When Dragons Die- The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by K. Scott Lewis

  Aradma and Tiberan fought side by side on the bridges of Kallanista as the sun rose above the water. At dawn, a troll force had swum in from the beach, silently climbing the woodwork until they were on the bridges inside Kallanistan lines. Tiberan stood his ground, methodically picking off troll fighters with his bow, and when his arrows were depleted, he whirled with his daggers, cutting a path of death with the ancient sidhe steel. Aradma fought in her leopard form alongside Ghost. The two of them ripped a trail of blood with their claws, with Aradma taking delight in shifting in and out of visibility between pounces.

  Suleima stood behind Tiberan, using her runes to heal any gunshots that he or the two cats received in their fighting. Her divine magic seemed to work fine, even though she fought against Rin’s army. Tiberan took special care to defend her.

  Yinkle proved to be a marvel with her rapier in her right hand and a revolver in her left. She bounced and darted between enemies, carving, parrying, and firing with glee. Troll bodies piled in a bloody heap around the tiny woman.

  Wherever Rajamin went, bullets just seemed to miss their targets. He glowed as he channeled his gods’ powers, holding his runes high to heal the wounded and protect Kallanistan fighters as he moved from post to post. A troll foolishly charged the ratling runewarden. He selected a different rune and a thick beam of star fire shot from the sky and smote the troll to the ground. Rajamin poked him with his crooked staff, rolling the body off the bridge into the expanse below.

  Fighting was thick in and around the city. The gunships still orbited overhead, their zeppelins’ colors showing brightly in the noon sun. Two of the gunships descended low enough to unload platoons of ratling reserves. The other gunships took to firing at the perimeter of the battle, cutting off troll reinforcements and adding to the carnage.

  The trolls had healers, too. The priestesses fought with their men, and shots that should have killed their warriors proved no more than a painful inconvenience as they healed their husbands. They couldn’t heal them all, but it was enough to keep them fighting and maintain superiority by sheer numbers.

  Tiberan saw this. “Target their healers!” he called out. “Take out their women!”

  Aradma winced when she heard this, but she knew he was right. The trolls outnumbered them—if they couldn’t reduce their numbers, the ratling’s superior firepower wouldn’t endure the horde.

  Tiberan grabbed a rifle off a fallen troll and started taking out the priestesses on the bridges. She appeared behind him in her elven form. “You focus on the healers inside the city; I’ll take care of those outside the city.”

  He stopped a brief moment to plant a kiss on her lips. “Understood. Good luck.”

  Aradma jumped over the edge of the bridge, glided down to the battlefield on feathered wings, and faded from view as the great cat. She prowled between the fighting men, targeting priestesses. She made short work of them, and the tide of the battle started to change.

  When the Vemnai men realized the women giving them orders and healing them were dead, they panicked and ran, dropping their rifles behind him. The ratlings cheered, having achieved a full rout.

  Trolls disappeared into the forest, and Captain Piper ordered the bugler to call the troops to regroup.

  Brightly ballooned gunships sailed east.

  Aradma took to the air and flew to the lead ship. She alighted on the deck and returned to her elven form. “What are you doing?” she asked the captain.

  “We’re going to their city in the cliff,” he said. “We’re sending a message.”

  “Is this necessary?” she asked. “You won the battle.”

  “They need to know we can hit them in the heart of their land. I don’t want them to regroup and try again.”

  She saw the wisdom in this, despite the anguish in her heart. So much death.

  She jumped over the edge and took to the air again, trailing the ships. She wanted to see it all. She needed to witness the price of her choices.

  The gunships bombarded the cliff dwellings for two days. At night, Aradma watched from the grassy top of Moon Rock as the cannons continued. By the time they were done, not a single structure outside the network of caves still stood. Aradma knew it would take a long time for the trolls to rebuild. After the first bombardment, they retreated into their caves and stayed hidden. Finally, the gunships made their point and departed.

  Aradma lingered for a few hours more but no troll emerged. She considered going into the caves to see the extent of the damage and to find out if the Matriarch was unharmed. She checked her impulse, realizing what was done was done. She had no more right to intrude, and no more good could come from lingering. She turned and flew away, leaving the Vemnai to their fate.

  22 - Natural Magic

  The companions sat with feet dangling over the side of one of the wooden bridges, watching the purple sky as the last July sun set and the waxing moon rose above the Wild Sea. The day had been full with tending the wounded and cleaning the bridges and fields of the dead. They now sat together, sharing the serenity of the evening calm and the sound of waves on the beach below.

  Yinkle brought each of them flasks of liquor. “Here,” she said. “This is well deserved.”

  Aradma took a swig and sputtered as the alcohol burned like fire down her throat.

  Yinkle laughed. “Slowly, it’s got a kick.”

  Aradma nodded and this time took a careful sip. It was strong and sweet. “Cinnamon,” she remarked.

  “The good stuff,” Yinkle agreed. “Surviving a battle is reason to celebrate.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aradma said. “I don’t feel much like celebrating. All of this happened because of choices I made.”

  Tiberan shook his head. “That’s not fair. It’s not that simple.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not,” he asserted. “It’s good of you to take ownership of your choices, but you didn’t make this choice for all of us. To presume you and you alone brought us here is not only unfair to yourself, it’s also arrogant.”

  Aradma looked at him as if slapped.

  “He’s right,” Suleima said. “Do not take his words harshly. They are meant in friendship. We all chose to be here. We all walked this path together. Not just you and I, but the ratling people and the troll people. Every time we ignored both instinct and reason by accepting the easy way of believing what we were told without challenge, we set the seeds for this. We tilled the soil in which it was planted, and then we watered it with every new generation. You were just the sunlight that fell upon the garden of our own making.”

  Rajamin’s whiskers twitched. “Suleima is wise.”

  Aradma took another drink. “It is good,” she agreed, lifting the flask.

  “What will you do now?” Yinkle asked.

  “West,” Aradma said. “We need to go west.”

  “Well,” Rajamin said. “By warning us and fighting by our side, you’ve earned a ship to take you anywhere you want to go. And a crew. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That we go with you.”

  “All of us,” Suleima said. “If you would have me, I would follow you. I’m curious where your journey will lead. Tiberan showed me something on the way here after you left us to try to warn Kallanista.”

  “I remembered something I had seen in a dead city,” Tiberan said. “I thought she needed to see it. I had forgotten it until we left, and I wanted to check for myself as well.”

  “What did you see, Suleima?” Yinkle asked.

  “It was an old elven city,” she said. “I was frightened to enter. The sidhe did not treat us well when they ruled.”

  “That was long ago,” Tiberan said.

  “Yes. But there was a room with a painting,” Suleima continued. “It showed what I knew—that long ago men ruled the trolls, and women were treated like cattle. Rin saved us.”

  “But there was something else,” Tiberan prompted.

  Suleima took another drink. />
  “We were taught that Rin and Soorleyn created us in their image and that Rin saved us to remind us of that. But the pictures did not show us as we are today, in the image of the goddess. They showed two goddesses saving troll women—women who looked like our men! Large, diagonal eyes, longer ears, and bowed legs. They are the true trolls. This,” she pointed at her face, “is a human body.”

  Tiberan nodded. “The goddesses answered your prayers and remade you in their image, and you gave them your worship in return. It is not men who were reshaped from their people. It was the women.”

  “The image of the goddess is a lie,” Suleima declared. “And for this, I would follow you Aradma. You seem to have a way of bringing those around you to discover the truth about themselves.”

  Yinkle nodded. “All of us want to go with you, Aradma.”

  Aradma’s heart swelled with the pleasure of pride. Those aspects of the Dragon and Fae nobility responded to their words. She then looked into Tiberan’s unwavering, golden glowing eyes.

  “I would go even if you did not,” he said. “I believe at the end of this trail we will find our people. I am glad you also hear the call. I suspect that even among our kind, you are something special.”

  “The call is from Artalon,” she said.

  Even Tiberan looked surprised. “How do you know this?”

  She thought of the Fae court within her head. “I just know.”

  Rajamin whistled. “Into the heart of the Empire? I’m in.”

  “Yes,” they agreed. “We will follow you.”

  * * *

  That night, Tiberan and Aradma walked alone on the beach below the city. Ghost followed silently beside them. Tiberan wore only his loincloth, enjoying the feel of the cool night sand between his toes. He had left his bow in Rajamin’s house, armed now with only his daggers.

  He looked curiously at the woman who walked beside him. He had waited so long to be alone with her, and now he did not know what to say. She seemed lost in thought, the green glow of her stare spilling down to the sands in front of her, ignoring the open stars overhead.

  After months with the Vemnai, he didn’t know how she felt. What of Odoune? They did not act like mates—more like mentor and student, although he could not say who was who—but she had mated with him. Where did her mind turn to right now? She seemed so far away, unaware of his presence.

  He could not help but admire her body. Troll garb did not hide much, and his eyes lovingly traced the curve of her shoulders down to the slimness of her waist and the gentle swell of full hips. Those strange red markings intrigued him—he had no such patterns. The red stripes continued down her back and sides of her body. They reminded him of some of the Fae he had hunted in his vision quest when he first awakened to the world and of his own markings before he had slain them. Her Fae ghosts still lived within her, he realized.

  For a moment, her hand absently moved up and rested upon her belly, then dropped again. He reached over and took her hand, intertwining his fingers through hers. She smiled, as if suddenly remembering he was there. The happiness in her face flooded his heart with warmth.

  “I’ve waited a long time to be alone with you again,” he said.

  She laughed in simple joy. “I’m glad you are here with me.” She took his other hand and turned to face him.

  Her face was so beautiful in the moonlight it almost hurt him to look at her. He wanted to reach out and crush her in his arms. Instead, he looked into the mystery of her eyes, trying to penetrate their hidden depths. It seemed to him that her light’s happiness was tempered by sadness and loss. He knew it was more than the battle and the loss of life on both sides, though guilt was part of it. This loss was closer to the heart. He knew she cared for Odoune, for surely she would not have shared her body with him in that way if she had not. He realized she still cared for the Matriarch, too, despite what had happened. He did not begrudge her feelings. He only worried what space was left for him in her life.

  “Is there a place for me in your heart?” he asked.

  In answer, she cocked a slight, open smile, closed her eyes, and inclined her head ever so slightly, leaning forward.

  He kissed her, touching her lips gently. So soft… He kissed her again, and she leaned into him, letting his kisses fall softly on her face. He embraced her and she returned his kiss, their tongues tasting each other, tentatively at first and then eagerly.

  His passion grew and his body responded. His hand fell to her hip, but she pulled away. She placed her open hand on his chest and said, “No.”

  He looked at her imploringly. “Have I offended you?”

  “No, koris-val,” she said, using the troll term. “But tonight, let us walk in silence and just be together.”

  She took his hand and they walked down the beach, stealing glances beneath the stars. He honored her wishes and spoke not another word. His thoughts raced around why she denied his passion, but he knew better than to press her. He decided to appreciate the time they did have and the simple love expressed by enjoying the walk together. He hoped she would let him kiss her again.

  When they returned to the city and climbed the stairs to Rajamin’s house, she kissed him once, softly on the cheek. She looked deeply into his eyes.

  “I love you,” she said.

  And then she slipped away from him to her hammock, suspended between Yinkle’s and Suleima’s. She turned her back to him and pulled a thin blanket over her shoulders, settling in to sleep.

  * * *

  The airship sailed over the Sea of Vemnai through the hot August sky. Every few hours Aradma and Tiberan would hear the call again as the world itself seemed to reverberate. First they would fly over the Gaimar Plains, an untamed expanse of orcish tribes. Then they would cross the Imperial border as they approached Pallispont. Even so, it was many miles to the Eternal City of Artalon, across the fields of Aradheim and Galadheim, over Dragonholm and across the Sea of Wrath before they would reach it.

  And as they sailed over fields of clouds, Aradma clasped her belly with both joy and apprehension as she felt the life of a child growing within her womb.

  PART 3: ARTALON

  23 - The Good Life

  The morning before Aradma first fell as a wisp of light onto the slopes of Windbowl, a cold February wind rushed between the skyscrapers of the capital city of Artalon. Its towers were structures unlike anything else made in history. Each single building rose thousands of feet, stood hundreds wide at the base, and housed thousands of people, most of whom lived their entire lives without ever leaving their massive buildings. Ancient gnomes had devised a way to marry the science of architectural geometry with an alchemical method that strengthened, lightened, and preserved the copper and glass from which the buildings were formed. The result was a forest of skyscrapers that defied reason, while providing quality of life to its inhabitants.

  The gnomes had somehow managed to take the designs of the cavern- and tunnel-based community structures of dwarven mountain kingdoms, brought it out under the open sky, and married it with the heights of both sidhe architecture and human practicality. And it was all made possible by the genius of gnomish insanity. Towers widened and narrowed, showcasing wide platform plazas onto which shops and apartments opened. There were buildings upon buildings, with thousands of apartment clusters built around a network of suspended indoor and outdoor paths. The structures were irregular and round, with balconies blistering out on the sides. Bridge expansions, some large enough to hold further rows of added apartments, spanned from tower to tower. The result seemed as if a gnome had made a sand drip castle on the beach, gilded it in glass and copper, and then hit it with a magic Ray of Gargantuan Enlargement. A system of ducts caught the sky’s wind and channeled fresh air throughout the interior communes, and wind- and water-powered pumps brought fresh water in and sewage out, keeping the city clean. What was truly amazing was that not only did the copper framework of the place never corrode, but also no welding seam or bolts could be seen in any
of the metalwork. It was suspected that all the copper in the mile-wide city was of one single contiguous piece of work, and that the roots of each building connected to a circular, mile-wide copper disk beneath the ground that housed parks and streets between buildings.

  All of this wonder had been lost once, for Artalon had been destroyed long ago and plunged beneath the seas by Archurion the Gold because the Darkling Empire had awakened Klrain the Black. But Aaron, wielding the power of the Archdragons ten thousand years later, raised and restored the city from beneath the sea and resurrected the glory of its past.

  Today’s Artalonian communities were not structured as they had been under the first Artalon. They had organized haphazardly after Aaron brought his people to settle in its paradise. Each person or family purposed the areas as they saw fit, neighborhoods and businesses growing organically until the Church stepped in to impose an orderly life on all.

  The tops of the towers of the city formed a perfect hemispherical skyline. The city itself was round, a mile in diameter, and the tallest tower in the middle, atop which the God-King made his home, climbed 2,640 feet into the sky. Main streets were wide enough between towers to let direct sunlight in at portions of the day, and reflections from carefully placed glasswork brought sun to the streets for the rest of the day. Of the common citizenry, only humans were allowed to live in the towers. The exceptions to this rule were the sidhe administrators, who lived in the uppermost apartments, and the wolven, who served as government agents. Darklings were shunned, for even though they were a human offshoot race, it was their kind who had invited Artalon’s original destruction. Orcs suffered even worse discrimination, and neither gnomes nor trolls had been seen in the city for centuries.