragon’s corpse, taking the usable scales, draining the blood for potion ingredients, and taking the meat for cooking. He saw Brevis squabbling with an elf over a vial of dragon blood and some steaming dragon meat. The dragon was skinless and stripped of all its musculature by this point — which was not a trivial undertaking with a creature so large. Cyrus watched as Brevis and the elf parted ways, the gnome now working on getting a piece of the dragon’s entrails. Shaking his head at the morbidity of picking the corpse clean, Cyrus turned back to the body of the army, talking among themselves in fellowship.

  Orion sidled up to him. “That was an impressive victory,” he said, smiling at Cyrus. “You’re a natural leader.”

  Cyrus chuckled. “I had a pretty good example to learn from.”

  “You mean Angelique?” The ranger’s eye glinted and he grinned.

  “Yeah,” Cy laughed. “A fine example of what not to do.” His expression turned serious. “You should lead again.”

  Orion nodded, but his smile had frozen, stuck in place and clearly fake. He turned his attention back to the crowd, as Elisabeth had stepped onto a rock and was trying to get everyone’s attention. When she had silenced the crowd, she began. “Let’s all take a moment to thank Cyrus Davidon from Sanctuary for today’s victory.”

  Enthusiastic applause greeted her statement, and he was forced to stand up and take a bow as the army turned toward him in acknowledgment. Elisabeth waited until the applause had died down. “I have an announcement to make. The Daring have received word through sources that in two days Mortus, the God of Death, will be leaving his Realm for a week to meet with other gods. We will be sponsoring an invasion to enter Death’s Realm, defeat the forces guarding it and escape with whatever spoils we can long before Mortus returns.

  “The higher powered guilds do these sort of incursions every chance they get. We will begin in the evening hour, the day after tomorrow.” She looked around, expression tentative. “Can I have a show of hands to see who would be interested in attending?”

  Almost every hand was in the air, some waving around like children in class, waiting to be called on. A smile broke across Elisabeth’s face. “The meeting point will be the Gates of Death, on Mortus Island in the Bay of Lost Souls. We will assemble at dusk. I look forward to seeing you there.” There was an excited buzz about the crowd as she finished.

  Looking back, Cyrus saw the corpse of the dragon was almost entirely picked clean, with nothing left but a pile of bones. He watched with curiosity as Terian directed Vaste and J’anda, and the three of them worked to pull some of the bones off to the side, including the skull, now stripped of flesh and scale. Niamh and Nyad worked their way over to the others, each carrying armfuls of smaller bones.

  Mentally shrugging it off, he turned to find Elisabeth had broken through the crowd of well wishers and curious raiders and was only steps away. “Congratulations!” She hugged him. “That was amazing; even Endeavor couldn’t have pulled this off without a fatality.” She smiled as he blushed.

  “Glad I could be useful.” He brushed aside her compliment. “Death’s Realm? That should be a challenge.”

  She nodded. “I’m looking forward to it. The ‘big three’ guilds run these incursions every chance they get — whether it’s the Realm of Darkness, or Death, even the Trials of Purgatory.” She could not hide her glee. “If we do this right, we’ll be announcing to Arkaria that the Alliance is a force to be reckoned with. We’ll be able to attract more powerful adventurers from other guilds that aren’t happy where they are but don’t want to take a step down. It’s a great growth opportunity for the Alliance.”

  Cyrus nodded, but had paid particular attention to a few of her comments. “Do you think we’ll be going to the Realm of Darkness anytime soon? Or Purgatory?”

  She looked a little puzzled but answered anyway. “Well, Purgatory is godless; just a number of different mystical creatures spread out as you descend through the five trials. The rewards for completing it are amazing, which is why the big three guilds — Amarath’s Raiders, Endeavor and Burnt Offerings — share it among themselves and don’t allow anyone else in.”

  Cy frowned. “What?”

  She nodded. “Those three guilds treat Purgatory like farmers harvesting their fields.” She smiled. “The Trials restart when a new group goes through, and all the enemies you face are reborn from the last time someone went through. The entity that runs it gives new rewards every time the trials are successfully completed.”

  Cy shook his head. “But how do the big three guilds keep out others?”

  Elisabeth blinked. “The only way to exit the Trials is through portals. And the exit portal after you complete the trials sends you into the middle of the Reikonos guildhall quarter, so everyone knows what you’ve done. A guild called Retrion’s Honor finished the Trials successfully three years ago, and when they exited through the portal, the ‘big three’ slaughtered them in the streets of Reikonos.”

  Cyrus’s jaw dropped. “I heard about that! The Reikonos guards didn’t even try to stop them.”

  Elisabeth shook her head. “The Reikonos guards couldn’t beat any one of them alone: together they’re far too powerful. The Council of Twelve was furious, threatened to expel them all from the city, until the three guild leaders came to the Citadel and made ‘restitution’ with ten million gold pieces. Since then, no one’s had the courage to try Purgatory.”

  She took a breath. “You asked about the Realm of Darkness? I’d love to go there, but we don’t have any way of knowing whether Yartraak will be there or not, and the God of Darkness is really powerful; not someone we’d like to tangle with.”

  Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think I’d like to face any of the gods any more than I’d like the three most powerful guilds in Arkaria attacking me.”

  Elisabeth laughed. “You’d stand a better chance against the three guilds. They don’t even challenge a plane when the god is actually there; gods can smash mortals into such a pulp that a resurrection spell has no effect. Taking on a god is suicide.”

  Cy nodded. “So you’ve heard the tales of the mortals that faced the
gods?”

  A little sadness glimmering in her eyes, Elisabeth nodded in answer. “I think everyone has. The legend of Requiem, the guild from ten thousand years ago, is the most familiar cautionary tale about tempting the wrath of the gods.” She smiled. “You should probably rejoin your guild; it looks like everyone is about to leave.”

  After exchanging goodbyes, Cyrus walked back to the Sanctuary group, trying to find Niamh. Instead he found Andren. “I found out a little bit more about the Realms. Elisabeth doesn’t think we’ll be able to go to Purgatory or the Realm of Darkness anytime soon. But if I can find what I need from Death, I’ll be making progress.”

  Andren grunted. “This sword of yours had better be worth it, for all the trouble it’ll take to get it.”

  Cyrus brushed him off. “Where’s Niamh? I need to get teleported out of here.”

  “Niamh left a few minutes ago with J’anda, Vaste, Terian, and a hell of a lot of that dragon’s skeleton. I think you’re gonna need to find alternate transport.”

  Cy looked at Andren. “Can I come with you when you cast your return spell?”

  The elf raised an eyebrow. Every spell caster could use the ‘return’ spell to take them back to a point that they had chosen to attach themselves to. It was a personal teleportation spell; not nearly as wide reaching as a druid or wizard’s spells. Catching a ride with a spell caster that used the return spell meant getting intimately close with them. “No. If you were a pretty woman, it might be a different story,” Andren said, fidgeting. “Or a woman at all. No. Find another way.” Before Cyrus could argue, Andren murmured an incantation and vanished in a twinkle of light.

  “You bastard,” Cyrus said, watching other spell casters teleported back to their respective guildhalls. He caught a glimpse of Nyad disappearing in the burst of magic accompanying her teleportation spell. With her went a group of fighters bound for Sanctuary.

  Getting frantic at the thought of being left behind, Cyrus scrambled to find a druid. He saw Brevis, with Gertan and Aina — two of the gnome’s allies — and hurried over to them. “Aina, will you teleport me to the druid portal near Sanctuary?” he asked the elf.