When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  “Your men attacked first,” the troll calmly replied in a slow drawl. “And before that, your people had already killed one of my agents.”

  “I am not aware of this,” Kaern said. “But even so, you invade our sovereign land.”

  “I will not negotiate with you,” the troll shook his head. “You are not the leader of your people. I will wait for your lord.”

  The guard door opened, and Duke Montevin walked across the snow to join them. “Return to the gate, Captain,” he ordered. “I will speak with him.”

  Kaern looked questioningly down at his duke, obviously displeased with the order, but after no more than a moment’s hesitation, he bowed his head and obeyed. He returned to the city wall but remained outside, ready to rush to his lord’s aid at the first sign of danger.

  The duke had to look up to meet the troll’s gaze, but he did not appear diminished by him.

  “Your accompanying force is small,” the duke commented. “It seems we have been overcautious.”

  “I am Odoune,” the troll introduced himself in his slow, lyrical speech, “Archdruid of the Vemnai. The loss of your men is unfortunate, as is the loss of mine. But we do not come here to fight. To avoid further bloodshed, I prefer to speak to the lord of this land. Are you he?”

  “I am Montevin, Duke of Windbowl. If not for military purpose, what then?”

  “Something terrible and wonderful has happened,” Odoune explained. “Something that the wise of Vemnai do not yet understand. But of one thing, we are certain. In your land, there has appeared a person, a kind of elf you might call him. We intend to bring this elf to Vemnai and train him in our ways.”

  “Windbowl counts no elves among its citizens,” the duke stated. “You must be mistaken.”

  “Not your citizens. This elf would be different from the sidhe of this world. He—or she, perhaps—would be unmistakable. He will be disoriented and will not stay hidden for long before someone discovers him. You must help us find him.”

  “Why?”

  “This elf holds something very precious to us. Something sacred. Those of you who are wise surely have felt the shattering of the Fae realms.”

  Attaris started. Shattering of the Fae realms? That explained the tension he felt through his connection to the Storm Lord. How could a whole world break? The God-King? Did even he wield such might? Hylda had suggested this could be the case, but he couldn’t believe it.

  Montevin’s eyes narrowed. “How did you pass through Artalonian territory?”

  Odoune laughed. “You truly do not know? Your Shadowlord is dead, and the Empire crumbles around you. As for the elf, I will return in the morning after the third night from now. After that, we will search your land and city, with or without your permission. I don’t want bloodshed, but the import is too great.”

  “Sir, you declare war on me and my people!” Montevin growled. “Only the honor of parlay keeps you alive now. Withdraw, or we meet in battle.”

  “Three days,” Odoune hissed. He retreated, gathering his cadre and disappearing into the white snow.

  * * *

  Lunarin was conscious of people’s eyes upon her as she and her companions left the guard tower. Duke Montevin came back into the city. He looked at her thoughtfully, and then at the staring bystanders. It was obvious to everyone that removing the troll threat was as simple as handing her, the outsider, over to them. Sparing these people undue hardship was as simple as surrendering herself to the trolls. But what do they want with ussss? the voices in her head hissed and roiled.

  Aiella hurried towards them. “We can’t give her to them!” she exclaimed. “Not until we know more. If what he says is true, if the God-King is dead and the Fae realms shattered, she’s in the middle of it!”

  The duke held his hand up to calm her onslaught of words. “I have no intention of giving her over. I agree, we need to know more first.” He turned to Lunarin, looked away to sweep his gaze over his people, and then rested his eyes on her again. “You must help me understand.”

  Lunarin shook her head. “I’m afraid I cannot. You know more of these things than I do.”

  The voices in her head moaned in alarm. Mortals. Do not trust them.

  “Guards, escort her to the keep. Find her guest chambers and make her comfortable, but I don’t want her out of sight for a moment.”

  “Hey!” Attaris shouted. “You can’t do that! She’s done nothing to harm us, nothing wrong!”

  “We don’t know that, friend dwarf. This will be better for all.”

  “Well, we’re going with her!”

  “No. She will be under the watch of my guard, but I want to remove all other contact, for her safety and for ours.”

  Attaris stared in shocked silence. The two paladins beside him both frowned. He looked at Lunarin. “I’m so sorry, lass.”

  Lunarin frowned. The voices within her hissed in anger. No, do not be caught in their webs. Deceit! Treachery!

  Something else within her—something green—stayed the voices, something deeper and far older. They mean no harm. This green keynote harmonized the other voices into serenity.

  “I will abide your will for the present,” she told the duke. “I believe you to be honorable and know you keep your people close to your heart.”

  The duke and guards released their tension, and she allowed herself to be led to the keep.

  * * *

  Anuit was left at home to count carpet threads as punishment while Marta and Seredith joined the crowd at the gate. She felt the bile of shame twist in her stomach, but worse was the fury, justified or not, at being isolated while knowing critically important events unfolded. That and the anxiety of not knowing if she would be allowed to continue her training.

  Despite those worries, she could not help but lose thread-counting time to sneak a glance out the window at the orc and wolven guards filing towards the walls. Amid their number, she saw two dwarves and a pretty darkling woman accompanying the strangest woman she had ever seen, with softly pale skin and silver hair that gleamed. Clearly she was some sort of elf.

  This isn’t fair! she silently fumed as she returned to pick apart carpet threads, bent over on knees and elbows, nose pressed to the floor. What the hell was she supposed to have done against those trolls? She was lucky she wasn’t dead.

  “You’re right,” Belham’s voice called out. “This isn’t fair. There are one million, eight hundred thousand and thirty-six threads in this rug. This penance isn’t meant to be completed successfully.”

  “To hell with that. I’ll count and multiply. I will not fail,” Anuit responded automatically, but then bolted upright, dark eyes widening in alarm. “You can’t be here. I didn’t summon you. It’s not permitted.”

  Belham leaned unconcerned against a candlestick on a reading table. “Do you want me to leave, or do you want to continue your training like you asked?”

  “I’m forbidden training right now.”

  “My masters in the city of Dis do not answer to your mentor. You have great potential. We are interested to see your talents grow without further delay.”

  Anuit felt a chill run down her spine at these words. She buried any thoughts of protest. She would not sabotage herself into letting power escape her. She would not slip into irrelevance. She would not leave it to someone else to decide her fate.

  “Teach me everything, but by the pact through which you serve me, I command you ensure I remain in control of my own destiny.”

  Belham’s small, dark face twisted in distaste. He bowed, however, stating dryly, “It will be as you command.”

  At the end of two hours of his instruction, she smiled to herself over her progress. She would endure Marta’s penance in the hopes of being accepted back into the coven community. If, however, redemption in her mentor’s eyes was not possible, she would gain the power to leave Windbowl and survive on her own.

  A curious sight passed her window soon after she dismissed Belham. The elf was being led back to the castle, no
w escorted by the duke’s private guard. The elf paused briefly and glanced up at her window. They made eye contact. Anuit sucked in a breath of air as she felt the intensity of that gaze penetrate her soul. The elf moved on, prompted by the guards.

  Anuit stood trembling by the window, suddenly feeling exposed before the universe.

  * * *

  Arda felt Attaris’ frustration. She knew her friend well and could read his face. He was barely able to keep his fury contained until inside the confines of Hylda’s house.

  “It’s not right!” he burst out as he he followed Hylda into the front hall. Arda closed the door behind the three of them. “They can’t treat her like a prisoner! She’s done nothing wrong, and they have no idea how special she is.”

  Hylda’s voice was strangely quiet, without its usual bubble, despite the perpetual cheer in her eyes. “She’ll be well treated. She’s not exactly a prisoner.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  “We need to get her out of Windbowl,” Arda suddenly said, bringing the other two to silence. “If it’s true that the Shadowlord is dead, we need counsel from the head of our Order. If she’s central to it, then she needs to be brought to him as well.”

  Hylda whistled. “You mean to try to find Taer Iriliandrel. You mean to speak to Kaldor himself.”

  Arda nodded. Who else could they turn to? Kaldor, the incarnation of the Gold Dragon Archurion, had become bound in mortal form a thousand years ago when he and the Violet Dragon’s avatar gave over their power to Aaron that he might challenge Klrain the Black. Instead, Aaron used their power to forge his Empire. Kaldor withdrew from the world in shame to become a hermit hidden away in the illusive, mystical tower of Taer Iriliandrel. Arda didn’t know whether the Order had only formed around him as a symbol, or if he had an active, if hidden, hand in guiding them. Hylda believed the former; Arda had always held faith in the latter.

  But if the Shadowlord’s power was gone, as the dead runes seemed to suggest, then who would keep Klrain in check? Was the power of Archurion and Eldrikura, the Violet Dragon, gone forever? Or would they rise again? Would Graelyn the Green, Archdragon of Life, finally intervene to confront her black brother directly?

  “I can’t condone this,” Hylda said. “It is a foolish waste of time.”

  “They say he still speaks with the heads of our Order from time to time,” Arda pointed out. “He must be somewhere.”

  “No one’s actually seen him in seven centuries,” Hylda countered. “Or the tower of Taer Iriliandrel, for that matter. It’s a myth.”

  Arda slightly inclined her head. “You may be the Order’s commander in this city, but I am not your subordinate.”

  They both stared expectantly at Attaris. He looked back and forth between them, worry creasing his eyes like a badger in a trap. Arda’s heart went out to him, but she needed to know where he stood.

  Her old friend did not let her down. “I’m with Arda,” he finally said. “We need to get her away from the schemes of trolls and the responsibilities of dukes, before circumstance becomes even more unfortunate. She may have power that we don’t understand, but she is also profoundly innocent.”

  “It’s best we find somewhere else to stay,” Arda said. “If we’re going to plan to break her out of the castle without Hylda’s help, the less she knows, the better for her after.”

  “Aye. Let’s return to my house.”

  Hylda sighed. “You’re right, I cannot actively help you in this. The duke trusts me, and I won’t betray that. But I won’t hinder you either. The Light bless you and good luck.”

  Arda nodded in understanding and respect. “For Light’s Truth,” she saluted.

  “For Light’s Truth.”

  6 - Black Magic

  That night, the clouds parted and a shaft of moonlight fell upon Lunarin’s face, waking her. As promised, the duke had put her in one of his guest apartments and posted guards outside the doors. She did not lack for comfort. A small wood hearth warmed the room, its embers now glowing at their zenith. Before bed, she had slipped out of the white robe and placed it neatly on a cushioned bedside chair before nestling beneath the fine cotton sheets and downy quilt.

  The window now lay open, and a chill draft wrestled against the hearth fire’s warmth. She pulled the quilt up to cover her bare shoulders. A great horned owl sat on the windowsill, staring at her with large golden eyes.

  She gazed into its eyes and sensed the truth of its being. She sat up and regarded it coolly. “You are no owl.”

  The owl cocked his head to the side. It blurred briefly before shapeshifting into the troll leader.

  The troll knelt on one knee but kept eye contact with her. “You are the one whom I seek,” he stated. “I am Odoune, a druid of the Vemnai and servant of the Green Lady.”

  The one who gave me life, she realized. “You mean the Dragon.”

  “The Lady Graelyn, yes.”

  A flurry of memories again rushed through her, of Green, and then of Black, and of pain. “Did she send you to find me?”

  “No, not exactly,” Odoune answered. He straightened, standing tall. He would have stood taller than her had he not leaned forward. “Or perhaps yes. You have questions, no doubt.”

  “Yes.” She looked at him eagerly. “Who am I? Where am I from? Where are my people?”

  “I do not have those answers,” he replied. “But I can help you find them. The jungle foretold the Green Lady would fall, and her children would be born to this world. There will be more, but you are the first. We have journeyed far, guided by the whisperings of Ahmbren’s forests. Ahmbren herself desired I find you, and for this reason, I deeply hope that you come with me to Vemnai and learn the ways of druidry.”

  Could she trust him? Her new friends did not. “If I refuse?”

  “Then I will have failed. But I will not force you.”

  “If they prevent you from taking me?”

  “That, I will not allow, no matter how I might wish to avoid bloodshed.”

  “Can you take me to the sidhe?”

  “No. The elven cities of this world are not of your kind. They are sidhe, and if you choose to go to them, I will have no part in it. You have the purity of the seelie. In time, I hope to help you gather your people together and bring them to you.”

  “What do you want of me?”

  “I want for you to learn who you are. Do you know your name?”

  “Lunarin.”

  Odoune spat. “Fah. That is a name they gave you. Your true name must be locked away in your mind. You must find it.”

  She sent her feelings out to him and listened to the reverberating music of his soul. He felt good, wild, and noble. There was a serenity deep within him, but something was hollow in his core, something missing. She could not sense what. There was no evil there, but there was unbalance. Unbalanced, yess... the faerie voices hissed. Perhaps dangerousss…

  “I will think on it,” she said. “You have given three days, and I will hold you to that.”

  He nodded. “As you say. We will return to the front gates for your answer. What will you do then, should you choose to come with us but the duke desires otherwise?”

  She cocked her head slightly to the side. We are too strong. Too old for the duke to comprehend. “I remain here now only because I choose it.”

  Odoune nodded in understanding. “On the second morning after tomorrow then,” he said. He shifted back into the owl and flew out under the moonlight.

  * * *

  Seredith trained with her mother in the secret caves under the city. It was a room she knew well; it was where she and Anuit had always gathered. The room itself was carved out of the rock and finished to polished stone walls, a perfect sphere constructed in the middle of natural cave tunnels. It was old, probably older than the city itself. Seredith did not know who made it or its original purpose, but it had been used by sorcerers throughout the ages and now belonged to Marta and their small coven. The stone table was used for rites and meals, sometimes both. A
great black cauldron and fire pit lay at the side of the room, with a chimney that allowed smoke to be carried to gods only knew where.

  Any sadness over Anuit’s punishment had been quickly forgotten through the excitement over her new lessons. Marta now introduced her to more advanced techniques beyond the mere summoning and control of demons.

  Marta placed cushions on the stone table to make it easier for Seredith to relax her body as she lay down. Her pale hair spread on the table behind her, and she crossed her hands over her belly, closing her eyes and concentrating.

  The crone stood over her on one side of the altar, and her great demon Macthogos stood to the other side. His wings pulsed behind his muscular back, and he looked down without expression, his head crowned with two thick bull horns. He stood over seven feet tall. One day Seredith would learn to summon so powerful a demon, but for now Marta insisted she rely on his strength to lift her soul from her body and trust him to protect her spirit as she travelled. Her own demons were not yet strong enough to perform such a rite.

  Seredith relaxed and steadied her breathing. Macthogos reached down and gently placed his hands under her slender waist. They sunk through her body as if it were air, grasping the naked waist of her soul. He gently lifted her spirit up away from her flesh until the ghostly image of her unclad body floated three feet above her physical form.

  Her soul’s eyes opened, and her body’s eyes remained closed. She had already improved over the previous night, and Marta grinned at her success. “Your talent is remarkable, daughter,” she clucked.

  Seredith floated upright, glancing down at her body. For a brief moment, Seredith thought she could see a glimpse of lustful hunger in Macthogos’ eyes, not for her revealed astral form, but down at her covered, empty body. The look passed, and she banished the feeling of worry. If there was any danger of possession, Marta’s control was absolute.